Chapter Text
Chase was fading in and out on his sofa, miserable. Everything burned, ached, pulled. His brain felt like it was full of cotton balls.
His phone buzzed, he opened one eye and barely lifted his phone long enough to see that it was just Cameron asking once again for his updated address for sending a holiday card. He considered turning his phone off, but it was too much trouble. He just let go and tried to sleep.
Chase woke up, dragged himself to his feet to go pee, immediately had to kneel on the floor. He stayed there on his hands and knees, panting. He finally got back up, and managed to stumble to the bathroom. He used the toilet, washed his hands, paused to brace himself on the doorframe.
The image of the room in front of him doubled, and he had to fight to bring it back to a single image. He managed to get back to the couch, and fell onto it. Every joint and muscle panged in protest, he groaned into the pillow.
He checked his phone. Just a reminder for an interview he was going to blow off. He felt sort of bad, Cuddy had set it up. But not bad enough to do anything about it in his exhausted state. He mushed his face back into the pillow.
Chase eventually got so hungry his stomach was hurting and finally warranted getting up again. He made it to the fridge, and opened it. There was truly nothing edible inside. Finally he ate the last pickle out of a jar, a single piece of processed cheese, and scraped out a mostly empty cream cheese container out with his finger.
He winced and opened and closed his fingers, tried to throw the container away, but his trash can was stuffed to overflowing. He just tossed it on the floor nearby. He thought about getting some water, but then he would just have to pee again later.
Chase turned to walk back to his couch. He could barely walk, he wondered if he was losing coordination, or just hadn’t kept up on PT for his old injury over the years.
He made it, shakily slumped onto the cushions. He checked his phone. It was dead. That was a relief.
He laid down, and closed his eyes. He would try again to get his shit together, tomorrow. Today he was too tired. He was so damn tired…
Chase didn’t charge his phone. It was so much more peaceful this way. He could just sleep. The next day passed in a hazy blur, he wasn’t sure how much he did or didn’t do. He just knew he was tired.
Chase was dreaming. Knocking on his door, then someone came in. But his door was locked. But it didn’t matter. Didn’t have to make sense.
He giggled a little to himself, as he heard what sounded like a cane and sneakers. He had such weird dreams on some of these meds.
“You’re an idiot.” said House’s voice, gruffly, a dull thud and then a rustle and then grunts and groans accompanying it.
Chase grunted. Well he wasn’t gonna let himself just get yelled at, even if it had been nice to have a dreamland visit from a dead friend.
He rubbed his eyes open, his whole hand and every joint and muscle panging intensely as he did.
He started. A fairly bushy white and grey beard, longish if receding hair, and startlingly blue eyes were glaring down at him.
“Oh great, I’m hallucinating now..:” grumbled Chase.
House, if he was real, snorted, “you wish.”
Chase was fairly bemused as his arm was picked up, a blood pressure cuff wrapped around his bicep, pumped full, stethoscope slipped under the edge on his inner elbow.
“...House?”
House looked at him, evenly, “be quiet. I need to listen.”
Chase closed his eyes and let his head rest back down. Maybe when he woke up again this would make more sense.
“Okay, your BP is in the tank, but I don’t think you need an IV. Not that they have any fluids to spare for your idiot ass.”
Chase turned his head and looked up at House, “why is even a hallucination of you this annoying?”
House shook his head. He dug in the backpack he had apparently lugged into Chase’s apartment. He dragged out a carton of pedialyte, opened it, and held it out towards Chase.
Chase hesitated. If he reached out he would find out how crazy he was. He was really thirsty. He reached out.
A very solid, heavy bottle first rested in his hand, then slid out of it. House caught it, opened it, held it up. Chase managed to drink from it some. His body didn’t want much, but it still made him feel better.
House put the jug down, and dug some more in the bag. He held out a thermometer, “you feel warm.”
Chase shook his head a little, “I don’t have a fever.”
House glared at him, “I will shove this in your–”
“I don’t have a fever. It would make more sense if I did. But I don’t.”
House paused, looked him up and down, “this isn’t just a self destructive spiral?”
Chase raised an eyebrow, “why are you here? How are you here?”
House shrugged, “Park is worried, went to Cameron. Cameron couldn’t get a hold of you, was worried by what Park said was happening. She thought there was a chance I had faked my death. She opened an Ebay store for monster truck memorabilia and investigated where everything she sold went…at least I get the solace that she’s stuck with a garage full of Gravedigger merch.”
Chase sighed, and laid his head back down. He should have just let Park try and figure things out, or answered Cameron’s messages. Or the door one of the numerous times she had tried to check on him before he moved to a smaller place. Though then she would have known for certain that something was wrong.
Then he looked over at House, “wait, is Wilson…?”
House shook his head, “no. He made it a lot longer than we thought he would. But in the end…he was in too much pain.”
Chase swallowed, knowing what House must have had to do. Then he paused. He looked at House again, “you came back from the dead because I was in bad shape?”
House shook his head, “I came back from the dead, to you, because Cameron was going to tell more than just you that I was alive if I didn’t. I can’t believe she’s back at Princeton Plainsboro and let you disappear like this. Also, deadbeat dad doesn’t suit you.”
Chase snorted. He closed his eyes, tired out by the revelations and effort of communicating, but murmured, “what could I be to them like this? It was exhausting her to have three people to take care of on top of working full time.”
“Well, you might have asked whether she felt that way, because instead of inconveniencing her, you inconvenienced her, Cameron, and me. I’m most concerned about that last one, but all are annoying.”
Chase shrugged a little. He was fuzzy with exhaustion fading into sleep, but he still registered it when House sighed, shifted slightly, made a tense, frustrated sound.
Chase forced his eyelids back open and rolled his head to look. House had tried to reposition himself, but his leg hadn’t liked it. He was breathing in a very tight, controlled manner, preventing himself from making any further sounds of pain.
“There’s a, mmm, heating pad…” Chase waved towards where one was plugged in and laying on the arm of the couch, but long ago turned off by its own timer.
House snorted. He just moved his cane out of his way, scooted over a little, and got his right leg positioned in front of him with his hands. It was only at that point that Chase realized that most of the leg was not an actual leg.
“You…”
House looked at him, evenly, “I couldn’t take care of him. Couldn’t move him when he needed help. Had to do something.”
House rubbed the part of the leg that was still leg, and around his hip, “it’s not great. It’s a high amputation. Gets tired, hurts. But it doesn’t hurt like the infarction did.”
Chase didn’t know what to say, partially because he was halfway back to sleep.
House looked over at him, and snorted, “do you know what’s wrong with you?”
Chase shook his head a little, “no. If I could think straight…but fatigue, fog, memory problems…”
“And you didn’t think this was something to talk to your wife about. Your wife, who is a diagnostician. Or your ex wife, who is an ex diagnostician.”
Chase looked away, upset.
To his absolute shock, House’s hand gripped his. Then House put a pulse ox on his finger and let go.
Chase rolled his head back towards House. The older doctor was pulling things out of the bag, looking down with a scowl. Chase was really losing the fight to stay awake now. The last thing he registered was House grumbling vital signs to himself as he wrote them down in a notebook.
Chase woke up from his weird dream about House, needing to pee. He went to start getting up. There was a BP cuff on his arm, a pulse-ox on his finger, EKG stickers all over him, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
He sat up, pulling the cuff undone. There was a grunt from across the room at the sound of velcro. Chase looked.
House had clearly been asleep in the nearby recliner, and was just now sitting up and looking around.
“Leave that on, I need to check–” started House.
“I need to pee. Leave me alone.”
To Chase’s surprise, House shut up.
Chase unhitched himself, and got shakily to his feet. A wave of fatigue and dizziness washed over him, he almost fell, but fought it. He gripped tight to the arm of the couch for stability, feeling himself swaying a little despite himself.
House got up and came over to him, but didn’t say or actually do anything. Chase tried to walk from there to the bathroom, despite how much his whole body hurt. He wasn’t gonna crawl there in front of House, for sure.
He went to the bathroom, started back towards the couch. House stayed in the living area, watching him intently, but not following him.
Chase felt incredibly unsteady and lightheaded, but he only had fifteen feet left. He took a bigger gulp of air to try and clear his head a little. He overbalanced, couldn’t get his feet to respond in time to fix it, finally had to go down on his knees to save himself from actually falling.
He was on his hands and knees, panting, face burning hot with embarrassment. But he couldn’t get back up, couldn’t even really move. He needed a minute, or twenty.
He jerked in surprise, as a hand gripped his arm, almost kindly. But then House just put the BP cuff back on him, and pumped it back up.
“Okay,” said House, “90 over 70. Not great, Chase.”
Chase shrugged a little, “what do you want from me?”
House sighed, picked up Chase’s hand to put the pulse ox back on his finger, and then got up, “get up.”
“I can’t.”
“Then try, and I’ll get you there. Or crawl, I really don’t care. I’m just not spending the rest of the day getting up and down from the floor.”
Chase managed to get up to sitting on his ankles, looking up at House. The older man was standing over him, arms crossed, expression annoyed. His weight was largely on the left side, he did seem to be sore on the right. But he wasn’t bothering to use the cane, he seemed more to have it for balance.
Chase finally started to try and get to his feet. He barely made it, his vision went black, he felt a loose sigh escaping his body. Then arms grabbed him around the chest and he was manhandled back to the couch, not particularly gently. Chase stumbled forward, and then crumpled into the cushions, curling up around his body, every inch of it on fire.
He was too out of it in pain to really pay attention to what was happening around him at that point. But House just wouldn’t let him rest. Shook his shoulder, dragged him to sit upright.
“What are you doing?” he complained, groggily.
“Half your face is twitching. You need to get a head CT.”
“No, it’s normal,” he mumbled, and pushed away at the older doctor, “leave me alone.”
“That is not normal.”
“Happens all the time,” he said, weakly trying to pull House’s hand off his arm, but not really getting far, “facial nerve shit…”
House wouldn’t let him lay back down, keeping an iron grip on his upper arm, “sure. But you’re getting a CT.”
“Where, House? You’re dead. You don’t have privileges.”
“Gregory House might not. Silas Hawkins on the other hand…also Cameron does and I won’t even have to commit fraud and malpractice, right now anyway.”
Chase gave House a withering look, “you’re practicing?”
House shook his head, “not really. Hard to keep showing up in the field you worked in for thirty years and not get recognized. But consulting is a lucrative business.”
Chase was starting to feel increasingly faint.
House was frowning at him, tightening his grip on Chase’s arm. He picked up the hand with the pulse oximeter and looked, scowling when he saw the high number for the heartrate.
“Okay, easy,” said House, a bit gently even, “easy, here.”
House did help him lay back down then, steadying him so he didn’t just thump sideways as he faded.
Chase panted, trying to bring oxygen back to his brain.
House got up, walked into the tiny kitchen. Chase watched him go, looked down at the cane on the floor, closed his eyes.
He was woken by House accosting him with a grilled cheese sandwich, and a cup of the pedialyte.
He slowly took half the sandwich, and nibbled at it. It was actually pretty good despite being made on stale bread, and eating something hot and real hit him on the inside.
House glared at him until he managed three quarters of the sandwich and all of the pedialyte. House finally took the plate back when it seemed that Chase was going to drop it. Chase laid his head back, sighing in exhaustion and relief.
“Better,” stated House, sternly, “next time I’m making you eat the whole thing.”
House ate the end of sandwich and then started connecting the EKG leads to the stickers on Chase’s bare chest and shoulders, “your heart rhythm is normal but it keeps speeding up. See if we can catch what’s going on.”
Chase didn’t answer, he was too far towards sleep, he couldn’t even get his eyes to open. House put the last lead on. But his hand stayed put, resting on Chase’s sternum.
“Idiot,” said House, worry and was that…warmth?...in his voice.
Chase felt stronger the next time he woke up. Still exhausted and weak, but with at least enough in him to drag himself to the bathroom to shower.
He didn’t see House, but the medical bag was still there. The bedroom door was closed. House had taken over his bed, Chase guessed. Well, good. That meant Chase could try cleaning himself up for real instead of using baby wipes, and there would be someone to find him if he passed out.
Chase shuffled to the bathroom, shut the door, undressed himself, climbed shakily into the tub. He turned the water on to heat up, and closed his eyes, shivering even as his body burned.
The water finally got hot, Chase turned it down to a reasonable temperature, and then turned on the shower. He laid back, panting, rubbing his arms and body with his hands against the pain of moving.
The water massaging the deep ache in his muscles helped a little, helped ease some of the tension holding every inch of his body rigid.
Chase dozed a little, until he started to feel overheated. He sat up to turn the water temperature down, but he had to lay back immediately as black crowded at the corners of his vision. He laid there for a second, panting. Then he tried again, much more slowly. But his body said no. He slumped against the wall and back of the tub, half unconscious.
He managed to pull the curtain partway back and slump with his arm and head out of the shower, breathing the slightly cooler air. He panted, and tried to recover, but his body was just feeling worse and weaker. He tried several times to just drag himself out of the tub, but it just made him sicker and more faint. He had to lay there, just breathing, trying not to go completely unconscious.
He finally resigned himself, and hoping House didn’t have headphones on for porn, called out for help. It took three tries, but the bathroom door did burst open.
House was there, in literally just boxers and a prosthetic leg, “what?!”
Then he saw Chase trapped, turned off the water, pulled back the curtain all the way.
“Did you pass out? Did you hurt yourself?”
Chase shook his head. House carefully got down on the bathmat beside him, sighing, “look, I can get you out of there. I dragged a naked man out of a tub so many times I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve lost count. But it’s never dignified.”
Chase chuckled a little, “I can get out once I cool down. I just got overheated, and then I couldn’t turn it off.
House shrugged. He struggled to get to his feet, pushing up on the wet tub and then pulling up on the towel bar. Chase could see him wincing, as the weight shifted onto the prosthetic.
“Sorry,” said Chase, morosely.
“Whatever,” said House, “if you’re not out of here in twenty minutes I’m coming back in here and not giving you a choice.”
Chase watched House leave. No, he didn’t seem completely comfortable, but his pace was brisk, and other than getting up and down off the floor he really seemed pretty steady.
Chase closed his eyes, waiting for his body to calm down.
“Alright. Come on, sack of potatoes. You had your twenty minutes and more.”
Chase groaned, and pushed away at whatever was pulling at his arm. It hurt.
“No, really, you’re getting out now. Come on. Chase, come on, let’s go.”
Chase opened his eyes blearily. He was still in the tub. His neck hurt from the position he was in. His arm was numb. He slowly sat up, and leaned against the wall of the tub, tiredly.
“Sorry, I just fell asleep. I can get out now.”
House handed him his underwear, Chase put it on.
Chase got out of the tub, uncoordinated and groggy.
House gripped Chase’s arm, escorting him out to the living area. Chase felt better than before the shower, but still pretty sore. And his neck hurt and arm were numb and neither seemed to be going away immediately.
Chase sat down on the sofa, and immediately laid down, panting, the room spinning.
House went back into the kitchen. He came back out with a cup of what looked like chocolate milk.
“You had some half and half and some ice cream syrup,” explained House, “get some calories into your face or I won’t give you a choice.”
Chase took the drink, sighed, and drank some. It was far from the worst thing he’d had. Though there was a slight off flavor. Probably just the half and half being old.
House waited until the sedatives kicked in, then carefully rearranged Chase on the sofa, in as neutral a positions as possible. He sat down on the arm of the couch, looking down at the blond. Scruff grown in, hair grown long and greasy, pulse 96 even while drugged and asleep.
House unlocked his phone, and called Cameron, “hey. You weren’t being stupid. Get over here. I’ll send you the address.”
House opened the door, and let Cameron into the small apartment. She looked at him standing evenly sans cane, looked around at the tiny crapbox full of old takeout and pill bottles, looked at Chase passed out on the sofa looking like death.
She finally just shook her head, stepped forward, and hugged him against his will, “it’s good to see you.”
House begrudgingly patted her on the back, “it was a good trick, with the signed Gravedigger harness.”
She let go and grinned at him, “I do know you, at least a little.”
She sighed, and turned to look at Chase again.
House stepped out of her way and closed the door behind her. Cameron turned around and gestured House out of the apartment. They stood in the hall, as she worked on what to say.
“He’s in bad shape,” said House, bluntly, “he’s being an idiot.”
Cameron did chuckle a little, “and that says something, when it’s coming from you.”
House rolled his eyes but continued, “what did Park say?”
“That she loves him and wants him home but needs a partner not another child. Not because of the sick part, because of the…” Cameron gestured to the depression cave they had just exited.
House sighed, “yeah, it’s not great.”
There was a sudden sort of cheerful, but insistent tune.
Cameron looked around in confusion.
House sighed, and slapped his artificial knee slightly, “needs charged.”
Cameron stared at him.
House shrugged, “long time ago. While Wilson was still around. Can we focus on the guy who is currently self destructing?”
Cameron shook her head, “no, I get to ask at least one question. For the whole making me think you were dead thing.”
House glared at her, but didn’t argue.
“Is it better? Like, you look like you’re in less pain. But are you?”
House relaxed a little, “yeah.”
She nodded, “okay, glad. Now, yeah, let’s take care of my idiot ex-husband.”
House shook his head, “gotta go to the car for the charger. I’ll meet you in there.”
Cameron nodded and went inside.
House went down the hall and out onto the street, then unlocked his car and got his crutches and leg charger out of the back seat. He carried them back into the apartment building, his hip and remaining leg muscles were annoyed at the pace, but he ignored it.
He went inside the apartment, found an outlet in the bathroom, plugged the charger in. Then he took the leg off, plugged it in, used a rubber band to tie up his pant leg, and used the crutches to go back into the living area.
Cameron was frowning at the gauge on the BP cuff, “you were right. He needs to be taken in for treatment.”
House nodded, “you wanna call a medical transport?”
Cameron looked up at him, “we could just move…oh. Right.”
House shrugged a little, “I can help in a few hours, but unfortunately your sex partner isn’t the only thing that runs on batteries.”
Cameron completely ignored the jibe, “okay. Well, I do think he’s stable enough to wait that long. But we should call ahead, make sure we have people who will stand up to him. House, I’m sorry, but I think it’s gonna have to be Princeton Plainsboro.”
“I hate it. He’ll hate it. It’s a stupid idea, it’ll just get me arrested and him signing out AMA the second he’s conscious.”
“Well then what do you suggest?”
House sighed, and looked around the shithole, then back at Cameron, “fine. We’ll take him in a few hours when my leg is charged. You better call Cuddy first and make sure security doesn’t detain me at the doors.”
House wasn’t entirely certain about his ability to unload a gurney walking backwards, but stepping out of an ambulance onto ground he couldn’t see under the stretcher was not in the cards, so that’s where he ended up. He and Cameron got Chase’s unconscious form out of the ambulance and to the doors of the emergency department.
House turned around to open the doors for Cameron to push the gurney through, and found himself face to face with Cuddy.
“Ah!” he said, startled, “way to sneak up on a guy. Look, I’m sure you’ve got plenty to say to me, but can we focus on getting Chase stabilized, then you can draw and quarter me?”
She looked him up and down, taking in his changed appearance.
“You look…good,” she said, surprised, and then vaguely gestured at the right leg, “no pain?”
House shrugged, “no leg. Like I said, lots to chat about, but I’ve got an idiot to diagnose.”
He and Cameron took Chase inside past her, while she took in what he had said.
House was sitting in the recliner near Chase’s hospital bed, reading, occasionally glancing up to check the monitor. Cameron had gone home, but House didn’t have a nearby home to go to. That was definitely the only reason why he was going to stay and sit and watch the monitor.
There was a soft knock on the door, he turned to look. It was Cuddy, out of her business suit, in sweatpants and a sweater.
“How is he?” she asked, quietly.
“Stable,” said House, “let’s talk outside.”
Cuddy nodded.
House got up, and walked with her out of the hospital room. She watched him, not very subtle.
“Get it out of the way,” sighed House.
“You…had it amputated. Why, when?”
“When Wilson needed it.”
She bit her lip a little, and reached out, lightly touching his arm, “that must have been…”
“When I had the infarction, Stacy asked me if I would cut off the leg to save her life. I said of course. Turns out for Wilson, I’d do it just to make it a little easier to make him comfortable.”
Cuddy squeezed his arm slightly, “that was brave.”
“It was right.”
She nodded, “well, about Chase…”
House paused, and looked her in the eye. “I’m sorry. I could have killed you all.”
She took a deep breath, surprised to hear him say that. She let it out in a sort of relieved sigh, “it seems like some things have changed. Let’s focus on the present.”
House nodded, glad not to have to have more emotional conversation.
“What’s wrong with Chase?” asked Cuddy.
House shrugged, “heart, joints, brain, muscles…Won’t know until we get some tests run.”
She nodded. Then she hesitated, “House, is he…I should have followed up when he left…”
House rolled his eyes, “you get to stop feeling guilty about the leg and you immediately decide to feel guilty about Chase, instead? He was being an idiot. Don’t you be one too.”
She nodded, “are you back in town, or…?”
House shook his head, “Park called Cameron, Cameron lured me with monster truck merch, and threatened me if I didn’t come help Chase.”
Cuddy snorted, “I always did like her.”
House was largely asleep, book across his chest, when Chase started stirring on the hospital bed. House picked up the crutches from beside the chair, stood, and went to the side of the bed, eyes on the monitor.
“House…did you…kidnap me?”
“Don't sell it short. I drugged you, called your ex wife, kidnapped you with her assistance, and had you admitted to the last hospital in the world you or I would want to be at.”
Chase stared at him. Then closed his eyes and laid his head back in defeat, “the second you showed up at my apartment I was toast.”
“If by toast you mean no longer allowed to just lay there and die in your own filth, then yeah.”
Chase shrugged a tiny bit, not opening his eyes again.
House scowled at him. He didn’t like how Chase’s heartreate was rising, or how he was getting flushed and sweaty.
“What’s wrong?”
Chase rolled his head right and left a tiny bit, not answering. His body was tensing up.
“The sedatives are probably wearing off the rest of the way,” said House, “I’ll grab Cuddy to get you some pain relief. She wouldn’t let me prescribe at her hospital, can’t imagine why…”
When House came back in with Cuddy, he was unpleasantly surprised to see Chase in even worse shape. He was curled up, arms around himself, rubbing his muscles with his hands.
“Hey, Chase,” said Cuddy gently, “I’m gonna get some toradol, muscle relaxants, and ativan on board. Okay?”
Chase nodded tightly. He turned to press his face into the pillow, stifling any sounds he might end up making.
House sat down and put his leg on even if it wasn’t at full charge, in case things got worse from there.
Cuddy pushed the meds and flushed the line. Chase pushed his covers back a little, and tried to relax.
House frowned, “you should have felt cold from the IV. Did you?”
“No,” murmured Chase, “overheated.”
Cuddy looked at House, “what does that mean?”
“His autonomic nervous system is fucked up. Means it’s in his brain stem.”
Chase didn’t seem to hear. The pain at least eased somewhat, he had fallen immediately back into an exhausted slumber.
House sighed. He adjusted the blood pressure cuff a little tighter, letting his hand brush Chase’s arm to keep verifying for himself that Chase didn’t have a fever, despite the symptoms of one.
He noticed Cuddy’s eyes on his hand, and lifted it, “okay. Who’s still around to diagnose him?”
“You, apparently. Him, usually. Park, but she’s understandably fed up with him. Cameron, temporarily. Foreman is on his way into town now. I emailed Taub, but no response. I don’t know what happened to Dr. Hadley…”
House met Cuddy’s eyes, evenly, “let’s just get him diagnosed and treated before we find out if things really do happen in threes.”
Cuddy stared at him, “you…”
“Wilson had cancer. She had Huntington's. They were both alone. Someone had to.”
Her face softened, “then neither of them were alone. You were there.”
House shook his head and turned back to Chase, “whatever.”
“House–”
House spun on her, almost overbalanced, grabbed the foot of the bed, steadied himself, let go, “I get it! Okay, I’m back from the dead, people died, it’s been a long time! But I’m not here for that! I’m here for…”
House sighed, deflated, and leaned against the bed rail, glaring at her.
Infuriatingly, she smiled at him.