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The car sped steadily along the highway, the low drone of the tires merging with the rhythm of House and Wilson’s banter in the front seat. It was a familiar soundscape: Wilson’s steady, patient tone fencing against House’s sharp-edged sarcasm. Chase sat in the backseat, resting his forehead against the cool window, listening without comment.
“You don’t seriously believe her study was ground-breaking,” House was saying, twirling his cane lazily in one hand. “If I had a nickel for every time some ‘expert’ overpromised and underdelivered—”
“You’d spend them all on candy from the hospital vending machine,” Wilson interjected smoothly, eyes on the road.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” House shot back. “I’d use vending machine tokens. More efficient.”
Chase smiled faintly despite himself but shifted in his seat as a discomforting pang rippled through his bladder. He’d first noticed the need to pee about twenty minutes ago, but it had been mild—manageable. Now, the discomfort was growing sharper, his bladder pressing uncomfortably against his waistband.
They were on a highway stretch with no exits for miles, and cutting into House and Wilson’s back-and-forth felt more daunting than the prospect of holding it. He decided to wait. It couldn’t be much farther to the next stop, he reasoned. Another twenty minutes, maybe thirty at most.
But then the car slowed.
Ahead, a sea of glowing red brake lights stretched across the horizon, shimmering in the twilight.
“Traffic?” Wilson muttered, braking to a stop. “Where’s this coming from?”
“Probably some idiot who forgot how to merge,” House quipped, adjusting his seat with a dramatic sigh. “Humans. A plague on the roads.”
Chase’s stomach tightened. His bladder throbbed with renewed urgency as the car stilled. He glanced out the window, scanning for any signs of movement ahead. None. The rest stop felt like an impossible distance away now, and every passing minute made holding it harder.
He tried shifting positions, crossing his legs tightly and leaning forward slightly, but it only provided minimal relief. His thighs tensed with effort as he clenched every muscle in his lower half.
“You okay back there, Wombat?” House asked suddenly, twisting in his seat to look at him. “You’re quieter than usual. Contemplating the mysteries of the universe? Or just pouting?”
“I’m fine,” Chase said quickly, his voice tight. His cheeks flushed as he avoided House’s scrutinizing gaze.
House narrowed his eyes, leaning back into his seat with exaggerated slowness. “Hmm. We’ll see.”
Minutes ticked by, and the traffic remained unmoving. Chase’s desperation grew exponentially, his bladder aching with unrelenting pressure. He bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself to hold it. He couldn’t ask Wilson to pull over—there was nowhere to pull over, and the rest stop was still too far away.
A sudden wave of urgency hit, and Chase’s body tensed involuntarily. His toes curled in his shoes as he pressed his thighs together so tightly it almost hurt. A faint sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead, and he leaned forward, trying to discreetly apply pressure to his abdomen.
“Wilson,” House said, breaking the silence. “He’s doing the dance.”
“What dance?” Wilson asked, frowning at the rear view mirror.
“The ‘I’m-about-to-pee-my-pants’ dance,” House replied. He craned his neck toward Chase with an infuriating grin. “Right, Chase?”
“Shut up, House,” Chase snapped, mortified. His ears burned as he looked away.
House smirked. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“House,” Wilson warned, his tone sharp.
“I’m just trying to help,” House said innocently, rummaging through the cluttered centre console. He pulled out an empty water bottle and held it up triumphantly. “Here. Problem solved.”
Chase recoiled. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” House said, tossing the bottle into Chase’s lap. “Either use that, or the backseat becomes a wading pool.”
Chase glared at the bottle like it might explode. “I’m not using it.”
“Your funeral,” House said with a shrug, turning back toward the front. “But don’t say I didn’t offer.”
More minutes crawled by, and the traffic didn’t budge. Chase’s desperation reached a breaking point, his entire body tense and trembling. He squirmed in his seat, barely able to sit still. A sharp spasm jolted through his bladder, and he felt a mortifying warmth dampen his boxers.
His breath hitched, panic surging through him. “Okay—fine. Give me the stupid bottle.”
House turned with a grin, holding up his hands. “Already did. You’re welcome.”
Chase grabbed the bottle with trembling hands, his face burning hotter than the setting sun outside. He turned as far toward the window as he could, screwing off the cap.
“Don’t look,” he muttered, his voice tight.
“Wilson, stop staring,” House said, his voice laced with mock offense.
“I’m not staring,” Wilson snapped, keeping his eyes firmly on the road.
Chase closed his eyes, blocking out their voices. The humiliation was unbearable, but the relief that followed was undeniable. When he was finished, he capped the bottle and shoved it onto the floor, slumping back into his seat, utterly spent.
“Happy now?” he muttered, glaring at House.
House grinned. “Ecstatic. That was easily the highlight of my day.”
“I think you handled it well, Chase,” Wilson said gently, offering a sympathetic smile in the rearview mirror.
Chase groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. He vowed then and there never to ride with them again.