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The Princeton-Plainsboro Diagnostic Medicine lab was eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of the centrifuge. Chase had been alone for hours, finishing up a round of tests that House had dumped on him at the last minute. Everyone else had left for the evening, and while Chase wasn’t thrilled to be stuck here late, he found the solitude somewhat soothing. That was, until he tripped over the base of a rolling chair and managed to wedge his foot between a storage rack and the corner of the desk.
At first, he thought it was nothing. A simple pull, and he’d be free. But no. His sneaker was jammed tight, the angle awkward. He grumbled under his breath, trying to twist his foot free. The rack wobbled dangerously, threatening to spill its contents, and he quickly abandoned that idea.
“Fantastic,” he muttered, pulling out his phone. It was nearly dead—of course—and he knew House was the only person still in the hospital this late. He dialed.
The phone rang and rang before House finally picked up. “What now, Dr. Barbie?”
“I’m stuck in the lab,” Chase said, annoyance creeping into his tone.
“Stuck how? Like emotionally, or…?”
“Physically. My foot’s caught under the storage rack.”
There was a pause. “This is why we don’t skip leg day,” House quipped.
“Can you just come help?” Chase snapped. “I’d rather not spend all night here.”
“I’m on my way,” House said lazily, hanging up without another word.
Chase sighed, leaning back against the desk. He hoped House wouldn’t take his sweet time, but knowing him, that was probably wishful thinking. As the minutes ticked by, a new, pressing discomfort began to make itself known.
He needed to pee.
It wasn’t urgent at first, just a faint twinge. But as the clock continued its relentless march, the twinge became an ache, and the ache grew into a gnawing pressure. He shifted uncomfortably, his trapped position making it impossible to do much more than squirm. The edge of the desk dug into his back as he leaned forward, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his bladder.
“Come on, House,” he muttered under his breath, bouncing his free leg. The motion provided a bit of distraction, but not nearly enough.
The minutes dragged on, and Chase’s situation grew increasingly dire. The hum of the centrifuge seemed louder now, a taunting backdrop to his growing desperation. He clenched his thighs together, biting his lip as the pressure mounted. His foot was still wedged firmly under the rack, and every attempt to free it only sent jolts of pain through his ankle.
By the time House finally strolled in, nearly half an hour later, Chase was on the verge of losing it.
“Having fun down there?” House drawled, leaning on his cane as he took in the scene. His sharp blue eyes quickly picked up on Chase’s rigid posture and tense expression. “You look… uncomfortable.”
“No kidding,” Chase snapped. “My foot is stuck, and I—” He cut himself off, his face flushing. He couldn’t bring himself to admit the rest.
House tilted his head, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “And you what?” he prompted, stepping closer. “You’ve been trapped here for, what, half an hour? Let me guess—you have to pee.”
Chase’s silence was answer enough. He avoided House’s gaze, shifting awkwardly and wincing at the movement.
“Oh, this is gold,” House said, his smirk widening. “Dr. Perfect has a perfectly embarrassing problem.”
“Can you just get me out of here?” Chase snapped, his voice tight.
“Sure,” House said breezily, but he made no move to help. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small plastic urinal—the kind they kept stocked in patient rooms. He held it up like a prize. “Unless you’d rather handle your little emergency first?”
Chase stared at the urinal, mortified. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” House asked, arching an eyebrow. “You’re not getting out of that spot anytime soon. Trust me, I could have you free in five seconds, but watching you squirm is way more entertaining.”
Chase glared at him, his face burning. But another sharp wave of pressure had him doubling over slightly, and he realized he didn’t have much choice. “Fine,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Just… turn around or something.”
“Oh, no. I’m staying right here,” House said, leaning against the desk. “For moral support.”
Chase groaned, snatching the urinal from House’s hand. He fumbled with his belt, his hands shaking slightly from a mix of desperation and embarrassment. House’s amused gaze didn’t help.
“Any day now,” House quipped.
Chase finally managed to relieve himself, the sound of the stream hitting the plastic unbearably loud in the otherwise silent lab. His cheeks burned, and he avoided looking at House the entire time. When he was done, he capped the urinal and thrust it back at House, who took it with a mocking bow.
“Feel better?” House asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Just get me out of here,” Chase snapped, his humiliation complete.
House chuckled, crouching down and easily manoeuvring the storage rack enough to free Chase’s foot. Chase stood, testing his ankle, and shot House a glare before limping toward the door.
“Next time, maybe wear Velcro,” House called after him. “Wouldn’t want you getting stuck again.”
Chase didn’t dignify him with a response.