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House knew something was off with Chase.
It wasn’t anything obvious—not at first. Chase still showed up to work on time, still contributed to differentials, still did what was asked of him.
But there were little things.
The way he kept his sleeves tugged down farther than usual.
The way he hesitated when rolling them up for procedures.
The way his posture was just a little too stiff, like he was careful not to move in certain ways.
And then, today—
House watched as Chase took a chart from the counter, turned too quickly, and flinched.
Barely a fraction of a second. Just a tiny, involuntary hitch in his breath.
But House caught it.
He narrowed his eyes, watching as Chase kept moving, pretending like nothing happened.
Cameron and Foreman were oblivious, caught up in some debate about their latest patient.
But House saw it.
And he wasn’t going to let it go.
Later, House cornered Chase in the locker room.
“Take off your shirt.”
Chase froze mid-reach for his bag. “What?”
House leaned against the lockers, gripping his cane. “You heard me. Take it off.”
Chase’s fingers clenched around the strap. “No.”
House tilted his head. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to,” Chase snapped.
House smirked, but there was no humor in it. “See, that makes me even more suspicious.”
Chase exhaled sharply. “I’m not doing this with you.”
He turned to leave.
House swung his cane out, blocking the path.
Chase scowled. “Seriously?”
House raised an eyebrow. “Seriously.”
A beat.
Then Chase sighed —long and frustrated—and shrugged off his white coat.
But he didn’t roll up his sleeves.
House narrowed his eyes. “All the way.”
Chase’s jaw clenched. “House—”
“All the way, Chase.”
A pause.
Then—slowly, stiffly—Chase unbuttoned the cuffs and pushed his sleeves up.
House went still.
There were bandages.
Neat, precise strips of gauze wrapped around Chase’s forearms, disappearing beneath the fabric.
House’s stomach twisted.
Chase’s expression was guarded. “Satisfied?”
House swallowed. His grip on his cane tightened.
Then, carefully—too carefully—he said, “Take them off.”
Chase immediately shook his head. “No.”
“Chase.”
“I said no.”
House’s voice dropped. “Are they fresh?”
Chase pressed his lips together. “I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Chase turned away, yanking his sleeves back down. “Drop it, House.”
House didn’t.
Didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched as Chase grabbed his bag and walked out.
His chest felt tight.
This wasn’t over.
House gave it a day.
Not because he wanted to, but because he knew Chase would dig his heels in if pushed too soon. He’d get defensive, shut down, and House would get nowhere.
So he waited.
Watched.
Chase was good at pretending nothing was wrong. Too good.
But House saw the winces. The careful way Chase held his arms close to his body. The way he avoided rolling up his sleeves unless absolutely necessary—and even then, how quickly he yanked them back down when no one was looking.
House wasn’t the only one noticing.
Cameron’s gaze lingered a little too long on Chase’s movements.
Foreman’s eyes flickered to his sleeves during rounds.
But neither of them said anything.
House didn’t blame them. Chase could be a brick wall when he wanted to be.
But House wasn’t them.
“Take off the bandages.”
Chase didn’t even look up from the patient file. “No.”
House slammed his cane down on the table. “I wasn’t asking.”
Chase flinched. Caught.
Foreman and Cameron both looked up.
Chase shot House a warning glare. “Not here.”
House tilted his head. “Then where?”
Silence.
Chase exhaled sharply, shoved the file into his bag, and stood. “Fine.”
House followed.
In House’s office, Chase hovered near the desk, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
House shut the door.
“Sit.”
Chase didn’t move.
House stared him down.
A long pause. Then, finally, Chase dropped into the chair.
House leaned against his desk. “Take them off.”
Chase clenched his jaw. “House—”
“I said take them off.”
Chase exhaled sharply through his nose, frustration flickering across his face.
But after a long moment, his fingers went to the cuffs of his sleeves.
One button. Then another.
He pushed them up.
House saw the bandages again.
Neat. Tight. Too practiced.
House swallowed. “All of it.”
Chase hesitated. His shoulders were tense, his fingers twitching slightly against the fabric.
House’s voice softened. Just slightly. “Chase.”
That did it.
Chase let out a breath, and—reluctantly—began unwinding the gauze.
House braced himself.
And then—
He saw.
Dark, raw cuts. Some healing. Some not.
Some too fresh.
House’s stomach twisted.
Chase’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor.
House took a slow breath.
“Jesus, Chase.”
Nothing. No reaction.
House forced his voice steady. “How long?”
A pause.
Then, barely above a whisper—
“Does it matter?”
House felt something cold settle in his chest.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it does.”
House wasn’t known for patience.
He wanted answers. Now.
But Chase was sitting in front of him, silent, staring at his own hands like they weren’t even his, and House knew this wasn’t something he could fix in five minutes.
Didn’t mean he wouldn’t try anyway.
House’s voice stayed firm. “How long?”
Chase exhaled through his nose, still refusing to look at him. “A while.”
“Specificity, Chase.”
Chase’s jaw tightened.
House narrowed his eyes. “Before you started working here?”
Nothing.
House pushed harder. “Before your dad—”
“Yes,” Chase snapped. His eyes flashed up, sharp and defensive. “Before that.”
House tilted his head. “And since then?”
Chase’s fingers twitched slightly against his knee. “Off and on.”
House took that in.
His gaze flicked to the cuts. Some older, faded into scars. Some scabbing over. And some—red, raw, not even beginning to heal.
Fresh. Too fresh.
House clenched his jaw. “How fresh?”
Chase hesitated.
House’s grip tightened on his cane. “When was the last time?”
Chase’s lips parted like he wanted to lie—like he knew House would see through it—but then he exhaled sharply and muttered, “Two nights ago.”
House’s chest felt tight.
His voice dropped. “And if I hadn’t said anything?”
Chase’s fingers curled into a fist. “I don’t know.”
House wanted to hit something. Not Chase , but—something. The desk. The wall. Anything.
Instead, he forced his tone steady.
“You know this is a problem, right?”
Chase didn’t answer.
House tilted his head. “Do you even want to stop?”
That got a reaction. Chase tensed, his shoulders tightening under the weight of the question.
He swallowed. His voice came out quiet. “It’s not that simple.”
House exhaled sharply. “It is if you let it be.”
Chase let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, right. Yeah. I’ll just stop —why didn’t I think of that?”
House’s eyes darkened. “You should think of that.”
Chase glared at him. “Do you think I want this?”
House didn’t answer.
Because he wasn’t sure.
Chase exhaled, his voice tight. “You don’t get it.”
House’s gaze sharpened. “Then explain it.”
Chase went silent again.
House let it sit for a moment, watching him. Watching the way his posture screamed exhaustion, the way his fingers twitched like they wanted to go back to his arms, like stopping was making him physically itch.
House exhaled, his voice quieter now. “You need stitches.”
Chase’s fingers curled tighter. “They’ll heal.”
“Not well.”
Chase shook his head, already shutting down. “I’m not going to the ER.”
House rolled his eyes. “I am the ER.”
Chase shot him a look. “I’m not letting you stitch me up.”
“Tough.”
House grabbed the first aid kit from his desk.
Chase stiffened. “House—”
House cut him off. “Let me be very clear—either you sit there and take it, or I call Wilson. ”
That did it.
Chase’s whole body tensed, eyes flashing with something almost like panic.
House smirked grimly. “That’s what I thought.”
Chase exhaled sharply. “You’re an ass.”
House shrugged, setting the kit on the desk. “And you’re an idiot. Take your pick.”
Chase muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t move.
House took that as consent.
“Alright,” he said, snapping on a pair of gloves.
House didn’t say anything else.
Didn’t waste time. Didn’t give Chase a chance to argue.
Just pulled the chair closer, grabbed Chase’s arm, and got to work.
Chase tensed but didn’t pull away. He just sat there , jaw locked, staring at the bookshelf like if he didn’t acknowledge what was happening, it wasn’t real.
House ignored it.
He worked quickly, efficiently. Cleaned the wounds, making sure they weren’t infected. They were deep, but not bad enough to need the ER— despite what he said, not bad enough for stitches if House was careful.
He could fix this.
At least—the physical part of it.
Chase barely reacted.
Didn’t wince when the antiseptic burned. Didn’t flinch when House wrapped the gauze.
Didn’t say a word.
House hated that.
“Most people complain when I play doctor,” he muttered.
Chase gave a humorless smirk. “I’m not most people.”
House snorted. “No kidding.”
Silence stretched.
House finished wrapping the bandage and finally let go of Chase’s wrist.
“Done,” he said.
Chase exhaled, flexing his fingers slightly.
House leaned back, watching him.
“Now comes the part where I tell you you’re an idiot.”
Chase let out a short, dry laugh. “Figured.”
House’s tone stayed flat. “What’s the plan here?”
Chase frowned. “What do you mean?”
House gestured vaguely. “The plan, Chase. You keep doing this forever? You wait until you hit something important and bleed out? You get caught and end up on mandatory leave?”
Chase’s expression flickered.
House leaned forward slightly, voice quieter but sharper.
“Or do you stop?”
Chase exhaled. His fingers twitched against his knee, almost like a reflex—like they wanted to reach for his arm but couldn’t.
His voice came out quiet. “I don’t know.”
House studied him.
Didn’t like that answer.
Didn’t like any of this.
His voice stayed steady. “Try again.”
Chase swallowed.
“I—”
And then—he stopped.
House waited.
But Chase didn’t say anything else.
Just clenched his jaw, crossed his arms, and turned away slightly— shutting down.
House sighed.
Fine. If Chase wanted to be stubborn, House could out-stubborn him.
He tapped his cane against the floor. “New rule. You don’t touch your arms without me checking first.”
Chase’s eyes snapped to him. “That’s ridiculous.”
House raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? And?”
Chase let out a frustrated exhale. “I don’t need—”
“You do.”
Chase’s jaw tightened. “House—”
“I don’t trust you.”
That shut him up.
House didn’t look away. “I don’t trust you, and you haven’t given me a reason to. So—until you do? This is how it works.”
Chase’s fingers curled into a fist.
House softened. Just slightly.
“I’m not gonna let you do this to yourself.”
Chase’s throat bobbed.
House leaned back. “So what’s it gonna be?”
Chase hesitated.
And then—after a long, tense pause—he gave a short, reluctant nod.
House smirked grimly.
“Good,” he said. “Because I wasn’t actually giving you a choice.”
House didn’t let Chase out of his sight for the rest of the day.
Not obviously. Not in a way Chase could call him out for. But every time Chase shifted in his chair, House’s eyes flicked over. Every time Chase adjusted his sleeves, House leaned forward just enough to make sure he wasn’t pulling them down to hide something.
It was suffocating.
Chase tolerated it for about three hours before finally snapping.
“ Can you stop? ”
House raised an eyebrow. “No.”
Chase clenched his jaw. “I told you I’d stop.”
House twirled his cane between his fingers. “Right. And that’s worked so well for you in the past.”
Chase exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “You don’t trust me.”
House shrugged. “Correct.”
Chase looked at him, frustration flickering into something smaller. Quieter.
That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
House sighed and set his cane down, leaning forward slightly.
“You say you’ll stop,” he said, voice even. “Great. But I don’t trust words—I trust actions. ”
Chase swallowed.
House kept his gaze steady. “You want me to trust you? Show me I can.”
Chase hesitated.
And then, after a long pause, he gave a stiff nod.
House smirked slightly, leaning back. “Good.”
A few beats of silence.
Chase shifted. “So—what now?”
House grabbed a sticky note off his desk and scribbled something down.
He slid it toward Chase.
Chase frowned, looking at it. “A schedule?”
House nodded. “New rule—daily check-ins. You want me to trust you? Prove I don’t have to watch you like a hawk. ”
Chase exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.
“This is stupid,” he muttered.
House smirked. “And yet—you’ll do it.”
Chase didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to answer.
Because House knew he would.