Work Text:
Chase was in an awful mood. Nothing was worse than a clinic duty right after a fight with House.
It wasn't even a huge fight, just a small disagreement between them that suddenly got out of control.
"It was just a small mistake with no consequence to the patient or diagnosi—"
"You're useless here. Go, take my clinic hours."
"Really? I took a risk, and it didn't work; that's it, my big mistake. You always expect us to take a risk, but not when it's me who does it. Because 'Chase is just a dog to kick'. Rebel against you, bad; do as you expect, also bad. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. I've worked for you for years; what will it take to make you proud at least once ?"
"First, there must be something to be proud of. Now go; you're wasting space here. God, I should've never taken that phone call from Rowan Chase…"
Obviously, Chase knew that it wasn't a big deal. Not with House. It never was. He probably was in a bad mood; he always was when it was a "bad leg day".
But it still stung a bit. Also, for some unknown reason, he had had some feeling of dread ever since entering the hospital, which only multiplied when he walked to the clinic. It wasn't his usual annoyance at House for passing his clinic duties onto him. It was something different, like he was sensing some impending doom.
His thoughts were disturbed by the sudden sound of the door being opened harshly. He turned to the source of the sound.
"Hello, I'm Doctor Chas—"
The metal reflected light, blinking as the hand of the knife's carrier shook.
He remembered that patient; it was—
The first stab was shocking, the blade's coldness weirdly soothing at first, as if it stopped the time around him.
But then it was taken out, leaving the hole that was sucking all air out of him.
The next ones were dulled by the sensation of his back hitting the floor.
It took a while for the pain to set in. But by the time it did, by the time he fully registered what was happening, he felt like he was too weak to move, to do anything to stop it. He only whimpered quietly as the blade slid into his chest again.
I thought that I could save the sick
I did not go to med school for this
House was close when he heard a sudden scream. Bloodcurdling scream of some nurse. The pure horror and despair in it made him curious. He headed towards where the sound had come from.
Security was leading some man out of the clinic, he was handcuffed, and his hands and clothes were covered in blood. In the meantime, some doctors and nurses ran into one of the exam rooms.
House smirked.
"And to think of the huge tragedy we just avoided… I was the one assigned to that roo—" He froze, his smirk leaving as the realisation hit him.
He was supposed to be assigned there today. Which meant…
No.
No.
Nonononononono.
The cane clinked as it hit the ground, accompanied by the sound of running; the leg pain suddenly forgotten.
"Fuck!"
The moment he reached the door, his heart dropped.
Despite the several people around, he could see it easily. The blond doctor on the floor, his shirt soaked with several red stains. He was already hooked up to monitors and IV fluids, and he had an oxygen mask.
He immediately knelt by him.
"Chase, hey, look at me."
The young doctor's eyes fluttered open.
"H-House…" He wheezed, his hand removing the oxygen mask shakily. "I—I'm sorry—" He coughed, blood splattering on his mouth and chin.
"Shh, don't waste your breath." He forced the mask back on. "What are you even sorry for?"
"My father… making that call…"
House froze. He knew what Chase was doing, and it was making something stir in him. "Shut up; don't even dare…".
No, this was not the end. Couldn't be…
Suddenly, a drop of water fell on Chase. House frowned, seeing the Australian's shock. Then he realised, his hand moving up to his own cheek.
"You're crying…?" Chase whispered, still shocked, although it was a bit washed away with tiredness, his eyes turning dull.
House was silent for a while. What was he supposed to say to that? "No, I'm not"? Or "Of course I am; you're bleeding out, idiot"?
But before he could think about it, the other doctor's eyes closed, the monitors beeping sharply. Then he was wheeled away on the bed. House stayed there for a while, his jeans soaking up the pool of blood beneath him.
The waiting was killing him. Each second felt like an hour. Each minute felt like an eternity…
His thoughts were racing.
The last conversation they had was a fight. He called him useless, saying he was wasting space. He insinuated he regretted hiring him…
The guilt was consuming him. And that wasn't even the biggest reason for it.
He had sent him to the clinic. He was supposed to be there. Chase wasn't; he was there only because he was doing his clinic hours.
He was the reason he was fighting for his life now. That thought was making him sick. He should've been in that OR now, not Chase…
The corridor was filled with silence. Well, if it wasn't for Cameron's sobbing and Foreman's constant foot tapping.
"Ugh, stop it!" House snapped. "You're acting like a kid in a school bus that forgot to go to the bathroom." He hissed at Foream. "And you," He added, glancing at Cameron. "are howling like an ambulance siren."
"Oh, forgive us for having feelings! Not everyone is heartless like you!" Foreman replied.
"And you think all this noise means 'caring'? How does it even help?"
"And how are you helping? You're just sitting here, acting like it's a casual Tuesday!"
For a while they were all shouting over each other.
Until the door opened. They all shut up immediately.
Then they saw him. The surgeon. Pale, looking down, as if he wished he could disappear rather than be standing in front of them all. Rather than be about to say what he was about to say…
Then, he finally spoke.
"I… I'm sorry… There was nothing we could do. The damage was too extensive…"
The rest of the words were blurred into the fog. It felt like a dream. Or, more precisely,
House got up.
He didn't know what he felt, but he felt a lot. Suddenly, he understood all those parents weeping in the corridors after hearing that news.
"I'm sorry, your son is dead."
Well, Chase wasn't his son. But suddenly it felt like it. Suddenly he felt like a father who just lost his kid.
He laughed bitterly, the sound echoing through the corridor, piercing it like an icy sword.
It was ironic, wasn't it? Not realising he had a son until he was dead.
Ironic.
And so… unfair.
Without a hesitation, he went straight to the OR, not even acknowledging the protests. What was the contamination going to do? Kill Chase more? He was already dead.
Chase was dead.
Dead.
Chase. Was. Dead.
He walked over to the operating table and stopped, glancing down at him.
There he was. His eyes closed, he looked peaceful, as if he were just asleep. If you didn't count how white his face was. And the blood surrounding him. And the monitor that was still on. The flatline was making House's ears ring.
He hesitated, then his hand ran over his cheek shakily. The skin was already getting cold and slightly stiff. He ran his hand softly, as if caressing the face he knew so well.
He analysed the face, how still it was, thinking of all smiles and pouting and—
He froze as he heard the sob.
Whose was it? There was no one else beside Chase, who was dead, and him—
Oh.
Oh.
He took a shaky breath before another sob left his mouth. Then he took a shaky breath.
"You know… I didn't hire you because of that phone call… I mean, I did, but… but not for him… It was out of spite… just to fuck with some pathetic nepo baby… But you weren't… And, besides what I've said… I… I've never regretted it… I mean, sure, you were annoying, all that ass-kissing and pouting and— and who even pronounces 'no' as 'naur'? And—"
Another shaky breath.
"The point is… I didn't actually regret it…"
There was a while of silence; the only sound was the flatline.
"I shouldn't have sent you to that dreadful clinic; those were my hours today; I—"
He closed his eyes. "This is useless… And pathetic…" he huffed. "You can't even hear me…"
He turned and walked to the door.
But as he was about to press the door handle, he stopped.
"I… I was proud of you…" he whispered before leaving the OR.