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Robert does not walk into a bar. He would like that to be noted. Maybe even celebrated. Even after making the worst mistake he possibly could have- if House was there, he would have said something about those Vicodin pills- he does not walk into a bar.
For better or for worse, he walks up to the door of a church. He knows why. He knows what he’s searching for. And then he doesn’t know why. What would fix this? What would bring mercy? What would allow him to feel that warmth that had coursed through him when he thought maybe, just maybe, the impossible could occur?
What could save him, aside from his own blood in a pool around him, the killer finally killed?
He turns away before he gets too close. He doesn’t want to be seen. If he is seen, he will be beckoned. And he will go, because this is not something you leave. It finds you when you need it most.
Funny that. How needing it most always seems to be the result of an unspeakable event.
He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t eat. He doesn’t deserve it. If the world cannot punish him the way that must be done, he will do it to himself.
Except there’s people that watch him now. There’s people that look at him when he walks in, stumbling over his own feet and banging into things that were absolutely there moments before. There are people that know when he is acting differently and when he is lying.
When he was younger, that had been all he wanted. Now, he wishes nobody could see him. He doesn’t feel like he’s gotten what he needs yet, and so he hasn’t stopped.
House takes over again, and still, the jokes that are actually the press of a knife against his skin do not alleviate the wretched feeling in his chest.
It takes two more days for a confrontation. It’s three more days than Chase had been expecting.
“You were suspended and there is a permanent mark on your record. Isn’t that enough for your little Catholic boy self?” He asks, not even pretending to be sympathetic.
Chase freezes where he stands. “Not here. Please.” He has associations with every place he’s stood. The conference room cannot be associated with this.
There’s something in his voice that causes House to freeze. Because he can be cruel, but he tries not to be mean.
“Okay,” he says. “But your words imply that you understand that we are still doing this. I will give you one choice. Where?”
Chase will never have reason to enter his home. And whilst seeing that House is merely a man may be the final straw before he is utterly ruined, it is as close to a confession booth as he can go.
“Anywhere but here or my place,” he whispers. And then he turns and looks House in the eyes, because he deserves that much at least. “Please.”
Momentarily, House clenches his jaw. “We will do it at my apartment.”
Chase relaxes, ever so slightly. Again, House wonders when everyone stopped paying attention to him. It’s the only explanation for how he can be so obvious but so subtle.
“Thank you.”
“I haven’t given you anything.”
“Not yet.”
House does not fear most things. He fears for them though. He fears for Chase especially.
It’s late when Chase comes. He’s awkward. Everything is uncomfortable and too quiet.
“What is going on?” House asks, after Chase doesn’t look at him.
Chase shakes his head. “I can’t explain it to you.”
He blinks. “You think I’m stupid? Think I can’t see that this is just you trying to feel something?”
“It’s not like that,” Chase protests, because it really isn’t. Not to him.
“No? Then why are you doing it? Foreman has pushed, and you didn’t even fall for it. Cameron tried, and you batted her away. Cuddy asked, and you ran. And now you’re here, and I’m asking but you still-”
“None of you will get it! None of you will understand. I need to be- this is my punishment. Nothing else will suffice.”
House doesn’t stand. Not yet. “You think- you honestly think that none of us will understand what it feels like to have the blame for a patient?”
“None of you believe in God in the same way that I do,” Chase says, sharper than he meant to.
“You don’t believe in God the way you think you do,” House retaliates.
“You don’t outgrow being Catholic. No matter how hard you try. I am still His,” Chase says. It’s matter of fact. Like when he’s confident in the diagnosis, and no amount of tests will allow himself to be convinced otherwise.
“Oh?”
It’s not lost on House that Chase tilts his head up before responding. “This is why I didn’t want to do this with you.”
“And yet you’re still here. You haven’t gone to a priest.”
“A priest would be too kind to me,” Chase says, finally admitting what’s really stopped him.
A priest would hear the full story, and say he made one mistake that he has given his penance for already, even before the confession. A priest would tell him he is loved and he is allowed to move forward now.
That’s not what he deserves.
“How would it be too kind? You said it yourself. Doctors miss these questions all the time because they are lazy. I made you do all of what I did because you spilled the pills. And like everyone now knows, you only forgot because your father died. Of a cancer he didn’t think was worth telling you about.”
“That is why it would be too kind. I don’t love my father. I don’t care about him. His death should have been like a patient death.”
It’s a crass thing to say, but he can’t let himself feel everything the same way Cameron does. He would never be able to work again if he did. He’s not strong like her.
“Blood is a funny thing. You should know that, as a doctor and a person with two parents who he loves enough to grieve but not miss. You’re still avoiding admitting what you really want. I don’t think it’s to be told that you’re still a good doctor, or that there’s a punishment just for this. I think it’s something else.”
Chase clenches his fists by his side. “What I want is not something I deserve or can be given.”
House tilts his head slightly. “You’re punishing yourself.” It clicks. “You want forgiveness.”
Something inside Chase breaks. “Of course I want forgiveness! I want this weight on my chest to be gone, I want to be able to ask questions without checking fifty times it’s the right one, I want to go back to normal!”
“And none of that can happen without forgiveness?”
“A sin is a sin, but forgiveness means you can move on, and it means it’s not haunting you,” he says, feeling tears start to prick the back of his eyes.
“Those little girls-”
“Kayla’s daughters will not understand what I did until the only person they want is their mother, and she is the only person they cannot have,” Chase says, because he knows. He knows, too well.
And suddenly, his body cannot handle the weight of all his actions. It is strange, how House’s apartment- dark, dimly lit, clouding their features- has become confession. Chase supposes it makes sense. As far as humans go, House is the most steady and infallible one he knows.
He sinks to the floor, body shaking with the weight of his sobs. He keeps his head bowed and his hands folded in his lap. He tries not to think about the hair falling in his face, or the jokes House is going to make at his expense. All he can think about is what he has done, and how there is nobody who can give him what he so desperately needs because there is nobody who understands.
“Chase,” House says. His voice sounds different. More forceful.
Chase forces himself to look up. His eyes are sparkling, his bottom lip trembling. He is on his knees, looking up at someone who is more than he will ever be, but simultaneously just a man.
And House chooses this moment to stand. He does not think of himself of anything but a man, no matter what others say. He knows what Chase thinks of him, has seen that look on too many patients. What he says next may risk everything, but there is too much to lose if he is silent. “You have faced enough punishment. You are forgiven.”
It should not mean anything. And yet, somehow, when Chase cries again, there is a difference. It is lighter and more peaceful.
House does not touch him. He does not need to. The power he holds over the boy- that’s what he is, compared to the rest of them- in front of him, renders it completely unnecessary.
Robert Chase breaks under the weight of forgiveness. And then he comes back to the world. House is cruel, although not mean, in an attempt to disrupt the perception.
He forgets what Chase was raised with. It only makes it stronger.