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House noticed it the moment Chase walked into the conference room.
It was subtle at first. The kind of thing anyone else would miss. But House had spent an entire night coaxing the kid version of Chase through crayons, bedtime, and a story about a flying dog, so he knew the signs now.
Chase looked wrong.
Not the kind of wrong that meant pneumonia or a random autoimmune meltdown. The other kind. The soft, quiet, shrinking-in-on-himself wrong.
His steps were careful. Too careful. Shoulders round, eyes heavy, skin pale in the way that only fever could manage. He was clutching a file with both hands like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
And his lower lip was pushed out just the slightest bit.
House narrowed his eyes.
That was new.
Chase dropped into his chair with a tiny huff, the kind that would have been a sigh if he were twenty-six. But he wasn’t twenty-six right now. Not entirely.
House walked up behind him and rapped his cane against the back of his chair.
No reaction.
Not even a flinch.
Interesting.
Normally, Chase jerked at least five inches into the air whenever House snuck up on him. Today he just blinked slowly, head wobbling a little before he lifted his gaze.
His pupils were huge. His face flushed. His hair all mussed from where he had probably run his hands through it one too many times.
And the moment House really looked at him, Chase immediately ducked his head like he had done something wrong.
Yeah. Something was going on.
Foreman was rambling about test results, Cameron was asking questions, and Chase was staring at a single paragraph on a page like he was trying to decode ancient hieroglyphics.
House poked his arm with the cane.
"Hey. Sunshine. You alive in there?"
Chase startled this time. A tiny little jump, nothing like his usual startled yelp. His cheeks flushed more.
"I'm fine," he mumbled, voice syrupy and hoarse. "Had a long night."
House snorted. "Long night is my thing. Nice try."
Chase fidgeted, shoulders climbing up to his ears. His eyes flickered to the window, to the floor, then briefly to House with a look that was far too timid to belong to a grown doctor.
House leaned closer.
His hand brushed Chase's forehead.
Hot.
Too hot.
"Congratulations," House said, pulling back. "You're running a fever. And also running your mouth with lies. Very on brand."
Chase shook his head quickly, wincing at the movement. "I can work."
"Nope. Sorry. Try again. You can barely sit upright without listing to one side like a sad little sailboat."
Chase’s lip wobbled.
Actually wobbled.
House stared at him.
Well. It's not like Chase never did that as an adult. Though it looked particularly infantile today.
House tapped his cane twice.
"Question. How old are you right now."
Chase immediately stiffened. He tugged at his sleeves, cheeks coloring a deep pink.
"I don't know what you mean."
House gave him the most unimpressed stare known to man. "Yeah. And I do not know what Vicodin is. Try again."
Chase’s breathing hitched. He looked at House like the truth was dangerous, like he was waiting for some horrible reaction.
Finally, so quietly House had to lean in to hear it, Chase whispered:
"Three."
House blinked.
Three.
Great.
Just great.
Three was younger than last time. Three was tiny. Three was clingy. Three was feverish and scared and not capable of pretending to be a functioning medical professional for the rest of the shift.
House studied him more closely now.
The flushed cheeks. The watery eyes. The way he kept rubbing his face against his sleeve like he was fighting off tears. His breathing had a slight whine in it, that soft little sound kids made right before they cried. And he was leaning ever so slightly toward House. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But House noticed.
He sighed.
He was screwed.
Chase's file slipped from his hand and fell to the floor.
Chase gasped softly, eyes immediately going huge and wet, like he was expecting to be yelled at for dropping it.
Oh for the love of all things unholy.
"Get up," House said, voice gentler than his words. "We're leaving."
Chase blinked frantically. "But I have work… I'm supposed'ta work."
"You are supposed to not collapse in the middle of the hallway and force me to fill out paperwork," House interrupted. "I am allergic to paperwork. And to pathetic feverish toddlers pretending to be adults. So get up."
Chase stared at him, confused and scared and so small.
House softened just a fraction. "Come on, kid. Up."
Chase slowly pushed himself out of the chair. His legs wobbled. House grabbed his elbow before he faceplanted and pretended it was about preventing workplace injury.
This close, Chase smelled like fever and hospital soap.
His eyes drooped. He swayed.
House tightened his grip.
Cameron finally seemed to notice something was wrong. "Is he okay?"
"No," House answered.
He did not elaborate.
He did not need her input.
He steered Chase out of the conference room, ignoring Foreman’s concerned frown and Cameron’s confused questions. Chase stayed close, following House with small, uneven steps like he was trying to match his pace.
Halfway down the hallway, Chase tugged lightly at the back of House’s jacket.
House stopped.
Chase ducked his head. "My tummy hurts," he whispered, voice tiny and shaky.
House took a slow breath.
And there it was. The reason the regression was stronger this time.
Sick. Scared. Miserable.
House felt an irrational surge of protectiveness spike in his chest.
"Yeah. Fever will do that," he said calmly. "Good thing I am kidnapping you."
Chase’s eyes went wide. "You not mad?"
"Kid, if I got mad every time one of you turned into a disaster, I would 've died of hypertension years ago."
Chase stared at him, clearly not understanding the joke, but the tiniest relieved sigh escaped him anyway.
House walked him out to the parking lot, keeping a firm hand at his back so he did not topple over. Chase stayed pressed close, fingers twitching like he wanted to hold onto something but was afraid to try.
The moment they reached the car, Chase hesitated. He looked up at House, eyes shiny and uncertain.
"I don' feel good," he whispered.
House opened the passenger door. "I know. That's why you're not staying here."
Chase climbed in slowly, curling up slightly once he sat down, hands tucked between his knees. He looked impossibly small in the seat, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to his forehead.
House buckled him in without comment.
Chase blinked at him, surprised.
House shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side.
The moment he started the engine, Chase let out a soft, miserable whimper he clearly did not mean to make.
House glanced at him.
"I am assuming that is the fever talking."
Chase sniffled. "I wanna go home."
"My home," House clarified. "Yours is too far and I am not dealing with you throwing up on the sidewalk."
Chase nodded tiredly. Then:
"Can I... I sit closer?"
House blinked. "You are already in the passenger seat. This is not a minivan."
Chase’s lip trembled again. "I feel bad."
House stared at him.
He looked pale and feverish and so heartbreakingly little that House had to grip the steering wheel tighter to stop himself from reaching over and ruffling his hair.
"Fine," House said gruffly. "Scoot the seat back. Recline a bit. That is as close as you are getting unless you want to sit on the gearshift."
Chase obeyed immediately, reclining the seat and curling slightly on his side so he could see House. His eyes drooped again.
House pulled out of the lot.
Barely two minutes down the road, a soft sound came from the passenger seat.
A tiny, sniffly whine.
"House...?"
"Yeah, kid."
"My neck hurts."
House sighed. "Your throat. Yeah. That happens when you have a fever."
Chase squeezed his hands together, looking guilty for even speaking.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize."
Chase looked confused. House clarified.
"You whining means I know you are still conscious. Helps me track your level of patheticness. It's useful."
Chase blinked at him slowly, then let out the tiniest breathy giggle. Clearly the boy understood nothing.
House felt his chest tighten in some completely unacceptable, emotionally compromised way.
Great. Adorable fever toddler Chase. Just what his sanity needed.
House turned onto his street.
"Almost there, kid."
Chase nodded, eyes glassy.
"I don' wanna be sick," he mumbled.
"Nobody does."
Chase whimpered softly and curled closer to the door, looking utterly miserable.
House swallowed hard.
Yeah. He had a theory now.
The worse Chase felt physically, the younger he regressed.
Poor little idiot was probably terrified.
House parked the car and turned to him.
"Alright. We're home. You are gonna get medicine, water, and a couch. And maybe a cartoon if you do not cry on my upholstery."
Chase blinked at him sleepily.
"I like cartoons," he whispered.
House pretended that did not melt him into a puddle.
"Yeah. I figured."
He got out, opened Chase’s door, and held out a hand.
"Come on, kid. Let’s get you inside."
Chase reached for him immediately.
And House knew he was in deep trouble.
Because that small, feverish hand in his?
Yeah. That was adorable.
And he was absolutely going to take care of him.
By the time House got Chase through the apartment door, the kid was practically draped over his shoulder. Not that Chase was heavy, he never had been, but right now he felt even smaller than usual. Every bit of him was warm and wobbly and limp with fever. House kicked the door shut with his foot, balancing Chase against him so he would not jostle him more than necessary.
Chase made a tiny sound. It was not a word. More like a confused little exhale that trembled at the end, as if he was not quite sure where he was or what his mouth was supposed to be doing.
House tightened his hold.
"Yeah, I know. Rough day. Again."
Chase buried his face in House’s shirt, clutching a single handful of fabric with fingers that were slow and clumsy. His fine blond hair tickled House’s throat. He felt more like a feverish toddler than the grown doctor who had started this shift that morning, and this time House did not need the kid to explain a thing. He understood it already. Exhaustion, stress, illness, fear. They stacked up in Chase until the man cracked inward, folding into a smaller and smaller version of himself.
And House, whether he wanted to admit it or not, had become the designated catcher when Chase fell.
"Alright, little koala," House murmured as he walked them toward the couch. "Let me put you down so I can get things ready."
But Chase refused to let go. His fingers tightened and he made a soft unhappy noise, high pitched and pathetic in a way that tugged at something deep in House’s chest.
House sighed.
"Fine. Cling. You're making this harder, but you are also adorable, so I guess it evens out."
He sat carefully on the couch with Chase still attached to him. Chase shifted, trying to climb higher in a clumsy scramble. House steadied him with one palm on his fever hot back.
"Careful. You only get one skull and you crack easy."
Chase blinked up at him. His eyes were glassy. He did not seem capable of forming a real thought, only focusing on House’s face as if it was the one familiar lighthouse in a fog he could not navigate alone. Then he let out a little whimper. Not pain, more like discomfort and confusion.
House brushed Chase’s bangs out of his eyes.
"Yeah, kiddo, you feel awful. Fever is climbing again."
Chase leaned forward until his forehead pressed under House’s jaw. A tiny shiver went through him.
"Cold?" House asked.
Chase made a soft huff that might have been a yes.
House reached back one handed for the throw blanket. As soon as it touched Chase, the kid curled into a tighter ball against him, practically burrowing into House’s ribs.
"You are ridiculous," House muttered. "Ridiculously cute, apparently."
Chase let out a sleepy little sigh that sounded almost like a baby settling.
House hesitated for a moment before making his decision.
"Alright. We are upgrading you to the full care package."
He adjusted Chase so the kid was sitting sideways on his lap, head on House’s chest, legs curled close. Chase accepted the movement without resistance. His hand clung to House’s shirt again, small and unsteady.
"First order of business is meds. Because you have a fever and you're too young right now to argue with me."
Chase’s brows scrunched. His lips pursed in a tiny pout, the kind toddlers make when they do not want something even though they have no idea what the something is.
House smoothed a thumb over his cheek.
"Relax. I know you hate the taste. You still have to take it."
Chase whimpered but did not pull away.
House reached for the small bottle he had slipped into his pocket earlier. He shook it, opened it, then tapped Chase’s chin lightly.
"Open up, baby doc."
Chase made the smallest protest noise, then parted his lips. The dose was small, and Chase swallowed it with a shudder, face scrunching in dramatic misery.
House chuckled.
"That bad, huh?"
Chase did not answer. Instead he leaned fully into House again, exhausted from the effort.
"Good job," House said softly. "You did fine."
A moment later, a small hand patted weakly at his shirt. As if asking for something, or maybe thanking him. It was hard to tell, but it was gentle and trusting and so very small.
House wrapped the blanket around them both.
"Next up is food before you crash," House said. "Something soft since you're basically a baby right now."
Chase made a faint unhappy sound but did not lift his head. House shifted him carefully and went to get a bowl of warm applesauce. When he returned, Chase was still curled on the couch looking tiny and lost and very much like he needed help for every possible task.
House sat beside him, pulled Chase back into his lap, and scooped a small spoonful.
"Come on. Just a little."
Chase blinked sleepily at the spoon, then at House, then opened his mouth. House fed him bit by bit, slow and gentle. Chase ate without fuss except for an occasional soft whine when he got too tired to keep his eyes open.
"Almost done," House murmured. "One more bite. Then cuddles until the meds kick in."
Chase accepted the last spoonful, then sagged against House in utter, complete exhaustion.
"Good boy," House said quietly, almost without realising it.
Chase’s fingers curled around House’s sleeve. His eyes fluttered, then closed, a soft little breath escaping him as he melted into House’s chest.
House could feel the fever heat, but also the trust. Chase was safe. Chase knew it. Even in this tiny, toddled state, Chase gravitated toward him.
House held him closer.
"There you go," he whispered. "Sleep, kid. I have you."
Within a minute, Chase was out cold, breathing soft and even, one cheek pressed to House’s heart.
And House, for once, did not move at all. He kept one hand stroking Chase’s hair and the other resting strong around his back.
"Yeah," House murmured. "I'm good at this. Lucky you."
He stayed there, keeping the kid warm and safe, listening to the quiet nursery soft breaths.
Chase woke slowly, as if surfacing through warm water. His first awareness was that he felt heavy and achey, his head full of cotton. His second awareness was that he was still curled on House’s chest, wrapped in a blanket, House’s hand resting warm on his back.
He made a small, groggy whimper.
House stirred slightly.
"Look who finally decided to rejoin the world."
Chase blinked up at him, face flushed with fever, hair sticking up in soft tufts. He looked even younger than before, maybe closer to two than three. His nose was pink, his lips were pouty, and his eyes were hazy with confusion.
Then he frowned.
A real, scrunched face, toddler style, full of crankiness.
House raised a brow.
"Ah. The brat stage. Knew we would get here eventually."
Chase responded by turning his face away, arms crossing in the wobbliest little attempt at defiance House had ever seen.
House almost snorted a laugh.
"Do you even know why you are angry, or are you just doing it for the sport of it?"
Chase kicked his heel against the couch cushion. A tiny stomp. Then another. He let out a loud whine, long and dramatic.
"Yeah, definitely for sport."
Chase swatted weakly at House’s hand. Not hard. More like a cranky cat batting at something it did not actually want to move.
House caught Chase’s hand instantly, holding it gently but firmly.
"Hey. No hitting. We do not do that."
Chase glared at him. Or tried to. It looked more like a pouty goldfish.
He tried again to swat.
House lifted his brows.
"Kid. You can be sick. You can be small. You can be cranky. But you do not hit me."
The words landed. Chase froze. His face changed in an instant, confusion overtaking defiance. His eyes went wide and wet. His lower lip trembled.
Ah. House knew that look. The one that said tiny brain had jumped to the worst possible conclusion.
He knew exactly what Chase was expecting. Exactly what he had gotten somewhere in his past. Exactly what House would never give him.
"Chase," House said softly, adjusting the kid so he faced him. "Look at me."
Chase hesitated, then lifted watery eyes.
"You;re not getting hit," House said plainly. "Not ever. I do not hit you. I will not hit you. I am never going to hurt you."
Chase stared at him, breathing a little too fast, overwhelmed by his own small emotions.
House brushed his thumb across Chase’s cheek.
"You messed up. It's okay. You learn."
Chase swallowed, tiny and nervous.
"So," House said, matter of fact, "you are going to the corner for a minute. Not because you are bad. Because you need to calm down and remember the rules."
Chase’s eyes widened in horror.
House almost smiled.
"A very normal toddler reaction."
Chase shook his head. A small, frantic, feverish no. He clung to House’s shirt.
"Nice try. You still go."
With calm efficiency, House lifted him to his feet, half-carried him across the room, and placed him gently on his feet facing the corner. Chase wobbled, teetering slightly, still dizzy from fever, so House put a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"You stand here. One minute. Then cuddles. That's the deal."
Chase made the most dramatic full body pout House had ever seen. His whole posture drooped. His knees bent. His head hung. His bottom lip pushed out so far it looked like it might topple him forward.
"Yeah, yeah. Life is unfair."
Chase let out a miserable whine. The kind that said this was the most boring, most unjust fate in the entire universe. He fidgeted immediately. He turned his head. House tapped his shoulder lightly.
"Face the corner. You do the minute, you come back. Easy."
Chase stomped one tiny foot.
Then another.
House’s grin was subtle but unmistakably fond.
"There it is. Age appropriate tantruming. Beautiful."
Chase crossed his arms again and huffed loudly. The sound echoed off the wall in the most petulant way possible.
He shifted from foot to foot. He leaned sideways. He tried to peek over his shoulder.
House cleared his throat.
"Facing. The. Corner."
Chase grumbled but turned back, slumping in the most dramatic display of boredom ever witnessed. He bounced on his toes. He poked the wall. He sighed louder than a grown man recovering from surgery.
House watched him with undisguised amusement.
"You hate this. Congratulations. You are officially a child."
Chase let out another whine, high and pathetic and clearly meant to convey his suffering.
Finally, House tapped his cane on the floor.
"Time’s up, kiddo."
Chase spun around instantly, launching himself at House with surprising speed for someone who had been half asleep twenty minutes ago. House caught him easily, lifting him so Chase could wrap arms around his neck.
Chase buried his face under House’s chin, clinging tight and trembling with leftover emotion.
House rubbed his back.
"There. You did it. You are fine. You're safe."
Chase made a tiny sniff and nuzzled closer. The fever heat radiated through his skin. His muscles relaxed again, sagging against House in total trust.
"No hitting," House reminded him softly.
Chase shook his head hard, as if promising. He mumbled something tiny and apologetic that melted against House’s shirt.
"I know," House murmured. "You are good. You learned. That is what matters."
He carried Chase back to the couch, settling him on his lap where the kid immediately tucked himself into a little ball, thumb brushing near his lips before he caught it and pressed his face into House’s chest instead.
House pulled the blanket around them both.
"Much better," he said softly, watching Chase calm down. "A bratty toddler, but a cute one."
Chase let out a small hum of agreement and melted completely, feverish and clingy and content.
House tightened his hold.
Chase drifted against him, warm and sleepy, perfectly safe in the arms of someone who would never hurt him.
And House held him, steady and solid, proud of his tiny stubborn mess of a patient.
Chase’s breathing evened out again, little sleep heavy breaths that warmed the front of House’s shirt. His fever had eased just enough for the trembling to stop, but he still clung tight, fingers curled in House’s sleeve like he needed constant reassurance that he was wanted here.
House shifted only enough to reach the nearby water glass. He set it aside again when Chase made a faint noise of protest at the movement.
"Alright. Not going anywhere. Calm down," House murmured.
Chase snuggled closer in reply, as if satisfied by the promise.
House brushed a hand through his hair, pushing soft blond strands away from his warm forehead.
"I guess this is where we are for the rest of the afternoon. You, tiny and sick. Me, stuck under you."
Chase did not understand the words, not like an adult would. But he understood the tone. He relaxed again, trusting, warm, safe.
House looked down at the flushed little face nestled against his chest.
"You'll be fine, kid."
The apartment was quiet. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that settled instead of threatening.
House adjusted the blanket around them, tucking Chase in more securely.
"No more tantrums unless they're entertaining. That's the rule."
Chase let out a tiny mumble of sleepy contentment.
House allowed himself the smallest smile.
"Good. I think we understand each other."
Outside, the late afternoon light shifted through the blinds, soft and golden. Inside, Chase slept again, warm against House’s heartbeat.
This time, House did not bother to pretend he minded.
He simply leaned back, held the sick toddler close, and let the quiet wrap around them both.
It was enough.
For today, it was exactly enough.