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The Sole Possessor
by DiesLunae
This is the complete version of The Sole Possessor. Please post questions, comments or suggestions when you're done. Happy reading!
***
It was late. The neon lights above the bar were glaring into Chase's brain, cutting into the last vestiges of neurological sensation still flittering their way from neuron to neuron somewhere deep inside his neocortex. The alcohol was rolling in his stomach, making him feel sick. He hadn't eaten for hours. He downed another drink and, before slamming the glass back onto the table, pulled out the little plastic sword and put it in his mouth, nervously chewing on it. The migraine simmering somewhere behind his eyeballs was threatening to boil over and consume him.
"Hey," she said, behind him. He couldn't even look back. He heard her slide into the bar stool next to him. He put down the sword, closed his eyes and rubbed them with his finger tips. The pain of his headache subsided a little and then flared up again as quickly.
"Four years," she said, "and you still can't coordinate your shirt and tie." Chase grunted. She reached under his arm and took the end of the tie and felt the silk, contemplating. "You always did like orange."
"What do you want?"
She let go of his tie.
"I'm going away."
"Wow. Big news." Chase remembered the last time she went away. He groaned again half in recollection and half as the migraine squeezed the back of his eyes once more.
"Hard night at the diagnostics ward?" she asked. He looked at her for the first time. Her skin was pale and perfect like untouched snow but her hair was black and wild like the plumage of a raven. Her eyes had that deadly twinkle of a bird of prey and it didn't help that the yellow neon lights gave her naturally grey irises a slight yellow tinge. Her mouth was narrow, but long, not the full bodied pout most men valued but it worked with her face and made her look dangerous and sexy. Her neck was uncommonly long and if she didn't visibly hold herself with such dignity and pride as to befit royalty, it would have looked ridiculous. Her neck ran into a beautifully slim yet curvy body and then into long, muscular legs. Her breasts were small, only a B-cup, but she wore them with pride and often without a bra. Odd that he could tell all this even with her wearing a dark blue hoodie and baggy, torn jeans. He hadn't pushed her out of his mind as much as he thought he had. This thought sparked another burst of pain in his head. He closed his eyes again. Where were House's Vicoden when he needed to borrow them?
"Yeah," he said curtly, instead of asking her how she knew he was working for diagnostics at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. And she didn't tell him either. He would have to ask for it like a good wombat or ... House was even getting into his mind and that bothered Chase more than the migraine that was already throwing its weight around. Wombat ...
"Goddammit," he cursed.
"Two vodka shots," she ordered to the barkeep. Chase heard a shot glass clink onto the table among the myriad of his own and then the musical sound of liquor hitting the glass bottoms and the melodic `glug-glug' of the air squeezing into the bottle. He cracked his eye open for a moment to detect the location of the cup, then grabbed it and knocked it back. He heard her do the same. They both cracked their shot glasses on the table at the same time. She made no comment to his profanity. He knew she thought it beneath herself to ask questions to which she didn't already know the answer.
"I'm surprised you came," she stated as Chase was just beginning to ask himself why he came. He hated when she did that.
"Yeah well..." he started, but she cut him off.
"Sorry about your dad," said, quickly changing the subject just to throw him off.
"You hated my dad," he retorted just as quickly.
"Doesn't mean I'm not sorry he's dead. Did he ever give you that father-son moment you were always hoping for?"
The large surge of frustration caused a sharp flash of pain in his temple. House would be loving this, was the only thing he could manage to think beyond the throbbing.
"He didn't even tell me he was dying," he stated, opening his eyes only for the pleasure of shooting her a dirty look. She had turned around on her stool and was now facing towards the seating and had her back against the bar. Her elbows were resting against the edge. Just like old times. He closed his eyes. She tweaked his hair with her fingers, pulling it slightly.
"Still haven't lost the old locks, eh?" she scoffed, "They must tease you at work."
"I don't know why I came," he grunted and, tossing a few twenty's on to the bar, he slid off his stool, ambled across the seating area and out the front door. He didn't think she followed him. For once there was an escape.
-=+=-
It was raining. Hard. Chase was soaked through before he got to his car. He was glad he didn't wear white that morning, even though it went slightly better with his orange tie than the blue shirt he was wearing. He rummaged through the middle console but there was a decided lack of pain-killers in his stash. Bandages and antiseptic and other first-aid supplies but no pain-killers.
"Jesus Christ," he yelled, only to have his forehead throb in retaliation to the intensity of his voice and the effort of yelling. His apartment was a half-hour away and he knew he wouldn't make it without some sort of relief. What to do?
House's place was close.
"Dammit," he whispered, resigned, and turned the ignition. He knew he was afraid to stop anywhere or go home. He was afraid of her. And she knew he couldn't get far.
-=+=-
He stood in the pouring rain for five minutes before House finally opened the door. He had left the chain on so that all Chase could see was House's right eye and part of his nose through the crack in the door.
"I didn't call room service," he declared. Chase almost rolled his eyes but stopped himself when he remembered how painful moving them was. It had barely been able to keep his eyes open to get this far and House's townhouse was only ten minutes away.
"Please House," he whimpered, "I have a massive headache. I just need some pain-killers and I'll be gone." House appeared to think about it.
"Fine," he stated like a reluctant child, "but don't think you're getting Vicoden. They're mine!" His eyes flashed, acting to the general consensus that he was addicted to his pain-killers. Of course, he was addicted but that didn't stop him playing it up. Then House's face disappeared as the door slammed shut. Chase waited patiently for it to reopen so he could get out of the rain. No such luck.
House opened the door ten minutes later, brandishing a pill bottle as Chase was half-heartedly wishing he had just driven home. But at least out in the rain he wasn't moving and his head was thanking him for it. Never the less he gave House a disgruntled look when the door opened.
"What?" asked House, innocently.
"You could've let me in," muttered Chase, taking the bottle.
"I thought ducklings liked water," House replied, just as innocently as his first statement.
"I like water in a cup," Chased stated hesitantly, his eyes pleading but not hopeful.
"Aw," scoffed House, "I can never say no to those beaten puppy eyes." He turned and limped into the house, leaving Chase with an open door. He walked in and closed it behind him. House limped back out with the glass and handed it too him. Chase put two of the pills in his mouth and gulped down the water. Like House, Chase could swallow medication dry. He just didn't want to leave right away.
"Can I offer my medical opinion?" ventured House.
"No," Chase said but House continued anyway.
"Raising your endorphins would be an even funner way to get rid of your head pain."
Chase looked at House incredulously.
"Sex?" he barely forced out. He knew what House was talking about and he knew it was true but the fact that House seemed to be implying it happen now and between the two of them, topped with the fact that Chase had just taken pill that he just realized could have been anything suddenly frightened him. A look of fear and incredulity crossed Chase's face. House revelled in his triumph.
"Nothing like a scared wombat," he chuckled as Chase collapsed onto the floor.
-=+=-
Chase woke-up in the morning with no headache and no shirt, stomach down on House's couch. But those weren't the utmost thoughts in his mind. He was mostly wondering what Cuddy, Foreman, and Cameron were going to do when they heard that House was murdered in his own home with no forced entry. Well, he knew that Cameron and Cuddy would bawl their eyes out but Foreman's reaction would be worth seeing.
It was then that House chose to make his entry into the living room.
"You Bastard," yelled Chase, leaping to his feet.
"Oh come on," smirked House, "it was just punishment for trying to take my pills. Go get Advil from a convenience store next time."
Chase continued to glare at him.
"Nothing happened." House articulated every syllable like Chase was a child. Chase snorted and grabbed his shirt which was on the floor. As he stood up he noticed House blatantly checking out his ass.
"Damn," House said, leering, "I wish I had." Chase, once again blessed with the full ability to roll his eyes, did so as he walked quickly to the door.
"Ah, c'mon. Where's the fighting spirit that I saw a few minutes ago. For a second I thought you were going to join the rest of us in the phylum Chordata," House called after him, mockingly.
Chase was so mad he almost walked out before he put his shirt back on and even after putting it on he was so distracted he almost bowled over Wilson who was about to knock. Wilson looked from Chase, who was already halfway to his car, to House, who was leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb, and back to Chase, who was unlocking the door and getting into his car.
"He looks like he spent the night," Wilson alleged.
"He did," replied House thoughtfully from over his coffee mug.
-=+=-
"What would scare Chase so bad that he wouldn't want to stop at a convenience store or drive home to get Tylenol?" House asked Wilson.
"Rhetorically? `Cause I don't want to answer this if you already know the answer."
"I don't know the answer," House replied, as if denying knowledge was the most natural thing in the world for him.
"Well," continued Wilson, even though he wanted to make some snide remark on House's recent admission of mortality, "normally I would say you, but he went to you, so he obviously fears whatever it is he fears more than he fears you." This was accompanied by ridiculous hand gestures that made even Wilson look confused. He stared at his hands as if he was wondering what he was doing with them.
"Hmm," agreed House, or at least Wilson thought it was an agreement. When House made understated noises you never could be sure.
-=+=-
Chase was chewing on his pencil with even more gusto than usual and he knew Foreman and Cameron were watching. Coming into work almost as late as House and wearing the same clothes as he was when he left work the day before got their attention and they practically hadn't taken their eyes off him since. It was burning a proverbial hole in the back of his head and it was almost as annoying as the migraine.
"What?" he snapped. Foreman put up his hands in an `okay-I'm-letting-it-go' sort of way and Cameron's eyes got big and sarcastic as she looked away.
"Our resident British dandy has a bigger stick up his ass than usual," declared House as he sauntered in, late as per usual.
"I'm not British," denied Chase through clenched teeth, tossing the pencil across the room.
"Oops," said House in a mock-innocent tone, "remind me never to push that button again." Then, switching to a faux-Australian accent, he continued: "Wot's got your goat, mate? Dingo eat your baby?"
Chase leaped to his feet. He didn't care if the whole hospital knew.
"You DRUGGED me!" he roared. A couple of patients who were walking past looked alarmed. The nurses hurried fasted than usual down the hall. On normal days it wasn't good to loiter near the diagnostics department. It looked like today was going to be far from ordinary.
"You asked for drugs," House countered like Chase was missing the point. Cameron and Foreman exchanged glances.
"I asked for Tylenol for my migraine!"
"Technically..." House said slowly, smiling, "You asked for `pain-killers.' I killed your pain." Chase gapped at House.
"No no no no no," rejoined Chase, smiling yet looking at House like he wanted to rip him lib from limb, "you," he gestured at House, "put me," he gestured at himself, "to sleep for ten hours. That doesn't count as `pain-killers,' that's like ... like date-rape!"
"Are you saying I'm gay?" asked House, in a fake offended voice.
"If you did that to Cameron," Chase continued, not listening to House, "you would be charged for sexual harassment."
"Well it's not like she doesn't want it anyway," scoffed House.
Cameron's face went from slightly amused to quite angry. Her hands went to her hips.
"Now look what you did," House continued, blaming Chase for the indignant look on Cameron's face.
"What is going on here?" asked Cuddy like a school teacher who left the first grade classroom for two minutes and comes back to chaos. Chase grabbed his bag and walked towards the door.
"I have a migraine," he said in a sarcastically happy tone that was a little frightening and very much unlike Chase. "I think I'm going to go home and take sleeping pills to cure it. I won't be back for ten hours." He almost chuckled as he whisked out of the glass doors and vanished down the empty hallway. Cuddy, mouth open in confusion, looked from House, who was twirling his finger around his ear to indicate Chase was crazy, to the door, back to House, to his remaining ducklings, and then up at the ceiling like she was pleading to any God, anywhere, to make just one day go by in Princeton-Plainsboro without House causing some sort of havoc or another.
"Just one day," she whispered, as she turned to leave.
"Aren't you going to ask what all that was about?" House asked her in mock concern.
Cuddy put up her hands and shook her head.
"I don't want to know."
-=+=-
The elevator opened with a ding. Chase knew she would be waiting for him. He almost turned around and went back to work. Almost. He turned the corner of his hallway and there she was, sitting regally on a chair next to his door with a vogue magazine. The baggy clothes were gone. She was now wearing a short black dress and painful-looking black stilettos. On the floor there was a large leather bag. Her legs were crossed and her foot was bouncing up and down contentedly. It appeared as if there was nothing in the world she would rather be doing than sitting outside Chase's door and waiting for him. It frightened him.
She looked up. There was no retreat now. She stood. He couldn't move. Then she motioned him forward with a smirk on her face. It hadn't been like this in the bar. In the bar she had been wearing baggy clothing and it had been dark and dismal. It wasn't like she hadn't already been gorgeous without the nice clothing and good lighting, but in the hallway she was spectacular. Chase closed his eyes and very nearly groaned. No escape. He remembered the last time she went away.
"Didn't think you were coming," she said, looking half impressed and half amused and still motioning him forward. He stepped towards her hesitantly.
"Oh, for God's sake, open the damn door." He stepped over to the doorknob and put the key in the lock. She put his hand over his as he turned the knob. This was new. In the past she had been early and had yelled at him for being late and other times she had been hours late and Chase was expected to wait. If he wasn't there when she got there...
"I didn't think you were coming but I'm glad you did," she said. Her look was all amusement now. No escape.
-=+=-
House was looking through Chase's medical files hoping there was an answer there but he wasn't having much luck. He felt like he was trying to solve a Rubik's cube without being able to see colour. He was sliding the pieces around without any clue as to whether they fit or why. Wilson walked in and sat down.
"You drugged him?" he asked.
"Ya," House replied.
"Why?"
"He was trying to mooch my Vicoden."
"Why?"
"He had a migraine."
"I don't mean why was he trying to mooch your Vicoden, I mean tell the truth: Why did you drug him?"
"He was trying to mooch my Vicoden."
"House."
"He looked like he was in trouble. I felt bad," House replied in sarcastic concern.
"So you drugged him?" asked Wilson knowing that often when House is sarcastic it also means he's being truthful. He just doesn't want other people to think he is. House rolled his eyes.
"He was trying to mooch my Vicoden!"
Wilson stood.
"Sure, Greg."
House grabbed one of the files to go through it again.
"There are only so many things you can learn about someone from their medical records. You know that." Wilson turned and left. House grunted in response to the door closing.
-=+=-
She placed the old Fabrique National pistol on the table. Chase touched his shirt where the scar from the last bullet wound was. He remembered the last time she went away and left him in his own blood.
"Aw. You remembered," she said, endearingly as she watched him feel his scar, "sit."
Chase shook his head.
"Do it." He leaned back against the wall and slid down onto his ass. She walked over with her bag. Her right hand was fingering something inside it but what ever it was, she let it go as she put the bag down. She landed on him heavily, straddling his torso. Then she kissed him hard on his mouth, her hands pulling his arms up over his head. Her left hand was clenched in a fist holding something, but Chase didn't care. He was afraid of her but he missed her in some sick way. That was why he kept showing up. He thought maybe this time she will be normal. The gun proved she was the same as ever but still, he wanted her.
She let go of his right arm and he let it drop, letting her control him. Then something cold and sharp pressed against the palm of his left hand. By the time is brain computed this, it was too late. She drove the nail through his hand and into the wall as far as she could alone. Chase concentrated his all on not screaming. This gave her time to reach into her bad and get the hammer she had stored there. Chase barely reacted as she hammered the nail into the wall. He looked at her, pleadingly.
"Laura," he whispered. She lifted his right hand and took another nail.
"Laura, please." She didn't listen. This time he couldn't hold in the groan of pain that escaped from his lips.
"Oh," cooed Laura as she leaned over and licked his palm. Then she kissed him. He could taste his own blood on her lips. Her tongue worked the sensitive spot on the bridge of his mouth. The pain was making his head swim. Her kiss was sending blood to his groin. Then he felt something else cold against his side. This time he jumped.
"It's just scissors," she said, smiling because of the small gasp he'd let out. His jump had torn the flesh around the nail wounds. She began to cut the buttons from his shirt. The look on her face was like a baby hawk, watching its mother tear up a dead mouse before giving it to her to feed on. When his chest was bared, she spread his shirt open and ran her hands down his torso. She leaned forward like she was going to kiss his mouth but instead she pushed his chin up with her nose and then dug her teeth into his trachea. Chase's eyes rolled back in his head as he groaned. She stopped and lifted herself onto her haunches so that she wasn't sitting on Chase anymore.
"Laura, please." She undid the button of his jeans and as she did so she leaned forward to his ear.
"You want it," she whispered. She unzipped his fly.
"Say you want it," she demanded in a whisper again. He shook his head. She unclasped his belt and slipped it out of the loops and then pulled his jeans out from underneath him. Only his underwear left. No escape.
She eased herself onto him again but before she placed her groin on top of his, she reached down with her hand, slid his tighties back and slid him into herself. She leaned into him as far as she could go as she stuck her tongue in his ear.
"Say you want it."
"I do," he gasped as she eased herself slowly away.
"What?" she asked gleefully leaning into him slowly again.
"Christ, I want it," he moaned, his eyes rolling back into their sockets again. It felt like the very core of his body was liquid fire.
Laura laughed. She had found and retrieved her lost possession. Robert Chase was hers and no one else's.
And once he was hers no one else could use him. This time she would make sure he didn't live through it.
-=+=-
House was looking at one particular sick period in Chase's file. He had broken three of his fingers and a rib. It looked like a severe beating but Chase had stated that he had been playing rugby and someone with too much zest had tackled him, causing the broken fingers and rid and massive bruising on his chest.
"Are we doing a differential diagnosis or not?" asked Cameron.
"Everyone lies," muttered House.
"Yes, we know," declared Foreman, "you proven this more than once. Can we get on with this?"
House looked up and limped over to his telephone.
"Everyone including pretty British wombats." He picked up the phone as Foreman and Cameron exchanged glances.
"Get me the Melbourne General Hospital ... Yes Melbourne as in Australia ... I know it's an international number ... If I was going to call to ask which way the toilet flowed, I'd have disguised my voice ... Finally ..." He looked back at his remaining ducklings and rolled his eyes.
"House, what are you doing? We have a patient!" declared Cameron, astounded.
"This is no time to dissect Chase's personal life!" added Foreman. House put his fingers in his ears.
"La-la-la! Can't hear y-- Oh hello. This is Dr. Gregory House calling from the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital ... Yes, I'd just like to ask a few questions concerning the medical records of a patient we have mutually treated ... Yes, a James Cooper ... Oh, he still works there? ... Fantastic. Can I have a word with him? ... Great."
Behind him his duckling pulled out their chairs and sat down, resigned.
"Hello? ... This is Hou-- ... You've heard of me? Great ... Do you remember treating a Robert Chase about four years back? ... Yeah, the son of Rowan Chase ... Yeah, I'll give him your condolences ... He might be in immediate danger ... I'm not interested in the damage to his body, I want to know who visited him ... Only two people?" He put his hand over the receiver. "Strange for someone as devilishly handsome as Chase," he shot at Cameron and Foreman. Foreman sighed and walked out of the room. Cameron rolled her eyes but stayed put.
"You remember this clearly?" he continued into the phone, "... Well yeah I suppose you would remember the son of Rowan Chase ... I suppose you don't remember the other person ... a Laura Owens ... Her and Rowan didn't get along? ... I see ... She what? ... That's not in his medical records ... I see." He hung up and turned to look at Cameron.
"Let's go." Cameron, her eyes wide from worry nodded and followed him out.
-=+=-
Chase groaned. House was right. His raised endorphins had almost obliterated the pain in his palms, except when he was jerked or pulled or tried to shift himself and ended up tearing more flesh. Mostly he was just directing his oral fixation on Laura's neck and ear and letting her do all the work. And she knew what she was doing. She would continue something he liked for awhile and then, just as he thought he couldn't take it anymore, she would stop and do something he didn't like, namely something painful.
Right now she was running another nail across his chest, gentle pushing enough to cause pain but not enough to make him bleed. Chase moaned and Laura revelled in her power. She brought the nail up his neck and scratched the already raw skin under his chin. She liked chewing on his throat more than kissing him. Chase swallowed.
"No one appreciates me like you do, Bobby," she whispered, using her old pet name for him as he let out a strangled whimper in response to her pushing the nail deeper into his tender neck. "You never come perfectly willingly but you always want it. I love that."
"Laura..." he gasped as leaned in to him as far as she could go very, very slowly. She pressed her mouth to his neck so she could feel his groan.
"All you've said is my name," she whispered in between nibbling and sucking his trachea.
"What else--" he stopped to exhale as she pulled herself away, again slowly, "what else should I say?"
"You could ask me to stay," she reminded him sadistically.
"I asked you..." She slid into him again but this time it was hard and fast. Chase wasn't expecting it and he inhaled sharply. His body convulsed and tried to pull his hands down but the nails stopped his reaction with an excruciating reminder. Chase cried out at the jagged pain that was causing his hands and arms to throb.
"...Asked you to stay last time," he finished.
"Oh, bobby," she whispered and she jerked quickly against him a few times quickly. Chase knew she was almost done. No escape. He hardly wanted escape now.
-=+=-
Wilson met House and Cameron coming out of the elevator. House had that look in his eyes that said he was off on a mission and Cameron's brow was furrowed in a way that looked both curious and concerned. If something was wrong with a patient, they wouldn't be down here and they walked right by the clinic so...
"What's wrong with Chase?" he called out. A few of the nurses looked up.
House didn't even make eye contact. He just motioned for Wilson to follow him. He stumbled out the door after House and Cameron. Good thing he was on his break, or he might be missing an appointment.
"Wilson's car is closest," House stated, his eyes always ahead and focused. One of his ducklings was in trouble and dammit if he was going to sit through more interviews.
-=+=-
They had both come and it had been painful. Chase's body involuntarily convulsed again and now he believed the holes in his palms were at least an inch long. Blood had made it to his arm pit. Laura had bitten into his neck in her orgasm and had an obvious increase in pleasure when he had barked out a twisted but quiet scream. Her fingers were only just being removed from his hair where she had grabbed it to hold back his head.
She was painting with her ear cupped in the space between his neck and shoulder. No escape.
-=+=-
"He came in smelling like he'd been drinking."
"So?" Cameron asked House.
"We all know Chase doesn't drink heavily unless something's really bothering him. It's the alcoholic mother complex. He's never drunk," Wilson answered for him.
"He was too afraid to stop at a corner store or go home," House added.
"So you drugged him?" Cameron stated incredulously.
"Well I could let him think I cared!" stated House. Cameron sat back, frustrated.
"So you think you've figured out what Chase is afraid of?" asked Wilson. "Or are we careening down the road towards Chase's apartment because it's his birthday?"
"Why would you say something so stupid," said House, mockingly, "I don't know where you come up with this stuff." Cameron made a sound of annoyance.
"From the liquor, you knew he was at a bar, probably close to your place, huh? The migraine explains his unwillingness to drive. The person he was afraid of must have known this too. The person could find him in some convenience store or something and Chase didn't want that, so he went to your place, the closest option," Cameron suggested, leaning between the two pilot seats. House opened his mouth to continue, but she was having none of it.
"When you drugged him, you crossed the line from safety to danger which is why he had no qualms heading home this morning," she continued. House pouted. He liked being the centre of attention. "You figured it had to be someone from the past and you figure it's this Laura Owens he doesn't want to see. But it doesn't make sense House. Just because she argued with Chase's father, doesn't mean he's afraid of her."
"She shot him," House stated matter-of-factly. "She was never caught." Cameron sat back in her seat again, a look of shock spreading across her face.
"Jesus."
-=+=-
She was lifting herself off him finally. He moaned as she lifted his tighties up and over his groin area. She then pulled his jeans up again and zipped up his fly. Then, to Chase's incredulity, she began to reinsert his belt into the loops.
"What's the point?" he asked.
"I can't leave you hanging out all over the place," she stated, nonchalantly. Chase rolled his eyes.
"I'm nailed to the wall."
She chose not to answer.
"Why are you going to kill me?" he asked.
"You're too used," she replied, vaguely.
Chase was silent. She kissed him on his mouth, his chin and his neck, pushing on his bitten and raw throat. Then she stood up and took the gun. She checked the cartridge to make sure everything was in order. Out in the hallway there was the faint chime of the elevator door opening. Chase closed his eyes, savouring the last sounds of his existence. The sound of the clock ticking down the seconds. The sound of the television barely audible next-door. The sound of footsteps in the hall and the gentle step-clunk-step of someone with a cane. It was sad that even that sound, so inductive of House, was a comfort to Chase. A key turning in a lock ...
He opened his eyes and stared down Laura. She was pointing the handgun at him. She smiled.
House, Cameron and Wilson burst into the room. In two steps, House was behind Laura. He swung his cane...
There was a burst of noise as the gun fired, Laura yelped, House grunted, Cameron shrieked and Chase screamed all at the same time. Laura pivoted on her ankle, forgetting Chase, and grabbed House's cane. She ran into him, knocking him over and then struck Wilson over the head with her weapon. Wilson went down like a rock. Only Cameron was between her and the door. Laura ran at her, brandishing the cane but Cameron stood firm. Laura ran into her, propelling them both out of the apartment and into the hallway. Cameron hit the hallway wall so hard she lost her breath for a moment. The moment gave Laura time to untangle herself from the doctor and run down the hall.
Cameron stepped forward to chase after her but Laura was already gone. Some of Chase's neighbours came out into the hall.
"Call 9-1-1," she commanded, "two people injured, one possibly shot." One of the men dressed in a business suit nodded and pulled out a cell phone. Cameron walked back inside the room. House had tenderly rolled over Wilson, whose forehead was already swollen and bruised. Then she glanced at Chase. In all the confusion she hadn't really looked at him but now she could.
His hands were nailed to the wall. Cameron felt like she was going to spill her guts out at the very sight of it. She raced over to his side and noticed that Laura had gotten him with the bullet. Blood was leaking from a wound on his shoulder. She also noted the scar near his pelvis.
"There is ... There is a hammer ... in the ... the bag," Chase gasped weakly. Cameron nodded and opened the black bag Laura had left behind in her mad rush out the door. She pulled out the hammer and fitted the head around the nail in his right hand.
"This is going to hurt."
"Yeah," replied Chase. She pulled back the hammer, pushing down on Chase's wounded palm as the fulcrum since there was no way she could rest the hammer on the wall. Chase groaned. The ambulance sirens wailed in the distance. Cameron looked at Chase who was groggily looking back at her. He was loosing consciousness. She didn't want to hurt him. It must have shown on her face.
"Do it," grunted Chase. She slipped in the head and pulled again. Chase's left hand fell. Cameron put down the hammer and lifted his chin, noticing the redness.
"Christ," she exclaimed on seeing the bite marks.
The paramedics forced their way into the room with two stretchers on wheels. As they rushed over to Chase and Wilson, Cameron went to House to help him stand. Laura had taken his cane. She heard the one of the paramedics ask the still conscious Chase where he wanted to be taken.
"Princeton-Plainsboro," said House, hobbling to the door using the wall and shunning Cameron's offer for support. "Take them both to the teaching hospital."
-=+=-
Chase looked up to see his mother sitting over him in the ICU. She had a motherly, kind look on her face, the one that had slowly disappeared under the weight of her alcoholism and disappointment. Rowan Chase limped over and stood over her shoulder. His look exuded concern, his brow was wrinkled in anxiety. He almost looked fatherly.
"Chase," his mother said, sounding oddly like Cuddy, "Chase, are you awake?" His father said nothing. He just stared down at him, his mouth firmly closed. Chase closed his eyes.
-=+=-
"Where's my mum?" he asked in confusion, hours later, his voice strained from his neck wounds. He was gripping the side of the hospital bed in a cold sweat. Cameron rushed to his side, having just entered the room. His eyes were looking wildly around the room.
"Chase," she said gently, pushing him down gently by placing her hand on his chest, away from his wound. He looked at her, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. "Chase, calm down, you're safe."
"My mum ..." he said again. A part of Cameron died inside at the look on his face, in his eyes.
"Chase, your mother is dead. She's been dead for years."
"She was just, she was just ... And my dad ..." He looked at her for confirmation. Cameron shook her head.
"We've all been taking shifts sitting here. You must have seen Cuddy and House."
"No ..." But the look of surety in his eyes was gone. "No ..."
Foreman popped his head into the room.
"He up?"
Cameron almost nodded but then she looked down. Chase's eyes were closed again, but too tightly. He was faking it like a ten year old kid who wants to get out of school.
"No," she said, "he's still out."
-=+=-
Chase had been awake for two days but he had said nothing. Cameron could tell that everyone was itching to get the details but she was having none of it. She let them in only on the condition that they didn't pressure Chase and so far no one had.
Of course, House hadn't been down to visit yet.
He was coming, though. Cameron knew he would come and try to force out some sort of a narrative from Chase. She had already decided not to stop him. If Chase got it out of his system and off his mind it would be good for him.
There was a distinct step-thump-step-thump in the corridor and a cane slid open the door of Chase's recovery room. House limped over to the bed and sat down on the chair across from Cameron.
Chase looked at House, the first eye contact he had made with anyone since he had asked Cameron for his mother.
"I'm not going to talk about it." His voice was still hoarse.
"She shot you, hit Wilson, caused Cameron to become emotionally and sexually attracted to you and most importantly, she stole my favourite cane. I want some answers."
Chase looked away.
"Oh, stop sulking. She raped you. There, I said it," House declared at Chase's look of surprise. "Now it's not embarrassing any more. So tell the story." Chase sighed.
"Start at the very beginning," House instructed. Chase rolled his eyes but then nodded.
"I met her at a party when I was in med school," he started. "We went out for drinks a week later. In about a month we were having sex. I went to a few of her parties, met a few of her friends. That's where I met that dominatrix who was here. Anyway, thought it was odd at first that she wasn't into the sort of stuff her friends were into but when I thought about it, she did do subtle stuff that didn't seem like a big deal. I figured she liked pain but didn't have the guts to admit it. I didn't say any thing." He paused. Cameron handed him a grass of water. He took it gratefully and drank half of it before handing it back.
"After three months the relationship sort of got more serious. She moved into my apartment and then the pain thing really started coming out. It wasn't much of a bother because she usually managed to do things that weren't noticeable and we both managed to satisfy each other. Then one day I came home and she hit me across the chest with a fold-out chair." He stopped again, more from embarrassment than a sore voice, even though he accepted Cameron's offer of water. As he gave back the empty cup, Cuddy slipped into the room.
"In the ensuing sex she broke three of your fingers," stated House casually, then pausing for effect, "and cracked a rib." Chase nodded.
"She called the ambulance, said I came in from a rugby game in the university field looking pale and that I'd been tackled. They recognized my name and took me to Melbourne General, even though two hospitals were closer. My dad saw through her right away. He wanted to file charges. When I said no, he blew up at Laura. Needless to say, she really disliked my dad after that and my dad refused to talk to me.
"When I went home, it got worse and worse. It was like a big circle that I couldn't get out of. I was upset that my dad wasn't talking to me which made Laura jealous which made her do stuff to piss off my dad behind my back which made me more depressed and dependant on her. Eventually I couldn't leave her. I just couldn't. Then my marks started getting bad and Laura made the mistake of letting my father know. My dad saw through her again and realised that his disappointment was bothering me. He called, saying if I left her, he'd look after me. Laura heard and two hours later I was in the ICU with a bullet wound.
"When my dad came to visit me in the hospital he said something like it was my fault and if I had listened to him, I would have been alright. I told him I that I was never going to agree with what he proposed in the phone call. We fought again and dad even transferred me to another doctor. But he did erase the shooting from my record so that my job chances wouldn't be affected." Chase sounded bitter. "My future was that important. They never found Laura. After I recovered I managed to get through med school and do my internship and get a job here. I never thought she would be able to get out of Australia without getting caught and put in prison."
"She stalked you all the way here?" asked Foreman incredulously.
Chase shrugged.
"Looks like." The neurologist shook his head.
"And you willingly walked into it? I assume you knew she would be there," stated Wilson.
"I was so mad at House, I wasn't thinking straight. I--" he hung his head. Cameron offered him another glass of water but he ignored it.
"You still love her."
Chase looked up at House and quickly looked away.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do." He let out a laugh. "Even now."
"Man, she nailed you to a wall," stated Foreman, looking slightly confused.
"Yeah," whispered Chase, "yeah, she did."
The various pagers began to beep. Cameron and Foreman slipped out, followed by a reluctant House. Only Cuddy and Wilson remained. They sat in silence for awhile, Chase staring at the bandages on his hands.
"We'll give you the sick time you need," offered Cuddy as she got up to leave. Chase nodded. Wilson followed her out.
Chase sat in the room alone, the emptiness and silence of the room pushing in on him. He leaned back into the pillow and to combat the stillness did something he didn't often do. He sang.
"Come all young men of learning a warning take by me
I'd have you quit night walking and shun bad company
I'd have you quit night walking or else you'll rue the day
When you are transported and going to Botany Bay"
He continued humming the tune for a little while and then drifted off to sleep. You're safe, she had told him. That was all that mattered.
THE END
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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