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Goodnight Nobody
by BlueGemEyes
A week has passed since House left Chase on his knees in the conference room. And since then, House hasn't spoken to him, hasn't acknowledged him, hell, he hasn't even stayed in the same room as him longer than it takes to do a Differential.
Chase can see how this is going to end, and it's not going to end well. Either his heart or his femur is going to get broken. Probably both. But he's either got to fix this, or suffer at House's hands incessantly.
"To conquer other makes you strong. To conquer yourself makes you fearless." ~Lao Tzu
"My place. Tonight. Nine o' clock" House said as Chase was leaving the conference room to run some tests. He nodded dejectedly, knowing that this was probably going to be the last time. After all...House hadn't paid attention to him for weeks, what else was he supposed to think?
At 8:56, he was standing outside House's door. He toyed briefly with the idea of not going in, but really, who was he kidding? He was going to go in, like he always did. And he was going to bend to House's every whim, like he always did. He sighed, pushed his hair out of his eyes, and rang the bell.
He got no response, of course. If anything, Queen's "Jukebox Hero" got turned up a little louder, forcing him to pound more insistently on the door.
"House!" he shouted, pounding still harder on the door. "I know you can hear me! Open this bloody door right fucking now! Before I walk away!"
There was no answer from within, but the door creaked open about six inches, allowing him to push his foot inside and swing the door all the way open.
"You wouldn't walk away" House said quietly from the middle of the room. "If you had seriously entertained the thought of walking away, you would've done it by now...instead of just yelling it at my front door."
Chase sighed and rolled his eyes, raking his fingers through his hair. "The only reason I'm yelling at your bloody door is because you're too much of an overgrown five-year-old to just OPEN the damn door, instead-" Chase's words were cut off as House crushed their lips together, silencing him and claiming him, all with one punishing kiss.
Chase's eyes widened-whatever he'd been expecting, it sure as hell wasn't this. But he figured he might as well enjoy it-it was all going to be over soon. He opened his lips, and allowed House's tongue to invade his mouth, sweeping over his teeth and tongue, as if to say, You're still mine.
Chase had felt miserable so often over the past few weeks that he thought he ought to trademark it. No one can own you so completely without you sacrificing a piece of yourself-if not your whole self. He'd known that going into this "relationship"...yet he still dove in headfirst.
House pulled out of the kiss, staring critically at Chase. "Something's bothering you. Tell me what it is."
Chase snorted derisively-an unattractive habit, but he couldn't help it. "Like you'd give a damn even if I did tell you."
House glared at him. "But if I don't at least pretend, you get all pissy and withdrawn and then you're no fun at all. So please tell me."
Chase sighed, raking his fingers through his hair yet again. He made a mental note that he did that only under extreme stress or nervousness, and to try to control the impulse. "I want to know...where we stand. Not you and I as people, but...us. As the kind of demented couple that we are. The reason I'm asking is because I see us on a road that's leading to our (not to sound melodramatic) to our demise."
Throughout Chase's halting inquiry, House had said nothing, only stared at him with those penetrating blue eyes Chase had once loved more than anything. When Chase finished speaking, House heaved a sigh of his own, wondering how best to phrase a statement that would probably shatter Chase.
`There is no good way' he thought to himself. `I might as well get it over as fast I can, like ripping off a Band-Aid.'
But as he looked at Chase, who was staring at the floor, fiddling nervously with another one of his God awful ties, he realized he couldn't do a `hit-and-run' type break-up. For the first time in his life, he wanted to let someone down easy, instead of hitting them over the head with a bombshell, and then disappearing from their life.
He took a deep breath and looked over at Chase. "Chase...you might want to sit down. I think we need to talk, don't you?"
Chase jerked his head up, startled. Fear and preparation for heartbreak were all over his face...especially in his eyes. But he nodded and took a seat on House's couch, his body language suggesting he'd bolt at any moment.
House paced slowly back and forth in front of the couch-slowly because he was hampered by his cane and leg. At last he stopped, and turned to face Chase.
"We've been together...what, eight months?" he asked. After getting a nod from Chase, he continued. "But, like people do...I feel we've grown apart. And I know that sounds odd, especially coming from me...but I feel it's true."
Chase looked up at him, disbelief written all over his face. "You feel we've grown apart" he repeated, his voice full of incredulity. "Forgive me for sounding so disbelieving, but those words sound so unlike you that a certain amount of skepticism is bound to creep in."
House looked at him, wondering when exactly Chase had obtained such a frighteningly high level of cynicism-probably from working for him. He closed his eyes, pained by the thought. `It's like a toxic side effect' he groused to himself. He took another breath to clear his head.
"Nevertheless" he continued. "That's the way I feel, and...fuck it, there's no good way to say this...I don't think we should be together anymore." It should be noted he said all of this while staring intently at the floor of his apartment.
Chase looked like he'd been punched in the stomach-taken almost completely by surprise. But House knew him well enough by now to detect emotions simmering just under the surface-hurt, betrayal, anger, and a sadness that went beyond anguish. But he took several deep breaths, trying to pull himself together without losing it completely.
He looked up at House, eyes shimmering with tears he refused to shed. And when he spoke, there was barely a waver in his voice. "If that's the way you feel...I guess I should be going, then." He stood, preparing to go. And as he kissed House on the cheek for the last time, a single tear rolled down his cheek.
He paused, his hand on the doorknob of House's front door. He turned back to House and said, "Goodbye, Greg. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for." He drew in a shuddering breath. "And I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you needed." He turned the knob, and just like that, he was gone from House's life, and gone from his bed.
But his words wouldn't leave House's mind. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you needed."
Even after House had destroyed their relationship, broken his heart, and turned his world upside down and inside out...Chase was still the one apologizing. He was still the one looking out, not for himself, but for House.
House hobbled over to the cupboard that held his bottle of Jack Daniels. He poured himself a healthy measure, and knocked back half the glass on his first drink. Always a maudlin drinker, he mused as he sipped.
`I stole eight months of Chase's life' he thought to himself. `And more than anything, I wish I could give it back to him.'
And for the first time in almost 7 years, tears welled in the eyes of Dr. Gregory House, but they remained unshed.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
At his apartment across town, Chase was huddled in a shivering mass on the floor. He had two empty vodka bottles on the floor next to him, and a third that was almost finished in his hand. His blood alcohol level was probably two or three times the legal limit, but he was drunk and so far past caring, so he just kept drinking. He knew that once it reached a certain level, his liver would start shutting down.
In fact, he was counting on it.
He knew Cameron would be sad when she heard the news, and Foreman might be shocked, maybe a little remorseful. And Dr. Wilson would probably be sad. Sad, but most likely not surprised. He knew House better than anyone, and he'd berated House more than once for sending his employees down potentially self-destructive paths.
Chase smiled humorlessly. He was so far past the point of no return, he didn't give a fuck anymore. As he took the last few swigs of vodka from the bottle, his vision started to blur and the room seemed to be spinning. And as he swallowed the final drops from the bottle, he chuckled bitterly and said, "Goodnight, nobody".
And as he lay down on his kitchen floor and let the darkness take him, his final thought was `I still love you, Greg'
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The funeral was small. Cameron came, and cried, like he knew she would. Foreman was there too, and he actually seemed genuinely sad that Chase was gone. Wilson was there with Wife #2, Julie. Both of them looked a little teary eyed, as did Cuddy and Head Nurse Brenda. As the priest was saying the opening prayer, House slid into the back pew, wearing-to Chase's shock-a shirt and tie that were clean and pressed, and an expression of such sadness in his eyes that if Chase could've hugged him, he would've.
After the service, as everyone was heading out to the cemetery, Chase noticed House still sitting by himself in the back pew. He knew House couldn't hear him, but he sent a thought his way anyway: `Be well, Greg. I love you.'
House looked up as though he'd heard. "I love you, Chase. And I'm sorry...I'm so sorry."
Chase smiled, but it was a smile full of painful acceptance. The final stage. Even in death, House drove him crazy. But at least he could now rest in peace.
House limped out of the cathedral, several tears rolling down his face. Then he turned his face to the wind and said, "Good night sweet prince! May flights of angels wing you to your rest."
End Chapter
End Series: Stages of Stress
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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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