Puppy

[alanwolfmoon]

Title: Puppy
Pairing: House+/Chase
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Summary: Chase chews though a sharpie and goes to the clinic.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Notes: really short, cute fic. It was just fun to write Chase being so out of it that house feels he can safely act like he cares without anyone noticing.

T

House sighed, pushing the door to exam room two open.

 

Then he blinked.

 

Chase, sitting on the exam table, a large black smudge on the left side of his chin.

 

“I chewed through a sharpie,” he mumbled, miserably.

 

“Smart. Any symptoms?”

 

“Throat, mouth, stomach hurt.”

 

House nodded, digging in a drawer and pulling out a few alcohol swabs, wiping Chase’s chin.

 

Chase suddenly pushed him away, House held a basin under the younger doctor’s head.

 

Chase tilted forward off the table, unable to balance himself as he heaved.

 

An arm caught him across the chest, holding him up as he vomited.

 

“Nice. Let’s get you on some activated charcoal.”

 

Chase nodded, panting, as he slid further down the table, the older doctor’s arm keeping him from doing it quickly enough to hurt himself.

 

Chase ended up sitting on the floor in front of the table, leaning against House with his eyes half open.

 

House jabbed the call button with his cane, other hand on Chase’s wrist.

 

Chase threw up again before the nurse got there, and again before she got back with the wheelchair.

 

His head dropped to rest on House’s chest, he was panting.

 

“Can you breathe?”

 

“I think… I inhaled…”

 

House instinctively put his arm around Chase’s shoulders.

 

He wasn’t sure, afterwards, how it got there.

 

Chase whined quietly.

 

“What?”

 

“Getting a headache… and my stomach really hurts.”

 

A nurse came in, House told her to get a wheelchair, or gurney.

 

Chase threw up.

 

House held him off the floor.

 

Chase closed his eyes, head on House’s chest again.

 

“Hurts.”

 

House sighed, gently wiping the smudge away with one of the alcohol swabs while they waited for the wheelchair.

 

Chase’s pulse was slightly weaker than it had been when House first checked it.

 

Shit.

 

 

Chase sniffed, arms around his stomach as he laid on the bed, shivering slightly.

 

God, he was miserable.

 

A blanket suddenly appeared on his legs, pulled its way up over his shoulders.

 

A hand started rubbing his back.

 

He tried to look, but the hand prevented him, “shhh.”

 

Chase shrugged a little to himself.

 

The hand felt so good…

 

He let out a soft sound of pleasure.

 

The rubbing continued, moving up and down his back, soothing the muscles that were tense and sore from clenching around his stomach.

 

He suddenly had to pull away from the wonderful hand, struggle to get off the bed.

 

He ended up curled on the floor, panting.

 

Someone lifted him, carried him in lurching, unsteady steps to the bathroom, set him on the toilet, kept him from sliding forward off it as the charcoal completed its route.

 

He closed his eyes, whining quietly in the back of his throat.

 

He really hurt….

 

The hand was back now, on his shoulder, rubbing somehow firmly and gently at the same time.

 

He finished, reached for the toilet paper, wiped himself, and slid off the toilet, in the brief moment that the person let go of him to flush.

 

He opened his eyes, blinking exhaustedly up at the tall—very tall—figure.

 

As he was lifted again, he felt his cheek brush against a rough jawbone.

 

Huh.

 

House.

 

 

He closed his eyes as he was set back on the bed.

 

“You tell anyone, you die.”

 

Chase nodded.

 

The hand returned, bringing its unbelievable amount of comfort with it.

 

“Why?” he mumbled, after a while.

 

“Because it’s a distraction.”

 

Chase thought for a moment, mind slowed a little by the poison.

 

He decided that made sense, and nodded.

 

A soft laugh came from behind him.

 

He managed a brief smile, before a spasm hit, and he started to retch.

 

House sighed, holding the basin for him.

 

“Why’d you go to the clinic instead of the emergency room?”

 

“Cameron’s on call…” mumbled Chase, wiping his mouth with a tissue House handed him.

 

“Ah.”

 

 

A while passed in silence, Chase making the occasional involuntary grunt of either pleasure or pain.

 

“Any better?”

 

Chase nodded tiredly.

 

House sighed, taking a break from rubbing to stretch.

 

“’least you got me out of clinic duty,” he mumbled, yawning.

 

Chase smiled a little, eyelids slowly drifting shut as the rubbing resumed.

 

“what were you thinking about so hard that you chewed through a sharpie?”

 

Silence.

 

House stood, leaning over Chase to see the younger doctor’s face.

 

He was soundly asleep.

 

House smirked a little, pulled the covers back over the blond, and sat down in his chair once more.

 

 Chase was like a puppy. He chewed on everything… and he was cute.  

 

Comments

[housecat32.livejournal.com]

This is sooo good; you got House caring for a miserably sick patient just right. (Notice how it always happens without a witness.) Wouldn't want to sully his rep would we now. Great jo!