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Title: Photophobia
Pairing: House/Chase
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: pg-13-ish
Warnings: not much. swearing, 1 f word
Summary: Chase happens to find House on the floor of a supply closet because [House] got a chemcial in his eyes that is causing severe photophobia.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Notes: Photophobia is a physical sensitivity to light--not a fear of it, despite the name.
T
Chase blinked, opening the closet to get a new box of surgical masks for the OR, and instead finding a familiar figure curled on the floor, eyes closed.
“House?”
No answer.
Chase knelt, shaking House’s shoulder.
House opened his eyes. There seemed to be some sort of discharge around the corners, running down the sides of his face, and along his nose.
“What?”
“Why are you in the bottom of a closet?”
House shrugged.
“Because if I was in the bottom of a hallway, somebody would step on me. Also, because I fell in here, and the door locks itself. I couldn't get out.”
Chase rolled his eyes, stepping over House to get at the shelf that should have the surgical masks on it.
He heard a grunt, and looked down, worried that he had, in fact, stepped on his former boss.
He hadn’t.
House was twisting, arm over his eyes, the light obviously causing him some kind of discomfort.
“House?” he asked, lowering his arms and blinking, “are you ok?”
House just grunted again, sitting up and pulling his over-shirt off, then balling it up over his face.
“Perfect,” came the muffled and belated reply.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. That’s the definition of perfect.”
“But not the definition of lying in a closet because you couldn't get out, and obviously suffering severe photophobia. What happened when you fell?.”
House sighed.
“Something got in my eyes, I kept rubbing at them, they're irritated. I'm fine.”
Chase sighed, shaking his head.
“Whatever,” he pulled the box of masks down, stepping carefully over House on his way out of the closet. He did make sure to wedge the lock open, though.
Chase looked up vaguely, as Foreman tapped him on the shoulder.
“Yes?”
“Have you seen House?”
Chase shrugged.
“Not recently, why? He missing?”
“Sort of. He’s answering his phone, but nobody can find him, and he’s not answering his pages.”
Chase blinked, watching Foreman go.
Ten minutes later, Chase was standing in the same closet, watching House squirm in an attempt to escape the light.
“What are you doing?”
“Not hurting. Unlike you, if you don’t go away.”
Chase shook his head.
“You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. You can’t see anything.”
“Can too. You’re wearing green scrubs, white and green sneakers, and a purple long sleeved t-shirt under the scrubs. Nice American cliché, by the way. ”
“That’s what I always wear on Monday, and I *know* you know that. Am I wearing my name tag?” said Chase, ignoring House's other comment.
“No.”
“You didn’t know that by looking.”
“You never wear your name tag, it was a stupid question.”
“No it wasn’t. If you had answered it incorrectly, it would have proved that you were both functionally blind, and losing it.”
“Go away.”
“No. Your team is looking for you.”
“I got that from the fact they kept paging me.”
“Let me look, ok?”
House sighed, waving for Chase to turn off the lights.
He did, kneeling down carefully as he pulled out his pen light.
House stiffened as Chase clicked the small flashlight on, and Chase could see that his eyes were still closed.
“House, I can’t look at your eyes if they aren’t open.”
House opened one eye, tentatively.
Chase directed the light at it.
House squirmed away, closing his eye involuntarily.
Chase followed him, till House was pinned against the wall, and he was able to spread House’s eyelid with his fingers.
“Agh! Ok, enough!” said House loudly, pushing at Chase’s chest before Chase even got a glimpse.
“House, I have to look to see if there's any damage, ok?”
House tried to get away, but failed miserably, knocking a bucket of paint all over himself and Chase.
Chase sighed.
“Now you *do* have to get out of here.”
“Why? Worried the paint fumes’ll make me high?”
“No, because you’ve been in here for two days already, you haven’t eaten anything, and now you’re covered in paint.”
House didn’t say anything.
“And you don’t want to because it actually hurts, right?”
House grunted.
“Ok.”
“Ok what?”
“Ok I’ll wait till the janitors turn the lights off.”
“Oh. Ok.”
A few hours later....
House stumbled a little, eyes shut tightly even against the dim lighting, Chase's arm around his back, keeping him from falling or walking into anything.
Chase frowned, watching the older doctor as they headed down the corridor.
House tried to open his eyes, but closed them again immediately.
Chase stopped.
“House.”
House sighed.
“They’re not just irritated. I know. Some chemical got in them.”
Chase swallowed.
“Your gravedigger hat still in your office anywhere?”
House shook his head.
“Uh-uh.”
“Sunglasses?”
Another head-shake.
Chase sighed, nodding, and continued helping House not run into anything.
By the time they were in Chase's car, House had a pounding headache, and Chase was truly worried.
“House...”
House turned his head away.
“It’s not like I'm actually blind.”
“No, it just hurts for you to see anything.”
House sighed.
“Just drop me off. I'll be fine.”
Chase sighed, shaking his head, as they pulled up in front House's apartment.
House grunted as he got out, even the streetlight too bright for him to handle.
Chase rolled his eyes and got out, taking House's searching hand and placing it on the railing.
“I'm staying here.”
House turned towards him.
“What?”
“I'm staying here, at least for a few nights.”
“Hell no!”
“Either you let me stay, or I tell Cameron you're blind.”
“I'm not blind!”
“Functionally, at least right now, you are. And I doubt she'll *see* the distinction.”
House groaned.
As much as he hated to admit it, Chase sleeping on his couch for a few days was not only a better prospect than being subjected to Cameron's pathological caring, it was almost... reliving.
He was scared—a little. Not much.
But some.
Chase grunted a little bit, sitting up.
What had woken him?
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit!”
House was sitting on the floor, holding his ankle.
“What happened?” asked Chase, getting up and crouching next to the older doctor.
“I *swear* that doorway was a foot further to the left!”
Chase snorted, touching House's shoulder.
“You think it's sprained?”
House nodded.
Chase sighed.
“Well... uh... hold on.”
House frowned.
“Where are you going?”
Chase came back, there was a popping sound, and something cold and wet and smelling of alcohol was poured all over him.
“Chase, what the hell?!”
“You are officially just hung over.”
House stopped yelling, as the younger doctor knelt in front of him.
Chase touched his shoulder, getting him to hold still, and gently wiped the milky tears that kept leaking out away from the corners of the older doctor's eyes.
He rubbed the last of them between his thumb and forefinger, smirking slightly.
“Heh, House-tears. The rarest substance in existence.”
House snorted, then sighed.
“Chase.”
Chase tilted his head—not that House could see it.
“Yeah?”
“Uh... hand up?”
Chase touched him on the shoulder, then stood, and gripped his hands, helping the older doctor to his feet.
“You ok?” he asked, softly, as House stood awkwardly, trying to put the least weight possible on his bad leg. Fortunately, it had been his right ankle.
House nodded, clenching his teeth.
House sighed, sitting on an exam table with a pair of cataract sunglasses Chase had procured from the gift shop on his face, and an ortho resident carefully palpitating his ankle.
“Well, I don't think it's broken, but we should get some x-rays just to be sure.”
House groaned, lying back on the table.
“How long's the wait for the machine?”
“Only an hour or so.”
He groaned again.
Chase touched him on the shoulder.
“I'll be right back.”
“What? No!”
He stopped.
“What’s wrong?”
“I... nothing.”
Chase shrugged, leaving.
House closed his eyes, clenching one hand into a fist.
The ER was so damn *noisy*, and busy, and confusing. And he couldn't see shit.
Chase came back through, after just a few minutes, and placed what felt like a chocolate bar, wrapper torn but candy untouched, in his hand.
“You looked kind of shaky, I figured you could use a boost.”
House sighed, lifting his head so he could pull the pillow out and cover his eyes with it.
“I'm shaky because my ankle hurts like hell!”
Chase rolled his eyes, took the candy back, snapped off a piece, and stuck it in House's mouth as soon as the older doctor started complaining again.
House smirked, calming.
“Foreman'll be mad at you, you know?”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“He’s been trying to train me not to whine, and you're spoiling me with candy.”
Chase laughed.
House had fallen asleep by the time the x-ray machine was open, thanks to the drugs the ortho lady had give him, and Chase smiled when he looked blearily around through his dark lenses.
“Hey. Ready to go down to radiology?”
He nodded.
Chase helped him not miss the wheelchair as he got off the bed, then handed him the blanket, as he was shivering a little bit.
House seemed exhausted by the time they got home, and squinted at the steps in front of his apartment with an expression of absolute loathing.
Chase ended up mostly lifting House onto the bed.
The older doctor didn't even seem to have the presence of mind to remove the glasses.
Chase sighed, gently taking them off, and again wiping at the twin trails of whitish tears.
House mumbled something unintelligible, as Chase tucked him in.
Chase smiled, shook his head, and left to go sleep on the couch.
It was almost morning.
Too bad.
Chase sat up, frowning.
Again, there were distressed noises.
This time they were coming from inside the bedroom.
He got up and padded over, cautiously opening the door.
House was still on the bed, but his arm was over his eyes, and he was squirming, trying to escape the light coming in through his bedroom windows.
Chase sighed, closing the curtains for him.
That seemed to help, but he was obviously still in pain.
Chase sat down on the edge of the bed, sighing.
“Chase.”
“Yeah?”
“There should be a bandana in the top drawer of that dresser.”
Chase got up, opened the drawer, and took the indicated object out.
House grimaced heavily, as he removed his arm from over his eyes.
Chase folded the bandana halfway diagonally, then rolled it, making it into a blindfold.
He touched House's shoulder, then gently tied it around the older doctor's head.
House seemed a lot less tense, after that.
Chase sighed, still sitting on the edge of the older doctor's bed.
“Better?”
House nodded, waving Chase away.
He left.
It was almost ten am, when he was woken again.
'Damn, for a man who claims to not need any help...' thought Chase, as he entered the bedroom to find House tangled in the sheets and struggling against them, obviously having a serious nightmare.
Chase sat on the edge of the bed, gently tugged the sheets until they lay flat, and pulled the blindfold off.
House squinted up at him, panting and trembling.
“Hey,” said Chase, hand on the older doctor's chest, “you ok?”
House didn't respond; he still seemed extremely shaken.
Chase stayed where he was, rubbing House's chest in a slow, comforting rhythm.
House eventually calmed some, and Chase lifted his hand.
House swallowed, slowly sitting up.
“You ok?” asked Chase, again.
House nodded, eyes closed.
“What time is it?” he mumbled, quietly.
“Around ten-thirty AM.”
House groaned.
Chase sighed.
“House... I know it's gonna hurt, but... someone should really take a look at the damage.”
House sighed.
“I know. I guess... I guess, I'll call Cuddy. Tell her what happened.”
Chase touched House's shoulder instead of nodding.
House reached for the phone, knocking over a glass of water by accident.
He growled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and trying to assess the amount of water that had spilled by feel.
Chase let him do it, and handed him a towel from the bathroom as his only interference.
House sighed, as the ophthalmologist told him what he had already guessed—significant chemical burning of his corneas.
Cuddy and Chase, the other two people present, sighed as well.
The guy put two gauze pads over House's eyes, wrapped more gauze around his head, and told him to have someone change it, in a dark room, if the pads got wet, or uncomfortable, or soaked up too much of the milky discharge.
House nodded, resigned, and slowly stood.
Chase touched his shoulder, and House reached towards the younger doctor.
Chase held his hand in front of House's, so if House was actually hoping to find it, he would, but if he wasn't, Chase wasn't actively taking the older doctor's hand.
House's hand touched Chase's, and gripped it, holding on.
Cuddy left, uncomfortable. She didn't like seeing House that helpless.
House turned his head, hearing her clicking footsteps on her way out.
“Cuddy left,” said Chase, quietly.
House nodded.
Chase tried to keep House from running into anything, as he walked with a crutch and his left hand in Chase's, but it was just too awkward, and Chase ended up having to stand closer to the older doctor, arm around House's waist, crutch abandoned.
Three days later, House kicked Chase out of his apartment, saying he would take a cab to work.
House didn't come in to work.
Chase turned back up at his apartment.
When he unlocked the door and walked into the kitchen, he found House sitting on the floor, surrounded by broken glasses, bleeding hands in his lap, blood spattering the floor all around him.
Chase sighed.
House, who had raised his head when Chase had come in, frowned.
“Who’s there?”
“Chase,” said Chase's distinctive voice.
House sighed.
“I... I knocked a cup over. It knocked a bunch more over, and they fell out, and I guess they broke... I tried to clean it up...” his voice was cracking, strained.
Chase picked up the broom from the floor a few feet to House's right, cleared a path to the older doctor, and knelt in front of him, gently checking the palms of House's hands.
House allowed Chase to help him up, but was unable to walk, the cuts on his feet and his still-sore ankle making it impossible to even stand.
Chase grunted, lifting House basically piggy-back.
Chase dumped House backwards onto the couch, falling over on top of the older doctor by accident when House's arms around his shoulders didn't let go quickly enough.
He got up, turning around and sitting on the couch next to House.
“Let me see your feet?”
House nodded, and allowed Chase to lift his left foot onto the younger doctor's lap.
“No wonder you couldn't walk. There's glass in some of these.”
House groaned, slightly.
Chase sighed.
“You have a real first aid kit, or just a band-aid and neosporin one?”
“Real one. Might be a bit low on, uh, painkillers, though.”
Chase touched House's shoulder as he got up, “in your bathroom?”
House shook his head, “no, over the bookcase behind me.”
Chase touched his shoulder again, pulling out the stepstool leaning against the wall and climbing up it, eventually finding the olive box.
House grimaced, as Chase carefully started injecting the local anesthetic.
“Shh, stop squirming,” said Chase, and House stopped.
The younger doctor started carefully pulling the glass shards out of House's foot, setting them in the unused ashtray on the coffee table.
House wasn't moving much, by the time Chase had finished getting all the glass out, and though Chase couldn't tell for sure, he was guessing the older doctor had fallen asleep, or come fairly close.
Chase got up, spreading a towel out under House's foot, and then starting to flush out the cuts, before meticulously sewing them closed, and wrapping it over with gauze.
Chase sighed, as he heard the distressed noises from House's room again.
This sucked.
He walked in, shook House until he woke, reassured the older doctor of where he was and what was going on, then plopped himself down on the other half of the bed.
House rolled over, and if it was possible for a man with gauze covering his eyes to glare, that would be what Chase called it.
“You won't panic if you wake up and there's someone next to you.”
House stopped 'glaring'.
When House woke from the second nightmare of the night, he found a warm weight pressed up against his back, and what felt like an arm wrapped around his waist.
He snorted, a little, to himself.
He could hear Chase snoring, which made it funny, rather than irritating.
That morning, he woke with the gauze wet and skin irritated.
He could hear Chase walking around, and the shades being closed, and the lights being turned off.
Then a rattling thing was set on the bed, and he felt the mattress dip as Chase sat down.
He felt the gauze being unwrapped, and then Chase's fingers very gently lifting the two damp pads.
“Oh, damn...” muttered Chase, “the skin's all inflamed. Maybe we should leave these off for a little while... can you open your eyes?”
House slowly opened them.
There wasn't enough light in the room to make them hurt.
Chase leaned in close, checking that neither eye looked more irritated than before.
“Can you see me?”
House nodded, “yeah, but you're blurry.”
Chase touched him on the shoulder, and House closed his eyes again.
“Hey,” said Chase, thinking of something, “as long as you've got the pads off, might as well wash your hair and stuff.”
House tilted his head.
“Why do I care how my hair looks? It's not like I can see it anyway...”
“Ok, that was supposed to be a subtle way of saying you need a bath. You stink.”
“Oh.”
“Ok?”
“Yeah, ok.”
Chase stood.
“I'll make sure nothing's too bright.”
“Kay.”
Chase left, and House could hear him puttering around the apartment, and the rattle of shades and blinds closing.
This sucked.
He wasn't really blind, and this would most likely get better, but...
Goddammit, he still had to deal with not being able to see anything for a while.
He heard Chase come back in, and allowed the younger doctor to help him towards the door.
It was easier to accept help for something transient and just annoying than it was for something like his leg.
An hour later, Chase was sitting on the couch, watching House lower himself to sit at the piano, starting to play.
Chase smiled.
House seemed to sit a little straighter, now, though his eyes were still closed
A while later, the sun started to shine through the top of the shades, right on the piano, and House had to stop playing and cover his eyes.
Chase got up, gripping his shoulders, helping him get up, guiding him back to the bedroom.
House stumbled a lot, having left his cane at the piano.
They were almost at the bedroom door, when his leg gave out, and he fell.
Chase knelt, hurriedly, hands touching House's back.
“House?”
No answer.
“House, are you ok?”
Nothing.
He gently rolled House over, and saw that he was clenching his teeth, looking unbelievably frustrated.
Chase sighed, hand resting on the older doctor's chest.
House laid there for a while, not ready to make himself move.
Then he slowly sat up, and allowed Chase to help him not run into anything on the way to his bed.
House laid, curled on his bed, his head resting on a balled up section of his quilt.
He felt trapped.
By the apartment, by his eyes, even by Chase.
Though, really... Chase was more of a solution than a problem.
He frowned.
Chase was here all the time...
Had Cuddy let him off? Damn, that meant... that meant she knew how hard a time he was having...
Dammit.
Chase came in, and sat on the bed.
“You awake?”
“I am now,” snapped House.
Chase blinked.
House was breathing quickly.
“Hey... are you ok?”
“Do I look fucking ok?!”
Chase's eyebrows nearly met.
“What... what's wrong?”
“My life!”
House's breath was getting quicker and quicker.
Chase gripped the older doctor's hand.
“Hey. Don't panic. Shh, it's ok.”
House hung on to him, hard enough it hurt.
Chase let him, and started rubbing his other hand firmly over House's heaving chest.
House eventually stopped hyperventilating, and let go of Chase's hand.
Chase reached over, gently wiping the discharge from House's cheeks.
“Better?”
House nodded.
Chase didn't stop rubbing House's chest, and didn't take his hand away from where it was resting against House's cheek.
House reached up, gripping Chase's hand again, but much more lightly, guiding it over his face.
Chase smiled, and leaned in.
House's stubble tickled against his lips.
“It’s gonna be ok, House,” he whispered, “we'll get you through this.”
“Yeah,” said House, also whispering, “I know.”
When the bandages came off, House was still having a lot of trouble with light sensitivity, but at least he could see more than a fuzzy blur again.
Chase still walked next to him in the halls a lot, his hand still gripped by the older doctor's.
But for a different reason.
Pairing: House/Chase
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: pg-13-ish
Warnings: not much. swearing, 1 f word
Summary: Chase happens to find House on the floor of a supply closet because [House] got a chemcial in his eyes that is causing severe photophobia.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Notes: Photophobia is a physical sensitivity to light--not a fear of it, despite the name.
T
Chase blinked, opening the closet to get a new box of surgical masks for the OR, and instead finding a familiar figure curled on the floor, eyes closed.
“House?”
No answer.
Chase knelt, shaking House’s shoulder.
House opened his eyes. There seemed to be some sort of discharge around the corners, running down the sides of his face, and along his nose.
“What?”
“Why are you in the bottom of a closet?”
House shrugged.
“Because if I was in the bottom of a hallway, somebody would step on me. Also, because I fell in here, and the door locks itself. I couldn't get out.”
Chase rolled his eyes, stepping over House to get at the shelf that should have the surgical masks on it.
He heard a grunt, and looked down, worried that he had, in fact, stepped on his former boss.
He hadn’t.
House was twisting, arm over his eyes, the light obviously causing him some kind of discomfort.
“House?” he asked, lowering his arms and blinking, “are you ok?”
House just grunted again, sitting up and pulling his over-shirt off, then balling it up over his face.
“Perfect,” came the muffled and belated reply.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. That’s the definition of perfect.”
“But not the definition of lying in a closet because you couldn't get out, and obviously suffering severe photophobia. What happened when you fell?.”
House sighed.
“Something got in my eyes, I kept rubbing at them, they're irritated. I'm fine.”
Chase sighed, shaking his head.
“Whatever,” he pulled the box of masks down, stepping carefully over House on his way out of the closet. He did make sure to wedge the lock open, though.
Chase looked up vaguely, as Foreman tapped him on the shoulder.
“Yes?”
“Have you seen House?”
Chase shrugged.
“Not recently, why? He missing?”
“Sort of. He’s answering his phone, but nobody can find him, and he’s not answering his pages.”
Chase blinked, watching Foreman go.
Ten minutes later, Chase was standing in the same closet, watching House squirm in an attempt to escape the light.
“What are you doing?”
“Not hurting. Unlike you, if you don’t go away.”
Chase shook his head.
“You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. You can’t see anything.”
“Can too. You’re wearing green scrubs, white and green sneakers, and a purple long sleeved t-shirt under the scrubs. Nice American cliché, by the way. ”
“That’s what I always wear on Monday, and I *know* you know that. Am I wearing my name tag?” said Chase, ignoring House's other comment.
“No.”
“You didn’t know that by looking.”
“You never wear your name tag, it was a stupid question.”
“No it wasn’t. If you had answered it incorrectly, it would have proved that you were both functionally blind, and losing it.”
“Go away.”
“No. Your team is looking for you.”
“I got that from the fact they kept paging me.”
“Let me look, ok?”
House sighed, waving for Chase to turn off the lights.
He did, kneeling down carefully as he pulled out his pen light.
House stiffened as Chase clicked the small flashlight on, and Chase could see that his eyes were still closed.
“House, I can’t look at your eyes if they aren’t open.”
House opened one eye, tentatively.
Chase directed the light at it.
House squirmed away, closing his eye involuntarily.
Chase followed him, till House was pinned against the wall, and he was able to spread House’s eyelid with his fingers.
“Agh! Ok, enough!” said House loudly, pushing at Chase’s chest before Chase even got a glimpse.
“House, I have to look to see if there's any damage, ok?”
House tried to get away, but failed miserably, knocking a bucket of paint all over himself and Chase.
Chase sighed.
“Now you *do* have to get out of here.”
“Why? Worried the paint fumes’ll make me high?”
“No, because you’ve been in here for two days already, you haven’t eaten anything, and now you’re covered in paint.”
House didn’t say anything.
“And you don’t want to because it actually hurts, right?”
House grunted.
“Ok.”
“Ok what?”
“Ok I’ll wait till the janitors turn the lights off.”
“Oh. Ok.”
A few hours later....
House stumbled a little, eyes shut tightly even against the dim lighting, Chase's arm around his back, keeping him from falling or walking into anything.
Chase frowned, watching the older doctor as they headed down the corridor.
House tried to open his eyes, but closed them again immediately.
Chase stopped.
“House.”
House sighed.
“They’re not just irritated. I know. Some chemical got in them.”
Chase swallowed.
“Your gravedigger hat still in your office anywhere?”
House shook his head.
“Uh-uh.”
“Sunglasses?”
Another head-shake.
Chase sighed, nodding, and continued helping House not run into anything.
By the time they were in Chase's car, House had a pounding headache, and Chase was truly worried.
“House...”
House turned his head away.
“It’s not like I'm actually blind.”
“No, it just hurts for you to see anything.”
House sighed.
“Just drop me off. I'll be fine.”
Chase sighed, shaking his head, as they pulled up in front House's apartment.
House grunted as he got out, even the streetlight too bright for him to handle.
Chase rolled his eyes and got out, taking House's searching hand and placing it on the railing.
“I'm staying here.”
House turned towards him.
“What?”
“I'm staying here, at least for a few nights.”
“Hell no!”
“Either you let me stay, or I tell Cameron you're blind.”
“I'm not blind!”
“Functionally, at least right now, you are. And I doubt she'll *see* the distinction.”
House groaned.
As much as he hated to admit it, Chase sleeping on his couch for a few days was not only a better prospect than being subjected to Cameron's pathological caring, it was almost... reliving.
He was scared—a little. Not much.
But some.
Chase grunted a little bit, sitting up.
What had woken him?
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit!”
House was sitting on the floor, holding his ankle.
“What happened?” asked Chase, getting up and crouching next to the older doctor.
“I *swear* that doorway was a foot further to the left!”
Chase snorted, touching House's shoulder.
“You think it's sprained?”
House nodded.
Chase sighed.
“Well... uh... hold on.”
House frowned.
“Where are you going?”
Chase came back, there was a popping sound, and something cold and wet and smelling of alcohol was poured all over him.
“Chase, what the hell?!”
“You are officially just hung over.”
House stopped yelling, as the younger doctor knelt in front of him.
Chase touched his shoulder, getting him to hold still, and gently wiped the milky tears that kept leaking out away from the corners of the older doctor's eyes.
He rubbed the last of them between his thumb and forefinger, smirking slightly.
“Heh, House-tears. The rarest substance in existence.”
House snorted, then sighed.
“Chase.”
Chase tilted his head—not that House could see it.
“Yeah?”
“Uh... hand up?”
Chase touched him on the shoulder, then stood, and gripped his hands, helping the older doctor to his feet.
“You ok?” he asked, softly, as House stood awkwardly, trying to put the least weight possible on his bad leg. Fortunately, it had been his right ankle.
House nodded, clenching his teeth.
House sighed, sitting on an exam table with a pair of cataract sunglasses Chase had procured from the gift shop on his face, and an ortho resident carefully palpitating his ankle.
“Well, I don't think it's broken, but we should get some x-rays just to be sure.”
House groaned, lying back on the table.
“How long's the wait for the machine?”
“Only an hour or so.”
He groaned again.
Chase touched him on the shoulder.
“I'll be right back.”
“What? No!”
He stopped.
“What’s wrong?”
“I... nothing.”
Chase shrugged, leaving.
House closed his eyes, clenching one hand into a fist.
The ER was so damn *noisy*, and busy, and confusing. And he couldn't see shit.
Chase came back through, after just a few minutes, and placed what felt like a chocolate bar, wrapper torn but candy untouched, in his hand.
“You looked kind of shaky, I figured you could use a boost.”
House sighed, lifting his head so he could pull the pillow out and cover his eyes with it.
“I'm shaky because my ankle hurts like hell!”
Chase rolled his eyes, took the candy back, snapped off a piece, and stuck it in House's mouth as soon as the older doctor started complaining again.
House smirked, calming.
“Foreman'll be mad at you, you know?”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“He’s been trying to train me not to whine, and you're spoiling me with candy.”
Chase laughed.
House had fallen asleep by the time the x-ray machine was open, thanks to the drugs the ortho lady had give him, and Chase smiled when he looked blearily around through his dark lenses.
“Hey. Ready to go down to radiology?”
He nodded.
Chase helped him not miss the wheelchair as he got off the bed, then handed him the blanket, as he was shivering a little bit.
House seemed exhausted by the time they got home, and squinted at the steps in front of his apartment with an expression of absolute loathing.
Chase ended up mostly lifting House onto the bed.
The older doctor didn't even seem to have the presence of mind to remove the glasses.
Chase sighed, gently taking them off, and again wiping at the twin trails of whitish tears.
House mumbled something unintelligible, as Chase tucked him in.
Chase smiled, shook his head, and left to go sleep on the couch.
It was almost morning.
Too bad.
Chase sat up, frowning.
Again, there were distressed noises.
This time they were coming from inside the bedroom.
He got up and padded over, cautiously opening the door.
House was still on the bed, but his arm was over his eyes, and he was squirming, trying to escape the light coming in through his bedroom windows.
Chase sighed, closing the curtains for him.
That seemed to help, but he was obviously still in pain.
Chase sat down on the edge of the bed, sighing.
“Chase.”
“Yeah?”
“There should be a bandana in the top drawer of that dresser.”
Chase got up, opened the drawer, and took the indicated object out.
House grimaced heavily, as he removed his arm from over his eyes.
Chase folded the bandana halfway diagonally, then rolled it, making it into a blindfold.
He touched House's shoulder, then gently tied it around the older doctor's head.
House seemed a lot less tense, after that.
Chase sighed, still sitting on the edge of the older doctor's bed.
“Better?”
House nodded, waving Chase away.
He left.
It was almost ten am, when he was woken again.
'Damn, for a man who claims to not need any help...' thought Chase, as he entered the bedroom to find House tangled in the sheets and struggling against them, obviously having a serious nightmare.
Chase sat on the edge of the bed, gently tugged the sheets until they lay flat, and pulled the blindfold off.
House squinted up at him, panting and trembling.
“Hey,” said Chase, hand on the older doctor's chest, “you ok?”
House didn't respond; he still seemed extremely shaken.
Chase stayed where he was, rubbing House's chest in a slow, comforting rhythm.
House eventually calmed some, and Chase lifted his hand.
House swallowed, slowly sitting up.
“You ok?” asked Chase, again.
House nodded, eyes closed.
“What time is it?” he mumbled, quietly.
“Around ten-thirty AM.”
House groaned.
Chase sighed.
“House... I know it's gonna hurt, but... someone should really take a look at the damage.”
House sighed.
“I know. I guess... I guess, I'll call Cuddy. Tell her what happened.”
Chase touched House's shoulder instead of nodding.
House reached for the phone, knocking over a glass of water by accident.
He growled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and trying to assess the amount of water that had spilled by feel.
Chase let him do it, and handed him a towel from the bathroom as his only interference.
House sighed, as the ophthalmologist told him what he had already guessed—significant chemical burning of his corneas.
Cuddy and Chase, the other two people present, sighed as well.
The guy put two gauze pads over House's eyes, wrapped more gauze around his head, and told him to have someone change it, in a dark room, if the pads got wet, or uncomfortable, or soaked up too much of the milky discharge.
House nodded, resigned, and slowly stood.
Chase touched his shoulder, and House reached towards the younger doctor.
Chase held his hand in front of House's, so if House was actually hoping to find it, he would, but if he wasn't, Chase wasn't actively taking the older doctor's hand.
House's hand touched Chase's, and gripped it, holding on.
Cuddy left, uncomfortable. She didn't like seeing House that helpless.
House turned his head, hearing her clicking footsteps on her way out.
“Cuddy left,” said Chase, quietly.
House nodded.
Chase tried to keep House from running into anything, as he walked with a crutch and his left hand in Chase's, but it was just too awkward, and Chase ended up having to stand closer to the older doctor, arm around House's waist, crutch abandoned.
Three days later, House kicked Chase out of his apartment, saying he would take a cab to work.
House didn't come in to work.
Chase turned back up at his apartment.
When he unlocked the door and walked into the kitchen, he found House sitting on the floor, surrounded by broken glasses, bleeding hands in his lap, blood spattering the floor all around him.
Chase sighed.
House, who had raised his head when Chase had come in, frowned.
“Who’s there?”
“Chase,” said Chase's distinctive voice.
House sighed.
“I... I knocked a cup over. It knocked a bunch more over, and they fell out, and I guess they broke... I tried to clean it up...” his voice was cracking, strained.
Chase picked up the broom from the floor a few feet to House's right, cleared a path to the older doctor, and knelt in front of him, gently checking the palms of House's hands.
House allowed Chase to help him up, but was unable to walk, the cuts on his feet and his still-sore ankle making it impossible to even stand.
Chase grunted, lifting House basically piggy-back.
Chase dumped House backwards onto the couch, falling over on top of the older doctor by accident when House's arms around his shoulders didn't let go quickly enough.
He got up, turning around and sitting on the couch next to House.
“Let me see your feet?”
House nodded, and allowed Chase to lift his left foot onto the younger doctor's lap.
“No wonder you couldn't walk. There's glass in some of these.”
House groaned, slightly.
Chase sighed.
“You have a real first aid kit, or just a band-aid and neosporin one?”
“Real one. Might be a bit low on, uh, painkillers, though.”
Chase touched House's shoulder as he got up, “in your bathroom?”
House shook his head, “no, over the bookcase behind me.”
Chase touched his shoulder again, pulling out the stepstool leaning against the wall and climbing up it, eventually finding the olive box.
House grimaced, as Chase carefully started injecting the local anesthetic.
“Shh, stop squirming,” said Chase, and House stopped.
The younger doctor started carefully pulling the glass shards out of House's foot, setting them in the unused ashtray on the coffee table.
House wasn't moving much, by the time Chase had finished getting all the glass out, and though Chase couldn't tell for sure, he was guessing the older doctor had fallen asleep, or come fairly close.
Chase got up, spreading a towel out under House's foot, and then starting to flush out the cuts, before meticulously sewing them closed, and wrapping it over with gauze.
Chase sighed, as he heard the distressed noises from House's room again.
This sucked.
He walked in, shook House until he woke, reassured the older doctor of where he was and what was going on, then plopped himself down on the other half of the bed.
House rolled over, and if it was possible for a man with gauze covering his eyes to glare, that would be what Chase called it.
“You won't panic if you wake up and there's someone next to you.”
House stopped 'glaring'.
When House woke from the second nightmare of the night, he found a warm weight pressed up against his back, and what felt like an arm wrapped around his waist.
He snorted, a little, to himself.
He could hear Chase snoring, which made it funny, rather than irritating.
That morning, he woke with the gauze wet and skin irritated.
He could hear Chase walking around, and the shades being closed, and the lights being turned off.
Then a rattling thing was set on the bed, and he felt the mattress dip as Chase sat down.
He felt the gauze being unwrapped, and then Chase's fingers very gently lifting the two damp pads.
“Oh, damn...” muttered Chase, “the skin's all inflamed. Maybe we should leave these off for a little while... can you open your eyes?”
House slowly opened them.
There wasn't enough light in the room to make them hurt.
Chase leaned in close, checking that neither eye looked more irritated than before.
“Can you see me?”
House nodded, “yeah, but you're blurry.”
Chase touched him on the shoulder, and House closed his eyes again.
“Hey,” said Chase, thinking of something, “as long as you've got the pads off, might as well wash your hair and stuff.”
House tilted his head.
“Why do I care how my hair looks? It's not like I can see it anyway...”
“Ok, that was supposed to be a subtle way of saying you need a bath. You stink.”
“Oh.”
“Ok?”
“Yeah, ok.”
Chase stood.
“I'll make sure nothing's too bright.”
“Kay.”
Chase left, and House could hear him puttering around the apartment, and the rattle of shades and blinds closing.
This sucked.
He wasn't really blind, and this would most likely get better, but...
Goddammit, he still had to deal with not being able to see anything for a while.
He heard Chase come back in, and allowed the younger doctor to help him towards the door.
It was easier to accept help for something transient and just annoying than it was for something like his leg.
An hour later, Chase was sitting on the couch, watching House lower himself to sit at the piano, starting to play.
Chase smiled.
House seemed to sit a little straighter, now, though his eyes were still closed
A while later, the sun started to shine through the top of the shades, right on the piano, and House had to stop playing and cover his eyes.
Chase got up, gripping his shoulders, helping him get up, guiding him back to the bedroom.
House stumbled a lot, having left his cane at the piano.
They were almost at the bedroom door, when his leg gave out, and he fell.
Chase knelt, hurriedly, hands touching House's back.
“House?”
No answer.
“House, are you ok?”
Nothing.
He gently rolled House over, and saw that he was clenching his teeth, looking unbelievably frustrated.
Chase sighed, hand resting on the older doctor's chest.
House laid there for a while, not ready to make himself move.
Then he slowly sat up, and allowed Chase to help him not run into anything on the way to his bed.
House laid, curled on his bed, his head resting on a balled up section of his quilt.
He felt trapped.
By the apartment, by his eyes, even by Chase.
Though, really... Chase was more of a solution than a problem.
He frowned.
Chase was here all the time...
Had Cuddy let him off? Damn, that meant... that meant she knew how hard a time he was having...
Dammit.
Chase came in, and sat on the bed.
“You awake?”
“I am now,” snapped House.
Chase blinked.
House was breathing quickly.
“Hey... are you ok?”
“Do I look fucking ok?!”
Chase's eyebrows nearly met.
“What... what's wrong?”
“My life!”
House's breath was getting quicker and quicker.
Chase gripped the older doctor's hand.
“Hey. Don't panic. Shh, it's ok.”
House hung on to him, hard enough it hurt.
Chase let him, and started rubbing his other hand firmly over House's heaving chest.
House eventually stopped hyperventilating, and let go of Chase's hand.
Chase reached over, gently wiping the discharge from House's cheeks.
“Better?”
House nodded.
Chase didn't stop rubbing House's chest, and didn't take his hand away from where it was resting against House's cheek.
House reached up, gripping Chase's hand again, but much more lightly, guiding it over his face.
Chase smiled, and leaned in.
House's stubble tickled against his lips.
“It’s gonna be ok, House,” he whispered, “we'll get you through this.”
“Yeah,” said House, also whispering, “I know.”
When the bandages came off, House was still having a lot of trouble with light sensitivity, but at least he could see more than a fuzzy blur again.
Chase still walked next to him in the halls a lot, his hand still gripped by the older doctor's.
But for a different reason.
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....
are you psychic, or something? because it was inspired by that episode.
lol
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Fantastic story
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