Author's Notes: This is incomplete, and I'm not sure when I'm going to finish it, but I was scrambling for something to post for 30 Days and Nights of House/Chase--band camp has put me majorly behind. This is blatantly a House-ified version of Cassandra Claire's A Lot To Be Upset About, and if Cassie were still around, I would have asked her permission. As it stands, she's vanished from the world of fanfiction, so I can only disclaim. Not my idea. I was just getting fed up with all the angsty Wilson fics that popped up after the S4 finale, and needed to write some House/Chase... And enough blabbing. Enjoy part one!

Strange Places

Part 1

Following the death of Amber, life at PPTH reassembled itself. House recovered from his brain surgery with no obvious neurological damage—at least, as far as anyone could tell. On House’s chart, Foreman had noted that he “didn’t seem any different than before the procedure”, but the common consensus was that House had already been slightly brain damaged. Thirteen and Taub had taken to having hot, athletic sex whenever they thought no one was looking. Chase had broken off his engagement to Cameron for unknown reasons. And Wilson was lauded and pitied at the same time for the tragic death of his girlfriend, although no one knew where, exactly, he was anymore.

And this would have all been well and fine if it weren’t for the other new development in the hospital.

In the wake of Cameron, Chase appeared to have lost all his inhibitions. He had slept with the head of cardiovascular surgery first, moved through all the nurses in neurology, dated the whole of orthopedics in a single weekend and even managed to have phone sex with one of the technicians who was on vacation when he had worked his way through anesthesiology. Chase had taken to dressing himself in clothes that not only matched, but made him look—House would admit it—impossibly sexy. Mind-bogglingly, no one seemed to mind the fact that Chase had become a complete man-whore overnight. Not even the people that he’d already screwed, dated, taken out for drinks, or had otherwise propositioned for a good time.

But Chase hadn’t limited himself to just surgery—the catfight between an ophthalmologist and an OB-GYN intern had become almost legendary within two days. Chase didn’t even discriminate gender, taking two of the new security guards out for drinks one night (where, it was rumored, Chase had done an impromptu but very erotic striptease on the counter). There were constantly people following him down the hallways, attempting to wait on him hand and foot and anticipate his needs before he said them aloud. His surgeries became the most popular event at the hospital, and there was reportedly a black market for scrubbing in on one.

So House sat back and waited for Chase to get to him. It wouldn’t be long, he figured. Chase had always been a suck up. Returning to his boss to give him a blowjob or offer to take him to see the new X Files movie (with complimentary snacks during and drinks afterwards, of course) would only be natural. He’d been gone for a month while he’d been recovering, and there couldn’t be very many people left on Chase’s little list.

But a week went by, and then another, and House hadn’t gotten so much as a wink. He juggled his red tennis ball, bottle of Vicodin and cell phone while Chase walked past his office with his usual entourage. He twirled his cane contemplatively as he watched Chase openly flirt with the visiting EPA officer. He scowled when he saw Chase pinch nurse Brenda’s butt, which made her giggle and swat him on the arm playfully. His eyes narrowed as two flushed, disheveled oncology interns came tumbling out of an on-call room, readjusting their scrubs as they walked away, and Chase exited a minute later with an annoyingly superior look on his face. He inwardly seethed as he saw one of the cafeteria workers slip a piece of paper with her phone number on it into Chase’s salad.

After two and a half weeks of waiting, House couldn’t take it anymore.

“Where’s Wilson?” he demanded of his team.

Thirteen and Taub were too busy staring at each other lustfully to hear him.

Kutner lifted a headphone from his ear. “Huh?”

“Wilson,” House said with a scowl.

Taub inhaled sharply and Thirteen let out a little moan.

Kutner shrugged. “No idea. He was in a bit of a bad mood when I saw him this morning.”

A funny, strangled noise came from Taub.

“Do something about them,” House snapped, jerking his thumb towards Thirteen and Taub.

“Oh, yeah,” Kutner said mildly, nodding as he cast an appraising look at the two. “They’ve been having some constipation problems, I think. I hope it isn’t contagious.”

House stared at him and almost said something about Kutner’s happy little oblivion, but decided to leave it be. Instead, he headed over to Wilson’s office—but it was empty. He searched the clinic, cafeteria, various Coma Guy rooms, the oncology break rooms, without luck. He hadn't seen Wilson all day. He hadn't seen Wilson since waking up in the hospital that first time, come to think of it. It was high time Wilson got over himself—if only he could be found. House finally gave up and went to Cuddy’s office in hopes of beating Wilson's location out of her.

As he pushed the door open, Cuddy jumped away from Chase.

“House!” she cried, scrambling to button her shirt.

Chase crossed his arms over his chest, looking fairly displeased at the interruption.

“Oh, get over it,” House told him, and Chase glared. He turned to Cuddy. “Where’s Wilson?”

Cuddy scowled at him. “What do you want with him? Leave him alone. Amber’s death has been really hard on him, and he’s still recovering.”

“I want to apologize,” House lied. He put on his best 'I'm ashamed to be saying this' face.

“He was in the basement a half an hour ago,” Chase said helpfully.

“What, did you screw him too?” House asked.

Chase looked hurt. “No. I’m not sleeping with every person in this hospital, House.”

“Just the ones that you work with, right?” House said, only slightly bitter about it.

“Go away,” Cuddy said, glaring at him.

“Oh, very nice. Go away,” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice, but he turned around as Cuddy grabbed the front of Chase's scrubs and yanked, pulling him towards her to him. There was a growling noise, and fabric ripped with a gasp.

Good grief.

oOo

However sluttish he may be, Chase had been right about Wilson. House found him in the basement trying to roll a red barrel over to a stack of cardboard boxes. Judging by how Wilson was struggling to move it, the contents of the barrel were quite heavy.

“What the hell are you doing?” House asked, staring at Wilson as he pushed on the barrel with all his might.

The barrel didn’t budge an inch.

“WHY DO YOU CARE?” Wilson screamed at him, giving the barrel a hard shove with his shoulder. “LEAVE ME ALONE.”

House blinked. “They weren’t kidding about the bad mood thing, I see.”

“I AM VERY UPSET,” Wilson yelled, turning around and leaning against the barrel. “YOU’RE PROBABLY TOO WRAPPED UP IN YOURSELF TO NOTICE. HOW TYPICAL. BOY DOES THAT PISS ME OFF.”

Raising his eyebrows, House wondered who had cleared Wilson for psych. “Okay. Well, anyway, Chase is a complete skank now. He’s sleeping with everyone.”

“AND THAT’S JUST GOT YOU HAPPY AS A CLAM, DOESN’T IT?” Wilson should. He grunted, and with an almighty push, the barrel at last rolled forward. “YOU'RE DISGUSTING. NO WONDER NO ONE LIKES YOU.”

“Well, the fruit-baskets aren't exactly pouring in for you, either,” House muttered. If he kept talking to Wilson he was going to get a headache. “And I’m not happy. Chase is sleeping with everybody but me.”

“WELL HE ISN’T SLEEPING WITH ME EITHER,” Wilson yelled, although there was less strain in his voice now that he had the barrel rolling. “NOBODY SLEEPS WITH ME. NOBODY TALKS TO ME. I’M ALL ALONE AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT. SCREW YOU HOUSE.”

“You’re not going to tell me that I should talk to him? That I should forget about it?” House asked, raising his eyebrows. “Remind me that Chase isn’t my employee anymore and therefore not my business?” Maybe, with an investment in some decent earplugs, he could get to like this new Wilson.

“YOU SURE THINK A LOT ABOUT YOURSELF DON’T YOU? YOU’RE A VERY SELFISH PERSON. I HATE SELFISH PEOPLE.” Wilson was making some good progress with the barrel. He’d almost rolled it four feet by now.

“Yes, I’m very selfish,” House agreed, rolling his eyes. “Who did your psych consult?”

“I’M NOT CRAZY,” Wilson screamed, pushing the barrel along. “YOU JUST WANT ME LOCKED UP SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH ME. BOY DOES THAT PISS ME OFF. I HOPE THAT YOU ROT IN HELL HOUSE.”

“A lot of things piss you off, don’t they?” House said, watching as Wilson really got the barrel moving. “And what are you doing with that barrel?”

“I DON’T KNOW WHY I WOULD TELL YOU,” Wilson yelled. “IT ISN’T ANY OF YOUR BUSINESS WHAT I’M DOING IN THE BASEMENT OF THE HOSPITAL WITH A BARREL OF GASOLINE AND A PILE OF CARDBOARD BOXES.”

House thought that he had a pretty good idea, and he considered trying to talk Wilson out of it, but he was starting to get a headache from all the shouting. Maybe if he was feeling generous later, he would inform Cuddy that Wilson developing arsonist-like tendencies in the basement. If she wasn't too busy Chase (the stupid slut), that was.

“Well, you have fun with your gasoline,” House said cheerily, giving Wilson a little wave. “Later!”

“I AM NOT HAVING FUN. I AM VERY UPSET. I SHOULD THINK THAT WOULD BE VERY OBVIOUS. YOU’RE JUST TOO WRAPPED UP IN YOURSELF TO NOTICE. BOY DOES THAT—”

House shut the door behind him.

oOo

The following day, he decided to consult his team about his problem. The only problem with this idea was that Thirteen and Taub weren’t anywhere to be found—Kutner was sitting alone, listening to his headphones again. House went on with his plan anyway. Taub and Thirteen usually didn’t take too long.

“Wilson is insane,” House pronounced as he entered the room. He crossed the room in the beeline for the coffee pot.

“Huh?” Kutner said, slipping off his headphones.

“Wilson,” House said impatiently. “He’s psychotic.”

Kutner frowned. “He’s still recovering. Amber’s death has been really hard on him.”

“And Taub and Thirteen are still constipated, right?” House asked, taking his mug off the shelf.

“No,” Kutner said, frowning in faint confusion. “Actually, they have the shits today. Been running to the bathrooms all day long. I think that it was the hamburgers Taub brought in on Tuesday—I said they looked a little pink.”

“Lucky I didn’t have one,” House said dryly.

“Yeah, really,” Kutner snickered, completely missing the sarcasm.

House poured his coffee and rolled his eyes.

“So what’s up?” Kutner asked casually, slipping the headphones back around his ears.

House almost told him to bug off when an idea popped into his head.

“Hey Kutner—am I hot?”

“I—what?” Kutner said, raising up one of the pads, looking utterly baffled.

House reached over and ripped them off his head. “Am I hot? Sexy?”

“I’m—wait. Whoa. Whoa, hang on. Look, I’m real sorry, but I’m—not, you know, gay,” Kutner said. “I didn’t mean to lead you on or anything. I didn’t know that—”

“Not you,” House interrupted with a scowl. “I like blondes and blues, thank you very much.”

As far as he knew, there was only one infamous blond-haired, blue-eyed slut in the hospital, but Kutner apparently didn’t keep up with the gossip. He stared at House blankly.

“Is this where I brilliantly deduce who you’re talking about?” Kutner finally said. “Because let me tell you, I don’t have the slightest—”

“Chase, you idiot,” House snapped. This conversation was not going the way he’d intended it to go at all.

“But Chase has green eyes.”

“Whatever,” House said dismissively. “Green.”

“And he hasn’t had sex with you yet?” Kutner asked, a hint of a smile curling the corners of his mouth upward. “Gee.”

“Well, why not?” House demanded, annoyed. “What’s wrong with me?”

“You did used to be his boss,” Kutner pointed out.

“He screwed Cuddy and she is his boss,” House said, taking a gulp of coffee. “He hasn’t asked you yet, has he?”

Kutner shook his head. “Nope. Although, he is pretty good looking…”

“You just said that you weren’t gay!” House said, outraged.

Kutner shrugged. “I’m not. But Chase is… He’s just hot. If I was ever going to go gay, it’d probably be for him. I mean, did you see the shirt he was wearing yesterday? He’s got to work out or something, because—ow!”

“Can it,” House said, glaring at Kutner as he rubbed the side of his head where House had just thrown the bottle of creamer at him.

The door opened and Taub and Thirteen came shuffling in, both sweaty and flushed. Thirteen’s necklace was backwards.

“Taub,” House said suddenly, as the idea sparked. “Go find Chase and tell him to meet me in the on-call room on the second floor next to the vending machines that never sell Twinkies. At four.”

Taub glanced at Thirteen, and House swore that Thirteen nearly had an on-the-spot orgasm. Taub let out a low moan.

“You should go back to the bathroom,” Kutner advised. “I can go talk to Chase.”

Both Taub and Thirteen nodded enthusiastically and began heading for the door.

“Get back here,” House barked.

With obvious effort, Taub and Thirteen slowed to a stop and turned around.

“Taub, go. Or I’ll give you an enema myself,” House threatened, and Taub’s eyes widened.

Thirteen let out a small whimper as Taub went away, and her eyes followed him all the way down the hallway. House took another sip of his coffee and considered the merits of retrieving the bottle of whiskey from the bottom left drawer of his desk to give his coffee a little extra spice, but he vetoed the idea after a minute’s thought. He would save it for when Taub and Thirteen actually lost control and tore off each other’s clothing in the middle of the hallway.

“Hey Thirteen,” Kutner said from the table, frowning. “You’ve got your shirt buttoned lopsided—did you know?”

oOo

At four o’clock, House made his way to the on-call room next to the vending machine that never sold Twinkies. He had just taken three Vicodin so that he would be able to get up off the bed and return to work when he and Chase had finished, and there was a pleasant buzzing in his mind. As he limped down the hallway, the floor rocked and the lights occasionally became multi-colored, but it wasn’t a big deal. It would just make the sex that much more interesting.

But when he opened the door to the on-call room, Chase wasn’t waiting inside for him.

Wilson, however, was. He was busily hacking away at one of the metal posts holding the top bunk up in the air with a rusted hacksaw.

“Oh, great,” House muttered. He went to shut the door so that he could wait for Chase outside and tell him that they needed to relocate, but unfortunately, Wilson took notice of him.

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?” Wilson demanded, pausing for a moment to glare at him. “LOOKING FOR MORE PEOPLE TO KILL AREN’T YOU?”

“I’m waiting for Chase,” House informed him. “We’ll be making use of this room in about five minutes, so clear out.”

Wilson waved the hacksaw threateningly. “JUST COME OVER HERE AND MAKE ME.”

“All right, all right,” House said quickly, holding up his hands before Wilson came charging at him with the sharp, pointy, rusted thing bared. “Keep your hair on. We’ll leave you to your handiwork.”

Looking satisfied, Wilson dropped the saw and picked up a jackknife. He flipped it open and turned to the bottom bunk. A smile spread across his face as he reached out with the knife in hand, plunging it down into the mattress. As House shut the door, he heard the sound of fabric ripping and rolled his eyes.

House waited for another twenty minutes, but Chase did not show up. By the time he admitted to himself that Chase was not coming, the Vicodin had really kicked in and he was seeing colors everywhere. He’d tried to buy something from the vending machines, but hadn’t been able to get past the part where he had to put the money in the slot (which was a shame, because it had taken quite a bit of effort to get the money out of his pocket in the first place). There weren’t any chairs for him to sit in, which was bad because he was feeling slightly nauseous.

He decided that he should go back to his office to ride out the rest of this Vicodin high, and once that was done, he would find Taub and flay him within an inch of his life. Why hadn’t Chase come? There was no way that Taub had told him and Chase had declined. Chase was a whore. A whore-filled whore, coated and drizzled with whore flavorings on a whore platter. With a side of whore. And House, of course, was any whore’s dream come true. The only other explanation was that Taub had never told Chase.

House took a lurching step forward. He hoped that this feeling of vertigo was only a mental thing—some nurse might mistake him for a fugitive physical therapy patient and trap him in an exam room, and then deliver him to physical therapy via wheelchair. He’d seen it happen before. He’d seen them use restraints before.

Walking was taking forever. It was a good thing that Wilson had gone psycho because otherwise he would probably be here trying to persuade House into a wheelchair, and House wasn’t sure that he would be able to say no. The floor was wobbling like he was in one of those contraptions at a carnival funhouse. Actually, the lights were flashing like he was at a carnival funhouse, too. And the air smelled a bit like popcorn. Burnt popcorn. Maybe riding in a wheelchair would be like riding a rollercoaster—or a ferris wheel.

“House?”

For a split second, House thought that it was Wilson calling his name. Then he recognized the prominent Australian accent, and with only minor difficulty, turned around to face Chase.

“Where have you been?” House demanded, although it came out less forcefully than he’d wanted it to.

Chase frowned. “In surgery. Listen, you’re walking funny. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” House said, trying to scowl. His face wasn’t very responsive at the moment.

“Your pupils are dilated,” Chase said, reaching for something in his pocket. Probably a penlight. Maybe a condom. But probably a penlight.

“I’m fine,” House insisted. He tried to take a step backwards, but it ended up being a bad idea. The world tipped and his stomach lurched, colors flashing before his eyes, and House had the peculiar sensation of being on a boat in the middle of a storm until his vision cleared. He blinked and found himself staring up at the tiled ceiling.

“What did you take?” Chase asked, his face coming into House’s field of vision. He looked concerned.

“Just Vicodin,” House mumbled. He closed his eyes. The floor wasn’t swaying quite so much and it was hard and cool, which made him feel less nauseous. If Chase hadn’t been a half an hour late, this would have worked out perfectly.

“How much?” Chase sounded resigned.

“You’re late,” House accused, but his words had sounded much more incriminating in his head.

“Late for what?” Chase asked, looking genuinely confused.

Something unreasonably bright flashed in House’s eyes, making his eyes water. There was a roaring in his ears and something was squeezing his neck. He gasped for breath, and Chase suddenly smacked him across the face and he could breathe. Where the hell had Chase learned that?

It occurred to him that Chase had said something, but he couldn’t remember what it was. “What?”

“What am I—”

“Hey Chase!”

House thought that the new voice sounded a bit like Taub.

“What’s—oh, House. You can just get a nurse to take care of him.”

Ah, yes. That was Taub.

“No, it’s okay,” Chase said. “I can take care of him.”

House mentally cheered. This could be it! Chase would help him back to his office, and no doubt his shameless sex drive would overcome him and they'd do it on the couch. Or maybe on the desk.

Judging by how things were going, though, they might have to do it right here on the floor.

“Normally, I’d say give him to Wilson, but he’s still recovering. Amber’s death has been really hard on him.”

“I’m fine,” House said—and he tried to say it convincingly, but from the expression on Chase’s face he hadn’t managed it.

“DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT. I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING—IT WAS HOUSE. HE'S A DIRTY ROTTEN BASTARD.”

Wilson had apparently finished vandalizing the on-call room.

“Anyway,” Taub continued, “about tonight. Would it be okay if Thirteen joined us?”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Chase said grinning.

House let out a strangled noise as he realized what had happened to his message.

“House, breathe,” Chase said soothingly, apparently thinking that House was choking.

Frantically, House tried to shake his head, but the world was spinning to much and all he could think of was Chase taking hedonistic pleasure in Taub and Thirteen. “No,” he croaked. “N—Cha... N...” He was coughing.

“Breathe. It’s okay.” Chase said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But we do have to get you off the ground.”

House tried helplessly to tell Chase that it was him, that it was he who wanted to go out tonight, but he could only gargle unintelligibly.

“Breathe, House, breathe,” Chase said, staring House in the eyes as he began to massage House's throat.

“JUST LEAVE HIM THERE TO DIE. IT WOULD MAKE ME VERY HAPPY.”

As Chase continued to murmur soothing phrases as a gurney came wheeling towards them, House couldn't help but feel that Wilson might have the right idea.

oOo

“House!”

House drained the rest of his coffee in one gulp. Yesterday, he’d had Kutner run banana bags through him until the Vicodin had run its course, and he’d been up every two hours to pee last night. The coffee had helped, until the sound of Cuddy’s voice had rang into the conference room.

“I’m busy,” House said as he set his cup down.

Kutner, who was sitting at the conference table with his headphones on, didn’t even look over.

Cuddy leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. “All the bunkbeds in the on-call rooms have been destroyed. Someone slashed the mattresses and sawed halfway through the posts. What. Do. You. Know?”

“Wilson did it. He’s completely psycho,” House said. “Who the hell cleared him for discharge?”

“House! That isn't funny.” Cuddy glared.

“I saw him doing it!” House protested.

“Don’t lie to me,” Cuddy said, frowning. She glanced at Kutner. “Dr. Kutner, please take those off.”

Kutner didn’t appear to hear her and continued the bob his head up and down to his music, oblivious.

“Dr. Kutner!” Cuddy said, raising her voice.

Jumping slightly, Kutner pulled his headphones down around his neck and looked around the room. “Huh?”

“Please take your headphones off, Dr. Kutner,” Cuddy repeated, looking annoyed.

“Sorry,” Kutner said, deflating with an abashed look on his face.

Cuddy turned her attention back to House. “And where is the rest of your team?”

House shrugged. “No idea. Haven’t seen them all day.” Although he could hazard a guess as to what they had been up to.

“Oh, they both called in sick,” Kutner spoke up, looking from House to Cuddy. “Sorry. I didn’t think that anyone would care.”

“They both called in sick?” Cuddy asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Kutner nodded. “Yeah. Taub brought in some pink hamburgers on Tuesday. They’ve been having bathroom problems for days.”

Cuddy didn’t look entirely satisfied with this answer, but she let it go. “Fine. House, you can do clinic duty today since two-thirds of your staff are missing.”

House made a face.

Cuddy glared. “Go. Now. You didn’t do it yesterday at all and you were short by three hours last week.”

With a scowl, House picked up his coffee cup and began limping back to the coffee pot. Cuddy left and House promptly ordered Kutner to do his clinic duty for the day. Kutner protested, House made a few threats, and Kutner, grumbling, finally got up out of his seat and left. Pleased that at least one thing in the hospital was going his way, House dumped out the rest of his coffee and prepared to head back into his office. As soon as Thirteen and Taub got over each other, Wilson finally got on some medication and locked up in a psych ward, and Chase finally got around to screwing him, everything would be okay.

But just as House was really beginning to get on a roll with his self compliments and ruminations of his genius, Cuddy came marching back in, dragging Kutner by the ear.

“Ah—ah—ow! Owowow…” Kutner was practically whimpering.

“Stop whining,” House snapped, and then he turned his attention to Cuddy. “What’s he doing here? Or are you the new dog catcher?”

At last, Cuddy released Kutner, who fell away from her, clutching his ear. Scowling, Cuddy turned to House. “When I said that I wanted you to do your clinic duty, I didn’t mean I wanted somebody wearing your nametag to do it. I meant that I wanted your body accompanied by your nametag to do it. If I see you sending anyone down to do your clinic duty for you, I’m holding you personally responsible for all those bunk beds—they’ll come right out of your paycheck.”

Muttering, House left to go do his clinic duty. At least one thing hadn’t changed around here.

oOo

“Good morning, darling,” House drawled as he entered exam room four.

“Actually, it’s afternoon,” the woman sitting on the exam table said with a pointed glare.

House snapped his fingers. “By golly, I can’t fool you.”

The woman did not look amused, which was rather unfortunate, because she was pretty hot. “Can we make this fast? My son is due in surgery in a few hours.”

“We’ll try very hard,” House promised solemnly. He held up three fingers. “Boy Scout’s honor.”

“I need the morning-after pill,” the woman said brusquely. She gave him a glower that just dared him to make a comment.

“It’s afternoon,” House pointed out.

The woman gave him a level stare. “I got here in the morning.”

“You can pick them up at the drug store,” House said, determined to waste time just to piss her off even more. “Why would you wait for four hours in the clinic instead?”

“If you must know,” the woman said in a dignified voice, “I haven’t left the hospital in a week. I didn’t feel like leaving my son alone here just because I had sex last night.”

“You had—” House stopped.

Oh shit.

It couldn’t be. It wasn’t. There was no way that he’d done something to deserve the cruel irony, absolutely no way. It would be too much.

But he had to know.

“Who’s the surgeon for your son’s case?” House asked slowly.

The woman sighed in irritation. “Yes, I slept with Dr. Chase. What’s it to you?”

House groaned.