Takes place post The Tyrant. Chase's POV.

Okay

“You know,” he says, his eyes wide with fear. House gingerly sets aside his cane and takes a seat next to him on the pew. His lack of response is confirmation enough. He knows. The wood creaks conspicuously beneath them, as Chase gathers the nerve to face him.

“Foreman?” He asks. Not that it matters at this point. House could have found out any number of ways. The building is crawling with government employees, swabbing and fingerprinting and God knows what else. They know. He knows they know, and if they don’t know now, they’re only inches from figuring it out.

House nods silently, and Chase can’t help wondering who the hell might be listening. But then he does a quick sweep of the chapel with his eyes. They appear to be alone.

“You haven’t told her, have you?” House inquiry is soft and maybe a little more tender than expected.

Chase grits his teeth, fighting off a rather unattractive grimace. It’s an involuntary expression that stems from something between self disgust and genuine terror. It’s like the very fabric of reality is being torn apart, right in front of his eyes. And he's powerless now to stop it.

“I can’t…” he starts. The guilt is overwhelming, like liquid lead in his heart and limbs. Just a week ago, everything was perfect. He had a job that he enjoyed, that fulfilled him. He was a newlywed. He had a wife to go home to, quiet and sweet meals eaten together, and evenings spent making the kind of love that most people only ever get to dream about. And he destroyed it. He willfully took it and crushed it. And to think he had the gall to scold her, to admonish her for not taking a stand. He did more than just kill a man. He killed their marriage. He stole joy from the person he loves most.

“You think you’ll be okay as long as no one finds out?” House asks. “You think Foreman and I are your biggest problem, your wife, the feds…you think those are your biggest problems now?”

Chase imagines being sentenced to life in prison. Considering what he's done, it doesn't seem like enough. “You’re telling me I have God to reckon with?”

“No,” House replies. “I’m telling you that you have you to reckon with.”

He pauses, and it’s clear by the look on his face that he’s speaking from experience. “You’re going to want to rationalize it. You’re going to think about it every day, until it becomes you.”

Chase nods, when he realizes what the other man is actually saying. "Yeah."

House chuckles softly, making his own painful expression of regret.

“I’d tell myself…nobody liked her anyway, she didn’t have a family, it was her fault she was on the bus to begin with, or that she and Wilson would have eventually broken up…You had good reasons for what you did. You probably had great reasons. But none of that matters. None of that changes the fact that he’s dead because of you.”

“You’re telling me I should dwell on it?” Chase asks. "Just wallow in it, day after day." He pictures his future. Even if he’s never caught or punished, years of living in fear, years of looking his wife in the eye and living that lie. No, nothing will ever be okay again.

But then House shakes his head.

“No. I’m just telling you not to pretend it didn’t happen. Don’t pretend it doesn’t matter. Don’t pretend you aren’t affected. Accept it and move on.”

Chase stares ahead, feeling the very slightest hint of hope. He knows he doesn't deserve it.

“I’m supposed to just…get up every day, go on about my business, knowing what I’ve done.”

“Hey,“ House offers, sadly. “If I can do it, you can do it.”

“Christ.” Chase sweeps a hand across his face, realizing that he’s sitting here in a chapel and didn’t even think to ask God for forgiveness. During his two years in seminary, he’d frequently spend hours a day doing nothing at all but praying to God, for peace, for grace, to help him make sense of things and here he is looking to the world for answers.

The feeling of a hand on his arm surprises him.

“Grace and absolution…are all very nice. But it doesn’t matter whether or not God forgives you, if you can’t forgive yourself.”

Chase lets out a shuddery breath. Once upon a time, he’d rather have died than cry in front of this man. But now it feels alright.

“Everything's going to be okay,” House says, with suspicious certainty.

“You’re lying,” Chase declares, as a tear streaks its way down his cheek. “Aren’t you?”

House nods. “Yeah.”

The younger man smiles. He knows it's very likely that in a few hours, he'll be taken into custody. Everything he's ever worked for will be taken from him, in one fell swoop. Nothing will ever be okay again. But for some reason, the words are a comfort.

“Thanks.”