Disclaimer: House and it's characters are owned by Universal. No profit is sought from this work.
Author Warning: This story starts off with something evil happening to Chase. The second chapter contains graphic violence and later chapters refer to it. However, this is not a "rape" fic just for the sake of sensationalism. This is a recovery fic. We all know sexual assault is a horrible crime. What many do not know is how incredibly complex and difficult the process of recovery is. I hope this will inform as well as entertain the reader.
"You're not the right doctor," declared a 30-something white male waiting in Exam Room Four. He was already perched on the examination table while another man stood by his side. Both were dressed professionally in dark suits and white shirts. The friend had his briefcase on the floor at his feet.
"It's a free clinic. You don't get to choose," Eric Foreman replied, already annoyed. It had been a long day and now he was roped into doing House's clinic hours. Six o'clock could not come quickly enough for him. He scowled, reading the name on the file in his hand, "Mr. Smith."
"But the other guy saved my life," Mr. Smith argued, putting a hand to his throat.
Foreman took a deep breath. "Were you scheduled for follow up?" He noted the scar over the man's trachea. He had been intubated.
"No. But I have to see him." The man seemed extremely nervous.
"There's nothing in your file about a previous visit." This only led Foreman to believe that the man's name was not really Smith. "If you're here for the same reason, it would be helpful to access your history."
"I didn't see him at this hospital." Mr. Smith explained. His friend quietly watched the interchange.
Foreman closed his eyes and grimaced. It was true that the free clinic drew in its fair share of idiots, but knowing that he was treated at a different hospital and searching for that doctor here took the cake. "Which hospital--"
His question was interrupted by the second man, a rather imposing block of a human with light brown hair, dark eyes, and a face that looked as if it had never truly smiled. "We were at a club and," he paused, "Joe went into ana-anpha-a-phylic," he shrugged sheepishly. "Something. He couldn't breathe. This guy saw what was happening tried to help us. He tried to get Joe to breathe, but said his throat was closed and no one had a pen. Joe was turning blue and the ambulance was not coming fast enough. This doctor used vodka and a razor, cut hole in his throat and put in a straw to help Joe breathe again. It was cool in a horrifying sort of way. I saw it on MASH once--didn't know it could actually be done outside of TV medical dramas. Everyone thought he was kind of crazy, but he just knew what to do and it worked. He said, 'An infection can be treated. Death, not so much.' He jumped right into action and later explained that he was an intensive care specialist at PPTH. The EMTs said that Joe would have died without his help."
"That doctor works here, but the ambulance took us to St. Sebastian's because it was closer." Joe Smith added, his pale green eyes were darting from the door to Foreman to his friend.
"Great story, but what are you here for? What's the problem today?" He wondered if he would have done the same thing or if he would have been too cautious and wound up letting the man die.Given the rarity of intensivists, he was certain they were talking about Chase; though he could not imagine him ever saying that death could not be treated. House, maybe. Chase, never. Joe Smith had been one lucky man. Very few people would have had the skill to take such basic materials and make them work for a tracheotomy. Foreman imagined they had told the story so many times that it had grown into something a little left of what really had happened, but he was not going to question it.
Joe stood and raised his voice, "The problem is I want to see the other doctor. The blond guy with an accent."
"It's your lucky day." Foreman said scathingly. "I happen to work very closely with the blond guy with an accent." Tired of the drama, he decided it would be much easier to call Chase for a consult than to attempt to deal logically with Mr. Smith. He picked up the phone and dialed the extension to the Diagnostics office. "Chase, I need you in Exam Room Four."
This appeased Mr. Smith enough that he would sit down again. His shifty eyes and satisfied smile reminded Foreman of a schizophrenic patient he had seen when he was doing his psych rotation. Foreman was more than happy to let Chase deal with the nutjob himself.
In a few minutes, Dr. Robert Chase pushed open the door and entered the exam room. "What's going on?" he asked Foreman, but Foreman was watching Mr. Smith.
When he saw Chase, Mr. Smith's eyes lit up with adulation. Foreman thought it was a bit creepy. "You have a patient," he said.
Joe smiled, "That's him. That's the one I want, the pretty one with the accent."
Chase cut his eyes to Foreman, assuming he was being set up. "Very funny."
Foreman shrugged, his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. "He was adamant. You saved his life, after all." He had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. This was not as amusing as when House made sexually harassing comments to Chase, but it was close.
"At the club a few weeks ago," Joe supplied a reminder. "You were--"
"Oh, yes, I remember," Chase answered immediately. "How are you doing?" He touched the man's neck. "Slight scar, not too bad considering. I assume they gave you antibiotics to stem off an infection."
The friend approached Chase. "Joe hasn't been able to stop thinking about you."
"And you are?" Chase asked.
"Prepared to give Joe what he wants," the man answered. He pulled a gun from underneath his jacket.
Chase felt the cold metal pressed into his side and looked to Foreman whose eyes were wide. "The security in this hospital sucks," he muttered.