Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.

A/N: We were talking about stalkers in the commons, and boom… story. Here you are. Your very own stalker story.

Watching Your Every Move

The telephone rang again. He stared at the hated device, then continued to prepare dinner. The answering machine clicked on. Chase didn't need to answer the phone to know who was on the other end. House had been bothering him lately.

Lately, when bored, House had taken to prank calling him. Chase had just stopped answering the phone. Chase confronted House about it at work the first day. House had laughed a little. He got a kick out of using the phone as an element of torture.

One time, he'd been in the morgue with little Nadia Svetnokavitz, the coroner. House was lucky Nadia didn't chase him out, yelling a stream of Russian abuses at him. She had found evidence of sex in the morgue and didn't generally like people in her sanctuary. The morgue phone had begun to ring. House answered it. "Help! There's a bunch of dead bodies in here!"

House, plus a telephone, equaled torture for everyone else. Especially Chase, House's Wombat.

"You belong to me." The answering machine said. Chase frowned. That didn't sound like House. With House it was usually "Heeeeyyy. It's me again. Are you still giving that blowjob/having sex/watching porn…"or other obnoxious sex related comments. Chase usually ignored him. But this was a little extreme, even for House.

Chase picked up the phone and dialed House's number.

"Joe's bar and grill, Joe speaking." House answered his phone.

"Did you just call me?" Chase demanded, slightly unnerved by the call.

"No. Now don't call again. You're interrupting poker night." House hung up. So did Chase. He shrugged, and continued to fix dinner.

The phone rang again.

Chase stared at it. The answering machine picked up.

"You can't ignore me forever, you know." The voice said. Chase stared at his meal, and took his food to the living room.

The phone rang a third time. This time, Chase answered. Maybe he'd get them to stop calling.


"So you decide to pick up. You're mine, now." The caller hung up. Chase stared at the phone in his hand. He put it back down. The calls would stop soon. Prank callers generally gave up after a while.

"House! You don't know when to stop do you?" Chase snapped as he stormed into the conference room. After spending a sleepless night, thanks to the rotten phone, Chase was on edge. His only explanation was House.

"What are you talking about?" House asked, incredulously. "Is this about the phone thing again? Because I got bored with that after you started playing along."

"Don't lie to me! You were calling me all night last night!" Chase was shouting now.

"Think, Chase. If I had called you all night, would I be all perky and happy to see you this morning?" House asked, slightly sarcastic. Chase sighed, sat down, and dropped his head to the table.

"You're right, you're right." Chase moaned.

"And if you didn't like the calls, you could have taken the phone off the hook, you know."

"My landlord would kill me if I unplugged the wall phone again." Chase murmured, barely awake. House raised an eyebrow. "He gets a little ticked when I tear the wallpaper." Chase looked up as Cameron set a cup of coffee in front of him. He took it gratefully and began to sip.

"Differential diagnosis. Guy can't talk all of a sudden." The phone rang. Foreman answered. After a moment, he turned to Chase.

"It's for you." Chase took the phone.

"This is Dr. Chase." He said.

"What are you doing there? You know I don't want you with those people. You're mine, remember?" Chase felt the blood drain from his face.

"Who are you? Why are you calling me?"

"You are mine!" Then there was a click, followed by a slow, low tone. Chase hung up the phone, staring off into space.

"Chase? You okay?" Chase broke his concentration and looked at Cameron.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine. Just this stupid prank caller. It's nothing." Chase looked at the phone with revulsion.

"Ooookay then." House said. "Guy can't talk. Didn't get himself knocked out, no brain tumor…" The phone rang again. Chase reached for it.

"I don't see you going home yet." The voice on the other end of the line said. Chase hung up, and unplugged the phone.

Chase sighed as he unlocked the door. It had been a long day. A midday traffic accident had put everyone in the hospital on high alert for emergency victims. And mute guy was having an allergic response to his new asthma medication. Chase reached over and switched on the light. The phone rang instantly. Chase stared at it warily. He let the answering machine pick up.

"I didn't want to call you again after that accident. You may be mine, but I guess it would be mean to let all those innocent people die. Anyway, yeah. I'm just calling to check in." The caller hung up. Chase stared. Then he got a good look around his apartment. Someone had done some rearranging. His furniture was moved! Chase dropped all of the items he was carrying. The phone rang again. An orange rolled across the floor.

"Hi, me again. Do you like the way I moved the furniture? Way more feng shuy."

The phone would ring all night again.

Another case, another day where Cuddy had to come up to House's office to reach him. Chase couldn't help himself. This guy wouldn't leave him alone!

"Hey Chase. In my office." Chase looked up from a tired slump at the table at House. He sat down in the other chair. "What the hell's going on? I need my phone back." Chase looked up at House. House seemed like he cared for once.

"Prank caller. He won't leave me alone. He rearranged my furniture yesterday while I was at work, and called all night. He'll go away eventually." Chase said, tiredness creeping into his voice.

"Call the police."

"I did."


"They need more evidence. Idiot didn't take anything, so no crime, nothing wrong, no proof that this guy even exists." Chase sighed and slumped in his seat. House frowned. Chase had the strange feeling that this was bad if his employer wasn't taunting him about it.

"If you need to, Wilson's not staying with me right now. It'll be a place to sleep uninterrupted." House said. Chase nodded, but didn't accept.

Once again, the phone rang just as Chase turned on the lights. He jumped, then turned and locked the door. He dashed about, drawing the blinds as quickly as he could.

"Hi. It's me. Look, there's no reason to pull the blinds. Really. I didn't mean it like that. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I wish I could see you for real. You know, face to face? Anyway, I'll call back later. Tell me then." Would this man never stop? Chase moaned at the thought of another sleepless night.

The phone rang again. Chase started walking towards the door. He suddenly wanted to stay at House's tonight and get some sleep.

"Hey, I wanted to tell you I heard the little conversation with your boss. Go over there tonight, and I will ruin you. Got it? You're mine, not his. You belong to me. Got it? Got it? Good, because it would make me sad to stop you." Chase backed up. The man would never leave him alone.

Chase made sure he appeared perky at work. His prank caller had finally let up, and Chase had gotten a few hours of sleep. He was pleased.

"Morning, House." Chase said, trying to appear untroubled.

"Um…" House gave him a strange look.

"I think he's gone for good." Chase said, uncertain, but now hopeful. House continued to shoot him wary glances.

The day passed uneventfully. After plugging the telephone back in, no one had called. Chase was in a very good mood.

He smiled at the nurses, taking a few files, and heading for the clinic. A few hours of work would get the nagging feeling out of his head. He was sure of it.

Hours later, the nagging feeling was still there, still telling him what he didn't want to think about: His prank caller was a stalker. But that was silly! Guys didn't get stalked except in weird thriller movies, or in mystery shows. Chase was just a doctor in a hospital. He wasn't in a movie, and he wasn't on television. That was just absurd.

Chase continued the day in relative normalcy. He finished his clinic hours, clocked out, and went to the grocery store. Then, he drove home, took out his keys, and unlocked the door.

It was already unlocked.

Chase stared down at it, warily. He nudged open the door. He looked around the apartment without turning on a light. No one was there. He must have forgotten to lock it when he left that morning. Chase flipped on the light.

The phone rang.

The lights revealed the mess of his apartment. All of the pictures were torn to shreds. Specifically, the pictures with him in them.