Disclaimer: I don't own House, M.D., but it's bloody brilliant. Don't sue me.






He didn't normally expect these things to happen, but after walking into work this morning, Chase knew it was going to be a hectic day.

One of his patients in ICU had coded today, and it had taken seven minutes to get her back. The worst part was that her fourteen year old daughter had witnessed the whole thing.

And Cameron had bitched at him for something he had left undone yesterday; he couldn't even remember what the matter was. She had caught him in the hall and proceeded to not so quietly reprimand him for his irresponsibility. The woman had even said he was acting like House. Chase had smirked at that and tuned out the rest of her ranting.

Then House had ordered him to go complete his Clinic hours for him. By then, Chase had already begun to feel pressure building in his head, and prayed it wasn't the beginnings of a headache.

Two hours later, after seeing patient after patient, each with a new unnecessarily freaked and worried demeanor about whatever they thought was wrong with them, his slight discomfort had charged into a full blown migraine.

Now he was in the Diagnostics conference room, sitting with Foreman and Cameron, who were both catching up on paperwork. He was just glad that they didn't have a case.

"Chase?" A hesitant, but determined voice reached his ringing ears. Cameron, oh, God.

The man in question grunted from his position, not moving his head from the table and not opening his eyes.

"Chase, I'm sorry about what I said earlier."

Another non-committal grunt.

"Chase, the least you could do is give me a real reaction." Her tone was pissed, and he wished he had the energy to tell her to shut up, and respect the sick man.

Huh. He really was starting to sound like House.

The blonde remained silent this time, and suddenly it was Foreman's deep voice, louder than was marginally comfortable, echoing from across the room. "Are you alright, man?"

Chase's voice was muffled and somewhat slurred when it spoke into the white sleeves of his lab coat. "Migraine…"

"Did you take something for it?" Foreman asked in a tone that suggested he was talking to a child. He could even picture the look on the man's face as he said it. Annoyance and exasperation.

Chase made a dismissive gesture with a wave of his hand, still not moving. "…doesn't help…"

He heard Foreman sigh and Cameron take a death breath to open her mouth and speak, but suddenly the doors flew open with a noise too loud for Chase's liking. He could tell who it was by the thump on the carpet each time the cane connected.

"So, my little ducklings, how are we this fine afternoon?" House was sarcastic as usual, if not giddy in his tormenting.

"Fine," Cameron said, rustling some papers. "No new cases so far,"

"It's been quiet today," Forman added, and Chase heard him getting up, wincing as the chair squeaked across the floor. Weren't rolling chairs supposed to be quiet?

"Is that why our resident Brit is having a nap?" House moved across the floor to stand beside Chase.

"He's not Br—" Cameron was cut off by the cane wielding Doctor as he knocked said weapon against Chase's chair, and nudged him to open his eyes.

"Wakey, wakey, Wombat. You still have a job to finish— my Clinic hours. Get going."

Chase opened his eyes and tried to glare at his boss. In his groggy state, he didn't quite achieve full potential.

"Bugger off, House," the Australian griped, opting to lay his head back down and close his eyes as his stomach lurched threateningly and the light made him dizzy.


Despite his want to ignore the man and try not to vomit at the same time, the young doctor opened his eyes and raised his head, looking House in the eye.

He could tell the man was examining him, looking for every little pain and wince. He probably saw his pale skin, and red-rimmed eyes, not to mention the fact he could barely keep them open.

"Go home."

Chase hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes, till they opened at the feel of House's hand on his forehead. Cameron and Foreman were standing behind him, looking at their colleague with something akin to concern.

"What?" Chase managed.

"Did I stutter? I'm sending you home, wombat. Be grateful for the vacation." House's voice was harsh and sardonic, but the blonde could detect the worry that was there. He'd known the man long enough.

Chase nodded, pausing a moment as the world spun at the action, and let House slowly pull him into a standing position. He was sure the other two in the room thought House had gone nuts, being nice to Chase and all, his favorite duckling to harass.

"Go straight home," House said, tapping Chase's leg with his cane. "And take a cab. No driving."

Chase held up a hand in acceptance of the terms, remembering not to move his head, and after grabbing his bag, shuffled out of the room. He could feel the gazes of the three critical doctors on his back as he left through the front doors.





House quietly unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped in, being careful to shut it with as little noise as possible.

The living room was dark, but as he set down his bag and laid his jacket over the back of a chair, he could make out a figure draped over his leather couch.

The man had taken off his shoes, leaving black sock clad feet, and unbuttoned his dress shirt. His mismatched blue tie was missing, as well as his belt, and House noticed that he'd even untucked his shirt.

His left arm was thrown over his eyes, despite it already being nearly pitch black, and his other arm hung over the side of the couch, fingers brushing the hardwood floor.

He was breathing deeply, not asleep, but definitely trying. A trash can sat within reach, indicating the blonde's afternoon had been less that relaxing.

Sighing, House limped into the kitchen, noticing that the young man on his couch had yet to stir, and poured some ginger ale into glass. On a whim, he filled another glass with water. There was an open Tylenol bottle on the counter, and House peeked in to see how many were left.

He sighed. At least the man had more self control than he did.

With both cups in one hand and his cane in the other, House toed off his shoes and approached the couch.

Setting the glasses on the coffee table in front him, he nudged the blonde a tiny bit, calling his name softly, "Chase,"

The man on the couch groaned and took a deep breath, lifting his arm from his face. His eyes took a moment to focus on House.

"Hi," Chase greeted in a small voice.

"Hey, yourself," House said, dropping his cane to prop it against the outer arm of the couch.

All of a sudden, Chase started to sit up, and House noticed his pale pallor in time to scoot the trash bin under him before he violently expelled what little he'd eaten that day. House stood beside him, rubbing his back and letting his hand occasionally drift to linger on the back of his neck or in his hair.

When Chase seemed done, House leaned over and snatched the glass of water from the table top and handed it to the ailing man leaning off the couch, who took it in a shaky hand and sipped a bit, swishing it around in his mouth a moment, before spitting it out into the trash bin. He then slurped a little water and swallowed carefully. The glass was set on the table a moment later.

Chase made to lie down again, but House flipped the blonde bangs back, whispering, "Lay on your side, wombat."

Chase sighed, but did as he was told, shifting slowly around till his back was to House and he was facing the couch pillows.

House heard him take another deep breath before he swept up his cane and took the trashcan into the kitchen. He returned a few moments later with a clean trash bag in the can, and a little plate of saltines.

He set the can next to the couch and the plate took up residence on the table top, neighbors to the glasses of soda and water. His cane was again leaned against the couch.

The snarky doctor nudged Chase again, and when the Australian sat up, he slid under him, pillowing the blonde head in his lap. Chase sighed and looked blearily up at him in the dark. House smiled and dropped a kiss onto his warm forehead.

Chase blinked sleepily and snuggled deeper into his human pillow, remarking quietly, "You surprise me sometimes."

House's hand sifted through Chase's blonde locks with a mind of its own, and he raised an eyebrow at his lover.

"Why, cause I can be nice?" The sarcastic edge to his voice was not lost on the other doctor and he heard Chase snort, his arm moving to slide around House's waist.

If the circumstances were different, House would have been turned on by having his lover's face pressed into his crotch, clinging to him like a lifeline. But as the situation was a might bit different, he supposed he'd have to suck it up and wait till his wombat was feeling better.

"No," Chase breathed, his discomfort palpable. "Because you can be human."

House snickered and, reaching over the warm body in his lap, broke a saltine in half and brought it to Chase's lips.

"Only around you, you lucky Brit," he muttered.

Chase opened his eyes and recoiled from the offending cracker, sighing in no small amount of exasperation. He closed his eyes and mumbled, "…Australian…and you owe me…twenty bucks for that taxi fare..."

"When did you take Tylenol?" House asked, realizing he startled his lover with the sudden change in topic.

The intensivist opened his eyes, mumbling something about right when he got home.

House traced a dark blonde eyebrow with his thumb, questioning, "How many did you take?"

Chase looked up at him for a moment, his words starting to slur and become more accented in exhaustion, "…don't kno'…two 'r three…"

House frowned down at him, his hand moving back to the blonde hair. He clucked his tongue and scoffed, "And all the food you ate today, if you actually ate any lunch, just went bye-bye, so you need something in your stomach with that Tylenol."

Chase groaned and House saw his face turn a shade paler.

"That's why you need to eat this saltine."

Chase glared up at House, the older doctor discerning that the blonde knew he was right, and slowly accepted the cracker from House's hand.

He chewed it gingerly, and swallowed, looking for all the world like he had just been forced to eat all the vegetables on his plate.

Chase apparently saw House reaching for another cracker, because he let out a whine similar to that of a puppy who'd just been hit with a rolled up newspaper, "House…"

"None of that, my young lover, you need something in your stomach besides drugs. Last one, I promise," House countered, caressing the blonde's lips and smiling when they parted in a sigh and his eyes closed.

Chase suddenly found his mouth full of the other half of the cracker and he glared at House, flicking him lightly in the side. "No fair," he muttered, eyes falling closed again. "You cheated."

"All's fair in love and war, Chase."

Chase's lip curled, but he was suddenly flipping over, away from House. Said doctor flew past the idea of the blonde being insulted, because he rarely was, and grabbed for the trash can, wincing as all his lover did was dry heave over the bin.

After a moment, Chase managed to spit into the bin, but nothing else happened and his duckling slowly laid his head back in House's lap, facing away from him this time.

House sighed and resumed petting Chase's head, listening as the man took shaky breaths.

The older doctor reached down and began to run his palm lightly over Chase's abdomen. The diagnostician felt him tense at first, but he relaxed after the rubbing seemed to calm his queasy stomach.

It seemed that Chase was finally falling asleep when a horrid, shrill beeping noise echoed across the room, making him flinch and clutch his head, while House cursed the living daylights out of the phone.

He snatched it up and tried to cover Chase's temporarily sensitive ears to his voice.

"What?" he hissed.

"House, where's your pager? I've been trying to get in touch with you for over an hour!" Cuddy's angry voice carried over the receiver.

House frowned as Chase winced again and he growled at the woman on the other line.

"Turned the pesky little thing off—kept making these funny beeping noises on my way home. I don't have time for your problems. Call someone else."

"A girl was brought in with chest pain a little while ago, and now she's catatonic. You need to do your job." Thewoman'svoice was sharp and her attitude made it even easier for House to do what he needed to do.

"I'm busy, sorry, can't get away—you know family emergency,"

"House, you don't have—"

"Have Foreman and Cameron figure it out. If they can't function without me by now they need to be fired."

With that, he hung up, and reached around to unplug the phone, assuring there would be no more impromptu calls till Chase was good and ready.

House hand resumed rubbing soothing circles on Chase's stomach, while his other removed the intensivist's hand from his temple and started a feather-light trace of all the curves of his lover's face. After a moment, the stress lines on the blonde's face smoothed out, and House cheered inwardly, knowing he'd be put to sleep by the action soon.

Just as he thought Chase had fallen asleep, he felt the light touch of a kiss as his fingers ghosted over the blonde's lips. The Australian whispered without opening his eyes, his voice soft, and far more peaceful than it had been earlier.

"Thanks, Greg," another ghost of a kiss over his fingers, "I love you."

House smiled, and traced the sleeping man's lips again, wishing he could kiss them.

"I love you, too, wombat."

House pulled a blanket from the back of the couch, and draped it over the blonde's still body after realizing there was no way he could join him under it without waking him, and settled against the couch to get some sleep.

He'd let Chase work the kinks out for him in the morning.






Hope you liked my first attempt at House, M.D. fiction.