Disclaimer: I do not own House.

Everyone always makes fun of elevator music. But, really, grocery store music is not any better in the least. It has the same nondescript few notes that repeat over and over again, until it ingrains into your mind and you find yourself humming along. And then you smack yourself for humming along to this piece of shit music, and then the middle-aged woman with pink hair gives you the evil eye and guides her snot-covered four-year-old over to the cereal aisle.

Chase hated shopping. And shopping for food even more. All the same tasteless, manufactured grey mass mushed into colorful packages with clowns or something on it- with the intent to distract the low-IQ'ed customer into thinking that there is something decent inside the plastic. The blonde scoffs with distaste at whole aisles devoted to sugar snacks and cream-filled goodness- no wonder Americans were so fat.

House hated shopping. This is why he usually either forced Wilson to buy his food or he would order from some of the best pizza or Chinese food places that Princeton had to offer. But all that was in his fridge was some congealed, brown goo in a jar that was probably left over from when Wilson was still living with him, and so he was desperate.

As he walks through the electronic glass doors and feels the whoosh of icy air-conditioning, he clicks on his i-pod and tries to ignore his surroundings- and the ache in his leg as he is forced to limp down the ridiculously long aisles.

Chase grabs a few bags of salad and heads for check-out.

House grabs a six-pack and trudges towards the teenage employee blowing bubble gum at her station.

Snot-covered kid escapes his preoccupied mother and goes for a glass-bottle of what he hoped to be apple juice, but was actually olive oil.

Chase spots his former boss and ducks his head expertly behind a bouquet of princess balloons.

As a shrill crash echoes throughout the store, House only hears Jagger's voice float through his ear buds.

The now snot and olive oil-covered kid yelps and starts to sob. Chase sighs and takes his pudgy, little hand, leading him to the frantic woman the next aisle over. The woman ignores him and seizes her son by the arm, dragging him out of the store- leaving the half-full cart behind. Chase shakes his head and mutters under his breath, wishing that he could be running unnecessary and dangerous tests on some unsuspecting, dying patient, rather than dealing with bitchy housewives at the local mart.

House closes his eyes and becomes absorbed in the song, ignoring the mundane life surrounding him. Before he even realizes what's happening his cane is flying from his hand and he's lying spread-eagled in a pile of sticky mess.

Chase raises his eyebrows at the sight of his misanthropic, ex-boss going airborne and almost gets knocked in the head by the escaped cane.

The exasperated Aussie desperately tries to make an escape but the older man has already zeroed in. "Hey, wanna help a cripple out?"

Chase runs a hand through his hair and retrieves the rebelling cane from a pile of soccer balls.

House pops a vicodin.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSE

The night wind whipped against Chase's cheeks as he rested both his feet on the back of the shopping cart and pushed forward so that he raced through the parking lot. The wheels made an awful rattle with the added weight, but at least they drowned out House's complaints as he painfully limped after Chase.

Chase didn't grin or laugh or take any pleasure in his temporary time on wheels, but he reminisced of shopping trips when he was a kid. His tiny body would fit in the steel cart and his mom would push him and he would yell at her to go faster and she would break into a run. He would grip the sides and scream happily, mostly to show his mother appreciation for placating him. It was small moments like that which he missed the most. He never had much of a family, but he would give anything to even have those small, unnoticeable things from his childhood.

As the rattling dulls down to a slight chatter his ears picked up House's gruff, sarcastic voice a few yards behind him. "Having fun pretending to be the great, flying wombat- the protector against all things with canes? Because if it's alright with you, I'd kind of like my groceries back."

"I can't believe I'm helping you," Chase complained out of ear-shot.

After helping House up he had been doing nothing but pestering Chase for the past hour. He trailed after him throughout the store, adding things to his cart like beer, condoms, and he somehow managed to get three romance novels in without Chase noticing. At the check-out House pushed past everyone and made his way outside to wait for Chase to be done- leaving him to pay for everything. And now he had the audacity to whine at him. He wasn't his fucking employee anymore and he wasn't goddamn Wilson either!

So, then, why did he abruptly stop and wait for his grumbling annoyance to catch up to him?

House patted Chase's shoulder hard and Chase flinched at the contact. House grinned sardonically. "Well, thanks buddy. So nice of you to wait up for an old friend."

House was totally playing him. He fires him and still thinks that he could walk all over him. Well, that was not going to happen!

But Chase just rolled his eyes and asked, "Where's your car? I'll help you load this stuff up."

And hopefully never lay eyes on you again.

House raises an eyebrow and nods his head at the black convertible next to them.

"That's your car? I don't remember you having that." Chase laid a hand over the spotless, shiny metal.

"Brand new. Been making some changes and I thought I'd start with a brand new car. Like it, eh? This baby cost a pretty penny but totally worth it."

House opened the driver's door and hopped in, popping the trunk and gesturing at Chase to start putting the groceries in. Chase obliged, if only to not prolong this horrific encounter.

With a slam of the trunk Chase gave a sigh of relief and headed off towards his own car with the rest of the groceries. House's voice ghosted from behind him, "Hey, thanks. You know, you're pretty handy, I really should never have fired you."

His voice was patronizing and it took Chase all he was worth to not turn around and punch the living daylights out of him. But as he looked back and met House's eyes he saw the small trace of guilt that was lurking there, behind the sarcasm. House quickly looked down before glancing back up and giving one of his apologetic looks. It had taken years for Chase to learn to decipher House's looks, and he was just glad to not have to spend all his time observing the man that made him miserable: now he was free.

House suddenly grinned and shut the door. The bang held a sense of finality to it. Maybe this was the bit of closure that Chase needed. Maybe he would now be able to move on and forget that this insane fellowship ever happened.

He even started to smile slightly as he resumed strolling to his car.

And then there was a noise: a terrible, grinding noise that foretold doom and unimaginable torture. The sound of a car NOT starting.

Ah, bollocks.

Chase played with the notion of just continuing to walk away as if nothing happened. He really didn't have any ties with House. Not really. Actually, he quite hated him. All the man ever did was abuse him and take advantage of him... and mock him relentlessly.

But, somehow. The idiot known as Robert Chase found himself jogging back over to the devil himself.

House rolled down the window and grinned sheepishly up at Chase. "Why is it always the pretty things that never seem to work right?"

Chase examined the immaculate appearance of the car and shook his head at the waste of such craftsmanship. "Come on, House. I'll give you a ride home."

A/N: Tell me if this is worth continuing.