Dancing Queen: In Which House Catches Chase Listening To ABBA

By Shakespeare's Girl

Part One: In Which Chase Hides an ipod

Chase quickly hid his ipod beneath the New York Times. He pretended to be oblivious, filling in his daily crossword, but his heart was racing as House eyed him from the doorway.

"Chase? What's going on? Where's Cameron? More interestingly, where's Foreman? And why haven't you finished that crossword yet?"

"House," Chase acknowledged, before returning his eyes to the paper. "Foreman's in the Clinic, and Cuddy sent Cameron home for the day. She was running a fever and wouldn't admit it."

House stared at Chase, as if waiting for him to go on. He didn't. So House shrugged and went into his office. As the door closed, he yelled over his shoulder, "If Foreman comes back, I'm still not here! If Wilson comes by, I'm hungover and angry at him. If you're free, I'd like a rueben, no pickles."

Chase rolled his eyes, glad he'd gotten off that easily. He rose, glanced at the paper concealing his ipod, and shuddered. If House found out about my music tastes, I'd never live it down! He was already at enough of a disadvantage. House knowing about his taste in music would just make it worse.

The pretty, blonde intensivist left, heading to the cafeteria to assuage his boss's need for disgustingly unhealthy food.

Part Two: In Which House Finds A Hidden ipod.

As soon as he heard Chase leave the conference room, House opened the door and hobbled back into the room. Of course he made a beeline for the newspaper. He knew Chase was hiding something. The only question was what?

House lifted up the paper, cautiously, checking to make sure no one was going to catch him. He blinked when he saw only an ipod. Obviously Chase thought he was going to get in trouble for doing something House himself did. House was about to leave it alone, when he decided that it was worth taunting Chase about when he came back. He picked up the device, and stuck it in a pocket, then returned to his office.

House sat in his chair and pulled out Chase's ipod. Plugging in his headphones, he hit the play button and sat up straight in shock. What was this?

He looked at the display and laughed out loud. This was just too good to be true.

Part Three: In Which Chase Discovers His ipod Is Missing

After delivering House his cold, no pickle rueben, Chase returned to the NY Times, ready to actually attempt the crossword. He picked it up to move the incriminating ipod and groaned. It was missing. And that meant that House had stolen it. Or that there was a theif in PPTH. Chase hoped it was the latter. He knew it was the former.

Sighing, Chase sat down, picked up a well chewed pencil and began the crossword. There was nothing but to wait for the blow to fall.

Part Four: In Which House Makes A Plan, and Wilson Is Annoyed.

"Do you have any really hot coffee?" House asked Wilson, who looked up from yet another oncology patient to stare at House.

"How did you get by my secretary?" he demanded, rising and moving around his desk to throw House out bodily if necessary.

"I told her you called me for a consult."

"Damn! I told her not to fall for that one!"

"Jimmy, they always fall for that one!"

"What do you want?"

"Coffee. Really hot, really black coffee."

"Why don't you make Chase get it for you?"

"Dude, the coffee's for him."

"Chase is hung over? Why haven't you fired him?"

"Chase isn't hung over, and I didn't say he was. I only said I needed coffee for Chase."

Wilson closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the senselessness that was House. "Look, if you want coffee, talk to my secretary. She makes coffee that takes the roof off your mouth if you drink it when it's fresh. Now will you leave me alone?"

"For now anyway. Oh, hey, can I borrow your keys? I lost mine, and I need to get into the supply closet."

Wilson handed House his keys. "Do NOT lose them."

House limped out, smiling evilly. This was worth all the trouble he was going to. He was finally up one on his Austrailian.

Part Five: In Which Chase Finds Out Where His ipod Went

Chase was sitting in the most comfortable of the swivel chairs, innocently filling in his crossword, when House limped in. Chase looked up, concerned because he was trailing a very large cart behind him. On top of the cart balanced the largest pot of coffee Chase had seen since joining the staff at PPTH.

"What's that?"

"Coffee."

"Okay." Chase paused for a moment, debating if he really wanted to know. "Why, exactly, is there a tureen of coffee in the Diagnostics conference room when we are the only two here?"

"Because I have a new case. And it's a doozy. And since I only have you, I figure we'll need the caffiene."

Chase looked dubiously at the coffee. "Okay, fine."

House poured out two cups, handed one to his intensivist, and put the other one down on the conference table. He pulled out his dry erase markers and headed over to the white board.

"Male, thirty something years old, I forget, caucasian. Symptoms: hyperactivity, light sensitivity, and irrational behavior. Go."

"Um," Chase thought for a moment. "Late onset ADHD?"

"Possible. What else?"

Chase drank his coffee, ignoring the fact that it tasted like crap, and poured another cup. This would be a long one, seeing as he didn't have an Allergist or a neurologist to help him.

Three hours later, House was staring at Chase from over a stack of books. Chase had just finished his eighth cup of highly caffinated coffee. House snickered, as he thought of the energy supplements and caffiene pills he'd added. They were currently searching for diseases that this "patient" might possibly have. Little did Chase know, he was the patient, and all he had was a major caffiene buzz.

"Mind if I turn on some music to help us concentrate?"

Chase shook his head, his fingers tapping on the glass, one leg shaking beneath the table. "Go ahead."

With a wicked smile, House reached over and grabbed his camera. Chase swallowed his coffee, and House decided now was the time. He hooked up the sound system and plugged in the ipod he'd stolen earlier. Hitting play, he turned on the camera and hit record.

Chase's head snapped up as the music began. "Hey! I love this song!"

Oooh, oooh

You can dance you can jive

Having the time of your life

Oooh see that girl watch that scene

Digging the dancing queen

Friday night and the lights are low

Looking out for a place to go

Where they play the rock music

Getting in the swing
You've come to look for a king

Anybody could be that guy

Night is young and the music's high

Way they play the rock music

Everything is fine

You're in the mood for a dance

And when you get the chance

You are the dancing queen

Young and sweet only 17

Dancing queen

Feel the beat form the tamborine

Oh yeah

You can dance

You can jive

Having the time of your life

Ooooh see that girl

Watch that scene

Digging the dancing queen

Always teasing you turn them on

Leave then wanting and then you're gone

Looking out for another,

Anyone will do

You're in the mood for a dance

And when you get the chance

You are the dancing queen

Young and sweet, only 17

Dancing queen

Feel the beat from the tamborine

Oh Yeah

You can dance

You can jive

Having the time of your life

Ooooh

See that girl

Watch that scene

Digging the dancing queen

Digging the dancing queen

Digging the dancing queen

Digging the dancing queen

As the song played, Chase got up and threw the books off the table, singing along and rocking his body to the music. House giggled silently as he taped the antics of his Intensivist. Chase had jumped up on the table, and was now performing what appeared to be the exact choreography of the music video.

When the song finally ended, House turned off the camera. He had enough ammo here to keep Chase blushing for a year. He watched as Chase hopped off the table and ran for the door. After eight cups of coffee, House was surprised the intensivist had lasted this long.