Chapter Text
Chase realizes he wants to fuck House. This is a horror story.
The first domino falls at his dinner date with original daddy. After spending a whole case blocking his coworkers' attempts to poke old wounds, he decided to take a go at it himself. It’s been years since he’d seen him. Too many, too little, whatever. You’d have better luck predicting the weather than what he’d think of his dad on any given day.
When he finally accepted his father's invitation for a drink, it must have been sunny. The type of hot day that turns pavement wiggly. Makes paths unclear only a few feet away. Something must’ve been unclear, had to be. He was regretting the promise before he’d even gotten to his car.
He got in. The vehicle suddenly felt very small. Leathery seats became less leather and more skin. He was trapped in a big metal animal. Driving seemed foreign. So did fine motor function. His foot was too far away from himself to ever find a petal. Were his hands shaking?
His dad still had that Northern European accent, didn’t he? After all this time. Or none at all. His life before always felt out of sight, but sometimes that meant it felt right behind him. Chase was all the way in America. Things had changed. But his dad still said his name the same, and Chase was still scared.
He drove home despite the discomfort. He still felt trapped, driving remained unnatural, but if he let that stop him he’d still be somewhere in his childhood bedroom, hand hovering over the light switch. He was home without realizing it. Keys jiggling in his door handle. Most people don’t know this, but you can teleport if you think about escaping enough. He walked through the door and stood in the hallway for a very long time. His wood floor had faces in it, and they all told him to go to his room.
A week later, he scheduled the dinner.
The week after that, he went.
He could only work when it was out of his mind. Unfortunately, House and the rest of the team were as nosy as ever. Mostly House. He made disrespecting boundaries look like a professional sport.
Chase took comfort in his family's private nature. Dad took his reputation very seriously. All proof of anything had been scrubbed from the earth, then painted over, then covered in wallpaper, then redecorated and rebricked and -
Not that anything had ever happened. He was making giants out of windmills—monsters out of fathers. Just because House thinks every dad is a bad one doesn’t mean they are. Definitely doesn’t mean Chases is. He’s mad at him, sure, but he’s mad at what he didn’t do. Wasn’t there for him, wasn’t there for Mom. If anything, he’s making fathers out of nothing. A complete absence, a dark corner he’s imagining boogeymen in. The weather today is dark and foggy. A damp spring day when the air smells like dirt and sweetness. Chase's dad never did anything wrong. Nothing real, anyways.
“So, Vegemite, are you gonna tell me why dear old daddy’s on your nerves again, or are you going to keep blaming it on too much coffee?”
House never knows when to stop searching, even when there’s nothing to find.
“I don’t know, are we blaming this patient's full-body numbness on multiple sclerosis, or is it the actual cause?”
“….”
He hated it when House would use the silent treatment. Made him feel like he should anticipate something he’s seen before.
“….You’re right, though, sorry, I should stop drinking so much of it.”
Even in self-defense, he finds himself bowing his head. Eyes on his feet. His shoes are untied.
“I’ve seen you pull multiple all-nighters on nothing but a more than lethal dose of caffeine. Even then, you weren’t as jumpy as you’ve been since he visited.”
He’s right, and it’s stupid. There’s no good reason for him to be this wound up.
“Uh, yeah, I just haven’t been eating much either, so the caffeine’s really getting to me, sorry, it’s really irresponsible of me -“
When he’s nervous, he becomes more of a suck up too. It’s pathetic.
“I switched the whole break room's supply to decaf three days ago.”
God.
“…. Ha ha, wow, uh, I don’t, eh, really strong placebo effect, huh?”
Maybe he should just tell House everything, get him off his back. He’d already given him the just, but maybe he wanted gritty details. Not that the details were anything other than mundane. He just couldn’t imagine how he’d get through a few more weeks of this.
“Look, I promise I don’t care, if that makes you feel any better. This isn’t about bearing your soul to me, it’s about keeping your job.”
He’ll just tell him everything.
“Huh?”
It’s not like there’s anything egregious.
“Your whole daddy issues gig is hurting your already poor diagnostic skills. But Cameron’s already sucking your dick-“
He was neglectful for the 15 years he stuck around. Gone the rest.
“We’re not-“
Taking care of his mom was awful. It ultimately made him mature, made him hardworking, but it was awful. Vodka scented vomit under his nails. Her crying in his arms. He should tell House about her. How she’d suck booze out of the carpet after spilling her drink. How it felt to see this woman on all fours and realize that’s your mother. That’s who you got, so no one's coming to save you. He didn't want to humiliate her, though, even post-mortem.
It doesn't matter, he reminded himself. It’s over. He’s strong now, he’s independent. Really, it’s a great trade-off. He gets a highly successful adulthood for a kind of shitty childhood. His hands shake sometimes, yes, but he makes 500k annually. And it is only sometimes.
He’d be good again, productive, after the date was done. Once he met with Dad, got him to stop digging up graves, everything would be fine.
“- metaphorical. And Foreman’s motivated by rivalry, so I’m trying to keep you on, but if you're going to keep dragging us down, I might have to find a new pretty blonde to replace you.”
He flinched, or maybe he didn’t. Too small to matter. His words wouldn’t work.
“….”
He’s fine now , really, the only thing that still bothers him, well, it’s nothing, it’s just-
“Oh, come on, you know I’ll find out anyway.”
He does have some pretty weird dreams.
“Ignoring how I already told you what happened, it doesn’t matter. I’m having dinner with him tonight, and then we’ll likely never talk again. We’re good at that.”
But he’s not telling House that. It’d be too much to explain.
“As long as you stop wallowing, I’m happy.”
After the dinner, it’ll all be buried. The flowers will grow over the dirt. The sun will shine indefinitely.
“Thanks, House. Means a lot.”
And he won’t wake up at night. He won't remember his dreams.
“Of course, buddy .” And with that, he ruffled him on the head. Impressive how much sarcasm he could convey with just that. Something about it made Chase's heart ache, with pain or warmth he didn’t know.
That was the second domino. Here comes the third.