Jun. 12th, 2006 01:35 pm
Clubs and Hearts
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Title: Clubs and Hearts
Fandom: House M.D.
Pairing: House/Chase
Prompt: Club
Word Count: 658
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: House hits some baser truths about Chase while investigating a club.
Clubs weren't places full of chaotic crowds and throbbing bass beats at two in the afternoon when House, Cameron, and Chase go scouting about for the possible poisonous source that might have contaminated their patient, a Mr. Shorely. "Shorely, he's not that sick," House had punned earlier.
Mr. Dan Shorely worked as a bartender in The Bird's Closet, a gay bar. Upon the news, House had immediately drafted Chase to come along with, "and Cameron, you too, just in case we need someone to pretend to be a transvestite."
Cameron had gone to the back of the club to check out the kitchen for potential food borne viruses while House and Chase lingered out in the middle of the deserted dance floor. The club owner was staring at them suspiciously from the bar and Chase kept his gaze averted from anything that might give House potential fodder for making fun of him - like the arrangement of underwear on the moose antlers.
Eventually, Chase felt a poke in his side from the cane. "What?" he asked evenly. He was still wondering why House had even come along for this.
"This a place you frequent? Or is it too American?" House questioned, peering up at the ceiling fans.
Chase rolled his eyes. "My personal life is none of your business, House," he gritted out. He really should just record that on a tape-player and play it back for House every time he did this. He advanced to talk to the club owner, but House wrangled him back. "House!" he protested. "We have to ask questions."
"Exactly," House agreed. "You frequent here often?"
Chase just turned away, storming on, recalling the way the lights made this place look alive at night, the way men and girls who tagged along would buy him beers at this very bar. He remembered the dance floor and getting lost in a sea of sweat and limbs. He remembered imagining that one of them could be House - magically healed and right there, his voice in Chase's ear and lowly whispering, "I know why you come here."
Chase just kept walking, trying to ignore the feel of House's eyes on his back and he passed Cameron while she was coming out of the kitchen, snapping her gloves off.
"Nothing in there," she sighed, giving Chase a curious look. "What's wrong with you?"
Chase didn't respond, but just kept going into the bathroom of the club, ostensibly to look for clues to this grand puzzle of a sick man. He peered around for any clues of any drugs or dirt or anything at all, hearing the door open behind him. He didn't turn around because he didn't have to.
"You probably come to a place like this," House commented idly, voice casual, like he was just shooting the breeze. "Hide in the dark corners and pretend no one can see you. But obviously, they do, because you are just too pretty to be straight," House mocked. "So you dance with one guy and then two, but that doesn't make you gay because you never let them fuck you."
Chase gritted his teeth together tightly and continued to search. "No trace of drugs."
"They buy you drinks and you laugh, flash all eighty-four of those shiny teeth that you've apparently got, but you're not your mother because you can control yourself."
"No glass, no sharp instruments," Chase snapped, getting tenser with every word.
"But you do love to lose control like her."
"House!" Chase whirled around and glared at him, but House was already out of the bathroom, the door swinging behind him as he went. Chase exhaled shakily, straightening and staring at himself in the mirror, not even recognizing his own reflection. "He's not right," he told himself, before heading back out, to give House and Cameron an expressionless gaze as he declared they had found nothing.
There was nothing to find. Nothing to pry into.
THE END
Fandom: House M.D.
Pairing: House/Chase
Prompt: Club
Word Count: 658
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: House hits some baser truths about Chase while investigating a club.
Clubs weren't places full of chaotic crowds and throbbing bass beats at two in the afternoon when House, Cameron, and Chase go scouting about for the possible poisonous source that might have contaminated their patient, a Mr. Shorely. "Shorely, he's not that sick," House had punned earlier.
Mr. Dan Shorely worked as a bartender in The Bird's Closet, a gay bar. Upon the news, House had immediately drafted Chase to come along with, "and Cameron, you too, just in case we need someone to pretend to be a transvestite."
Cameron had gone to the back of the club to check out the kitchen for potential food borne viruses while House and Chase lingered out in the middle of the deserted dance floor. The club owner was staring at them suspiciously from the bar and Chase kept his gaze averted from anything that might give House potential fodder for making fun of him - like the arrangement of underwear on the moose antlers.
Eventually, Chase felt a poke in his side from the cane. "What?" he asked evenly. He was still wondering why House had even come along for this.
"This a place you frequent? Or is it too American?" House questioned, peering up at the ceiling fans.
Chase rolled his eyes. "My personal life is none of your business, House," he gritted out. He really should just record that on a tape-player and play it back for House every time he did this. He advanced to talk to the club owner, but House wrangled him back. "House!" he protested. "We have to ask questions."
"Exactly," House agreed. "You frequent here often?"
Chase just turned away, storming on, recalling the way the lights made this place look alive at night, the way men and girls who tagged along would buy him beers at this very bar. He remembered the dance floor and getting lost in a sea of sweat and limbs. He remembered imagining that one of them could be House - magically healed and right there, his voice in Chase's ear and lowly whispering, "I know why you come here."
Chase just kept walking, trying to ignore the feel of House's eyes on his back and he passed Cameron while she was coming out of the kitchen, snapping her gloves off.
"Nothing in there," she sighed, giving Chase a curious look. "What's wrong with you?"
Chase didn't respond, but just kept going into the bathroom of the club, ostensibly to look for clues to this grand puzzle of a sick man. He peered around for any clues of any drugs or dirt or anything at all, hearing the door open behind him. He didn't turn around because he didn't have to.
"You probably come to a place like this," House commented idly, voice casual, like he was just shooting the breeze. "Hide in the dark corners and pretend no one can see you. But obviously, they do, because you are just too pretty to be straight," House mocked. "So you dance with one guy and then two, but that doesn't make you gay because you never let them fuck you."
Chase gritted his teeth together tightly and continued to search. "No trace of drugs."
"They buy you drinks and you laugh, flash all eighty-four of those shiny teeth that you've apparently got, but you're not your mother because you can control yourself."
"No glass, no sharp instruments," Chase snapped, getting tenser with every word.
"But you do love to lose control like her."
"House!" Chase whirled around and glared at him, but House was already out of the bathroom, the door swinging behind him as he went. Chase exhaled shakily, straightening and staring at himself in the mirror, not even recognizing his own reflection. "He's not right," he told himself, before heading back out, to give House and Cameron an expressionless gaze as he declared they had found nothing.
There was nothing to find. Nothing to pry into.
THE END
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