Oct. 15th, 2008 03:20 pm
The Notion of Motion
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lovely_ambitionTitle: The Notion of Motion
Pairing: None.
Rating: PG.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Chase goes from zero to sixty when it comes to caring and House tries to figure out why.
Notes: This was supposed to get 'shippy and it stayed gen. I think it's my own shortcomings shining through. Set during mid-S3.
Inside the city limits, the posted speed on the highway is only fifty miles per hour, but just past twilight, Gregory House is travelling in the dewy dawn and straddling the middle of a two-lane highway, going eighty miles an hour.
Somewhere in the spectre of the early hours, he can hear Wilson’s trusty voice: This is normally called a death wish in most respectable cultures.
But it’s not; House just couldn’t sleep was all, bugged by Chase’s distraction the previous night, on a case so easy that those monkeys writing Hamlet could have paused to solve this one. Normally, his fellows are so easy to figure out. Foreman gets twitchy if House isn’t following someone’s protocol and with Cameron, it’s just ethics, ethics, ethics. But this case hadn’t had an alcoholic mother or a deadbeat Dad in the picture to pin Chase’s distraction on.
It bugs.
He revs the engine, purely for the sound, and reduces to sixty-five at the first sign of another car on the road. From there, it’s an easy ride into Princeton-Plainsboro and seeing as the normal hours haven’t yet arrived, House can get away with whatever he likes. There are only sick people to think about. He locks up the bike and makes his way to his office.
And there, right there, he finds Robert Chase slaving over a book.
“Here’s what I don’t get,” House says, pitching his voice louder just so he’ll jolt Chase out of the complacent mood he’s in, reading (and possibly dozing over the tome). “You went from zero to sixty over a boring patient and you’re still here, even though we solved it. Why?”
Chase still looks sleep-addled and confused, but he manages to focus on House and close the book. “Why can’t I just care about the patient?”
“Because, for one, you brought her in,” House starts the list, chin tilted to the ceiling as he begins this grand and glorious monologue. “You never offer patients. You just sit back and wait for me to find something, but you brought her in and I thought that would make it weird and it wasn’t. And then you got as high-strung as a kookaburra on speed. And after the simple case was solved, here you still are, researching symptoms like…”
House pauses. Chase tenses.
They have an impromptu staring contest and House wins (which, come on, he always wins) and then it all starts to come together.
“You have a family history of cancer.”
“And?”
“And she had it.”
“Two families in the world having cancer in their history,” Chase mumbles sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “What are the odds?”
House stares Chase down and won’t let this go, not when he has it so close and he just has to feel it out and push a little more, to sense the possibilities. He could be wrong, but that’s always a distinct possibility. If he lets it go, though, if he lets Chase get away, then he’ll never know and the mystery will remain.
“She’s your family,” House accuses, taking that chance and jumping out on that limb. He has absolutely nothing to connect all the pieces but little pieces of speculative fact, but it’s enough. “Not mother, clearly, but maybe an Aunt? How about we go on a limb and say cousin even? Incredibly older sister?”
He doesn’t answer, but he suddenly seems far more uneasy and House knows he’s got it close.
“You’re probably sitting there going over the test results just to hope and pray that you can’t connect this to your father’s cancer, looking for a loophole that’ll somehow exclude you from a family history of the disease,” House continues on before he even gets anything resembling confirmation. He just needs that one word of confirmation, those two words of ‘you’re right’, some secret blink that tells House that he’s got it dead on.
The staring contest resumes once more and House refuses to lose this one.
“What do you care?” is Chase’s heavy retort.
“Well, if you are dying, you can say it falls under my privilege to know as an employer?” House suggests helpfully.
“Why do you care?” gets spat out again at House and it’s clear that Chase isn’t looking to split hairs on this. He doesn’t want to know about House’s retort of the minute (some people have retorts of the week or the day, even the hour. House is so much better than that).
House has to pause because he has a fork in the road to deal with.
Turn left and tell Chase the only reason he cares is because there’s an answer to this equation and he won’t sleep right until he has it. Turn right and tell Chase that he genuinely does have the slightest glimmer of a care for the crap Chase has to go through. Fork in the road and hey, Chase hasn’t told him to fork off anywhere just yet (he’s not Cameron and he’s not Foreman. He likes taking the abuse, House sometimes thinks).
“I care because you do,” House said, feeling a bit lame for saying it. “Not in the touchy-feely crap way, but usually you go out of your way to hide your concern over a patient. This is front and center,” he said, gesturing with his cane to the books. “Why do you care so much?”
There’s no answer.
House almost thinks there doesn’t need to be.
Chase cares because he never had the chance to care the first time around. She’s still alive, this wayward family member. Up until the day Chase Senior bit it, Chase didn’t have a clue what toxins were circling around his Dad’s system. Caring in lieu, out of some guilt because he’d never been a Good Enough Son to properly respect and love his father.
House can almost bond with that.
“Go home,” House advises quietly. “We solved the case, there’s nothing left for you to do. Go visit her if you need to somehow avoid feeling like a useless human being.”
“I don’t feel…”
“Just go,” House heavily says.
Chase hesitates, but eventually does get up and leaves the room, leaving House to close all the books for him and contemplate the zero to sixty and now the way everything’s been shoved onto the brakes because of a simple directive from up above. His gaze lingers by the phone and he stares at it for a long moment, debating a call to his own mother.
In the end, he puts the brakes on that idea.
It’s impossible, after all, to go from one hundred miles an hour to zero in a second flat. Not without something crashing and burning in the process. House orders new tests for their diagnosed patient (whatever relation she may have to Chase) and he slips out of the hospital with keys in hand, ready to tackle the roads for another day.
THE END
Pairing: None.
Rating: PG.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Chase goes from zero to sixty when it comes to caring and House tries to figure out why.
Notes: This was supposed to get 'shippy and it stayed gen. I think it's my own shortcomings shining through. Set during mid-S3.
Inside the city limits, the posted speed on the highway is only fifty miles per hour, but just past twilight, Gregory House is travelling in the dewy dawn and straddling the middle of a two-lane highway, going eighty miles an hour.
Somewhere in the spectre of the early hours, he can hear Wilson’s trusty voice: This is normally called a death wish in most respectable cultures.
But it’s not; House just couldn’t sleep was all, bugged by Chase’s distraction the previous night, on a case so easy that those monkeys writing Hamlet could have paused to solve this one. Normally, his fellows are so easy to figure out. Foreman gets twitchy if House isn’t following someone’s protocol and with Cameron, it’s just ethics, ethics, ethics. But this case hadn’t had an alcoholic mother or a deadbeat Dad in the picture to pin Chase’s distraction on.
It bugs.
He revs the engine, purely for the sound, and reduces to sixty-five at the first sign of another car on the road. From there, it’s an easy ride into Princeton-Plainsboro and seeing as the normal hours haven’t yet arrived, House can get away with whatever he likes. There are only sick people to think about. He locks up the bike and makes his way to his office.
And there, right there, he finds Robert Chase slaving over a book.
“Here’s what I don’t get,” House says, pitching his voice louder just so he’ll jolt Chase out of the complacent mood he’s in, reading (and possibly dozing over the tome). “You went from zero to sixty over a boring patient and you’re still here, even though we solved it. Why?”
Chase still looks sleep-addled and confused, but he manages to focus on House and close the book. “Why can’t I just care about the patient?”
“Because, for one, you brought her in,” House starts the list, chin tilted to the ceiling as he begins this grand and glorious monologue. “You never offer patients. You just sit back and wait for me to find something, but you brought her in and I thought that would make it weird and it wasn’t. And then you got as high-strung as a kookaburra on speed. And after the simple case was solved, here you still are, researching symptoms like…”
House pauses. Chase tenses.
They have an impromptu staring contest and House wins (which, come on, he always wins) and then it all starts to come together.
“You have a family history of cancer.”
“And?”
“And she had it.”
“Two families in the world having cancer in their history,” Chase mumbles sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “What are the odds?”
House stares Chase down and won’t let this go, not when he has it so close and he just has to feel it out and push a little more, to sense the possibilities. He could be wrong, but that’s always a distinct possibility. If he lets it go, though, if he lets Chase get away, then he’ll never know and the mystery will remain.
“She’s your family,” House accuses, taking that chance and jumping out on that limb. He has absolutely nothing to connect all the pieces but little pieces of speculative fact, but it’s enough. “Not mother, clearly, but maybe an Aunt? How about we go on a limb and say cousin even? Incredibly older sister?”
He doesn’t answer, but he suddenly seems far more uneasy and House knows he’s got it close.
“You’re probably sitting there going over the test results just to hope and pray that you can’t connect this to your father’s cancer, looking for a loophole that’ll somehow exclude you from a family history of the disease,” House continues on before he even gets anything resembling confirmation. He just needs that one word of confirmation, those two words of ‘you’re right’, some secret blink that tells House that he’s got it dead on.
The staring contest resumes once more and House refuses to lose this one.
“What do you care?” is Chase’s heavy retort.
“Well, if you are dying, you can say it falls under my privilege to know as an employer?” House suggests helpfully.
“Why do you care?” gets spat out again at House and it’s clear that Chase isn’t looking to split hairs on this. He doesn’t want to know about House’s retort of the minute (some people have retorts of the week or the day, even the hour. House is so much better than that).
House has to pause because he has a fork in the road to deal with.
Turn left and tell Chase the only reason he cares is because there’s an answer to this equation and he won’t sleep right until he has it. Turn right and tell Chase that he genuinely does have the slightest glimmer of a care for the crap Chase has to go through. Fork in the road and hey, Chase hasn’t told him to fork off anywhere just yet (he’s not Cameron and he’s not Foreman. He likes taking the abuse, House sometimes thinks).
“I care because you do,” House said, feeling a bit lame for saying it. “Not in the touchy-feely crap way, but usually you go out of your way to hide your concern over a patient. This is front and center,” he said, gesturing with his cane to the books. “Why do you care so much?”
There’s no answer.
House almost thinks there doesn’t need to be.
Chase cares because he never had the chance to care the first time around. She’s still alive, this wayward family member. Up until the day Chase Senior bit it, Chase didn’t have a clue what toxins were circling around his Dad’s system. Caring in lieu, out of some guilt because he’d never been a Good Enough Son to properly respect and love his father.
House can almost bond with that.
“Go home,” House advises quietly. “We solved the case, there’s nothing left for you to do. Go visit her if you need to somehow avoid feeling like a useless human being.”
“I don’t feel…”
“Just go,” House heavily says.
Chase hesitates, but eventually does get up and leaves the room, leaving House to close all the books for him and contemplate the zero to sixty and now the way everything’s been shoved onto the brakes because of a simple directive from up above. His gaze lingers by the phone and he stares at it for a long moment, debating a call to his own mother.
In the end, he puts the brakes on that idea.
It’s impossible, after all, to go from one hundred miles an hour to zero in a second flat. Not without something crashing and burning in the process. House orders new tests for their diagnosed patient (whatever relation she may have to Chase) and he slips out of the hospital with keys in hand, ready to tackle the roads for another day.
THE END
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Nice reminder of that weirdly understanding low key caring thing they have going on.
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