Hangman

PART SEVEN
*
Chase is observing a patient’s blood pressure levels when Cuddy walks in.
“Chase? Can I have a word please?”
Chase nods and finishes taking his notes before walking out to join her in the corridor. He watches her take a deep breath.
“Now Chase, I don’t know what’s happening between you and House- *and* I don’t want to know.” She says as Chase opens his mouth to interrupt. “All I know is that both House and Wilson are walking around with bruises on their faces after I’ve seen them with you. The fire alarm was set off a few days ago and *you* were the only member of staff in the building.”
Chase stares at her, his mouth going dry.
“You don’t think that I- that *I* set off that alarm?”
Cuddy shakes her head.
“I don’t know Chase, but I think that maybe you need a break.”
“But I-”
“No buts.” She says, her eyes showing no concern, just a steel hardness that Chase doesn’t recognise. “Take some time away from the hospital. I don’t have time to deal with your problems at the moment. Ok?”
“But I’m *fine*.” Chase says. “There’s nothing the matter with me! I’ve just had time off; I don’t need to be away from the hospital any longer.” He can hear his voice rising and feels his fists clench. “Please Cuddy, don’t send me away.”
“I’ve got no choice.” She says, her voice firm but her eyes showing compassion. “You come in each morning with bags under your eyes. You’re shaking. Anytime anyone mentions House you flinch.” Chase, on cue, dutifully flinches. “You see? I can’t have my doctors behaving like this!” Her expression softens. “I’m sorry Chase. It’s just not on.”
She walks past Chase and as she passes he grabs her arm.
“Cuddy, you can’t send me home. I *need* to be here, please!” His eyes are big and pleading and his hair is flying into his eyes, his cheeks flushed. Cuddy thinks he looks like a madman. She shakes herself free.
“Take a look at yourself Robert. Then you’ll realise why I can’t have you here right now.”
She walks off briskly down the corridor leaving Chase standing in the corridor, his mouth open and his hands still splayed in a pleading gesture. He drops his head to his chest and runs a shaking hand through his hair.
House limps past, slowly, a rather impressive bruise on his cheek, presumably from Wilson. Chase can’t help thinking that this is getting stupid and also a bit scary.
“Bye, House.” Chase says casually.
“Where are you going?” House asks.
“Home.” Replies Chase.
“I didn’t say you could go.” House says sharply.
“No, Cuddy did.” Chase murmurs.
“But- why?”
There are a thousand answers to that one. Because you’re killing me is his favourite, but the answer he finally gives is a lie.
“She seems to think that I set off a fire alarm.” He snaps, and starts to walk away before he can see House’s expression break slightly.
*
Wilson’s been driving for about 4 miles before he finally swerve the steering wheel and skids into the car park of the seediest bar he’s seen before. Right now he needs to hide far, far away from the hospital, from House, from Chase, from the tattered remains of his marriage. Julie is taking her stuff out of their home tonight, and he’s under order not to go back until at least 10 p.m. Now he needs to drink, drink to forget. He walks into the bar, feeling like an extra from a cowboy movie. The entirety of the bar, which consists of around 15 people at best, turn to watch him. Feeling vaguely self-conscious of his tie and tear-stained cheeks, he wanders up to the bar and orders a large vodka on the rocks.
*
He drinks. And drinks. He doesn’t taste the alcohol and he doesn’t register how much he’s ingesting, or what it’s doing to his liver or whatever. He just drinks, shot after shots, and concentrates on forcing his tears down with the vodka. Wilson eventually loses all sense of time and eventually everything begins to go that wonderful fuzzy shade around the edges. Wilson starts to smile for the first time in several days.
*
House is driving in some attempt to remove how crap the afternoon has been. Cameron was moping because Chase was gone, and because House had hit her with his cane when she tried to do something about the bruise on his face. House was also moping because Chase was gone, but he was damned if he was going to admit it. Foreman was sulking because he had to do Chase’s clinic duty for him, and Wilson was… hiding in his office.
House sees a very familiar car parked outside a pretty crappy looking bar. And even though he shouldn’t, even though he *knows* he shouldn’t, he pulls the Corvette in next to it, and walks into the bar.
It takes about half a minute to find Wilson, slumped in a corner booth with a lot of empty shotglasses and a manic grin on his face. The smile slides off as he catches sight of House.
“You’re not supposed to be here House.” He moans drunkenly, looking at House from under his fringe. “That was the whole point.” He pauses. “Or at least some of the point. Or half of it…” He moans softly and smushes his face into his hand. “Please go away.”
House sits down and pours himself a glass of vodka. He isn’t sure why.
*
Chase lies on his sofa and revels in actually being sober for once. He half-dreams, half-imagines, being trapped between House and Wilson, Wilson kissing him with that helpless sweetness, House biting at his neck and grinning nastily. He can’t hate Wilson, it would be like *crucifying* a puppy while it looked at you with *those* eyes…
Chase dreams.
*
Wilson is crying and House has no idea what to do. He extends his hand and awkwardly pats the other man’s shaking arm. Wilson takes a shuddering breath before lifting his head out of his arms and drunkenly shouting at the ceiling:
“I’m sorry House, I didn’t mean to upset you, I didn’t mean to make you angry, I didn’t mean to-” Wilson takes a deep breath before continuing his rambling list. House can’t help but watch as Wilson comes undone. His head is tilted backwards, tears pouring down his face and his words are choked by his sobs.
House wraps an arm around Wilson’s shaking frame when the other doctor finally dissolves into broken sobs against the table. He leans forward, a hand leisurely running through the floppy brown hair and whispers into Wilson’s ear “It’s ok James, it’s ok.” He continues murmuring various comforting nothings for a little while, all the time his hand running through the silky brown locks.
Wilson pushes himself off the table and looks blearily into House’s eyes.
“You know,” Wilson slurs, “You’re really quite attractive.”
He lurches forward and plants a sloppy kiss on House’s lips. House’s hand has somehow found its way to the back of Wilson’s head and is pulling him closer into the kiss. Wilson tastes of pretzels and booze but it’s *Wilson* and he could taste of anything for all House cares. He lets his hand travel down Wilson’s chest, tugging at his nipples through his shirt as he goes. House keeps waiting for Chase to walk in on them, except that he *doesn’t*.
*