House MD Fic: One 1/?

[awritinglilypea]

Title: One

Author: Chloe Wilkinson

Chapter: Prologue of who knows how many.

Warnings: None to speak of at the moment.

Rating: PG

Pairing: Chase/House possibly.

Author’s Notes: This is my first foray into the House fandom although I’ve been reading it pretty much since the show began. I’ve written in so many other fandoms I figured why not try my hand at this one. Please be kind. 

Beta'd by

synkkaenkeli

 

Disclaimer: I don’t own House MD nor have I ever claimed to. It is the property of David Shore and such.

Summary: House knows loneliness. He knows how to remedy it but never cures it. Why is that?

Gregory House knew loneliness; he knew it like he knew the scar on his leg. Intimately and in detail, in vivid technicolour detail. He battled it the only way he knew how and that was by keeping it close to him like the warmth of a childhood blanket. He pushed away Stacy, tested Wilson, and tested his fellows…his ducklings the nursing staff called them. He tested everything, tested Cuddy, and tested his patients and himself. It was something he couldn’t stop, something he could control but at the same time slipped so easily through his fingers like time. Time was something he valued, he’d valued his time with Stacy, and he even valued the time he had with his fellows even though they didn’t know it.

One truly was the loneliest number but at least the condition and the symptoms were easy to cure. A warm body on a cold night, a glass of Scotch and his piano. Six vicodin on a rainy day when his leg hurt the worst and then he could almost forget that he had only one friend. He could forget the look in Cameron’s eyes, the admiration for who she’d heard he had once been, and the disdain of who he was now. Everyone wanted Greg, the snarky but genius Diagnostician who would actually let people in. No one knew what to do with House, the caustic and mean puzzler. Not even Cuddy but that wasn’t surprising; she was too busy trying to prevent him from losing his license, from losing his mind and losing her own job. He didn’t know when he’d changed, didn’t even know why. He was alive, they had saved his life and he could walk, he just couldn’t run.

House sat down at his piano ignoring the throbbing in his leg and the Vicodin in his pocket. He ran his fingers along the keys lightly, remembering better times at his piano. He used to play for Stacy regularly, and then he would get up off the bench and sweep her into their bedroom. He hadn’t lived in an apartment then; they’d had a beautiful house, stairs leading to the second floor.  He could barely walk up two steps now without nearly falling back down them because the stress on his muscles just a little bit too much. He pressed the keys down lightly, not knowing what he was going to play, just knowing that he needed to. His fingers moved easily, memory. He would never have his leg again but he would always have his piano and as long as he had his piano to him, he had everything.

He tried to ignore the knock on his door, tried to keep on playing until a familiar voice called out to him edged in panic. “House! Dr. House please open the door,” The missing ‘r’ at the end of ‘door’ and the smooth timber said enough. It was his favourite wombat, his favourite Duckling. He stood up knowing that if he didn’t answer the door he would probably end up calling Chase to annoy him regardless, needing his own curiosity satiated as to why the Australian would be pounding on his door at 11 o’clock on a Friday night when he could be out finding dominatrix’s to enslave him.

House stood up slowly and hobbled toward the door gripping his cane tightly in his hand as he did so. The pain was worse when it was cold and it was frigid out. He opened the door and was unable to stop his eyes from widening in shock as he took stock of his fellow, standing there with what looked like a four year old boy bundled into his arms.

“Picking up children on the streets now Chase?” He asked arching an eyebrow. His tone was wry and his eyes were filled with disbelief, this was certainly a puzzle.

“You said we could come to you when we needed you House, well I’m here, and I need your damn help. I’m not here to be made fun of,” Chase snapped his eyes flaring with anger. “Would you let me in? He’s sick and I can’t take him to the hospital.”

House stepped aside, “If I recall that had to do with cases and patients, not personal problems with little urchins.” He responded following Chase to the couch where the younger man set down the child and wrapped him in a blanket. “Why wouldn’t you take him to the hospital? That’s what hospitals are for Chase, sick people. Especially sick four year old boys whose lungs sound like they’re crackling with pneumonia and not the fun running jumping and climbing trees type of pneumonia.”

“Don’t you think I know that House? But I can’t take him there,” Chase tugged off his coat and dropped it on the floor not seeming to give one damn about getting his bosses floor wet. He put down his medical bag looking hopelessly up at House, holding the hand of the young boy, and trying to warm it up between both of his own.

 “Please House, you can get what he needs and have it brought here. They wouldn’t question you, just help me.” He pleaded with him trying to appeal to his boss’s humanity that is if he had any. “I am asking for your help, I’ll do anything.”

House had seen that look before in the eyes of so many of his patients, in the eyes of the families of those patients when he couldn’t come up with a proper diagnosis at first, or came up with one too little too late. It was the reason why he avoided talking to patients, the reason he avoided talking to their families. He didn’t really care if they lied, he could see the lies, he’d always been able to see right through them. It was that look of desperation and seeing it on Chase who granted wasn’t always the most, confident person was disconcerting because even when he’d dragged Chase down and torn him into pieces he hadn’t looked at House like that.

“Who is he?” House asked him unmoving and studying him in an analytic manner, expressionless as he did so. “Why does it mean so much to you that I help him?” He questioned, looking at the bundle.

Chase pushed the blanket back and House could see the similarities and differences between the two. “Because he’s my son,” He whispered hoarsely, stroking his cheek. “And if you don’t help him he’ll get taken away. I don’t have the papers for him. His mother just left him on my doorstep. I haven’t seen him in six months.” He explained. “If you don’t help me he’ll get put into foster care. I just need time House; I need to be able to get his papers, his birth certificate. But until then no one can know.”

House was very rarely surprised but this was definitely one of those rare times. He had been silly enough to think Chase was an open book. Oh how wrong he was.

Comments

[jovi-diva.livejournal.com]

WOW! I can't wait to read more! That ended WAY too quickly!! :D Nice writing...as always!

[awritinglilypea.livejournal.com]

Thanks.