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Sorry, no smut this time. Next time, I promise.
Title: Mistaken Choices
Rating: PG
Pairing: House/Chase
Summary: Two ficlets, one slashy, one gen, in which the boys regret past transgression against the other.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
(takes place at the end of "The Right Stuff" 4x2)
A smile gleaming on high glass, dancing on the edge of a smirk, strong and self-assured and oh so missed.
Rapid heartbeat, hammering in his chest with the shock of hope unspoken.
“So... How are you and Cameron doing?”
Chase smiles, self-satisfied, sunlight of his hair streaming down to his laughing eyes.
“We’re good.”
Wistful glance, stroking down his face, resting on his lips. Breath catches, waiting for permission to hope.
“Nice seeing you.”
He walks away, and House wishes him back again.
||||
(takes place after "Babies and Bathwater" 1x18)
“Chase. My office.”
Firm, steely words ordering him to the last place he wants to go, but he has no choice, no more will left before this man who he handed over like Judas seeking salvation from a money grubbing Pharisee with blood stained silver in one hand and his noose in the other. Whispered words behind closed doors to save himself and damn the man he owed loyalty to. No one would save him now, for his protector, the one he’d sold himself to, was gone, banished, and the rope yanked tight around his throat. He passed those silent glass doors, the name Gregory House, Head of Diagnostics, carved in sharp grey, and feels a cold breeze at his back as it swishes closed. He digs his hands in his pockets, afraid, suddenly a child facing his punishment, knowing no words would exonerate him, tongue tied and dizzy eyed. House doesn’t speak. He sits behind his desk, his throne, watching him, inspecting him, heat burning through Chase’s shirt down to the back of his neck and he stares at the floor, the desk, the black Pilot pen lying near the edge, pointing at him and he wonders for how long House plans to drag his guilt out like a tapeworm through his skin before throwing the first stone.
“Look, if you’re going to fire me, just do it.”
No reply, nothing but cold ice cleaving through him.
“I thought you would fire me. You like Cameron, you respect Foreman, and I’m... I don’t know what you think of me, but I couldn’t bet that you wouldn’t put my head on the chopping block, so I did what I had to do to save my job.”
Silence. Always that crawling, itchy, stifling silence.
“Screw it. I’ll go pick up my stuff.”
He turns, downcast, the glass door hard on his fingertips, when House finally speaks.
“You’re not fired.”
House’s expression hasn’t changed, same serious, impenetrable mask and Chase knows this isn’t a joke.
“I’m not?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Conducting job interviews is so annoying. There are so many things I’d rather be doing with my time. Besides, now that you have this mistake behind you, I do trust you to be more prudent in the future. Because if you do something this something this stupid again, there won’t be a Vogler to save you. You’ll be gone.”
Title: Mistaken Choices
Rating: PG
Pairing: House/Chase
Summary: Two ficlets, one slashy, one gen, in which the boys regret past transgression against the other.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
(takes place at the end of "The Right Stuff" 4x2)
A smile gleaming on high glass, dancing on the edge of a smirk, strong and self-assured and oh so missed.
Rapid heartbeat, hammering in his chest with the shock of hope unspoken.
“So... How are you and Cameron doing?”
Chase smiles, self-satisfied, sunlight of his hair streaming down to his laughing eyes.
“We’re good.”
Wistful glance, stroking down his face, resting on his lips. Breath catches, waiting for permission to hope.
“Nice seeing you.”
He walks away, and House wishes him back again.
||||
(takes place after "Babies and Bathwater" 1x18)
“Chase. My office.”
Firm, steely words ordering him to the last place he wants to go, but he has no choice, no more will left before this man who he handed over like Judas seeking salvation from a money grubbing Pharisee with blood stained silver in one hand and his noose in the other. Whispered words behind closed doors to save himself and damn the man he owed loyalty to. No one would save him now, for his protector, the one he’d sold himself to, was gone, banished, and the rope yanked tight around his throat. He passed those silent glass doors, the name Gregory House, Head of Diagnostics, carved in sharp grey, and feels a cold breeze at his back as it swishes closed. He digs his hands in his pockets, afraid, suddenly a child facing his punishment, knowing no words would exonerate him, tongue tied and dizzy eyed. House doesn’t speak. He sits behind his desk, his throne, watching him, inspecting him, heat burning through Chase’s shirt down to the back of his neck and he stares at the floor, the desk, the black Pilot pen lying near the edge, pointing at him and he wonders for how long House plans to drag his guilt out like a tapeworm through his skin before throwing the first stone.
“Look, if you’re going to fire me, just do it.”
No reply, nothing but cold ice cleaving through him.
“I thought you would fire me. You like Cameron, you respect Foreman, and I’m... I don’t know what you think of me, but I couldn’t bet that you wouldn’t put my head on the chopping block, so I did what I had to do to save my job.”
Silence. Always that crawling, itchy, stifling silence.
“Screw it. I’ll go pick up my stuff.”
He turns, downcast, the glass door hard on his fingertips, when House finally speaks.
“You’re not fired.”
House’s expression hasn’t changed, same serious, impenetrable mask and Chase knows this isn’t a joke.
“I’m not?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Conducting job interviews is so annoying. There are so many things I’d rather be doing with my time. Besides, now that you have this mistake behind you, I do trust you to be more prudent in the future. Because if you do something this something this stupid again, there won’t be a Vogler to save you. You’ll be gone.”
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