Chapter Text
Chase was unique. As House liked to say, sui generis. One of a kind. And though that wasn’t technically true, because he wasn’t the only person in the world with the condition he had, it did make sense. How often did people with Chase’s condition make it through gruelling years of medical school and achieve such success as Chase had? Hell, he was twenty-six and already had House’s name on his resume.
That was what Cameron opined, anyway.
Not a lot of people really knew Chase. They knew the flowing blond hair, the pearly smile, the Aussie accent. They were often swept away by his looks, and to be fair, Chase walked around looking amazing. That long blond hair tucked charmingly behind one ear, those scintillating steel-blue eyes, the pristine white of his coat; Cameron really couldn’t blame people for swooning over her colleague upon first sight.
“Some days,” House had once said, legs propped up on his desk and cane tapping against the carpeted floor, “I really forget what I hired you for. Was it the smarts, or the looks?”
Chase had given him a cursory glance. “Or because my father called you.”
“Nope,” House had replied, popping the ‘p’. “I hired you because you fit my needs. We all know the way the world works. Unethical things suddenly become so ethical when you’ve got someone pretty doing them.”
“You’ve got Cameron for that.”
“Oh, please, like Cameron’s going to sully her pristine conscience to do anything remotely questionable.” House had swung his legs off his desk and risen from his chair. “Now make that face of yours useful and go tell those parents we need to perform brain surgery on their thirteen-year-old son.”
Chase was like an iceberg. A lot of people saw the tip of it: the handsome face, the composed doctor. But Chase was a huge iceberg. There was a lot below the water. What people didn’t know was the broken family, the severe neglect, the parentification, the trauma. How much Chase had gone through to become the person he was today. Growing up with a neglectful father and an alcoholic mother sounded like a nightmare to Cameron. And it probably had been, for Chase, because he never talked about it, as if he wanted to pretend it never happened. It was a strange denial that sometimes had Cameron worried, because Chase would keep following that narrative, stubborn as ever, until he crashed. He didn’t crash often, but when he did, he crashed hard.
Today was one of those days. After three days straight of suggesting differential diagnoses non-stop, finally landing on the right one, and then performing an extremely delicate surgery, Cameron watched as Chase unravelled. From the moment he unscrubbed, she witnessed him drifting away, bit by bit. First, it was the Aussie boldness to his voice, which turned gravelly and quiet. Then after that went the professional posture Chase always carried himself with. Lastly, Cameron followed him into the team lounge just in time to see him utterly collapse into a chair as though all the bones in his body had abruptly vanished.
Chase buried his face in his hands, braced his elbows on the table, and just stayed that way for a good five minutes. All this while, Cameron had placed herself near the door, arms folded as she silently observed him. But after a while had passed it was clear that Chase was not going to move, and Cameron finally crossed the room over to the table, pulling out a chair for herself.
“Chase,” she said softly, settling down.
Her blond-haired colleague hummed lowly, but his face did not leave his palms.
She shifted a little closer to him. “What’s happening? Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing,” Chase said, words muffled. “Just need a moment.”
“It’s been seven minutes of you just sitting here like this,” Cameron told him. “I counted.”
Chase sighed. Cameron watched his shoulders fall as the air left him, and then he finally dropped his hands.
“I’m tired, I guess,” he finally said.
“Then go home and get some rest.”
Chase said nothing to that. No agreement, no disagreement. He simply continued to stare into space, eyes glassy and face pale.
Cameron stood, went over to the counter where they kept all their food and drinks, and poured out a glass of water. “You really don’t look good.” She came back, placed the glass down on the desk in front of him. “It’s been a tough few days. We all deserve a break.”
When Chase still remained silent, Cameron thought to crack a joke. “I bet Foreman’s already out of town by now.”
Nothing. No response. Not even a chuckle, not even a huff of acknowledging laughter. Chase’s stare was a thousand yards long by now, and his features seemed to have gone slack. Cameron bit her lip and slowly made her way back to her chair beside Chase’s, disturbed by how still Chase was. It was like he’d transformed into a wax statue.
“Chase,” she tried calling again, and when that still didn’t work she reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder.
Like a rubber band pulled taut and snapping back inwards, Chase jerked, and the violent motion threw off Cameron’s grasp. He shot from the chair like he’d been burned. The suddenness of it all shocked Cameron in turn, and she flinched away as her colleague seemed to come back to himself, looking all around the room until his gaze fell on her.
“Cameron,” he breathed.
Cameron’s heart leapt. “Hey,” she said, giving him as friendly of a smile as she could muster. “You’re not Chase anymore, are you?”
He raised his shoulders in a perfunctory shrug. “Technically, the ‘Chase’ stays. I’m just not Robert, is all.”
“Ace?”
He grinned. “First try.” He scowled down at the pristine lab coat Chase had been wearing. “I hate this thing.”
“Take it off,” Cameron suggested. “We’re not on a case anyway.”
So off came the white coat, draped over the back of a chair. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Ace said. He leaned over to grab the glass of water she’d originally poured out for Chase. “Don’t mind if I do. Throat’s kind of dry.”
Cameron made a ‘go ahead’ gesture, and at that affirmation, Ace lifted the cup to his lips and began drinking. “Yeah,” she said. “I think it’s been at least a month.”
“Time flies when you’re not here,” said Ace, and there was a wistful sorrow to his words.
Cameron had to remind herself once again that Ace really did not get a lot of time at all. Chase was the one who got to be present the most, and that was a blessing, given that he was the one who’d attended medical school. As witty and easygoing Ace was, he was practically useless in Princeton-Plainsboro. He retained none of the medical knowledge Chase possessed, leaving him with nothing but a sharp tongue and the scars of physical abuse he’d been created to put up with. He was not someone who could suggest differential diagnoses, complete surgeries, or treat patients. He only had one job, and that was to endure the beatings Chase’s parents would give him.
The thought of this saddened Cameron. She was about to say something comforting, something reassuring, perhaps, but she was interrupted. The glass door swung open, and House limped in.
“Hey, bossman,” Ace said cheerfully.
House paused. His eyebrows dipped a little bit as he seemed to stare down Ace, processing the fact that Chase would have never called him that. But then he broke eye contact after a moment and continued towards the desk.
“So,” he said conversationally, “Robert’s not with us anymore.”
“No,” said Cameron.
House raised his eyes to the sky, a faux-commiserative look on his face. “May he rest in peace.”
“He might as well be dead while I’m here,” Ace said, legs crossed and hands behind his head. “So that’s got some truth to it.”
Chase admittedly sat in weird ways, but never in such a casual, lounging position. Cameron shook her head slightly. It was just one of the few subtle tells it wasn’t Chase.
House turned to Cameron, the look on his face intentionally simpering. “Would you pass away on the spot if I told you we’ve got a new case?”
Cameron groaned. “House, we literally just got done with our last one.”
“Yeah, well,” House said, tossing a manila file onto the table, “people just won’t wait for us to catch a break before they start dying again. Inconsiderate bastards.”
Cameron picked up the file and scanned it. “Jaundice and rashes,” she murmured. “Could be sarcoidosis.”
“Sarc on these nuts,” Ace snickered.
Cameron sighed exasperatedly, but a smile was spreading across her face. That was Ace and his humour, alright.
“You do realise that your full name would be Ace Chase, don’t you?” House said suddenly.
“…Yeah.”
House smirked. “That is the stupidest name ever I’ve heard of, and yesterday a girl named Veroniqa came in. V-E-R-O-N-I-Q-A.”
“Funny,” Ace retorted, “because the stupidest name I’ve ever heard of is Gregory House. Like, fuck, imagine being named Gregory. And then having House as your surname. It’s like a lethal double-whammy. I don’t know how you walk around the hospital with that on your office door.”
House said something equally acerbic back, but Cameron tuned it out. The atmosphere in the room was easy and upbeat, despite the new case House had just brought in. There was a lightness in her chest that hadn’t been there in a long time.
Maybe they were all tired out of their minds. Maybe they all wanted a break, especially Chase. But maybe Chase would be okay, because Ace was here now. Maybe his presence had acted like some sort of a release from the stringency of the medical practice, because Ace wasn’t a doctor like Chase was. His jovial temperament and heaven-sent ignorance for everything to do with medicine was a breath of fresh air Cameron felt she desperately needed. They all desperately needed. And as she watched Ace and House bicker, a small smile crept onto her face.
Yeah, maybe they’d be okay.