she's your cocaine. (kohlrimmedeye) wrote in fanfic100,
she's your cocaine.
kohlrimmedeye
fanfic100

House MD Chase/Wilson 085. She

Title: Bleeding Out
Fandom: House MD- CROSSOVER WITH CSI:NY
Characters: Chase, Wilson, Lindsay Monroe
Prompt: 085. She
Word Count: 1700
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Chase and Wilson; New York; murder
Author's Notes: Not as good as it should be. I was watching ER and I swear I don't know enough about CSI:NY and writing it in 100-word drabbles was HARD.

Dedicated to widowedanthem, who doesn't watch House *or* CSI NY. Heh.



~

Wilson is at the oncology conference because it is his job, as head of the department, to go, and Chase is at the oncology conference because it is atonement for his innumerable sins, most of which aren’t even relevant any more. But House wanted someone to take notes in case anything interesting came up and Chase is armed with a laptop and a pen and a feeling of resignation, since he’s got no choice in the matter, and he knows that now. So he will play House’s game and play Wilson’s game (which he may or may not be playing).

~

His fingers ache and so does his head, and his back, and other places he barely knew existed. Wilson is cheerful enough because he doesn’t have to take his own notes, and Chase spends his time stewing in silent hatred that Wilson doesn’t deserve to have thrown at him, but House is in New Jersey and the long-distance resentment thing takes more effort than Chase is willing to give it. So he simply says nothing and sits through the talks with a faintly sulky expression on his face, noting down every word and waiting for evening with almost baited breath.

~

She has a lot of blonde hair and he doesn’t know her name and that’s actually ok, since they’ve both drunk a lot of blue-coloured drinks and complained that oncology really isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. She’s got hazel eyes, one with more green, one with more brown, and a tiny freckle above her lip, which he kisses softly in the elevator on the way to his room, but Wilson is in the corridor with a Look on his face, kind of angry, and Chase sends her back to her own room with a twinge of regret.

~

The kiss is vicious and hard and all-consuming, and it drags all the air from Chase’s lungs, since it is so unexpected and also so possessive. Wilson’s fingers tangle furiously in his hair, pulling to the point of pain (which actually makes it better) as he pins Chase to the wall, grinding lewdly against him, and maybe Wilson is drunk but what disturbs Chase is that maybe he isn’t. He wonders if this was pre-meditated or not, Wilson pushing him into the hotel room and literally ripping the shirt from his skin, and Chase wouldn’t leave even if he could.

~

Three a.m and he’s got scratches and bruises everywhere, and if he thought his back ached earlier that’s nothing compared to the pain now. So Chase makes his way up to the roof, dressed in his clumsily found ruined shirt and jeans, sweat that isn’t all his drying on his skin. A lot of things make sense now, which is strange- sex normally makes everything worse, but it explains a lot about Wilson, and about House’s eagerness to send him to this conference- definitely pre-meditated. He pushes open the door to the roof and hears the scream; help me, please!

~

She has a lot of blonde hair and he still doesn’t know her name but that doesn’t matter much as she collapses onto him in the dark. Chase helps her to the ground where he can see her by moonlight. There’s blood; so much blood, matted into that hair and spattered across him, and she’s screaming and sobbing as he tries to remember that he’s a doctor. She’s got hazel eyes, one with more green, one with more brown, and they go curiously glassy in the half-light when she dies, and he’s still desperately pumping her chest when help arrives.

~

It looks bad; horrendously bad, since he’s covered in scratches and her blood and there are tears trickling down his face and no sign of anyone else up here. He can’t speak, not at all, since he can’t help wondering whether if he’d just gone with her whether she’d still be alive now, rather than bleeding out on a rooftop. He feels tired and she’s still lying there, crumpled, her blood blossoming onto the concrete. Chase just sits there with his head in his hands and listens to the screaming in a dazed fashion, waiting for the cops to arrive.

~

Her name is Lindsay Monroe, and she’s got brown hair and dark eyes and he sits meekly while she asks him questions he’s too in shock to answer, while colleagues of hers- both men, with flashlights so bright that he can’t see their faces- examine the blood spatters all over the ground and he just grits his teeth. Chase knows that he ought to say I’m with someone; he can vouch for me but he can’t get his lips to work; he’s just numb. Lindsay gets someone to bring him a coffee and is almost apologetic when she arrests him.

~

The patient isn’t getting better which is probably the only reason they’re all still there. House gets the call from Wilson at about three a.m, and it’s obvious in seconds that something has fucked-up in New York. He’s happy enough to announce to the room that Chase has been arrested for murder, and Foreman drops his coffee and Cameron drops her marker with a look on her face that makes the whole thing somehow worth it. He asks if Chase has an alibi and Wilson says yes in a way that means Julie will be filing for divorce next week.

~

Chase wakes up in a cell with a splitting headache and trembling hands, and the laces removed from his shoes, as well as anything else that could be used as a weapon. At some point, someone is going to come and ask him some questions and he knows that he won’t be able to answer them; he’s not sure why he feels he owes Wilson something but he kind of does, and all he really, really wants to know is what the woman’s name was, so he can feel guilty, can feel sad, with a purpose. He needs a lawyer.

~

Cameron has fingernail marks in her face from panicking too much, and her blue eyes are exhausted. House doesn’t care much. Neither does Foreman, apparently, but House can see through that careful air of nonchalance, and it tastes like panic underneath. He himself feels very little; he knows Chase didn’t do it, regardless of whether he gets off, and he was a good doctor, and maybe he’ll have to do more interviews, and maybe he won’t. He feels more sorry for Wilson, whose little crush seems to have evolved into a full-blown murder investigation, and not in a kinky way.

~

Lindsay- sorry, Detective Monroe- has another man with her, Detective Taylor. Monroe seems to like him, or at least trusts that he wouldn’t beat a woman to death on a hotel roof, but Taylor is suspicious, and technically Chase can’t really blame him. He’s had pictures taken of him and his scratches and bruises to see whether she caused them (he wants a name, needs a damn name) and there’s another mug of coffee resting on the desk in front of him while he tries to explain in a cracking, tired voice that honest, he’s innocent, he really, really is.

~

A clean shirt seems to have materialised out of nowhere and Chase pulls it on, shrugging it out over his aching shoulders. He needs sleep; most of his brain seems to have been replaced with cotton candy and there’s still blood under his fingernails. Detective Monroe comes to see him in his sort-of holding cell, asking if there’s anyone he needs to call. What was her name? he asks her desperately, pushing his fringe out of his eyes so that he can look as genuine as he can manage. Lindsay looks at him for a moment before quietly replying Lenore.

~

He gets let out at some point during the mid-morning, once Wilson has provided his alibi and proof that it’s genuine, and he’s vaguely hungry too but really he just wants to sleep. They walk back to the hotel in silence because Wilson wants to apologise but Chase doesn’t want to hear it right now. It’s been a long night, a strange one; a woman called Lenore died in front of him and a female CSI with beautiful eyes at least trusted him long enough to offer him a coffee. He’s not sure what to say to Wilson. Not yet.

~

The oncologists manage to pull themselves together and the conference continues, and Chase keeps making notes while Wilson’s hand slides discreetly up his thigh in an attempt to distract him. The whole thing is a little- well, a lot- surreal; with the NY crime lab still wandering around the hotel and police tape everywhere and the fact that he’s learnt he knows nothing about oncology, but maybe that doesn’t matter since at least they’re only paying for one hotel room now and he’s got Lindsay’s phone number folded into the back pocket of his jeans. You know. Just in case.

~

It was Lenore’s ex-boyfriend, and he finds out the night before they’re due to go back to New Jersey. Lindsay makes the effort to come find him and tell him, which he’s grateful for. If you ever get sick, you know where to find me Robert says with a smile, and she smiles back. It’s a beautiful smile, and they both know instinctively that they probably won’t see each other again. Your boyfriend, she says, he seems pretty nice. He’s actually not my boyfriend; I don’t know what he is, Robert replies. Then you’d better find out, Lindsay tells him.

~

So, I hear you had a productive trip, House says thoughtfully. Cameron and Foreman are in the office staring at Chase like he’s grown an extra head (or like they thought they’d never see him again). Did you bring me some notes? Robert stares at him and drops heaps of print-outs and manual notes into the glass table, feeling a little lost now he’s back in PPTH again. Back where everything is so normal. Still kinda fucked-up though. Later on, during House’s clinic duty, he finally drops Lindsay’s number into the bin and pages Wilson. He has to find out.

~


Other Chase/Wilsons live in this penthouse here
Tags: house: robert chase/james wilson
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