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

House MD Chase/Wilson 010. Years

Title: Black Cherry
Fandom: House MD
Characters: Chase/Wilson, Cameron, House, Foreman, Cuddy
Prompt: 010. Years
Word Count: 3090
Rating: PG-15
Summary: A look at the future for the people of PPTH.
Author's Notes: A lot more depressing and OOC than I meant it to be.  Song is "Black Cherry" by Goldfrapp.

Black Cherry

nunc vivit necuter sibi, bonosque soles effugere atque abire sentit, qui nobis pereunt et imputantur.

(Now neither of us live for ourselves and we notice the good days flee and leave, days which are charged to us and perish)

Martial (Roman poet)

* How can it be?

 

He’ll always be too young, fumbling like a teenager with other people’s clothes, no matter how many times he does it, and even though she’s not here any more, he can still feel Cameron avoiding his gaze, like it’ll never be over between them although technically it never got started.

 

* I can taste you now

 

   One quick fuck in Cameron’s apartment to Goldfrapp’s Black Cherry album (almost ironic, that title really).  Her lips connecting too hard on his during Crystalline Green, unceremoniously stripping him, the time he could have said no.  He found himself on her bed during Train, her nails scraping his back, her bra in his hands and then on the floor, soft hair pooling around her shoulders and brushing over her breasts.  Black Cherry whispered its way into the room as her lips brushed his stomach and he never even gave a moment’s thought for regret (All the world in one grain of sand and I’ve blown it).  Tiptoe played while she fumbled for condoms in the bedside table, and he was surprised she had them, because, even after all that screwing about with House, Chase had sort of assumed she was kind of like a nun.  And the synths in Deep Honey hurt his brain as she straddled him and they worked out a kind of rhythm, a rhythm that lasted all the way through Hairy Trees and Twist (fight me try me kiss me like you like me).  He came at some point during the wails of wonderful electric in Strict Machine.  It took Forever for him to get his clothes on and suggest to Cameron that she drink a lot of water, and he could hear la la la la la la la from the final song- Slippage- as he closed her front door behind him and murmured “what the hell did I just do?”

 

* How can I see

 

The years trickle through his hands like all the promises he makes and never keeps to patients, and somewhere he’s got a notebook with all the patients that died in it, just so he can look at them and try not to forget them and keep trying not to turn into House.

 

* When you’re everything?

 

   Chase fell for House somewhere during his third year of working for him.  It was a complete accident, and something he never saw coming.  After all that time teasing Cameron and cheerfully backstabbing everyone he came into contact with, and suddenly House looked at him with those eyes that are not like a normal person’s (far too blue) and he was falling.  Doing everything he could to resist the urge to touch the other man, not to be in the same room as him, writing lists at home in cheap ruled notebooks (He’s too old.  He’s too damaged.  I’m too masochistic.  I hate getting stubble burn.  Cameron would kill me and dance on my grave.) and never listening to his own advice.  The crush kept going for another year and a half, in which he thought about House too much and hated Wilson and his closeness and Cameron and moaned Greg under the sound of the shower.  And gradually, he got over it.  Hated him and loved him and reached an equilibrium where for everything that House did to make him love him, something would happen that made him hate him.  He reached a state of beautiful, calm apathy, far beyond what Cameron thought she’d achieved and Wilson pretended he had. 

 

* All the world in one grain of sand

 

Chase has never got around to cutting his hair, fringe falling perpetually in his eyes, looking at the world through a curtain of blonde that is always too long for comfort but never long enough to tuck behind his ears.  It drives him mad but then so does everything else about his life.

 

* And I’ve blown it

 

   Wilson’s marriage to Wife Number Four (Anne of Cleves, by Chase’s reckoning.  Although Wilson’s wives haven’t followed the right pattern.  Wife Number Two was supposed to be the unfaithful one.  And Chase is also fairly sure they all still have their heads) lasted about two and a half weeks.  House announced that he was washing his hands of Jimmy and all those women, and perhaps next time he should try and stop this compulsion to propose to everyone.  So Wilson was back to living in his office and Chase never managed to open his mouth and ask him if he wanted *his* couch.  He was in the clinic one afternoon, being bored and generally braindead, when a very pretty woman, blonde, blue-eyed, and with, he discovered when she spoke, an Australian accent, came up to him and asked him whether he knew Doctor Wilson.  Chase replied that he did, and she handed him a neat sheaf of papers.  Divorce papers.

  “Give those to him, would you?” she asked, smiling slightly.

  “Sure,” he told her.  “And you would be?”

  “Susannah Wilson.” She replied.  “But not for much longer.”

   She turned to go and turned back, looking a little anxious.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know who Robert Chase is, would you?” she enquired.  Chase, his head feeling rather like it was going to explode, shrugged.

  “No.”   

 

* All my world in one grain of sand

 

And Chase sometimes wonders why he stays, tapping his fingers on the thigh of his slacks, working in Princeton/Plainsboro for longer than he cares to remember (he can’t or he won’t.  It could be either), working his way up the ladder with ambition that doesn’t actually exist.

 

* And you own it

 

   The first day Chase noticed a crack in one of the red mugs he was rather stunned.  The red mugs were a constitution in the office, and always had been, and he remembered vaguely having a coffee in one of them on his first day, wondering what he’d let himself in for and then not actually caring.  But it was there, a neat hairline crack right down the length of the mug, an ageline.  The mugs had seen everything, sitting there quietly while office politics and hundreds of differential diagnoses slid through the room, had seen House kiss Cameron one late night in the office (Chase wasn’t supposed to know about that, but he did), or the day when Foreman actually punched him and split his lip, and had watched Vogler come and go, and Stacy, had seen Wilson hanging around because he was lonely, had watched House fall apart at the seams since before Chase was even around to count how many Vicodin, how many lines crossed.  It occurred to him then, holding the mug and looking at it, that he hadn’t seen the black mugs in a while, and that the predecessors of the red mugs must all have chipped and broken their way into oblivion a year or more ago.  He felt impossibly old and tired, and smuggled the now unusable mug into his briefcase, not quite willing to lose something that felt something like an old friend.

 

* Black cherry

 

So, he walks the corridors like he owns them and Cuddy tosses smiles his way, and it sometimes surprises him to think that he and Wilson are the last ones left, sharing grimaces and memories in the corridors that used to be so overwhelming and now just feel like a prison that he’s staying in by *choice*.

 

* Black cherry stone

  

   Foreman left eventually, unable to cope with House, and Chase didn’t blame him one bit because they’d all reckoned he’d be the first to leave and it was only a surprise that he stayed as long as he did.  It was a Tuesday with the rain pouring outside the windows, and Cameron was typing an email to House’s mother pretending to be House (she was, daily, becoming more and more like House’s assistant than anything else).  Chase was doodling on the whiteboard with a green marker (four years, and he was finally allowed to Touch The Markers) and House was playing whatever the latest model of portable game thing was.

  “I’m leaving.” Foreman announced.  “I’m going to Chicago.  I’ve been offered a job there and I took it.”

   The rain continued to pour outside, and no one looked at him.

  “Yeah, pull the other one, it’s got bells on,” muttered House eventually.

  “No, actually, I am leaving,” Foreman insisted, and House sighed, won the round on his game, and looked up.

  “Will you teach Chase how to hotwire cars before you go?” he asked.  “You never know when a fellow who can steal you cars will be handy.”

  “You know, I’ve never actually-”

  “Why can’t he teach me?” Cameron asked, hands on her hips.

  “Cameron, honey, you have difficulty *intubating* sometimes.” House replied in tones of fake concern.

   And Chase said nothing because there was nothing he could say.

 

* Hearing you say it

 

Chase is nearly as apathetic as House now, is learning the tricks of faking being a genius, can be remarkably cruel to Wilson when he wants to be, doesn’t wear a labcoat any more, sharpens his sarcasm every day, violated a DNR last week, and patiently waits for the infarction to arrive.

 

* I could die

 

   Cameron left the next year.  Chase had been with House for five whole years and was so desensitised it wasn’t even funny anymore.  Cameron had fallen in and out for love for House so much that it was astonishing she wasn’t more bruised, and Chase had got over whatever he felt for him by then.  House hadn’t got around to replacing Foreman, pushing the time he would have to do the interviews further and further away until it wasn’t an issue any more.  There were back to being two fellows in the diagnostics department, and Chase *really* didn’t mean to fuck Cameron *again* that evening when it was late and they were both out of ideas, blood on their hands and House’s sarcasm ripping open their skins.  Foreman sometimes sent them emails and they sent replies obediently, and all the mugs in the office had become blue as one by one the red and black mugs smashed. 
 

  “I’m leaving.” Cameron admitted to him, looking more than a little hopeless.  “I’m going to Africa.”

   And Chase could have said why the hell are you constantly looking for redemption and validation?  What did you *do*?  Or he could have said don’t leave me here alone with him.  Or he could have said fuck you.  Instead, he smiled and pretended that he’d miss her, and then a week later she was gone and he actually did.

 

* Trembling star just reminds me

 

Wilson’s fifth wife never materialised and Chase sometimes wonders whether he’s just given up, but they’re not friends and never have been and they have nothing much to say to each other, Chase just finishing his eight year at PPTH and Wilson has been there for about thirteen, an unlucky number for everyone.

 

* All the world in one grain of sand

 

      House didn’t replace Cameron either, and Chase got used to the silence in the office, and waited for something to happen next.  Six months later, House was offered a job on the other side of the country and started flirting with taking it.

  “There’s nothing left in New Jersey for me any more,” he told Chase once.  Wilson reacted badly and Chase didn’t pick a side, sitting on the fence with splinters in his legs and watching House consider leaving.

   Cuddy fired him the day after he took the job, refusing to give him the dignity of resigning.

  “You’re fired,” she announced that day, walking into the office, and then laughing.  “God, I have always wanted to say that.”

   Wilson wouldn’t say goodbye and House was awkward when saying goodbye to Chase, twirling his cane in between his fingers.

  “The crush you had on me was flattering,” he said thoughtfully.  “Much less terrifying than Cameron’s.”

  “I’m nothing like her,” Chase told him.  “And I’m over you.”

  “Oh, I know.” House smiled slightly.  “Keep an eye on Jimmy for me.  Get a restraining order or whatever if it prevents him from getting married again.”

   Chase laughed.

  “Yeah, whatever.” He paused.  “See you.”

  “See you.”

   But they both knew they wouldn’t.

 

* And I’ve blown it

 

Chase isn’t lonely, although he is alone, and he works in the ICU and helps out with complicated diagnostics now, although there technically isn’t a diagnostics department any more.  He sometimes wonders how House is doing, and how Cameron and Foreman are, but he never bothers to find out.

 

* All my world in one grain of sand

 

   Wilson took his time forgiving House and wandered around looking like a kicked puppy for a while, while nurses flung themselves at him in the hope that they could *heal* that damaged man.  Chase had always assumed that Wilson was all that House had, and he came to realise that it worked both ways.  Wilson was lost without House and Chase didn’t do anything about it.  He could have asked him any one of his list of questions (Are you in love with House?  Were you ever?  Are you sad he’s gone, or relieved?  Do you intend to follow him?  Oh, and your fourth wife was blonde and Australian and knew who I was- what the hell?) but he didn’t.  He lived on peanut butter and canned soup for six months while working out whether he missed House and worked in the ICU and got blood on half his shirts.  Eventually, Wilson started smiling again and Chase assumed that the Boy Wonder got his Batman back, and returned to flirting with the nurses and making margaritas during clinic duty.

 

* And you own it

 

Chase misses the way his life used to be from time to time, remembering days when it was all a fight against Cuddy and they were all in it together, trying to hold House together and then stop him from pulling the universe down around him just to see what made it tick, and then sometimes he doesn’t miss it at all.

 

* Black cherry

 

   He got the call from Cameron at some point, telling him she was getting married and sounding thrilled, and Chase acted like he was thrilled too and tapped his fingernails against his thigh impatiently.  He wasn’t used to Cameron any more, tried vaguely to remember the way things used to be, but that was nearly four years ago, that golden period before he fucked up and House fucked up and Cameron tried to fuck up and failed miserably and Foreman got on that power trip and things never really got quite right again.  But they talked for a while and he tried to pretend he wasn’t a wreck, and he couldn’t even remember why he wasn’t stable any more, and Cameron sounded a little confused, but then she’d spent a year and half in Africa and she was flying back out next month, and it turned out she was marrying Sebastian Charles, and Chase put the phone down on her and resolutely decided that ignorance was fucking bliss.

 

* Black cherry stone

 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for you?” asks Wilson one day, voice full of frustration, walking into Chase’s office and looking somewhat furious and also pretty rained-on.  Chase says nothing because he’s completely non-plussed, and Wilson just looks at him with those haunted eyes.

 

* Excite me, ignite me

 

  “Cameron’s getting married to Sebastian Charles,” Chase informed Wilson.  “Let House know.  He’ll be really delighted to hear it.”

  “Wasn’t Sebastian Charles kind of an arrogant bastard?” Wilson asked, reaching for another file.  Paused.  “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”  News heard; processed; accepted; forgotten. 

  “Yeah.” Chase looked at him, biting his lips, because he never for one moment ever thought that he and Wilson would ever be the last ones left.  Cuddy seemed almost sad and lonely now she’d lost her sparring partner, and Chase realised that the loss of House had just cut right through them.  He opened his mouth to talk to Wilson because they never talked and you know, maybe they *should*, it’d been years of a barely nodding acquaintance and that was rather sad.   But Chase had nothing to say because he never had anything to say to anyone any more, so he shrugged it off and walked out and Wilson’s eyes followed every step he took and then closed as he bit his lips together.

 

* Oh and you know

 

“Waiting for me?” Chase asks, looking at Wilson in slight confusion.  “What-” Wilson sighs and runs a wet hand through his sodden hair, like he’s about to start pacing or something.  “You just don’t get it do you?”

 

* I miss you

 

   Cuddy was tired now, always tired, like forty had hit her too hard and she’d never got over it.  Chase found himself sitting around in her office sometimes, neither of them talking, like they were steeped in memories, hoping if they were marinating long enough the clock might turn back.  Princeton/Plainsboro was dead for both of them now, irreversibly decaying without the lives they had led when they first entered it.  But they couldn’t leave now, this glass-walled too-shiny hospital was part of them, and Chase died a little more every time he walked into it and died twice as much when he walked out.  He could have left.  Should have left.  Cuddy knew that too.  She made him cups of coffee that neither of them drank and he helped her shred files full of lawsuits all filed against a mad crippled doctor who didn’t work there any more anyway.

  “Why are we still here?” Cuddy asked him in despair one afternoon, her arms full of manilla folders and her hair working its way out of its bun.  

  “Where else would we go?” Chase replied, and felt more trapped than ever.

 

* I kiss you

 

They kiss like old lovers, tongues stroking and fighting and sliding over each other, Wilson’s teeth biting at his lip, and it’s both new and familiar, desperate and exhausted, fingers fisting in each other’s shirts, and Chase feels dizzy and confused and Wilson tastes almost as lost as he feels, and he knows now that he’ll never ask how many years Wilson has been watching him and biting his mouth shut, because maybe some things are just better left unsaid.

 

* Oh and you know

 

~finis~

Other Chase/Wilsons can be found here, if you're mildly interested.
Tags: house: robert chase/james wilson
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