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Robert Chase never took naps.
As a child, freshly 8 years old or so, he concluded he was too old for them. His mother would have to beg, bargain, yell, and even threaten to get him to at least try. Such as with everything else she tried making him do. He was a tough kid. So Mama Chase would just say "Fine, but don't crawl back to me crying because you're dying for a nap."
As a teen, around 15 years, however, he yearned for one. Before shit hit the fan, the moment he'd come home from school, toss his backpack in the corner of the room, and lay down in his bed. The parental pair would put their daily arguing session on hold to lecture him on how 'if he takes a nap now, he'll sleep until 2 am, and mess up his sleep schedule'. They didn't care enough to wake him up or help him regain a balanced schedule, simply excusing themselves by saying he was a 'deep sleeper'.
Shortly after, as his father left the scene, he realized how wrong they were. Left to take care of an alcoholic mother and a baby sister, Chase was an extremely light sleeper. To this day, he'd wake to any little hum that registered his ears. They must have figured the opposite due to how Mama Chase was drunk, asleep, or hungover majority of the day.
Such were the only things on his mind as he put on a masterful iteration of a 'pretending to focus while he's actually dozing off' pose, but due to his lack of input or cocky remarks, House simply bit his tongue in the middle of a sentence, the room settling, as Foreman and Cameron first look at him, then onto the subject of his condescending stare. Chase.
Foreman and Cameron's looks turn more agitated as they notice a stubborn, evil little smirk play on House's lips. They've made the mistake of falling asleep during late hour shifts - like this one, considering it was past 7 PM - and had a few ideas in mind of what the older man would think of next. Chase, however, was too out of it to care.
As the silence grows, Chase finally realizes something is up, but just as he was about to open his eyes and observe, thinking of a clever excuse, House appears right next to his ear.
"BECAUSE TONIGHT WILL BE THE NIGHT THAT I WILL FALL FOR YOUUU" he loudly sing-songs into Chase's ear, turning to cover the entirety of the blond's peripherals.
Before he could continue, though, Chase's back jerks into an upright position again, an embarrassed blush creeping onto his cheeks.
"Sorry, I'm up, I'm up." he mutters.
Cameron and Foreman join eyes. Right, at first it was fry-screaming obscure heavy metal songs, now it was emo music. Despite constantly blasting dad rock, playing Vivaldi and other composers on his piano, the man had quite the range of music taste.
"We got a dying kid within the premises. If you wanted to sleep by this time, you shouldn't have become a doctor" House snarks, limping his way back to the whiteboard.
"We have many dying kids. But sure, yeah." Chase snarks back, rubbing his sleepy eyes awake.
"I'm thinking brain. Any neurologists with us today?" House snarks, ignoring his comment.
"The kid came in with a broken collarbone and friction burn from a motorcycle accident. Why should we think brain?" Cameron sighs.
"Well, did he drive on the road, or did he zigzag on it? Do an EEG for seizures, MRI and CT for tumors, lesions, and any other yummy thing we could pick out for dinner." He orders. "Dr. Chase, private consult."
Cameron and Foreman leave, grimacing, Chase gulping as he stands to face the older man.
"Be honest. Is my voice really that soothing?" He remarks with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, as per usual.
"I was about to take the best nap of my life. Take two guesses." He snarks back.
It was true. Chase recalls the feeling if his eyes heavy with sleep, his entire body solidified into that one oddly comfortable position, his mind calm and clear, even now, despite the man in front of him staring at him like he's a felon. Even the thought of his bed seemed like nothing compared to the feeling of leaning his head onto the desk, micro-sleeping as his mind played the most absurd dreams they could generate.
"Okay" the man just says, which has Chase prepare for something unhinged. "My other two ducklings can do the big boy work, then. Go ahead, treat yourself like a king."
That was the man's way of saying 'you are not exempt from your duties as a medical professional'
"Okay." Chase stubbornly responds, crossing his arms.
"Okay." House retorts. He sits down in his office chair and begins to play his gameboy, the volume cranked to full. "I'll watch over you, make sure you don't slack off too hard."
Chase huffs. "I'm gonna take a shower first. I have at least three forms of liquids on me right now. None of them mine."
"Alright." House absentmindedly says, focusing on his handheld. "Don't squeeze the roo too long or you're paying the hospital's water bill."
Chase scoffs, an undeniable smirk on his face, heading out. He sees this moment of freedom as an opportunity to roam wherever, hit the cafeteria for the leftover mac and cheese, of which the night shift lunch ladies would probably pick the crispy edge out for him - because they found him attractive -, vent to the comatose guy in patient room 407, not expecting a response, but first, shower. Right.
He peels his clothes off, absentmindedly tossing them into his locker, right next to the spare clothes he had. He heads off, the warm water hitting his back in a way that feels just right. He slowly looks up, letting the water hit his face, his eyes still carrying that heavy, serene feeling of just wanting to shut forever. He lets out a heavy sigh, engulfed in the warmth he never got, wishing he could develop some super ability to sleep standing up, or alternatively sleep in a bathtub with no drowning hazard, or just go to the extreme and just breathe water, so he could live in it forever. His internal clock goes off, alarming him that he should probably use his remaining time doing those other things, but as soon as the faucet is closed, his entire body shivers from the cold.
He wraps himself in a towel and rummages through his locker for clothes that were relatively clean. He came down to two choices, the first set of clothes that reeked the least, or what he can only describe as pajamas. His scrubs, shirts, jeans, all had visible stains or a reeking odor, so with an exhausted sigh, he takes the jammies. It's night, none of the night shifters will care, right? He puts on a loose gray tee, replacing the towel with his last clean pair of boxers, covering them with a pair of red plaid pants.
He heads into the cafeteria, the lines short, sliding his tray with a myriad of yawns and eyerubs.
"Dr. Chase! Held up on a case with the cane guy?" Asks the cafeteria lady, scooping his usual order - stale fried chicken, a fruit cup, and the God blessed crispy edge of the mac n cheese - onto his tray, putting a little extra on there.
Chase nods, also taking a cup of coffee and a candy bar, which the lady rings up.
"This one's on me, you deserve it, sweetheart" The lady says with a smile, making Chase give the expression of an embarrassed child, blushing and staring and all.
He mumbles a polite "Thank you, Sharon." before taking a seat at one of the tables, sleepily scooping his food into his mouth.
Every action feels like a build up to the inevitable; Chase finding a quiet spot with some form of background noise and sleeping. Yet the thought of how the other two were doing all the dirty work while he just slips into his jammies, plastic slippers and all - almost giving off the impression of a patient, less so a doctor -, it made him feel guilty, undeserving. As he finishes his meal, slipping the chocolate bar into his pocket, he hands back the tray and sips his coffee, slowly making his way back into the office.
"I'm just saying," Cameron's voice chimes "the CT doesn't show any indication of strokes."
"There's a shadow over the left side or the parietal lobe" Foreman mentions "The kid must have moved during the imaging, nobody stays perfectly still."
"Why do we even need the parental lobe?" House abruptly asks.
"Parietal" Foreman corrects, stammering, frustrated by the man's stubbornness "Sense of touch, taste, smell, mathematical calculations, reading and writing."
"Maybe, for all we know the kid couldn't have told you the discriminant of-" he starts, biting his tongue upon the sight of Chase heading inside, sitting down. "I'm sorry, are you lost, sweetheart?" House teases, as if he was talking to a child.
Chase rolls his eyes, "I had no clean clothes. Bite me."
"Did the cafeteria lady give you milk and cookies too, or did she promise that as aftercare?" House snarks "Spatial and visual perception. Cameron, Foreman, he's concussed, go ask him to read some Dr. Seuss or whatever you doctor people do."
"If he was concussed after the crash, it wouldn't have caused the crash." Cameron argues.
"He got it before the crash, then. I dunno, go ask." He brushes her off, seemingly wanting to get rid of them as quick as possible, unbeknownst to why.
The two leave, leaving Chase to meekishly look up at House, his chin on the table.
"Differential diagnosis, age regression." he states.
"The... kid crashed because he has age regression..?"
"Not the kid, you." House states.
Chase scoffs, "You kidding?"
"You're dressed in jammies, hair messy and damp, holding a chocolate bar in your hand, you look like a child. Hell, you probably like to act like one, too."
"Shut up, mate." Chase rolls his eyes, weakly holding his head up as he tries to tear open the wrapper.
House watches the blondie struggle with the packaging, prompting him to snatch it away, opening it with one swift move and selflessly handing it back. Chase looks up, a certain funny feeling in his stomach, before slowly taking it and taking a bite.
"First the child safety lock on my pills, now a wrapper. Are you trying to prove my point? Very noble of you." House remarks.
Chase just munches on his chocolate bar, too tired to argue.
"Y'know, age regression is one of those things that people who have it are ashamed of it." He monologues "So, naturally, it acts like any other old suppressed urge."
"Get to your point" Chase urges on, wanting to end this discussion.
"What do you do when you forget to buy condoms and a really hot babe is waiting for you?"
Chase can't tell if he should chuckle, roll his eyes, or blush like a child - so he does the third thing.
"You head back into the store." House says. "When you leave your keys on your counter, you head back into the house to get them. You know?"
"All this because I need a nap?" Chase asks, irritated by being picked apart.
"...You don't get hugged enough as a child, you head back into childhood to make up for it." House finishes his monologue.
Chase finally just scoffs, a cheeky smile on his face.
"Okay, if I bite and go along with this... whatever this is and let you rip on me for being tired, will that satisfy your delusions?" Chase remarks.
"I'm fine either way. If you want to grow up to be a big, strong, miserable man, be my guest."
With this, House takes a seat at his desk, legs on the table, taking out the Gameboy, the volume quieter this time. Chase finishes the candy bar, gently placing the wrapper aside, leaning his head down. Was he right? Was that really the reason behind all those one night stands, where he'd sleep with women he met the same day just to be held for a while? Was that why he still had a bunch of embarrassing habits like sleeping in a fetal position when he's overwhelmed? No, that's ridiculous. He's a grown man, damn it. A doctor, with a long white coat, drinking coffee and saving lives.
Chase softly exhales through his nostrils, his eyelids fluttering closed with his head on the table, as if it was glued there. The low hum of the nearby hospital equipment, heating, cooling, and all the other electronics softly cradling him asleep as the low beeps of House's Gameboy sounding oddly relaxing. He is almost about to fall asleep before
"Achoo!" House loudly yells, the room falling silent, "Not even a 'bless you', weren't you taught manners?"
"If you're so salty about me needing some rest, you should either send me home or send me back to work!" Chase loudly exclaims, his back now slightly straightened, yet still hunched over the desk, "Because whatever you're doing now is just annoying and petty!"
"You've worked for me for years. It shouldn't surprise you." House simply snarks before tossing the console aside and limping over. "Want me to show you the places where the chairs are somewhat soft? The maternity ward's busy directing labors, their offices should be free, they got wall TVs and everything."
"Just sod off, mate." Chase groans, rubbing his eyes.
"You and your Britishisms... Fine, then, have it your way." House snarks, sitting next to the younger man. "What, you miss napping as a child? That, too, just proves my point."
"I'm Australian..." Chase reminds, "and no, I can't miss something I never got."
With this, House's heart drops. Or, guess you could say, his shriveled little heart grew three times its size that moment. Chase's parents were rich, successful, and they seriously wouldn't let their darling boy take a nap? What is he gonna say next? He never had a plushtoy or got bubble baths? House just nods, standing up to leave. Chase just stares at the older man, his expression bitter and drained, House pulls the blinds before finally leaving, giving Chase a sense of privacy and safety, the closing of the door prompting the blond to lean his head down again.
The hum of the machines fades into the forefront of Chase's attention, occupying his mind with his brain picking apart the different hums like a stick of string cheese, marking each individual hum with what machine is probably producing it. The rhythmic thump-snap, interrupted with a couple low beeps, is a CT scanner; the even lower, longer beeps, followed by slamming sounds, is an MRI; and of course, the beeps of multiple heart-rate monitors, slightly off-sync.
One of them is about 86 BPM, the other about 93, but what makes Chase flinch a bit is that God forsaken sound of one of the beeps accelerating before the screeching flat-line sound. The defibrillator's charge sound stands out from some inaudible yelling, yet, to Chase's silent dismay, the flat-line continues for what feels like forever. Suddenly, it stops. Chase figures it to be a patient from a different department, one that didn't involve him, but the thought of someone dying within spitting distance of him sent shivers down his spine. It was a common occurrence, yet it's not something you ever get used to. He couldn't help but mumble a prayer for the lost patient under his breath as he finally felt himself slip into deep sleep.
After about an hour of quiet napping, the office door softly opens. House had given the other two plenty of things to do to keep them away, let Chase nap all he wants, not knowing why. Chase hears the soft footsteps and cane clops, yet none of it registers. It probably manifested some weird way into his dream, but we shall never know. House places a plate onto the table, within arm's reach, and slowly drapes a blanket over Chase, adjusting it as he pats the younger man's back in the process. Not knowing what to do, House sits next to him, laying his head down in solidarity. He never got how and why Chase found this stance comfortable, it put a slight extra strain on his dumb leg. Regardless, he realizes he needs rest too.
Chase slowly lifts his head up, his mouth getting that oddly satisfying "sleep-taste" and his eyelids perfectly heavy, the same things he'd feel dozing off in class. He looks at the older man, who was face down. Chase squints his tired eyes, trying to figure out if the man overdosed or something, but the rise and fall of his chest proved him wrong. He looks the other way, seeing a plate of cookies and a glass of milk on the other edge of the table. He slumps his shoulders a bit, feeling the soft blanket embracing his back, the crook of his right elbow now occupied by a teddy bear.
"House, what are yo-" he starts, realizing the man wasn't gonna respond. He wouldn't do that even if he was awake.
For now, Chase just goes back to sleep. House, of course, didn't let himself doze off for longer than half an hour - twenty minutes longer than intended, whoops -, and gently nudges Chase awake.
"Got you breakfast." House casually groans.
Chase looks up at him, his gaze more... innocent.
"Five more minutes..." Chase whines.
"Eat. Then you can sleep five more minutes." House commands, straightening his back.
Chase slowly reaches out with a free hand, softly scooting the plate towards himself. The milk was still warm, so were the cookies. The man wasn't joking around. Chase reflexively switches the teddy bear into the crook of his non-dominant hand's elbow, taking a cookie with his dominant hand. It is a chewy chocolate chip cookie, which melts in Chase's mouth just right.
"Why are you doing all this..?" Chase softly asks.
House shrugs, "Maybe you'll focus on your job after this." he deflects. He wasn't willing to reveal how he meant to earn his trust, and, with it, help mend a man's broken spirit. Wait, why was he doing all this? He could just let Chase develop into the same miserable old man he is, albeit his pain more emotional, compared to his physical one, but he just... couldn't. He had an undeniable, yet suppressed soft spot for the man. No matter how much he betrayed him, bad-mouthed him, talked back, or did something stupid, he wanted nothing but to hold him for a while.
Chase just rolls his eyes, the soft chocolate chips melting in his mouth convincing him to almost succumb to this suppressed urge of his, the urge to just... give up and regress into an age where everything was relatively better. Not good, just better. He hugs the bear just a bit tighter, his muscles relaxing with ease as he pops in the final bite of the cookie, washing it down with the warm milk. He thinks to himself, this is so embarrassing. He doesn't want to be treated like a baby, and he wants it even less to admit that he may indeed benefit from it. He hates himself for internally finding the idea appealing. He's a trained hypnotist, he'd treated countless patients with hypnosis, including House one time. Why couldn't he try it on himself?
He takes a deep breath, the slow chew of a second cookie occupying his body just enough for his mind to go into early memory recall. He tries to think back to the earliest memories he has, ones that were very few and far inbetween, knowing many of his memories got blocked out long since. All except for when his mother would instill religious guilt in him, telling him about how 'God sees and hears your words, actions, and thoughts', something that's caused him to have intrusive thoughts ever since.
He brushes that memory aside, questioning if the positive memories he could scrape together were real or fabricated, but it seemed to do the job, his subconscious hope poking through that House will be there when he's ready. He shivers a bit at the idea that House just wants to ridicule him, use some sort of weird psychological technique to punish him for some past mistake he's done, ruining his reputation, but the closed blinds and locked doors forced him to give the man the benefit of the doubt.
"How'd you get me a teddy?" Chase simply asks, his voice less stubborn, and more... sleepy.
"Maternity ward. They give those things out like it's free, which it is." House simply mutters, he can't help but pat the blond's hair softly.
Chase simply nods, hugging it closer.
"Thank you..." he says, his tone high and child-like.
House can't help but crack a smile. Maybe this little 'experiment' was indeed going to work. He's never had a case like this before, he didn't know if he should assume Chase managed to regress and therefore treat him like a child, but no way he was going to ask. What is he? A person who openly cares?
Chase simply stammers a bit, seemingly needing something he currently can't quite verbally ask for in the moment. He ends up just kinda... babbling like a child, which House finds oddly charming.
House stares down the younger man, who just shyly covers his face with the teddy, nuzzling his face into it. House was certain he had the urge to call him a mean name, or make a crude remark, and yet the sight in front of him made his little heart beat faster. He thought of clever ways to call him a man-child, but he couldn't be mean to a child, right?
"What is it..?" House slowly asks, his tone demeaning by default.
Chase just stares back, eyes wide, before House eventually wraps an arm around him.
"It's okay... you'll be okay..." he mumbles, his tone flat, yet carrying an undercurrent of affection bubbling inside.
Chase presses his face into House's neck, hugging him tightly, which surprises the older man.
"Is... is this what you wanted..?" House hesitantly probes, trying to pick him apart.
Chase slowly nods, a soft babble leaving his mouth. He hesitantly takes a free hand, his thumb softly fidgeting with his bottom lip, House simply watching him in intrigue and a slight sense of awe. House softly scoffs, standing up as Chase looks up at him inquisitively. House locks the door, making sure there were no gaps in the blinds, since he knew very well that Chase would probably be embarrassed to death and snap back to usual if anyone saw him like this. House was basically immune to shame, he'd bark, yell inappropriate terms, catcall nurses and especially Cuddy, not giving two fucks because in his mind it wasn't gonna matter in the long term anyway, but he knew that Chase hasn't quite reached that point yet.
House limps back, taking a seat again as Chase reflexively lays in his lap, his thumb now in his mouth, legs bent into a fetal position on his chair, clutching the teddy tightly.
"What are you gonna name it..?" House jokingly asks, the action catching him off guard as a hand travels into the blond's head of hair.
"Hmm..." Chase hums, his cheeks fluttering around his thumb innocently, "Gweggy"
House scoffs a bit, caressing Chase's head. "Wonder who inspired that."
"You." Chase states, not even bothering to remove his thumb, just sort of speaking - or babbling - around it, which endeared House a bit.
"That was sarcasm, Robby" House snarks. "You'll learn about it when you're older."
"Okeh..." He softly mumbles, his eyes closing.
House entertains himself with his mind. He thinks of how Wilson would have a field day with this, or perhaps that psychologist chick with the cute ass that Chase would check out every time they crossed paths. House took note of all the times Chase's deeply suppressed grudges would show, such as the time they treated a nun, forcing Chase to think back to those good old seminary days, or when he'd walk by the psychologist. Chase probably hated the idea of being picked apart, his brain being poked around in with verbal needles, but that was the exact situation he found himself in. He'd even overhear the younger man say something along the lines of "She's insane, but I'd love to tap her.", prompting a chuckle from Foreman and a disgusted look from Cameron.
House's hand travels further, brushing along the younger man's side, almost as if petting a dog. Shivers run down Chase's spine, a soft hum leaving his lips.
"Pease don't stop." he softly says.
House can't help but smile a bit, muttering an "Okay."
"Pease... don't weave..."
House nods, responding with a simple "Yep."
"You pwomise..?" Chase asks, opening his eyes and slightly turning to look up at him.
House sighs, his heart suddenly feeling just a hitch heavier. "I promise."
Chase, fulfilled, closes his eyes again, nuzzling his face fully into the teddy, his thumb still in his mouth. As soon as Chase's breathing gets softer, convincing House he fell asleep again, he just stares at the clock. 2 AM. Time flies, doesn't it? House yawns, making sure with one last caress that Chase was indeed deep asleep, after which is when House leans his head onto the table one last time, leaning over Chase protectively, as if to form a final barrier between Chase and the big, scary outside world.
He awoke to Chase staring up at him, his eyes still innocent and childish, followed by a knocking, which then turns into two, stirring House fully awake. He's jaded, initially shocked by the notion of Chase in his lap, clutching a teddy bear to his chest with a pool of drool coating the corner of his mouth, the words behind the locked door finally registering.
"House! We got the results! We're pretty sure we got a diagnosis!" Cameron exclaims.
"C'mon, House, you can't just lock us out because you think you know it better." Foreman scolds.
House mutters a quiet 'ssshit' as he reflexively gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. Chase looks up again, his eyes wide, micro-glancing around, trying to register the situation. He sits up, his face carrying an embarrassed blush, letting House slowly unlock the door. House takes note of Chase's disheveled hair, his face slightly more full of color. It is now almost 5 AM. The sun is almost up.
"Finally" Foreman groans, heading inside, Chase busy cleaning his drool with his sleeve.
"Why'd you lock the door?" Cameron immediately probes.
"Chase was busy giving me a little head" House mutters the excuse closest to the front of his mind, Cameron just grimacing at that.
"Whoa, is that why he's drooling?" Foreman teases. "What's with the bear?"
Chase stammers, shooting back a "Gift for the patient's sister", he does an indifferent gesture, the bear's fur in his hand, "A nine year old spent the night in an uncomfortable plastic chair because she's worried for the big bro? That deserves a gift."
"Those bears are for the newborns in the maternity ward." Cameron reasons.
Chase suppresses another embarrassed blush, simply saying "An infant won't smile and say a polite 'Thank you', a missing bear makes no difference."
"What about the cookies?" Foreman remarks "Lunch lady flirting with you again?"
Chase awkwardly chuckles, "You know it."
"Just give her a chance, Robby, she's nice." House jokes, smiling evilly.
"If I don't, I keep getting free food." Chase retorts, unphased by the attempted jab at him.
He confidently reaches for the last, now cold and crispy cookie and the last bit of cold milk, slipping House a grateful smile for holding the wall for him.
The other two ducklings recall their actions, following the mentor's mindset and somehow, to their doubt and dismay, treat the guy without even knowing what was up with him. House gives them a proud smile, which shocks everyone else, eventually giving them the day off. The thought of a long weekend gave the hardworking pair a happy ending, the pajama-clad blond waiting patiently for them to leave. As soon as the office door closes, Chase bites his lip, awkward.
"So..." House starts. "You gonna keep 'Gweggy' there?"
Chase scoffs, unsure whether or not he should start laughing of hysteria or crying of shame.
"Thank you..." he simply says, unsure if he meant that sarcastically or not.
House simply nods so subtly, it's easy to miss "Anytime, Robby."
"Stop calling me that." Chase rolls his eyes.
House just chuckles.
"Let me guess." Chase stands up, walking up to House, the teddy reflexively stuck in his hand. "You're gonna tease me about this for months."
House shakes his head. "Years. For as long as you work here. Until the day I die."
Chase gives a cheeky smile, masking the reddening of his cheeks, "I wouldn't expect anything else."
His smile dies down, House looking down on him, trying to mask his undeniable sense of affection. Chase swiftly grabs the back of the taller man's neck with a free hand, standing on the tip of his toes, pressing a kiss onto the older man's lips. House, caught off guard, eventually kisses him back, only for Chase to pull away and stumble backwards, House just barely catching him.
The room falls silent, before Chase quips a "Well, I'm off", heading off to grab his stuff and prepare to drive home in pajamas and sleep for 18 hours straight.
He places the teddy carefully into his bag, it's head and arms poking out. House slowly nods, a question on his mind.
"What was that for..?" He asks, his voice low.
"All that shit you said about suppressed urges, experimenting... suddenly it's bad..?" Chase snarks back, putting a coat on as he switches from the slippers to his shoes.
House slowly nods again, his eyes squinting a bit with a new understanding. Chase swiftly heads off, but not before muttering a "Good night, House."
"Good night..." House mutters after him, his brooding expression shifting into an amused one, as he, himself, decides to head back home for that magical long weekend.