Chapter Text
Chase hadn’t really started his morning thinking he’d end up getting kidnapped. It wasn’t something that tended to happen a lot — unless you counted his bachelor party, and that had been a fake kidnapping, anyway.
Then again, kidnapping wasn’t really something you could schedule for a convenient weekday afternoon, either.
He sighed as he got into his kidnapper’s car, a nondescript old sedan covered in scratches and dings. “Can I at least pick the music?” he asked, fastening his seatbelt.
House grinned at him. “No,” he said, and put the car into drive.
“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Chase asked as House pulled out of the driveway. This really should be more surprising to him, he reflected as he watched House speed off down the street with no care for it being a residential area early in the morning. If Foreman hadn’t told him, it probably would’ve been enough of a shock to have him questioning reality.
“Clearly, I’m not,” House said as he turned onto the main road. “Going by the fact that you haven’t screamed like a little girl in a haunted house yet, you knew that.”
“Foreman told me,” said Chase, plucking a water bottle out of the cupholder and opening it.
“That Foreman, can’t keep a secret,” grumbled House, but he didn’t look serious. “Maybe I should’ve sniped him through his window instead.”
Chase snorted. “Yeah, that’s a practical solution.”
“I am nothing if not practical,” House said solemnly. He changed lanes without bothering to check the rearview and then swerved hard to avoid a pickup truck he hadn’t seen coming. Chase got thrown into his window, restrained only by his seatbelt.
“You know wing mirrors exist, right?” he questioned, rubbing at his chest, once the car was moving in a straight line again.
House pretended not to have heard him. “So,” he said. “You got my job, then.”
Chase watched him carefully, trying to gauge the intention behind the words. House pretended not to notice, keeping his eyes on the road. He looked older, Chase thought. It hadn’t been that long, really, but House looked like he’d aged a decade. His hair was more gray than brown, and his face was more lined. His shoulders seemed stooped, too. He looked worn down.
“Foreman offered,” Chase said in the end.
“My body’s not even in the ground and you’re gunning for my position,” House said, taking one hand off the wheel to wipe at a non-existent tear. “Really, it breaks my heart.”
“Your body’s not in the ground ‘cause you’re not dead,” Chase said, raising an eyebrow. “And someone had to take the position.”
There was a moment, and then House said, voice so low Chase barely heard it over the old car’s noise, “Better you than anyone else.”
“Thanks,” he said with a snort. “You warm my heart, truly.”
“I see Adams, Park, and Taub all stayed,” House said.
“Yeah. Taub took some time off, said he wanted to figure out what to do with his life. Came back in the end though.”
“Couldn’t stay away, huh.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not doing too bad, for someone who’s just barely above competent,” House told him.
Chase recognized it as the compliment it was and grinned. “Yeah, we get by. Haven’t had anyone die in a while.”
“Foreman doing all right? Not riding your ass?”
That made Chase laugh out loud. “Oh, he is,” he told House with a grin. “Riding it hard. But then that’s just what he does, isn’t it? He’ll argue for a while, tell me I’m being rash and impulsive, and then I’ll say he’s being a bureaucratic nightmare, and he’ll sigh and roll his eyes, but in the end he’ll let me do what I want.”
“Not so different from Cuddy, then,” House concluded. “Though without the… assets.”
Chase laughed again, but said nothing. House gave him a curious look, and for a moment it looked like he was going to say something. Then in the next moment, he turned back to the road and swerved into an exit lane, nearly sending Chase through his window once more.
“Has your driving always been this awful?” Chase muttered, rubbing his head.
“Gimp leg,” House replied easily.
“What — you drive with your other leg!” Chase exclaimed. “And besides, your leg’s not the reason you refuse to look in the mirrors!”
“Relax, you’ll live,” House told him dismissively.
“Doubt it,” said Chase with a scowl. “Where are we going, anyway?” he asked a second later, realizing that they were now on the highway leading out of the city.
“You’ll see,” House answered.
“What—” Chase gaped at him. “No, tell me!”
“Where’s the fun in that?” complained House. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Left it in my locker,” deadpanned Chase, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling the cops,” Chase answered sarcastically as he typed out a text. “You did kidnap me, you know.”
“Eh, what’s a little kidnapping between old friends?” said House dismissively.
“Friends?” Chase looked at House in surprise. “Who are you and what have you done with House?”
“That wit of yours must really endear you to the patients,” House said with a roll of his eyes. “Who are you texting, anyway? Latest squeeze?”
“Letting Foreman know I won’t be coming in today,” Chase replied absently, his mind on the message he was typing. “Since I’ve been kidnapped and all.”
“Don’t tell me you’re actually saying that.”
Chase grinned, sending his text. “Guess you’ll find out if the cops come after you.” He put his phone back in the pocket of his sweats and then settled back in the seat. “So where are we going?”
“You’ve already asked, and I’ve already told you you’ll see.”
Chase threw his hands up in surrender. “Look, I’m just saying, if I’d known I might be going on a trip for who knew how long, I might have prepared.” He gestured down to his sweats and thin t-shirt.
House snorted. “Next time I’ll call and schedule the kidnapping in advance.”
“Aha! So you do admit it’s a kidnapping.”
The good-natured bickering continued as the highway went by, Princeton falling back in the rearview mirror. Chase didn’t ask again where they were going, but he kept an eye out on the signs and exits anyway. There was really no knowing how this trip was going to go, and there was every chance he might be left to make his way back home all on his own.
“I don’t even have my wallet on me,” he realized, belatedly.
“You won’t need it,” House dismissed. “I’ve got cash.”
“Right, okay,” muttered Chase, not feeling too reassured.
A few moments of awkward silence passed by before Chase got tired of it and reached out to turn on the radio. He jumped as the speakers emitted a burst of static, before dying down to an annoying crackling that didn’t go away no matter how hard he tried to tune it.
“It doesn’t work,” House told him after letting him struggle for a few minutes to catch more than random bursts of music.
“D’you know, I could’ve figured that out for myself,” Chase griped, giving up and turning the radio off. “You don’t even have, I don’t know, cassettes?” The car was ancient; cassette tapes were Chase’s only hope for entertainment.
“Nope,” House replied, popping the p. “In fact, the car’s not even mine.”
“Should I ask?” Chase wondered.
“Better not to,” House told him.
A few more moments passed by. House ignored Chase as he fidgeted just to give himself something to do. He kept his eyes on the road, and eventually said, “So. How’s it been at the hospital?”
“It’s been okay,” Chase replied after a moment, choosing not to call House out on his attempt at what seemed to be small talk. “The place isn’t the same, you know, without everybody else. Cases aren’t so bad, though. And you know clinics. Always fun.”
“Fun?” House repeated. “Not the word I’d use.”
Chase grinned in response, but didn’t say anything.
A couple of miles passed. Then, “So, Adams, she’s still doing her volunteering thing?”
“You know what?” Chase said. “You kidnapped me off my running route this morning, which means you were familiar enough with my routine to know where I’d be. Something tells me you’ve kept tabs on everyone else as well, so why ask?”
To his surprise, House grinned at him. “Good to know you haven’t been lulled into complacency,” he said. “Tell Adams the guy that keeps coming in isn’t actually that clumsy; the sprained ankles and pulled muscles are just an excuse to keep seeing her.”
“And how exactly do I let her know?” questioned Chase. “I doubt I can just say, hey Adams, our dead boss wants me to tell you that the guy with the sprained ankle wants to go out with you.”
“Work it in somehow,” House said, waving him off. “So Park and that band guy are still seeing each other, huh.”
“He’s even met Popo,” Chase told him.
“I’m sure she goes to all of their dates.”
“Well, actually, Park’s thinking of moving out.”
House snorted. “Park’s been thinking of moving out since the day she was born. Hasn’t done it yet.”
“I think she’s serious this time,” Chase said. “Adams has been helping her look for a place. They’re thinking of moving in together. As friends,” he added before House could insinuate there were any other motives involved.
“Fifty bucks says Park changes her mind last minute,” House challenged.
“I’m not betting on it, I don’t even have any money right now,” Chase reminded him.
House let out a very put-upon sigh. “Killjoy.”
“Sorry I inconvenienced you by letting you kidnap me,” Chase retorted.
“Will you stop saying kidnap?”
“No.”
It was almost 9 AM now. Chase thought of how, any other day, he would’ve been on his way to work right now. He’d be sliding into his parking space, making his way into the lobby, punching in, and hoping they had a case. He wondered what Foreman would have the team do in Chase’s absence; probably clinic duty. He grinned to himself, not envying them in the least.
They seemed to be heading south. Chase watched the road signs passing them by, and wondered how much longer this trip was going to be. He knew better than to ask a third time, though, figuring he’d just have to wait and find out when they got there.
“Is this going to be long?” he asked, in the end.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” House told him, casually changing lanes without, once again, bothering to check his mirrors.
Chase waited for the indignant honking from behind them to die down, and then said, “‘Cause if it’s going to be a while, I wanna get snacks.” At House’s incredulous look, he added, “What? I didn’t have breakfast!”
“Well, why not?” demanded House.
“Because you kidnapped—”
“For the love of—”
“What? You gonna deny it?”
House sighed. “I’m starting to think I should just kick you out here, spare myself the headache the rest of the way.”
“And how much is that?” questioned Chase.
House made a big show of checking the time on his watch. “About twenty or so minutes. Think you can last that long, or do you want me to get you a binky?”
“Oh, piss off, House.”
The rest of the drive passed in silence. They’d run out of things to discuss, at least for now. House kept his eyes on the road, occasionally humming under his breath, and Chase watched him discreetly.
He thought of Wilson. It had been six months since House’s fake funeral. The fact that House was here, alone, meant that Wilson was more than certainly dead. The thought made Chase’s heart twinge a little, and he tried not to think about what it must’ve been like towards the end. Wilson had been his friend. Chase wanted to remember him as he’d been, healthy and kind and smiling.
House looked tired. Not just physically — but mentally, too. Chase knew Wilson had been given five months to live, all that time ago. He wondered what House had done, after. If everything had gone according to the expected timeline, then that meant that it had been a month since Wilson, a month in which House had done… what?
Chase wanted to know, but wasn’t stupid enough to ask, not just yet.
Then he caught sight of a signboard, and all other thoughts were driven from his mind. “Philadelphia?”
“Congratulations on your ability to read a sign,” House said.
“What’s in Philadelphia—” Chase stopped short, something occurring to him. “House. House, no way, you’ve got a restraining order!”
House ignored him for a full three minutes, during which they entered the city and merged onto a road. Chase spent that time staring at him incredulously, wondering if it had finally happened, if House had snapped and gone completely insane. Which, granted, was not too far off from where he’d been to begin with.
“House,” he prompted, when a few more minutes had gone by without any word from him. They were in some kind of suburb now, slowly making their way down a nice-looking neighborhood.
“Restraining orders don’t really mean anything when you’re dead,” House pointed out, finally deigning to respond to Chase.
“But you’re not dead!”
“Legally, I am. Relax,” he added at the sight of what Chase presumed was his stunned expression. “It’s not like I’m gonna go ring her doorbell or anything—”
He stopped short.
There, standing in Lisa Cuddy’s driveway, looking disgruntled beyond belief as he leaned against his car, was Eric Foreman.