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It was the height of summer. The air was thick, the sun burning, the smell of sweat overwhelming. Inside the hospital patients and doctors alike sweated their body weight out in salt water.
Of course the AC broke on the hottest day, leaving half the hospital to succumb to the heat, including the diagnostic department. It didn’t take long for everybody to abandon professionalism for comfort. Lab coats were didged, sleeves rolled up.
The fellows were trying anything to dissuade heatstroke, chugging water every other minute, opening all the windows, thinking cold thoughts. But nothing really helped.
At least there was no case to slave over.
But they still had work to do, otherwise they would gladly go home or to the pool. Chase was working through some consults for other departments. Doctors were told so much not to suspect zebras during their training, they couldn’t even recognize them when they visited the zoo. It was exhausting, mind numbing stuff..
Chase’s pen slipped from his fingers, slick with sweat.
It was way too hot to think in these conditions. The other fellows didn’t seem to fair much better. Foreman was wiping sweat of his forehead periodically, Cameron re-did her ponytail for the fifth time, on the search for some relief.
Chase blew hair from his own forehead, trying to tuck it behind his ear again. Maybe he should invest in some elastics. Or hair-clips.
What was this case about again?
Bang! The door to the office busted open, his boss stepping through.
“Daddy’s home.”
A choir of half-dead doctors groaned at him in place of a greeting. Even Cameron was too tried for House’s antics.
He tsk-ed at them. “No manners these young doctors. I raised you to be upstanding, polite ducklings.”
Another round of groans.
House took his backpack from his shoulder and held it out to them like some sort of price.
“Does anyone want to take a guess what’s inside?”
He shook it to demonstrate, but he might as well be talking to the morgue, the way they were responding. But House wouldn’t be deterred. He just jiggled it again.
“Fine,” Chase sat up straighter, earning an eye-roll from Foreman, “Snow. Or ice. Winter.”
“A working AC,” Foreman drawled.
“Wrong,” he pointed at Foreman, then nodded towards Chase, “Close. Very close.”
He unzipped the bag and let about a dozen containers dribble onto the glass table. Cameron picked one up and read out the label for the others.
“Vanilla Flavored.”
House muttered under his breath, “Of course, you’d pick that one.”
Cameron opened the lid and exclaimed with glee, “Ice cream.”
The room was suddenly shocked back to live. In a way they had all been waiting for something to break up this horrible day. The case files were hastily put away, the promise of ice cream welcomed by the room at large.
Cameron went to set up spoons and bowels, Foreman busied himself with reading through the labels and Chase grabbed some paper napkins from the bathroom.
Meanwhile, House started eating straight from a little container filled with chocolate ice cream, “Can’t say, I never do anything for you kids.”
“Thank you, House,” Chase said earnestly. It wasn’t the first time House had bought food for the office, but it was usually after yelling at them over something arbitrary. But this wasn’t an apology for something—it was just nice.
“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed the gratitude immediately.
Within a few minutes, the other three assembled colorful bowls of ice cream. House had really brought it all: fruit flavors, wild ones Chase had never heard of before and the classics of course.
The sweet savory ice melted on Chase’s tongue. He felt the coldness spread through his body, putting out the fire from the inside out. Chase wasn’t the only one who felt the relief. It seemed everybody was starting to feel the effects of the cool treat.
Ice cream truly made everything better.
Even House seemed happy or at least a version of it.
After the first few scoopes hit him, he checked out more of the flavors, some he didn’t recogonize or knew under different names.
Cameron seemed to notice his puzzled expression. She looked at the container he was holding.
“Do you have Superman in Australia?” she asked lightly.
“Well, yeah, the character, sure. Not the flavor.”
Through a mouthful of pistachio, she urged him to try it, pushing the container closer to him.
The swirvel of colors might have been more distinct 10 minutes ago, before everybody took a scope. Now, the mass had combined into a light gray with some red and blue on the edges. But it still looked tasty.
“What’s in it?” he asked out of curiosity, not caution and mindlessly put a spoonful into his mouth.
The answer came from everybody in the room, mostly aligning.
“The blue is defiantly blueberry.”
“It’s blue vanilla. The whole thing is vanilla.”
“Or like lemon and cherry.”
“The blue is blue moon, obviously.”
“I think it just depends on the state.”
The undefined flavor settled into his mouth as fruity ice cream, making its way down his throat. It felt like swallowing stones. It settled into his stomach as dread.
The sweat on his skin felt hot suddenly, burning his pores. The urge to scratch his neck was increasing as the discussion went on around him like everything was normal. Because it was.
It must have gone down the wrong pipe. He tried to clear his throat, but found his mouth unusually dry.
A suspicion settled into his mind more terrifying than anything else.
“Strawberry?” he croaks out, voice already unsteady, breath coming up shorter and shorter. It was in his head. It had to be. Sometimes cherry tasted similar to strawberry. It was all artificial anyway.
Right?
Cameron was the one to answer him, still not catching on to anything wrong. “Yeah, I guess sometimes it can be with strawberry. The signature thing is more the colors-”
He was holding a hand to his Adams apple, trying to rub the feeling of tightness away. The invisible noose around his neck had felt significantly tighter than before and he let out a pathetic attempt at a breath.
It came out like a wheeze, annoying tears were starting to prick in his eyes, his hands were starting to shake.
He was in a room full of doctors and he could not breath. It wasn’t even enough to speak. When he actually looked up the room had gone quiet.
“Chase?” Cameron looked worried. Foreman puzzled, but House. He made eye contact with House and he saw recognition.
House stood up with more urgency than his leg usually allowed, he squeezed Foreman’s shoulder.
“Run and get epinephrine. Now,” he ordered him.
Something about Chase choking and the word epinephrine finally registered.
Foreman went sprinting out the room. Faster than Chase would have thought he would run for him.
House grew more interested in the floor for some reason while Cameron went over to him.
“Chase. Are you allergic to strawberries?” she asked, sounding unsure and almost panicked. It made his heart beat even faster.
Despite the terror, he nodded. He felt like he was dying. His airway was swelling, he could feel the squeeze.
“Okay. Okay. I know it’s difficult, but you need to stay calm and try to breath through it.”
She swallowed down her worry and settled into doctor-mode. She took one of his hand in her hand and smiled tightly at him. His heart stuttered for different reasons at the sudden contact. But he managed to squeeze back.
One breath should not be this difficult, but his lungs felt so heavy.
“Good. Can you open your mouth for a second.”
He followed her instructions, even though his mind was screaming at him. She shone a light into his mouth, pressing down his tongue with an unused spoon.
Her breath hitched at what she saw.
“House,” she couldn’t keep the panic out of her voice. “His tongue is seriously swollen, his airway is almost completly shut. I don’t-”
“Relax,” House said in the most un-relaxed way possible. “Foreman will be back any minute. Just stay calm. Chase, you stop breathing, you’re fired.”
Despite himself, Chase snorted at the suggestion. If he died today, he was sure House would put the word ‘fired’ across his gravestone. The though of his own resting place was not helping him stay calm.
When his breathing was speeding up, Cameron brought him back to her.
“Just focus on me. It’s almost over. It’s okay.”
He tried to believe her, but he couldn’t. Not with the way she was looking at him like he was already gone. And she was the immunologist here.
Looking around the room instead, he finally noticed what House was doing. He had upturned his whole bag onto the floor, searching. It would be a good idea to carry an epi-pen.
House with his sixth-sense caught him looking. For the second time since that damned ice cream they made eye-contact. House must have read the sheepishness on his face, despite the swelling and itching rash, because he slumped to the side, letting go of the bag.
“Idiot.”
Cameron’s eyes flickered to the ground, reading the room. Her stormy eyes turned back onto him.
“You don’t carry an epi?”
That was worse than being called an idiot by House. There was genuine disappointment in her voice.
Maybe he deserved this.
Cameron’s face begun to swim in front of him. He felt cold. He could have sworn he felt hot a second ago. His throat compulsed.
He stopped breathing.
“No,” House appeared at his side. When did he move? “You are not going to pass out. Deep breath, Chase.”
He sounded angry.
Chase made him angry.
His stomach hurt. His whole body was hurting in one or another. Too hot, too cold, itching, burning, breaking.
House grabbed his face and his eyes opened again. He didn’t remember closing them. Thinking was getting hard.
“Dammit. Where the hell is Foreman?”
He pinched his cheek.
It barley registered.
“House?”
Cameron’s voice quivered.
Chase would feel bad if he could feel anything at all. He was too busy falling. He was falling, but there was no air and no ground—just darkness.
He vaguely felt himself be shaken, pinched, even slapped, but it wasn’t enough to bring him back.
It was nice. He wasn’t feeling the pain anymore. He didn’t need to breath. Didn’t need to think or do anything, just falling was enough.
“Chase!”
“Where is Foreman-”
“House, he’s not responding.”
“Don’t do this now.
“I’m here—jesus, is he—”
“Epi. Now!”
Then there was a sharp pain in his thigh.
After that it was only seconds till he drew in a breath that reached his brain. He reveled in the feeling as his body kept shaking and his throat kept burning.
He opened his eyes, sitting on the floor, slumped against the glass walls.
Three faces were fixed on him. Upon seeing him regain consciousness, a wave of relief rippled through the room.
“Welcome back, kid.”
House had one hand on his wrist taking his pulse, the other hand was still on his shoulder, keeping him from tipping forward. Foreman was on his other side, empty syringe still in hand.
“Hey, how are you feeling, man?”
Instead of answering he watched the way his brows furrowed. He passed out. He was unresponsive for how long? Seconds? Minutes?
“Nurses are coming with oxygen, just keep breathing, alright?”
He nodded—the movement jolted his head. He felt like a balloon filled with sand was perched on his shoulders.
“Chase, are you okay? You look really pale?” Cameron was hovering just behind the other two, anxiously chewing on her nails.
At the mention, House’s head snapped up from assessing his body to look at his face.
The room was spinning, his stomach was in knots, salvia collected in his mouth.
And he had unlocked some kind of telepathic powers.
Just as he jolted forward to throw up, House put the trashcan underneath him.
Throwing up always felt violent. Invasive. Horrible. Disgusting. But his throat was already aching and sensitive, it felt like his whole stomach was upturned into the can. Mostly, ice cream and coffee.
It tasted awful the second way around.
“There you go. Very common side effect. Don’t fight it.”
House was softly murmuring in his ear, holding his hair back from his face. That was not the House he knew. He must’ve really scared him.
Somebody rubbed his back, in a steady rhythm. Carefully making sure, he didn’t pass out again. It felt to big to be Cameron’s.
He must’ve given all of them quite the scare.
Sure, they were doctors, but nobody expected for their coworker to just stop functioning. Hell, Chase hadn’t expected it. God, he was so stupid.
Despite the situation, he let out a little, wet giggle.
“You’re laughing. He’s laughing,” House sounded a little deranged, he gripped his hair a little tighter. “You almost died on us and you’re laughing.”
His body was finally done spewing. The smell hit him hard. He turned away from the trashcan, the others moving around him in sync.
“This was so stupid.”
Foreman snorted, Cameron brought him a glass of water, House remained unamused.
He promptly rinsed his mouth, spitting the water into the ruined trashcan.
For a moment, all of them just reveled in seeing Chase breath evenly again. His heart still felt like running out of his chest, his hands were shaking and he wasn’t feeling them, but he could breath and nothing else mattered to him.
“How are you feeling?”
Cameron broke the silence again. She still looked nervous, but a lot less like she was grieving him.
“Fine.”
The one word comes out broken and drenched in exhaustion and lies.
“Fine enough to bullshit apparently,” House called him out immediately.
His hands were still all over him, taking his pulse like some oximeter.
Foreman had mostly backed off and actually started eating ice cream again, causing a scolding from Cameron.
“Seriously?”
“He just said he was fine. It’s going to melt.”
Chase closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the mundane, even though his body was still rebelling.
House pinched his cheek again.
“Ow.”
“Just checking.”
Before he could rebuttal, the nurses arrived with a stretcher and oxygen.
He put on some protest to everything they were doing. He was feeling fine, he insisted. Just some side-effects to the epinephrine.
Nobody in the room was having any of it.
“Shut up and let them do their job or there won’t be any ice cream next time.”
Before long, he was settled into a patient’s room. An acclimated patient room.
Cameron sighed contently, “This is nice.”
“Thanks,” Chase deadpanned.
Her eyes widened, “Not that you almost dying was nice or anything.”
That’s when Foreman came back… with the ice cream. Chase glared at the little plastic containers. “Relax. It’s just chocolate, vanilla and cookies.”
It was weird how one hour ago he was almost leaving this earth and now the whole team was back to eating ice cream, just in a different room and with him chained to the bed. He wasn’t allowed anymore ice cream.
“That’s what you get for hiding your allergy. Bad Chase.”
“Not because the sugar is bad for his system,” Foreman pocked.
Bickering quickly resumed.
He didn’t want stupid ice cream anyways. The thought alone made him want to puke again. He actually felt exhausted.
He was much more comfortable now, House made sure of it, bullying his physician and nurses. He was surprised nobody got kicked out, but he was glad that he wasn’t alone. He always thought he would be dying alone. Not in a stupid way in front of his coworkers.
House hadn’t left his side actually. Cameron called him a mother-hen. It was startlingly accurate. He was currently occupying the chair right next to him, watching the monitor and Chase in equal measures.
Chase watched House watch him. He reached out and tugged his hair, which had been quite frazzled in the ordeal, behind his ear.
“Go to sleep.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
This time when he was falling, he was caught in soft bedsheets and good company.