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"Put her on antibiotics and prednisone, then go home. She'll be fine in a week."
After working the late shift at PPTH, Foreman, Thirteen, Taub, and Chase were exhausted, only just confirming what was wrong with their patient after coming to many incorrect conclusions. Alternatively, House seemed as relaxed as ever, despite the fact they assumed the patient had mere days to live earlier.
Chase couldn't help but find it frustrating. He'd worked his ass off all day, running each test multiple times to ensure he hadn't screwed up, yet he had nothing to show for it. House, on the other hand, had spent no longer than five minutes with the patient and was able to figure out not only the patient's illness, but how they should go about treating it, too.
He could feel himself becoming increasingly irritated with the man he once revered. So when House dismissed them for the night, he felt like he couldn't get out of there fast enough.
As Chase turned to follow his fellows out the room, a wooden cane was suddenly shoved in front of him, acting as a barrier between him and his colleagues.
"Not you," House said firmly.
Chase glared at him, a defiant look in his eyes. "What?"
"I'd like a word, if that's okay," House asked. 'Asked' being a relatively loose term. While his tone was light and taunting, it left no room for argument.
Taub and Foreman exchanged a glance, uncomfortable with the evident tension between the men. Thirteen noticed Chase's shoulders tense and gave him a sympathetic nod. They hurried out of the room without another word.
That left House and Chase alone together. Chase stood with his arms folded impatiently, but House seemed determined to drag out his torture, mindlessly tossing a ball between his hands.
"What do you want?" Chase finally snapped, sick of the silence.
House didn't respond for a while, but eventually he stopped throwing the ball and turned to look at Chase.
"When did you get such an attitude?" he asked.
Chase scoffed, "That's it? That's all you wanted from me?"
"Let me rephrase that... when did you stop being afraid of me?"
"Am I just here to boost your ego? You want me to tell you that I'm terrified of you and would do anything you wanted?" Chase said, incredulous.
"You would've if I asked you a year ago. Hell, you'd probably do it if I asked you a month ago. But you've changed. Why?"
"Look, I know you hate change. But it's about time I started standing up for myself aroun—"
"Au contraire," House interrupted him, "It's Foreman's job to stand up to me. And it's your job to do what I tell you."
"How is that fair?" Chase exclaimed. It came out whinier than he had intended.
"Life's not fair. It's not fair that Foreman's brother is in jail. It's not fair that Thirteen will be dead in ten years. It's not fair that Taub's wife isn't speaking to him." House paused. "Actually, maybe he was at fault for that."
"So, you think because I have it easy, you can justify treating me like crap?"
House paused, as if he was considering this. "Yeah, sounds about right."
"We all have our baggage, you know. My father—"
"Yeah, yeah, Daddy cut you out of his will, tough life. Spare me the sob story, you don't know how easy you had it."
"Are you kidding? My mother is dead. My parents were neglectful pretty much my whole life—"
"Oh, please." House scoffed, getting up to pace around the room. "Daddy cared about you enough to land you this job, didn't he? That hardly qualifies as 'abuse' in my eyes."
Chase's eyes narrowed, studying House's out-of-character response. He sounded unusually bothered. "Just because you have your own unresolved daddy issues, doesn't mean you can assume—"
"Oh, enough!" House suddenly yelled, losing his temper, slamming his cane into the wall with force.
Chase flinched at the sudden impact. Only slightly. But it was still detectable, especially to someone as perceptive as House.
"Tell me, what exactly do you contribute to my team now? You've been no help at all with this case. Your colleagues came up with about ten different theories each—"
"Ten wrong theories." Chase interjected.
"Still better than no theories at all. Did you think I wouldn't notice if you just kept quiet during differentials? You have to do more than nod your pretty, albeit empty, blonde head if you want to prove to me that you deserve this job."
"I deserve this job just as much as the others." Chase said, his jaw clenched. This wasn't the first time he'd been accused of not appreciating this opportunity, and it always got under his skin. Regardless of his strained relationship with his father, he would never live down the spoiled rich boy archetype.
"Are you saying that to convince me, or to convince yourself?" House noticed Chase was getting visibly angry, which only made him want to push further, "I suppose if you're useless in differentials, I'll have to find some other purpose for you. Would you be a dear and pick up my coffee for me tomorrow morning?"
Chase took a step closer, fists now clenched as well as his jaw. "I'm not useless."
"Oh, of course not! Where else am I going to find a dumb blonde bimbo to sit at the table and keep his mouth shut?"
"Stop it, House, I'm not gonna be your punching bag anymore!"
"Ironic, considering you've been pretty punchy yourself lately. That was quite a show you put on with the head surgeon the other day. Tell me when you plan on causing a scene like that next time so I can bring the popcorn." House glanced down, looking at Chase's hands. "Look at that. Your fists are clenched. You want to hit me right now, don't you?"
Chase averted his gaze, looking away from House. He could feel himself shaking with anger, and House being in his eye line exacerbated his rage tenfold.
"Do it. Hit me and see what happens."
He knew he shouldn't fall for it. It was obvious bait and House was tempting him into it, being deliberately irritating to get under his skin and provoke him. If he punched, House would use at as ammunition to further psychoanalyse him.
But God, he was furious. It seemed like the only way to alleviate his anger would be to hit House square in the jaw, with a satisfying thunk as his fist collided with his face. The other time he had punched House it had gone relatively well, and he looked at Chase with a little more respect that week. Maybe if he did it again, it would show House that he refused to put up with his continuous taunting. That he would finally start standing up for himself.
So he swung. But instead of his fist colliding with House's face as intended, he deftly caught Chase's wrist with his hand, gripping tightly. Tight enough to hurt.
Chase's face fell, as he tried to snatch his hand away, but House's grip was firm and unyielding.
"I have a theory about you, Doctor Chase."
"Let go."
"Something tells me you're not handling the divorce all that well. I think it was Cameron's job to keep you in line, and without her, you're a mess."
Chase began struggling more, afraid of where House was going with this. It was only a matter of time before he had him all figured out. He was House after all, and to him, people were like puzzles, waiting to be solved.
"Did she ever punish you? Hit you?" he let his voice drop lower, "Did she spank you?"
Chase suddenly froze. He stopped resisting, his lips parted slightly, and his eyes widened. Nevertheless, he tried to play dumb.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Your expression says otherwise. There's no point being coy about it, everyone knows you have a history in that field. You were practically wetting yourself when that dominatrix showed up," he watched as the colour rushed to Chase's cheeks, all the confirmation he needed that he'd hit the nail on the head. "Without Cameron here to put you in your place, you've developed this attitude. And frankly, it doesn't suit you."
Chase ducked his head, letting his hair fall over his eyes, shielding his embarrassed face. "Fine. You got me. Is that what you wanted? Just to humiliate me? Does that mean I can go now?"
"Nope." House finally dropped his wrist, only to place his hands firmly on Chase's shoulders and turn him around. Chase looked back at him nervously.
"See, I consider myself a boss who cares about his employees well-being," his voice was rich with faux-sincerity, making Chase roll his eyes. "And if one of them is having trouble with some emotional outbursts, it's my job to help them through it. So, I'll take on Cameron's role and fix your behaviour myself."
"What?"
"Christ, you're even dumber than I thought. Do I have to spell it out for you?" He leaned over and spoke into Chase's ear from behind. "I'm going to bend you over this desk and punish you myself."
Chase felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. He attempted a feeble laugh. "Wh— you can't be serious."
"Do I sound like I'm joking?"
"That's crazy! There's no way. You can't— you can't make me do anything."
"You're right, I can't make you do anything. But I can make you admit that you want it."
His words lingered in the air. He was right. Chase didn't just want it, he needed it. Without Cameron, he was falling apart. He needed the structure, the discipline she provided. Without her guidance, he didn't know how was supposed to act, what to do with himself.
Whether he liked it or not, Chase was born a follower, which was especially difficult considering the unreliability of his parents. Turning to God could only provide so many answers, and even the most devout Christian couldn't live by the Bible's contradictory ways. Hence why he turned to BDSM clubs, in hope of finding someone to tell him what to do, which kept him satisfied for a while. But being with Cameron had changed him; he knew she was a good person, governed by her moral principles, and her leaving him made him feel like he was a bad one by default. He'd tried turning back to the BDSM lifestyle, but he yearned for the domesticity, the personal connection that he'd once had with Cameron. Ever since she left, he'd stumbled through each day in a haze, unable to focus, having difficulty in completing the simplest tasks.
House wasn't Cameron. It was almost impossible to imagine him in any kind of domestic context. But, although House might be reluctant to admit it, there was a personal connection between them. Even during his marriage, Chase craved House's approval above all, pathetically eager to please him, earning him the label of a 'kiss-ass'. Despite their tumultuous relationship, he had known Chase the longest and had watched him grow as a person. He was the perfect substitute.
That didn't make Chase any less ashamed to admit it.
"You don't want me to? Door's right there." House gestured with his cane for emphasis.
Chase made no attempt move.
"You do want me to, desk's right in front of you. I'm sure you know what to do."
Again, Chase made no attempt to move.
"'Stand there and look stupid' was not one of the options I gave you. Make up your mind before I decide for you."
Wordlessly, Chase shrugged off his lab coat, letting it fall to the floor, then draped himself over the desk. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing, bracing himself for House's taunts about the predictability of his behaviour.
"Of course." House said softly, mostly to himself, but Chase still took offence.
"Shut up and get on with it," he retorted, trying to keep his tone neutral. He couldn't let House know how badly he needed this. If he remained unemotional, he could kid himself that this humiliating procedure was purely transactional.
House obviously had a problem with this. He slammed his cane down on the table - next to Chase. A warning.
"That's no way to talk to your boss. I'm doing this to fix your behaviour, not to encourage it. Now how about asking me nicely?"
Chase remained defiantly quiet. Sure, he liked being bossed around. His boss of all people was qualified to do that. But he was out of practice, since his one-night stands were quick to give in to him and do what he wanted. All he had to do was look up at them with his doe eyes, and they would fold instantly. He was too pretty to say no to, after all.
House stepped over to stand in front of Chase, his presence looming over him. A silent threat.
"Didn't Cameron ever teach you any manners? You know I'm not touching you until you ask."
Chase sighed, before reluctantly mumbling, "please..."
"Please, what?"
"I need you to hurt me."
"Hurt you how, exactly?"
Chase could feel his cheeks burn, a strange combination of anger, embarrassment, and arousal pooling in his stomach. "Spank me. Please."
"There we go. Was that so hard?"
Chase didn't reply. He thought House would comment on his silence, maybe mock him some more, but instead he was met with a sudden harsh hit to his backside.
"Ah! What, you're— you're using your cane?" He couldn't mask his surprise - yet he'd only then realised that was the reason House had been brandishing it like a weapon throughout their whole conversation.
"Basic psychology. You associate the cane with punishment, you develop a conditioned fear response to it. So if I point it at you during a differential, hopefully it'll remind you that if you don't do your job—" Another hit punctuated his sentence. "There will be consequences."
Chase writhed in pain at the first few hits. He always found the start of any punishment to be the most difficult part, as it took him a while to loosen up and get in the right headspace. Not to mention it had been a while since he'd been spanked, and the work atmosphere was further unsettling him.
House was unsettling him, too. It was out of character for him to care about Chase's well-being. After the whole Dibala incident, Chase felt he was being highly unsympathetic, forcing him to work in the ICU despite knowing how uncomfortable it made him. House would watch how Chase fumbled with the medical equipment, how his hands would shake as he fixed the liquid IV bag, how he would stammer out a useless response when prompted by House or the patient.
"You're a mess," House declared suddenly, breaking Chase's train of thought. "You haven't been taking care of yourself."
"I didn't—" he seethed in pain, sucking the air in through his teeth, "—didn't think you cared."
"I don't. But when it affects your performance, then I care. You're showing up late for work everyday, hungover and in yesterday's clothes—"
"You of all people cannot have a problem with—fuck!" a harsh blow to the tender backs of his upper thighs silenced Chase's indignation.
"You're an employee. You're in no place to question what I do." House continued with his initial point. "You said your parents were neglectful your whole life, hence why you need someone to tell you what to do. If I have to do that myself, so be it. When you get home, you're going to eat dinner, then shower, shave, and then go to bed. Then tomorrow morning, you'll wake up early and be the first of your colleagues to get here. Am I clear?"
His tone was firm, authoritative, leaving no room for disagreement. It was exactly what he needed.
"I asked you a question, Chase."
"What if... what if I'm not the first person here?" he panted. He knew Foreman had the discipline to wake up early everyday. He knew that Thirteen would likely drive with him to work. He knew Taub was desperate to get out of the house as early as possible to avoid his wife's questions. Inversely, he knew he practically had to force himself out of bed in the mornings, often waking up alongside many empty beer bottles and shot glasses - and an equally-drunk girl in his bed.
"Then I have no problem with bending you over my desk right in front of them."
Chase burned at the thought. "You...you wouldn't actually..."
"Why wouldn't I? I'm sure Thirteen wouldn't be opposed to watching. And Foreman and Taub would never let you live it down. If it teaches you a lesson, I have no problem with it," House told him, his tone frustratingly indifferent. "So, are you going to be the first person here tomorrow?"
Chase shivered, before muttering a meek "...yes."
"Good boy."
Chase shivered again. House picked up on it instantly, of course.
"Interesting."
"What is?"
"You like being degraded, and you like being praised."
Chase felt his face heat up. "That's not as uncommon as you'd think."
"I didn't expect it from you. It's obvious you like being degraded..." Chase bit his lip, willing himself to stay quiet, "but I thought you'd be so used to compliments that they wouldn't affect you."
"You never compliment me." Chase corrected him, then regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth.
House was silently pensive for a moment, considering this. "So if I stop the differentials to tell you what a good job you're doing, you'll actually be able to... do your job?"
Chase humoured him, smiling softly, "maybe try it and find out." His smile broke after being hit repeatedly in that same, sensitive upper thigh area.
"Not cute. I don't care what anyone tells you - praise isn't given automatically, you have to earn it. I won't give you any special treatment. You shouldn't need my reassurance to be able to do your job."
Chase knew he was right, but still burned with shame at his lecture. He could feel House become more aggressive with his hits, slamming his cane against him at full force. He wondered when he would ease up on him - or if he even wanted him to.
...
Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of relentless torture. Chase was reduced to tears by this point, writhing in pain against the hardness of the desk. Every time House slowed his pace and Chase dared relax his shoulders, he would proceed to speed back up again. However, the excruciating pain wasn't his biggest concern.
Because he had another problem stirring below. An even more embarrassing problem.
Getting bent over by your boss was one thing. But to get so painfully hard from it was even worse. Chase willed himself to think of unsexy thoughts, but the incessant spanking made it impossible for his mind to wander. It forced him to be present in the moment, and deal with the humiliating truth that he had never been so turned on in his life.
He would truly die of shame if, no, when House mocked him for it.
House stalked around the desk, coming face-to-face with Chase. Well, Chase's face was buried in his folded arms, presumably to hide his soft crying. He'd come to realise that Chase was a rather sensitive man, not when he was with patients, but when confronted with personal matters. It wasn't uncommon for his bluey-green eyes to glisten with tears when he got a little emotional. In fact, everyone had teased him at his wedding for sobbing so much he could hardly make it through his vows.
That didn't mean House was okay with him trying to hide it. He dug his fingertips through Chase's long hair and tugged upward, hard. As expected, he looked up at House with watery wide eyes.
"Had enough?" House prompted him.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Chase choked out between sobs. "I'll be good, I'll do better from now on, I promise."
A beat of silence. He thought House was being intentionally cruel, letting his words linger in the air so he could see how pathetic they sounded.
"I'll believe that when I see it." House said eventually, before turning away.
Chase thought he was leaving him there, a pathetic mess of tears, which made him cry harder. But House merely limped across the room and took hold of the whiteboard, before wheeling it over to where Chase was stationed, still slumped over the desk, who looked perplexed.
"What are you doing?" Chase mumbled. He watched as House speedily listed off five different illnesses with a black marker. He felt sick with anticipation.
"Giving you an opportunity to prove yourself to me. Time for a pop quiz."
"House, no... please— please don't make me." Chase stammered out, his cheeks flushed and wet. His head was spinning, he could barely choke out a single sentence, let alone any medical knowledge.
"I thought you said you would be good."
"I can't... I really can't..."
House reassumed his position behind the desk. "You'll do as you're told," he ordered, in a firm tone he knew always made Chase nervous. It still had the desired effect, as his body stiffened and his sobbing subsided. "Now read the first word."
Chase glanced upward, his eyes still blurry with tears. He could barely decipher the word inked on the whiteboard, but eventually figured out what it spelled. Sarcoidosis. He just couldn't bring himself to actually say it.
A forceful whack to his ass shocked him out of his mental turmoil. He thought that aspect of the punishment was over. Clearly House thought otherwise.
"I've fired you before, I can do it again, Chase." House snapped impatiently. "Don't tell me you're too stupid to read a simple medical—"
"Sarcoidosis," he spat, albeit weakly.
House nodded, though he knew Chase couldn't see him. "Tell me the symptoms, diagnosis, and treatment for pulmonary sarcoidosis."
"Um..." Chase sniffled a little, trying to pull himself together. "Symptoms could be... uh, shortness of breath, persistent coughing, sometimes there's discomfort in the chest. We'd... probably do a CT scan, and maybe a lung biopsy. And it can be treated with..." Chase drew a blank, letting his voice trail off. "Treated with..." he repeated.
"Treated with?" House mockingly imitated. "Don't make me hit you again, Chase. You know how it's treated."
"...steroids?" Chase suggested, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Is that a question or an answer?"
"I—I don't know."
House struck him again, hard enough for more tears to spring to his eyes, losing all of his, albeit little, previous composure.
"You were right. It is steroids," House confirmed. Chase looked at House over his shoulder, not masking his confused, slightly annoyed expression. "I hit you because you were afraid to be wrong."
"I was afraid to be wrong because you would hit—!" Chase's sudden bout of anger was interrupted with yet another spank.
"You need to learn that, in their own special way, all contributions, even stupid ones, are helpful. If they eliminate what it's not, they can sometimes lead us to the right answer." House spoke slowly, his voice patronising, as if Chase were a particularly ignorant child. "The worst thing you can do is keep quiet, because that's not helpful at all."
"Then why do you call us idiots when we suggest something wrong?" Chase retorted, still upset.
"Oh, I don't know, sometimes when I'm harsh with employees, it actually benefits them in the long run. Sometimes they double-down to try and prove their worth to me," House said pointedly. "They promise that they'll do better from now on, that they'll be good."
Chase scowled, embarrassed that House was pointing out his hypocrisy.
"Don't you agree, Doctor Chase? That sometimes you need people to be a little mean to you in order to—"
"Fine, I get it!"
House tutted at him condescendingly, "I don't think you do. Not yet, but you will. Now, read the next one."
Chase scowled, but when House simply pressed his cane against his ass and held it there - not hurting, just warning - he knew it was in his best interest to do as he was told.
"Legionnaires."
One by one, Chase worked his way down the list, describing each medical problem. Whenever he stumbled over his words, or had a hint of uncertainty in his voice, House would lay into him. Physically and mentally. By the fourth disease, he'd learned his lesson, and confidently outlined the symptoms, diagnosis, and treatment of multiple sclerosis. He had finally made it to the last illness on the board.
"Rhabdomyolysis" he said, almost breezily at this point. "Mostly involves muscle weakness, vomiting, and discoloured urine. We'd do a blood test and get a urine sample. The treatment..." his wave of fluency suddenly broke, and he hit a wall. Fearful of the pain to ensue, he tried stalling, in hope the answer would come to him eventually. "Treatment is essentially— uh, well, it can vary, depending on the severity... and the progression—"
House adjusted his grip on his cane, pressing a little harder. "Quit stalling. Tell me how it's treated. Quickly."
"Uh..." he shook his head and blinked rapidly, as if he was stunned by his own cluelessness. He buried his head in his hands. "Oh, God..." he whimpered.
"God can't help you with this. Unless you were just saying his name in vain, which I know a good Christian boy like you wouldn't dream of doing," House taunted, withdrawing his cane, watching Chase brace himself for the impact. "You were doing so well, don't disappoint me now." House commanded. Chase felt his erection twitch at the praise, and blushed at his pathetic need for House's approval, even at a time like this.
"I— I don't fucking know!" he lashed out frustratedly.
House was silent for a minute, and Chase could practically feel the disappointment radiating off him. He wondered if he should apologise for swearing at him. Perhaps that was out of line.
"Then I'll have to hit you until you remember."
The moment House resumed the punishment, Chase melted into a fresh bout of tears. However, unlike before, he made no attempt to conceal them. He felt a surge of resentment towards House for subjecting him to this humiliation, and used all his willpower to prove himself to him.
"Come on, Chase, you're a big boy. There's no need for tears. Just answer the question."
Chase paid no attention to House's words. He tried his best to ignore the pain. All he could do was think.
Rhabdomylosis. More commonly known as rhabdo. What was the point of House writing the whole name? Unless... maybe it was to tell Chase that he didn't need to go about things in such a complicated way. Didn't House say that all contributions, even stupid ones, were valuable? Surely the same could be said about obvious contributions? So, what was a treatment so simple he didn't think to mention it?
"Liquid IV!" he suddenly gasped. House ceased all movement, watching as he put the pieces together. "Since we need to preserve kidney function, an IV drip, dialysis, and— and haemofiltration can be used as treatment."
House nodded slowly. "Nice work." Chase felt himself glow at the praise, despite being in tears merely a few minutes prior. "Who knew you were such a smart boy? Look at you, single-handedly defeating the dumb-blonde stereotype. You got five out of five - with my help. And how did I help you?"
"Because you were a jerk about it." Chase responded, a hint of resentment in his voice.
"Exactly. So, if you can understand medical concepts while being bent over a table, I expect you to be able to do the same while sat at one." House used his cane to tap at Chase's hip. "Get up. Punishment's over. That's all the praise you're gonna get from me."
"Just... give me a minute."
To his mortification, Chase was somehow still hard, painfully so. He hoped he could ask for a moment to compose himself, so House would leave before him and not see him in this condition.
"Sure. I'll wait." House sat in a seat against the wall, opposite Chase. He picked up a magazine from the table next to him and began flicking through the pages.
"You don't have to—"
"Really, it's not a bother." House gave him a false smile, and Chase had to suppress an eye-roll.
Several minutes had passed, and House was showing no signs of leaving. Neither was his erection. Blush dusting his cheeks, Chase pushed himself off the desk to stand in front of House, adjusting his arm in effort to conceal himself.
Obviously, House couldn't miss it. He looked Chase up and down, blatantly staring at his unmistakably-hard member through his jeans.
"Is that my cane in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?" House couldn't resist mocking him, even in his vulnerable state. "No, wait, my cane was on your pants, not in them, God, what am I saying?"
"Funny. Can I go now?"
"What are you gonna do when you get home?"
"Eat dinner, shower, shave, then go to bed early, so I can be the first person here tomorrow." Chase repeated obediently.
House nodded, "Fast learner. Now you can leave."
As Chase hurriedly retrieved his lab coat from the floor and turned to leave, House asked him one last question.
"Were you waiting for me to leave the room so you could take care of your problem... you know, down under?"
"Wh— no! Not in here!"
"Well, I guess you'd better add that to the list of things you need to do tonight. I said you needed to take care of yourself, didn't I?"
...
Tomorrow morning, he is the first one there.
It's evident to everyone that he's in a better mood. His face is radiant, practically glowing - no stubble, dark under eyes, or blotchiness indicating a rough night out. He looks refreshed and well-rested.
"Did you get laid or something last night, golden boy?" Taub questions.
"No, he sleeps around all the time, that wouldn't explain why he's so... peppy today." Foreman observes him closely.
Chase brushes off their speculations, "I just decided to stop feeling sorry for myself. You should try it sometime."
Thirteen is more perceptive than her colleagues. "What did House want last night?"
Chase wills himself not to blush, but House enters the room at that very moment. Upon hearing the familiar clack of the cane, he straightens his posture a little.
"I made him blow me. That's why he's in such a good mood - my penis works wonders." He raises his eyebrow at Thirteen suggestively. "Feel free to try it out for yourself."
The team are used to House's lewd suggestions, so they drop the subject and move onto the next case.
For the first time in a month, Chase is able to give the differential his full attention. He states his theories confidently. If someone snubs his suggestion, he counters them with another.
Despite his display of sureness, House notices how Chase gives these nervous little glances towards the cane throughout the meeting.
Clearly, at least for the time being, the punishment was effective.
-/-/-/-