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Summary
“How’s the kid’s treatment going,” House asks, pretend-light and clearly uncomfortable. Chase can feel his voice rumbling against his chest. “Are you crying?”
The words get stuck in his throat. He opens his mouth and catches the tail end of a whine between his teeth. House startles at the noise.
“Should we be worried about you killing another kid?” House makes a humming noise. “Probably cheaper to take you off rotation for a month than deal with another lawsuit. Cuddy will agree.”
“Screw you." He tries to put some steel into it, but his voice sounds pathetic.
“Sucking up only gets you far if the suckee is alive, you know.”
“God, you’re an asshole.”
“Another quarter for the blasphemy jar.” House isn’t pushing Chase away, some hidden background process in the back of his brain pipes up. His hands are still hanging limp by his sides, and it’s like hugging a piece of dry driftwood, but Chase can’t let go. “You’re doing a lot of crying over an asshole. You’ll put Cameron out of a job.” He turns his head at the end of the sentence and his warm breath tickles the shell of Chase’s ear.