Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chase was late.

Not that Foreman cared if he was late or not, but... it was still simply... disappointing to come into the office and not see him there.

They were in that early stage of dating when he just... couldn't get enough of him. Not that he'd ever admit it, he was as far from the whole 'lovesick' stereoype as possible, a complete opposite of it. It would be completely pathetic.

Yet, there was something about the way his heart would flutter anytime the Intensivist appeared in the same room as him.

Which was exactly what happened today either.

Chase walked in almost an hour late. "Sorry, I overslept" he muttered to House.

The diagnostician looked up. "Whoa, you look rough" he said.

Foreman almost scoffed. 

Rough? Chase looked as perfect as always. Okay, maybe his hair was a tiny bit messy, but so what? It suited him. Maybe his cheeks were red, but if anything, they actually looked cute, they were perfectly rosy, almost in the same way as he blushed when Foreman complimented him on their first day. And his eyes looked so... glossy, they enhanced the sky blueness he always drowned in. And okay, his clothes weren't ironed so they were a bit creased, but what did it change? He still looked good. Oh God, how he'd love to rip these clothes off and—

"I'm fine" Chase said shortly. 

House raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't seem so. Bad night? Or maybe too good of a night actually?" he smirked. "Is it true what they say about black men? Did Foreman ride you a bit too hard, you poor thing?"

Chase's cheeks turned pure crimson now. "W— what? No— We didn't— No, we— We didn't even—" he sputtered.

Foreman could feel his own cheeks burning and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, the tox screen is back" he updated Chase, handing him the file.

Chase took it hesitantly, then sat down and the discussion—thankfully—moved back to the case.

Foreman kept watching Chase like a lovesick puppy the whole day.

At least that's how House felt he should call it.

Which was why he found it so unbelievably hard to believe he didn't notice anything. Was he blind or jut stupid? 

See, he was watching Chase today, but unlike the neurologist—who apparently abandoned his brain the second he fell for the Aussie—he watched him in a completely different manner — not with dreamy haze, but rather with clinical obsession. 

Because, no matter how objectively attractive anyone could say Chase was, today he was a walking whiteborad of symptoms written all over him.

First, the lateness itself — while it wasn't a symptom on its own, as someone with chronic pain too, House knew what it could mean. It could easily translate into mix of 'I didn't have the energy to get out of the bed as early as normally so I stayed longer' and 'moving hurts so everything in my morning routine took way longer than usual'.

Then his appearance tipped him off immediately too. The messy hair and the crumpled shirt could indicate he didn't have the energy to waste too much time on appearances that morning. Then the more obvious signs — the rosy cheeks and the glossy eyes — classing telltale signs of fever, of sickness. Foreman would've definitely realised it in a heartbeat if he looked at Chase like he was a patient and not the object of his affection. Because Chase didn't seem to be glowing — he was suffering.

So House continued watching. To see if he was right, because maybe if he kept watching, maybe he'd notice there was nothing more, that he was wrong.

Because, God, how he wanted to be wrong.

But of course, he couldn't.

As he kept observing Chase throught the day, he could see way more.

The way his movements kept getting more slow and sluggish. He also avoided doing anything unnecessary. To anyone it could seem like a sudden onset of incredible laziness. But House saw the bigger picture.

He also saw the mental delay. It was tiny, just a few seconds of hesitation before answering anything. But then it got more serious, he started lagging like a computer his age probably would (if a computer could have even reached 25 years without dying). 

And there the winces. Tiny and well hidden, but he could see them anyway. They happened at any big movement.

House sighed, before getting up and walking to his desk, grabbing his prescription pad.

"So... any plans for today's evening?" Foreman asked, not looking up from the file, taking advantage of the fact that they were the only people in the office currently. "Because I was thinking we could do on another date, I mean, there's this new restaurant and—"

"Busy" Chase said immediately, his voice sharp. He sighed. "Sorry, going to be busy, House gave me this whole box of his paperwork and—"

"If you're gonna use me to dodge your date, at least come up with some different task that I've given you, not some dreadful paperwork. It sounds pathetic"

Chase's head immediately snapped towards the door. "House—"

"What are you on, by the way?"

Chase frowned. "What? What do you mean? I'm not taking anything..." he said, confused.

"Yeah, I know. You're obviously too lame for drugs. And the neurologist you're currently dating would bore you to death with lecture about what they do to your brain when you take them. Although, since you two date, you must be into his boring grumpiness" House said with a smirk. "But I was asking what meds are you on. You know, for the illness that I'm going to fire you for having one day, considering you messed up the whole 'It's never lupus' thing"

Chase frowned. "Uh, what?"

House rolled his eyes. "Right, you need simpler sentences today, otherwise your inflamed brain is going to explode. What. Meds. Are you. On?" he asked, emphasing every word, as if trying to make Chase feel like an idiot.

Chase blinked a few times. "Um, hydroxychloroquine" he said.

"And...?" House waited for him to go on. "That's it? Ah, that explains it" he commented.

Foreman looked up. "Wait... You're flaring up?" he asked, shocked.

"Wow! You should be a doctor or something!" House said sarcastically, but Foreman didn't even glance at him. 

"I'm fine. House is just... being House, as always" the younger doctor said.

"Wow, such an eloquent sentence. You're clearly at your absolute best"

Chase rolled his eyes. "I'm fine" he said, getting up. "By the way, turns out the patient has failed to mention he's epileptic. Cameron just found out. He's on prednisone which would explain some of his symptoms"

Foreman frowned. "You mean primidone, right?"

"That's what I said"

"No, you said prednisone"

"No, I didn't" Chase said immediately, his tone a bit defensive.

"Awh. A hungry man has only bread on his mind, huh?" House commented with a smirk.

"Shut up, I'm fine" Chase muttered. "I'm not flaring" he added to both of them, before leaving. 

Foreman tilted his head.

Was he... limping a bit?

Or was he just imagining it?

But soon House confirmed his suspicions. In his own way. "Awww" the diagnostician said, wiping the non-existent tear. "Look how much he looks up to me, he even starts to walk like me. Like father like son, huh?"

Chapter Text

Ever since House had pointed out the issue, Foreman found it absolutely impossible to not see it anymore. Not when House made it so obvious.

How could he not have noticed it?

How could he not not have seen the signs of his own boyfriend being unwell?

No, worse, how could he —a doctor working in diagnostics— not have seen the signs of his own, chronically ill, boyfriend flaring up?

Well, in his defence, Chase was hiding it pretty well. He probably had a lot of practice hiding flares by now. Foreman would've never noticed if it wasn't pointed out by House.

By now that it was, it seemed so clear.

First of all, Chase was very tense. His jaw was clenched a bit, his movements quite stiff, like doing anything required much more effort than it it should be. (It probably did). He also kept changing positions he was sitting in constantly. At first it seemed restless, but now it was more clear that he was just uncomfortable and no amount of shifting and stretching was helping. 

He was also avoiding standing up at all costs, either sitting down in the most inconvenient places possible if needed, or at least leaning against anything possible.

His movements were also slow and clumsy. He kept dropping small things, as if his hands were shaking. (and maybe they were a bit).

Finally, he made the hardest discovery — Chase didn't look well. This one was the most humiliating realisation for Foreman. The fact that he spent whole day gazing lovingly at Chase's face and all that he noticed was that he looked pretty?

Now he could see that. The flushed cheeks (maybe even a butterfly rash forming?), the glossy eyes (fever?) and the soft grimaces and winces.

For quite a long time he didn't say anything, just observing worriedly.

He finally decided to speak up at the end of the da as Chase was about to leave the office.

"Hey, Chase?" he called out just when the Australian was opening the door.

Chase looked up, his hand still on the door handle. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure you're not flaring up?" he asked softly, even though the answer was rather obvious. "Look, why don't you take a day off tomorrow?"

Chase immediately tensed up. "I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine" he said, his voice defensive, almost as if Foreman caught him red-handed doing some horrible crime.

"Okay, okay, let's say you're right about that... How about you take a day off regardless, just in case? If you're fine, then you have a day for yourself anyway, just to do whatever you want, no harm done"

"It's okay, I'm fine" Chase said firmly (and maybe even a bit harshly), then he left the office.

Foreman just sighed, watching him go.

The next day he watched the door even before they opened, in anxious anticipation.

Was Chase coming? 

And if so, was he going to be better, the same or worse? 

He needed to assess the situation as fast as possible.

Chase was late.

No, this was an understatement of the century.

Chase was impossibly late.

And that wasn't even the biggest problem. The biggest wave of worry hit him when he actually saw Chase. 

He looked horrible. 

Foreman had no idea what it was about his appearance that looked so much worse. Objectively, there was no sudden, dramatic change, like a crazy rash screaming for attention, it was more about overall look, he just seemed... off, unwell.

He walked in weakly and wobbly, sitting down on the nearest chair like it was a torturous effort just to walk or stand.

Everyone in the office immediately went silent.

"Uh... Sorry for being late..." Chase muttered to House.

House opened his mouth, several teasing replies on the tip of his tongue, just ready to be used. But then, as he glanced at Chase and really looked at him, his sarcastic smirk dropped, his face softening a bit. It was almost like a parent who was about to scold their child for some truly terrible mistake, but then realised that the kid had already been affected by their own mistake badly enough so scolding was the last thing they needed to do now. He sighed.

The differential carried on.

Foreman kept observing Chase close. He was almost quite sure now that the other doctor was running a fever. A proper fever this time. He was about to point that out but then the differential ended.

"Fine, Cameron, take the blood draw and run the tests. Foreman and Chase, do the MRI" 

Foreman did not look at the screen even once.

He spent the whole time in the MRI room watching Chase instead. 

The younger doctor was clearly completely miserable. 

Foreman frowned. "Are you wearing foundation?"

Chase immediately tensed up. "What? No" he said quickly. Too quickly. "Why would you think that?" he added immediately.

"Well" Foreman sat up straighter in that manner that he always used when he felt he was right. Chase always had to quench the urge to roll his eyes at that manner. "First of all, you always try to hide your flares so it makes sense you'd try to hide, what I'm assuming is a butterfly rash. Second of all, there's a red patch underneath, you must've rubbed the part of the foundation off. Speaking of which, you've been rubbing your cheeks like crazy this whole time, so I'm guessing they burn or itch. Usually your butterfly rash isn't really bothering you that much, or at all to be honest so I'm thinking this flare is worse than the previous ones..."

Chase glared at him, his face twisting in an annoyed pout. Then he turned back to the MRI screen. "I'm not in a flare..." he muttered under his breath, defensively.

"Sure you're not..." Foreman muttered sarcastically, though with some dose of fondness.

Chase took out a bottle of Ibuprofen. After struggling a while to open the bottle, he finally took out one pill, but just as he was about to lift it up to his lips, it fell out of his shaky hand. He exhaled sharply, annoyed, then took a deep breath. "It's fine, I don't really need it anyway..." He grimaced, scratching his cheek. "Ugh..." he groaned, his hand immediately stilling as he saw Foreman smirking in his peripheral vision. "Oh, piss off" he muttered, annoyed.

Foreman chuckled softly. "I'm sorry" he said, not being very sorry though. "Why is it so hard for you to admit you're unwell though?" he added.

Chase scoffed. "MRI's clean" he said, getting up. The second he took a step, he stumbled a little, a pained gasp leaving his mouth, as he grabbed the edge ot the table. "I'm fine" he hissed, before Foreman could say anything, and left the room, slamming the door a bit behind him.

After that Chase was avoiding Foreman as much as he possibly could so the neurologist didn't really get a chance to monitor him anymore.

He was currently about to go to the office to do some paperwork. 

He entered the room and stopped in his tracks.

There was a big mess of files and forms scattered on the floor. In the middle of that chaos, was Chase. 

Curled up.

Sobbing.