letmewritemylife

[letmewritemylife]

Reblog if you ship the world’s top two sexiest women! 👑🌹

[letmewritemylife]

I need me some Robert chase smut 😣✋✋ FWB reader and chase realising they like each other more than just the FWB situation they have going on??

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 — (𝐫.𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞)

when does a friends with benefits agreement stop being just that?

gn!reader ☆ 1.2k ☆ masterlist. ☆ 18+ for nsfw mentions

The first time it happens, you don’t notice.

You’re too lost in the feeling of Chase moving against you, his hands gripping your hips, his mouth trailing fire over your skin.

His breaths are ragged, each one punctuated by soft groans that send warmth pooling low in your stomach.

It’s always like this—urgent, desperate, pleasure tangled in the casualness of your arrangement. You both agreed to this. No strings, no expectations, just the kind of release that only two people who understand each other’s needs can give.

And yet… something feels different.

You only catch it in brief moments—his fingers threading through yours and holding on longer than usual, the way his lips linger against your skin as if memorizing the taste, the way his gaze locks onto yours and doesn’t waver even when he’s losing himself completely.

You chalk it up to the heat of the moment, a trick of the dim light and the rush of sensation, and let yourself fall over the edge with him.

What you don’t know is that, in that moment, Chase is realizing something that should terrify him.

He wants more than just this.

He doesn’t say anything. Of course, he doesn’t.

Chase isn’t the type to throw himself into feelings without overanalysing them, and he’s certainly not going to risk ruining what you have with a clumsy confession.

So, he carries on as if nothing’s changed.

Except… everything has.

It starts with little things.

The morning after, instead of rushing to clean up and send you on your way like usual, he lingers in bed. He watches as you stretch lazily, the sheets tangled around your legs, your body warm and pliant beside him. You make some joke about how he’s usually up and moving before you’ve even opened your eyes, and he just shrugs.

“Didn’t feel like rushing today.”

Then there’s the coffee.

You’re used to slipping out in the morning and grabbing something from the café near your place, but one morning, you find Chase in the kitchen, already making a second cup.

“For you,” he says simply, handing it over like it’s nothing.

It’s not nothing.

Neither is the way he stops grumbling when your toiletries start taking over his bathroom. At first, he teased you about it, playfully complaining about your products filling up his counter.

But now? He doesn’t say a word when you leave your moisturizer next to his razor, when your shampoo joins his in the shower, when a spare toothbrush just mysteriously appears next to his own.

And then there are the nights when he invites you over—not for sex, but just to be there.

“We could watch a movie or something,” he suggests one evening, his voice casual, but there’s something tentative in the way he asks.

You blink at him, caught off guard. That’s never been part of whatever this is between you. But you don’t question it, just shrug and agree.

So, you start spending time together in ways that have nothing to do with tangled sheets and heated touches. You sit side by side on his couch, his arm draped loosely over your shoulders.

You cook dinner together, laugh when he burns something, roll your eyes when he insists it’s still edible. You fall asleep next to him without the expectation of sex, just comfortable in the warmth of his presence.

And yet, neither of you says a word about it.

Weeks pass.

Nothing changes, and yet everything has.

You should question it, should demand some kind of clarification, but you don’t. Maybe you don’t want to break whatever spell this is.

Then one night, after another round of slow, lazy sex that feels more like making love than just satisfying a physical need, you find yourself lying in Chase’s bed once again.

You’re on your back, the sheets loosely covering your body, your breath still slowing from the high of it all. Chase is beside you, propped up on one elbow, watching you.

You don’t notice at first, too focused on the way the cool air feels against your heated skin. But when you turn your head, you catch him staring.

It’s not lust.

It’s not simple attraction or the sleepy daze of post-sex contentment.

It’s something deeper.

Something warm, something soft.

Something terrifying.

“What?” you ask, your voice quieter than you expect.

Chase doesn’t look away. If anything, his expression softens even more, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing,”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re looking at me like you—” You stop yourself before you can say something dangerous.

Like you love me.

The thought sends your heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with physical pleasure.

But Chase doesn’t look away, and suddenly, it’s too much.

You sit up, pulling the sheets with you, and turn to face him fully. There’s something pressing against your ribs, a truth you’ve been too afraid to examine.

So, you just say it.

“Are we dating?”

The words hang in the air, thick with meaning.

Chase blinks. His lips part slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to be the one to say it first. He hesitates, but only for a second.

Then he exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Are we?”

It’s not a no.

And that’s all the answer you need.

You stare at each other for a long moment before Chase reaches out, fingers brushing over your cheek, his touch feather-light but deliberate. He tilts his head, considering, before finally speaking again.

“I think… I think I want to be.”

Your breath catches. You weren’t expecting that kind of honesty—not from him, not from yourself. But there it is. The truth of it.

Something inside you unravels, something you didn’t realize you’d been holding onto.

You nod slowly, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Me too,”

Chase’s fingers slide down to your jaw, his thumb grazing your skin. He leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, and for the first time, it feels different.

It’s not about lust.

It’s not about convenience.

It’s something more.

Something real.

Something that scares you both—but neither of you are running from it.

[letmewritemylife]

PLEASE WRITE FOR CHASE BUT LIKE FLUFFY AND HAPPY STUFF UGHH and can you make it an x reader 🩷 i appreciate you so much!!

Pot, meet kettle

The hospital was unusually quiet, a rare moment of peace in the chaos that usually filled the halls. You sat in the diagnostics conference room, sipping on a lukewarm coffee, flipping absentmindedly through a patient file. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, casting a dim glow over the table littered with paperwork, medical journals, and half-empty cups of coffee from various shifts.

"You're working too hard," a familiar Australian voice teased, and you looked up to find Chase leaning against the doorframe, his usual smirk firmly in place. His white coat was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up just enough to hint at exhaustion, yet his blue eyes were bright with mischief.

"Pot, meet kettle," you shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't you just pull a double shift?"

"Maybe," he admitted, pushing himself off the frame and walking over to you. He stole your coffee right out of your hands, took a sip, and immediately made a face. "That’s awful. How do you drink this?"

"Desperation," you deadpanned, watching as he placed the cup back in front of you with an exaggerated look of betrayal.

Chase chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. "Seriously, you should take a break. Come on, let’s get out of here for a bit. I know a place that makes coffee that won’t make you regret all your life choices."

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. "I'll take a break when you do."

"Alright, deal." Without warning, he reached out and laced his fingers with yours, giving them a gentle squeeze. The touch was light, casual, but your heart stuttered all the same.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "Are you using emotional manipulation to get me to leave work?"

"Absolutely." His grin widened as he tugged you to your feet. "And it's working."

With a resigned laugh, you let him pull you along, exiting the conference room and slipping past a few late-shift nurses in the hall. As you walked side by side, the usual hospital scent of antiseptic and caffeine lingering in the air, Chase’s fingers remained loosely curled around yours, the warmth of his palm grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

The coffee shop Chase had insisted on was small, tucked away from the main roads, with dim lighting and the rich scent of espresso hanging in the air.

Chase ordered for both of you without hesitation, a sign of how many times you’d been here together before. You leaned against the counter, watching as he paid before grabbing your drinks and heading toward a small table by the window.

"I don’t remember agreeing to let you pay," you pointed out as you sat down.

Chase smirked over the rim of his cup. "You didn’t. But you were too slow to stop me."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrayed your amusement. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, you keep hanging around me. Wonder why that is?"

You took a slow sip of your coffee, savoring the rich taste before shrugging. "Maybe I enjoy the challenge of putting up with you."

"Or maybe," Chase leaned forward slightly, a knowing glint in his eyes, "you just like me."

Your lips parted slightly in protest, but no words came. The way he looked at you teasing, but undeniably sincere, made your heart flutter in a way you weren’t ready to admit. You tried to mask the feeling with an exaggerated sigh. "I tolerate you at best."

Chase chuckled. "Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that."

For a while, you just sat there, sipping your coffee, falling into easy conversation. It was one of those moments where time didn’t feel so rushed, where the exhaustion of the hospital melted away for just a little while.

And then, somewhere between a joke about House’s latest madness and Chase’s terrible attempt at an American accent, he reached across the table, fingers brushing lightly over yours. It was barely a touch, fleeting, but it sent a quiet thrill up your spine.

Your eyes met his, and for once, he wasn’t smirking. He was just looking at you, really looking at you, as if waiting for you to say something, do something.

So you did.

Slowly, tentatively, you turned your hand over so your palm met his. He didn’t pull away, didn’t tease. Instead, he squeezed your fingers, his thumb tracing small circles against your skin in a way that felt comforting and natural.

"See?" he murmured, voice just above a whisper. "Told you you liked me."

You huffed a quiet laugh, feeling your cheeks warm. "Shut up and drink your coffee, Chase."

But before he could lift his cup, you leaned forward, just slightly, and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. It was brief, barely more than a brush of lips, but the effect was instant. His breath hitched, and when you pulled back, his smirk had melted into something softer, something almost dazed.

Chase blinked once, twice, then grinned. "Okay, you definitely like me."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling as you took another sip of your coffee. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head."

He laughed, and this time, he was the one who leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. "Too late."

[letmewritemylife]

★ ⋆ midnight bagels ⋆

robert chase x f!reader ONE SHOT !

word count: 3k summary: When Chase runs into an old university friend at a bar, he's caught off guard—not just by the coincidence, but by how quickly forgotten feelings resurface. a/n: had this sitting in my docs for a while. love my problematic australian babygirl warnings: fluff, light alcohol use

The bar was loud, crowded, and warm that night. Foreman had just ordered a third drink. Cameron and House were quietly sipping their drinks at a table. Chase was getting bored with them, not drunk enough to be content with the silence. 

“Alright, I’m gonna take a walk,” He said, getting out of his chair slowly.

House looked up and tilted his head ever so slightly. “Don’t get too lost, pretty boy.”

Chase ignored his comment and left to go to the restroom. Although the team had just finished a stressful case, he still had enough energy in himself to somewhat socialize and participate in the environment around him. He preferred that to sitting around. It was easier to take his mind off of the events earlier in the day by distractions rather than processing. 

After using the restroom he started heading back to Cameron and House. 

There was a particularly dense area in the room, and as Chase was struggling to get past a woman, she turned her head and he stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Chase?” 

It had been years since you last saw your colleague from the University of Sydney. 

“Wow it’s been forever,” he says, a smile beginning to spread on his face. 

“I was thinking the same thing.”

He laughs. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

It was a long story. “Let’s grab a drink first.” 

Memories start flooding back into Chase’s mind. You two had a few of the same classes together. He wasn’t a great student at the time, he was always distracted and still trying to figure out what his plans in life were. You were constantly there for him and the two of you studied for hours, no, days on end. 

You were smart, pretty, composed, and Chase had always fantasized a life with you. He never had the courage to ask you out. If only he had his current confidence back then, things would be drastically different now, so he thought. He figured that you had wanted to keep things platonic in order to focus on school. 

He had nearly forgotten about you. But occasionally when there was some symptom that House wrote on his old whiteboard that you and him had studied about, he would get a glimpse of your smile. Your hair. The way you threw your head back when you laughed, most of the time at him. 

“What do you want? Wait, let me guess, a beer,” you grin. The light from the neon lights behind the bartender perfectly illuminated your features, and Chase needed a moment to bring his thoughts together. 

“Guess you remember me so well, don’t you, yeah, I’ll have a beer.” 

You ordered something arbitrary, and soon you were both heading to a small booth in the corner of the bar. Chase couldn’t help but stare at your short shiny blue dress that hugged your sides perfectly as you slid into the seat across from him. He said down and took a large sip of his beverage, 

He was going to need it. Liquid courage. 

“Alright. Explain. What are you doing all the way here in Jersey?”

You sighed, shoulders sagging slightly. “I’m living in New York. My parents begged me to come back to the states after school. I wanted to stay in Sydney, but my dad got sick, and I felt guilty for not helping my mom,” you started. Chase simply nodded and continued to look at you with wide eyes. 

“Since I got my undergrad in business, I worked my way up and became a healthcare administrator. Decided being a physician wasn’t the move. Anyways, besides the point. My friend lives out here and I decided to pay her a visit after she got a divorce. Messy, but necessary. I was just with her tonight but I needed to get away from the sobbing on the couch and wallowing in self pity. I needed to just have some fun. This was the nearest place… and now I’m here.” 

Chase felt like there were gaps in your story, but it was enough to explain why you were out here. “Oh. I see.” 

You pick up your glass and tilt it towards him. “Your turn.” 

Chase explained how he was working for House on a team that worked with diagnostics, and that they just finished a large patient case tonight. 

“So you’re celebrating?” You ask. 

“Eh, not exactly. Sometimes we just end up here. Usually we drink to sort of forget. House likes the extreme cases and they’re exhausting and this is how we… cope.” 

“Sounds healthy,” you laugh. 

Chase shakes his head. His eyes flick towards your left hand, taking note of the vacancy on your ring finger. 

“I know it’s been forever, but I have to ask, weren’t you… engaged?”

You nearly spit out your drink. “Can’t believe you remember that. Was. Yes. Turns out he was a douche, was cheating on me with my best friend at the time, and I broke it off.” 

He grimaces. “I’m so sorry.” 

You cut him off with a laugh, throwing your head back in your usual manner. Some things never change, Chase thinks to himself. “That was ages ago. Nothing to be sorry about. I dodged a bullet.”

You notice that Chase’s hand is in a similar state to yours. “No luck on your behalf?” 

It’s strange that you hadn’t seen each other in so long and the first conversation topic is the relationship status of the other. “You don’t think I get lucky?” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, Robert.” 

His heart skips a beat. Hearing you say his first name felt so… intimate. He felt transported to a moment of sitting shoulder to shoulder with you, staring at some diagram trying to memorize it. 

“Honestly, House keeps us so busy I feel like I have no time for a social life. It’s just ‘I wake up, work, and go back to bed’ most of the time,” Chase starts to explain. 

You turn your head slightly, giving him a quick side eye, “You, too busy? Not even you have time for a social life? Who have you become, Robert Chase?” 

He runs a hand through his blond locks and looks down at his drink. “I know. I’m not the same person I was in the past. Guess people do change.”

You lift the rest of your drink up to your lips and finish it in one sip. “Too busy for even a fun night,” you mutter under your breath. 

Chase looks up quickly, seeing what seems to be… a slightly disappointed version of yourself. 

“What did you say?” He says, leaning back and folding his arms. 

To his surprise you stand up quickly, grabbing your empty glass. “I’m getting a refill,” you nod down towards his almost empty mug. “Quick, bottoms up.” Before a moment to think, he drinks the rest and hands you the cup. 

Then you were gone. Momentarily. He watches as you move over to the counter, asking the bartender for more. 

Did she really just say a “fun night”? Was she suggesting something happen between us?

A tall figure came up beside you, snapping Chase out of his thoughts. The man grabs your upper arm, and you look over, glaring at him with angry eyes. He was pulling you away, in the direction of the exit, but you were resisting, trying to get away while not causing a large scene in the bar. 

Chase jumps out of his chair and comes nearly running over to you. 

“Hey! What’s your problem?” Chase grips the man by his jacket collar. Clearly the alcohol in his veins was finally giving him some courage, and it was amplified by the rush of adrenaline to protect you. The man seemed extremely drunk, probably had seen the first pretty girl closest to him and wanted to take advantage of the moment. 

He didn’t say anything to Chase, but Chase shook him and bore his blue eyes into his soul and he immediately let go of your arm, turned and walked away. Chase watched intensely, making sure the man didn’t look back. Once he was far enough away, Chase notices how hard he was breathing, and he turns to look at you. You were clearly shaken, but relieved. 

“Oh my gosh, thank you. That was terrifying. That hasn’t happened to me in ages. This is why I never come to bars.”

You instinctively move closer to Chase, and to your surprise, he wraps an arm around you. “Let’s get out of here.”

Not questioning for a second, you let him lead you towards the front of the room. This was closer than you had ever gotten to Robert Chase. You liked him, sure, when you were both students. Liked him as a friend. You kept your distance with him. But you were too caught up with other guys, ignoring the one that was always by your side, figuratively. And now Chase was literally by your side, protecting you from danger and offering company after a somewhat miserable weekend with your friend. 

It felt, bubbly. Maybe that was the drink settling in your stomach, or maybe something else. 

Maybe it was the fact that you were being escorted out by a handsome, Australian doctor who had saved you from some trauma. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

You both stop. Chase turns and sees Foreman and House at the table from earlier. Cameron must have already gone home. 

“Who’s this lovely lady? My, what a dress,” House begins. 

“Goodnight. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” Chase says, cutting the older man off. 

To you, they just looked like some random men, but you assume this is part of Chase’s team. 

As you begin to walk away, Chase leans and whispers in your ear. “House is the older one. He’s an ass sometimes. He doesn’t mean anything by his… comment.” 

A devilish smile curls at your lips. “What, you don’t agree with him?”

Now he’s flustered. “Wait, hold on. That’s not what I mean. I mean, you do look lovely, and your dress.” His face turns into slight confusion. “Why are you wearing a dress like that anyways?” 

You know It is a bit much for just a casual night out. Your friend had forced you to wear it, claiming that she was going to live vicariously through you since she was too wiped to party and forget about her ex-husband. Craving attention and an interesting night anyways, you agreed to wear it. 

“It’s my… friend’s. She begged me to wear it.” You purposely left out the details that you wanted to be noticed. After a few failed relationships in the last few years and months of what felt like a man-drought, putting on a fun dress and going out to meet strangers seemed like the “right” thing to do. 

As you walk through the exit with him, Chase shrugs his shoulders. It was believable enough. The cold air hits your skin and goosebumps crawl over your neck and arms. 

“Brr,” you say, jokingly. 

Chase was kicking himself internally for not wearing a jacket that he could have taken off to keep you warm. He had left it in his car and was only wearing his slacks and a dark blue button down shirt. He wraps his arm a little more tightly around you. 

“Sorry. My car is just around the corner. Do you want to wait here while I get it?” 

You glance nervously behind you, remembering the big scary man from just moments ago. “Uhh, I’ll walk with you,” you say, looking sheepishly at him. 

Strong, independent woman has been left behind. Your usual stoic disposition had worn off in the presence of Chase. His mere presence was enough to lower your defenses and make you rely on him.

You both are quiet now as you walk to his car. He opens the door to the passenger side, and you slip in, and wait for him to get in the driver’s seat. 

“What now?” Chase asks, turning to you. 

You look at him with wide eyes. “You tell me.” 

“Have you had New Jersey bagels?” He blurts out. 

Ideally, he would have you back at his place, maybe making out on the couch. No, that’s too much. Maybe just watching a movie. Or something else…

But he was far too nervous to even get there first. He needed something else to distract himself. “There’s a place that stays open after midnight and the bagels are discounted.”

“I’ve had New Jersey bagels, this isn’t my first time here,” you laugh, “but I’ve never had bagels after midnight.” Eyeing the car dashboard, you see that it’s just after twelve, and although it is late, you are starving. 

Maybe starving for something else too. 

“Alright.” Chase puts the car in drive and heads down the street. It only takes a few minutes to get there, and on the way you talk about Chase’s team. 

“The older guy is House. The one who commented on your… dress,” Chase begins. 

“He seems charming to work with.”

“Never tell him this, but he’s incredibly smart. And he’s usually right about things. Until he’s not. Then he causes a mess. But he’s usually causing a mess when he’s right. Truth is, the hospital needs him. So he’s able to walk all over us and the rest of the staff, and even the patients to get what he wants.”

“Which is,” 

“I don’t even know… the satisfaction? The answers to his own questions?” 

Chase sighs. 

“Yet you still work with him.”

“Yeah. Alone, I couldn’t do it. At least we have a team. The guy next to him is Foreman. He’s smart too. And a lot more bearable than House is.”

You remember him mentioning one other person on the team in your earlier conversation. “Who’s the other?”

“Cameron. She’s the heart of the team but sometimes it gets in the way. Always questioning the ethics, which pretty much goes against Houses’ standards.” 

You nod. “Sounds like a great team.” 

He scoffs. “They’re interesting all right, but it keeps things rolling. I’d die if I had to take boring cases. At least House always picks the entertaining ones.”

“Boring cases? They’re still people too.”

Chase turns to you and sees that you’re not joking around. Guess I’ve been spending too much time with House. “You’re right. But I don’t think an average doctor could help some of these more bizarre cases that we take.”

You tilt your head. “Hmm. That’s a good way to look at it. Let the other doctors take care of the “normal cases” and you guys can tackle the more complicated ones.” 

He’s relieved that you didn’t keep digging more at what he had said. 

“I knew you’d end up here,” your voice cuts through his thoughts. 

“What does that mean?”

You smile. “Taking on the difficult stuff. Even when you struggled with a problem or memorizing something in school, you stuck to it. I always admired that in you. Most people give up when something gets hard. It’s like the opposite with you. You lean into the challenge. No wonder you can put up with someone as crazy as House. You love it.” 

Chase pulls the car into a parking lot next to a small bakery. The sign above it shines “open” and he sighs. “Ready for the best bagel of your life?”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” 

He continues to think about what you had just said to him. It had been a long time since someone had acknowledged his efforts to work hard. House was not one to give compliments, Foreman was too occupied and maybe too prideful to give any up, and Cameron had shut him out emotionally a long time ago. 

It felt nice to be appreciated for once. 

You order a simple poppy seed bagel with cream cheese and he gets a cinnamon swirl one. 

As you wait for the food to be ready, Chase leans towards you. “Thanks.” 

You turn and look at him puzzled. “Thanks for what?”

“Um,” he looks down at his feet and then back to your eyes, his heart skipping a beat. “Thanks for the compliment?” 

Your face feels warm. Hopefully in the more dim lighting he can’t see your cheeks turning red. “Oh. Yeah of course. You really are hardworking.”

The bagels are ready and Chase grabs the bag. “Wanna take em to go?”

“Yeah.”

You get back in his car with him and he pulls out of the parking lot. 

“I know it’s been forever since we’ve seen each other and I hope this doesn’t come off as weird or too forward, but do you wanna go back to my place and eat them? I’ve been watching Survivor and maybe we could watch some of it. Not sure if you’re keeping up with it or not.”

You open the bagel bag and take a whiff of the bread. “I might not be able to wait till your place,” you laugh, resisting the urge to grab them out of the bag and start eating. 

“Hang on!” He grabs the bag away from you and you throw your head back laughing. “You gotta wait!”

“Oh come on,” you say, reaching out and trying to take the bag back. 

He tucks it on the left side of his seat. “If you want em, you’ll have to come and get them,” he taunts.” 

You unbuckle your seatbelt and suddenly you’re reaching across his lab, arms out, trying to grab the bagels. 

“Hey!” Chase yells as you snatch the bag. “Give it back!”

He reaches and snags your wrist, holding it tightly so it won’t move and with his other arm he attempts to get the bag. 

Your body is halfway over the middle console of the car, and you’re so close to his face, completely at mercy to Chase’s arms holding you. 

There’s a moment of silence cut with both of your exasperated panting. You glance down at his lips, then at his eyes. He’s already looking at you. 

The playfulness simmers between you two, leaving a heavier tension, not uncomfortable. A tension you hadn’t felt since you were last with him years ago. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you whisper, your voice ever so slightly shaky. 

He grins, not taking his eyes off you. “You started it.”

You don’t know who leans in first, maybe it’s both of you at the same time. But time seems to slow down as you magnetically lean in towards each other. His blonde hair brushes your forehead. Your noses nearly bump.

And then he kisses you.

It’s tentative at first, like he’s asking a question, and when you don’t pull away, it deepens, his hand slackens but stays around your wrist. Your fingers relax around the crinkled bag of bagels, forgotten for now, and you reach and place a hand on his chest, feeling his quickened heartbeat. 

When you finally part, he’s smiling again, but his eyes are soft and he’s a little breathless. 

“Told you you'd have to come and get them.”

You blush. “Worth it.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

[letmewritemylife]

Hiiii, could you write smth about reader (part of House's team) and Chase teasing and throwing suggestive comments each other all the time until something actually happens?Thanksss

𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬. (𝐫.𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞)

whilst your’s and chase’s relationship was… unconventional, you never crossed any true lines. until you did.

CW | 18+ MDNI. afab!reader, definitely not allowed workplace engagements, unprotected piv, porn with plot

fem!reader ☆ 4.3k ☆ masterlist.

The fluorescent lights hum softly overhead as you flip through the patient’s chart, skimming the details of yet another medical mystery.

A 37-year-old woman with an unexplained fever, muscle weakness, and—of course—negative test results for every common diagnosis. House’s kind of case. Your kind of case.

“Could be lupus,” Chase offers, leaning lazily against the back of his chair.

“It’s never lupus,” you counter automatically, not bothering to look up.

“One day, it will be,” he muses, smirking at you. “And when that happens, I’ll personally accept your apology… preferably over dinner,”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you with the hint of a smirk. “You assuming I’d take you to dinner if you were right is cute. Delusional, but cute,”

“Then I’ll settle for drinks. You can even pretend it’s a pity outing,”

House, who has been listening to your exchange with barely concealed amusement, finally interjects. “I’d tell you two to get a room, but I think you’d rather keep up this foreplay in front of an audience,”

Cameron coughs, Foreman scoffs, and Chase—completely unfazed—shrugs. “If we’re keeping score, I think I’m winning,”

You arch a brow at him, shifting in your seat. “Oh? And what exactly are you winning?”

“The game,” He leans in just slightly, voice dropping enough to sound almost conspiratorial. “You know… the one where you pretend you’re not enjoying this,”

Your pulse jumps for just a second before you scoff, shaking your head. “You wish,”

House claps his hands together, effectively cutting through the moment. “Much as I’d love to watch this unresolved sexual tension play out in real time, we have an actual patient. So unless this is leading to some kind of medically relevant insight, I’d suggest you both channel that energy into something useful,” He pauses, eyes flicking between you and Chase before smirking. “Or at least wait until after work to rip each other’s clothes off,”

Cameron looks deeply uncomfortable, Foreman mutters something about needing new colleagues, and Chase? Well, Chase just winks at you, smug as ever.

Game on.

—

The patient’s condition is getting worse, and House is nowhere to be found—probably off harassing Cuddy or playing mind games with Wilson. That leaves the rest of you huddled around the conference table, sorting through test results.

You tap a pen against your lips, eyes narrowed at the list in front of you. “Her liver enzymes are elevated, but no sign of hepatitis. Negative for Wilson’s disease, negative for autoimmune markers…”

“Could be a parasitic infection,” Cameron suggests, glancing up from her notes.

Chase leans back in his chair, tilting his head toward you. “Sounds messy. I hope you don’t mind getting your hands dirty,”

You shoot him a look. “That depends. Are you offering to be my assistant? Or just my parasite?”

Foreman groans, rubbing his temples. “Oh my God. Can you two just—?”

Cameron nudges his arm before he can finish. “Shh. I have twenty bucks on them cracking by the end of the week,”

You and Chase turn to her at the same time. “Excuse me?”

Cameron shrugs, feigning innocence. “It’s nothing personal. It’s just… kind of obvious,”

Foreman crosses his arms, smirking slightly. “I said a month, but now I’m reconsidering. You two can’t go five minutes without turning everything into an innuendo,”

“You’re imagining things,” you say smoothly, ignoring the way Chase’s knee just barely brushes against yours under the table.

“Yeah,” Chase adds, grinning. “I’d never use a serious medical discussion to flirt,”

You scoff. “Right. Because that would be wildly inappropriate,”

Cameron exchanges a knowing glance with Foreman. “Exactly,”

—

The hospital is quieter at night. The usual hum of activity dulls to an ambient murmur of overnight nurses and the occasional beeping monitor.

You’re in the diagnostics office, reviewing test results while Chase leans against House’s desk, absentmindedly tossing a stress ball in the air.

It’s just the two of you.

“This is the part where I should tell you to go home,” you say, not looking up from the file. “But I know you won’t listen,”

Chase catches the ball in one hand and smirks. “And miss out on the chance to keep you company? I’d never,”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “What a gentleman,”

He pushes off the desk and moves closer, just enough for you to feel the shift in proximity. “I can be, when it suits me,”

The air is different tonight. He’s always been flirtatious, always toeing the line, but this time, there’s something heavier in the silence that lingers between words.

You glance up at him, and for a moment, neither of you speak. It would be easy to close the gap. To push just a little further.

But you don’t.

Instead, you exhale, shaking your head as you look back down at the file. “You should really get some sleep, Chase.”

He lingers for just a second longer before letting out a soft chuckle. “Yeah,” he murmurs, stepping back. “You too,”

As he leaves the office, you find yourself staring at the door for longer than you should.

—

It’s been one of those shifts where the exhaustion settles deep into your bones, where you feel like you’ve been going nonstop for days, even though it’s only been a few hours.

Chase, ever the one to escape stress with some humor, suggests grabbing drinks. The others quickly agree, but you and Chase end up walking out of the hospital together, the others trailing behind.

You’ve worked together long enough to know the difference between casual group outings and just the two of you.

When you get to the bar, the atmosphere is warm, filled with the sound of low conversations and the clink of glasses. You order your drinks, the chatter flowing easily at first. It’s comfortable—like it always is when you’re with Chase—but tonight, there’s something different. The usual teasing that’s exchanged over the complexities of medicine starts to feel like something else.

“Well, you know, if you were paying attention, I did say we should run the ANA panel last time,” you tease, stirring your drink. You catch him watching you, his expression almost smug, but you don’t break eye contact.

“Oh, I heard you,” he replies, his voice low, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “I just didn’t think you were right,”

You tilt your head with a scoff, narrowing your eyes. “But now you do?”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” he replies, taking a step closer. “But I think you like the challenge of proving me wrong,”

You lean back in your chair, trying to act unaffected, but your heart races. The space between you has closed in ways you hadn’t expected. “Not everything’s a challenge, Chase,”

He grins, his voice dropping a little further. “Sure about that? Because if you think I can’t keep up with you, I’m happy to prove you wrong,”

It’s playful. It’s always playful, right?

But tonight, there’s an edge to it. A tension that neither of you have addressed, but both of you are clearly aware of.

The way his eyes follow your movements. The way his smile lingers just a second too long on your lips. You feel the weight of his words like a challenge you don’t want to back down from.

It’s subtle, but it’s there—an almost imperceptible shift. You feel it when his hand brushes against yours on the bar. He doesn’t pull away immediately, and neither do you. For a heartbeat, everything around you fades, leaving only the space between the two of you.

It would be easy. So easy.

You could lean in, and he could kiss you, and you wouldn’t need to say a word. You could blame it on the alcohol, or the exhaustion, or just the chemistry that’s been crackling between you for weeks now.

But then, just as quickly as it started, you both pull back.

You laugh—maybe a little too loud, trying to cover up the moment that nearly shattered the wall you’ve both built around yourselves. “You’re an idiot,” you say, a little breathless, fingers tapping nervously on the edge of your glass.

Chase smirks, but there’s something softer in his expression now. “Yeah, well, it’s a good thing you like idiots.”

He leans back, turning his attention to his drink, and the playful banter resumes—but it’s different. There’s an edge to it now, an undercurrent of something else simmering beneath the surface.

Neither of you acknowledges it directly. Instead, you both talk about the case again, acting like nothing has changed. But you both know. Neither of you is fooled.

For the first time, the game isn’t just a game anymore. And it’s only a matter of time before one of you breaks.

—

The next day is a blur of frantic phone calls, lab reports, and running from one department to the next. The case has taken a turn for the worse, and the pressure is palpable.

Everyone is on edge, moving faster than usual, but the answers still aren’t coming. You and Chase work side by side, your minds racing with the mounting frustration.

The stress is starting to take its toll.

You’re reviewing the latest test results when Chase steps closer, his eyes scanning the board. “We’re missing something. There’s got to be a piece we’re overlooking,”

You feel his breath just a little too close, your heartbeat quickening. “Yeah, no kidding,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair. “If I knew what that piece was, I’d have figured it out by now,”

“Don’t snap at me,” he says, voice quiet but teasing. “I’m on your side here,”

You glance at him, frustration flashing in your eyes. “You think I don’t know that?”

The tension between you is thick, heavier than it’s been before, each word a spark in the charged air. The room feels too small, too close, the adrenaline turning everything you say and do into something else—something that doesn’t belong in a hospital.

Chase takes a step back, but the distance doesn’t help. He’s still close enough to make your skin feel tight, still close enough for you to hear the quiet beat of his pulse beneath the surface.

“Sorry,” You sigh, exasperatedly taking your hands through your hair. “I’m just stressed,”

There’s a pause, a breath held in the space between you. Then, without a word, he steps forward, his hand finding your arm.

“You need a break,” he says, his voice low and urgent.

You swallow hard, feeling your breath catch in your throat. “I don’t need a break. I need answers,”

But the words feel hollow even as you say them. You don’t need answers. Not right now.

Before you can think, before you can even process what’s happening, Chase pulls you gently but firmly down the hallway, into a small, empty supply closet.

It’s a tight fit—your back pressed against the cold wall, his body just a breath away. The air in the small room is thick with the same kind of tension that’s been building between you for weeks, but now, it’s palpable. You can feel it in your skin, in the way your breath comes faster than it should.

You give a small laugh. “This isn’t the break room,”

And then, just like that, the moment snaps.

Chase closes the space between you, his lips crashing into yours. It’s not the slow, teasing kiss you expected—it’s urgent, hungry, desperate. All the months of flirtation, the innuendos, the playful jabs, finally culminating in this.

His hands slide to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can’t help but respond, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, and the world outside the closet fades away. There’s only the rush of adrenaline in your veins, the heat of his touch, the way your bodies move in sync, as though they’ve always known this was coming.

His hands slide down your back, pressing you even closer, and for a moment, you forget about the case, forget about everything but this. His lips trail down to your neck, and you let out a soft gasp, heart pounding in your chest.

“Are we really doing this right now?” you breathe, barely able to form the words as your breath hitches in your throat.

Chase pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression intense, searching. “Do you want to?” he asks, voice low, a mixture of desire and uncertainty.

Your mind races, the heat of the moment clouding your thoughts. But you don’t hesitate.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word barely escaping your lips before you pull him back to you.

The kiss picks up again, but this time, it’s more than just passion. There’s an urgency to it—something unspoken that has been building for far too long.

His hands roam, slipping beneath your shirt, and you don’t stop him. Every touch feels electric, igniting something deep inside you. The adrenaline from the case, the rush of being so close, the need to feel something more than just the constant stress of the hospital… it all comes together in that moment.

You don’t think about the consequences. You don’t think about anything except the way he makes you feel.

But even in the haze of desire, the question lingers. What happens after? What happens when the game is over?

Right now, though, you don’t care. All that matters is the way his lips feel against your skin, the way his hands fit perfectly against you. It’s everything and nothing at once.

And for the first time, you don’t pull away.

Chase is driven insane by the smallest things. The way your fingers curled into his belt-loops to tug him closer. The feel of your nails, scraping over his scalp as your hand slides through his hair. The way you breathe his name as he dips his head, mouthing at the hollow of your throat.

Too much. He thinks, as one hand comes up to curl around your wrist, pinning your hand against the door of the closet. Too much but still not enough.

He’s lost the ability for rational thought. It’s been pushed aside for need, for desire. Your name’s a constant on his lips, a hushed whisper as he presses kisses onto your neck. Teeth skimming over your skin, tongue soothing the light sting.

He finally draws back to meet your gaze. His expression is dark, pupils blown wide and his cheeks flushed so pretty. “I want you.” He says it as an absolute truth. As if you don’t already know that by the way his knee is slotted between your thighs.

He watches you. The way your lips part on a breath, an almost involuntary sound falling from them as he draws his knee up. “God, look at you,” He murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, “So pretty already and I’ve barely even touched you,”

His hand slides up the inside of your thigh, his touch almost reverent. The tip of his nose grazes your ear as his fingers dip under the edge of your pants. “Want you. So, so goddamn badly.”

And in contrast to the sweet way he speaks to you, the way he’s touching you is downright dirty. It sets the pit of your stomach on fire as his hand dips lower, cupping you through your panties and giving a slow, testing drag of his palm.

It’s a low, breathy moan that escapes you, your eyes fluttering closed for just a moment and your head thumping lightly against the door. “God-“ he groans, “I’m not going to last.” He hooks a finger around the waistband of your pants and tugs them down just enough for him to get a better purchase on you.

He doesn’t even tease. His hand immediately slips under the soft, black cotton of your underwear, his fingers dipping into you in a fluid motion. “God you’re so hot—“ He asks, his breath hot against your ear. “All this for me?”

Your answer comes in the form of a stifled gasp, your hips moving of their own accord to meet his hand. “Chase.” It’s the only word you manage, and it’s half formed, coming out on a whimper. Like you’re pleading.

It’s that sound and your pleading tone that does him in. His breath shudders out of him in a low sound of want. “You’re killing me.” He mutters, his words punctuated by the sound of his belt unbuckling.

He’s impatient, and it’s evident in the way his hand pushes at the fabric of your underwear. There’s nothing romantic about it, no sweet murmurs of sweet nothings or gentle coaxing. It’s needy and desperate and it’s you and that’s all that matters.

He keeps one hand planted on the wood of the door, keeping you pinned in place. The other dips, and the feel of his fingers is immediately replaced by the head of his cock, already leaking as it stretches out your entrance.

A low curse is muttered, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

He moves with purpose, his hips rolling forwards and pushing his length into you in a single steady motion. Chase gives a quiet grunt, his breath coming in shuddering gasps.

The whole thing feels like it’s happening so fast. Too fast. Neither of you are thinking clearly. But it’s you and it’s him and his face is still buried in the crook of your neck and his cock stretches you out so good that it leaves you whining.

His hand drops from the door, shifting to grip one of your thighs and hitch it over his hip. It gives him a different angle, one that he takes full advantage of.

He picks up the pace, and the hand that he’s gripping your thigh with gives it a firm squeeze. “I’ve thought about this.” He whispers, the words almost lost against your skin, “Can’t get you out of my head.”

He’s babbling now, his words low and punctuated by heavy breaths. And you’re so pretty like this, your eyes squeezed shut and your back arched against the door as he takes and takes and takes.

He can’t remember the last time he came so quickly. All it takes is a sound from you, a breathy sigh of his name and he’s done. He lets himself lose control, giving a loud curse as his hips stutter in their motion, desperately trying to pull out despite the instinct to bury his spend inside you.

Instead, it dribbles down the inside of your thighs, coating your skin and your underwear alike.

The moments after are filled with a tense, lingering quiet. Neither of you speaks immediately, neither of you moves to pull away. Your heart is still racing, your mind spinning with everything that just happened.

Chase stands there for a moment, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you catching your breath. But neither of you says anything.

It’s like a flicker, an electric pulse, that connects you both, and then just as quickly as it began, it feels like a weight pressing down. The weight of what just happened, of the unspoken words, of the fact that everything has changed.

“Chase…” You break the silence, your voice a whisper, uncertain. You don’t even know what you’re trying to say, but the question sits heavy on the tip of your tongue. What now?

He steps back slowly, his hands resting at his sides. He doesn’t look at you directly, his jaw tight. “We shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have…”

But the words trail off, unsaid. He doesn’t finish the sentence, and neither do you.

A moment passes, and the world starts to feel like it’s slowly realigning around you both. The air no longer feels suffocating, but it’s thick with the weight of everything you didn’t say. Neither of you makes a move to break the silence. Finally, Chase gives a sharp exhale. “We should get back to work.”

You nod, a little too quickly, still lost in the aftershock. Your fingers graze your lips, still tingling from the kiss and everything after, but you don’t let yourself linger on it. There’s nothing to say.

Not yet.

—

The next day, you and Chase are back in the diagnostic office like nothing happened. Well, almost nothing. The air between you is a little too thick, a little too aware of the space you now share. Every word feels heavier, more loaded. And whenever your eyes meet, it’s like there’s something you both are trying not to acknowledge.

But neither of you says a word.

It’s House, of course, who does notice. He’s always observant, always sharp when it comes to his team’s dynamics. He watches the two of you from across the room with a knowing smirk, almost as if he’s been waiting for this.

“Is it just me,” House drawls, breaking the silence as he slides into the office, “or does it feel like someone’s been… busy?”

You freeze, and you can feel Chase tense next to you. You don’t want to look at him, not with House’s smirk aimed squarely at both of you. You can’t look at him.

“You two should get a room,” House continues, unbothered by the tension hanging in the air. “It’s honestly like a live soap opera around here,”

Cameron, overhearing from the other room, raises an eyebrow. “What’s going on now?”

“Nothing,” you mutter, barely able to keep your cool. “Nothing happened,”

But House just fakes a sigh, fishing out his wallet and holding out a twenty dollar bill in Cameron’s direction. “I guess I owe you twenty bucks,”

You can hear the amusement in his voice as he takes a seat at his desk, eyes gleaming with too much satisfaction. He’s not going to let this go. Not for a second.

“You guys slept together?” Cameron’s voice is a mix between amusement and mortification as she takes the cash, and you groan.

Chase clears his throat and straightens up, trying to salvage some sense of normalcy. “It’s nothing to write home about,”

“Oh but it is,” House says with an exaggerated smirk, leaning back in his chair. “Talk about a HR violation,”

—

The next few days pass in a blur of awkward silences, quick glances, and sidelong looks between you and Chase. Neither of you brings up the supply closet, not once. Instead, you focus on the case, on everything but what happened behind closed doors.

The chemistry between you both is still there, still undeniable, but now it’s wrapped in layers of unspoken words. It’s the elephant in the room you both avoid acknowledging.

And yet, as you work together—closer than ever before, eyes meeting more often than they should, the energy still humming between you—you both know something has shifted. You’re not sure what it is yet.

At one point, when House pushes you to continue working late on a particularly difficult diagnosis, you end up alone with Chase again. The tension between you both feels just as charged as it did that night in the supply closet, but now, it’s thicker. More complex.

Chase stands next to you, looking down at the patient’s chart, but you can feel his gaze flicking toward you, gauging your reaction. His voice is quieter this time, as though testing the waters. “So…”

“So,” you reply, keeping your voice steady, but there’s a nervous edge beneath it.

He sighs, clearly sensing the unease between you. “What do you think? Is this it then?”

You hesitate, the words sitting heavily in your chest. This is the question. What happens now? What happens when the game is over?

You take a deep breath, trying to ignore the flutter of uncertainty in your stomach. “I don’t think it’s just a game anymore, Chase,”

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the silence stretches between you both. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—a mix of hope, uncertainty, and that ever-present challenge.

And in that moment, you realise: neither of you has to have the answer right now.

“You’re right,” he says softly, his lips curling into a smile. “Maybe it’s not,”

And so, the game continues—only now, it’s not a game at all. It’s something else entirely, something neither of you is ready to define yet.

But that’s okay.

[letmewritemylife]

Jealous, jealous, jealous boy 𓏼 𓈒♡ྀི

Chase is jealous of Wilson:3

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢ Part 2 →

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •🍓•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

What. The hell. Is that.

Chase pauses dead in his tracks, his gaze laser-focused on just one thing: you sitting in the cafeteria with Wilson, seemingly chatting and laughing, just having a good time. Bonding with your colleagues over a ham sandwich and fries.

He quickly assesses you both from a few tables off. His notes for his most recent diagnostic case lay forgotten on the table while he tries his hardest to eavesdrop on your conversation.

“Did you… last weekend? Oh… that…?”

He frowns, slumping back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. No good. He can only catch little snippets, and not enough to form anything intelligible. All he knows is that someone did something last weekend.

Barely anything to go off of.

He practically pouts like a toddler and decides to focus on visual cues instead. Your legs scarcely nudging each other under the table. Fingertips just touching. The way you steal food off Wilson’s plate, and he lets you without complaint.

His frown deepens, carving shallow lines into his forehead. They seem awfully close, what could they possibly be talking about? Skin-to-skin contact? Maybe they’re friends outside of work. Must be why he’s asking about her weekend. Oh, she’s laughing. Why? I can be funny. She likes to hear about Australia. Is she faking? Has she gotten tired of it?

Jealousy rears its ugly head, vile eyes blazing green. It urges him to do something, anything. Stake his territory, reclaim it. Just… anything.

He abruptly stands up, tucks his notes under his arm and makes his way over to you and Wilson with his lunch tray. His signature smile plastered on his face, even if all he wants to do is to punch Wilson in the face and kiss you senseless while he flips the oncologist off.

“Room for one more?” He gestures at the empty seat around the circular table.

Chase blinks. He could’ve sworn, just for a split second, that Wilson looks… annoyed. But then he blinks again, and the doctor looks as cordial as ever.

“Sure, join us.” He nods in agreement. You take this opportunity to steal a handful of his precious fries off his plate. Wilson’s eyes snap from Chase’s face, but you’ve already stuffed all of them in your mouth.

“Anything, anything but my damn fries,” Wilson laughs, rubbing his forehead in mock exasperation. He makes a show out of protectively shielding his plate, but you can see he doesn’t mind too much.

“Come now, James, sharing is caring.” You throw an overly repeated phrase straight from kindergarten back at him with your stolen fries half-chewed in your mouth. He shakes his head with the resigned air of a parent who knows their kid is a menace, although the slight smile on his lip betrays his amusement.

Chase observes all this, looking mildly pouty. He sits down between you two, eyes ping-ponging between you two.

“So…” he speaks to you, giving Wilson a sidelong glance packed with leave, and leave us alone. “You got, uh, any interesting plans this weekend?”

“I’m thinking of going to see that new movie,” you muse, twirling a lock of hair absentmindedly around your finger. Chase files that away mentally. “I’ve got two tickets a friend gave me. It’s a pity she can’t go with her boyfriend.”

“A movie? That’s cool,” Chase replies as he props his chin on his hand. His cerulean eyes fix on you, shining with that hopeful, eager puppy look. “You know, I haven’t been to one in a while.”

“I’m coming with,” Wilson interrupts him, earning himself a barely veiled glare from the blonde. “You know how it is.”

“Sorry, Chase. Maybe next time?” You wave him off with an apologetic smile. He forces one of feigned cordiality in reciprocation.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. He shoves a forkful of chicken Caesar salad in his mouth to prevent himself from snapping at the older oncologist.

I’ll get him back. I swear I will.

୨୧‧₊˚⋅♡⋅˚₊‧୨୧

Word count: 665

Part 2 out!

[letmewritemylife]

the three times you’re called chase’s wife (+ the one time it’s true) 

dr. robert chase x fem!reader 

summary: i fear the title says it all. three times you’re called chase’s wife and the one time its true!

this is connected to my one shot here! but can be read as a standalone (i think?) !!!!

wc: 4.1k

tw: actually…none? this is lowkey just fluff 

author’s note: my last chase fic was so well received and the house md fandom as just been so nice and welcoming... i felt the urge to give yall some more. i feel like i could make a whole universe within this world so :p there are a few plot points i could make one shots within this one like the cave marriage, the convo they have in the second part, so many let me know what yall would like best! (not beta read as usual)

have a request? ask away! 

The first time it happened, neither you or Chase had been particular keen on correcting the doctor. Chase had already been a bit a problem, forcing Dr. Lovell to give you a check up in the first place. It had been at least a year since you had any sort of flare up with your GBS, a year and a half since you were first diagnosed, first reconnected with Robert Chase. 

Really, the first few months were the hardest, and sometimes it felt like Chase was still living in those months. So when he let you know he had gotten an appointment with an important neuromuscular neurologist and he pressed a quick kiss onto the top of your head you deiced to indulge him. 

Now you both sat in the separate waiting room,  you humming a little under your breath as you glanced around the space. Chase had settled in the chair for about 10 seconds before he started to chew on his thumb nail. You weren’t exactly sure why Chase had been working himself into a fit about your health lately, but chalked it up to the fact that the anniversary of your diagnosis had passed with no real fuss. You spent the weekend excited to celebrate the anniversary you truly cared about, your first full year with Chase. 

It had been incredible, at least after you finally found yourself back at full health. The first three months Chase had hovered a little, used all his vacation days to come to your doctors appointments, helped you with simple tasks like putting on your shoes, learned to cook your favorite soup and tried to make you eat it every other day, (“Really Robert, you’re a doctor, you know soup isn’t actually a medical solution, right?” you had joked as you ate another bowl for dinner “Its January in New Jersey and you have a weak immune system still, I just want to keep you warm,” his response had you eating soup well into May). 

You pulled Chase’s hand from his mouth and laced your fingers together, giving his hand a small squeeze to catch his attention. His gaze immediately turned to you, the obvious concern laced within it. You pressed a kiss against the back of his hand before you spoke. 

“What are you worried about? I’ve been in recovery for longer than I was sick, I told you I’d mention if something felt wrong. The only reason this Doctor is even entertaining this is because who you work for,” 

“Actually, it’s because who my father was,” Robert squeezed your hand three times before letting out a small sigh, “Cameron told me that GBS can reoccur in 2-3% of cases, and you’ve never been good at taking care of yourself,” 

“Well that’s why you’ve been taking care of me, and you’re great at it,” You joked a little before realizing what he said earlier, “Did you name drop your dead father for this appointment?” 

Robert shrugged a little at your question, “Thought maybe he’d finally give us something good,” 

You went to argue against it hating the idea that you’d owe his father anything when the door to the room swung open revealing Dr. Lovell. 

“Sorry about that, just wanted to double check everything,” Dr. Lovell shut the door behind herself and stood in front of you guys. 

You felt a tight squeeze against your hand again and couldn’t help but hum back a small confirmation that you felt it. 

“Well (Y/N),” Dr. Lovell paused, “You are perfectly healthy for a women your age, at least from my standpoint, all the tests came back as they should, you haven’t complained about any weird muscle pains, or headaches, you seem in my medical opinion, completely healthy.” 

You nodded a little as she spoke, none of it shocked you, you knew you were healthy, felt good, so instead you simply turned to look at Robert, “See, told you, nothing to worry about,”  teasing tone obvious. 

“Your wife is right, Dr. Chase,” Dr. Lovell couldn’t help but have a small smirk break through the professional tone, “You should trust her,” 

If it had been any other doctor asking for this appointment Dr. Lovell would have found a way to avoid the whole situation, but once one of her nurses had told her it was Rowan Chase’s son and he was part of Dr. House’s team, she bit the bullet and accepted the appointment. 

Robert had opened his mouth to correct Dr. Lovell, tell her that you weren’t married yet, didn’t want to confuse her or made you uncomfortable at the implication but was quickly distracted by you leaning into his side a little jostling him. You didn’t seem phased at all at the title, didn’t even think about correcting the doctor. 

“Yeah you should trust me,” Your tone was barely laced with relief, (sure you knew you were healthy, but now having Chase understand it, does cause a small amount of relief,) “I know I already used one but, how many ‘told you so’s’ does this get me,” You joked and bumped your nose against the side of his cheek. 

Robert leaned into the affection without any real thought happy to feel you close to him at any point, Dr. Lovell couldn’t help but look away the small touches intimate in a strange way. She took a moment to pull out some papers that the nurse will walk you through and nodded a small goodbye to Dr. Chase before she slipped out of the room. 

“You stay that healthy and you can tell me you told me so every day for all I care,” Robert sighed a little at the nuzzle you seemed to lean into once Dr. Lovell slipped out. 

“Sounds like a deal,” You sigh back a little silly in love. 

Chase turns his face without thinking and presses a kiss against your nose, followed by a kiss against your forehead, finally he moves his empty hand and brings you closer for an actual kiss. 

 ___ 

The second time it happens, you’re not even around, and he still jumps at the idea of the word freaking you out. 

Chase hadn’t seen you much in the last two weeks, having been completely engulfed in the case that House had brought the team. It wasn’t a rare occurrence and the first time, he had come home with flowers, tried to cook dinner dead on his feet, looking for anyway to apologize for his absence. He had watched the toll it took on his mother when his father was always away, couldn’t help but imagine you wasting away in his (now your) apartment, learning to spite him for making you love him enough you can’t leave, saved your life so you couldn’t leave when you stop loving him. He had thrown himself into a small spiral on his drive home, not helped by his poorly state. So when you walked into the apartment (having a late night yourself at the law firm), you were shocked to see an exhausted Robert cheeks red from trying to cook, bags starting to development under his eyes and obviously flustered by your sudden appearance. You kicked into action fairly easily, pulled him from the stove forced him into the shower and finished dinner. While he was in the shower you had gotten out of your work clothes, pulled out something comfortable for him and by the time he was out, the apartment was lowly lit, dinner ready and you had cleaned your face in the guest bathroom, cheeks shiny clean and fresh.

 It wasn’t until you forced him into bed, earlier than he was use to, that he realized you had taken care of him, the opposite of what he had set out to have happen. He mumbled an apology and you had pulled him in, letting him rest against your chest and pressed a small kiss against the top of his still slightly damp hair, you made a mental note to ask him why he was sorry in the morning. 

Since then, Chase had done his best to take your advice (“Don’t think about me when you’re working a case, especially if it’s just to make yourself feel bad, that useless to both of us and your patients,”), and it worked well. He didn’t have to feel guilty about being completely engulfed within each case,  didn’t imagine you waiting up for him anymore, (“Robert, I love you, and I promise not to wait up for you unless I want to,”). 

Still, you appeared in places he didn’t even realize, he saw your presence in the strawberry pudding that the nurses passed out once a week, in the shirts he knows you’d like that Cameron wore, in the amount of creamer that Foreman poured into his shitty coffee. Now, he’s seeing you in the worst place, the patient. She shared your hair color, your body type, even the name felt a little close to yours, but he had called you during lunch and now he was ready again. 

The patient had a turn for the worse, now in a medically induced coma, just a few feet away. Chase had let Foreman take the lead, speaking to the husband about the three risky treatments that the team had come to believe would be the best choices. Chase wasn’t listening to the way Foreman was exampling the condition, the treatment, he was wrapped in the diagnosis, disagreeing with both Foreman and Cameron but having no good rebuttal. 

“Are you married Dr. Foreman?” The husband asked when Foreman was finally done explaining, “If this was your wife, laying here, could you make the choice?” 

It was obvious the husband was sick of doctors who weren’t giving real answers yet acted like they knew everything, sick of the idea of a doctor and not a friend. The most important person in his life was on the edge of dying and strangers who, as far as he knew, didn’t care were in charge of helping them. 

Foreman shook his head, “No, I’m not married but-“ 

The husband immediately cut him off, against irritating Foreman, “So when I say to imagine it’s your wife you can’t, not really, neither of you can understand the situation I’m in,” 

Chase heard the annoyed guff Foreman let out under his breath, “Mr. Bryon, I get that-“ Foreman started again 

“No you don’t” 

Foreman clenched his jaw and glanced over to where Chase stood and suddenly unclenched his jaw, “Okay you’re right, I don’t get it, but,” Foreman made eye contact with Chase for just a moment before obviously make a choice, 

“Dr. Chase has been where you are, I might not understand, but his wife and him have been in this position” Foreman stepped back subtly letting Chase finally take the lead, emphasizing the small white lie for Chase to follow.

The husband pulled his eyes from his wife and instead looked at Chase, large eyes obviously looking for someone to have some sort of understanding of the panic, the ice cold fear that had started in his limbs and spread across as his wife got sicker and sicker. 

“Your wife is sick?” 

“Was” Chase corrected without a second thought. It was his own instinct, you weren’t sick anymore he had made sure of that, would keep making sure of that and couldn’t imagine letting the idea of you currently being sick infect his own mind. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” The husband, in his worst situation, assumed the worse. 

Chase immediately shook his head, then  paused and debated using the phrase. My wife. He thought of the way you’ve reacted to the word before the few times you had heard it, how the first time with Dr. Lovell, it was like you didn’t even hear it. He never asked you about it, and you never brought it up. Obviously, he never doubted he wanted to call you his wife since you found each other again, but he had never asked if you wanted to be his wife even in theory. What would you do if you found out he was about to use the phrase out loud? Then he remembered ‘Don’t think about me when you’re working a case, especially if it’s just to make yourself feel bad’. 

In a few seconds, Chase made his decision. He came closer to the husband and reached his hand into the pocket of his slacks. He pulled out his wallet and in the slot that had previously held the only letter he thought you wrote, a photo now resided. You had printed out a few of them to decorate the apartment, and he had stolen this one when he thought you weren’t looking, the smallest print of the two of you on your first vacation. Without a second thought he smiled a little at the photo, neither of you were looking at the camera, instead looking at each other in mid laugh as the self timer on the camera had gone off. He can’t exactly remember what he had said, but he had made you laugh and that was enough to have him laughing. He had loved the photo immediately, proof that he made you happy, and you only printed it out because he insisted. He flipped the photo around so Mr. Bryon could look at it. 

 “Look Mr. Bryon, When my wife was sick, Dr. House and his team were the ones who helped us,” He doesn’t mention the fact that he had found the correct diagnosis, “But, they can’t make the choices of someone who loves her, that’s on you. She picked you to make these choices, it’s hard, but you have to make them. In sickness and in health, right?” 

Chase ignores the way Foreman seems to cross his arms and try to peer over to see if Chase was being sincere, instead focusing back on the photo he was holding this time upside down so Mr. Bryon could keep looking at it, “Feels nearly impossible when it’s someone so important, but you’re the one who knows what she’d pick, you know her the best and she’s trusting you, so you should trust yourself. It can work out fairly well in my experience” Mr. Bryon’s had been staring at it for a moment as he spoke but now that Chase was smiling down at the photo, Mr. Bryon took a second to debate Dr. Chase’s legitimacy.  

Mr. Bryon looked back at his wife on the hospital bed for a long moment before turning back to Dr. Foreman, “Can you walk me through the options once more?” 

____ 

The third time it happens, it’s not Chase or you that are flustered by the phrase. After Chase had come home destroyed by a patient’s death, you had stayed up with him and did whatever you could to comfort him. It was about 3am when he moved his head off your lap on the couch. He was poorly lit by the television playing whatever early morning news the station had switched to. He rubbed his sore eyes a little before looking at you, gaze unwavering, and asked if you see yourselves married at some point. After that, it was easy to see it in the future, something to come eventually. 

Now, Cameron sat at the cafeteria table with Chase as they waited for you to join them for dinner. It wasn’t the first time you had visited Chase at work, but it was the first time Cameron had decided to tag along. She had the chance to get to know you over the years she had worked with Chase at events he had been forced to attend, during quick chats when he forgot something at home and you had to drop it off, late nights after a case when you eventually joined them for a drink. It was weird leaving the team, but after some time away she came to the conclusion she could dislike what happened during her time there and still want to stay friends with the people she had met there, so she invited herself to lunch when she had seen Chase in passing. 

Cameron was munching on a fry while Chase started to complain about the way the patient was acting about treatments they were offering when suddenly he heard your voice approach the table. He looked up to see you chitchatting with a nurse that you had grown to recognize every time you swung by, one that had helped you out when you had your own stay here. 

You waved a little as you approached the table with the nurse, she spoke up before you had the chance, “Ran into your wife in the elevator, sorry I held her up,” 

Chase stood up from the bench seat and smiled a little at the nurse before turning his attention completely on you, “Thanks for keeping her company,” He hummed a little as he watched you lean up towards him for a kiss. 

Cameron furrowed her eyebrows a little at the way you both slide past the nurse calling you his wife. She watched Chase leaned down just a smidge and meet you for a kiss. It was a short kiss, just a peck, not enough to satisfy Chase as was obvious in the way he pulled you a little close his nose coming to the top of your head for a small kiss, 

“It was nice catching up with you!” You spoke to the nurse, completely causal about the way Chase seemed to almost test how close he could pull you before someone started looking at you guys funny, “Wanna join us for lunch?” You asked as you pressed a gentle hand against the hand Chase had resting on your shoulder. 

The nurse shook her head, “Gotta go finish rounds, next time?” 

Once the nurse said her goodbyes you slipped away from Chase’s hold long enough to slide into the booth that Chase was sitting in and holding out your hand to him. Cameron sent you a weak smile as she watched Chase take your hand and slide into the booth, asking for another kiss once he’s settled. You give in without thought. 

“If you got married and didn’t invite me, I will be beyond angry.” Cameron finally spoke up, breaking up the kiss. “Really you guys wouldn’t even really be together if I minded my own business, so if anything, I should be maid of honor, just saying” 

Chase took his hand out of yours once you pulled your lips off of his, “That’s not true,” He deadpanned as he reached his arm over your shoulder and took a carrot off his plate before sliding the plate closer to you. 

You shrugged a little, unsure if it was completely untrue. You eyed the plate of food that Chase grabbed too much of for himself alone and picked up a grape, “Probably not completely untrue honey,” You looked up at Cameron as you chewed the grape and realized she was truly offended. 

“Alison, of course we didn’t get married you would obviously be invited,” You grabbed the fork Chase pushed towards you and you poked around the bowl of salad.

“Well that nurse just called you his wife!” Alison gapped a little.

Chase can’t help but preen a little when the he notices you’re biting back at smile at the sound of the words, you shrug it off, “It’s not a big deal, especially when it’ll happen anyways,” You gather your favorite bits of the salad onto your fork and shovel a small bit into your mouth. 

Cameron looks over at Chase and tries to reason with her eyes for him to confess if you guys did get married, Chase could tell and immediately gave her a deadpan look, “Not married yet,” He confirmed and raised his left hand as if to display the lack of a ring. 

“Yet?” Cameron raised her eyebrow. 

“Yet” you and Chase say together. 

___ 

The fourth time, it’s finally true. He’s fairly sure that’s why House had called him out on it, had picked his words carefully when he walked in perfectly on time into the conference room. 

“How’s the missus, Dr. Chase?” House sat at the end of the table, “Did she take your last name?” 

“The wedding isn’t for another three months,” Park spoke from her spot at the conference table confused, “Didn’t you get the invite?” 

Chase internal groaned a little at how oblivious Park could be when it comes to House’s scheming. 

“So much to learn,” House stood up and hobbled over to where Chase was sitting leaning over his shoulder just a little “Being married and having a wedding are two different things. See to be married, all you need is a witness and an officiant, right Chase?” 

Chase rolled his eyes a little and leaned back in his chair, his hands had been shoved in his pocket since he had sat down, “I get back from vacation and you’re already trying to annoy me? Might be a new record House” 

He had taken a month off, you said you wanted to visit Australia again before you had your wedding, joked and called it a pre wedding honeymoon and he couldn’t resist it when you phrased it like that. It wasn’t in the itinerary to get married, but suddenly you were both in one of the caves you use to hang out in when you were young and the plan seemed to form as you speak, Chase had stepped out for two minutes, made a few calls and suddenly you were both in your fanciest vacation clothes, cold sand between your toes and rings slipped on. You made him swear to keep the official wedding date, this one was just for you two. 

“Would anyone like to talk about the case I brought or?” Dr. Adams huffed a little 

Chase went to reach for the case file with his right hand, House brought his cane up just barely and lightly smacked Chase’s moving right hand, 

“Ouch,” Chase gritted out annoyed and pulled his left hand out of his coat rubbing the back of his right in pain. 

There on his left hand ring finger, a shiny gold ring sat. You had suggested he simply wear it on a chain, or maybe slip it into his wallet when you guys got back home. He had made the decision that he would take it off in the locker room, but the month of wearing it in Australia had made it difficult when he was sitting in the locker room. He took it off for about a minute before he turned around and put it back on. In three months he’d be wearing it for the rest of his life anyways, he couldn’t help but want to get a head start on that. 

“What about the wedding? Wait can you get married here if you’re already married in Australia?” Park started to ramble once she spotted the ring on his finger. Adam has admitted defeat on trying to get her case looked at and furrowed her brow in her own curiosity. 

House hobbled back to his seat and put his feet up against the table before looking back at Chase, 

“So, how’s the wife?” House asked again, smug in a way only Dr. House could manage. 

Chase tried to keep the annoyed feeling in his chest, tried to be pissed that the secret slipped not even an hour into being back, but the wedding ring shone on his finger and he couldn’t help the small smile that settled across his own face. 

“She’s doing great,” He stopped and kept his eyes focused on the hand, wedding ring against the folder he had finally grabbed, “My wife is doing incredible.” 

He twisted the ring a little on his finger, “And she’s keeping her last name,” 

[letmewritemylife]

i fancy you

Summary: you have a crush on Chase.

Pairing: Robert Chase x Reader

Word Count: 1004

Warnings: None

Masterlist | Divider credit

You weren't familiar with the art of flirting and seducing men. Sure you were pretty, smart, funny and could carry on with a conversation. But pretty wasn't hot, smart wasn't mysterious and funny wasn't enticing. You got on asked on first dates, but whenever the guy realized he wasn't gonna sleep with you after dinner, that was pretty much the end of the story.

So, you asked for help.

"Don't even ask me. Do I look like a temptress to you?" Cameron didn't even glance up from the blood samples. "Y/L/N, you're an amazing person. The right guy will eventually fall for you, you don't have to be something you're not."

Realizing you had to extend your search, you went for some... Drastic measures.

At first, it started with a subtle change in your makeup routine. You started wearing mascara, blush, concealer and lip gloss. Then, your nails. Being a doctor meant you couldn't keep them long, but you could at least have them done nicely.

On Monday, you came to work with your nails in lovely french tips, your face dolled up and your hair down in waves. And as you sat by your place at House's office, Foreman didn't even glance at you (bastard), while Chase took a little longer staring at you.

"Good morning." You smiled softly at them.

"Did you change something?" Chase asked bluntly, his blue eyes glued on you. "Is it the hair?"

"She looks the same to me." Foreman said after glancing at you for a second.

You sighed, your shoulders slumping a little.

House limped to the office, and when he saw you, he stopped, stared, and scrutinized you with his eyes.

"Who is it?" He asked, leaning into his chair and swinging his cane back and forth.

"Who is it what?" You deadpanned.

"The guy you're trying to impress, duh." House said in a condescending tone.

"What are you and Chase on about? She looks the same to me." Foreman rolled his eyes at House.

"I've been with hookers who wore less makeup than she's wearing right now." House pointed his cane at you and you huffed in annoyance.

"God forbid a woman puts on a little more effort to look good." You rolled your eyes.

"I didn't know you were so insecure." House jabbed at you, then, he paused. "Wait, are those breasts?"

"Oh, fuck you." You huffed in annoyance, covering your cleavage with your arms.

"Is it true?" Chase asked suddenly, as both of you sat on the MRI room with your patient. "That you're trying to impress someone?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, already feeling nauseous. "Since when do we care about what House says?"

"Since always? He's an ass, but when has he been ever wrong?"

Oh no. Was that the beginning of a panic attack?

You took a deep breath. "He is wrong."

"Well... I'm not saying the subtle changes don't look good, just curious. You're so shy and reserved that it makes a guy wonder."

"Wonder what?"

"Who could possible have caught your attention."

"Why are you so curious?"

"Why are you being so defensive?"

"I'm not!" You snapped and he raised his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry for snapping, okay? I didn't mean to-"

"Hey, we're good, okay? 'S all good." He smiled at you and your heart skipped a beat.

You were royally screwed.

You were in the cafeteria, grabbing some lunch when you saw him limping. Rolling your eyes before you could control yourself, House smirked at your reaction, picking up a tray. "Put this on her tab."

"Put mine and his on Wilson's tab." You corrected, and the lady chuckled.

As you both sat down, you braced yourself for what was coming for you.

"Does he know yet?" House asked, sipping on his boxed juice, his blue eyes carefully trained on you.

"Does who know what?"

"Does our aussie friend know you're in lov-" He said a little louder and you smacked your hand on his lips, surprising both of you. House laughed, seeing you all flustered.

"What's wrong with you? This is a secret!"

"How is something a secret when it's so obvious?" He mocked, stealing a fry from your plate.

"Foreman doesn't know."

"Foreman is goddamn dense. And Cameron only knows because you told her."

"How do you know she knows?"

"She's not very discreet. Really, the four of you share only one braincell and it's under your possession most of the time."

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome."

Wilson's eyes shone in bewilderment as he stared at you, going through some files in House's break room.

"Can you stop? It's creeping me out." Your voice comes out monotonous as your fingers scan through the patient's file. Just another bizarre case to deal with, where none of you could figure out what the hell was going on.

"It's like seeing a flower bloom."

His tone of voice caught your attention. Like he was proud or something?

"Excuse me?"

"It's just... You're the youngest, you've been working here for a couple years now, and it's the first time I hear about your little crush."

"I haven't always liked Robert, I-" You began to defend yourself, but when you saw Wilson's eyes widening. "What? Why is this so shocking to you?"

Wilson, speechless, pointed behind you.

Oh no.

You slowly turned around, to see Robert Chase with a shit-eating grin on his face, his eyes gleaming. Wilson awkwardly excused himself, leaving you and the smug object of your not-so-secret-anymore affection alone.

"So..." You look down.

"So..." He smiles. "I had a little suspicion, I just didn't want to get my hopes up." He rolled his eyes when you looked up at him, surprised. "What? You're damn cute, and I fancy you."

A little snort. "You fancy me?"

"Yeah. Even without the desperation cleavage and the hooker makeup?"

"I take it back. I don't like you anymore."

He laughed, his hands making their way to your waist, a soft look on his face as his soft lips moved closer to yours, a whisper leaving them. "Lemme fix that."

[letmewritemylife]

I loveeee in the earlier seasons when house will ask the ducklings to do something insane and Foreman and Cameron will be like “no! Ethics! It’s wrong!” And House just looks at Chase who’s like “on it :D”

[letmewritemylife]

Not You Too

frank castle x fem!reader

You wake to weight.

Not the heavy kind—no nightmares pressing a hand over your mouth, no sirens in your skull—just Frank, draped across you like the world’s largest, warmest, most stubborn blanket. His forearm is hooked over your waist, his face buried in the curve of your neck, stubble scraping a slow hello whenever he breathes. He’s trying to pretend he’s asleep still—body slack, breath even—but his thumb keeps rubbing a lazy half-moon against your hip like it forgot how to play dead.

“Frank,” you whisper into the dim, sun just beginning to leak through the blinds. “You’re crushing me.”

A gravelly sound—half a laugh, half a denial—vibrates against your skin. “M’not,” he mutters, voice rough with morning. “You’re fine.”

“You weigh a ton.”

“Solid muscle,” he says, smug and sleepy. “Doctor’s orders.”

You roll onto your back and he follows automatically, hitching his arm higher so your ribs can expand. He blinks at you like a bear woken early: eyes soft, lashes dark, the tough-guy set of his mouth undone by the pillow. There’s a new scrape across the bridge of his nose and a healing cut at his lower lip, but his expression is all honey. He’s already searching your face for anything out of place, for worry, for pain, for the night you didn’t sleep because he was late.

“I’m good,” you say, before he can ask.

He nods once, like he trusts you more than he trusts the entire world. Then, softer, almost boyish, “Stay a minute.”

You do. He gathers you close like he’s stacking sandbags against a storm, tucking your head under his chin, fitting your knee over his thigh. Frank Castle, human barricade. You breathe together, slow and in sync, until his heartbeat—steady, horse-strong—settles you into a warm float.

“What time is it?” you ask into the fabric of his shirt.

“Early,” he says, which could mean anything between four a.m. and noon.

“Frank…”

He sighs, busted. “Eight-forty. I set the alarm for nine.”

You tip your head up. “You set an alarm?”

He tries to look offended and fails. “I set alarms.” His thumb at your hip moves again. “Sometimes.”

You smile at him, all teeth. “You set an alarm to cuddle?”

He huffs. “I set an alarm to not forget to make you breakfast.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely getting cocky.”

“Yeah?” He kisses your temple—quick, almost shy—and then untangles himself with the caution of a man disarming his own booby trap. He drops a last kiss to your cheek because he always does, pushes up, and groans like he’s ninety. “You want coffee or you want coffee?”

“Surprise me.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to say to me, sweetheart,” he says, already walking barefoot toward the kitchen, shoulders broad under a battered black tee. “Last time I surprised you we ended up with six blueberry pancakes shaped like… whatever the hell that was.”

“You called it a tactical manta ray.”

He points behind him without looking. “And you ate two.”

“They were good.”

“Damn straight.”

You pad after him, stealing his sweatshirt en route and drowning in it on purpose. The apartment smells like him—clean detergent, steel, a hint of gun oil that clings to the canvas duffel by the door no matter how many times he wipes it down. He’s already got the kettle going and the pan heating, moving around the stove with easy efficiency, hips bumping cupboards, mouth set in that line he uses when he’s pretending he’s not delighted to be doing something domestic.

You lean against the counter and watch him. He pretends not to notice you watching him.

“Don’t,” he says, cracking eggs into a bowl.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like I’m doing a magic trick. It’s eggs.”

“It’s hot,” you say, because it is. “You in a kitchen is extremely hot.”

He gives you side-eye, cheeks tipping pink in spite of himself. “I’m a menace.”

“You’re a menace who browns butter.”

He glances at the pan, jotted with browned specks, then at you. “Don’t tell anybody.”

“My lips are sealed.” You step closer. “Unless you want me to use them.”

His ears burn. He tries to scowl and manages… nothing. “Sit,” he grumbles, pointing at the stool like you’re a criminal and the counter is a lineup. “You’re a problem before I even had caffeine.”

“Coffee first, menace second?”

“Exactly.”

While the kettle rumbles, you reach for his hand. His knuckles are a mess—bruised, split, bandaged badly because he did it himself in the dark without looking. You turn his palm up and he lets you, quiet as a church. The pads of his fingers are rough, the calluses hard-earned and familiar. You press your lips to each battered knuckle, one by one, feeling the up-twitch of his breath with every kiss.

He watches you like he doesn’t deserve any of it. Like this is a language he understands better than words. “You don’t gotta… I’m fine,” he says, and his voice does that rasping drop it does when he’s trying not to get emotional.

“Uh-huh.” You reach for the first aid tin you keep in the drawer labeled ‘totally normal civilian things.’ “Humor me.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Frank.”

He surrenders immediately—big, lethal hands going docile in yours because that’s who he is with you. You dab antiseptic and he doesn’t flinch, just keeps looking at your face like it’s the first good thing he’s seen in days. By the time the kettle screams, you’ve added a cleaner wrap and threatened to put tiny smiley-face stickers on his bandaids. He promised retaliation and then kissed your forehead to distract you.

Coffee is a ritual: his for you, yours for him. He makes it strong but sweet because you’ve been trying to sleep, and you slide sugar toward him because he’ll say he doesn’t want it and then steal sips from your mug anyway. The eggs are quick, the toast golden, the bacon crisp, and when you reach for a strip before he plates it, he slaps at your hand with a wooden spoon like you’re five.

“You are so dramatic,” you inform him, nibbling anyway.

He leans in, lips ghosting your ear. “Say that again after you finish your food.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“That’s logistics,” he says, deadpan, which somehow makes you laugh so hard you have to set your mug down.

He softens around the sound. He always does. It makes something in him unspool, that honeyed look washing through him like sunlight. For a minute—two—you pretend you’re a pair of people whose mornings are always like this. Eggs. Jokes. A man who doesn’t methodically check every window and mark the corners of the room with his eyes.

But the bag by the door is packed. And he keeps glancing at his phone like it owes him money.

You don’t bring it up. He doesn’t either. Instead, he slides a plate toward you and takes the stool next to yours, his knee knocking yours like he couldn’t sit a whole foot away if he tried. You eat. He steals your last bite of toast at the exact second you reach for it. You protest with wild, wounded noises. He smirks like the cat that learned how to use knives.

“Crime,” you tell him, pointing.

“Arrest me,” he says, mouth full.

“Don’t tempt me.”

You’re still smiling when the phone on the counter buzzes—a bite of sound that rearranges the air. Frank’s hand tightens around his fork. He doesn’t look right away. He always gives himself a beat: one breath to be just a man at a table with a woman he loves, before the other part—a harder, colder angle of him—stands up.

He flips the phone. You catch the red mask avatar Matt insisted on setting for himself because he thinks he’s funny. Frank’s jaw works.

“You can let it ring,” you say gently.

He eyes you, searching, and you can tell he wants to. He wants to shut the phone off, stand up, pick you up, carry you back to bed, and be selfish until the sunlight climbs the opposite wall. But he doesn’t get to want uncomplicated things. Neither of you do.

“I’ll answer,” he says, and it’s not an apology so much as a promise that he’ll come back from whatever this is in one piece. He swipes. “Yeah.”

You can hear Matt’s voice—tinny and clipped—bleeding through. Names, an address, the kind of information that tastes like copper even secondhand. Frank’s eyes cut to you as he listens; they always do. He’s measuring your face for fear, for reluctance, for the yes he won’t ask you to give.

When he hangs up, he doesn’t move for a second. Then he sets the phone down with careful fingers and turns fully toward you, knee pressing to yours again, like a tether.

“You don’t have to come,” he says, and it’s the lie he always tries first. “Murdock and me, we got it. Just recon. In and out.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, because recon with those two is a fairy tale. “And if something goes sideways and you don’t have a pair of eyes you trust covering your six?”

His mouth twitches, pride and dread and helpless affection all snarled together. “You’re trouble.” He tips forward and kisses you. It’s not a quick kiss. It’s not even gentle. It’s a slow, anchored thing that says thank you and I’m sorry and I don’t know how to leave this room without you in it. His palm cups your jaw, thumb skimming the soft place beneath your ear, and you lean into the heat of him without thinking.

He pulls back first because if he doesn’t, you won’t leave; you’ll just orbit each other until the sun goes down. He rests his forehead against yours for a beat, breath mingling, then clears his throat like it might stop the ache in it.

“Wear the light plate,” he says, which is how he says I love you without spooking himself. “And the gloves. Your hands were cold last time.”

“You noticed?”

His eyes drop to your mouth. “I always notice.”

You slide off the stool and he’s already there, hands at your waist, lifting you down like the floor might bite. He doesn’t let go until you’re steady. He never does. You steal one last strip of bacon on your way past him and he lets you, because he’s a sap and you own him.

“Frank,” you say at the bedroom door.

He grunts, rifling the duffel to check, again, that the gear he never wants to need is where it should be. He looks up, all that hard usefulness slotted into place, and somehow still looks like your big soft baby, hoodie half-zipped and hair a little stubborn from sleep.

“You’re not a menace,” you tell him.

“Yeah?” He cocks a brow.

“You’re a good man who makes terrible pancakes.”

His mouth curves. He looks away like it’s too bright in here, then back at you as if he’s memorizing you in case the world tries, again, to pry you out of his hands. “Go suit up, sweetheart,” he says quietly. “Before I make you late to this… recon.”

“You set an alarm,” you remind him.

He jerks his chin at the clock, trying hard not to smile. “And look at that—we’re already off schedule.”

You stick your tongue out at him like you’re not about to follow him into hard shadow, and he actually laughs, full and surprised. He crosses the space in two strides, hooks a finger through the belt loop of the sweatshirt you stole—the one that hangs to your mid-thigh—and tugs you close. One more kiss, quick and fierce, like armor he can leave on your mouth.

“Back in one piece,” he says, low.

“Both of us,” you counter.

He nods, and it’s a vow.

You go to pull on the light plate because he asked, and the gloves because he noticed, and the whole time you can feel his eyes on the door like hands: protective, impatient, already counting the seconds until you walk back through.

The kettle ticks as it cools. The phone sits silent. And for one more heartbeat, the kitchen holds the afterglow of breakfast—two mugs half-drunk, a plate still warm, a wooden spoon abandoned mid-threat—like proof that softness lives here, even when the hard world comes knocking.

The night tastes like rust.

The three of you—Frank, Matt, you—are deep in a warehouse that smells like old oil and blood. The concrete floor shines damp beneath the flickering overheads. Somewhere in the rafters a chain clinks, the only sound before everything snaps into chaos.

They come out of the shadows fast. Ten, twelve—more than Matt promised. Iron pipes, knives, makeshift armor. You barely have time to curse before Frank moves.

Frank is brutal efficiency: one hand around a throat, the other smashing the butt of a pistol across a jaw. Matt flows like water, his batons cracking ribs and wrists with surgical precision. And you—you’re holding your ground, ducking blows, landing sharp strikes where you can.

It’s going fine until it’s not.

Frank pivots, puts a man down hard—but he doesn’t see the one behind him. Doesn’t see the glint of steel raised high, angled for his spine. You don’t think—you move.

“Frank!”

You slam into him, shoulder-first, knocking him forward. The knife meant for him skitters across your arm instead, a shallow burn, but the second man doesn’t hesitate. His fist connects with your face, vicious and unrelenting, and you go flying back into the concrete wall. The thud rattles your teeth, white spots bursting in your vision.

Frank hears the sound before he even turns.

And then the world ends.

He whirls, gun clattering out of his hand, and collides with the man who touched you. The knife drops to the floor in a scrape of metal; Frank doesn’t notice. He drives his fists into the man’s face, chest, stomach, again and again and again, teeth bared, a snarl tearing his throat raw. The man is already limp when Frank pulls the blade from the ground and slams it down—once, twice, three times—until Daredevil’s arms are locked around him, dragging him back.

“Frank—Frank! That’s enough!” Matt’s voice is harsh, desperate. He’s got both arms hooked under Frank’s, straining against his rage. “You’ll kill him!”

“He touched her!” Frank bellows, spit flying, eyes wild with blood-red haze. He thrashes once, twice, nearly breaking free. “He touched her! I’ll gut him, I’ll—”

“Frank!”

The word rips through the air, raw and pleading. Your word.

And suddenly he’s still.

Frank jerks his head around and sees you on the ground, trying to push yourself upright, blood on your lip, your face already swelling where the fist landed. His chest heaves once, twice, before he rips free of Matt—not to go back to the fight, but to go to you.

He drops to his knees beside you so fast his joints crack. “Sweetheart—hey, hey, look at me. You with me? Look at me.” His hands hover over you, afraid to touch, terrified he’ll hurt you worse.

“‘M fine,” you slur, though your lip is split and blood trickles down your chin.

“You’re not fine.” His voice is breaking, thick with something that’s half fury, half fear. He pulls a rag from his vest and presses it carefully to your mouth, his other hand cupping the back of your head to steady you. “Jesus Christ, you—” His jaw locks. He can’t finish.

Matt clears the floor, sending the last thug scrambling, but Frank doesn’t even glance up. His whole world is you, sitting against a dirty wall, bruised and bleeding because you saved him.

“Don’t move,” he whispers, forehead pressing briefly against yours as if he needs to feel your breath. “Don’t you move a damn inch, sweetheart. I got you. I got you.”

And for the rest of the night, his hands never leave you.

Frank doesn’t notice Matt until the red mask fills the corner of his vision.

“You almost lost control back there,” Matt says, voice hard. His batons are still in his grip, chest rising and falling with the exertion. His head tilts toward the crumpled man Frank left bleeding out on the floor. “He’s not getting up, Castle.”

“Good.” Frank’s tone is venom, his eyes locked on you, thumb brushing at the blood on your lip with a tenderness that doesn’t match the savagery still vibrating in his shoulders.

“That’s not what we do.” Matt’s voice sharpens. “You can’t just—”

Frank snaps his head around so fast Matt goes still. “You think I give a damn about your rules when she’s the one they laid hands on?” His voice is thunder, his stare murderous. “He touched her. He was gonna put a knife in me and he—he—” His breath catches, like the words themselves scrape his throat raw.

You reach out, fingers curling into his sleeve. “Frank.”

Just one word. Just you.

The storm breaks a little. His jaw flexes hard, then he tears his eyes from Matt and looks down at you again, crouched at your side like he’s holding the perimeter of the whole world with his body.

Matt doesn’t push it. He exhales once through his nose, tucks the batons away, and says, softer now, “Get her out of here. I’ll clean this up.”

Frank doesn’t argue, doesn’t thank him, doesn’t even nod. He just scoops you up like nothing else exists, one arm under your knees, the other around your back, pulling you against his chest.

“Frank—” you protest weakly, “I can walk—”

“The hell you can,” he growls, holding you tighter. “Not after that.”

The warehouse fades behind you, Daredevil’s shadow swallowed by the dark. Frank doesn’t set you down once, not until the two of you are back home and the deadbolt is thrown, like putting four walls between you and the rest of the world might keep you safe.

The door slams behind you, the deadbolt snapping into place with a finality that rattles the frame. Frank doesn’t let you down until you’re lowered carefully onto the couch, his big hands lingering at your waist like you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip too soon.

“Stay there.” His voice is low, shaking at the edges. He crouches in front of you for one more check—your eyes, your lip, the ugly swell of your cheekbone—before he pushes up and stalks into the kitchen.

You hear drawers opening, the tin of medical supplies hitting the counter with a clatter. He comes back with his arms full: antiseptic, gauze, the ice pack he keeps in the freezer for his own busted knuckles.

“Frank—”

“Don’t.” He kneels in front of you again, cracking open the antiseptic. His hands are steady, practiced, but his jaw is tight enough to cut glass. He presses the rag to your lip, gentler than his voice. “Don’t say you’re fine. Don’t you dare.”

You watch him as he works, big fingers trying to be careful around the angry bloom of bruising. His thumb ghosts under your jaw, tilting your face so the light hits your cheek, and the ice pack follows. It burns cold, but his hand at the back of your head is warm.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you murmur. “He was gonna stab you.”

He freezes, eyes flashing up to yours. For a long beat, there’s just silence—his breath, the quiet hum of the fridge, the sound of your own pulse in your ears. Then, low and rough, “You think I’d rather take a blade in the back than see him lay a finger on you?”

You try to smile, but it hurts your lip. “Frank, I couldn’t just—stand there.”

His hand cups your face before you can look away, thumb brushing the uninjured side of your cheek. There’s something wild in his eyes, something breaking. “Sweetheart…” He exhales like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. “You don’t get it. When I saw him hit you—” His voice cracks, just once. “I wasn’t there anymore. I just saw red. I almost—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head like he can shake the thought away.

“You stopped,” you whisper.

“Because you called me back,” he admits, quiet as confession. “Only reason.”

You want to reach for him, but he’s already wrapping gauze over your knuckles where you split them in the fight, layering protection over skin that barely stings compared to the way his eyes look right now.

The ice pack slips a little. He adjusts it, careful, precise. His fingers linger against your temple like maybe if he keeps touching you, he’ll believe you’re really here.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he mutters, finally sitting back on his heels. His broad chest rises and falls too fast, like he hasn’t stopped fighting. “Don’t—don’t ever do that again.”

You don’t promise him anything. You just put your hand over his, holding it there against your cheek, grounding both of you in the quiet.

For the rest of the night, Frank sits close—shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. He doesn’t turn on the TV, doesn’t touch his phone, just keeps his arm around you like if he lets go, the whole world will cave in.

Morning doesn’t creep in—it slams.

The sun is too bright through the blinds, too sharp against your bruised cheek, too loud in the room where Frank Castle is already pacing like a caged animal. He’s been awake for hours—you can tell by the empty coffee pot, the faint smell of gun oil, and the tightness in his shoulders as he moves back and forth across the floor.

You shift on the couch, the blanket he threw over you sliding down, and his head snaps around like a sniper tracking a target. His eyes rake over you—your face, your arms, every place he cleaned and bandaged last night. He doesn’t even blink.

“You should still be asleep,” he mutters. His voice is low, but it’s got that edge—the one that sounds like a growl trying to pass as human.

“I’m fine,” you say, pushing yourself upright. “Just sore.”

His jaw clenches, and that’s the last straw. He slams his palm down on the counter, the sound ricocheting like a gunshot.

“Don’t say that again.”

You blink. “What?”

“Don’t—” His voice rises, sharper now, the mask cracking. “Don’t you dare say you’re fine. You are not fine. You almost got your damn face caved in because you thought it’d be a good idea to play hero.”

Anger sparks in your chest, hot and defensive. “Play hero? Frank, I saved your life.”

His laugh is hollow, ugly. “You think I needed saving?” He takes a step toward you, finger stabbing the air like it’s a knife. “You think I’d rather live with you like this?” His hand gestures to your bruised cheek, the cut on your lip. “Than take the hit myself? Jesus Christ, sweetheart—what the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that a knife in your spine would kill you!” you snap back, standing now, fury burning through the ache in your body. “What was I supposed to do, Frank? Just watch it happen?”

“Yes!” The word explodes out of him, ragged, too loud. His chest heaves like he’s been running. “Yes, you stand back, you let me handle it. That’s the deal. That’s how this works.”

Your blood runs hot. “No. That’s how you want it to work. You get to bleed, you get to break, and I’m just supposed to sit pretty and patch you up after? No, Frank. I’m not built for that.”

“You think I want you built for this?” His voice cracks on the word want, like it’s been torn out of him. He drags a hand down his face, eyes closing, then slams his fist against the counter again. “I’m not gonna bury you. I can’t—I won’t—”

“You don’t get to decide that,” you fire back, throat tightening with more than just anger. “You don’t get to decide how much I love you, Frank. You don’t get to decide if I take a hit for you.”

He stops cold. The silence is deafening.

His chest rises and falls, heavy and uneven. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks like he doesn’t know where to put all that rage, all that grief. His hands curl and uncurl at his sides, the veins in his arms stark against his skin.

Finally, he shakes his head. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.” His voice is low now, dangerous with despair. “And I can’t—I can’t watch that happen. Not again.”

“Frank—”

“No.” He points at you, and it’s not anger anymore—it’s fear wearing anger’s mask. “You don’t understand. Every second you’re out there, every second you’re standing behind me—I see it. I see you gone. I see them taking you from me like they took everything else. And I can’t—I can’t breathe when I think about it.”

Your heart twists, but you can’t back down. Not when he’s looking at you like that. “Then maybe you need to figure out how to breathe, Frank. Because I’m not leaving you. Not when you’re out there taking on the world alone.”

Something in him buckles. He exhales hard, jaw working, and then he grabs his jacket off the chair.

“You don’t get it,” he mutters, already shoving his arms through the sleeves. “You’ll never get it.”

He storms to the door, movements jagged and furious, the weight of his body shaking the floorboards.

“Frank—”

He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t look back. The door slams so hard the frame rattles, and then he’s gone.

You stand there in the silence he leaves behind, chest heaving, the bruise on your cheek throbbing with your heartbeat. The apartment feels too big without him in it, too empty, like all the air walked out with him.

You don’t sit. You don’t cry. You just stare at the door and wait for it to open again.

Hours pass. Noon. Evening. Midnight. Still nothing.

When the lock finally clicks at 2 a.m., you’re still on the couch, arms crossed, eyes burning. 

The lock clicks at 2:03 a.m.

You don’t move. You’ve been waiting on that couch all day, fury burning a steady ember in your chest, arms crossed like a barricade. The bruise on your cheek has deepened into something ugly, purples and blues blooming beneath your skin, and it throbs in rhythm with your heartbeat as the door opens.

Frank steps inside, the weight of him filling the apartment the way thunder fills the sky. His jacket is damp, his boots tracked with dirt, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He looks like he’s been walking all night—like he’s been punishing the pavement for hours. His eyes cut to you immediately, then linger, guilt plain as the bruises on his knuckles.

You don’t speak. Neither does he.

He sets the jacket down slow, careful, like the noise might set you off. He doesn’t look away from you, though—not once—as if he’s waiting for you to move, to yell, to throw something. When you don’t, the silence presses heavier.

Finally, you stand. “You disappeared.” Your voice is sharp, brittle with the effort of holding back all the things you’ve wanted to scream since the door slammed that morning. “You left me here wondering if you’d even bother coming back.”

“I had to cool off,” Frank says, low, gravel scraping at the edges. “I didn’t wanna—” He stops, jaw tightening, then starts again. “I didn’t wanna say something I couldn’t take back.”

“You think walking out without a word was better?” Your chest heaves, tears threatening but refusing to fall. “You think leaving me here after everything that happened—after I took that hit for you—was the smart move?”

His mouth hardens. “Don’t you start with that again.”

“I will start with that again,” you snap, stepping closer. “I’m not gonna apologize for saving you, Frank. I’d do it again. I’ll always do it again.”

“Don’t say that.” He takes a sharp step toward you, the air between you tightening. “Don’t—”

“Why not? Because you can’t stand the thought of somebody giving a damn about you?”

His face twists, raw and unguarded. “Because I can’t lose you!” The words rip out of him, louder than he meant, louder than he’s ever let himself be with you. His chest rises and falls like he’s still in that warehouse, like the fight never ended. “You hear me? I can’t—I won’t—”

The silence afterward is thick. He’s staring at you like the truth just gutted him, like it’s bleeding out of him no matter how hard he tries to hold it in.

Your anger falters, swallowed by the weight of it. You step closer, softer now. “Frank…”

But he’s already moving—closing the space, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist so tight it’s almost bruising. His mouth crashes into yours, desperate and rough, all teeth and heat and apology wrapped into one.

You gasp against him, and he swallows it like oxygen, kissing you harder. It’s not gentle—it’s starving, frantic, like every second he spent away from you today carved something out of him that he’s trying to put back.

Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him down, and then you’re stumbling backward, hitting the wall with a thud. He presses into you, broad chest pinning you there, his mouth trailing down your jaw to the bruised corner of your lip, where he slows—soft now, reverent, like he’s begging forgiveness with every kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters against your skin, voice shaking. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so goddamn sorry.”

“Then don’t leave me,” you whisper, tugging his face back to yours. “Don’t walk out like that again.”

He kisses you like a vow, one hand sliding under your thigh, hitching your leg around his hip. The shift drags a groan out of both of you. His forehead drops to yours, breaths ragged, eyes dark with everything he can’t say.

“Never do that again,” he growls, the words raw against your lips. “Don’t you ever put yourself in the line for me like that. I can’t—I can’t lose you too.”

You don’t answer with words. You kiss him harder, pulling him with you as you stagger toward the bedroom, shedding clothes like confessions.

When you fall back onto the bed, he’s already on top of you, covering you with the same ferocity he uses in a fight—except this time it’s not destruction, it’s devotion. His hands roam like he’s cataloguing every inch of you, mouth trailing down your neck, murmuring things he’ll never admit to saying in daylight.

It’s not pretty. It’s not neat. It’s messy, frantic, desperate—the kind of sex that leaves nail marks and bruises, the kind that burns away anger until all that’s left is love so fierce it terrifies him.

And when it’s over, when you’re tangled together in the sheets, sweat cooling, his chest heaving against your back, Frank doesn’t let go. His arm locks around your middle, his face pressed into your hair, and in the hush of the room you hear it again, softer this time, broken open and real:

“Don’t make me lose you, sweetheart. Please.”

You lace your fingers over his, holding him in place. “I’m not going anywhere, Frank.”

For once, he lets himself believe you.

You wake first.

The light is pale through the blinds, dust motes spinning lazy in the air. The apartment smells like coffee and gun oil and faint sweat, but beneath it all is the steady warmth of Frank Castle wrapped around you like a fortress.

His arm is slung heavy over your waist, chest pressed against your back, face buried in the curve of your neck. You can feel his breath—slow, deep, the kind of breathing he only does when he’s finally, finally asleep.

You don’t move. Not yet.

Because this is rare—this softness, this calm. Frank sleeps, but not like this. Usually it’s tense, shallow, restless. But after last night, after the fight, the bruises, the breaking open and the putting back together—he’s out cold. His hand twitches against your stomach, fingers flexing as if he’s dreaming of holding on tighter.

You let him.

It takes another hour before he stirs. His breath shifts, his grip tightens, and then he groans low in his throat, a bear waking. His mouth brushes your shoulder, half kiss, half habit, and then he goes still.

“You awake?” you whisper.

He exhales hard. “Yeah.” His voice is rough, scratchy, like gravel under boots. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, not ready to face the world yet. “Shoulda let you sleep.”

“I didn’t want to.”

There’s a long pause. Then, softer: “Face looks worse this morning.”

You huff. “Thanks for the compliment.”

“I’ll kill him again,” Frank mutters, and you can hear the sincerity, the way his voice dips into that deadly place. “If I think about it too long—”

You roll onto your back so you can see him. His hair is a mess, his eyes bloodshot, stubble dark on his jaw. He looks wrecked—and so heartbreakingly human.

“Hey.” You catch his chin, make him look at you. “I’m here. You didn’t lose me.”

His throat works, and for a second, you think he might look away. But he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes on yours, dark and unblinking.

“I meant what I said.” His hand cups your face, thumb brushing lightly over the bruise like he’s memorizing the pain he caused by letting you step in front of him. “Never do that again. I can’t lose you too.”

You swallow hard. “And I meant what I said. I’m not gonna stand back and watch you die. You can’t ask me to do that, Frank.”

His eyes close, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You make it impossible, sweetheart.”

“Good,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss him, soft this time, unhurried. “Because you’re stuck with me.”

He kisses you back, lingering, a sigh slipping from him like maybe—for one breath—he believes it’s true. When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours, eyes still closed, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t look like a soldier on watch. He just looks like a man holding the only thing in the world that keeps him steady.

“Breakfast?” you ask, after the silence stretches.

He huffs out something that almost passes for a laugh. “Only if you let me cook. Last time you damn near burned the eggs.”

“Liar.”

“You distracted me,” he says, half-smile twitching at his mouth.

You grin, even as your cheek aches. “Guess I’ll just have to do it again.”

And for the first time since last night, Frank Castle actually laughs—quiet, low, but real.

[letmewritemylife]

aot socmed memes dump parttttt whatever !!!!!

also i’m obsessed with gabi bullying levi post rumbling. found family if i ever saw it!!!!!

[letmewritemylife]

AOT as Tweets

Tweets that I think resonate with the Aot cast.

[letmewritemylife]

Shinzo wo Sasageyo!

[Update: Sorry, it has Glaze to protect my work from AI]

[letmewritemylife]

i love that when eren started the apocalypse the first thing reiner did was give up and go into a coma while surrounded by carbs. reiner we are the same

[letmewritemylife]

Me when I’m crying over then end of Attack on Titan, but randomly remember the aot x sanrio collab

[letmewritemylife]

Here are all the Zutara requests so far 🥰

[letmewritemylife]

reachin' up for sunlight (just to be ripped out by the stem)

dr. robert chase x fem!reader

summary: Robert Chase and you fell somewhere, somehow, somewhat in love each other at what was the worst time of your lives. Now, a decade later, you've showed up at the one place he didn't think he'd see you, Princeton-Plainsboro, as a patient.

wc: 17k

tw: typical house medical stuff, Chase's family history (yes thats a tw) and some allusion to not a great family life for reader also!

author's note: this is a week late, but in my defense..its 17k words long. also, i'm not a medical doctor or even close to one so if you wanted accurate medical shit, wrong place! wrong person! this has not been beta read so apologizes!

have a request? ask away!

Dr. Chase took a moment to glance as he stepped out of the elevator door, and the next moment to breath in happy to be out of his own place. The long weekend off had done nothing for him, he felt exhausted. His weekend off had finally taken all the excuses he had left and he had pulled out the last box of things that his father had left him. 

It had been months (half a year? when did that happen?) at this point since he had learnt of his father’s death. When it first happened, it was like nothing had changed, he got the phone call, he remembers thanking the person for the information and then continuing on with his day. (Given the lawsuit that had found itself into his life, obviously it had bothered him more than he first thought.)

But then the box showed up. It had taken a week, and Chase had already learnt that his father left him no money (although it wasn’t shocking) so when the box showed up, he had been confused. Inside the packing bag, was a fairly decent sized briefcase. For the first week, the briefcase stayed on the dining room table. It’s not like he ate dinner in his apartment anyways. It haunted him often, and it took three days of it sitting there for him to realize it was the same briefcase he remembers his dad coming home from work with before he had left. That clarity was enough for him to take the briefcase and shove it against a nook, out of eye sight. And then came the long weekend half a year later, and what else was he suppose to do? Suddenly he was faced with the fact that five months later, the briefcase was still here and his father wasn’t. So he had picked it up back and opened it. 

There wasn’t a lot, the deed to a house his father had owned passed to Chase, some heirlooms he doesn’t recognize that he’s sure his father would be ashamed at the blank memory. The folder in which the deed rested in had been filled with other papers, some obviously were older than most. The already mentioned deed (and the pile of paperwork that comes with that), a pile of photos from before his father left, some mail that he’s sure his father’s lawyers had forwarded, and a bundle of letters, the top one doesn’t have a return address instead just “Robert” written in his fathers illegible writing. Papers that he couldn’t get himself to sort through so instead, he threw them on the table and moved along. The briefcase had ended up making its home at the front of his door, he had stared it down this morning before leaving thinking about easy it would be to slip his own things into it and use it. 

The beep of the elevator shakes him from the small turmoil he was suddenly throwing himself into. He forced his feet to start moving himself. 

The wooden bench was not meant to be sat on for hours: she had come to that conclusion about 20 minutes into camping in the hallway. That had been about an hour and a half ago according to her watch. Still, the lengthy medical file with her name poking out of the top was enough for her to deal with the numbness of her legs. The idea of wasting time did linger in the back of her head, she let out a small sigh and leaned her head up against the wall behind her, keeping her unfocused gaze on the ceiling. 

(Y/N) had found herself thinking about quitting her paralegal job at the law firm she had finally made a home at. Everything was going so well she had finally found herself a position that used her degree, and was in a town that she found the perfect balance of small but still full of things happening. Whatever bad luck she had when she was a teenager had finally been flushed out, or so she thought. 

About a week ago, she had fallen sick, quite literally. She had blacked out at her desk and came to by a small tap on her cheek, one of her bosses was crouched down near her obvious concern across her face. (Y/N) had felt embarrassed immediately and tried to sit up at her desk, but couldn’t seem to find her own strength and felt her face shake a little at the energy that was being used. Her struggle must have been obvious, as her boss had sent her home with a referral to a doctor she recommends. She was sent home by the first doctor with a simple answer of “stressed, dehydrated”, “You legal type work too hard, just give yourself the weekend” 

So she did. A whole weekend off, not answering her pager, her cellphone or home phone. It was a hard weekend, a reminder of the emptiness she had found herself in for adulthood. She had her job, her own pride, her health (for now), she tried not to think of the loneliness that lingered in the crawl spaces of her life. It would just lead to her dwelling on her teen years spent miles away, across oceans and railroads, with the one person who took in every piece of her and had shed light on the loneliness. No enough. 

She finally focused her gaze again and went back to staring at the tiles on the ceiling. She couldn’t think of him, she avoided it all these years and there’s no reason to think of it, of them, now. The ceiling is four by six tiles. She thinks to herself and it immediately brings her back to the ache of her butt against the wooden bench. A ding of the elevator torn her eyes from the ceiling and she went back to staring down the empty office’s glass door. 

Dr. Chase felt a few people slip out of the elevator behind him and he finally kicked himself into gear, moving towards the conference room. He was sure no one would be in yet, but he couldn’t stand sitting around anymore, better to hang out in the conference room where Foreman and Cameron might be able to pull him out of his own existential dread. Even if it’ll be through pissing him off, it would be better than this. 

Across the conference room, Chase noticed a small figure slightly slumped on the wooden bench. The color of her hair made his gut tighten just for a moment. The way it laid, the exact color, it all felt too close to someone he knew so long ago, someone he never thinks about anymore. It wasn’t on purpose, the way he immediately moved his feet towards the person on the bench. 

(Y/N) had heard the footsteps coming closer to her and ended up sitting up a little in her spot and looked up at the doctor who had stopped a little further than she thought he would. Whatever thoughts she was trying to avoid a few minutes ago, suddenly swarmed across her mind.  Dr. Chase didn’t even make it all the way over the person before his feet stopped him, it couldn’t be. 

There was a moment where they seemed to both size each other up, to debate if they had lost their minds. Chase couldn’t help the way his feet moved, they were use to walking towards her, not running away from her. 

“(Y/N)” Chase barely recognized his own voice. (Y/N) on the other hand had that voice burned into her brain. The lilt in the accent, the slight breathlessness laced in her name. It had been at least a decade since she heard him say her name. Still she could pick him out by voice alone. 

(Y/N) straightened her back against the wall in her sitting position and opened her mouth to reply. Nothing came out. Instead, the unanswered letters she had sent 10 years ago flash across her mind. She finally closed her mouth and kept her gaze up. He looked mostly the same, older of course, a decade apart will do that to a person. He had let his hair grow out, and despite the shocked look on his face, he still had the same rosy undertone in his cheeks. 

Chase took her silence to really look at her. He thinks of lingering teen hands, of giggling in the dark, of the only soft thing he had when everything was falling apart around him. There had been plenty of parties in his teenage years, so many girls, so many things he hid away but (Y/N). (Y/N) had been the one person he never spoke about, he had done his best to ignore the betrayal he felt when she left and she never reached out to him. He had packed it away. His father’s briefcase all packed with his things flashes in his mind. 

“What are you doing here?” Chase finally speaks up again, he rolled his shoulders a little and tried to put on a front, tried to pretend he wasn’t aching at the sight of her now. She still mostly looked the same, a little thinner than he thinks is natural for her, slightly hollow in her face in places that shouldn’t look like that. He tore his eyes away and glanced over to the empty conference room, House’s empty office. He ignored the voice telling him something was wrong. He had looked away and she could find her voice again. 

“Robert” (Y/N) finally spoke said the only thing that came to mind.  She didn’t know how to answer his questions, she wasn’t here to even ask his professional opinion, she had no idea he was even here. She had last seen him so far from here she never imagined he would have came all the way to New Jersey. 

Thankfully, the moment died quite quickly. Sadly, it was broken by the voice by House. 

“Chase, tell Wilson here..” House didn’t finish his sentence when he noticed Wilson had taken his chance to slip away, not wanting to hear whatever shitty thing House was going to yell across the hall to Chase. 

Chase clenched his jaw and kept his eyes trained on House as he limped over to where Chase stood. 

“Not now House,” Chase mumbled. 

“Dr. House?” (Y/N) tried to confirm if this was the man she was told could help her. House acted like he didn’t hear her and went to say something else to Chase before (Y/N) stood up quickly and held her medical file out towards House. 

“My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and I was referred to you. I work under Stacy Warner and-“ (Y/N) was cut off by a small wave of fatigue. She felt her legs shake a little at the act of standing up so quickly. Chase didn’t think twice  when he moved a little closer, let his hand linger around (Y/N)’s  arms. He stopped himself before he could actually put his hand on her, there was something scary about the idea of touching her again after all this time. It felt like another lifetime when he had the chance to be able to touch her freely, and her disappearance from his life felt like enough for a sign that she didn’t want him to touch her anymore. 

His voice soften when he spoke, “Hey, you should sit back down,” he kept his hands lingering near his elbow as he came closer to her, a little nudge to get her back onto the bench. (Y/N) listens without thinking and falls back onto the wooden bench. Her medical file is still in her hand and slightly held up towards Dr. House. “If you could at least look at it, tell me anything please,” (Y/N) tried to get Dr. House’s attention. 

House didn’t seem to be looking at her, or the medical file. Instead he had his gaze trailed on Chase, on the hand that he pulled away and shoved into his coat pocket when he noticed the lack of response from (Y/N). House finally caught Chase’s eye for only a moment before Chase immediately looked away. It was the only response House really needed. It had been a while since something had Chase on edge. House had been wondering if after the lawsuit Chase had caught if he decided to simply shut down, but his actions now seemed to say otherwise. 

House barely glanced at (Y/N) before snatching the medical file from her hand. (Y/N) let out a small sigh and leaned her head against the wall again, her eyes closed for a moment in relief. Dr. House grabbed my file, he’s opening it, Stacy had told her this would be the hardest part and she did it. (She can’t help but internally laugh at the fact that the hardest part is Robert Chase standing. right. there. But Stacy couldn’t have known.) 

Dr. House barely glanced at the file before swing it towards Chase for him to take it. Chase clenched his jaw but took the file and held it closed. 

“You ever spend time in Australia?” Dr. House leans against his cane as he finally stares down (Y/N). 

(Y/N) couldn’t help but glance over to Chase who was staring down House. She thought of her time in Australia. She had met Robert by accident, when she was working some fancy event that he was attending as a teenager. He was so obviously a bad idea, but he made her laugh and she could see the insecurity behind whatever fake gusto he was displaying. She remembers how he had almost blown her off when he realized that he wasn’t going to be able to fuck her tonight. She tries not to dwell on the years they spent attached at the hip. She tries not to think of all his secrets she had been holding close to her heart. Sometimes, when she focuses enough, she can remember the first time he had confessed that he thinks(knows) that no one else will ever understand him the way (Y/N) did. 

“I lived in Australia for 5 years when I was 16. My mother wanted me away from my father, and apparently across the country wasn’t enough, so she took me to the further place she could think of. It’s been so long I doubt it’s connected, I just barely started getting sick.” (Y/N) answered keeping her gaze away from Chase. 

House let out a little “huh” before he opened his mouth to say something else. Chase immediately spoke up to stop him from asking what he knows House will ask, “No.”  House glanced over Chase’s shoulder and noticed Cameron and Foreman making their way over to the both of them. 

House snatched the medical file, that Chase still hadn’t open, and met Cameron and Foreman half way and pressed the file into Foreman’s hands. Chase took a moment to glance at (Y/N). He thought of how much it hurt when she left, he thinks of her promises that she would write, that being physically separated didn’t mean anything with them. She felt his eyes on her and pulled her eyes from the ceiling, Chase still seemed to have her memorized because he could tell she was going to say something about the situation and he wasn’t sure he could handle it. He immediately turned away and went over to where Cameron was speaking. 

“It says here she had a cold about a month ago….”

“She also lived in Australia when she was 15 and now she seems to be 30. Weird right?” House said in an obnoxious tone that had Chase glaring at him already. 

Cameron’s attention is pulled from the file as she looks at Chase slightly confused. “You know her?” She asked ignoring the glare Chase is wearing. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Foreman said as he quickly walked over to (Y/N). She seemed to be slightly falling asleep against the wall, her head falling a little before she realized and slightly stood up. Foreman grabbed her shoulder a little and shook her awake a little. House watched as Foreman made sure she was aware of where she was, he noticed the way Chase’s jaw clenched at Foreman’s attention and grabbed the file out of Cameron’s hand. 

“Get her a room, and come back to me with information.” House made his way back to his office. Cameron glances at Chase for only a second before she made her way over to (Y/N) and helped Foreman out. Chase didn’t move, keeping his eyes on House his jaw clenched, “Well. Go!” House motioned with his cane. 

Chase had waited for House to make himself comfortable in his office before he took off. He didn’t even mention to Cameron and Foreman that he wouldn’t be around. He just needs a few moments to himself, the irony of how much he didn’t want to be alone an hour ago wasn’t lost on him. Chase was staring at the inside of his locker, he had walked into the doctor locker room without thinking and opened his locker like he was going to go home. The locker was full of his own items and he tried to take inventory. Instead he lost himself in the memory last time he had spoken to (Y/N) face to face.

They were both 21, he never had a secret with (Y/N) since he first opened up. Often, he remembers feeling like she had came into his life and without any medical school, knew how to perform open heart surgery, knew his insides without any problems. This was the first time he had held a secret from her. He had confirmed his medical school entry date and had been scared to mention it to her. ow, he couldn’t avoid it anymore, he was leaving tomorrow and the guilt at not telling her soon ate him alive. For the last few years it was just them, together, Chase knows he has his sister, and really his mother is still alive, but neither of them seem to see Chase. They see his hands cleaning up their mess, his voice lecturing them about something new. Then there was (Y/N). Every time he imagines not having (Y/N) it feels like those first ten minutes he was locked in his father’s office for the first time. He feels the ache in his hands from pounding on the wooden door, the panic in his chest. 

“Bobby,” (Y/N)’s singsongy voice came from behind him. 

He had picked her favorite little coffee shop he had shown her. She always claimed she liked all his spots equally, but something about the beach side patio this one had always made her brighten up a little. He likes to think it has to do with the fact that they can easily walk to the little beach cave they use to spend time in. He hoped it was enough to make her not hate him. 

He knew he wasn’t just dependent on her, it was mutual. She rarely spoke of her family, of the father and brothers she was pulled away from in the States. When she did speak of her mother it was in the same tone Chase spoke of his own. Distain, slightly laced with the longing want for someone, anyone to care. They both chalked it up to teenage angst as they grew together, not wanting the other to think them broken. It was a precarious situation. Both afraid the other would leave if they were broken, both holding each other together. 

(Y/N) was, as always in Chase’s eyes, beautiful. She was a little frazzled, caught being late as she was between class and work.She went to lean down next to his seat and without thinking he pulled himself up a little more, knowing what was coming. 

“Thought I told you not to call me that,” Chase mumbled a little as she pressed her lips against his cheek in a swift kiss. When she straighten up again and started towards the seat across from him, Chase stopped her and reached out to grab her hand. She stopped her movement without question and he pressed a small kiss onto the top of her hand before dropping it and letting her settle into her seat. 

She hummed a little at his comment, “Would you believe me if I said I forgot?”

Chase laughed a little under his breath and rolled his eyes slightly playful. 

(Y/N) took a moment to glance around the coffee shop. When they first really became friends, Chase would insist on meeting up somewhere, not wanting to expose (Y/N) to his mother, and (Y/N) hadn’t questioned it not wanting to answer questions about her own mother. This coffee shop had been in the middle of all the trips and for a while it didn’t mean anything to her. Most of them didn’t matter to her, what mattered was the company with her. What mattered what light blonde hair and rosy cheeks and blue eyes set in that slightly mischievous glare. What mattered when it came to their breakfast dates was how Chase would slip his feet towards her under the table, press his leg against hers just to feel her. What mattered was how easily it was kiss for kiss with them. 

Chase pulls out the folder he had put together, he was prepared, had his whole schedule, what halls he’s being put into. He had taught himself to have it all ready. 

“I was going to tell you sooner, but..” Chase trails off and keeps his eyes locked on the top of her head as she skimmed throughout all the papers he had pushed across the table. (Y/N) didn’t say anything for a few minutes, as she looked through the papers. Chase kept trying to find an excuse as to why he waited last minute to tell her he was leaving for medical school. It was never a secret this is what he wanted, had never let himself dream about it out loud unless (Y/N) was the one listening. Now, he was felt the guilt of abandoning her for this dream looming in his throat. (Y/N) took a sip of her now cooled down beverage and pushed the papers back into the middle of the table. 

“Can I keep this paper? Or should I just write the address down? Can you even get mail in a college hall? ” She said keeping her eyes on the paper. She ignores the abandonment that’s growing in her own gut, tries to figure out what can work with them. She knew this was coming and she wished he had told her sooner, but at least he told her. 

“What?” 

“You need an address to be able to get mail, as far as I understand the postal service at least.” (Y/N) took a sip from her drink once more and kept her hands on the cup and squeezed it just a little. 

Chase couldn’t help but laugh a little at her. He glanced down to the way she was squeezing her take out cup, reading it for the anxious movement it was he put his hand onto the table, his palm facing up. The dread he felt a few minutes away seemed to simply melt away. Of course it was going to be easy, it always is with (Y/N). She would write, he would reply, and they would survive. It would be even easier than it was now, besides the fact that they’d never actually see each other. Okay so maybe not easier, but worth it anyways. 

(Y/N) looked at the palm open hand Chase had stretched towards her and immediately dropped her hand into his.  He tightened his grip on her hand for just a few seconds before relaxing his grip and keeping his gaze on their clasps hands. 

“Just write to my current address, I’ll be back every other weekend to see my sister. It’ll make it easier to come knowing your letters, hand delivered,  are waiting” Chase said trailing off a little at his final statement. (Y/N) hummed in reply. They both see it for what it is, an invitation to wait for him every weekend, to just hold on during those weekdays. 

Chase squeezed his eyes closed at the memory. It continued without his permission. He remembers the first weekend he came back to visit his sister. It was a weekend his father decided to play his part, he was there, asking questions after question about medical school. More importantly,  (Y/N) had written a letter explaining that she had to leave (the details were blurry but Chase knew how much she didn’t like talking about her family) but she would keep writing, and he should write back, she misses his words, really his voice but his words will do for now.  Chase had spent that whole weekend rereading the letter, had recited the letter in his mind when his father was ranting about the medical school Chase had picked. Even now, all these years later, he can see her handwriting, her words at the end, in his head. Sorry I’m not actually there, but let’s pretend I am, we’d be sitting in that little grove you’ve hidden away from your sister, with shitty coffee made by whatever maid your father hired this week. Go do that. I’ll find some shitty coffee on Saturday, maybe if we’re lucky we’ll be doing it at the same time. (Hope to ) See you soon. 

Sick of the flashbacks, Chase presses his locker door closed and looks around at the empty locker room.  

_______

Chase slipped into the chair next to Cameron in the conference office. He put down the tray of coffee and takes his own out from the slot before Cameron and Foreman grabbed theirs. 

“Thought I hired you as a doctor, not an intern?” House spoke as he wrote on the white board. 

Chase glared at his back for just a moment before using a second to try and stable his voice, “Good thing I didn’t get you a coffee then”

Foreman slid a copy of the medical file he had made towards Chase. Chase’s eyes went to the file, he stared down the name sticking out from the top. (Y/N) (Y/L/N). He grabbed the file and held it closed but moved his gaze to House who had finished his nonsense on the whiteboard. Now that he wasn’t blocking it, Chase could see it was a rough timeline. His grip on the file tightened and he heard Cameron let out a sad sigh. 

“At 16, (Y/N) moves to Australia and she leaves when she’s 21,” House took another marker and circles the area between those years, “ Which makes these the Robert years,” House moves around on his cane for a moment mimicking a pace.

“She got sick a week ago, how is this relevant?” Foreman knew it was useless to ask the questions but he couldn’t help it. 

“Why would it not be relevant?”House leaned against his cane, “Parasite,  STD, spider bite, botched abortion who knows what happened in Australia?” 

Chase took his eyes off the whiteboard at House’s words the glare in his eyes back. After a second he finally found the courage and opened up the medical file to pretend he could handle this. His eyes immediately focused on the photo copy of her drivers license photo. 

“Can’t you torture Chase on your own time?” Cameron mumbles a little as she opens her own file and seems to focus on something inside of it. “Botulism fits most the symptoms?” 

“Botched abortion could have left the little Chase attached to her uterus, growing this whole time.” House ignored Cameron and kept his eyes on Chase. Chase looked up and gave House the most bored look he could muster. He couldn’t get himself to tell House anything. 

“It’s been too long for Botulism, but heavy metal poisoning could mimic it depending on the metal?” Foreman stated although he knows only Cameron seems to be paying attention.  

“She’s a paralegal who lives in a fairly decent area, where would she be exposed to that much of any heavy metal?” Cameron shut the file and finally looked at House who was staring down Chase still. At this point House typically picks a side and decided something. House gives Cameron a look of confusion, “Sorry” He hisses a little sarcastically “haven’t heard from my whole team, can’t decide just yet.” 

Chase didn’t think as he ran his thumb over the little black and white photo. He was listening just barely and realized both the options would give House an excuse to go diving into (Y/N)’s current life. He couldn’t seem to focus on the actual symptoms but when House hissed he looked up and noticed all three pairs of eyes on him. 

Cameron’s pity was written across her face and Chase clenched his jaw at how bad it made him feel. Foreman looked away immediately and focused on House instead. “Both can be found with blood testing,” House finally gave up and leaned back in his chair, cane sitting between his legs. 

All three doctors took the dismissal for what it was and stood up. House cleared his throat and stared at Chase a little dumbfounded, “Not done with you.” House waved away Cameron and Foreman. Cameron patted Chase’s arm as she passed him and exited, Foreman right behind her. House made his way into his office, Chase behind him. 

_____ 

In the hospital room, (Y/N) sat up in the bed a little at the sight of Dr. Cameron and Dr. Foreman. The last few hours had been hard for her, sitting in the dull hospital bed reliving those few moments with Chase over and over. She had gone from shocked to angry to sad to shocked multiple times and now she’s landed on simply dazed. She saved her lamenting of those years for dark nights in her empty apartment, for dreams that she pretended weren’t memories and now she couldn’t do that. The second she saw him, she had remembered the weeks she’d spent waiting for a reply, she remembers writing letter after letter, and never getting once back. There was a year of her life that she swore she spent more time at her local post office and PO box than her own little shitty apartment. It had taken a little over a year before she wrote her final letter to Chase. She wasn’t sure why he never replied, wasn’t sure what happened, but whatever it was, she wanted the best for him. She had ended this letter different than most, no references for a future, instead a simple goodbye. 

“We’re going to need a few samples, blood, urine, the simple stuff” Dr. Cameron smiled at her. 

(Y/N) liked Dr. Cameron so far. She had been polite, and managed to make some small talk when she and Dr. Foreman had helped get her settle into the hospital. She spoke kindly to the nurses and despite the awkwardness that came from the fact that everyone seemed to know Chase, Cameron treated (Y/N) as well as she can imagine a doctor could. 

“If this is for drugs, I’ve already admitted to smoking weed in the past but its been years, and my file is completely up to date and correct about any medication I have taken,” (Y/N)   said as Foreman grabbed some tools close by and motioned for her arm. (Y/N) let him take it and looked away as he took some blood. 

Cameron noticed the way (Y/N) seemed a little squeamish at the needle and moved to look at her. “We’re going to look for any sort of toxicity within your blood. You might have been exposed to something that’s causing your condition.” 

(Y/N) had a confused look on her face for a moment she went to open her mouth to speak back, try and understand what she possibly been exposed to. Cameron watched as (Y/N) seemed to lose her train of thought and in seconds, (Y/N) started to seize. 

_____ 

“I don’t want to talk about her,” Chase started once House had settled himself into his chair. 

“Really? Couldn’t tell,” House moved a little in his chair, “Problem is, you need to do your job, which involves, speaking.” House emphasized at the end of his sentence. 

“Just let me run the blood tests, or any of the lab work, I’m sure Cameron would like a break from the lab.” 

House took a moment to rest his feet up on his desk and stared Chase down for a moment. 

“I didn’t do anything to her, I haven’t seen her in years. She’s sick and I have nothing to do with it.” Chase said. He’s been repeating the same phrase in his head since he first heard Cameron and Foreman debating the diagnosis. She’s sick. She’s sick. She’s sick. 

“What are her symptoms?” House asks. 

Chase rolled his eyes, knowing full well that House had already memorized the file. When he got no answer, House stood back up and walked towards Chase and snatched the medical file Chase had been gripping this whole time. “Go away, you’re no fun to me.” 

House went to his office door and held it open, waiting for Chase to leave. Instead, Cameron filled the doorway, “She seized.” Cameron was obviously out of breath, “She’s been given lorazepam and-“ 

Chase took the medical file back from House before interrupting Cameron speaking, “Brain stem seizure could be a possibility” he mumbled a little under his breath as he opened the file and ran his thumb across the photo again and glanced at the medical tests already performed by previous doctors. “She’s always had high blood pressure,” Chase kept the file open but looked up to meet House’s gaze. House took a moment and focused his gaze on Chase before turning to Cameron

“Put her on Reteplase,” House started to walk away. 

“We should do an MRI first, it might not be a brain stem seizure, Reteplase can-” Chase was cut off before he could finish. 

“You know where the patient is, you know where the MRI machine is. Do it yourself.” House looked at Cameron “Give her Reteplase and monitor her”

_____ 

Chase didn’t pray that often anymore, but he almost went to the hospital chapel when Cameron said he would help him get the MRI before she gave her Reteplase. He tried to ignore the obvious pity Cameron had when she said she’d help him. He’s sure he looked like a kicked puppy when he realized House was going to force him to see (Y/N) no matter what, at least it’s working to his advantage. 

Cameron slipped (Y/N) into the MRI room and Chase felt himself sit up straighter in the computer chair as he watched them chit chat with each other. He didn’t think about his actions as he pressed the speaker button to be able to hear them. 

“Montgomery’s library is a little bigger than the this towns, but I think the university library tends to be the best for content,” (Y/N) had been speaking in a slightly out of breath tone. Chase wondered about her oxygen stats and leans forward on his seat to really look at her. Cameron’s voice was in the background as she replied to (Y/N)’s comment but Chase wasn’t pay enough attention to make out the words. Still, Chase felt a burst of joy at how easy Cameron connected with patients. 

Instead, he noticed the way (Y/N)’s hand shook gently, a slight tremor, another symptom he knew. He noticed the dark red nail color she had on, slightly chipped and obviously done by her own hand since her non dominant hand seemed a little messier than the other. The fact that she had already pulled Cameron into a full conversation effortlessly was also familiar. He remembered how easy it was to just listen to her. When they were young he remembers telling her he hated the silence, he had so much of it. She had always feared over talking, taking too much of the space. He smiled a little at how much stayed the same when he noticed the sheepish look on (Y/N)’s face at the fact Cameron had to stop their conversation to work. Cameron had slipped back into the computer room once she had gotten (Y/N) settled. 

There was a moment of silence as Cameron checked the systems. “She’s nice,” Cameron finally broke the silence. 

“Didn’t like her because she was nice,” Chase couldn’t help the way his defense seemed to come up. He still felt like he was in the room with House. If he looked over he’s sure he would catch Cameron rolling her eyes. Chase opened his mouth to apologize, maybe even to thank Cameron for her help, but was interrupted by a voice through the speaker. 

“Dr. Cameron, I should have probably mentioned that enclosed spaces aren’t exactly my favorite” (Y/N)’s voice held a slightly nervous shake. 

Chase clenched his jaw and looked at the machine throughout the window, he felt Cameron’s eyes on the side of his head and he reached his hand out to the speaker button and thought about what to say. His hand fell short once he found his own thoughts and he looked over at Cameron, “Ask her to tell you about the worst movie she’s watched recently,” He said in a slightly whisper, as if (Y/N) could hear through the glass and the machine. 

Cameron turned to glare at Chase but the look fell from her face after a moment, he had turn his gaze back to (Y/N) in the machine. His hand was resting near the speaker button, she could tell he wanted to do something, felt the small bouts of desperation that slightly radiated off him. Without thinking, she reached past his hand and pressed the speaker button. 

“No worries (Y/N), close your eyes and stay still it’ll go by really quickly” Cameron took her finger off the button. 

Cameron watched on the screen as (Y/N) settled and closed her eyes. The tension of the enclosed spaced was written across her face and when she glanced out the window and saw (Y/N)’s hand in a tight fist. Chase’s hand balling itself into a fist stole Cameron’s attention for just a second. 

Cameron let herself start looking at the scan and for a few seconds she had focused in enough to forget the situation around her, until she went to point something out to Chase and he seemed to still be staring through the glass focused at the way (Y/N) was relaxing her fist just to clench it again. Cameron had felt like she had learnt everything there was to know about Chase in the years working with him. Even sleeping with him hadn’t really taught her anything about him. She had used that experience as an excuse to write him off completely, an arrogant pretty boy doctor with daddy issues, they were everywhere in this field. Now she was faced with a quick reevaluation of him, had to put him into this new light. His other hand rested against his mouth in that same stubborn way he rested when he was resisting the urge to speak up. She had blown off the obvious connection with Chase and (Y/N) as a teenage year mistake that Chase was too proud to face, but that didn’t explain why he seemed to care that she was uncomfortable in the machine, explain the motion Cameron had caught of his thumb tracing (Y/N)’s picture. In just a few seconds Cameron made her decision and reached out to press the speaker button. 

“Hey (Y/N), do you like movies?” Cameron said in a soft voice and watched through the window as (Y/N)’s fist unclenched a little, Chase pulled his hand away from where it rested near the speaker button. 

(Y/N) hummed in response obviously doing her best to take the distraction given to her. 

“I saw this terrible movie in theaters last week.” Cameron continued trying to search for the last movie trailer she had seen on television to sustain her lie “Worst thing ever, something about calls? Ever heard of it?” She leaned back in her chair once she heard (Y/N)’s voice in a steady stream start to talk about what movie she thinks Cameron was referring to.  

She let go of the button and glanced over to Chase. (Y/N)’s voice was gentle in the room and Cameron noticed the way Chase settled back into his seat, and finally started to look at the work on his screen trying to catch anything in the scan. For a few minutes it went on like this, Cameron and Chase exchanging mumbles of “nothing here” at each scan loading, (Y/N)’s voice through the speaking filing the emptiness. There was a moment of lull in which (Y/N) had tampered off, slightly embarrassed at how quickly she had let herself start to ramble. 

Without taking a chance to look away from the scans, Chase reached his hand out, pressed the speaker button and, out of an old habit, something that was buried inside him from years ago, spoke out “Where’s the unmute button?” 

In the MRI machine (Y/N) felt herself lose her breath at the words. The phrase always lingered in her mind when she needed the boost of confidence even all these years later. She wishes she could remember when the joke had started, the first time Chase had joked about how she stops herself without any warning, how jarring it felt like someone had pressed the mute button on their conversation.The insecurity in her own voice had slowly started to disappear when she realized that Chase really did like hearing her ramble, it took him out of his own mind. He had started asking for the unmute button as a joke whenever he felt the heavy air of silence and eventually it just became a phrase she took as a sign that she was being listened to, that she, herself, was being listened to. 

She didn’t know what was happening outside the machine so she assumed that the tension she felt came from hearing the phrase. She let out a small breath and closed her eyes once more before she started speaking again. This was something she could do, she understood her role when she heard “unmute button” even after all this time. 

Cameron heard (Y/N)’s breath hitch for just a second before she continued on her rambling. Almost in tune with her, Chase froze until she started rambling again. 

Cameron opened her mouth and started to say something, “Chase..” She tried to find the right words. 

“It’s been ten years, it really doesn’t matter.” Chase didn’t let her continue. He leaned back into the office chair and let out a small sigh  “The brain stem looks completely clean, not a single sign of seizure” He sounded obviously defeated. 

Cameron didn’t say anything but instead stared at the scans. She tried to find an obvious sign of anything wrong in the scans they already had. Before she got the chance to speak Chase stood up and rushed out of the computer room. 

Cameron pressed the speaker button “Okay (Y/N), we’re all set, I’m going to come help you out.” 

—— 

 Chase knew that Cameron could handle (Y/N) and while the idea of them alone made him a little nervous, the idea of having to face (Y/N) was more nerve wracking. Instead, Chase had stopped by and visited Foreman in the lab to check on the samples. Foreman glanced up thinking it was something important. When he noticed it was just Chase he went back to reading the sample slide. Chase took a stool out from under the counter and sat next to Foreman, but kept himself facing the counter. He didn’t know exactly what he was here for, Foreman seemed to have it almost finished and they had rarely hung out and chit chatted for fun. 

“Brain stem is clean.” Chase finally spoke, best to land on the one thing they do have in common: the patient. Chase ignored the way his gut tightened at the idea of (Y/N) as a patient. She’s sick. She’s sick. She’s sick.  

“The toxicity report came back clean also,” Foreman let out a small sigh as he leaned back and crossed his arms, “Her liver functions seem fine, her blood seems a little high in white blood cells but she just got over a cold a few weeks ago.” 

Chase had his hand in his coat pocket, squeezing his fist for a moment as he tried to understand what was happening. 

“You’re stupid for letting House get to you this much,” Foreman mumbled a little as he started cleaning up the blood samples he had. 

“Like he’s never gotten to you?” Chase felt himself slip back into the amour he had built himself so long ago. Right, this is why he sought out Foreman. He exists as a reminder of the person he had crafted himself into here.  

“I hide it better than you,” Foreman mumbled a little before stopping his clean up, “Go home, or go see the girl, but stop mopping around, it’s embarrassing” Foreman shrugged a little as if it would make the statement softer. 

“Not that easy,” Chase mumbled as he glanced at the tests that Foreman had ran. 

There was a soft click before another voice took over the room,  “Actually, it is.” House spoke, “Cameron says she’s stable,” House glanced at the results to the tests that sat on the counter and turned to leave the room. “Keep your pagers on” House yelled from the hallway. It was the closest to a dismissal they have ever gotten from him. 

_____

Chase had tried to go home. He sat in the locker room with Cameron and Foreman and they all grabbed their stuff. He mimicked the motions, took off his doctors coat, grabbed his items ,Cameron even offered him a ride home, but he couldn’t do it. Foreman cupped his shoulder for a second before he left and Cameron just mumbled a little, “Get some sleep” when they both finally left. The silence of the locker room was enough to push Chase out the door, but not enough to stop his feet from heading to the third floor where (Y/N)’s room was. 

Once he got to the room he realized he didn’t know his plan. It had been so long since he didn’t feel prepared, since he felt ungrounded. His tether had been cut loose for a short time when his father died, but he quickly recovered, shoved the thoughts away and weighted himself down enough that he didn’t think anything would shake him again. He recalled the way (Y/N) had been sitting on that stupid wooden bench this morning, how silly all that tethering had been. How easily he felt himself fall back into her gravity and they haven’t even spoken more than two words to each other. Chase moved away from the closed door and debated his next steps. He didn’t know if she was awake, if she would even want to see him. He glanced around the hallway and after a moment pulled out his wallet from his pocket. He let it fall open and shoved his fingers into one of the extra slots. The wallet was slipped back into his pocket and he slowly folded the worn piece of paper. The creased were slightly discolored from the constant pressure in his wallet but it still read the same words. He didn’t completely unfold the letter, instead just flopped the first crease up, exposing the signature on the letter. Always yours, (Y/N). Chase ran his finger across the name, it was the only thing he let himself keep from the whole situation. He had taken his position at the hospital and made the decision to get rid of all his reminders of (Y/N), it was better, safer. Yet, the letter never left his wallet, he had pulled it out so many times and thought about tossing it, but this was the last thing he had of her. The only thing left that  confirmed he didn’t make her up so he kept it. He started to pull the whole letter open when a nurse slipped out of the room. 

“Oh, Dr. Chase sorry do you need Ms. (Y/L/N)? She just fell asleep for the night, I thought all the tests were done and she was little shaken up so I gave her something to help her sleep.” The nurse grimaced a little, House’s team wasn’t known for kindness. 

“No, it’s fine. Tests are done for tonight,” Dr. Chase folded the letter as he spoke and slipped it into his pocket before nodding a little at the nurse and trying to act like he wasn’t scared as he started towards the door, “Just checking in” He didn’t let the nurse say anything else as he finally stepped into (Y/N)’s room. 

The room was the same as every hospital room around it, not exactly dark, but no longer well lit, soft beeps breaking whatever silence there was. Still, Chase tried to look around the room instead of at the girl laying fast asleep in the bed. Chase clenched his jaw when he heard the smallest shuffle from the bed. He finally let his eyes linger on (Y/N). She was fast asleep, fist in a slight curling position near her face. Without thinking Chase let out a small breath of air and felt himself move over to the side of the bed. Chase raises his hand to uncurl (Y/N)’s fist a little but stops short. Throughout the day he had stopped himself the few times he was close to touching her, he thinks of the warmth that barely came off of her when he first saw her stumble a little. Thinks of Cameron’s easy hands helping (Y/N) settle into the MRI machine. (Y/N) shuffles a little more in her sleep and it finally breaks something in Chase, she had always been restless in her sleep. He lets his hand reach past her fist and instead lets his fingers move a few strands that rested on her forehead. The warmth of her skin tingles a little against his fingertips.

“Hi darling,” Chase whispers a little when his hand trails down her hair a little, letting it drop onto the bed when he gets to the end of the strand.  He felt a small shake in his knees and pulled his hand away, letting himself plop into the plastic chair that was in every room. He squeezed his hand into a fist and felt a few tears start to appear in his waterline. He leaned his head back a little to stop the tears from completely dropping before finally letting himself completely look her over. Despite the obvious signs of something unhealthy lingering in her features, she mostly looks the same, a little older, but still the face he knew all those years ago. Chase didn’t think as he pulled himself and the chair to be closer to the bed. He leaned forward in the seat and let his hand settle near the end of her hair. He lets the lack of movement from her push him to reach his fingers out and slightly twist the end of her hair. It’s not the touch he wanted, but it was something. He let himself twirl the strands a little before letting his eyes completely rest on her face. Finally, he broke the sound of the machines around him. 

“House is a dick, but he’s good. The whole team is really, don’t tell Foreman I said that,” Chase let out a small huff of a laugh before he drops the strand of hair he was toying with. He let his hand rest on her bed, not touching her, but only a small motion would bring his finger against her arm. 

“Seems like you like Cameron, she’s good with people, although the movie trick was mine, I’m sure you remember it. I think you’ve talked me through more movies than I’ve actually watched.” Chase’s voice stayed low as he spoke. 

It seemed a little ridiculous if he thought of it too hard, talking to someone who wasn’t listening, but still it was (Y/N), he had never learned how not to talk to her. He spent what felt like a few minutes explaining how he ended up on House’s team. It was a superficial telling, wanting to avoid the pieces that still felt tender, his sister, his parents. It didn’t take long for Chase to feel himself fall into the familiar place that was (Y/N)’s side, even if she asleep. 

Chase forgets how quickly time passes in a hospital when you aren’t working. How the windows barely give away time and people are always moving so it’s hard to notice when hours past. The only thing that indicated the passing of time was the nurses who slipped into the room every once in a while, in the same rotation they’ve been doing their whole careers.Every nurse took a moment to eye Dr. Chase, trying to understand why he was here, and then proceeded to explain what they were doing like he was just another family member. It wasn’t until a nurse showed up with an extra blanket and tossed it at the end of the bed that Chase accepted his fate. He didn’t give the nurse any indication of a thanks but grabbed the blanket as she was walking out. He closed his eyes and in the dark, he felt the nerve to reach out and rest his hand in her empty one. 

_____

Dr. Chase sat slumped in the chair and Cameron tried to bite her tongue at how he tried to switch his clothing to make it look like he’d gone home, but she knew that shirt had been a spare he left in his locker. The spare blanket he had tucked under the chair wasn’t obvious to anyone that hadn’t been in and out of the room, but still couldn’t fool Cameron. His eyes were droopy, but any attention he had left in his half asleep state was completely on (Y/N)’s hand interlaced with his. Cameron stood for a second and debated coming in and bothering him, she had assumed that (Y/N) was awake when she first passed by the door, hearing Chase low whisper and she felt a strange pride in her chest that Chase had finally gotten the nerve to speak to her. The pride was undeserved, apparently as (Y/N) was dead asleep and seemed to have been like that for a while now. When she realized Chase had leaned a little closer to the bed and was bringing (Y/N)’s hand up in his own she quietly tapped on the door to make her presence known. She mentally kicked herself when she realize how quickly Chase had slipped his hand out of (Y/N)’s. 

“Hey, just swinging by to check on her, thought she was awake,” Cameron’s pity seeped into her voice no matter how much she tried to fight it. Most the time, the family’s found some sort of comfort in it, the care that this stranger of a doctor had. Chase, was not most people. 

“She’s been asleep for a few hours now, a nurse just came in twenty minutes ago and did the bare minimum,” Chase mumbled as he leaned back into his hospital chair. If it had been any other person within the hospital he probably wouldn’t have spoken, but Cameron had helped him with the MRI, risked a verbal berating from House for him, and never once brought up how he had embarrassed himself after a one night stand with her. Cameron put her hands into her doctor pockets and stayed near the doorway. 

“Well, you know how House gets about the nurses,” Cameron rolled her eyes a little at how often Dr. House had groaned about the fact that nurses mess up, and how own team’s mistakes are his but he hated having to account for random nurse’s mistakes. 

Cameron moved into the room a little more, reaching for the clipboard at the end of (Y/N)’s bed. She took a second to pretend to read the information on the clipboard as if it gave anything new to the case. She glanced back up at Chase when she realized he had the same look she had seen a million times before, the same look she saw once in her own face, when she lost her husband. It felt wrong to see it across Chase’s face, to know this doctor who she found fairly intelligent (at least when he wanted to be), and charming (again, when he wanted to be), was falling into a pit of despair over a women none of his coworkers even knew about, a women who he claims he hasn’t seen in ten years. 

“She’s not bad enough for that look yet. We’re going to figure it out.” Cameron tried to make a joke but instead was met with Chase’s subtle glare. She let the joke sit in the air and decided there was nothing else she could do and started towards the door. She had barely reached the handle when she finally heard him speak. 

“I think I’ve made it fairly clear it wasn’t great after my dad left ” Chase spoke through gritted teeth. Cameron let her hand linger on the door handle, but she stayed frozen. “She was the only thing I had left to hold onto when I was a teenager” 

Cameron turned a little so she could face him but didn’t come closer. It felt a little silly, like trying to approach a lion during a safari trip, or a bunny in the backyard she didn’t want to scare him out of finally saying something. She noticed Chase had leaned his head back against the wall and had his own hands wringing within each other, resting every few moments in a sort of prayer position. She was sure if she looked closer she’d notice his eyes closed. 

Cameron realized it was her turn to speak, confirm she wanted to hear this. “She’s not Australian?” Cameron pointed out the only thing that felt safe. It had made no sense they knew each other all that time ago and when she looked at the file there was no relevant information as to why (Y/N) was in Australia, no past doctor seemed to find it important enough to ask and House knew better than to actually think her few years in Australian were important to the case. Chase shook his head against the wall. 

“She was in Australia because her family, I can’t….” He kept shaking his head and Cameron understood. That isn’t mine to tell, it’s hers, he was saying. 

“She was working at this shitty dinner that was down the block from my neighborhood. I’d always meet my friends there, to avoid them running into my mother. One day she was just there like she had always been around, too young to be working there but she knew someone needed to bring money in, she had problems I hadn’t even thought of but that didn’t matter, doesn’t matter even now. She just….” Chase finally pulled his head forward and kept his gaze on (Y/N)’s sleeping face. 

“She made sense, maybe not right away. But I kept showing up and she kept telling me she wasn’t going to sleep with me,” He laughed a little and Cameron realized he wasn’t actually telling her the story, he was just thinking out loud “I kept lying, saying that it didn’t matter to me,” His hand reached out a little as he tucked his fingers under (Y/N)’s resting hand on the bed, “And then one day, it wasn’t a lie. It didn’t matter to me, she just wormed her way into it all. She was the one thing I had that wasn’t ruined by anything, she saw me and nothing else around me.” 

“You cared about her,” Cameron whispered a little, trying to remind Chase he had an audience. 

“Yeah, something like that.” Chase finally caught Cameron’s gaze and flinched a little at the amount of pity that was seeping out her. “Not that it really mattered. We were kids and I had to go to medical school, just had to leave…” Chase stops and Cameron knows the implication, he needed to leave his parents house. “I told her and she took it well, thought it would be harder. She told me we’d be fine, she’d write and I’d come visit every weekend and we’d survive and once we were both away from our parents, on our own completely, we’d finally figure out whatever it was between us.” 

Cameron tilted her head a little trying to make sense of what Chase meant. 

“You weren’t together?” She finally just asked. 

“I had a reputation, she’s never been native” Chase shrugged a little knowing it was well earned, “And I think she knew we both needed each other more than we needed to be together,” The vulnerability was threatening to rip his chest out, but he couldn’t handle keeping it inside anymore. Cameron wasn’t, would never be, (Y/N) but she was still kind, still understood that Chase wasn’t always a dick. Cameron stayed quiet, waiting for Chase to keep going, he hadn’t gotten to the end, the piece that really mattered to her. After enough silence Cameron finally decided she needed to say something to push Chase into finally explaining why they had gone ten years without speaking. 

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you for not coming back,” Cameron whispered in her softest tone. 

Chase clenched his jaw and looked away from the gaze he had on Cameron. Shame was a feeling Chase had quickly learnt to hide away. He leant quickly that pity doesn’t get you much and that shame would never do anything useful for him. Now, the insecurity of being left by the one person he cared about was seeping into his gut. 

“I came back.” Chase said through gritted teeth, “I went home every weekend for my first year in medical school. She said she would write and the first weekend I went there was a letter  so I came back and waited for another letter for a whole year. Whenever there wasn’t one, I would reread the first letter.” Chase shook his head a little before stealing his hand back from under (Y/N)’s hand. He stood up and clear his throat, “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s been years.” Chase cleared his throat and fidgeted with his tie before he started towards the door. 

Cameron felt herself stunned at the sudden shift in tone. She didn’t expect it to be Chase who was left high and dry. For a second it all seems to add up in her head, of course Chase was the one who held on longer, was it not just a few months ago that he was trying to make something out of the one night stand they had? She forgot how soft Chase could be when he wanted to be, forget that underneath the pretty boy doctor facade, he was someone who raised his sister and his mother, someone who spent his childhood praying for something better, for help. Cameron glanced at the girl who laid in the hospital bed and felt a twinge of anger that this girl had hurt Chase. 

___

(Y/N)  winced a little at the pressure of the needle against her skin as Dr. Foreman mumbled an apologize.  She wasn’t exactly sure what happened overnight but the tension in the room had somehow ballooned into something more and even in her state, she felt it. She had learnt at a young age to be able to detect when something was unsaid, that something wasn’t right. After Dr. Foreman pulled the needle and she felt the pressure release from her back, she turned herself over a little to look at Dr. Cameron and Dr. Foreman. She tried to silence the whisper in her head that there was typically one more doctor on the team, tried to ignore the way he seemed to exist on the edges of her whole visit. The visitors chair had been pulled away from the wall when she woke up and she had stared at it for a few minutes, trying to create an apparition of the person she hoped had filled the chair while she was asleep. She noticed the extra blanket across her feet, the one part she always struggles to keep warm. Dr. Foreman had been exactly what she had expected from a doctor, what she has been dealing with for weeks, she had come to rely on him for the real medicine of it all, once she realized Dr. House didn’t seem to interact with patients. Dr. Cameron on the other hand, knew something and cared, (Y/N) wasn’t sure when it happened, but she felt the tension from her the whole day so hard. Foreman and Cameron were speaking to each other and when they started walking away (Y/N) finally spoke up. 

“Dr. Cameron?” (Y/N) cringed a little at how dry her voice sounded. Dr Foreman seemed to look at Dr. Cameron for just a moment before he walked away, obviously trying to get some sort of work done. (Y/N) kicked herself a little at the fact that she didn’t plan out what to say. She took a moment to sit up as much as possible in the hospital bed and felt herself shake a little at the energy it took. She noticed the way Dr. Cameron seemed to take in every shake and movement, ever vigilant in the face of her job. 

There was silence for a moment before (Y/N) cleared her throat a little and squeezed her eyes shut. For the last two days every test had brought her closer to the idea that this was it, that she had tried every option, that the world had give her this last chance to be able to tie up any loose ends in her life. Robert being at this hospital was a sign enough for her, she had nothing left but to figure this out so when she died she at last had the answers. She had been debating how to do it, focused on every outcome instead of the needles and the blood and the shitty hospital food. She hoped over and over every hour since she last heard his voice during that MRI that she’d get the chance to ask him directly. She even dreamt of him, the first time in years, of his voice, of him, close by. 

“(Y/N)?” Dr. Cameron said her name but her eyes were glancing at the machines to try and figure out if something was wrong. (Y/N) shook her head lightly at the questions interlaced in Dr. Cameron’s voice. 

“Everything is the same,” (Y/N) swallowed a little and braced herself, “I know I don’t have the right to ask you, but Robert, uh-“ (Y/N) ignored the pressure in her chest at the vulnerability she was going to force out of her. She noticed how quickly Cameron seemed to straighten up at the name. 

“(Y/N),” Cameron shook her head a little. 

“He has every right to not want to see me,” (Y/N) always knew her relationship with Chase was a stroke of luck anyways, “He knew me for only a few years so long ago, I’m sure it meant nothing but,” (Y/N) stopped herself against and tried not to cringe. 

At this Cameron furrowed her brows a little, it didn’t make sense to her. Meant nothing? Cameron thought of the way Chase held onto (Y/N)’s hand when she slipped in, thinks of the way he couldn’t work knowing she was uncomfortable in the MRI machine. Something wasn’t adding up, and Cameron was trying to put it together when (Y/N) kept speaking. Cameron seemed to have forgotten how quickly (Y/N) can tumble into rambling. 

“I’ll die, it’s fine,” She paused, “Well not fine of course, but I think it’s time I accept it. And all I want is to understand what happened. I know I don’t deserve it, if he wanted to give me an explanation he would have answered one of my letters but I’m dying now, so maybe…” (Y/N) trailed off when she noticed Cameron’s furrow eyebrows. 

“Sorry I thought you guys are friends, or that maybe he mentioned something, which is stupid now that I’m thinking about it,” (Y/N) felt herself slide a little more into the bed to try and escape the situation. 

Dr. Cameron shook her head softly and whatever anger she had felt when Chase told the story seemed to leak out of her, “Hey, I get it.” Cameron whispered a little, “I’ll talk to him, but…” She trailed off to figure out the right thing to say. Finally she just let out a huff, “One letter isn’t a good enough excuse to leave someone hanging,” She spoke in her softest voice. 

“One letter?” (Y/N) swallowed and pressed her fingers against her eyes to try and subdue the headache. “I wrote over and over and over.” 

Cameron glanced at the door and decided she needed to figure this out.

___ 

“You had no right and you know it,” Dr. Chase was snipping at Cameron. 

“She thinks she’s going to die, and she thinks you’ve abandoned her!” Cameron huffed a little. 

She wasn’t sure why she always put herself into things that were none of her business, but Chase is her friend, at least she thinks he is. She’s never been good at denying someone’s dying wish, although she’s sure that not many people deal with dying wishes this often. She had sat with (Y/N) for about an hour, learnt about what it meant to be pulled from the people who loved you at such a young age, what it meant to have a parent that saw you as nothing more than a weapon against others. Cameron kept a score each time she heard (Y/N) mention writing another unanswered letter. She had heard the way (Y/N)’s voice seemed to soften a little around Chase’s name.

“She’s not going to die.” Chase clenched his jaw.

“She said she wrote, she mentioned it over and over. Maybe the post office couldn’t deliver? It was the 90s and who knows how Australian post offices even work! You need to talk to her, really, you’re both just missing each other.” Cameron felt herself sparked within the story she had heard from (Y/N). “She’s so afraid, and her mother just” 

Cameron was immediately cut off by Chase’s cold voice. 

“Don’t try and make me understand her. I know about her mother, I know her, better than I have ever known anyone. You treat her as a patient for a few days and suddenly you think you get it?” Chase felt the anger of the situation he had been pushing away bubble in his chest. “She’s been the voice in my head my whole life, I didn’t exist before she said my name. I’ve seen her everywhere all these years. I thought I had finally lost my mind when she sitting on that bench, and instead it’s something so much worse. Don’t get involved Alison. Don’t speak on things that are bigger than you’ll ever understand.” 

Cameron opened her mouth to fight back when Foreman opened the conference room and stuck his head in. “She’s having trouble swallowing, the tremors are getting worse.” He ignored the obvious tension in the room between Chase and Cameron. 

“If you really know her, you know she wouldn’t have left the way you think she did. ” Cameron whispered before heading towards the door with Foreman. Chase ignored the comment and instead stared at the door where they were both leaving. Cameron was right, he knew her, knew she wouldn’t have abandoned him with a single letter filled of promises. He knows her. 

“Is she having trouble speaking?” Chase grabbed her file off the table and without thinking, pressed his thumb against her photo like before as he read the file, trying to make it fit with what is turning in his mind. Whatever Foreman responded was ignored as Chase pushed his way throughout the conference room and headed to where he assumed House was. He wasn’t sure if Foreman and Cameron were following, but it didn’t matter at this point. 

In the clinic Chase pushed into the room the nurse pointed that House was in. He had assumed the clinic patient House was taking care of was fake once he read “Eric Shawn” on the chart. 

“It’s her immune system. The tremors, the fatigue, it had to be autoimmune. She had a cold a while ago, but (Y/N)’s always been bad at gauging how much pain she’s feeling. It was most likely a Campylobacter jejuni infection and it started to attack her immune system. She downplays the cold, doesn’t notice the tingling in her limbs and dismisses any of the pain she was feeling, keeps going until it turned into what it is now. Guillain-Barre.” Chase closed the file he had brought within and looked up at House half asleep on the patient’s table. 

House glanced behind him to see Cameron and Foreman standing there. He didn’t get up just holding his head up, “Any objections?” 

Chase looks at them both, “It’s Guillain-Barre syndrome. A few weeks with immunotherapy, some plasma exchanges and she’ll be well enough to figure out how to survive with an autoimmune disorder.” 

“She’ll be in and out of the hospital all the time.” Cameron frowned a little. 

House pressed his cane against the floor and stood up from his laying position, “Oh wise one, should we test? Go run another useless test? Or can we treat?” House glared at Chase, letting him know that he didn’t appreciate the MRI test behind his back. Chase stood his ground, didn’t flinch at the glare, she didn’t have a brainstem Reteplase would have caused damage, he regrets nothing. He’s sure Cameron looks guilty enough for the both of them.  

“Figure out if you’re doing plasma exchanges or intravenous immunoglobulin, then do it” House pushed Foreman and Cameron out the door and shut it. 

“You should have figured that out when she was still sitting on bench.” House mumbled a little once they were alone. 

“At least I figured it out,” Chase mumbled a little. 

House didn’t say anything as he stared Chase down a little. After a few minutes, he finally shook his head before opening the door again and motioning Chase out ready to go back to his nap. 

___ 

Chase debated his next step. He thought figuring out what was wrong with (Y/N) would have been enough to clear his mind. In some sense it was clearer, more space had been freed up to think about what Cameron had said.  The few hours of sleep he had accidentally caught on her hospital bed didn’t seem enough to keep him standing much longer, so once Foreman sent an update about her condition and that were going to start some treatment despite not testing for Guillain-Barre, he took it as a sign to get some sleep. He thought of going through the motions of undressing in the locker room, getting his stuff and really leaving, maybe even swinging by to take create for his diagnosis like they always did, but found the whole ordeal exhausting. Instead, he pulled his coat out of the conference room and headed to his apartment with Cameron’s words repeating in his head. 

If you really know her, you know she wouldn’t have left the way you think she did.

If you really know her, you know she wouldn’t have left the way you think she did.

If you really know her, you know she wouldn’t have left the way you think she did.

He spent an hour in his own bed, twenty minutes on his couch and even tried to lay on the floor to try and calm himself down enough to sleep when he finally got to his apartment. If you really know her, you know she wouldn’t have left the way you think she did. He finally stood up completely and scrubbed his face a little at the irritation. His eyes landed on his father’s papers that he had tossed a few days ago, onto the dining table nobody used. He sat himself at the dining table for what felt like the first time since he bought it. If you really know her, you know she wouldn’t have left the way you think she did. If his brain wanted to keep tormenting him, he could do it right back he quickly decided. He grabbed onto the deed of the house and made a mental note to call the lawyer who’s card was paperclipped to it and started to sort through the papers. Anything with sentimental value was tossed away from him, something to handle later. His mind had somewhat silenced, completely focused on what papers would have to go straight to his sister and which he would have to handle himself. 

It didn’t take long and Chase let himself puff out his chest a little in relief. The final thing he had in front of him was a stack of letters, on top sat an addressless one, ‘Robert’ in his father’s terrible handwriting. He ran his finger across the name, bumping into the rubber band that held the stack of letters together. He pulled the top one out and went to open the letter when he noticed the next one in the bundle. 

The address read his father’s home back with his name, nothing straight. But the top corner, the send address held the name he had been avoiding. Immediately  he dropped the letter he was holding and pulled the rubber band off the small bundle of letters. He shuffled them as he looked at each sent address, Auckland. Tokyo. California. Colorado. Iowa. New York. Each addressed to him, at his father’s house. Each from the same person. (Y/N) (Y/L/N). She said she wrote, she mentioned it over and over. 

Chase dropped the letters onto the table again and spent what felt like hours, but most likely was only a minute, staring them down. They all had the same worn look, like someone had dropped them into a desk drawer and didn’t pull them out for years. They weren’t dated, he didn’t know if he should open them, (they were his mail he could right?) She said she wrote, she mentioned it over and over. 

Chase finally grabbed the one letter he knew he could handle reading; his fathers. 

Robert, 

There is no way I can make you understand why I kept these from you. You wouldn’t want to hear my answer if I tried. The first month she kept sending them and you kept showing up at the house, slyly checking the mail, looking at your textbooks but never really pulling anything out. I was grateful you had a reason to even come to the house, yet I needed you to understand the importance of your studies. Then the more time that passed, the more you seemed to forget, the easier it was to just ask the maids to tuck the mail away,  you seemed to focus on medical school. That’s all I wanted. You had a duty to your studies, to the Chase name, it seems you understand that now and your mother tried to take that from me long ago, I wasn’t going to let the same happen to you. Look at you now, it did you wonders. 

Chase turned the piece of paper around, as if he was going to find anything else. As if his father would have put another note on the back a quick “Just kidding!” Or a P.S of any sorts. Chase felt his eyes warm as the tears seemed to build and he dropped the letter back onto the table and pressed his palms together in a prayer motion without thinking as he felt a few tears slip out. It wore him out enough that he found himself falling asleep on the couch, ignoring the dread of letters he knew he had to open. 

____

(Y/N) perked up in her chair when Dr. Cameron slipped into her room. The treatment had been working for the last few hours now. It had taken some time to find the right plasma type and get it all set up, but (Y/N) already felt her shakes subside just enough. Dr. Cameron pressed the door shut behind her and dropped a cup of pudding onto (Y/N)’s lap, “Don’t tell the nurses, I had to steal it from someone’s cart,” She smiled a little as (Y/N) nodded. 

As she dug into the pudding Dr. Cameron started speaking, “Guillian-Barre syndrome is an autoimmune disorder. We believe it got triggered during your last cold. Dr. Chase,” Dr. Cameron paused just a moment to look at the way (Y/N) tried to not stiff, “mentioned that you’d probably downplayed the cold and any tingling that occurred before the fatigue. It’s easy to miss the signs at first when you’re trying to tough it out. The plasma exchange you’re getting is only to be able to stabilize the immune system again, you’ll have to get checked at least yearly from now on, it can reemerge, but you’ll be able to live your life mostly normal again.” 

“So Robert figured it out?” (Y/N) spoke with the spoon in her mouth, at Dr. Cameron’s nod of confirmation (Y/N) pushed the pudding to the side table and nodded back. “And he’s not gonna…” (Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut fighting back the tears at the lack of his presence and opened them again “Thank you. Please make sure the rest of the team gets told I owe them everything. Thank you guys.” 

Dr. Cameron reached her hand out and squeezed (Y/N)’s fingers just a little “Give him a little more time,” She whispered before leaving the room. 

____ 

When Chase finally woke up he felt the warm sting of crying to himself last night and groaned a little. He pulled himself off the couch, glanced at the clock that read 4:32am and grimaced a little at the 12 hour nap he had fallen into. He lagged for about an hour, trying avoid the obvious task sitting on his dining table. Finally, he had no choice and had scooped them all up and sat on his couch. 

He stared at his old address, written in handwriting he knew once long ago, and finally he gently, as if not to disturb anything, pulled the envelope open. Inside sat a postcard, scribbles across the back. 

 Hi Robert, 

It’s been nearly three weeks since I last saw you. (or heard from you. Write back if you’re not too busy. Please?) I barely explained in my last letter, I’m sorry. Things got worse with my mom. And you were gone, and we both decided that distance doesn’t matter so I hope you aren’t too angry with me. (If you are, that’s fine, just write and tell me you’re angry.) I’m going to stay at this address for about three months, so it should work if you are writing and the stupid post office is losing them. 

Anyways, enough of that.  I know you noticed the New Zealand postage. New Zealand is amazing Robert, you were so right I do love it. It’s green and warm and wet and everything a Tolkien girl could dream of.  I’ve taken to eating like the hobbits, snacks and snack and snacks, since you aren’t around to remind me about real meal times. I’ve met some cool people, no one is you, they’re being nice to me and showing me around. I’m sure you have a lot of homework, lots of studying, so here’s just a list of things I need to tell you about next time we’re face to face. The rowboat, two rainbows!! Aroha and her family, the terrible movie that was on cable the first night I got here, the book I read on the train to go swimming at some random swimming hole. 

I wish we could put cameras into our eyes, let you see everything I’m seeing, and force you to stare into a mirror so I could see you, even just for a little. I miss you and no amount of New Zealand can make me forget. 

Always yours, 

(Y/N). 

P.S I know you’re judging me for putting a postcard in an envelope, but I wanted to make sure it got to you in perfect condition, the photo in the front is the town I’m staying, so now you know where to picture me. 

Chase felt his heart ache at how easily he could hear her voice in her writing. He let out a small broken laugh when he flipped the postcard and started at the photo. She had drawn an arrow to some random spot in the photo and scribbled two little hearts, in the smallest writing yet she wrote “you’re right here with me!” 

He felt more tears come out of his eyes and he quickly wiped it away to avoid them dropping onto the postcard as he run his thumb over the two hearts, feeling the indentation of the pen. Flipping it again, he reread the letter, once, twice, and then a third time, trying to contain the bubble of emotion that sat in his chest. He grabbed the next letter in the pile and noticed she was still in New Zealand when she sent this one. When he noticed it was a full letter, not just a simple postcard, he wiped his tears as clean as he could and started reading the letter. She had decided and wrote upfront to ignore the silence on his end for this letter, instead writing details about her housemates, the swimming she had been doing, the coworker she was sick of waiting tables with, Chase flipped the page and read the other two in a matter of minutes.

The third New Zealand letter explained that she had felt like she overstated her welcome, and maybe it had something to do with the letter she had gotten from her mother, she had a saved enough to go somewhere, and when she looked at plane tickets, it seemed Tokyo was that somewhere. She promised that if he felt like writing her, she would get the letter if he sent it to her New Zealand address as the family she stayed with was happy to forward mail. 

The first Tokyo letter was almost the same as the first New Zealand postcard, but Chase could feel the dying hope of hearing back from him. No sly remarks about him writing to this address, nothing about seeing each other soon, but still at the bottom of the letter he read; “Always yours, (Y/N)”. One more Tokyo letter, and it read like an itinerary, “flying back to the states. landing in california, going to find my brother and dad.” an address to where he could write scribbled in a different color, as if she almost didn’t put it. And again, “Always yours, (Y/N)” 

It was the first Colorado letter that had Chase contemplating praying for his dad to come back to life just so Chase could kill him. The sloppy letter and smudges were enough to tell that (Y/N) had been emotional when writing. Chase didn’t register any of words instead paying attention to the smudged “R” where a tear had fallen. 

Robert. 

They were suppose to be here. My dad always loved Colorado and I thought maybe he would have been here. But he’s not, not in the phonebook, not in any directory. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve lost it all. Anything. Everything. 

The scribbling she had done barely covered the words, but still she started the letter over again. 

We were suppose to be fine. You promise you’d write and I know I promised I’d be there so maybe I deserve this. But I miss you and I miss our coffee shops and I miss the green grove at your parents and I miss shitty Australian tea. You swore everything would be fine. If I knew this was going to happen I would have stayed in that fucking house with the monster who thinks she’s my mother. I should have stayed, at least until the weekend, so I could have explained it to you face to face, but I couldn’t she had 

More scribbles in the line, these dark and hiding whatever secret her mother had done, whatever the final straw was. 

The worst part is, I can’t get myself to stop sending these. I keep convincing myself that you’re just not getting them. If that’s not the case, just write me telling me to fuck off, I can take it. 

I miss you so much. Sometimes when I’m in the dark room of my motel, I’ll close my eyes and I’ll find on a movie I’ve seen a million times and I’ll try to imagine you’re laying with me, asking the dumbest questions about the stupid movie just to hear my voice. More and more I’m convincing myself you were never real, something I made up in a time of despair. Other times, I know I could never have dreamed you up. Do you remember when you tried to teach me to surf? If I had tried enough I know I would have been able to get it, but you had your hands wrapped around my ankles as I tried to stable myself on the board and it’s all I could focus on. I had been so nervous and you started rubbing circles against my ankle bone and I lost any chance of learning how to surf. The other day I was in a crowded bar and some dude put his arm around my shoulder and suddenly I wanted to crawl out of my skin. Still, I slept with him, and thought of you the whole time. It’s probably better I never slept with you, I knew from the start you would have me wrapped up, completely incased in you. Imagine if we had actually slept together? I don’t know how much longer I can pretend your letters aren’t getting to me. I don’t know if I can keep holding onto something that’s slipping out of my fingertips. 

Next time, I’ll stay. I’ll endure what I have to, as long as it means you. 

Always yours, 

(Y/N). 

Chase didn’t bother opening the last two letters. He had enough. He stood up from the table and scrabbled to grab all the letters. His father’s letter was shoved to the bottom of his coat pocket as he rushed out the door. 

____ 

(Y/N) had slept well that night, finally actually getting the treatment she had been waiting for. She focused on that the whole time she was falling asleep, ignoring the pity she got from Dr. Cameron when she came to check in. Dr. Foreman had made it clear that (Y/N) would be in the hospital for a while as she got better, they wanted to keep an eye on her, make sure everything was going back to normal. So she slept, waking up for breakfast at 8am and eating as much of it as she could stomach. She flipped through another magazine some nurse had slipped her. It was all easy, until she flipped to the travel agency ad and they were boosting about low Australian flights. She tossed the magazine away and let herself slip back into an uneasy sleep. 

She was awoken by a small tickle against her scalp. She didn’t open her eyes but crinkled her nose a little at the sensation. Dr. Chase had entered the hospital and didn’t even bother going to find any of his colleagues or boss. Heading straight to the girl he wanted to see. He had stood in the doorway for a little trying to catch his breath, trying not to fall into an endless pit of guilt at his abandonment, he knows she won’t hold it against him. He was a victim as much as she was in this situation. Still he steeled himself to be sent away before he slipped in and let himself fully touch her, his fingers lightly scratching her scalp. 

“(Y/N)” The accented voice left a warm feeling all the way to her toes. 

“‘M sleeping Robert,” She mumbled a little, still mostly out of it all but pressing into his touch anyways. 

“The doctor who solved your case can’t get a minute of your time?” Chase tried to joke but felt the watery tone in his own voice. 

At the small crack in his voice, (Y/N) pried her eyes open, he dropped his touch. She didn’t say anything as she looked at Chase, instead just savoring looking at him. He had obvious tears in his eye line. The smallest quiver of his face made her sit up, “Oh you’re here,” She whispered a little and she tried to tame her hair a little and rub the sleep out of her eyes. 

“I didn’t think you’d come, I didn’t expect you to come, you’ve done enough. Thank you,” She shoved her hands into the blanket to avoid reaching out, “For saving my life,” She clarified. Chase hummed a little and sniffled to try and hold back a tear. (Y/N) furrowed her brow a little and glanced to see the door to her room was shut before she pulled her hand out from under the blanket and reached out to grab his. She stopped herself before she could grab it and looked up at him. He didn’t bother making eye contact with her, his eyes trained completely on her hand before reaching out and meeting her halfway. 

“I didn’t know, I didn’t get them. My father he- He’s dead and still mucking up my life,” Chase breathed out. He dropped her hand for just a minute so he could go around the bed, put himself back into the visitors chair that sat exactly where he had left it. Once he was sat, he reached out again without thought and wrapped up both her hands in his. “I was never angry at you for leaving, never for that.” He held their hands close to his chest as he spoke. 

(Y/N) let him speak as she tried to put together exactly what he meant. The sleep was still clouding her brain just a slightest, but having Robert here in front of her, touching her short wired her brain just the slightest. “Honey, I just woke up, you gotta clue me in a little,” She cooed and squeezed his hand a little when he squeezed at her voice. 

Chase pulled one of his hands away from holding hers and grabbed the letter his father left for him from his pocket. He pasted it to her and she grabbed it with her empty hand. As she started to read he started to speak, “I’m going to write you back, for each one. I’m going to send you four letters for every one you tried to send me. I had been writing them in my head for years, you’re always the person I’m talking to. Darling, I’m sorry,” He confessed. 

(Y/N) slipped her hand out of his completely and sat up as she read and reread the letter that Chase had given her. For a few minutes it was silent as she accepted the fact that it wasn’t Chase that didn’t reply. It wasn’t his fault he never saw her words, she mentally thanks whatever God that Chase never had to read her drunk crying letter from Colorado but feels a little dip of despair at all the postcards he missed out. 

“I know it’s not a good enough excuse, I should have looked for you, I knew you’d never break your promise and I just let myself believe you didn’t write.” Chase whispered after the silence went on for too long. 

(Y/N)’s eyes widen, “Wait what? Robert?!” She slightly scoffed. Chase cringed a little and (Y/N) knew what to do in this situation. This was something she was still an expert in. Soothing Robert Chase when he tries to shoulder blame that isn’t his was a textbook problem for her. 

“Your father kept all the letters from you until he died? And you think that’s not a good enough excuse?” (Y/N) dropped the letter and let it join the useless magazine from this morning. 

“Nothing to forgive.” She whispered and let herself be brave by reaching her hand out and wiping the tear that Chase had let out. “Plus you saved my life, kind of have to forgive anything” She joked a little but felt her own tears start to build. 

When Chase felt her hand against his cheek he let himself sink into it a little, his cheek resting against her palm for just a few seconds before he grabbed her hand in his again and intertwined your fingers together. “It’s my job, I should have been quicker, but you’ll be fine.” He brings their hands up to his lips and pressed the lightest kiss against her knuckle. 

“Has Cameron explained everything to you?” Chase leaned forward in the chair to be close to (Y/N). 

“Most of it, but I’d rather hear it from you,” (Y/N) contently sighed at the way Chase kept trying to get closer. 

____

Dr. Foreman had been about to slip into (Y/N)’s room when he heard Chase’s laughter leak out from it. He knocked instead of just going in and took a quick moment to observe the way Chase had found himself sitting at the end of the bed, (Y/N) sitting up and obviously in the middle of a story. Chase didn’t move an inch, didn’t even acknowledge Foreman, his eyes trained completely on (Y/N). 

“Hi Dr. Foreman! Time for more meds already?” She smiled. Foreman knew that she looked better because she was in fact, getting better, but he’s sure Dr. Cameron would claim it had something to do with the two making up. Dr. Foreman nodded and started to get the machines ready to give (Y/N) more plasma. He had zoned himself into the process so much, he didn’t notice the small whisper of Chase’s voice. When he looked up, he noticed Chase had moved, now resting back on the chair as he whispered to (Y/N). Foreman paid enough attention to hear him explaining what exactly each thing was to (Y/N) but stopped listening once he heard, “It shouldn’t hurt at all, sweetheart.” followed by (Y/N)’s soft confirmation. 

Foreman managed to get it all set up and never once did Chase seem to actually pay any attention to him. It wasn’t until (Y/N) had. slipped into a nap because of the meds that Chase finally looked at Foreman.

 “She’s doing a lot better. I’ve been waiting her vitals since I’ve been in here,” 

“Your diagnosis” Dr. Foreman said, letting Chase know there was no thank you needed. 

____ 

(Y/N) groaned a little at the stretch she had taken. The hospital bed wasn’t the worst to start but by week three she had found herself counting down the time to leave the hospital. She ignored the lingering doubt that she’d lose Robert again and let herself instead enjoy every second she had gotten over the last three weeks. He had started coming in to eat every meal with her. He was there when she went to bed, and unless a case had come up, he had been there when she woke up. It felt easy, it was always suppose to be easy between them, it was others that had complicated things. They had fallen back into the rhyme they once had, only it felt as if something had clicked. (Y/N) didn’t ask about his parents, although eventually he did drop some hints to what was happening. Robert had asked about her father, and brother and was met with an excited (Y/N) pulling out photos from when she finally found them again. It was this moment that made Robert pull out his own wallet keepsake. (Y/N)’s eyes had watered at the letter he had been carrying around for so long and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek when he said “I still owe you letters, I haven’t forgotten”. 

Now, she stared at the terrible hospital bed and found herself going to miss it, even just because it gave the perfect excuse for Robert to be closer. 

“Ready sweetheart?” Chase spoke from the doorway, “Convinced House I had to see you off,” He hummed a little and grabbed her bags without thinking. (Y/N) looped her arm around Chase’s open one and they set off outside the hospital. 

“Did you really think sleeping with me would make it worse?” Chase said as they stood int he elevator. 

(Y/N) groaned at his questions. He had been doing this all month, asking questions that had to do with her letters. He never told her if he finished reading them, but one night he had come in, teary eyed and pressed a kiss against her forehead mumbling apologizes that were unnecessary. She had assumed he read that final letter, the one she had poured everything she had felt into before she locked it up. 

“Sleeping with you would have probably ended with me trying to swim back to America from Tokyo,” (Y/N) pressed the floor button and rolled her eyes, “So yeah, it would have made it worse,” 

“Well, you’re already here so no harm in trying it now right?” Chase smirked a little and braced himself for (Y/N) gentle wack. 

“At least take me to dinner first Bobby,” (Y/N) gasped with no malice. 

“No,” Chase glared with no real threat at the nickname, “No one here knows me by that, lets not start, brat” He made sure all her bags were in one hand and used his other to pull her in his arm around her shoulder. “I’ll take you to dinner, maybe even a movie if you promise to talk my ear off the whole time,” He mumbled against her hair as they walked out of the hospital. (Y/N) hummed a small confirmation and pressed herself deeper into his arms.

extra authors note: thanks for making it this far! please come let me know if you hate it, love it or even if you want more! i have so many silly little thoughts about these two together <3 come chitchat!