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moonyflesh · 19 days ago

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oh my god i know im so late but this fic has characterized Chase into so much more than what i’ve ever truly seen out of him. like this literally made Chase become my favorite character in the entire fandom.

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.

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!

#robert chase #house md #house md fanfiction #chase x reader #robert chase x reader #dr robert chase #writing! writing! writing!

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moonyflesh · 3 months ago

Text

kiss me when you’re sober.

negan smith x fem!reader

word count. 5.9k

summary. feelings slip to the surface and shenanigans ensue when negan’s had one too many drinks.

notes. college!roommates!au (no apocalypse), idiots in love, mentions of alcohol, silly drunken behaviour, soft!negan (no bc he’s actually so pookie wdym), fluff ‘n banter, love confessions

gif by pedrospascaled & divider by enchanthings

A heavy irritation settled in your chest, a sensation that gnawed at you with every growing moment. You briefly clenched your hands into fists over the steering wheel before releasing them, trying to keep your muscles awake, but you could still feel your body thick with the thought of sleep, the bleariness etched onto your eyes.

Darkness enveloped your surroundings, save for the glow of traffic lights and a few open windows of shophouses, along with rows of street lamps illuminating the sidewalks. The asphalt road stretched before you, the car’s headlights paving the way towards the campus. The roads were occupied with minimal activity at this ungodly hour, and the full moon gleaming above acted as your only companion throughout the drive.

You let out a grumble once more, allowing it to fill the silence of the vehicle.

The week had been particularly grueling—consecutive, hour-long lectures that drained the energy out of you as assignments only piled up one after another, contributing to the never-ending workload. Not to mention, you had started extending your shifts at work in an effort to keep up with the daily expenses, and by the time you had finished, your legs would be aching from standing all day, your head throbbing faintly from having to deal with the various personalities of customers.

So when Friday rolled around, the weight of your accumulated exhaustion had come crashing down in full force. Resolved to get a good night’s rest, you had already hit the sheets by 10PM, hoping to start the weekend with a fresh mind.

That was, until the loud vibration of your phone woke you abruptly in the middle of your sleep.

At first, you had only stirred in your bed, shifting away from the nightstand as you tried to ignore the buzzing sound. When it didn’t seem to stop, you grabbed the edges of your pillow, pressing down against your ears. The attempt was futile. The sound was incessant. Eventually, you pried open your weary eyes, a scowl etched onto your features as you begrudgingly rolled over to the other side.

You turned on the lamp, taking a brief moment to adjust to the sudden beam of light. The glaringly red numbers ‘1:12AM’ read on your digital clock. A torrent of anger rippled through your body. Who the fuck would be calling you at this hour?

Beside your clock, your phone continued to drone against the wooden surface, a bright, intrusive glow hovering over the screen. You leaned forward, squinting your eyes. The contact name read ‘Doofus’, the large letters engraved in bold. You let out an almost theatrical groan, slumping back into the bedsheets.

Negan.

You should’ve known. Who else would disrupt you from your sleep? He certainly had a gift of becoming the constant subject of your exasperation, a talent of getting on your nerves, a knack for acting like a complete nuisance of a roommate.

When you had first decided to move out of your college dorm and into a more spacious apartment off-campus, you weren’t expecting the package to come with an obnoxious, loud-mouthed, and overly flirtatious roommate who had thought of the same idea. You only shared one class with Negan, and had seen him a couple of times around campus, but it was mostly word of mouth that cemented your image of him as one of those insufferable frat boys who indulged in extravagant partying nearing the weekends.

And quite frankly, being able to see a domestic side of him—an unpublicised aspect of his character that was only displayed within the confines of your shared apartment—wasn’t even close to dispelling your judgement or changing your unimpressed view of him.

The first few months were the worst. Dishes would pile up in the sink, and heaps of dirty clothes failed to be loaded in the washing machine by the end of the day. You had chewed him out over and over again for not following the chore chart you had created and stuck to the fridge, but he always had the same lame excuse lying around, that it simply “slipped his mind”, but you knew he was just too caught up playing video games with Simon.

There were also the occasional dates he would bring over to spend the night with, which you wouldn’t have minded if your walls weren’t so thin, and if he would just give you a quick heads-up beforehand. It wasn’t a pretty sight stumbling upon a complete stranger using your shower in the morning. And in response to your rightful complaint over the lack of a restful night, he’d only reply with that infuriating smirk of his—

“Can’t help it. Ladies love screaming my name.”

But you supposed these days his presence had grown slightly more tolerable. His intrusive guests were noticeably less frequent, and six out of ten times he would stick to his end of household duties. He still had that annoying habit of drinking straight from the juice carton, though. And despite his irreverent and childish sense of humour, you couldn’t help but find yourself a little amused sometimes, your small conversations enough to elicit a sound somewhere in between a scoff and a short chuckle.

But at this moment, the sentiments you held towards your roommate were completely negative. You didn’t understand why he had to be calling you at this hour, and disturb your precious sleep at that. You knew Negan was always out late on Fridays, but he’d never call while he was attending one of his parties.

A faint spark of curiosity swirled in your irritated mind. With your body still attached to your bed, you extended your arm, grabbing the phone in one sharp, resentful movement.

“What?”

Your tone was clipped. Dryness etched onto the back of your throat.

On the other side of the call, a familiar, aggravating voice instantly prickled your skin. “Heeeey,” Negan drawled. There was a thick, raspy quality to his voice, more prominent than usual. Alcohol’s doing. “Took you long enough.”

Your words came out emphatic and impatient. “What do you want?”

“Can you…” Loud beats of music pulsed in your ear, drowning out his speech entirely. “Pick—”

You begrudgingly sat up, letting out a sharp exhale. “I can’t hear you, dumbass.”

“...Sorry, one sec.”

You huffed out a sigh of exasperation. Your head fell against the bed board, allowing your gaze to wander nowhere in particular around your dimly-lit room. There was a scuffle of movement. You heard his breathing grow ragged, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps against stairs and the loud click of a door. The music became muffled in the background. Then, after what felt like an eternity, his drunken voice stirred once more, his words sounding almost child-like.

“Listen—can you, um, pick me up?”

His request sent a jolt of anger through your body. If you weren’t so weighed down by exhaustion, you might’ve even shot fully awake. Why on earth would you crawl out of bed at this hour just to fetch him? It wasn’t like he hadn’t come home from parties on his own before. The way back to your apartment was still within a walkable distance. Plus, he had said it himself—he could hold his liquor. Or at least, he managed to get into his own bed.

There were a few occasions where you had caught a glimpse of his return, when you were slouched over the coffee table, burning the midnight oil to catch up on your assignments. You’d hear the loud fumble of keys, lasting longer than a beat. The door would push open with more force than necessary. Then, he’d shoot you a heavy-eyed grin, steps slow and unfocused as he stumbled towards his room.

You couldn’t be bothered to wonder why this time was any different.

“No. Walk home yourself. Or call an Uber.”

A snort came through the phone. “Nah—’s past midnight. Prices are fuckin’ stingy.”

“Not my problem,” you retorted, raising your voice to the microphone. “Bye.”

“Wait, don’t—” An edge of panic rushed to his voice. You clicked your tongue, pausing before your thumb could land on the button. Negan whinged through his words, sounding almost comical. “Look—I really don’t want to walk. I can’t. Just drive me back, alright?”

Your tone sharpened immediately. “No. I’m sleeping.”

There was a tinge of disbelief. “Pfft. You sleepin’ that early?”

You rolled your eyes, the teasing edge of his voice only aggravating you further. “I’m fucking tired, Negan. I’m not driving you back.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he slurred. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise. Do whatever y’want.”

You huffed out a dry laugh. “Yeah, right. You won’t even remember having this conversation.” The thought made you pull your eyebrows together. You dragged a hand down your face, slipping out a question. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Well, a lot—I dunno.” Negan chuckled, as if he was found guilty of something.

You only grumbled in response, imperceptible to his ears.

Then, his voice suddenly picked up energy, like the gears of his head were turning despite the intoxication muddling his state. “Actually—the guys spent some sweet cash on booze, ‘n we got this new beer pong table. It’s fuckin’ awesome. ‘S not too late, y’know. Maybe you wanna come over and—”

You cut through his words, curt and irritated. “Don’t want to. G’night.”

And so the call ended just like that. You plopped your phone onto the mattress, quickly turning off the lamp and sinking into the bedsheets. Your cashmere blanket snugly enveloped your body as you settled back into the darkness, allowing your mind to quieten down to the low hum of the air conditioning.

Except your mind wouldn’t quieten down. Easing yourself back to sleep would require some great effort. You simply couldn’t find yourself able to relax, not when a certain someone had so effortlessly worn your patience thin within a span of minutes. You let out a frustrated groan.

You truly didn’t care about the usual debauchery Negan got himself into. You didn’t want to hear about his antics, and you certainly didn’t want to participate in them. The last thing you needed were distractions.

He’d be fine on his own, right?

And yet, something uneasy crept up your skin. It wasn’t outright discomfort or the strongest strong sense of concern—just a dull, misplaced feeling of unease. But it latched onto your thoughts, and with each moment that passed by slowly, your mind still refusing to succumb to sleep despite your exhaustion, the feeling wouldn’t budge. So you weighed your options.

If something did end up happening to him, who would you split the rent with?

And before you knew it, you were throwing yourself out of bed, slipping out of your sleepwear and into a plain set of clothes, too tired to fully bother about your messy appearance. You grabbed your car keys and stepped out of the apartment.

Which led you to where you were currently, rounding a corner to the frat house.

Even from a distance, a bass pulsed through your ears, permeating the quiet of the night and killing off the much-appreciated silence in your car. The music only grew louder as you rolled to a stop in front of the house, drowning out the shut of the vehicle door as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

You frowned. The building was two-storeys high, large enough to house a few groups of people. You always wondered why Negan couldn’t just live here instead, seeing as he so frequently partook in whatever went on in the place.

A bunch of plastic red cups were haphazardly discarded on the grass. You passed by a few party attendees as you neared the house, some chatting idly among their own circles, while others had their arms slung around one another, stumbling along the pavement with a clumsy gait.

As you approached the porch, neon lights rotated and flashed through the front windows, creating silhouettes that danced on the inner walls. A set of Greek letters stuck above the door, as if only meant to be decrypted by those in the fraternity, though you swore nobody in the house was currently upholding the virtuous motto.

The door appeared unlocked, the cacophony of noise and raging lights all threatening to spill over the tiny gap. You took in a slow, controlled breath, trying to calm the ever-growing impatience that hovered over you like a cloud. Then, your grip tightened around the knob, and you let yourself in.

The overwhelming stench of alcohol and musk assaulted your senses almost immediately, making your nose twitch in repulsion and sending you wide awake. The air felt humid and sticky, the cool breeze that endowed the night suddenly replaced by a thick heat that pressed against your body. You nearly wanted to recoil.

As your eyes were left with no choice but to adjust to the dim corridors, you peered into the nearest room, where a mass was gathered. Bodies pressed against bodies as music blasted in your ears, punctuated by the sound of raucous, drunken cheers.

Your jaw ticked. This was a mistake. Maybe you should’ve just stayed in bed. It was infinitely far better than searching for your troublesome roommate at one in the morning, in a foreign house that stank of sweat and liquor. How the hell were you going to find Negan in all these rooms full of people?

“Woah! Look who decided to join the party.”

Definitely a mistake.

You could barely register the sound of his voice over the speakers, but it was distinct enough to make you scowl instantly. You turned behind, pushing away from the door frame only to meet Simon’s wide grin, although the rest of his features were a blur under the strobing lights. He had his arms opened wide, as if in some grand, dramatic gesture, and his drink sloshed in his cup.

“Did mention it was invite only, though,” he added as an afterthought, though it was loud enough for you to hear. “I guess no one’s keepin’ track anymore. But hey—there’s plenty of room for everyone.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, folding your arms across your chest. You raised your voice in an attempt to be heard over the music. “I’m not here for your stupid party, Si. Where’s Negan?”

“Ah,” he simply said, casually indifferent to your impatience practically shooting through the roof. He whipped his head back to glance at the room behind, the same revelling scene raging across. His hand moved to scratch the back of his neck. “Well, um—dunno, actually. Got myself a refill, then I came back and just couldn’t find him at all.”

There was a sharp click of your tongue as your gaze darted to the corridors.

Then, his eyebrows raised almost suggestively, and a sudden lilt came forth in his voice. “Why you askin’? What’s the cause for concern?”

“He called me to pick him up,” you stated matter-of-factly, not in the mood to entertain his perpetual habit of teasing. An accusatory tone sliced through the humid air. “You should’ve known better than to leave him on his own. He sounded wasted as fuck.”

Simon only scoffed, raising his hands in defense. “The man can drink as much as he wants. What am I, his mother or somethin’?”

You bit through your words. “No, you’re his best friend.”

He snorted in response, a gleam of amusement in his eyes as the next words rolled from his tongue. “And who are you supposed to be, his girlfriend?”

You glared at the audacity. “You—”

“Chill out, I’m kidding!” He chuckled, reaching to pat the side of your arm, oblivious to the way it made your body tense up all the more. “Though it’s real cute how much you pretend not to care ‘bout him.”

You only scoffed, as if it suddenly seemed more exhausting to fight against Simon’s words than to just let them hang indignantly in the air. Don’t get yourself wrong, though—the notion was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Even if a tiny, misplaced, meaningless fraction of concern you had for your roommate somehow managed to get you to where you were.

Tiredness seeped through your voice instead. “Just help me find him, alright?”

“Sure,” Simon replied, returning you a lazy smile. “But let’s get you a drink first. You look like you’re in desperate need of some booze.”

“No th—”

You couldn’t even reply in full before his arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you flush against the side of his body as he dragged you into the room he had come from. Your protests fell on deaf ears, muted by the jarring party beat. You squeezed past the crowd, trying to endure the stench punching through the air as the strobing lights seared your vision.

The music dampened as Simon led you to the kitchen, and you were at least relieved to see fewer people crowding around, all talking amongst themselves. The kitchen was incongruously well-lit, almost unsuspecting unlike the rest of the party scene. You pushed away from Simon’s hold, swatting him in the shoulder before he moved around the kitchen island.

He motioned to a row of alcoholic beverages strewn across the counter, shooting you a grin. “So, what’cha fancy? Whiskey? Rum? Vodka?”

“Aspirin,” you muttered under your breath, feeling a headache brewing in the back of your head if you stayed in the house any longer. You began to speak, “Simon, I don’t have time for this. Can you please—”

Without warning, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. Your balance nearly faltered as your back was suddenly pulled against a toned chest. A warmth enveloped you from behind, but it wasn’t the same, intrusive, discomforting body heat that pervaded the air—in fact, it felt almost tolerable. Then, just for a mere second, a set of soft lips pressed against your cheek. Your entire body froze in an instant.

Shit, did he just—

“You came,” Negan slurred, settling himself into the unsolicited embrace, as if you had wordlessly agreed upon this newfound intimacy. His throaty chuckle sent a vibration down your spine. “Oh, I knew y’would.”

You flinched away when you felt his hot breath ghost over the side of your neck, tickling your collarbone. His back immediately found the counter as he leaned on his elbows for support, his head slack on his shoulders. You took a good look at Negan under the steady light. His skin was flushed, the alcohol tinting his cheeks a bright red, and his dark curls were more disheveled than usual. He sported a stupid, close-eyed grin, like he was caught in the middle of a dreamlike state.

You uttered the first two words that came to your mind. “You idiot.”

Something aggravated you just seeing him this disoriented and blur. You moved closer, jabbing a finger at the centre of his chest. “This is gonna cost you laundry duty for the next two weeks.”

Negan peeked his eyes open then. “No,” he murmured, eyebrows pulling together as he dragged a hand over his mouth. “Are you fuckin’ for real? That’s bullshit.” He glanced over the counter, hastily reaching to grab an unattended red Solo cup.

“Enough of that—” You yanked the cup away before he could tilt it to his lips. The contents nearly spilled over as you propped the cup back down hard on the counter. “You said you’d do whatever I want.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “Yeah, but I was thinkin’ more of—“

“Doesn’t matter what you think,” you dismissed, letting out a sharp exhale as your words cut through the air like a whip. “Look—we’ll talk about this in the morning. Let’s just go.”

“But y’came all this way. At least stay for a drink.”

“I came all this way to pick your ass up. As requested. Now c’mon.”

Itching to get out of the house, you turned on your heel, moving across the room in quick, measured strides. Unfortunately, you hadn’t made it past the door frame before you got a sense that Negan wasn’t trailing behind, making you stop in your tracks. You looked back, only to find that he had remained stationary in his spot, a hand hovering over his forehead as he rubbed at his temples.

You crossed your arms, features settling into a deadpan expression while your voice carried a mock intonation, as if you already knew the answer to your own question. “Can you walk?”

Negan squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah. Maybe. Hang on, I just—might need a moment.”

You sighed in resignation, shifting on your feet. Tapping a finger along the side of your arm, you waited for him to get a hold of his balance. Progress seemed to be moving impossibly slow. Then, your gaze drifted to the corners of the kitchen, not missing the fact that Simon had been lingering near the cabinets, like he had been quietly watching a spectacle unfold all along.

He took a long, purposeful sip of his drink, returning your gaze as his eyes glinted with amusement over the rim of his cup. After what felt like forever, he set his drink down, the familiar, teasing edge of his voice carrying across the room. “You lovebirds in a rush to leave so soon?”

You only frowned. “Just help me get him to the car.”

Things moved by in an uneventful fashion, mostly because you wanted it to. You went through the motions, walking ahead of the both of them as you manoeuvred past the noisy partygoers once more, before stepping out of the house, finally managing to get a breath of fresh air. Your mind was only focused on one task—getting home. Once Negan was propped in the front passenger seat, you quickly said your goodbyes to Simon, though you appreciated his effort of having to practically drag Negan to the car. You drove off the campus in silence, letting only the steady hum of the engine softly roar through the vehicle.

Traffic lights haloed the night as you drove onto the main road, street lamps bathing the town buildings in a dim, yellow glow. When you came to a stop at a traffic junction, you glanced to the side, where Negan was slumped in his seat. The quiet had lulled him, and the slight drop of his head denoted he was dozing off already.

You rather appreciated moments like these where your roommate wasn’t running his mouth, which were incredibly rare, but unfortunately you’d be in for a tougher time in the next five minutes once you reached your apartment.

You broke the silence, your voice sharp and unavoidable. “I swear I’ll leave you in the car until morning if you fall asleep.”

That managed to stir him then, and he shifted in his position, rubbing the weariness out of his eyes. He took a long moment before responding, his voice thick and rough. “You fuckin’ wouldn’t.”

”Oh, I would,” you challenged, not missing a beat.

You heard him huff out a short laugh. The traffic light flicked to green, prompting your gaze back onto the road as you drove on. When another round of silence followed, you didn’t need to throw another glance to know that Negan’s eyes were still on you, the feeling persisting even through the nearly pitch-black confines of your car. His gaze was steady and intent, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Something unfamiliar shifted in your chest.

Then, his hand moved over to the dash stereo.

“If you like piña coladas,

and gettin’ caught in the rain…”

Just as fast as he had turned on the radio, you switched it back off, abruptly severing the classic tune of Rupert Holmes. Yacht rock was not exactly the defining genre for the current mood. You clicked your tongue, shooting Negan an irritated look. “Don’t touch that.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t.”

He gave you a blank expression. “Car’s mine s’much as it’s yours.” And with that, he turned the radio back on.

“If you like making love at midnight…”

Your hand flew to shut off the music again, bringing it to a swift and forceful end. “Quit it,” you snapped, words biting through the cool air.

Negan let out an exaggerated sigh. “How the hell am I supposed to stay awake, then?”

With your eyes still fixed on the road, you reached for the glove compartment, pulling out a small box of breath mints and handing it to him. “Here. Take one.”

“What for?”

“Just take one,” you insisted curtly. Negan took the box, and you brought your hand back to the steering wheel. “Should help you stay awake ‘til we get back. Plus, you’re stinking up the whole car.”

He snorted in response, amusement laced beneath his voice as he popped a mint into his mouth. “That bad?”

“Oh, yeah,” you replied. He did reek of alcohol—you had caught a strong whiff of it during the embrace, the way his breath mingled with the smell of flat beer. But with an air of exaggeration, you couldn’t help but add, “You’d need a whole bar of soap in your mouth, but this’ll have to do.”

Negan let out a chuckle then, and eventually you followed after. Your eyes flickered to him, noticing the way the ribbon of street lights caught onto the edges of his features, the way his eyes crinkled and the dimples appeared in his cheeks. It sent a strange flutter in your stomach, making you look away within seconds.

There was a short pause before you heard him speak again. “Y’know, you’re real fun to be with. Dunno why you act like y’not half the time.”

That made you furrow your eyebrows. “Well, I’m sorry,” you replied, tone thick with sarcasm. “Maybe you’re fine with living in a dumpster truck, but I’m not. It’s a shared space, Negan.”

You heard him scoff, though his voice was noticeably softer. “I do my part.”

“You do the bare minimum. Which you think is fine, considering your standards.”

As the car turned into a corner, the apartment building came into view. You took his silence as room to continue. “You know, if you’re so bogged down by responsibilities, why don’t you just live at the frat house instead? I mean, you can party as much as you want, drink as much as you want, hook up with whoever you—”

“Nah. ‘S nice livin’ with you.” Negan allowed his body to fall back limply against his seat, his head tilting towards you as a small grin formed on his lips. “…I really like livin’ with you. Even when you get mad sometimes.”

For a moment, the words were caught in your throat. The mood suddenly seemed to soften, but something wasn’t allowing you to return his gaze. Your thumbs twitched restlessly over the steering wheel as you entered the parking lot.

“…Thanks,” you eventually managed to say. The word hung awkwardly in the air. Your voice grew quiet, low enough to be interpreted as an afterthought. “I guess you’re not as bad as you were months ago.”

You let Negan trail behind you quietly, glancing back every so often to make sure he hadn’t tripped on his own feet. He mostly clinged to the handrails as he trudged up the front steps, a shoulder wedged against the walls as he walked along the hallways and stepped into the lift. His pace was excruciatingly slow, and yet, your impatience that had been running throughout the night had somehow disappeared. Or maybe you had grown too tired to care. You didn’t dwell too much on the matter.

Eventually, you both reached the apartment door, the smooth click of your key welcoming you home into the quiet space of your living room. The area had been somewhat cluttered for weeks, since you had been too busy to tidy up properly—books and whatnot strewn across the coffee table, jackets draped over the armchairs, pillows rumpled on the small couch—to the point where it almost had a cozy feel, and the slight mess had become a normalised sight.

“Go change. Get some sleep,” you ordered, mechanically moving towards the kitchen. A low hum of acknowledgement followed from behind, along with a heavy pad of footsteps as Negan retreated to his room.

You took a jug of water, pouring it into a glass. Reaching for the cabinets, you fished out a small box of painkillers. Then, with both items in hand, you made your way towards his room, pushing open the door with your elbow.

The dim glow of the bedside lamp barely outlined his figure. Negan stood beside the closet, his head cast downwards, eyebrows drawn together as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

He looked up when you entered, exasperation flickering across his features. “Can’t get this damn thing to—” He sighed wearily, his brown eyes looking at you almost expectantly.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, shooting him an unimpressed look. But you moved without a second thought, setting down the glass and painkillers on the nightstand before closing the distance from where he stood. Your hands latched onto the two small buttons, the gentle tug pulling him slightly forward as your nimble fingers made quick work of unfastening them.

You couldn’t help but notice it again. The way he’s just staring at you. It didn’t help that your faces were merely inches apart. That same, strange feeling stirred in your chest. You swallowed, deliberately training your eyes on the buttons.

You remembered that very first night, when you had made it crystal clear you weren’t interested in him at all. It didn’t stop Negan from throwing playful innuendos every now and then, but he never once overstepped your boundaries, and you figured all the flirting was just part of his nature. So you brushed it off without much thought.

But nothing had suddenly made you question everything until now, under the weight of his steady gaze. No crude remarks, no sensual touches—just a simple, intense look in the eyes. You could question what happened earlier at the house, but that had been nothing more than a drunken embrace. Actually, maybe the alcohol was to blame for everything. Of course, what else would it be?

Shaking the thoughts out in your head, you removed your hands when you realised they had been hovering over the opened buttons for a little too long.

You pulled away momentarily, reaching for the white t-shirt he had thrown onto his messy bed, handing it to him. “Here,” you said, your voice suddenly reduced to a soft whisper.

You caught the way his throat bobbed, but he neither responded nor moved. You thrusted the shirt into his chest, but when he still didn’t take it, you narrowed your eyes, giving him a slight look of confusion. “Negan? You alr—”

It was as if time stopped registering. It barely processed with the way it happened so fast. Your cheeks were held in the crevice of his hands, sending a warmth that instantly tingled your skin. Then, his mouth pressed against yours. Your eyes automatically shut, and your fingers involuntarily released hold of the white t-shirt when a pool of lightness rushed to your head.

The kiss was soft, and his lips parted against yours gently. Something in you didn’t want to pull away from his touch. You wanted to remain. And before you knew it, you were kissing him back.

But it only lasted for a few seconds—when his tongue brushed over the seam of your lips, throwing you back into reality. The taste of mint and alcohol made for a distasteful combination. Your mouth drew back from the kiss. You forced your eyes open.

“You—” Your resolve was weak against the tenderness of his palms still cupping your cheeks. “You dumbass,” you blurted softly, slightly furrowing your eyebrows. “You’re drunk.”

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” Negan only slurred, his half-lidded eyes still staring down at your lips. “None.”

You freeze, unsure of how to respond to the alcohol talking.

“D’you want me?” he continued, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours, noses nudging against each other. A breathy whisper feathered over your jaw. “Like I want you?”

“I…” Your voice grew thick, as if the words were becoming stuck. A dry laugh escaped from your throat. “Negan, you don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

As if you knew what you were doing either. You had just kissed your roommate back, for goodness sake. The same roommate who was a thorn in your side, who annoyed you to no end.

“Course I fuckin’ do,” he replied quietly, searching your eyes. His thumbs glided back and forth over your cheekbones. “I want you. I always have.”

The words sent a pang in your heart, and you wondered if he was consciously making his voice low and rough, despite knowing how wasted he was. That would explain why your knees had suddenly become weak.

Still, the skepticism was evident in your tone. “You act like this with all the girls you bring back?” you tried to joke, your voice wavering, though you didn't realise the slight resentment attached to your words until it was said out loud.

You were surprised with how Negan caught onto it almost immediately. “They… they don’t matter.” His eyes bore into yours, a sincerity etched to his words. “Darlin’, I swear—’s only ever been you. M’sorry if I hurt you like that.”

You made a light attempt to scoff. “I’m not hurt—”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. ‘S written all over your pretty face.” The corners of his lips twitched upwards, before they fell after a beat. “But ‘m serious, I—”

“Look—” You reached for his wrists, gently guiding his hands away from your cheeks and letting them fall to your sides. “You should sleep it off, really,” you said, motioning your head to the nightstand. “Take the painkillers when you wake up.”

“But I…” His fingers loosely curled around yours, as if not wanting to let go of you just yet. “I need to know. If you feel what I feel.”

“Like you’ll even remember,” you murmured in response, scrunching your eyebrows. Then, you let out a soft sigh. “I’ll… tell you in the morning if you do, alright?”

You saw him give a slight nod, as he slowly released your hand, though you could tell he wasn’t satisfied with your answer.

It was simple, really—he was drunk. He wasn’t thinking straight. Not that he really ever has.

A thick silence stretched between you two, until you realised all else had been said, or at least the things you weren’t afraid to address. You eventually exchanged a soft ‘good night’, barely managing to say the words before you promptly left his room.

Truth was, you didn’t have a concrete answer. Or maybe you just didn’t want to answer it—knowing that you nearly melted into a puddle under his touch, and that you didn’t pull away the moment he kissed you. You didn’t think he would even remember the bulk of your conversation. Yet, a small part of you wanted him to remember. A small part of you wanted him to kiss you once he was sober.

And as you crawled back into the comfort of your own bed, the thought of him continued to leave you awake all night, much to your dismay. You knew Negan would never cease to infuriate you, disturbing your sleep at that, but something had definitely changed.

notes. i personally had sm fun writing this, so i hope this translates to something a little enjoyable for you! my academic year started mid-april so i sadly have less time on my hands to write, but i’m always up for writing soft and silly scenarios for negan bc i think he deserves more fluff, canon/au’s whichever 💓 thank you for reading as always!

#coolest mutual ever #negan smith x reader #negan x reader #the walking dead #crying screaming throwing up #i need him so bad #don’t let my boyfriend see this #negan smith #jeffrey dean morgan #negan #twd fanfiction #twd negan

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