#j/ames w/ilson

[sleptwithinthesun]

hehe part 2 for this fic, with the aftermath and consequences of chase's tic attack. it's about 1.5K words :)

cw: house is not exactly nice to chase. in fact, he's rather rude

Wilson reenters his office with a small plastic cup of water in hand, ready to offer it to Chase, only to find the younger doctor completely passed out on the couch. He's lying on his side, one elbow bent with his head resting on his forearm, while his opposite hand brushes against the back of his neck. His right knee is approaching his chest, the left leg not-quite straight where it's sprawled across the length of the couch. His chest rises and falls steadily with the even breaths of someone lost to unconsciousness, and for a moment, Wilson's chest tightens with that familiar sensation of concern.

He's known Chase for almost a year, now, and Wilson honestly thinks he might be even more familiar with his condition than House is. After all, it's not exactly a secret; Cuddy was required by HR to inform every single one of the departments that could potentially have contact with the diagnostic fellows when she initially hired Chase, which was pretty much the entire hospital. There aren't many people at PPTH who don't know that Chase has Tourette's, which only makes the effort he puts into hiding it from near everyone aside from his colleagues and House that much more concerning.

Working in the environment that he does, in the field that he does, with the people that Chase does, though...

He'd be lying if he claimed not to understand it.

Wilson sets the plastic cup down on the edge of his desk as he sits, blowing out a slow breath. Chase's features are slack in sleep, free of the guilt that had permeated his entire being only minutes ago. While his paperwork is staring him in the face, insistent, Wilson can't help but notice how much younger Chase looks while he's unconscious. With the level he's working at, it's easy to forget he's only twenty-five, that he's still prone to idolatry and that he should (but isn't) be relatively naïve to just how unforgiving the medical field can be.

He's tried to help. Cuddy, unfortunately, never actually figured out just how to broach the topic, and House is... well, House is House. Cameron would be overbearing, and Foreman oscillates between displaying complete indifference and sympathy. Wilson still can't talk with Chase about it, but he's at least been able to make Chase feel more comfortable in his presence. It just... doesn't seem to land.

There's a headache beginning to grow in his temples. Wilson presses his fingertips into his left eye, grimacing slightly.

As if on cue, House bursts through the door. "Oh, Wilson!" he calls, sing-song, his cane visible before he is. "Have you seen my doctor? He's got this ridiculous British accent, dumb floppy hair, and an unfortunate penchant for imitating seizure patients while standing."

Wilson sighs. "House," he starts.

"He went out to the balcony, and since he hasn't returned to the conference room to do his job, I assume he came back in through your office," House expounds. "Now, what did you do to my doctor?"

"House."

"What?" House's gaze flits around the room, as if looking for evidence of Chase's presence, and eventually, lands on the couch, where Chase is still fast asleep. He blinks, and then his eyes narrow with an odd mix of curiosity and concern as he takes in the sight of Chase sprawled out on the couch.

Wilson keeps an eye on House, knowing this encounter can go any of several different ways. It's far easier for House to tease Chase instead of actually dealing with the fact that he can relate to Chase, to a certain extent; House with his cane, and Chase with his Tourette's. They're both struggling, and they're both defensive, refusing to accept even a sliver of help until it's desperate.

House is silent for another long moment until he asks, rather bluntly, "Is he dead?"

For the third time since the elder doctor entered, Wilson sighs, "House."

Chase stirs in his sleep, nuzzling deeper into the rough, worn fabric of the couch. His eyebrows furrow, pinching together tightly before his forehead smooths out again. He continues sleeping, undisturbed.

House leans down slightly, leaning heavily on his cane. He examines Chase's face closely, as if the doctor is his newest case. "He's alive. Seriously, Wilson, did you break my doctor?"

Wilson rolls his eyes, not in the mood to deal with House today. "No, House. Chase had a tic attack after leaving the conference room where you and your fellows were gathered. Was it either of them, or were you being an ass?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Did you set it off?" Wilson demands.

"Now, why would I do that? I need him to work," House says, then suddenly, increases his volume. "Can't have my doctor sleeping through the day, can I?"

Wilson's teeth clench with anger as Chase startles awake, gasping, and scrambles away from House, driving himself off the couch and onto the floor, where his body immediately tenses with a wave of tics. His head jerks, his left arm spasms, and he involuntarily lets out a frustrated whine before his breath catches in yet another tic.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," House says, unfazed by Chase's distress. A smirk actually crosses over his face as he watches the younger attempt to regain control, leaning casually on his cane, observing Chase like he's an animal in a zoo. "Naptime's over."

Wilson's standing from his desk by the time Chase is on the floor, and he's crouched at his side before House is done speaking, trying to soothe him. His gaze whips over to House and he spits furiously, "House, what the hell?"

"House, what the hell?" Chase repeats, and shrinks even further into himself as the echolalia tic surfaces.

House raises an amused eyebrow. "Finally sticking up for yourself?"

"It's a stick-up!" Chase tics loudly in response, then jerks forward while his right hand lifts, fingers bent to mimic a gun as his head twists to the side.

Wilson is torn between concern and frustration as he watches House interact with Chase. On the one hand, he's worried about Chase, who's now caught in a debilitating cycle of tics, which are only exacerbated by the stress of the situation and House's presence, and on the other, he's furious with House's usual display of insensitivity still being directed toward his clearly-struggling employee. Diffusion is an ideal, and one he knows he likely won't have.

"House, this isn't helping," Wilson snaps, his voice laced with anger. "Can't you see he's struggling?"

The smirk on House's face doesn't waver, but he straightens up and takes a step even closer to Chase, who's still sat on the floor, contending with the relentless tics. "Struggling? Looks more like a comedy routine to me," he quips.

Chase's eyes are wide with embarrassment and discomfort. His gaze is darting between Wilson and House, and the flush on his cheeks is from more than just exertion. Watching him, Wilson can't hold back the genuine rush of anger. He snaps, "House, enough!"

The elder doctor freezes. Wilson brings Chase to an upright position, being careful not to hold onto him too tightly or move too suddenly. "You need to leave. Right now."

House's smirk finally, finally fades, replaced by a hint of annoyance and what could almost be mistaken for concern. "Fine," he grumbles, "but only because he's useless to me like this." With that, he turns and limps out of the room, leaving Wilson alone with Chase.

He looks utterly miserable, his body already pushed to the limit after the earlier tic attack and only being taxed further. His tics have started to subside slightly, likely due to the reduction in stress, but he's visibly shaken and exhausted. Wilson leaves his side for a minute to retrieve the cup of water he'd placed on his desk earlier and gently offers it to Chase, who shakes his head as his right arm jerks up toward his chest.

"Sorry," he whispers. He's bright red with embarrassment.

Wilson only shakes his head. "You don't need to apologize, Chase. Never for this. House can be... well, you know how he is."

Chase nods, his gaze focused on the floor as a sharp whistle forces itself out of his lips, followed by a second repetition, and then a third. Once it finally lets him go, he bursts. "Why can't he give me a break? He's got his leg, and I've got this. Why is it so tolerable for him to be an ass, but the second my condition flares up, I'm an inconvenience and a liability?"

Wilson places a gentle hand on Chase's shoulder, unable to offer much else. "I don't know, Chase. I'll talk to him about it. My door is always open to you if you need a breather, though."

Chase manages a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Wilson."

As his tics continue to wind down, Wilson can't help but feel a sense of admiration for Chase. Despite everything, he's still willing to work with House. It's a startling display of maturity; at twenty-five, Wilson probably would have quit the second he'd pulled himself together. But Chase only gathers himself together and moves on, again and again and again.

[livingprophecy]

RE:   S/AM W/ILSON AND F/ATWS.   

BASIC INFORMATION:   i understand what i’m doing with this verse is changing a big portion of the show, and characters involved may not agree. i’m open to shifting the plots around, however this is the verse i will be defaulting to. (PERSONALS DNI)

CONNECTIONS:   this verse is tied to @toscrve​​​​​​ / autumn’s steve. i’m open to writing with other steve rpers, but otherwise i’m going to be referring to steve as both alive and not old. additionally, this verse is tied to @falquin​​​​​​ / sarah’s j/oaquin, as the show severely diminished his role and we need to change that. 

PLOT POINTS AND DIVERGENCES:   under the cut for length. 

PRE SERIES:   while steve did give sam the shield, the american government was still not done with steve and sam after the events of civil war and infinity war. the shield was taken during the pardoning trials, with the unspoken notion that it wasn’t going to be given back. both steve and sam were powerless to do anything about it, but they were determined to continue to help people regardless. when steve when underground as commander, sam went back to acting as the falcon. he did not work for the air force — he isn’t interested in serving ever again, and is past that point of trauma in his life. while he doesn’t have the title of “avenger” necessarily, that’s the idea of his role. j/oaquin t/orres is his liaison in the air force. he came at the personal recommendation of steve, as the two had met in his grief counseling sessions during the snap. sam didn’t want to deal with the air force directly but needed eyes and ears, and t/orres became that role for him. because of how many missions sam worked with t/orres, the two became very close, and are already incredibly good friends when the series starts. this sets up where sam is at the beginning of the series. 

EPISODE ONE:   sam seeing j/ohn w/alker receive the shield is one of the hardest moments of his life; he was forced to give up the shield, and now it was being given to someone else. he already was very bitter, but this causes a lot more animosity with the government, not that a large amount of this didn’t already exist. this spurs him to move into action, and also causes steve to come out from underground work. 

EPISODE TWO:   steve is present with both sam and bucky during this episode. sam and bucky don’t have the same level of animosity, only disagreeing on some of their methods and grudges because of the events of ca:tws. they don’t hate each other, and instead more banter and won’t admit they like each other. 

EPISODE THREE:   there was no way that steve could go to the prison with sam and bucky, as it would be way too noticeable. so, sam and bucky go to the prison to talk to z/emo together, and then once he’s been broken out, there’s no chance to get steve back with them. (he’d be too noticeable in m/adripoor too anyways.) sam despises z/emo, especially after how he treats bucky. when meeting up with s/haron, sam has tried to get a pardon for her, but seeing as nobody could get a hold of her either, the government refused, and sam was in no position to argue anything himself as he too was on a conditional pardoning. during this episode, t/orres begins to help sam and bucky behind the scenes with information regarding the f/lagsmashers, getting it to them before w/alker. sam is incredibly grateful that t/orres trusts him despite breaking z/emo out of prison. 

EPISODE FOUR:   when receiving the call from sarah about k/arli, sam immediately calls steve. steve goes to protect sarah and his nephews until the end of the j/ohn w/alker fight, when sam has retrieved the shield. 

EPISODE FIVE:   t/orres comes back with sam to louisiana with the broken wings. while t/orres fixes them, sam, bucky, and steve fix the boat. sam has his training with the shield, and starts to teach t/orres how to fly. there’s nobody else he’d want to pass the falcon mantle onto, especially as close as they are and since sam is ready to be cap. the suit was created for him by shuri at bucky’s request, and before he does anything else, he calls her to thank her. 

EPISODE SIX:   sam asked t/orres not to use the wings in the final fight, as the f/lagsmashers were incredibly dangerous and willing to kill — instead he asked him to be his eyes and ears again, and promised he’d be in the next fight flying too. steve is also present, on the ground with bucky (instead of w/alker, because there’s no way they’d willingly work with that man after his murderous rage). after sam’s speech, him and steve hug on national television, also showing steve’s choice to have made sam cap, and sam taking over the mantle. additionally, t/orres was in the crowd, and once they were off to the side, sam hugs him too. both steve and t/orres are present at the cookout party at the end as well! 

POST SERIES:   sam continues to train t/orres, and acts as cap alongside bucky and steve. he is done listening to the government’s opinions on if he should or shouldn’t be cap, and is going to be the hero the world needs moving forward. 

[shieldedsouls]

under the cut are some details from sam and riley’s wedding ceremony, which was a celebratory gathering after the actual marriage occurred!!

            samuel thomas wilson and riley jay tyler legally marry on friday, 3 november 2011. witnessed by hannah michelle morgan, aaron casper & sarah marie wilson, charlotte gail tyler, and “ dj ” derek james tyler.

      a full ceremony for all family and friends to attend occurred on saturday, 14 january 2012. the location was in charlotte gail tyler’s backyard of her estate. total of about 130 guests, including immediate family and wedding party. the event “ officially ” ran from about 1:00pm est to about 6:00pm est, with the wedding party eventually taking both grooms along with open invitation to an afterparty that goes well into the early hours of the next day.

sam wore a white suit [ similar to xx ] riley wore a blue suit [ similar to xx ]

riley’s best man: his younger brother, “ dj ” derek james tyler sam’s best man: mutual college friend charlie dean

wedding favours [ xx xx xx ] flowers [ xx xx xx ] “ their ” song: kelly clarkson’s ‘ a moment like this ’

riley was walked up the aisle by his father ( scott henry tyler ); sam managed to not cry until after they had finished their vows. both of them cry during the speeches from their respective best men, as well as the shared speech their parents gave. riley smashed cake into sam’s face, despite sam being a perfect gentleman and only getting a dab of icing on his.

[icharchivist]

..... following comics blog is wild and usually I just, get upset on my lane and don’t get involved because I don’t care enough about comics to be involved

........

But can we all agreee M/arvel is acting like trash and N/ick S/pencer should??? Get out????

He did that stupid twist before of C/aptain A/merica being an H/ydra agent all along, and little history, H/ydra always represented N/azism, it was always that, and C/aptain A/mercia was created by two Jewish Men during WWII when A/merica didn’t want to get involved in the conflict, as a way to call out A/merica that “American values would be to punch N/azi in the face”

But somehow. After that. S/pencer outdid himself by turning apparently turning M/agneto, Holocost Survivor who always fought to avoid a possible Mutan Genocide (which M/arvel decided to trash anyway to promote the I/nhumans because x/men belongs to Fox and Not D/isney) - into a H/ydra member????

He recieved a huge backlash from Hydra!Cap and what did he do? “oh let makes a Jewish Holocost Survivor a N/azi Supporter. Brilliant.”

Like?? fuck M/arvel. 

And I dont care if it’s brainwashing. I don’t care. You don’t?? do that??? what the fuck.

[danger-archive]

SHIP AESTHETICS → daphne  anne  blake + arden  james  wilson. 

@bausaved

[movedyoakkemae]

lgbtq+ rundown of all of my muses for pride month !

anime muses.

h/atake k/akashi.  cis-male. he’s bisexual, leans towards a preference of men even though his only (in my headcanons) sexual partner that wasn’t for a mission is a woman. however, while he’s not exactly sex-repulsed, he finds it safer to enjoy sex by reading it rather than actually partaking it on his own, so he’s most likely on the asexual scale as well. 

k/uroba k/aito.  kaito’s gender identity is a little bit more complicated than he labels it to be. he thinks of himself as a cis-male, but he’s perfectly comfortable dressing up as a woman -- in fact, for disguises, he tends to prefer it. not only is he comfortable as dressing up as hyperfeminine women, he is also completely comfortable as performing as a hyperfeminine woman. whether or not this means he isn’t as completely cis-male as he thinks he is, that’s something that i, as a writer, am still exploring with kaito as a muse. he is pansexual, doesn’t really have a preference for either gender, but he likes people who challenge him just in general. 

l/i tsubasa.  cis-male. he’s bisexual, and is in love with his female childhood friend. in any universe where he isn’t in love with her, he tends to fall for pretty boys... 

satoshi.  cis-male. he’s demisexual, and the gender of his partner doesn’t really matter to him. when he was younger, he didn’t quite understand that he didn’t mind liking guys as well, but as he grew older and was exposed more to the world, he came to realise that he didn’t care about the gender of his partner, all that mattered was did he like them.

t/odoroki s/hōto.  cis-male. he is also demisexual, and, like satoshi, he realises that the gender of his partner doesn’t really matter. all he cares about is whether or not he likes them, and he has a weird relationship with love and with relationships in general due to living in the household that he lived in. 

yoon.  cis-male, but doesn’t mind performing as female, but he will tell people that yes, he is a male, and, no, he’s not going to marry you. he’s bisexual, but hasn’t really explored much of it, just knows that he is.

book muses.

a/lex r/ider.  cis-male. i’ve always written him as heterosexual, but with him and tom... hm. if he is bisexual, he heavily leans towards women. 

liu suyin.  cis-female. she’s bisexual. she’s open about having multiple partners, not so much about having relationships. no, she’s not promiscuous because she’s bisexual. she just likes being with people sexually but doesn’t like romance. 

cartoon muses.

a/rtemis c/rock.  cis-female. she’s bisexual, but she tends to lean towards men as a young teen, opens herself more to the world of bisexuality as she grows older. 

a/zula.  cis-female. she’s asexual and aromantic. doesn’t like thinking of romance unless it’s for a strategic reason. 

comic muses.

d/ick g/rayson.  cis-male. he’s bisexual, tends to lean towards female partners but i wouldn’t say that he’s more attracted to women than he is to men. just in general, he likes having partners who challenge him. when it comes to casual sex, he tends to pick up women more than men.

l/ian h/arper.  cis-female. she’s bisexual, but i have not explored enough about her and her muse to really give a rundown.

m/iles m/orales.  cis-male. he’s bisexual, heavy lean towards female partners, oblivious to the fact that he even likes men. he likes having partners who speak their minds (and that don’t mind he’s kinda lowkey dating ganke a little as well without knowing it).

r/ose w/ilson.  cis-female. bisexual, but HEAVY lean towards women in actual relationships. she’ll flirt with anyone, but girls are just :eyes: to her. 

liveaction tv show muses.

a/llison h/argreeves.  cis-female. she’s bisexual, but with a heavy lean towards male partners. she thinks women are hot, but she’s never really dated one or done anything with one. 

m/artha j/ones.  cis-female. she’s bisexual, and similar to allison, she has a heavy lean towards male partners and haven’t really done much with female partners. she did have a girlfriend once, but that was a short-lived relationship.

m/elinda m/ay.  cis-female. she’s bisexual and dated people regardless of their gender. she tends to have a type with men -- taller than her and muscular (if we’re just going by physical type). with women, she likes them all. 

n/eal c/affrey.  cis-male.  he’s bisexual with a heavy lean towards female partners. he loves people who challenge him, who can make him think. he’s dated mostly women, and the few guys that he dated -- well, one of them was keller, and that sort of made his attraction to men sour for a bit. 

s/pencer r/eid.  cis-male. he’s bisexual with no real preference in gender. he tends to find that his type across the board are brunettes who are crazy intelligent, but it’s not that he solely dates people who are brunette and smart. really, all he needs is the smart aspect. 

t/ony d/inozzo.  cis-male. he’s bisexual with a lean towards female partners. as a cop and then later as a federal agent, he tends to keep his relationships with men on the downlow and often times speak up more about his “straight” relationships, but he picks up both women and men for one-night stands. 

movie muses.

ben guillory.  cis-male. he’s bisexual with no real preference in gender. he mostly and openly dates women because that’s what is expected of him, but he finds that he doesn’t prefer women over men or vice versa. 

chi yaling.  cis-female. she’s a lesbian, and she isn’t shy about it. she loves all women no matter their appearance. 

p/eter p/arker.  cis-male. he’s bisexual, with a slight lean towards female partners, but just in general, he just likes... people. 

t/ony s/tark.  cis-male. he’s pansexual, has no preference between any sort of genders. he is an equal opportunity man when it comes to sex. when it comes to relationships, he’s pickier mainly because of how his engagement went in the past and also because he does truly suck at romantic relationships at times, but it’s not gender that comes into account. 

[sleptwithinthesun]

filling a request from roo anon!! c/hase has a tic attack at work. everything goes about as well as expected (read: it all goes to shit). 2K words, probably going to write a part two

tw: obviously, tic attack. plus, self-harming tics e.g., hitting self

His Tourette's is in a mood today, that's for sure.

Already, Chase has flung two entirely different pens across the room while attempting, unsuccessfully, to write up a patient report, and he's jerked his head sharply enough to feel his neck pop on three separate occasions. Not even due to the one tic that makes him shake his head or the other where he's forced to press it down toward his shoulder; this is just his ordinary, everyday head jerking tic, where his gaze whips off to the side and his head simply follows along. Chase can practically feel the concern radiating off of Cameron and the discomfort from Foreman, the amused side-eye House is currently giving him and the huff as Chase tics yet again, one arm throwing itself halfheartedly across his chest as his shoulder jerks.

He sighs in frustration before his breath is swallowed by another tic, a low hum starting in the back of his throat before pushing higher, into the roof of his mouth. It would be easier if they had a case, something to distract him. Anything instead of the patient report. Hell, if he was able to, Chase would even do House's clinic hours, that's how desperate he is to get out of his head. He bites down hard on the back of his pen, trying to regain some sense of control.

It doesn't work. House's voice breaks through the silence, and with a sardonic grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he leans back in his chair, he asks, "You going to throw it again?"

Of course, his dumb Tourettic brain latches onto the suggestion. Before he's even aware of it happening, the printed indents from the text on the side of the pen are scraping across his teeth as it's ripped from his mouth by his own traitorous arm, and then it's flying across the room. The pen lands softly on the carpeted floor, bouncing once before rolling to a stop against the stand for the whiteboard.

Foreman reaches down and picks it up, offering it back to Chase without a word. His gaze stays trained on his own stack of paperwork and his patients' files, but he gives Chase a small, sympathetic quirk of his lips when his eyes flicker up to meet Chase's.

"Oh, I didn't realize this was a game of fetch," House quips as Chase accepts the pen from Foreman's outstretched hand with a mumbled apology to the elder. His boss's tone is literally dripping with snark, and while Chase knows that he's just bored and looking for someone to rile up, that he probably doesn't mean what he's saying, it doesn't mean that his comments don't hurt. While Cuddy is usually House's first choice of people to annoy, Chase is also right in front of the man and, well, it's simply more convenient to pick on him today.

He opens his mouth to retort, but another abrupt head jerk and a throaty hum slip out, making his attempt at a response turn into an odd, strangled sound. Chase flushes with embarrassment, pressing his lips together firmly, and Cameron doesn't hesitate for a moment to snap, "Lay off him, House."

House only rolls his eyes, clutching his chest dramatically before leaning forward. "He can take a bit of ribbing," he says, pinning Cameron with his gaze. "No need to get all protective over him."

Evidently, Chase can't. The heel of his palm slams into the bottom of his chin a second later, and it's with the sudden jolt of his teeth slamming into each other that he realizes what's about to happen.

Oh, shit.

"Chase—"

He cuts Cameron off by rising shakily from his chair, heart pounding. Now that he's aware of it, uncomfortably so, he can feel the pressure building within him, the mounting surge of energy that demands an imminent release. Chase is deeply familiar with the sensations that precede a tic attack, and he's got maybe a minute left before it completely overwhelms him.

A hand closes down on his shoulder and before he can stop himself, Chase's shoulders tense upward and his elbows jerk back painfully while a breath forces itself out through his nose. Cameron's face drops in shock and remorse as she pulls her hand away, and Chase takes the opportunity and runs with it.

Well, not quite. His gait is awkward as he practically stumbles out of the room, unwilling to go into the hallway but needing an escape all the same. There's a small balcony that no one else uses, considering that the only doctors who even have direct access to it are Wilson and the diagnostic fellows.

The cool March air does absolutely nothing to soothe him. Chase's body jerks sharply, his left knee spasming up toward his chest in a violent movement as he practically folds in half, one hand on the wall of the building for support. His breathing comes in erratic gasps, and his head jerks to the side once, twice, three times, and then again and again and again and—

Distant to his ears, despite the fact that he knows it can't be more than a hundred feet away, Wilson's door opens with a soft click. Chase wouldn't be able to turn and look at the older doctor even if he tried, not with how purely insistent the tic is and the way it's wrenching his neck around.

Wilson's hands are on his shoulders, then, and Chase, against his will, flinches away from the contact. His shoulders jerk sharply upward, pinning Wilson's hands against his jaw as he gasps out an apology through the tic.

"I'm s-s-s-sorry," he breathes, eyes squeezing shut with frustration as the tic goes tonic and his body shakes with how tightly his muscles are being tensed. There's an embarrassed flush rising on his cheeks, and Chase, horrifyingly, can feel himself tearing up as Wilson gently brings him to the ground once his shoulders finally relax.

Once he's seated, there's absolutely nothing he can do to prevent the tic attack from taking hold entirely. Wilson's concerned voice is nothing but a low drone, the words entering his mind but his brain is far too busy telling Chase to tic and tic and tic to even begin processing their meaning. It's entirely overwhelming, the cycle of tics endless and repetitive. His neck twitches; his shoulders jerk; his arm spasms across his chest; choked, guttural sounds and insistent hums crawl out of his throat, and Chase just can't stop.

And then, his fist slams into his chest.

Instantly, there's a distressed noise from Wilson and he reaches out, fingers wrapping gently around Chase's wrist to catch it before Chase has the chance to hit himself again. Unfortunately, the physical restraint, as light as it is, only makes the urge even stronger. Chase practically whimpers as his fist pounds into his chest repeatedly, knuckles hitting his sternum in rapid succession. Distantly, he realizes Wilson's already let go of him, as if the contact with his wrist burns the elder.

His breath hitches with every punch, and his shoulders keep twitching throughout the cycle until the tic eventually shifts, making his arm jerk sharply upward with his still-closed fist brushing against his shoulder. Chase gasps when the hitting tic finally ends, able to catch his breath now that he's not actively forcing it out of himself. He looks up, and Wilson's face swims in his vision.

Wilson is gentle as he speaks, but there's no missing the concern in his tone. "Chase, I need you to focus on my voice."

In Chase's experience, there's not much that can bring him out of a tic attack. It's not like a panic attack or anxiety attack; neither soothing words nor any of his breathing exercises are effective at calming him down enough for it to stop. Usually, Chase can only let the attack run its course and hope that it doesn't last for too long.

On the rare occasions where he's actually had someone stay with him during a tic attack, it was never out of choice, never with someone who actively wanted to help him. University roommates and other students from medical school rarely cared, if they even paid attention to him in the first place. The added stress of their presence tended to make the attack even worse, but Wilson—

Wilson's calming it down.

Even if the attack isn't quite slowing yet, he can feel the intensity of his tics gradually lessening. "That's it," Wilson soothes. "Just breathe. Take your time. You're safe here."

Chase's head tips back to rest against the wall as he throws a haphazard arm forward, and he makes a small, apologetic noise when he feels himself hit Wilson by accident. The elder doctor doesn't seem to mind, only continuing to sit with Chase on the cold concrete of the balcony. Wilson speaks quietly, and slowly, slowly, Chase's body starts to relax. His head doesn't jerk as violently, and the rapid muscle spasms tearing through him begin to slow down. 

Finally, Chase sags against the wall, eyes trained on the cracks in the concrete below him. His limbs still tremble with residual tics, but they're much more subdued than even minutes earlier, and he wipes away the sheen of sweat that's formed on his forehead as he catches his breath. For nearly a minute, the only sound is that of Wilson's calm breaths and his own ragged panting.

"Are you okay?" Wilson asks, once Chase's breath is back to normal.

Chase licks his lips. Nods. "Yeah," he whispers, then clears his throat. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Wilson says. Shockingly, he doesn't make a move to stand, or even step away from Chase now that the attack is over. "It's out of your control." His eyes are kind when he meets Chase's exhausted gaze, and of course, Chase is the first to look away.

There's an awkward beat of silence that dawdles between them before Wilson asks, "Do you think you can stand?"

Chase's head jerks a bit in another tic as he shoves himself upright instead of replying, keeping a hand lightly pressed against the wall for balance. His body protests the movement and he winces slightly, Wilson reaching out to steady him when Chase tics suddenly and nearly trips. His hand lands on Chase's arm, and the intensivist meets his eyes, surprised.

They stand there for a long moment, Chase ducking his head when his cheeks flush and trying to regain his composure. Wilson's hand remains on his forearm, and he watches him carefully. It's an uncomfortably vulnerable situation.

"Thank you," Chase eventually says, his voice a bit stronger. "I didn't... I mean, I wasn't—I wasn't expecting anyone to..."

"It's alright, Chase." Wilson's gentle voice breaks into the space that Chase leaves, and he continues, "We all have our moments."

Chase scoffs, both grateful and embarrassed but angry with himself. "I know," he mumbles, pushing a hand through his disheveled hair. "It's just…"

"Chase. It happens," Wilson says, like it's just that simple. "Please, don't worry about it."

Chase blinks slowly as he nods, deep-seated exhaustion seeping into each of his limbs. He's already becoming sore from the tic attack, and wants nothing more than to go home and rest. However, driving in his current state most definitely wouldn't end well.

As if sensing his conflict, Wilson speaks up again. "If you need to, Chase, you can take a break to rest in my office. I don't have anything to do besides paperwork for the next few hours."

He nods wordlessly, too tired to protest that he can go back to work. Chase already knows that he can't, and honestly, he doesn't want to deal with House any more, nor Cameron's inevitable concern and Foreman's veneer of nonchalance. He's just... done.

Wilson leads Chase through the door to his office and lets the younger doctor settle on the couch. "Just relax," he says. "I'm going to get you some water, alright?"

Chase nods again. With every action, his head only gets fuzzier, and he barely hears the click of the door closing behind Wilson before he's asleep.

[sleptwithinthesun]

here is another installation in the t/ourette's au!! there is snz this time, and 5K words of it (+ a fuckton of plot. help) :D i hope you enjoy!

cw: neither f/oreman nor h/ouse are exactly kind to c/hase in this. there's nothing explicitly against him, but some of their choices and thoughts shouldn't be repeated. also, i know nothing about the medical stuff. forgive me for any inaccuracies

"And where have you been?"

Foreman glances up from the medical journal he's been occupying himself with to watch Chase walk in, already wearing his lab coat, which is strange enough on its own for a three-in-the-morning page from House. Even stranger is the fact that he's later to arrive than House in the first place, who is proudly notorious for almost never being on time to work.

"Surgery," he replies, practically collapsing into his seat and accepting the file Cameron holds out to him. He smiles tiredly at her, even as his shoulders jerk upward and his eyes squeeze shut.

House ignores the tic, spinning in his chair to face the whiteboard, marker poised to write. "Symptoms include nausea, vomiting, jaundice, and fatigue. Patient came in because of the jaundice. Thoughts?"

"Jaundice indicates that the liver's failing," Cameron points out.

"Duh," House says. "Patient's a light drinker, she's in college, but nowhere near an alcoholic. Check the liver for cirrhosis, and we'll go from there." He flaps a dismissive hand at them, already forcing himself up on his cane and limping toward the door to his office.

Foreman doesn't even bother waiting for him to leave, just rises from his chair and follows Cameron and Chase down to the patient's room. About halfway down the hallway, Foreman breaks the silence to ask, "Think she's going to have cirrhosis?"

"If her liver's failing? Yes." Cameron speaks with conviction.

"Not necessarily," Chase interjects, neck twisting sharply to the side and forcing him to grab onto Cameron's shoulder for a second to keep his balance. He pauses to reorient himself, blinking sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Not your fault. You okay?" she asks. He nods, hand dropping back to his side, and sighs quietly.

It takes a moment, but he eventually speaks again. Foreman's noticed that about him; whenever Chase has a particularly bad tic, usually resulting in him drawing attention to himself, he tends to lapse into silence for the following handful of minutes. Cameron once explained to him that, according to Wilson, he's been doing it since even before she joined the diagnostic team, and it's a habit neither they nor Wilson see him breaking anytime soon.

"Could be hepatitis," he says quietly, voice a bit strained. "Although, type A wouldn't result in cirrhosis of the liver."

Cameron nods in acknowledgement, then pushes the 'down' button for the elevator. It's not even three-thirty in the morning, and in pure spite of the fact that Foreman's been working as a doctor for the past six years, the one thing he'll never get used to is the complete lack of a sleep schedule. He stifles a tired yawn behind his palm, then runs a hand down his face to try and wake himself up.

It doesn't work. He slumps against the side of the elevator once they're all inside, closing his eyes for a moment. He opens them again to find Cameron glancing at him sympathetically, lips curved with an odd little half-smile. "Any chance it's an easy diagnosis?"

"Knowing House? Never." Foreman rolls his eyes playfully at her.

"I don't know why House didn't just have us get a liver biopsy," Cameron continues as the elevator doors slide open again. "I mean, that's the easiest way to determine cirrhosis."

"And it's also unnecessary if we can get a CBC and run a panel for liver enzymes." Chase follows closely behind Cameron as they exit. She's the only one who actually knows where they're going; Foreman only remembers the floor number, and Chase barely got to look over the file before they were leaving the conference room.

Foreman glances back at him. "We should probably get an image, too. MRI or CT scan?"

"MRI," Chase says. "Better contrast resolution."

Cameron nods her agreement, then pauses outside a room, seeming to check the number. A moment later, she's pushing open the sliding glass door and smiling softly at their patient.

"Ms. Davis?" she asks, breaking the stillness of the room.

The girl in the bed laughs. "I'm nineteen; my mom is Ms. Davis." Foreman takes note of the honorific, storing the information away to share with House later. "Please, call me Audrey."

"Audrey," Cameron corrects, walking over to her bedside. "I know that it's late, and that you've had a rough couple of hours, but we need to run a couple of tests."

"We can expedite them," Chase offers, and Audrey's face crinkles with confusion, likely at Chase's accent. Either that, or the subtle tic presenting in the muscles of his face, which Foreman's pretty sure Chase doesn't even realize he's doing. "It's late. We haven't been slammed with an emergency, and most of the equipment is open."

Slowly, Audrey nods. "Where're you from?" she asks.

Chase blinks, startled. "Uh, Oz— Australia."

"Cool," Audrey says enthusiastically, her brow smoothing out a bit. She attempts to sit up straighter in her bed, smoothing a few strands of hair away from her face. "You haven't been over here very long, have you?"

She's flirting with him. Foreman rolls his eyes at Cameron, who just sighs and leaves the room to get the consent forms. Audrey's gaze trails after her as she leaves, and then, she states, just as plainly as if she were talking about the weather, "You're not dating."

Chase splutters. Foreman laughs. It's always teenage girls; something about Chase's accent, floppy hair, and general demeanor just draws them in, like a moth to a flame.

"No," Foreman says, chuckling. "They're not dating. Let's get you prepped for these tests. Dr. Cameron's getting the consent forms now, you just have to sign them." He starts checking her IVs; IVIg, saline, metoclopramide. The stand's going to have to travel with her.

Audrey flops back into her bed. "What're you going to do to me?"

"Nothing major. Take some blood and run an MRI scan," Chase says, having finally regained his voice. His cheeks are still tinged pink, and Foreman holds back a smile at the sight.

"It'll be quick," he promises, moving to the drawers and pulling out a needle and the necessary vials. "In fact, we can do the blood draw right here, once Dr. Cameron returns with the paperwork."

"You rang?" Cameron says, a clipboard and pen in hand. She passes them both off to Audrey, pointing out where to sign.

Audrey hands the paperwork back to Cameron a minute later, who then leaves the room with Chase to schedule the MRI. She holds out her left arm. "How much do you need?"

"Three vials," Foreman says, grabbing a rolling stool and bringing it over to her bedside. Placing said vials in his pocket, he sets the needle down on the tray next to the bed and starts feeling the crook of Audrey's arm for prominent veins. Nothing.

The tourniquet goes around her bicep, the needle into her arm only a minute later. Unlike most of their patients, Audrey chooses to watch as her blood fills the vials with an odd sense of fascination.

"You interested in biology?" Foreman asks.

"No way." Audrey grins at his expression, teeth flashing in the awful blue tinge of hospital lighting. "I took the pre-req. Reminded me of how much I hate it."

Foreman pulls the needle out after filling the last vial, then presses a small gauze pad to the inside of her elbow before taping it to her skin. "Dr. Cameron will be back to get you for the MRI shortly," he says, then leaves the room.

-

Chase is humming under his breath when Cameron slots the images from the MRI up onto the lightboard for House to see. "No cirrhosis," she sighs.

"Doesn't mean anything," House says, pacing across the room.

"Her liver is failing, and no cirrhosis doesn't mean anything?"

House pauses. Instead of answering Cameron's question, he glares right past Foreman at Chase and snaps, "Can you stop?"

Immediately, Chase quiets. His lips press together, and the already barely-audible humming ceases entirely. House nods, and the discussion flips back over to the patient. Still, glancing back at Chase, Foreman can see the vague flicker of his vocal cords. Despite the attempt at subtlety, it's clear he's struggling to suppress the tic.

"—testing her," House is saying when he brings his attention back to the more-important discussion at hand. "Liver enzyme panel will be back when dawn breaks. While you're waiting for that, you three can go on a little field trip. Go break into her dorm."

Chase nods and leaves the room without a word. Cameron's gaze trails after him before she follows, and House raises an eyebrow. "What's up with him?" he asks.

Foreman sighs. He wasn't sure about Chase from the moment House informed him that his new coworker had Tourette's, and weeks later, he still can't tell if the younger doctor should even have been allowed to become an intensivist in the first place. Constant, high-pressure situations cannot be good for someone prone to anxiety, especially when that anxiety can manifest in them killing someone because said person was too busy jerking their head around.

He's a neurologist. Despite what Chase thinks, Foreman is far from ignorant about what his condition entails, and he knows that what Chase is letting House do to him every meeting is going to screw them over in the future.

After sending a passing glance toward House, Foreman follows Chase and Cameron out of the room. "You want to drive?" he asks Cameron, who shrugs, keeping pace with him.

"I don't mind," she says, "if I can stop for gas on the way back."

Foreman nods, and switches topics back to the case. They've both learned better than to let Chase drive, after the first and decidedly final time. "There's not much privacy in a dorm room," he comments. "We're probably better off questioning her roommate and RA."

Chase, lagging a few feet behind them, asks, "Do we have a copy of her schedule? It might help us narrow our search."

"How, exactly?"

"We check the classrooms," he says, then lets out a jerky exhale, shoulders tensing up and eyes squeezing closed for a second.

Cameron, at least, is unfazed. "We don't usually check our patient's places of work, just their residences."

Chase isn't giving up. "She's in college," he counters. "It's more than likely that most of her time is spent outside of her dorm. We can ask other students in those classes if they've noticed anything weird."

"Other people would be sick, too," Foreman snaps at him, and Chase's entire face screws up for a moment. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but it's swallowed by a hum, the same tic House told him to suppress. Frustration passes over his features, and he goes quiet.

"It's worth looking into," Cameron says, her voice breaking through the sudden tension. "We can't check every classroom, though. Princeton's campus is way too big."

They lapse into silence after that, occasionally interrupted by Chase's humming tic. With how repetitive it's being, and how soft it is whenever he lets it out, it's clear that he's still trying to suppress it. Idiot; neither Foreman nor Cameron are going to yell at him for it.

Chase doesn't protest when Foreman claims the passenger seat. Instead, he leans against the window after buckling his seatbelt, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment. It's still pitch-black outside, aside from the streetlights and other establishments along the road. The dirty remnants of their recent snowfall are still pushed up against the curb, half-melted and refrozen into misshapen blobs. Cameron's attention flickers to their surroundings whenever they hit a red light, and she comments, "It's weird to see everything so... still."

Foreman huffs out a slightly-bitter laugh. "That's probably because, like most people, you're not awake at five in the morning."

"We're doctors," Cameron says, flicking her blinker on and glancing around the deserted road before turning left. She's a good driver, which is to be expected from a woman like her. Surprisingly relaxed behind the wheel, but he supposes that after seeing Chase drive, anyone would gain some confidence. "We work more than fifty hours a week, on average. Our sleep schedules revolve around the amusement of our boss, and unlike most people, I am woken up at five in the morning at least once a week." The smirk that follows that statement is surprising, but welcomed.

"Fair enough," Foreman concedes, then, realizing there hasn't been any input from their resident Aussie, glances at the backseat.

Chase is asleep, chest rising and falling steadily. With a start, Foreman realizes it's the first time he's ever seen Chase without a tic rippling underneath his skin, begging for release. He's oddly relaxed in sleep, muscles slack without any of the tension that normally binds him together. Even stranger, Chase somehow looks even younger than he normally does, with the strain gone from his face.

"Chase? You okay?" Cameron asks, obviously having noticed Foreman's sudden quietude.

"He's asleep," Foreman says, turning back to face the road again.

Cameron sighs and presses her lips together, sympathy blooming across her face. "He's probably exhausted. We can let him sleep."

"It's hasn't even been two hours since House called us; he shouldn't be crashing yet."

"He was attending a surgery before all this," Cameron reminds him, her gaze remaining focused on the road in front of them. Luckily, Princeton University isn't too far from PPTH, and Nassau Hall comes into sight after a handful of moments.

It doesn't take Cameron long to find suitable parking. "Do you want to wake him up, or should I?"

Foreman snorts. "He's not seven. Watch, this'll be enough." His boots crunch softly against the frozen grass, and he pointedly looks into the back windows until Cameron follows his gaze, then loudly shuts the car door.

Chase startles, jerking awake. Immediately, a tic forces his head to the side, and he glares at Foreman through the window before unbuckling and sliding out on Cameron's side.

"Not funny," he murmurs, once he comes into earshot. His accent is thicker with the remains of sleep clinging to him, making it harder to understand him than usual. He shivers a bit in the cool nighttime air, breath making clouds in front of him. "Can we go inside, now?"

-

The birds were just starting to sing by the time Foreman crossed the parking lot with Cameron and Chase, and glancing outside now as they make their way up to the fourth floor, dawn is already spilling across the sky.

Cameron drops their patient's file on the conference room table. "Negative for hepatitis A, B, and C."

"Liver panel come back yet?" House asks.

"No. It could be cancer," she suggests.

"A tumor, or multiple tumors, would have shown up on the MRI. Might be hemochromatosis, or Wilson's disease," Chase says, slumping into a seat. He presses his fingertips against his temple, wincing slightly.

Foreman interjects, "Maybe we're thinking about it the wrong way. Maybe it's not the liver malfunctioning because of a condition, maybe it's the liver malfunctioning because of what's going into it."

"We tested everything we got from her dorm," Cameron protests, "and it all came back negative for toxins."

"There's no way we got everything she came in contact with. Princeton's got a big campus."

"That's what I was saying earlier, but you both said other students would've been sick, if that were the case." Chase's elbow jerks back, and he sighs. "The problem is with her liver, not inside of it."

He twists away from the conversation, then, and preses his face into a raised shoulder. Shuddering softly, he releases a barely-audible "h'ksh!" He sniffles, and looks up to see House glaring at him.

"That's not a tic, is it?"

He shakes his head slowly, cheeks rosy with what Foreman assumes is embarrassment. "Just a sneeze."

"Bless you," Cameron murmurs. Chase flashes a half-smile at her.

"Do a biopsy of her liver," House says, staring at the whiteboard. "Foreman's right, it probably is inside of her. Question her for any symptoms that she might have chosen not to mention earlier. And see if she's been taking a high amount of over-the-counter painkillers recently." He pops a Vicodin, then, and raises his eyebrows at them, imploring them to go.

The weight of exhaustion is settling down on all of them, but no one bears it more obviously than Chase. His tics are coming out slower, less forcefully, as if he can't quite keep up with the pace they normally set for him. The motion will jolt through his body, and then Chase will actually become aware of it. Every tic has an echo, almost, where it comes out subdued and then Chase puts the effort in, repeating the action.

"You okay?" Cameron asks softly, and Chase nods.

"I just want to be done with this case," he responds.

Behind Chase, Cameron shoots Foreman a concerned look. The eldest doctor simply shrugs, and says, "The quicker we finish this, the quicker we'll figure it out."

Chase nods, then shudders again with another contained sneeze. "eK'sch!"

"Bless you," Cameron says once more.

"Thank you." Chase sniffles, then wrinkles up his nose, scrunching it twice. Foreman can't tell if it's a tic, or in response to the sneeze. Either way, Chase shakes his head, then says, "I'm going to go and get a room for the biopsy."

They watch him disappear down the hallway, white lab coat gradually blending in with the other doctors'. "Did he seem... off, to you?" Cameron asks, brow furrowed.

Foreman shrugs. "He's probably tired."

Cameron frowns harder. "He slept in the car on the way to Princeton and back."

"Ten minutes doesn't replace eight hours. Nor does it account for that surgery he assisted," Foreman points out.

Anything left of Cameron's argument dissolves when they arrive at Audrey's room. She's asleep, but stirs the second Cameron pushes her door open. There's an emesis basin on the floor next to the bed, freshly cleaned.

"Hey," she says, pushing herself up on her pillows. Her brow furrows as she takes in the two of them. "Where's the other doctor? The one with the accent?"

"Getting a room," Foreman says. The snark is unintentional, honestly, but he still can't get over the fact that it's always the college girls that have crushes on Chase.

Audrey's clearly unsatisfied by the half-answer, but at least she's got her priorities straight. "Do you... know what's wrong with me, yet? What did the tests say?"

"You're negative for hepatitis," Cameron says, looking at the monitor. "We're going to do a biopsy to rule out a couple of other possibilities, like hemochromatosis."

Audrey's eyes widen. "It's not serious, is it? Like, I'm not going to need surgery?"

"You shouldn't," Foreman comments, taking in her worried expression. Only half of their patients immediately jump to surgery, either expecting the worst or the best. "Why?"

"I've got a volleyball game in three days. Can't miss it."

"Your roommate mentioned something about you being on the varsity team," Cameron says, pulling out the paperwork for consent to a liver biopsy.

Audrey grins, taking the clipboard when Cameron offers it. "Yeah, Sammy's never been real interested in the sport. I love her to death, though." She rolls her eyes playfully at them before her tone sobers. "It's tough, y'know? My coach is already pissed that I'm missing practice because I'm in the hospital."

A sudden thought barges its way to the forefront of Foreman's brain. "You have a practice bag?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You keep it in your dorm?"

"Usually. I think Margo—one of my teammates—has it right now, although I have no idea why." Audrey looks at them. "Does it matter?"

Cameron glances from Audrey to Foreman, catching on. "It might."

"We've seen a lot of high school and college athletes take ibuprofen before their practices or games, just so that they can keep going," Foreman says. "It works in the moment, because you can't feel the pain of exerting yourself. Usually, it's warned against because athletes can't realize when to stop pushing their bodies."

"In other cases, though, an excess amount of ibuprofen is taken in over a long period of time. This can eventually lead to liver damage," Cameron explains.

Audrey closes her eyes and leans back against the pillows, her hands coming up to cover her face. Her voice is pained when she admits, "I've been taking two pills a day for almost two months, now."

Foreman looks over to Cameron. "I don't think we're going to need that biopsy."

Cameron's already moving, taking the clipboard from Audrey and taking out her pager, most likely to let Chase know of the change. Less than a moment later, she's shoving it back into her pocket and gesturing at Foreman. "He'll meet us at the labs. We've still got a vial of her blood left to run a test."

"House is going to be so annoyed," Foreman says, leaving the room and shaking his head in disbelief.

-

"We're treating you for ibuprofen overuse," Cameron explains, barely an hour later, attaching a bag to the IV stand. "This is going to flush your system, and you should be good to go."

"That's it?" Audrey asks, staring up at Cameron in shock. "Really?"

"Yep," Foreman says. He barely catches the sound of Chase repeating the word to himself quietly; a tic. "That's it."

Cameron warns, "Don't take this lightly. You can't take ibuprofen with repeated use, or you might damage your liver again."

"It's best for you if you stop taking NSAIDs completely for the next few months," Chase says. "That'll allow your liver to—to—to—"

Chase pauses to take a breath, clearly frustrated with the palilalia. His jaw snaps shut with an audible click of his teeth, and his head bobbles a few times, eyes glazing over. Foreman doesn't even realize what's happening until Audrey yelps.

"Oh, my God," Cameron breathes, surging to her feet.

Foreman ends up kneeling down on the floor right beside Chase, turning him onto his back and checking to make sure he's breathing. "Should've gone home," he mutters, glancing over to Cameron, whose concern is worn like a badge of honor.

Chase groans, his eyes fluttering weakly. Contrary to popular belief, unless they're slipping into a coma, most people only remain unconscious for a handful of seconds after fainting. Any longer, and brain damage is almost guaranteed.

"Are you okay?" Cameron asks, working with Foreman to get Chase up to a sitting position. It's not that hard; Chase isn't very heavy, and he's willing to work with them. Her fingers brush across his forehead and she freezes almost comically before putting the back of her hand against his skin. "You're burning up."

"Why didn't you tell us you were sick?" Foreman demands.

Before Chase is able to respond, angry beeping fills the room, joined by the sudden, desperate sound of choking. "She's asphyxiating," Cameron breathes, and rushes to shout, "We need help in here!"

The next minute is a blur. Foreman rushes to intubate, Cameron's pushing a cc of epinephrine, the nurses are frantic, and Chase is still on the floor, apparently feverish. The epinephrine kicks in, and slowly, the beeping of the alarm stops. Audrey stares up at them, eyes wide and pupils blown with fear.

"Not the ibuprofen," Cameron says, breathless.

"Not the ibuprofen," Foreman agrees.

There's a moment of silence where they're both clearly wondering what they're dealing with, if not overuse of ibuprofen.

Then, Chase groans, and their collective attention immediately switches back to their coworker, with the nurses able to handle Audrey for the time being.

"I'm fine," he mutters, already struggling to his feet. "Just need to... catch my breath." He punctuates the sentence with shoulder jerk.

"You just passed out, man, that's not exactly the definition of fine," Foreman says, pushing down on Chase's shoulder when he actually makes an effort to stand. "Stay down, man."

He gestures at the nurses. "We've still got a patient."

"What is it about the words 'you just passed out' that confuses you?" Cameron asks. "You didn't hit your head, did you?"

"Why are we fondling Chase in front of the patient?"

House's voice cuts through the room, and Cameron and Foreman both turn to look at him, Cameron with indignation and Foreman with sheer disappointment.

"I'm not—" Cameron starts.

"Zip it. I'm trying to get rid of the patient," House says, then limps over to Audrey's bed.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Audrey asks, her voice slightly raspy.

"I'm surprised you haven't been experiencing lung issues before now," House comments absently, looking at the detached IV bag of heparin that's no longer flowing into her veins. He sighs, then looks at her. "You have alpha-1 antritrypsin deficiency."

"What?"

"This is... Dr. House," Cameron says, interfering, and gives House a questioning glance. "AAT deficiency?"

He shrugs innocently. "It was on the liver panel."

Of course it was on the liver panel, considering that it took half a day longer than it should have to come back. The one thing that actually would have let them know what's wrong with her.

"The NSAIDs will clear out of your system normally. Try not to take any more, or you might end up right back here. And take it easy on the sports." House gives her one of his tight-lipped smiles, the ones he does only for politeness, then looks back over to Chase. "Why was she fondling you?"

"He passed out," Cameron replies shortly.

House's eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. "Why?"

"He's sick." Foreman gently hauls Chase to his feet, who sways the second he's upright and shakes his head violently enough to nearly send him right back to the floor. Foreman's hand clamps down tightly on his shoulder, keeping him on his feet.

"I'm fine," Chase repeats, but it's clear he knows he's defeated.

"Clearly not," House snarks. "One of you, drive him home. Or ask Wilson to do it. His lunch break is soon. Either way, we're done here." Unexpectedly, his tone softens, just a bit, when his gaze lands on Chase. "Get some sleep."

And then, he's leaving, cane tapping softly against the floor in a rhythmic pattern.

Cameron exchanges a look with Foreman. House is right; Chase is in no state to drive, not when he's practically on the verge of fainting again and nursing a fever of what Foreman guesses is nothing lower than one-oh-one. Cameron's place is only ten minutes away from the hospital, but in the complete opposite direction to Chase's. On the other hand, Foreman lives a bit further, but Chase's place isn't much of a detour for him.

"I can take him," he offers. "You finish up here."

Cameron nods, then murmurs, "Feel better," to Chase as she goes to console Audrey, who's looking more than freaked out.

Chase is quiet aside from the occasional tic as Foreman leads him down the hall to the diagnostic conference room so they can gather their stuff before leaving. Wilson's leaving House's office just as they walk in, and looks at Chase with sympathy in his expression.

"House said he passed out?" he questions.

Foreman nods his affirmation, shedding his lab coat as Chase hums. "Foreman's taking me home."

Wilson nods. "AAT deficiency?"

"We didn't get the liver panel back," Foreman says, rolling his eyes. "I'm assuming the tech didn't send up the printout like we asked."

"At least House didn't try to, I don't know, inject her with ursodiol." Foreman glances over at Chase, who now has his messenger bag slung across his chest and his wearing his jacket, beanie stuffed into the pocket. "You ready?"

"Yeah," he says, blinking hard. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Foreman nods at Wilson. "See you tomorrow."

"Drive safely," Wilson says, and goes back to his office.

Chase stays pretty close to Foreman as they head down the elevator, in spite of his initial protests that he was fine. He's always seemed like one of those doctors whose body would give up long before his brain did, kind of like House. But with the case ending abruptly, there's really nothing else they can do until House drops another file onto the conference room table.

The second they hit the cold air, though, Chase ducks away from him to bury a handful of sneezes in the elbow of his coat, becoming harsher as they progress. "h'ksHh! iK'schh! ih'gxXt!" The last one comes out slightly stifled, and Chase's shoulders tense up to his ears while both his elbows jerk back, the movement half-aborted, followed by the heel of his palm coming up to smack him in the chin. Foreman can hear it when his teeth slam together.

"Woah, you good?" Foreman asks.

Chase nods, breathing softly. "Can't sneeze and tic at the same time," he says, by way of explanation.

Foreman takes a second to piece that bit of information together. "Wait, so if you sneeze, it basically makes your tics worse?"

"Pretty much," Chase sighs. "My tics usually feel... heavier, I guess, when I'm sick. They're harder to get out, even though I need it."

"...That sucks, man," Foreman says. Chase huffs out a laugh, ticcing again while they walk through the parking lot.

"Yeah. I'm kind of used to it though, you know?" He pauses at Foreman's car. "You sure you want to drive me? You're going to have to get me tomorrow morning, too, because my car'll be here."

"It's fine. Whatever keeps you off the roads."

Chase sighs in agreement. "Believe me, I don't like it either."

They're referring to Chase's driving tic, which makes him wiggle the steering wheel. It's not much, but it was enough to catch both himself and Cameron off-guard the first and only time they let Chase drive to a patient's house. With a start, Foreman realizes this is the only time Chase has actually talked about his tics, bringing them up casually, like they're a normal part of his life. Which, he supposes, they are. They're just abnormal to the rest of them.

His thoughts are interrupted by Chase sneezing again. "eKh'sch'h! Sorry. Change in temperature." He blinks, half of his face twitches, and then sneezes again, more contained. "hk'tt!"

"Bless you," Foreman says. Chase is probably slightly delirious, he says to himself. That's why he's being open, for once.

He backs out of the parking spot, and takes Chase home.

[sleptwithinthesun]

🎬 for sambucky please

ty anon for the request! i'm so sorry it took a little while to fill, but i sincerely hope you enjoy the fic!! (i'm kind of iffy on the ending... ajshkfd) anyway, here's 1.3K words on the dot written for you :D

(fill for 🎬 on the fall snz prompts list... written for b/ucky b/arnes and s/am w/ilson from t/fatws. also includes j/oaquín t/orres.)

Joaquín doesn't know how he ended up making the popcorn.

Actually, he doesn't know how he ended up here in the first place. Sam and Bucky invited him over after their most recent mission for a movie night, but if he's being honest, it's a little suspicious. While he and Sam are a little bit closer than work friends, it's not like Bucky's said more than ten words to him. Maybe this is an attempt by Sam to have the two of them actually interact more.

Anyway.

He brings the two bowls of popcorn out to the living room where both Sam and Bucky are already sitting on the couch, arguing over what movie to watch. "You guys are like an old married couple," he comments, setting them down and sitting on the couch cushion between them, not thinking anything of it until they both fall silent. "What?"

"Nothing," Sam reassures, reaching for one of the popcorn bowls and putting it down between himself and Joaquín. "Thanks, Torres." Bucky nods his appreciation, taking the other. Right. Supersoldier metabolism, and all that.

A couple moments of awkward silence pass before Joaquín speaks again. "So, uh. What movie are we watching?"

Sam glares at Bucky for a second before he answers. "Bird Box."

"No way, we're doing The Invisible Man," Bucky protests, and Sam immediately groans.

"Buck, no offense, but I'm not going to watch a movie from the nineteen-thirties," he says, tone softening towards the end of his statement. "Besides, it's not like Torres is going to know anything about that."

Joaquín looks at Sam, eyebrows furrowed and lips curving into a confused smile. "I'm not that young, Sam. I read The Invisible Man in high school." Bucky pumps his fist in triumph, then lowers it as Joaquín speaks again. "However, my vote is cast for A Quiet Place."

Sam and Bucky share a look over his head, probably having one of those silent-eye-contact conversations they do. Finally, Sam asks, "That's the movie with Jim from The Office, right?" and Joaquín nods his confirmation.

"What's— never mind, I'm sure I don't want to know," Bucky says, sinking deeper into his seat as Sam laughs and flicks through the movies listings, looking for A Quiet Place. He crows in triumph when he finds it, grinning over at Joaquín.

"Can you get the lights?"

-

The movie is long, over three hours, and they're almost halfway through when both him and Bucky hear it. (Although, to be fair, it's not that hard. A Quiet Place is almost entirely soundless.) A barely held-back sneeze coming from Sam's side of the couch, followed by the two of them instantly turning to him to offer blessings.

"Thanks," he murmurs, rubbing absently at his nose and turning his attention back to the screen. It's not a minute later before he's sneezing again, though, this time unrestrained. "hih... ht'chSHH!"

"Bless you." Bucky frowns and looks back over at Sam, Joaquín following his lead. "What's going on with you?"

"Whh... what do you mean?" Sam asks, failing to conceal the hitch in his breath as he talks. "I'm fine."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Sure, Sammy. You're fine."

"Sammy?" Joaquín asks, swallowing a laugh at the nickname. Bucky gives him a dead look, a clear indication of his lack of amusement, before he turns his attention back to Sam. He's frowning even harder now and reaching out to touch Sam's forehead with his flesh hand as Joaquín reaches for the remote to pause the movie.

"Stop it," Sam grumbles, batting his hand away. "I told you, I'm— heh'sHUUu! I'm fine."

"You're not," Bucky insists, standing up. Joaquín barely manages to hide a grin as he walks over to Sam, obviously in some kind of caretaking mode. Which makes sense, he supposes. He, of course, learned about World War II in history class along with the role of Captain America and the Howling Commandos in the end of the war and supposed downfall of HYDRA. Joaquín had actually done a report on Steve and Bucky's life before the war, a topic that had seemed boring to a lot of the other students (they'd preferred to look at other major events, such as Steve's rescue of the 107th or his final mission and crash into the ocean) but had been fascinating to him. The friendship they'd had was really something special.

Joaquín's drawn out of his thoughts by Bucky's voice, slowly raising in volume as he talks to Sam and pacing in front of the couch with his flesh hand running through his hair. "—always do this, you say you're perfectly fine and the next thing I know, you're collapsing in the middle of training."

"That's your move," Sam argues, his features pinched. "Do I need to remind you of last February—"

"—you're not going to make anything better by trying to deny it now, Samuel—"

"—are you seriously pulling out the full name, Buck, who do you think you are—"

"Alright!" Joaquín shouts, drawing back when they both turn their heads and glare at him in sync. He stands his ground, though. He's a lieutenant; he's plenty capable of dealing with Captain America and his ex-assassin best friend. "You're both being children. Sam, if you're actually sick, just admit it and let us handle it. We don't care, and you don't have to be strong all the time around us. We've seen you at your lowest, and we've also seen at your highest. Sometimes literally. Bucky and I know you, Sam, and we're not going to shy away just because you're human like the rest of us. And Bucky, pull back a bit. I'm willing to bet you're worried because you're used to taking care of Steve, so you don't know how to react with people who have normal immune systems. I'm not saying it's a bad thing, I'm telling you Sam is also able to take care of himself without you insisting this is worse than it is. You two need to actually communicate with each other instead of hiding and denying." Joaquín crosses his arms, returning their glare with his own while he waits for his words to sink in.

Sam's the first one to break, sighing towards his feet. "He's right, Bucky. We need to get better at... this," he says, motioning to the two of them. Bucky nods agreement, begrudgingly sitting down on the arm of the couch while Joaquín backs out of the room. He's done what he needed to.

-

"hhDT'SHUU!"

"Bless you!" Bucky calls from the kitchen, sighing affectionately and shaking his head at the same time. "What did I tell you? He does this every single time."

"Apparently, so do you," Joaquín returns, smiling as Bucky gives him another one of those death-glares. "Come on, you two are, like, exact opposites but also the same person. It's kind of weird."

Bucky rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the tomato soup he's been making. "You mean, we're friends." He doesn't give Joaquín room to clarify, barreling on with his next sentence. It's a nice change from when he simply ignored him. "I'm serious, though, this happens every time. There was this one time when we were still fugitives and he got sick, but he didn't tell anyone because he's a fucking idiot and likes to play hero, because he forgets that he literally is one. Long story short, Steve woke me up at three in the morning because, 'Sam's sick, you need to come help me with him'. Like, come on, Steve, a man needs his beauty rest..."

Joaquín grins, feeling strangely at home with Sam and Bucky. Sure, the two of them still bicker like an old married couple, but they can work on that. This is only the first step.