So baisicly I'm just posting this so I'll feel guilty if I delete it again or never finish. I never post WIP's (well... I try not to) but *shrug* maybe it will make me finish this one.


Title: Stuck in the Middle with You
Author: Harem
Fandom: House M.D.
Pairing: Genfic. Stop staring at me!
Summary: Imagine being stuck in an elevator with House for six hours, now imagine that's the least of your problems
Rating: PG13 ( dammit! I'm old school ratings! It's not my fault you kids these days have your newfangled rating system)
Status: WIP



Wilson knocked on the open door of House’s office, automatically catching the large tennis ball that barreled toward his face. He threw it back at the room’s occupant, and let himself in.

“Chase is sick.”

“That’s a little harsh. I mean, you have a point, but-“

“He called in sick.”

“Ahh” House tossed the ball into the air before throwing it back to his friend. He grinned as Wilson took up his invitation and settled in for an impromptu game of toss.

“You know, you really could be a little nicer to him.” Wilson scolded.

“What? It’s my fault he’s sick, because I’m mean to him? Besides, he’s just playing hooky.”

“Of course he’s playing hooky. That’s why he asked me to tell you. You can tell when he’s lying. But why would he be playing hooky?”

“Because he’s a naughty boy?” House offered innocently.

“Or because you hired a stripper to bring him lunch and pretend to be his girlfriend?” Wilson countered.

“Oh come on! I was just trying to make him lighten up. He’s going to give himself an ulcer.”

“You’re the one giving him an ulcer House.”

House grunted non-commentaly and threw the tennis ball a little harder than necessary.

“We’re all glad you’re having fun with your new toy, but you’re going to break him if you keep it up.”

“But then I can rebuild him, Stronger, faster.”

“So that’s your plan? Break his spirit and remake him in your image? You know, Cameron already thinks you’re turning him into a mini-house. “

House snorted. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Wilson lifted an eyebrow.

House rolled his eyes. “Fine, I guess I’ll just have to go back to harassing the patients. Does Cuddy know are delicate little wombat is taking the day off to lick his wounds?”

A folder flew past Wilson’s shoulder to land in House’s lap.

“Yes she does. Which is why she made me come in anyway.” Chase was leaning against the door. House took the opportunity to look him over. The young doctor was wearing worn, faded jeans, and a large sweatshirt. His arms were crossed over his stomach, his hands hidden in the long sleeves.

“You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit. That’s why I called in sick.”

“Are you contagious?”

“If I were, I would already be in the break room sneezing in your coffee.”

House caught the tennis ball again and threw it to Chase, who watched it sail into the hallway, clearly unimpressed. He nodded towards the file. “If you’re done with recess, the rest of us would like to work now. You should like this case, 30 year old male, complaining of a sore throat, and loss of color vision when he urinates.”

House sighed in mock disappointment. “Couldn’t you find anything interesting? “

“Sorry, all the good cases were taken. Come on, if you’re a good boy I’ll poison a patient later, and let you figure out which drugs I used.” Chase offered.

“Sounds fun. Gather up the ducklings.”

Chase nodded and slipped out the door.

Wilson spun his char back around to face House. “See?”

“Oh come on, I was never that snippy.” House gathered up the folder and his favorite white board markers. Wilson kicked the tennis ball back into the office as they began walking down the hallway together. “And I never would have wasted a sick day on actual illness. They’re for hangovers.”

“And wound licking?” Wilson suggested, smirking.

“Shut up.” House growled and whacked him on the leg with his cane.


---

House chewed on the marker as he stared at the whiteboard.

Foreman cleared his throat. “It’s obviously-“

“Shh!” House silenced him. He continued to stare at the board, reading the words out loud.

“Thirty. Male. Obese, Wheel chair. Sore throat. Peeing in black and white. “ He tapped the marker against his lips.

“Chase, differential diagnosis of a sore throat.”

“Being strangled by your coworker?”

House turned and dinged the marker off of Chase’s forehead. “Cute. Go. Research. Start with R’s.” He smirked as Chase blinked at him in disbelief. “Not kidding. ” He waited until Chase had stalked over to the computer and turned on his ipod before addressing the remaining ducklings. “Okay. One of you go and tell out patient that he’s fat and lazy, the other, go and get me some coffee, I think Chase sneezed in this one.”

Neither of the doctors moved. House sighed.

“He’s thirty years old. He owns a hover round, and there is cheesy poof dust on his admission papers. Otherwise in good health, which means he’s just fat and lazy. Probably the only time he stands up is to piss. Lack of exercise, plus low iron levels from an unhealthy diet equals dizziness, and, ta-da, loss of color vision when you stand up. “

Foreman and Cameron looked at each other.

“Run some type of test if it makes you feel better. And two sugars, no cream. I hate cream.” He started to erase the whiteboard and paused as he came to ‘sore throat’. “Oh, and give him some cough drops.” House ushered the two doctors out and shut the door firmly behind him, he turned around to see Wilson smiling at him. “What?” He growled defensively.

“Differential diagnosis for sore throat? So not only does Cuddy make him come in when he’s sick, but you give him pointless busy work. That’s not very nice.”

House carefully selected a marker and began writing on the whiteboard again. “He’s getting paid. And as soon as we leave he’s going to slack off and take a nap. “ House turned the board so that Wilson could see his handiwork. A large arrow pointed towards the computer, below it was the admonition: “Sleeping Wombat. Do not disturb.”

“Even I’m not mean enough to make him work when he’s sick.”

“No.” Wilson agreed. “But you are mean enough to blackmail him with the fact that he’s been sleeping on the job.”

House shrugged, limping out the door. “That’s just a bonus.”

---

House yawned and looked at his watch. It didn’t help much, it had stopped working a few weeks ago, but it made him look productive, and gave him something to do. The hands, conveniently, were stuck on 6:55. Close enough.

His two remaining ducklings and Wilson were sitting around the conference table, working on a crossword. Chase had long since given up any pretense of working and was stretched out on the floor in a patch of sunlight, a bottle of water by his hand. He would wake up occasionally, but only to follow the light across the floor.

House hit the table with his cane to get their attention. “All in favor of getting the hell out of dodge” Four hands rose, including House’s own.

“All opposed?” The group looked at Chase expectantly. He continued to sleep.

“The ayes have it. Who wants to give Blondie over there true love’s first kiss? Cameron? No? Foreman?” House turned to see two empty chairs and a smirking Wilson.

“They left as soon as you stopped watching.”

“ahh.” House levered himself up and limped over to the supine intensivist. He poked him in the stomach with his cane.

The blonde shot up and House felt a hot sting against his head, as his cane was wrenched away and used against him. He heard Wilson snickering behind him. He snatched his cane back and glared at Chase, who didn’t look very apologetic.

“Wake up sleepy head, bedtime. You don’t want to sleep on the floor all night do you?”

Chasse slowly got to his feet, looking around for his bag. “That sounds…insanely comfortable at the moment.” He was so intent on his search that he didn’t notice Wilson’s hand sneaking toward his forehead.

Wilson frowned. “Do you want me to check you out before you leave?”

House replaced Wilson’s hand with hiss own. “Watch it, he’s just trying to get in your pants. He used the same line on me.” House’s joking was at odds with the frown on his own face.

“You’re running a fever.” He handed Chase the bag that was sitting by the blond’s feet.

“I’m sick. Of course I’m running a fever. “ Chase batted House’s hand away from his forehead, and took his bag. “All I want to do is go home and go to bed.” He made his way to the elevator, with the two older doctors shadowing his steps.

“Are you sure? “ Wilson asked

“I’m a doctor. Of course I’m sure.” Chase snapped. He opened his eyes and sighed at the worry in the other man’s eyes. He softened his tone. “I could use a ride home though.” He offered, hoping to appease Wilson.

‘Besides’ he thought as the trio stepped into the elevator, ‘it would be easier to convince Cuddy to let him play hooky tomorrow if his car was still at the hospital. Ten to one she still felt guilty after finding out he wasn’t faking.


House’s voice interrupted his musings. “Don’t think this means you get to play the sick card again tomorrow.”

Chase groaned and leaned back against the wood paneled wall.

‘Dammit.’

---

“Dammit!” House yelled, as he picked himself up off the floor. The elevator had lurched to a sudden stop, the lights flickering ominously. Wilson offered him a hand up, already pulling out his cell phone. House watched in amusement as he waved it around, trying to pick up a signal.


“Try the top left corner,” Chase suggested, shrugging as the two doctors turned to look at him. “I’ve gotten stuck in here before.” He was still sitting on the floor where he fell, though he had managed to make himself comfortable, his back resting against the wall. House was slightly disturbed by the fact that it looked like the blond was settling in for a long wait.

House slumped beside Chase as Wilson got a line through to Cuddy’s office and tried to explain their situation.

“So…” House said after a minute, fidgeting as boredom set in.

“So…” Chase countered.

“You wanna have sex?”

Chase blinked. “That has to be the most random proposition I’ve heard lately.”
House persisted. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“No. House. I do not want to have sex with you.”

“Aww come on. We don’t have anything else to do.”

“Count the ceiling tiles.”

“34. Did that already.”

“Count sheep.”

“What do you think made me so horny?”

Chase favored his supervisor with a disgusted glance.

“Have sex with Wilson then!” He snapped.

House’s eyes lit up. “Wilson!” He yelled across the small space, pitching his voice to be heard over the staticcy cell phone connection. “Chase wants to watch us have sex!”

Chase’s face turned bright red and ducked his head. Wilson merely rolled his eyes, turning his back on his juvenile coworker.

“House.”

House whipped his head around as he heard Chase call his name. It wasn’t the usual offended squeak, or angry curse he heard in the Australian’s voice. It sounded frightened,

Chase’s face was no longer red from embarrassment. He was a shockingly pale; His eyes were wide and filled with pain.

“I – Something-“ Chase tried to speak, reaching out grab House’s shirtsleeve.

“I don’t feel too good, House,” He gasped, eyes squeezing shut, arms going around his stomach. He gasped again, the sound somewhere between a moan of pain and a frustrated scream. He doubled over, forehead nearly touching the ground.

House caught his shoulder and forced him to lean back against the wall. Chase was already limp against his hand. “Wilson!” He snapped, his fingers pressing against the pulse point on his neck. He looked up to see his friend already kneeling on the other side of Chase, his fingers going to the other man’s wrist. In the corner, where Wilson had dropped it, the cell phone whined steadily, letting the doctors know their connection to the outside world had been cut off. Beneath their fingers, Chase’s pulse raced.







(Warning: This is called alternate because it's not how the story goes. The real part two will be along shortly. However, feel free to stop and accept this as the real ending. I rather like it myself)

House twisted the blue striped tie around his fist, refusing to look at his you intensivist. Chase was lying on the floor of the elevator, unconscious, with a dangerously high fever. His sweatshirt was balled up underneath his head, serving as a pillow. The dress shirt he had been wearing beneath it was unbuttoned, revealing his bare chest.

House snorted. The idiot had put on a shirt and tie under his mangy “screw you, I’m sick” sweatshirt. He unwound the tie, wrapping his fist again more tightly.

Chase’s bare chest was hitching with every breath, and his stomach muscles twitched and jumped. Wilson was rubbing his arm, trying to pass on some tiny measure of comfort as they waited for the vicodin to kick in. The vicodin was so that they could feel a little less guilty about sitting around with their thumb up their asses while they watched their friend die.

It was his appendix. Hot and infected, and flooding the body with millions of little streams of bacteria. Any first year idiot could tell it was the appendix.

“How long?” House didn’t look up.

“Five hours.” House shook his head. No, that was how long until they could expect somebody to get them out of the elevator. It had been six hours when Chase had collapsed. Cuddy hadn’t wanted to mess up the elevator, didn’t know there wasn’t time to wait for a technician from out of state. They hadn’t been able to tell her. ‘Five Hours’ wasn’t what House wanted to know.

“How long until his organs shut down?” He looked Wilson in the eye.

“We just have to wait.” Which was Wilson’s way of saying ‘ a hell of a lot less than five hours’.

House nodded and unwrapped the tie again and shifted closer to the two men. Hesitantly he reached out and started rubbing Chase’s other arm. “The pills should be kicking in soon.”

The End