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The case was a pure disaster.
It was impossible to solve, really. It was like they were just throwing random diagnoses and hoping something would finally be right. Nothing was. At some point, Chase started wondering if the patient was really sick with anything known to humanity.
They were all extremely busy, completely swamped. They were constantly in the lab, or with the patient, or running some other tests. They barely had time to eat anything, not to mention take a short nap or—
Chase stopped in his tracks.
Oh shit.
He hadn't even realised how long it had been since he had put his binder on. At least not until now. A small flicker of panic filled him as he started mentally calculating the hours that had passed. So far that flicker was tiny, a dull feeling, not alarming, but just... being there, in his mind, still hidden in the back.
10 hours.
Not great, but still not completely awful. Well, theoretically, as a doctor, he knew that it was way too long, but being a doctor also meant he was used to this kind of irregularity. So far, it hasn't been that bad yet. It was definitely about to border on an unhealthy amount of time pretty soon though, even for his own, low standards.
He returned his attention to the work that he was about to do.
However, now that he was aware of the situation, he could feel the sharp pain in his ribs whenever he moved too fast or breathed too deeply.
Another hour passed and the pain grew. It was still bearable but definitely not that easy to ignore now. It started influencing his behaviour now. He'd move more slowly, carefully. He'd speak calmly to avoid the need of breathing too deeply and too sharply.
But in the next hours it kept getting worse and worse.
It was getting hard to function at this point. His brain felt too cloudy to think clearly and focus — was he already that oxygen-deprived?
He avoided any necessary movements. He wouldn't speak unless he absolutely had to. He would sit completely still at the differentials, trying to preserve as much oxygen as possible.
Now it was definitely the moment to start panicking. He was running out of time that he could keep this up for. He was going to be physically unable to keep the binder on soon. It seemed like despite having three choices, there was none that he could actually choose. Keep the binder on? Sure, if he wanted to suffocate to death. Ask House to let him go home while they were all running on the time to solve the case? Great idea, if he wanted House to strangle him to death himself. Just take the binder off while still working? Oh, he'd rather die.
This was a nightmare. Legitimate nightmare.
Additionally, as if the whole situation didn't suck enough, it was obvious someone was finally going to notice something. And it was obvious who that someone would be. He knew it got bad when he could feel House staring at him. Not glancing from time to time, not watching him discreetly — just staring. At some point, he didn't even seem to try to hide his scanning glare. It was piercing Chase in a way that almost made him shiver.
Oh, great. House looked like he was about to kill him.
Oh, great. The kid looked like he was about to kill himself.
House has been observing Chase for the last few hours and the whole situation made him wonder if he had a temporary lapse of judgement over a year ago. Did Chase got a brain damage of some kind recently or was he always that stupid? Did House really hire such an idiot? Well, he always teased him and his intelligence but now he was about to start thinking about this seriously — did he actually hire a complete moron? And if so, how did it reflect on him?
Wait, would that mean he was a complete moron too?
Despite being a literal genius, he didn't understand the situation. He couldn't comprehend how anyone could be stupid enough to think that —out of all the options— strangling themselves with a chest binder was the way to go.
And the worst part about the situation? No one else knew about the fact that Chase was trans, which meant House couldn't even mention anything about the binder to them. He groaned inwardly.
What was the use of someone's idiocy if you couldn't even publicly humiliate them for it?!
He was in the middle of a mental complaint about how he was actually the victim of the whole situation —suffocated by possession of humiliation ammunition and the inability to actually fire it— when his eyes landed on Chase and all his thoughts came to a halt.
He looked absolutely awful. He was pale —not just a bit pale, paper shade of white almost— and he looked like he was a waiting medical emergency about to happen (he probably was indeed). His breathing was compltely off. Shallow but unstopping, fast but not rapid. He was avoiding any unnecessary movement, but not in a lazy way, more like in an "animal that just got wounded and is trying to hide it" kind of way. Not to mention his very visible oxygen deprivation. To call it a brain fog would be an understatement of the century, it was basically a termporary mental decline at this point. At least when compared to the standards that House held his team up to.
As Chase wobbled and had to stabilize himself against the table when he was getting up to go and run another test, House decided he was giving him just an hour longer of this idiocy.
Well, time was up.
Time was up.
The critical line that Chase always told himself he would never cross.
16 hours. The exact double of the supposed maximum. The "hypothetical line to never cross that he would probably never come close to". Well, now he reached it.
And what happens now?
It turned out that the answer was "absolutely nothing".
No bells, sirens or alarms rang (apart from the ones in his head), no decision. Nothing changed. He was going on just like before. Except that now his brain was screaming at him way louder, almost deafening him.
He was currently sitting in the empty office, doubled over. The pain was completely unbearable, like something was crushing him or ripping him apart.
He sat up sharply —too sharply— as he heard the familiar footsteps approaching.
House seemed to notice the untouched stash of paperwork Chase had been supposedly doing for the last hour, but he didn't comment. Instead he moved his glance onto Chase and kept it on him for quite a long while.
Then he walked over to the whiteboard and grabbed one of the markers. Without a warning, he tossed it at Chase, who moved his hand up, but stopped abruptly, which resulted in the marker bouncing off his jaw on the floor. The blonde doctor hesitated but then picked it up with a concealed wince.
If this was a test, he was going to make sure to pass it.
"Can you write all the symptoms? My brain's all foggy, need some reminder" House said casually and Chase walked over to the whiteboard carefully. He was about to start write —his hand at the height around his shoulder— when House stopped him. "Gotta start higher, otherwise you won't fit them all" he said.
Chase raised his hand with a small wince but then House spoke up again. "Nah, all the way to the top, there's a whole long list of them"
Chase was about tosay somthing but then stopped himself, taking a shaky breath instead. "Fine" he said, through slightly clenched teeth as he moved up his hand evn higher.
He started writing, but then his breathing hitched in pain. And that was all that his tortured lungs needed to go on a strike. His breathing quickened and with the chest constriction, he couldn't get enough oxygen. He stumbled and grabbed the closest object —whiteboard— to stabilize himself. The whiteboard handled the pressure as well as Chase's lungs — it decided to go on a strike too and collapsed right with him.
"Ah, yes, whiteboards. The best choice for support. Famously known for their stability." House said sarcastically, before walking over to him and crouching down in front of him.
Chase was even paler than before —which probably no one thought was even possible— and he was curled up, his hands on his chest. His face was twisted in a pained grimace and he was making a various of noises — wheezy, shaky breathing mixed up with sharp gasps and pained whimpers. "Agh— Can't— Ow— Can't— Breathe—" he uttered.
House immediately rolled him onto his side and into the recovery position, while grabbing his wist and checking his pulse. "You're about to faint" he informed.
Chase somehow managed to roll his eyes, which was impressive considering it seemed like they were about to roll back instead.
'Of course you couldn't help making another genius observation' was his last thought before everything went blank.
He woke up feeling like something was crushing him.
Right, the binder...
Wait.
His eyes snapped open.
He was lying in a hospital bed, monitors beeping faintly in the background, but —most importantly— there was an oxygen mask on his face.
His glance immediately went to the figure sitting next to him, watching the monitors obsessively with his finger on the oxygen level settings button.
"House?" Chase called.
"Oh, high time you woke up, idiot!" House scolded. "Look, I'm not even going to lecture you on anything, because if you were stupid enough to do it, you're probably not smart enough to learn from it. Also, wouldn't want to risk sounding like some pathetic concerned father" he muttered. "A few things though — first, you wore it way too long and it's also a size too small, both of which you're most likely aware of. Second, I made sure, no one knew about any of this, I even had to wheel you on a bed covered with a sheet like a corpse — you're welcome. Third, I didn't take it off of you, so don't worry, I haven't seen your chest. Not like I haven't seen tits in my life, but again — you're welcome. And fourth, here's what's about to happen. I'm going to leave you here alone, you're going to lock yourself in here, take that damn torture device off and rest. Then, after several hours of the rest, preferably with sleep, you're going to put this stupid thing back on —because God knows you won't leave this room without it anyway without some sort of mental breakdown— and go home and, then get yourself a binder in the right size. If I ever catch you in anything too small or if you leave it for too long — you're fired. Got it?"
Chase watched him the whole time, a bit overwhelmed with the fast and unstopped speech, but also a bit shocked. Then he nodded. "Yeah... Thanks"
House just let out a long-suffering sigh and got up. "Idiot. I hired a damn idiot" he muttered. He stopped as he reached the door and turned to him. "Take care of yourself" he said, his voice slightly softer. "... idiot" he added then and left the room.
Chase still sat up, a bit shocked for a while. Then h smiled tiredly, while lying down.
For once he didn't mind being called an idiot.