The only extra privacy his office afforded over the conference room was psychological--people were marginally less likely to barge in without knocking, since it wasn't a "public" space--but it would have to do. Chase followed reluctantly as he made his way into the other room and collapsed into the chair behind the desk. Not surprisingly, his expression was sullen as he obeyed House's order to take a seat.

For the past week, Chase had resembled nothing so much as a sulky child. He'd lapsed into these passive-aggressive displays of anger before, but never to this extent. And never, House had been forced to admit to himself, with so much cause.

This conversation was not going to be fun. For either of them. He'd come to believe that it was necessary nevertheless.

He wasn't sure how to start, so he simply jumped in. "I'd be the first to admit I'll never win any awards for niceness," he began, "but I'm not sadistic."

"I'm sorry?"

"You weren't supposed to find out. No one here was, but with the others that was simply so they couldn't try to stop me from participating in the trial. They deserve what they got, for barging in on my private business even after I told everyone to stay out. But letting you think I secretly had terminal cancer was cruel, and I'd never intended for that to happen." He paused; even having made up his mind in advance, these words were hard to say. "I'm sorry."

Chase's eyes met his briefly, the expression in them clearly startled, before his glance slid off to an indeterminate point on the desk. With a failed attempt at nonchalance, he shrugged and said, "It's fine."

House regarded him for several moments before deciding, for both their sakes, to accept that answer and let the subject drop. While they were there, he might as well raise the other issue he really should have spoken to Chase about before. "How did you guys figure out it was neurosyphilis?"

Caught off-guard by the sudden change in topic, Chase answered honestly. "When the test for protein PHF turned up negative, we went to take a closer look at the proteins in yo--the patient's CSF, and there were some spots I thought looked odd--"

"That's what I thought," he interrupted, having heard all he needed to make his point. "Have you stopped to consider that I missed that? I went through the results of every test in that file before choosing that particular patient, and I was as convinced as the oncologists that it was cancer. You're the only one who picked up on the anomaly. You're a good doctor, Chase; I wouldn't have hired you otherwise. But if that were all, I also wouldn't have 'forgotten' to put through the termination paperwork when your fellowship was up." At last, that got a faint, if embarrassed, grin out of him; Chase had never mentioned the end of his contract either, but clearly he was aware that it had passed.

House leaned forward to drive his point home. "Listen closely, because I am only going to say this once: I keep you here because you have the potential to be not just a good doctor, but a great diagnostician. You have the ability to think creatively and the willingness to toss out ideas regardless of whether they might sound stupid. But you need to start standing up for those ideas. I know you can do it--I've seen it a few times, here and there over the years. But too often you let those ideas be brushed aside. Just as Foreman and Cameron need to learn to let a potential diagnosis go once further evidence presents itself, you could stand to gain some of their persistence. Stand up for yourself! If you think you're right, tell us why! Don't just abandon an idea the instant someone else dismisses it, or you'll never get anywhere."

Chase's jaw clenched, and House just knew he was biting back some comment about the punch. Luckily, this was Chase, and even if he did say something, he'd be willing to accept the fact that House was out of his mind with pain at the time as a reason he shouldn't use that one incident as an excuse for never speaking up in the future. It was one of the things House appreciated about him: if there was one thing Chase understood about people, it was the effect that pain could have.

"From what I hear," he continued when it became clear Chase had decided against commenting, "you've been getting better at it lately. But 'better' isn't enough. I need you to step up, take responsibility for your ideas. Yes, you'll get it wrong much of the time; in case you haven't noticed, I do, too. But if you don't fight for the wrong diagnoses, how will you learn to fight for the right ones?"

Chase shifted in his chair, opened his mouth, and closed it again. Then he picked at an invisible piece of lint on his knee before clearing his throat and trying again. "I'll try," he said diffidently.

Now that both unpleasant topics were out of the way, House reached over and grabbed his Game Boy. As he waited for the game to start he glanced back up. "Don't you have work to do?"

With an air of palpable relief, Chase nodded and escaped the office as quickly as possible.