As he waited patiently by the head of the bed, his gaze flicked back and forth between the monitors and the patient's face. Gradually eyelids that had begun twitching managed to open nearly halfway, and Chase waited out the several confused blinks needed for proper sight to return.

His patient's brow furrowed as he recognised him. "Wha're you doin' 'ere?" he mumbled, voice still thick from the sedative and, no doubt, throat raw from having been intubated during surgery.

"Someone had to look after you," Chase replied mildly, no more comfortable offering a traditional expression of concern than the man lying before him would be in receiving it. "Can you remember what happened?"

"Not...real. H'lus'nation."

"You were hallucinating?" he clarified. Taking the slow, single blink as a confirmation, he explained. "That's not too surprising, I suppose. You were shot, twice. Once in the abdomen, once in the neck. Surgery went well overall, but considering your unusually high tolerance for analgesics the anesthesiologist had some difficulty finding a combination that would be both effective and safe. It didn't help that we had no idea how much Vicodin was already in your system."

"No. B'fore."

"Before...the surgery?" Another blink. "You were hallucinating before the anesthesia?" With a lack of self-consciousness born of long experience carrying on one-sided conversations with heavily medicated patients, he didn't bother to wait for an answer. "Well, that doesn't seem likely since it's not exactly a side effect of being shot, but you'd know what went on in your head better than I would. Do you want us to do a differential diagnosis to determine the cause, or are you not concerned about it?"

He waited while House thought this over, hoping to be told there was no need to bother with a diagnosis. He didn't want to consider the possibility that something might be going wrong with his mentor's brain--and he certainly didn't want to face the possibility that they might not be able to figure out what it was without his help.

"Not now," House managed at last. "Ket--?"

"Ketamine? You asked for it on the way to the OR, but there just wasn't time. But we told Cuddy about your request, and she's willing to give it a go if you still want to after you recover from the surgery. Now, if you don't need anything at the moment, I should go and let the others know you're awake."

House's eyes fluttered closed, which Chase took as a dismissal. He let himself out of the room quietly, then, after a brief glance around to make sure no one was watching, leaned back against the wall outside House's room and allowed his own eyes to close as he sighed in relief. He offered up a quick prayer of gratitude before pulling himself back together and heading for Wilson's office.

As he approached, Chase could hear Wilson speaking to someone, but the door was open so he took a chance and poked his head in anyway, figuring he probably wasn't with a patient.

When he saw it was Cuddy Wilson was talking to, Chase mustered up a slight smile. "I'm glad you're here; saves me a trip downstairs. He's regained consciousness; vital signs are all looking good, and so far there's no sign of infection."

"Thank God," Cuddy breathed. Wilson looked equally relieved.

"He did mention having a hallucination prior to surgery," he reported, hoping House wouldn't berate him for mentioning it once he was feeling more like his usual self, "but when I asked if he thought it was something we should investigate now, he indicated it could wait. And...he raised the ketamine issue again. I told him you wanted to wait on his recovery before worrying about that."

"That's fine; if he has any objections to waiting, go ahead and send him to me. If I have to, I'll reduce his clinic hours in exchange for his cooperation. I'm a little concerned if he's hallucinating, but maybe it was the anesthesia. He was lucid when you talked to him?"

"Seemed to be. The sedative hadn't completely worn off, so he wasn't saying much, but he appeared to understand what I told him. He recognised me, answered questions to the extent physically possible."

"Thank you, Chase," Wilson said. "I'm just going to pop down there and say hi, if you don't mind continuing this later."

"No, of course not," Cuddy replied. "I'll be down myself in a few minutes."

With just a wave of acknowledgement, Wilson was gone, leaving him and Cuddy alone in the office. He was about to excuse himself when she turned to him, suddenly looking ten years older.

"He's really going to be all right?"

Reminding himself that she and House were friends, of a sort, and that Cuddy was seeking reassurance, not questioning his abilities, Chase managed not to take the question personally. "I believe so, yeah."

"Thanks again for keeping an eye on him. Would you mind updating Cameron and Foreman? I'd like to have a chance to speak with him before the room gets too crowded."

"Sure, it's no problem. I was going to look for them next anyway. Are they in the conference room?"

"Actually, they each wanted to keep busy, so I sent them to the clinic. If you could--"

"I'll do what I can to give you some time before they head to the ICU," he agreed. She reached out and gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze before following Wilson.

He did indeed find his colleagues in the clinic. Foreman was just finishing up with a patient when Chase arrived, but they had to wait for Cameron. Privately, he was glad it wasn't the other way around; though he did believe Foreman was concerned for their boss, he was willing to take the fact that the news clearly wasn't urgent as a sign that nothing serious had happened, and wait for details. Somehow Chase doubted Cameron would have been as calm were she the one being asked to wait.

When she finally emerged from exam room three, Cameron spotted them leaning against the nurses' station and immediately headed their way. Before she could demand to know what was going on, Chase shook his head and led them into an empty room. He wasn't going to do this in public--he knew how Cameron would likely react to even the good news he had for them, and he wasn't cruel; there was no need to leave her crying in front of half the hospital.

"What happened? How is he?" she demanded before he even got the door closed.

Glad that this would be the last time he had to do this--House's parents may have still been alive, but his real family was here at PPTH--Chase surrepetitiously took a deep breath before turning around.

"He's fine. Woke up about twenty minutes ago; I spoke with him briefly then went to inform Wilson and Cuddy. They're with him now. He seemed lucid enough; recognised me, remembered that he'd asked for ketamine. He didn't try to argue when I told him Cuddy hadn't given it to him yet, but that's probably just because he was still pretty out of it."

As he expected, Cameron's eyes filled with tears of relief, and she slumped into a chair. Never had he been so thankful for Foreman's detachment. "Is there any sign of infection?"

"None so far. Everything looks good; there don't appear to be any complications from the surgery."

"I need to see him," Cameron said shakily.

"Maybe we should give him a little time," Foreman said before he had to. "If he's just now coming around, he'll probably be in and out for a while. It might be better to wait until he's truly awake."

"He seemed to be falling asleep again already when I left," Chase confirmed. "And anyway, I think we should let Wilson and Cuddy have some time with him first; they've known him so much longer."

"But--"

"I'm sure Chase will let us know if anything changes. In the meantime, we have clinic patients to see," Foreman said firmly, guiding Cameron to the door. As they left, he and Chase exchanged exasperated looks. It wasn't that Cameron's concern wasn't understandable, but her apparent belief that she was the only one who cared about House had grown old. Privately, Chase suspected that Cuddy's declaration that only one of them could remain in the ICU with him was at least partly motivated by disgust at having her own feelings disregarded as well. Even then, Cameron had vehemently protested her decision to give that role to Chase, despite the fact that his specialty made him the obvious choice.

How much the idea that House wouldn't appreciate waking up to someone who would be inclined to either fall apart or fawn all over him played a part in Cuddy's decision, no one was speculating about.

Regardless, he was grateful to have been granted the opportunity to deal with his own reaction to the shooting in what was effectively complete privacy. Once over the initial surprise, they'd all snapped into doctor mode, pretending House was just another patient in order to function well enough to keep him alive long enough to make it into surgery. Once that task had been accomplished, however, shock and fear had set in. Cameron obviously felt much the same way; Foreman was harder to read, but in neither case was Chase willing to discuss the matter. What he felt--about this, about anything--was nobody's business but his own. He suspected he wasn't always as good at covering up his feelings as he would like, but there was no way he would let himself give anything away this time. The last thing he wanted was for House to know how worried he'd been, how much it mattered to him that he pull through. Chase wasn't sure exactly what House's reaction would be--whether he'd dredge up Chase's relationship with his father again, or compare him to Cameron, or what--but it certainly wouldn't be pleasant.

Not for the first time, he found himself wishing this fellowship had remained just another job for him. It was what he'd intended; he'd only applied because it was about as far away from his father as physically possible, yet prestigious enough to both justify moving halfway around the world and satisfy Rowan Chase's ambitions. It wasn't until after he'd arrived that he discovered he might actually like it. Everything about House's methods fascinated him: his constant questioning, his refusal to give up, the way his mind worked, even--most of the time--the way he always tried to insult or offend everyone around him. He didn't think he'd ever met someone who truly didn't care if anyone liked or admired him, before House.

It was a revelation.

He had tried to learn as much as he could, not just about medicine, but about how to just...not care. The last was a skill he'd never mastered despite a lifetime of trying. There were times, particularly in the past year, that he wasn't sure House had entirely mastered it either, but he was at least very good at hiding it if so, and that was good enough for Chase.

He resented, sometimes, the way House seemed to have chosen him to be his particular verbal whipping boy, more because such remarks hurt more coming from someone he looked up to than because he wasn't accustomed to such treatment. But despite his recent experiment with breaking away from Diagnostics, the shooting had hit him hard. He discovered that he couldn't imagine PPTH without House, and more than that, he could no longer envision his own life without him, either. Those hours when House had been in surgery and the rest of the team was left unable to do anything other than sit around and contemplate the worst-case scenario had been devastating. He'd even come to the conclusion that perhaps House had done the right thing in not telling him his father was sick after all; if this was what it was like, waiting to be told that someone important in his life, however unpleasant, had died, he didn't think he could have borne two months of it. He certainly hadn't enjoyed watching his mother's slow decline.

He made a mental note to never, ever let House know that.

Slowly he made his way through the hospital back to the ICU. He probably didn't need to--there was no medical reason for a doctor to monitor House's condition full-time, and now that he'd woken everyone's fears could be put at rest, eliminating the real reason for the vigil--but until Cuddy ordered otherwise, that was where he would prefer to be. Besides, look what had happened the last time he'd been working the clinic shortly after emotional trauma.

Of course, it was precisely because House was awake that he couldn't resume his place in his room; it wouldn't be long before the anesthesia wore off completely, and he could only imagine the cutting remarks he'd be subjected to once that happened. Luckily, the ICU staff wouldn't say anything if he took up residence in their staff lounge for a few days.

Since the others were probably still with House, Chase decided to grab a quick nap; he'd barely slept since the shooting. To be fair, he doubted he was the only one--attempting to go about work as usual didn't necessarily mean one wasn't affected by something. That entire incident with Kayla would've turned out quite differently if he hadn't done the same thing back when she'd first come in, in fact. However, there was no need to continue to deprive himself of sleep; this wasn't a contest. And anyway, if there were some sort of "I Care About House More Than You" contest, everyone would end up throwing it, since losing would be far more tolerable than Cameron's inevitable sulking if she didn't win.

Despite the years of practice in stealing sleep when and where he had the chance to take it, Chase only managed to nap for a couple of hours. He lay there for a while longer, hoping to coax his body into falling asleep again, before giving in. Since he was up whether he wanted to be or not, he thought he might as well go check in on House.

Not surprisingly, Cameron was still sitting at his bedside, even though House appeared to be asleep. Not wanting to look like he'd come in out of any sort of personal concern, Chase checked out House's vital signs and made the appropriate notations on his chart. Just a doctor doing his job. Nothing interesting here.

"Are you going to stay?" Cameron's voice startled him; he'd been doing his best to be unobtrusive, and hadn't even been certain she'd noticed his presence.

"What?"

"Cuddy ordered me to go back to the clinic, but I don't want to leave him alone. Are you planning to stay here?"

"I can, if you'd like." The excuse was certainly welcome; if anyone questioned why he continued to lurk in House's room, he could blame Cameron. He couldn't have asked for a better reason.

"Thanks. I know it's not the most exciting thing in the world, watching someone who's still more or less sedated, but I'll feel better knowing there's someone here when he wakes up again."

"Don't worry about it."

She flashed him a wan smile before relinquising her place by the bed. "You'll come get me if--"

"Yeah. But he'll be fine."

Once she'd left, he quietly picked up the chair and returned it to his preferred spot in the corner. He'd just resumed work on his crossword when he was once again surprised by an unexpected voice.

"Playing on a colleague's weaknesses to get out of doing any real work? Not exactly charitable, is it, Dr. Chase?"

He looked up, meeting a far more incisive gaze than House had been capable of the last time they'd spoken. "Oh, and pretending to be asleep to avoid having to deal with a colleague is?"

"Touché. Why are you here?"

"I--I thought you heard, Cameron asked me to be."

"And you do everything Cameron wants? I thought that only happened when she was high."

He knew it was a waste of energy, but he glared at House anyway. Why did all the snark about that night come down on him? Did nobody remember that Cameron was the one who'd dipped into a patient's stash of meth? Why were her ethics never called into question?

"You were also here earlier. Why aren't you off doing clinic duty with Cameron and Foreman?" House's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Cuddy asked me to keep an eye on you," he replied, trying not to sound defensive. "You're officially my patient until she says otherwise. I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

"Hmph. So I get to suffer because she's worried you might kill another real patient?"

"Pretty much." And if House thought such an obvious comment would get him to leave, his brain was clearly still a little fogged from the anasthesia or the morphine. Speaking of which...a quick glance at his watch showed it was about the time he'd normally ask a post-op patient if they were doing all right as far as painkillers went. Considering the patient in question, however, he decided it was best not to give him an opening. If House needed more, he'd have no qualms about demanding it. "I'll just work on my puzzle; pretend I'm not here."

"That might make things a little awkward when the hooker I called shows up."

Chase snorted. "You're doing well, all things considered, but what you think you're going to do with a hooker in your current condition, I've no idea. I doubt that my presence is going to be what puts a damper on the situation."

"Oh, ye of little faith...."

"Speaking of your condition, you should probably know that Cuddy gave me permission to use the restraints if you try and get out of bed before you're cleared. So don't bother trying anything."

"What is it with Cuddy's sudden obsession with tying me up?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Never mind. You'd seriously side with some bureaucrat who spends all day behind a desk over your boss? Again? Did you learn nothing the first time?" Despite his significant improvement since the last conversation they'd had, House clearly wasn't yet up to full speed. His voice lacked the bite such a comment would usually carry.

Rather than point out how pathetic his insults were sounding, Chase decided to humour House and respond only to the words. "Technically, you're not my boss at the moment."

"I'm not? Damn. I wanted to remember firing you so I could look back on that moment when I needed a warm fuzzy."

Chase rolled his eyes. Not only were such comments far from new, but coming so soon after House had hunted him down in the NICU to refuse to allow him to leave the department, it seemed like something of an empty threat. "I'll rephrase. You're on indefinite medical leave, so for the time being Cuddy's serving as the head of the department. Which makes her my boss, and you merely my patient." He couldn't help grinning at the thought. "Which means you're supposed to do what I say."

"They don't make meds strong enough to get me to take orders from you, Brit Boy."

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't try to get out of that bed. In the meantime, if you need anything within reason--" a very important distinction to make, considering who he was talking to, "--let me know. If I'm not in here, the ICU nurses will know where to find me."

"I bet they will."

Giving up on the idea of being allowed to sit in the corner and work on his crossword in peace, he grabbed the book from the table and said, "Since you're obviously determined not to get the rest you need as long as you have someone to pick on, I'll be in the lounge. Try not to do anything to rip your stitches out while you're unsupervised."

He was almost out the door when House called after him. He turned, expecting another gibe, only to be met by a look completely lacking in sarcasm. "You can't get rid of me this easily. Spread the word."

In spite of himself, he chuckled. "Sure."

Oddly, he realised as he was settling into the ICU lounge that such a simple statement had in fact comforted him.

Maybe this time things just might turn out all right.