A/N: I do not own House M.D. or anything associated with it. Wish I did though. Sad it's ending QQ.

Okay. This is my second House fic, so please Read and Review. I really hope they're not OOC. Aaah I'm so nervous! Kk please let me know what you think. I never realized how awesome getting reviews was until I started writing. So please :D Also, I've been trying to write some funny, fluffier fics, but I'm still stuck on the whole angsty Chase and House thing. Also, I guess this could be slashy if you squint, but I don't really know anything about slash.

Okay. Please enjoy.

House clutched the manila folder, a shining beacon of golden secrets in his eyes, and hobbled as quickly as he could to the privacy of coma guy's room. He didn't want to be interrupted while he was reading this and he knew his team would check at least five other places before they got here. He settled in the empty bed next to Mr. Garrison, still unconscious, and turned on the T.V. Aha, Girls Gone Wild 3. A valid excuse if they found him before he'd finished.

Fluffing the extra pillow commandeered from beneath coma guy's head, House leaned back, hoisting his bad leg up onto the narrow bed with a grimace. The familiar scent of antiseptic laundry soap wafted into the air every time he shifted, almost a comforting smell, which was kind of sad actually, but House could ponder that later. The folder lay innocuously on his lap. It was thinner than he'd expected and it hadn't been easy to get it. He'd had to bribe two nurses and the sweaty archive guy. Oh the things I'll do, House thought to himself. He hesitated for a brief second before opening the folder. As a diagnostician, reading someone's medical records was akin to being handed their life story and a psych eval. Especially for House. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but considering the little that Chase had let on about his father, it had to be pretty bad. Maybe broken bones, a few burns, or some psych notes after his mother's death. But that was why he'd stolen it. Borrowed it... Either I'm a sadistic bastard or a masochist with a soft spot for wombats, he smiled to himself.

When he finally opened it, House was stunned. He sat for a moment, his brain whirring in utter confusion. What? This is not possible. No way. The folder was essentially empty. It listed hardly any childhood injuries and only included general vaccinations and check-ups. A case of bronchitis. The kid that bit him on the arm. The incident at the bachelor party. A few others. House closed the folder and shook his head. He was pissed. Logically, I know this isn't right. Someone wiped his records. He flipped it back open and reaized that there was nothing in there about the time he'd punched Chase. Then he saw it. A note about a prescription for painkillers that never got filled. The date fit. Chase hadn't wanted to dull the pain. He didn't want to be like House. No, this was different. House swallowed hard as the unbidden image of Chase's face filled his head, letting himself wallow in self-hate for a few moments.

Several hours later, after the exhausting interrogations of Cuddy, Wilson, and the increasingly clueless administrative staff of Princeton Plainsboro, it became clear to House that if something did happen to Chase's record, and something did, he reassured himself; then it must have been in Australia. That left only one person he could interrogate. The wombat himself.

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beeeeeeep.

Chase groaned, looking down at his pager. He'd just closed his locker.

HOUSE. The screen was flashing.

He immediately looked to Thirteen and Foreman, "What? I'm the only one that got paged?"

"Looks like it." Foreman pulled his coat on, "Maybe he has some extra special clinic hours for you?"

"Well, I'm out of here before he does page us." Thirteen shook her head, glossy brown hair shimmering across her back.

"But why me?" Chase whinged as he stuffed his coat and bag back inside his locker. He'd already changed into his jeans and a soft cotton t-shirt with a surfboard and waves stenciled across the front. He'd had plans that evening, and was now picturing a long night of doing whatever cruel and menial task House had dreamt up. "This was a long case…"

"Well, did you do anything to incur the wrath of House ?" Foreman asked, "Of course, other than having an accent…or existing." He unsuccessfully tried to stifle a smirk and followed Thirteen out the door, leaving Chase to his doom.

Chase watched them leave morosely, sighing as he hurried into the elevator. Better to get this over with.

He pushed through the glass door, into House's office. The rest of the department was empty, lights already off. "You paged?" Chase mocked, with a small bow.

"Sit." House raised his eyebrows towards a chair that was in front of his desk and swung his feet off the top of his desk, revealing the thin yellow folder.

"Why?" Chase crossed his arms and looked down at House.

"So I can ogle your pretty face instead of your pants. Duh." House sounded annoyed, "Just sit."

Chase just rolled his eyes and obliged, smiling caustically. "So, what is it that you didn't want Forman and Thirteen for and that couldn't wait until morning? Is it illegal? Cause you know-"

"As if I would call the swimsuit model. " House slid the folder across his desk and waited. His chin rested on his folded hands, his eyes watching Chase intently. "It's this."

"A case? House…" Chase's voice dropped off as his eyes locked onto the name printed on the label on the top of the folder.

Chase, Robert (M.D.).

His hands began to shake slightly and he lobbed the folder in the general direction of the garbage can, but the papers flew, scattered across the carpet. House had done a lot of things in the past, invaded their privacy, but this was too much. Chase was pissed and his accent returned in full-force Aussie. "What the hell, House? My medical records? How did you even… No, why did you get them? Seriously, this is completely rid-"

"Ridiculous? I'm just concerned about one of my employees." House pressed his hands to his chest and pouted sarcastically.

"Concerned, my ass" Chase spat, half-rising from his chair, still undecided between lunging for his boss's throat and simply leaving.

House stood up, his weight on his good leg and started to yell, his rough voice louder and more piercing in the silence of the empty floor. "I did it because of this-", House slammed his cane onto the desk and watched Chase nearly fall out of his chair. "And this-", he raised a hand and watched the young doctor's head jerk violently to the side, his eyes shutting reflexively for a second too long. House lowered his voice, speaking intensely and rapidly, as Chase stood up and stumbled backwards, crumpling the slippery white pages of his file.

"The way you tense when you hear the tinkle of ice in a glass." House moved around his desk and followed, pressuring Chase to keep moving, until his back pressed against the cool, smooth glass of the wall. His cheeks were tinged pink and his chest heaved up and down.

"House-" Chase growled, anger radiating off of him, mixed with a humid desperation.

"The way you watch my hands" House pushed closer to Chase looking down at him with a mixture of regret and something he couldn't quite name.

"House…" Chase was practically whispering now, and House was considering whether he'd pushed him too far. The blonde chick magnet was looking more and more like a miserable kid.

"The vein that pops out when we get a certain type of patient" He reached up, ignoring Chase's flinch, and rested two fingers on Chase's pale, tense neck. "Right here"

Chase swallowed hard, his head tipped to the side, his eyes staring past House, to the snowflakes tumbling past the huge window. His Adam's apple bobbed, shifting the muscles underneath House's fingertips, calloused from playing instruments.

House dropped his hand and took a step back, tilting his head to the side as Chase cleared his throat.

"Well, boss. What did you expect? My dad was a doctor after all." Chase laughed without any warmth and looked up at House. He still seemed a little shaky.

"A damn good one" House said, still watching Chase closely.

"Yeah, you would know." Chase laughed softly again, and raised his head to stare back at House. "He got away with everything too. Of course, he wasn't in your league."

"Hmph" House limped back to his chair and settled down, taking a sip from his mug and sliding another one to the front of his desk. "Coffee. Not poisoned. Scout's honour."

"You weren't a boy scout." Chase hadn't moved from his spot against the wall, his sweaty palms still pressed flat against the frosted glass. He looked at House, clearly bewildered. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting from House, but this was not it.

"Well, you can stay there if you want, but I think maintenance might resent cleaning all that glass." House smirked as Chase stayed silent, eyeing him suspiciously "Sit down already. Are you going to tell me about it or what?"

Slowly Chase pushed away from the wall and walked over without taking his eyes off of House. He sank into the chair and grabbed a mug. "All right."

R&R :D KK If you guys like it, I'll continue..?