A/N: Okay, first of all, I can't believe it's been a year since I last updated this. I am so sorry to everyone that was waiting to read it. I got crazy busy with work and school and stuff, so this chapter kind of got ignored and covered in dust at the back of my writing folder.

I wrote half of it last year, when I promised I'd update it and the other half this weekend. Hope it's not OOC at all, it's been a while since I watched House. Please review and let me know if I should continue, or end it like this? Aah I'm nervous.

Thank you so much for all the reviews and favourites and follows. And special thanks to walkersystem 's review, which kind of gave me the shove to post this.

Disclaimer: Yet again, I don't own House M.D.

Chapter 3

House leaned back in his chair and stared pointedly at an invisible spot just over Chase's shoulder. "Well then. What exactly makes me so different?" He couldn't help the rush of adrenaline that coursed through him, his veins on fire, as he asked the question. Suddenly he really did want to know why Chase didn't think he was as bad as Rowan had been. He knew that they weren't related and that House wasn't the one that'd destroyed his family, but House had messed with his duckling's adult life often enough.

Chase stiffened, but he supposed that he couldn't say something like that without an explanation. Plus it wasn't as if he had a choice, he knew House would never let it go. He exhaled heavily, wiping his hands on his faded (but oh so sexy) jeans, and shrugged. "Well, you know…"

"I really don't" House cleared his throat in mild irritation and cocked a grey, bristled eyebrow.

"Okay, uhh" Chase paused and stared blankly out the window, trying to think of something he could tell House, anything.

He licked his lips in desperation as a memory came flooding back. He suddenly found it difficult to swallow, he felt as though he was back in Aus, the hot air sucking the moisture from his lips, coating his throat in a layer of suffocating dust. He coughed, gluing his eyes to the floor as he braced himself to actually tell House something real.

House waited, jiggling his good leg, as he tried to be patient, which was definitely not his strong suit. "So…"

"So." Chase laughed nervously, "There was this one time. It was kind of stupid actually…" Chase paused, flashing his seawater green eyes up to House's face. "I'd had a football match. A really important one, end of the season and everything, you know. And he'd said earlier that he was going to come watch, wanted to see me win. I didn't usually pay any mind when he said things like that, he never actually showed up."

"Let me guess, you scored the impossibly difficult game-winning goal, and maybe a hot cheerleader or two. And you proved that you don't need Daddy for everything." House interjected, inwardly hoping that Chase would say he was right.

Chase barked a laugh, "What, House. You get all your ideas from Hollywood's happy endings?" He shook his head and breathed in, the wisp of air hitching in his throat. "No. In fact, he actually did show up."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing? Daddy's finally showing interest in Junior." House inquired mildly.

"It would've been, had we not lost the game horrifically."

"Oh"

"Yeah"

"I would've thought that the golden boy would've been brilliant at soccer. Or football. Whatever twisted thing you wombats call it."

"I was good." Chase said matter-of-factly. "Actually, I was MVP for the last three years of high school. I scored two goals in that game… good goals." A faint smile tugged on his lips at the blurry rush of memory, the arc of a white blur through the air, into just the right spot, the smell of sweat and dry, dying grass heavy in Chase's head.

"So what was the problem?" House frowned, jarring Chase out of his reverie and prodding him back into a more uncomfortable memory.

Chase swallowed and looked back at House uncertainly. "Well, we lost."

"I know that." House muttered impatiently.

"Losing meant we'd failed. And well, Rowan Chase was never one to tolerate failure." Chase sighed, "The drive home was absolutely silent. He was right pissed. His hands kept clenching and unclenching, strangling the steering wheel." Chase swallowed hard again. "I followed him to the kitchen and he sat at the table. Got himself a drink. I just stood there. Waiting. Then he really started in on me, losing was pathetic. Losing was unacceptable. I had failed him. I tried to argue, told him I'd scored the only goals of the game. Told him that half the team was benched with injuries. Big mistake. His hands were opening and closing again, balling up into fists, icy white against the tan wood of the table. That's when I knew exactly what I had coming."

Chase tucked one leg underneath himself, instinctively curling his body towards the wall. "It suddenly occurred to me that maybe I didn't have to stick around for this. You know? If he could take off whenever he wanted, so could I." He swallowed hard, his eyes cast towards the floor. "So I ran."

House leaned forward slowly, he couldn't help picturing everything as Chase was saying it; seeing a blonde teenager, sweaty and dirty, flushed from the heat and exertion of the game. His right hand closed tightly around his red bouncy ball, trying to crush it.

"I didn't…I didn't have time to put my shoes on. I just turned 'round and booked it out the screen door. I heard it crash behind me, but I didn't turn to look. To see if he was coming. Our street went a few blocks before it turned into dirt road leading to the brush. The houses were a blur. I just had to make it to the bush. I felt like I'd been running for ages. Then I heard the tires grinding behind me, I knew it had to be him in the car. It was just a little further. He came past me and slammed on the brakes, I tried to go faster, but he was right there. By the time he caught me, my feet were bleeding. He'd never really been the shouting type, you know. More the quiet, threatening type. Never wanted to make a scene. Never wanted to make a fuss. Smile for the neighbours. Well, he sure forgot about that. He caught me by the back of my t-shirt and he grabbed my neck, dragging me back to the car. I was kicking and twisting, dunno why… I could never have overpowered him. Don't even know why I thought I could outrun him in the first place. He was screaming about how I had to do what he said. How I had to respect him. I was choking and crying by then. It was hot and salty and dusty and my throat felt so thick, I couldn't have said a word if I'd wanted to, dared to. Even if I had shouted for help, we were quite a ways down the road by then, and besides, no one would have come."

"And then I was pressed against the hood of our car, the corner digging into my hip bone and my skin burning against the silver molten heat of metal." Chase's eyes were still glued to floor, glazed over and unseeing, while he coughed, trying to clear his throat. He didn't seem to notice as his left hand touched his hip, fingers threading through the belt loop of his jeans.

"His hand was on my throat, closing around my neck, so I wouldn't move. And he was still yelling, his face right next to mine, holding me down. All this bullshit about how I was ungrateful, a disrespectful son. I just closed my eyes and tried to breathe through his death grip, waiting for it to be over." Chase paused here, the weight of everything he'd been saying settling in his head, and he chanced a glance at House, trying to gauge how he was doing. He hoped desperately he hadn't made a mistake, opening his mouth.

House was staring intently at his young subordinate, a slight frown pulling his eyebrows down. At Chase's glance, he simply shrugged. "I'm still here, Chase, just keep going."

Chase swung his gaze back to the floor, his cheeks flushed. "Well. I was still pinned against the car. He let go of my throat and yanked my t-shirt over my head. Shoved me back down into the top of the car and started laying into me with his belt. God, it felt like my face was on fire, the metal had got so hot. Usually he made me count, but… I think he was in more of a rage mood. " He smirked, his jaw clenched with a dark mirth. "Then he threw me into the back seat and drove home. Didn't say a word, just got out and walked back up the porch steps into the house. Didn't even look back. I just layed there, probably for like half an hour or something, before I had the guts to go inside. I didn't know if I was supposed to wait, or follow him in. I don't know… it was like I was all frozen inside. And I was exhausted."

"My mum, she did my laundry the next day. She picked up my socks and t-shirt, still brown with dust and blood, and just tossed them in the hamper. She didn't even blink, didn't say a word. So yeah." Chase felt a growing lump in his throat; he tried to cough again, but only managed a quiet wheeze. He jerked forward, reaching a hand out to an abandoned glass of water on the corner of House's desk. He needed to drink something, anything.

House reached out, liquid fast, his fingers closing firmly around Chase's wrist and stopping his reach. "No. Finish."

Chase jutted his chin out, his attempt at a glare tempered by the soft noise that escaped his throat. House's stare pierced right through him, making him inhale jerkily, a tense feeling of icy burning fire under his ribs expanding and contracting with every breath. He pulled his arm back to himself and curled up again, his eyes still on his esoteric boss.

"You wanted to know what makes you different?"

"Yeah"

"I never respected him. I respect you."

A/N: Okay, so done. Please review... I really am sorry for the ridiculously long time it took me to write this, but I can't even say how much it means to me that so many people have read, reviewed, and followed this story! You guys are the best, and I'm sorry.