Title: Broken Things
Author: Merlin7/clarkangel
Rating: M
Disclaimer. :So not mine
Archive:Anywhere
Summary: Spoilers for MLC. The Chase and Cuddy moment I wanted to see. So I wrote it for myself. LOL

BROKEN THINGS

She could tell he didn't want to be here. But he came in when she waved at his knock, gliding forward with that innate grace he had, until he was before her desk.

"You wanted to see me?" Chase's accent sounded husky as he asked. Or maybe a better word was raw. He sounded as raw as he looked.

"Please sit." Cuddy gestured to the chair in front of her desk, studying Chase as he sat. His looks always hit her a bit like a slap in the face. Men weren't supposed to be that beautiful, but Chase was. Even the dark purple bruise on his jaw couldn't mar his prettiness. Looking at him appraisingly, she realized he would age gracefully. Always looking younger than his years. She envied him that. Right about now she felt a hundred years old and she was pretty sure she looked older than her years.

Chase shifted in the chair, looking uncomfortable and a bit angry. "What did you want?" he asked, and there was a defensiveness to the question that couldn't be missed, or misunderstood.

Resisting the urge to sigh and rub her throbbing temples, Cuddy cleared her throat and said, "I want to discuss what happened the other day. House punching you."

"What's to discuss?" Chase's eyes narrowed as he studied her in turn. "It's over and done with."

"You could press charges against him," Cuddy offered, all the while secretly hoping he wouldn't take her up on it. She had enough to deal with as it was. House was guilty as sin of so many things, but Cuddy still felt the need to save him. She needed him to do what he did best.

Rising from the chair, Chase shook his head. "It wasn't assault, it was an accident."

Cuddy stood up as well, moving around the desk to cut Chase off from leaving. "That's not all," she stated.

He looked surprised at that. Surprised and suspicious. "What else is there?"

"I wanted to thank you." Cuddy infused her voice with the sincerity that was heartfelt. She saw his confusion and clarified. "What you did for Alice. You saved her from being crippled and most likely dying after being exposed to the OR lights for the surgery. You did good, and I should have said something sooner."

"I did my job, that's all." Chase's tone was sharp and blunt and his eyes darkened.

Cuddy couldn't read him in this moment. Not that she usually could. Chase was the master of neutral expression, even though he was also one of the most expressive people she'd ever known. "You did what House couldn't do," Cuddy countered, and it bothered her that she hadn't seen it sooner. That it had taken Wilson to point out that Chase had gotten the diagnosis right this time too. Early on, in fact. But he had been dismissed out of turn until House could have his epiphany. All of their lives had narrowed down to one focus. House.

Stepping around Cuddy, Chase headed for the door. "I did my job," he repeated, pointedly.

"Do you want to save him?" Cuddy was surprised at herself for asking the question. She saw the same surprise mirrored in Chase's eyes.

"What are you talking about?" he shot back.

Cuddy stepped over to him, until they were face to face. "Don't you want to save House? I'm asking because you seem to be the only one not in his face about his addiction. I'm not sure if that means you support him or if you don't give a damn."

A tired, brittle chuckle escaped Chase. "Does it matter either way?"

"I'm asking," Cuddy persisted, because she really wanted to know.

"You can't fix him by trying to control him," Chase countered.

"Excuse me?" That wasn't the response Cuddy had been expecting. She realized Chase looked weary in this moment. Weary and resigned. She expected him to just turn around and walk out, but instead he moved to sit down on the arm of her couch. Cuddy followed him, sitting down in the chair.

He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then he started talking. "You can't fix someone who doesn't want to be fixed. You can't make them look at themselves and see that something's wrong. You can't make them understand that they're hurting themselves and other people. If they don't want help, you can't help them."

With sudden clarity, Cuddy realized that Chase was talking from experience. She was certain from what she had read about Rowan Chase, and having met the man, that Chase wasn't talking about his father. Which meant his mother? "You've been through this before." She hoped her reply would motivate him to continue. She held her breath for a moment when he hesitated, but then he stood up and started pacing, one hand combing through his hair so that it became ruffled and he looked ridiculously young. The part of her that ached with the need to be a mother before it was too late, ached for Chase. She ached with the need to go to him and offer some kind of comfort. Maybe a hug, not that it could fix anything. But maybe she wanted that to make herself feel better.

Realizing Chase had stopped pacing and was watching her, Cuddy shook off her sudden reverie. "You don't have to tell me," she offered, because he looked lost all of the sudden.

"My mother drank herself to death," Chase blurted out. "My father left us and she crawled into a bottle and never climbed out." He paused, looking like he was going to clam up, but then he continued, his voice soft and low. "She didn't think she had a problem, even when she was so drunk she couldn't remember where she was and what day it was. There were times when she functioned perfectly well, but there were more days when I'd come home from school and find her lying in a pool of her own vomit. But even when she knew she was a drunk, she'd never admit it was a problem."

"I'm sorry." Cuddy watched Chase shrug, then she saw him ghost his fingertips over the bruise and she knew he did it without realizing it. She also knew what it signified. "Your mom...she used to hit you." Cuddy made it a statement, not a question.

Chase sighed, dropping his hand, turning towards the door and stepping over to it. He stopped with his hand on the knob. "She was always sorry when it happened." Looking over his shoulder at Cuddy, he continued. "House was sorry. This time. But you can't fix him until he wants to be fixed." With that he opened the door and slipped away.

Moving to her desk, Cuddy sat down and buried her face in her hands. There was irony in the fact that Chase had always been House's favorite, figurative, punching bag. Then he had become a literaly punching bag, yet he was the one who understood House better than the rest of them. Maybe for the right reasons, maybe for the wrong ones. Cuddy was beginning to wonder if it mattered.

Rubbing at her tired eyes, she leaned back in her chair, shifting it so she could stare out the window at the midnight dark sky.

House had spent his adult life saving people. He had spent the past three years teaching Chase how to do the same thing and Chase had stepped up. Maybe it was a sign she should take heed of. Maybe it was time for House to save himself.

She bent her head and prayed.

For them all.