Chapter One:

His leg was killing him! Why the hell did it bother him so much?! Doctor Gregory House was limping his way down the hallway, his bad leg trembling hysterically, even with the presence and usage of his cane. He was gripping the staff so tightly that his knuckles were chalk-white.

Chase held the analysis results of the current patient closely in his hands as he listened, without much purpose, to the conversation of Cameron and Foreman. He watched the hated man limping some feet away come to a stop, his leg still shaking like crazy. Chase focused on the bad leg: Was it going to give out?

The files splattered against the floor…

"GREG!"

House continued to gaze at his cane, which had clattered onto the floor. What on this earth had the nerve, audacity, or enough care to catch him from his fall? He turned his head the best he could to see the figure in the wake of him: the being that had enough heart to help someone who seemed heartless to the eyes that now stared upon them. He now stared into the eyes that of Robert Chase. How dare he break his fall? How dare he touch him?! How DARE he call him "Greg"?!

"House, are you alright?"

House raised a brow. Chase hated him, right? Loathed him entirely…why would he bother to catch his fall? The look of confusion now faded into his usual "I'm going to say something sarcastic" look, then into an expression of dawning: he touched him…and he called him…Gr-that name!

"House?"

"You're touching me…" House started, his eyes fixed on the man so hard that he could see the sweat that was going to drop from his face. "And you called me Greg." He raised a brow again. "The question here is are you alright?" He broke from Chase's grip. "Yeah. I'm okay." He answered, though he winced within.

"I don't think you're okay, House." Chase told him boldly.

"And I don't think you're my mother!" House growled, but he nearly stumbled onto the floor and Chase caught him once more.

"Stop catching me, will you?!" House flared, now officially pissed. Chase freed one arm to fetch the walking stick from the floor. He handed the rattan to him with a bit of force.

Be happy I bothered to catch you…

House gripped his cane for a second time, and glowered at Chase, waiting for him to let go. Instead of the desired action, Chase tucked himself under House to hold him up.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Chase ignored House's vulgar tone and asked Foreman to pick up the scattered files from the floor. He complied with the request as the flaxen practically dragged House (House was doing his best to go the opposite direction in the truly desired direction, which was the conference room.) to get him to move. He eventually gave up and let Chase guide him, which stained his pride. He'd get him back, though. Oh, yes, he'd get him back. He'd get him back for forcing his help upon him, having the nerve to call him…you know, and having a big enough heart to catch him! House looked down at the floor: though he wasn't blushing, he could feel his face get hot. Nobody ever forced him that way, nobody had actually proved him wrong, and nobody ever disagreed with his lie of "I'm okay". Someone had actually done it; someone had actually done it, and now he was at the mercy of this man.

…Okay, now you're over exaggerating a little…But still. HE CALLED ME "GREG"!

When the team entered the conference room, Chase made his way to the edge of the table before wriggling from under the other man. Foreman slid the results onto the table and found his way to a seat. Chase sat in the back chair on the right corner of the table; behind Foreman, and across from Cameron.

And it began: the usual "What do you think" routine. House would take every idea that they had, and then found someway to make a completely logical idea seem foolish. Chase hated him for that. He looked over to Cameron, with a "why did I catch him? I regret it already" look.

"Alrighty then!" House exclaimed in his usual cheerful "just got a new patient" tone. "Let's get started, shall we? Cameron, Foreman, re-check the results to make sure he's not brain damaged. C'mon wombat," Chase hated it when he called him that. "We're gonna meet our buddy from Land of the Rising Sun." He limped to the doorway, but stopped before he opened the passage. He pointed his cane at the fair-haired man. "It's like human transmutation in alchemy." Chase stood near the table, now a bit flummoxed.

"What are you talking about?"

"In alchemy," House started, resting on his cane once more, "Human transmutation was considered taboo…Much like—"

"Oh, I'm sorry about that I just—uh—didn't want you—um…I just didn't—er…"Chase stammered helplessly. He didn't understand it: he knew what he wanted to say but…he just couldn't say it.

"Say it already!" House complained, jabbing his cane toward him again.

"I—uh…just didn't want you to get hurt."

House stared at him for a moment. Didn't want me to get hurt? He wasn't sure what to say. Those words had never been said to him before…by anyone. His eyes raced across the floor, thinking of what to say at such an awkward moment. His head shot up as he became his usual assy self again. He opened the door of the conference room, letting the door close just as Chase made to reach the handle.

"You could've held the door, you know." Chase complained once the duo began their way to the elevator.

"I know. But unlike you, I don't care whether you get hurt or not." House replied sharply, pressing the up arrow button, now that the short trip to the elevator was over.

"I should've let you fall."

"I know. But like a mom, you care too much."

"Will you let it go? Is it that big of a deal?" Chase shot, heat creeping up his neck. House seemed to know every way to get under his skin. Or maybe he was too sensitive. He didn't know, or care right now as he stepped onto the half-crowded elevator, keeping his eyes as far away from House as physically possible. House independently made his way onto the back of the elevator, which seemed like the most comfortable spot right now, or maybe his was trying to prove to him that he was fine and didn't need anyone's help. Prideful jackass. To Chase, the elevator ride seemed to last forever. He couldn't stand being so close to House after he'd worked him up so quickly. The doors finally parted on the right floor! Chase stepped out first, relieved to have some space between himself and the—he couldn't find the right word, insult, or metaphor to describe House at the moment.

As both men entered the patient's room, Chase listened to the light conversation between the patients and his company in Japanese. The patient's company settled as they set eyes on the two doctors.

"Oi! Gaki, anata wa Eigo ka?" House questioned rudely, apparently referring to the teenager lying in the bed. Chase could only assume: he didn't know Japanese.

"Yes. You did a good job. But…could you lay off the gaki thing? It's kinda harsh." The boy replied. He had a messy mixture of black and blue hair that nearly covered his eyes, had he not pushed it back. He wore Nike glasses, and behind them remained a dark pair of brown eyes. Chase thought the eye color reminded him of Foreman: if you didn't know, you'd believe the boy had no pupils because his eyes looked as if they were black. Like coffee: it looks dark until you shine a light through it; then you could see that it was actually brown.

"Good. Then I'm leaving you with Chase."

"You're what?!" Chase fumed. "I thought 'we' meant 'you and me'!

"That was before I told you that Cuddy gave me clinic duty. Cuddy gave me clinic duty so I'm leaving you here."

Redness crept up Chase's neck as he shot daggers to House with his eyes; he could even feel his lips quiver in his irritation. He released a large sigh after House limped out the room.

"Er…" Chase wasn't sure where to start, though he usually started with the name. He looked down at the boy's name, and instantly recoiled at the thought of even trying to pronounce it. "I'm Doctor Chase. Um…How do you say your name?"

The boy smiled shyly and casually told him that his name was backward on his records and gave him the name "Taichi."

"But you can call me Tai for short." He smiled, and for a moment, Chase believed there was nothing wrong with him.

"Are you sure there's something wrong with you?" Chase asked, truly curious. He looked like perfect health, he sounded like perfect health, and he even acted like perfect health! What in the blazes was he here for?

"It's not me who's sick at all. It's…Nakanishi." Tai looked down and let his eyes dart across the floor. His company slowly dismissed themselves as Tai seemed to take a heavier mood.

"Who's Naka…Nakanishi, Tai?" Chase pulled up a chair as the boy closed his eyes, letting brackish tears slip down his cheeks.

"He lives up here…"

Tai pointed to his head. "He's sick. And he just wants to get better." He began to cough. He coughed some more.

"Tai…are you alright?" The boy kept coughing. When his coughs subsided enough for him to speak, he looked up a Chase through the top of his glasses before he took them off.

"Tai? Who's Tai?"

Chase gave the boy complete eye contact. "Do you know who I am?" The boy shook his head. He quickly changed his clueless expression and smiled.

"Nakanishi." He extended his arm for Chase to take. "I'm six."

Chapter One-End

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A/N:

I had a bit of a hard time writing this, I apologize if it's too crappy. I promise I'll get to the H/Ch part. I'm not sure if Tai or Naka are important yet…I hope so. Er…All the legal mumbo jumbo about not owning House and that it belongs to David Shore. But like every other copyrighted characters I've written about in a fic, House is locked in my closet with Mugen and Saitou.

1 Oi! Gaki, Eigo desu ka?-Hey! Brat, do you speak English? (Japanese)