Title: Fool Enough to Hope

Author: Opals

Disclaimer: Obviously I'm not David Shore, because if Chase were mine I'd use him.

Summary: House comes onto Chase while stoned. Wilson knows something happened and is on a mission to discover the source of House's guilt. Slash. Some House/Chase and Chase/Wilson

Warnings: Slash- nothing graphic, but slash nonetheless. Also, while this is NOT a rape fic or pwp, the beginning may be a bit sensitive to some.

A/N: I've hesitated to post this, since I've never written slash before and the beginning might be a bit touchy, however I decided to brave it and see how it goes. Thank you to quack for looking it over and for the encouraging feedback.

OoOoO

He's popped a few too many Vicodin, and he knows it- not that knowing bothers him in the least- quite the contrary. He's feeling very pleasantly stoned as he sits on the floor of his office with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out in front of him.

He'll pay dearly for these few moments of bliss come morning. He's smart enough to realize that he's too high to drive home and sleeping in the hospital on call room always kills his leg; but right now he feels too good to care- besides it's not exactly like he can untake the pills. He grabs the remote, clicks on the tv, and is just settling in for his daily dose of night time soap operas when he hears his office door opening.

"Go away!" he barks without even turning to see who it is. He doesn't need to. He's certain that it's Wilson come to check up on him and undoubtedly lecture him on his pill useage, and he wants nothing more than to enjoy his buzz guilt free for awhile.

"Just dropping off a file and then I'm outta here," comes the softly accented reply.

Not Wilson after all.

"If it's a case take it back to Cuddy. I plan on being too stoned to function until Friday."

"Sorry," Chase says, dropping the file on his desk. "Her orders outrank your orders." Chase turns to leave, but halts when he catches sight of the empty prescription bottle alongside the empty bottle of Scotch in the waste basket.

"House?" he asks tentatively.

"Chase."

"Umm…" Chase doesn't need to ask if House is foolish enough to mix booze and pills. He already knows the answer is yes. He also knows that reprimanding House for it won't do a bit of good. What he doesn't know is whether or not House is foolish enough to drive stoned, so he settles for, "Would you like a ride home?"

The least he can do is ensure that House isn't tempted to get behind the wheel and kill anybody in his current condition.

OoOoOoO

Once they arrive Chase helps House into his apartment and guides him to his bedroom. Chase then disappears for a minute and returns with two aspirin and a glass of water, which he sets on the nightstand.

"You're going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning," he informs .

"Thanks for the memo, Captain Obvious," House snaps. He has no desire to consider how he'll pay for these few hours of reprieve in the not too distant future.

He wants to enjoy the buzz. He wants to feel this good for as long as he possibly can. He wants to enhance this high any way possible, so that it will take him a lifetime to come back down- because coming back down means dealing with the pain.

He watches Chase pace about the room, considers the kind of enhancement high that pretty blonds can provide and laughs to himself. It occurs to him that perhaps Cameron never actually planned to screw Chase that night a little over a year ago, but just couldn't refrain from using him as a cigarette to her meth induced buzz. He pulls the plug on his current line of thinking, because it's Chase and he knows he wouldn't be thinking this way under normal circumstances-or at least he thinks he wouldn't.

Even so, the idea of getting higher still has insidiously taken hold of his mind, and he reaches into his nightstand for his spare bottle of Vicodin.

Chase yanks it away from him before he can take another. "I think you're well over your limit," he says.

House scowls. The high is all he's got, and he doesn't appreciate being denied the maintenance of it.

"Do you think you're going to be sick?" Chase asks then mutters to himself, "Stupid question. Of course you're going to be sick." Chase disappears from the room again and when he returns with a bucket from under the kitchen sink House is struck with an epiphany and is overcome with laughter.

"You just can't help it, can you?" he says in a tone that indicates that he's greatly amused by his fellow's actions.

Chase ignores him and places the bucket next to House's bed.

"Where do you keep your lounge pants?" Chase asks.

House doesn't answer, but plays along with Chase's routine and begins to strip down to his boxers as Chase rummages through his dresser drawers. "Mommy did a hell of a job. Perfectly trained to take care of the poor little addict," he taunts. "Such a good boy."

Chase continues to ignore him. He pulls a pair of dark blue pajama bottoms and a t-shirt from a lower drawer and holds them out in front of him. When House doesn't reach for them he says, "Fine. Sleep in your boxers," and drops them on the bed next to House. Before he can retract his hand, however, House grabs it and pulls him down onto the bed with him.

"I'll bet you're really good, Boy," House laughs as he grabs a handful of blond hair and pulls Chase in for a hard kiss.

And if he was high before, he's absolutely fucking soaring now. Chase's mouth is soft and warm and the way he's writhing against House is turning him on more than he can remember being turned on in years.

When Chase clutches at his shoulder and whispers, "House, please," he bites Chase's neck and promises that since he's feeling very charitable he won't make him beg too much. He's not sure that he could stop himself long enough to make Chase beg anyway. He runs his hands up Chase's sides and over his chest and revels in the way his touch is making the young man's heart beat faster and faster except…the doctor in him is forced to note that Chase's heart really shouldn't be beating that fast. And was Chase writhing against him or writhing away from him?

The higher you are, the harder you slam into that nasty little patch of earth called Sobriety.

"Fucking hell," House growls and pushes Chase away from him and over the edge of the bed in one violent shove. "Why don't you learn to say no instead damn near letting someone grope you into a panic attack?"

House looks down when he hears no reply and sees Chase sitting on the floor cradling his left hand. "What did you do?" he asks.

"It's just a sprain. I'm okay," Chase answers trying his best to sound casual, like nothing at all has happened. He almost succeeds.

House blows out a long breath and slides off the bed. "Let me look at it," he says reaching for Chase's hand.

"It's fine," he says, pulling his hand away.

"Damn it! It's not fine!" House snaps causing Chase to flinch. Even though he's still fairly intoxicated House knows that there's nothing fine about any of this- not his actions a few moments ago and certainly not Chase's reaction to them. House reluctantly admits to himself that he needs to regain his control.

He takes a deep breath and adds with forced calm, "You must have landed on it funny when I-when you fell. I'll get some gauze and a couple of Tylenol." Chase's only reply is a slight nod.

House hobbles off to his bathroom and returns with a roll of gauze in hand. He then situates himself on the floor in front of Chase and begins to wrap his wrist. When he's finished House pulls a Vicodin from his nightstand drawer and extends it to Chase along with the glass of water that Chase had set there earlier. "For the pain," he explains. At Chase's questioning look he adds, "Tylenol's not going to do crap. We'll get you a real prescription in the morning."

Chase takes the pill and downs it with a slow drink of water while House watches him and wonders why Chase didn't knock him silly or at least run out of the apartment and leave House to sober up on his own.

He's sure Chase must realize that House is scrutinizing him because the young man nervously gets to his feet and mumbles, "I should go," before fleeing the apartment.

House continues to sit on his floor for several minutes after Chase has left. His high has been shattered and he can feel a hangover with a side order of guilt quickly coming in to take the high's place. He deals with them the same way he deals with every other unpleasant occurrence in his life. He calls Wilson.