Patients

"…That ain't gonna happen for us."
-John Giles, DNR

House stumbled into his apartment exhausted from the tireless day and fully prepared to spend the night ahead of him sprawled on the couch, a beer in one hand, his other buried in soft blonde hair.

He slammed the door behind him, the echo reverberating through the empty apartment seemed to mock him. John Giles' words from earlier that day filtered to the front of his mind and he froze halfway between the door and couch. A fear he could safely deduce was irrational but no matter what he told himself made his stomach clench uneasily, stole his breath from one beat of his heart to the next.

"Robbie?" An affirmative drifted from the bedroom.

His breath stuttered and returned to a semblance of normal as he dropped himself onto the leather cushions of his- their couch.

Chase stumbled down the hall, his hair mussed, wearing Houses' pajama bottoms and ratty old band shirt. When blue eyes peaked up from the blonde fringe covering them they widened.

"Greg, are you okay?" House nodded, desperate to hold the Australian, House's clothes hung on Chase's much smaller frame making him look vulnerable, exacerbating House's irrational fear for no explicable reason. He motioned the blonde over; Chase treaded to the sofa and curled up next to the other warm body. When he was comfortable a soft sleepy noise escaped the parted lips making House smile.

"What's wrong?" Chase murmured, his accent strengthened by drowsiness, was like a balm to House's fear.

"Just something the patient said today." House expected an interrogation but as seconds dragged into minutes all he heard was the soft breathing evening out and deepening.

House leant his head against the back of the couch, content for the moment to be used as an oversize teddy bear to the best thing this world could offer him.