Archive of Our Own ^beta

House didn’t do workplace events.

Charity auctions? Too many rich idiots trying to outbid each other for the thrill of it.

Hospital galas? Free booze, but too much small talk.

Team-building exercises? Cuddy could shove those exactly where his cane wouldn’t reach.

So when he spotted the bold, red-lettered BLOOD DRIVE—DONATE & SAVE LIVES! flyer taped to the conference room whiteboard, he immediately turned on his heel to leave.

Too late.

Cameron caught sight of him, perking up like a golden retriever. “Oh, good, you’re here!”

House scowled. “Oh, bad, you can see.”

She ignored him, flipping open a clipboard. “The hospital is running a blood donation drive tomorrow, and we’re all signing up.”

House glanced at the list of names. Cameron’s was already there, neat and eager. Foreman’s was beneath it, written with the resigned irritation of a man who knew resistance was futile. Chase’s name was absent.

House smirked. “I see the wombat’s sitting this one out.”

Chase, who’d been pretending to read a patient file, stiffened. “I didn’t say that.”

House’s eyes narrowed in amusement. “No? Then why’s your name missing?”

Chase hesitated.

Cameron, oblivious, turned to him with an encouraging smile. “You should do it! It’s such an easy way to help people.”

Chase shifted, gripping his pen a little too tightly. “Yeah. I know.”

House caught the flicker of tension in his expression, the way his fingers twitched like they wanted to fidget.

Ah.

Interesting.

House dragged over a chair and dropped into it. “Well, this is an exciting development. Cameron’s doing something selfless, Foreman’s suffering in silence, and Chase is—” he gestured vaguely, “—suspiciously quiet.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “It’s a blood drive, House, not a personality quiz.”

House leaned in. “So what’s your deal?”

“There’s no deal .”

“There’s always a deal.”

Cameron frowned. “Why wouldn’t Chase want to donate?”

House turned to her. “Let’s see. He’s either secretly a vampire, has some terrible blood-borne disease he’s neglected to tell us about, or—” he tilted his head at Chase, “—he’s scared of needles.”

Chase scowled. “I’m not scared of needles.”

House grinned. “Oh, this is good. ”

“I just don’t like them.” Chase crossed his arms, defensive. “It’s not a big deal.”

House snorted. “Right, because that totally sounds like something someone who doesn’t have a problem with needles would say.”

Cameron looked between them, concern creeping in. “Chase, are you sure—”

“I’ll do it,” Chase snapped. Then, softer, “I’ll do it.”

Cameron beamed. “Great!”

House raised a brow. “You know, you don’t have to.”

Chase set his jaw. “I want to.”

House studied him, the stubborn line of his shoulders, the too-casual way he was holding himself.

Huh.

Chase wasn’t doing this because Cameron asked.

He was doing it because he thought it was the right thing to do, and he wasn’t about to let something as small as personal discomfort get in the way.

Admirable.

Stupid, but admirable.

House shrugged. “Fine. But if you pass out, I’m taking a picture for my Christmas cards.”

Chase exhaled through his nose. “Thanks, House.”

“Anytime.”

House turned back to the clipboard, eyes flicking to the names.

His own space was still blank.

Cameron looked at him expectantly. “Are you signing up?”

House gave her a look. “Do I look like I have spare blood to give?”

Cameron crossed her arms. “You’re healthy enough.”

House lifted his cane. “Define ‘healthy.’”

“You’re not anemic. You don’t have any blood disorders.”

House smirked. “You left out ‘brimming with Vicodin.’”

Cameron huffed. “You could donate.”

“I could also start flossing regularly and getting eight hours of sleep, but we all know that’s not happening.”

Cameron sighed. “Fine. But Chase, Foreman, and I are all going. And you are coming with us.”

House narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You might not donate, but you’re not getting out of it completely.”

House opened his mouth to argue—then paused.

He considered the possibilities.

Cameron, smugly self-righteous. Foreman, grumpy and irritated. Chase, barely holding it together.

A slow smirk spread across his face.

This might actually be fun.

He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “Fine. But if one of you cries, I’m telling everyone.”

Cameron rolled her eyes and passed him the clipboard.

Tomorrow was going to be very interesting.

House wasn’t expecting much excitement from a hospital-run blood drive.

Sure, Chase was probably going to make some hilariously pathetic face when they stuck the needle in him. Cameron would be all self-sacrificial about it, Foreman would be quietly annoyed, and House would get to sit back, observe, and make sarcastic comments. A perfectly entertaining morning.

He wasn’t expecting an actual medical mystery.

But then again, incompetence was its own kind of puzzle.

They arrived at the donation center just before noon, greeted by an overenthusiastic nurse who handed them each a clipboard of paperwork. House, of course, made a point of dramatically tossing his onto the nearest table.

“I’m not donating,” he announced. “But I am here for moral support. And by ‘moral support,’ I mean mockery.”

The nurse blinked. Cameron sighed. Foreman ignored him.

Chase, who’d been steadily growing tenser, shot House a flat look. “We know.”

House grinned, but his amusement faltered slightly when Chase hesitated before sitting.

Oh.

It was subtle, but House caught it—Chase lingering near the chair, fingers tightening around the backrest, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

“Scared yet?” House prodded.

“I told you, I’m not scared of needles.”

“You also told me you wanted to do this, and yet you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

Chase exhaled through his nose. “Just—shut up, House.”

House smirked. “You’re adorable when you’re in denial.”

But he let it go.

Chase sat. Cameron had already settled in the next chair over, rolling up her sleeve with practiced ease. House leaned against the nearby counter, watching.

The phlebotomist prepped the equipment, gave them the usual spiel about hydration and snacks, then got to work.

Cameron first.

She didn’t flinch as the needle slid in, the tube filling quickly. House barely had time to make a Buffy the Vampire Slayer joke before she was halfway done.

Then Chase.

House was watching him more closely.

Chase set his jaw as the phlebotomist swabbed his arm, jaw tightening as the needle punctured skin. House saw the way his fingers twitched, the tension in his shoulders.

But he didn’t flinch.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t do anything except stare straight ahead with laser focus, like he was willing himself not to react.

House tilted his head.

Interesting.

He was about to make a snide comment when Cameron made a soft noise.

House’s gaze snapped to her.

She was pale. Really pale.

Her eyelids fluttered slightly, a faint crease appearing between her brows. Her hands, which had been resting lightly on the armrest, curled weakly inward.

House frowned. “Cameron?”

Her breathing hitched. “I—”

And then her eyes rolled back, and she slumped sideways.

House caught her before she could hit the floor.

The phlebotomist jumped into action, loosening the tourniquet, pulling out the needle, lowering her head between her knees. Foreman, already standing, cursed under his breath.

“She okay?”

“She will be,” House muttered, scanning her. Cameron’s pulse was weak but steady, her skin clammy. A classic vasovagal response.

It wasn’t that uncommon after blood donation. But Cameron wasn’t the type to get woozy over medical procedures.

Something was off.

House glanced at the blood bag. It was nearly full.

How much had they taken?

Too much.

His gut prickled.

And then Chase made a soft, strangled sound.

House turned sharply.

Chase was still sitting in his chair—but barely.

His face was ghost white, his pupils blown wide. His grip on the armrests was too tight, knuckles whitening. His breaths were short and quick, and there was a light sheen of sweat along his hairline.

Oh, hell.

House moved fast. “Stop the draw.”

The phlebotomist hesitated. “He hasn’t filled the bag yet—”

“I don’t care. Pull the needle.”

“But—”

“ Now. ”

There must have been something in his tone, because the guy scrambled to comply. He pulled the needle, pressed gauze to Chase’s arm—

And Chase tilted.

House barely caught him before he slumped forward.

Foreman swore again. “Jesus.”

House maneuvered Chase into a better position, tapping his cheek lightly. “Come on, Blondie, stay with me.”

Chase’s eyelids fluttered, breath shallow. “’M fine.”

House rolled his eyes. “Oh, obviously. You’re just taking a scenic nap in my arms for fun.”

Chase huffed weakly, but his lips were tinged gray.

House’s stomach twisted.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal post-donation dizziness—this was worse.

Cameron was still recovering nearby, Foreman checking on her. House’s brain was already working at full speed, sorting symptoms, factors, possibilities.

And then it clicked.

His head snapped to the phlebotomist.

“How much blood have you been taking?”

The man blinked. “The standard—”

“ How much? ”

The nurse hesitated. “… 600 milliliters.”

House’s stomach dropped. “You idiots. ”

The standard donation amount was 450 mL.

They were over-drawing.

Chase and Cameron were both on the slimmer side—less blood volume, lower tolerance for loss. And these morons had taken an extra hundred and fifty milliliters from everyone.

No wonder Cameron had collapsed. No wonder Chase was circling the drain.

House’s hands clenched.

Medical incompetence made him angry.

Medical incompetence that put his people at risk made him furious.

He turned to Foreman. “Get them juice and whatever passes for food around here. I want Chase lying flat, legs elevated. Cameron too.”

Foreman nodded sharply, already moving.

House shifted, keeping a steady hand on Chase’s shoulder. “Hey. Stay awake, Wombat.”

Chase’s eyelashes fluttered. “’M fine .”

House snorted. “Right. You’re barely upright, and Cameron beat you to passing out. You’re gonna have to live with that.”

Chase’s lips twitched weakly.

House kept a firm grip on him, scanning his vitals. He’d be okay—he just needed fluids, food, and rest.

But House was going to raise hell over this.

He glanced at the nurse, voice dangerously low. “Who authorized the extra draw?”

The nurse paled. “I—it was a hospital-wide decision—”

House’s smile was sharp and cold. “Yeah? Well, you’re about to have a very interesting conversation with Cuddy.”

The nurse swallowed hard.

Chase exhaled shakily, eyes drifting shut. House gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.

“Relax. I’m not letting you die in a blood donation chair. That’d be humiliating. ”

Chase let out a weak, breathy chuckle.

House didn’t let go.

House was fuming.

He had stormed straight to Cuddy’s office the second Chase and Cameron were stable.

Not that they felt stable yet.

Chase was still pale and exhausted, sprawled on one of the worn-out couches in the diagnostics office, sipping weakly at a juice box like a cranky toddler. Cameron had her feet propped up on another chair, leaning back against the wall, arms loosely crossed as she tried to pretend she wasn’t just as miserable.

Foreman, blessedly, had made himself useful and procured some food for both of them.

House, meanwhile, had gone on a warpath.

“I told you,” he was saying to Cuddy now, “that running a blood drive in a hospital full of sleep-deprived, underfed, overworked doctors was already a terrible idea. But no, you just had to be the queen of charity. ”

Cuddy pinched the bridge of her nose. “House—”

“ Six hundred milliliters, Cuddy. They’ve been over-drawing everyone. ”

Cuddy’s eyes darkened. “That’s not—”

“Oh, it is. And now, thanks to your incompetence, two of my doctors nearly passed out in public.”

Cuddy exhaled sharply. “… Are they okay?”

“They will be, but I won’t if I have to keep babysitting them instead of doing literally anything else. ”

Cuddy gave him a dry look. “House, you’re always babysitting them.”

House ignored that.

“I want names. Who approved this? Who implemented it? I want heads on sticks. ”

Cuddy sighed. “I’ll handle it.”

House squinted at her.

“No, you won’t.”

“House.”

“Fine. I’ll handle it and make sure you know just enough to maintain plausible deniability.”

Cuddy glared. “You are not threatening hospital staff.”

House smirked. “Who said anything about threats? ”

Cuddy groaned.

House turned on his heel and left.

He did have every intention of making someone’s life miserable, but first, he had two lightheaded idiots to check on.

When House got back to the office, Chase had finished his juice and looked about ten seconds away from falling asleep where he sat.

Cameron, for her part, had regained some color, but she still looked worn out.

House surveyed them, unimpressed. “You two look terrible. ”

Cameron rolled her eyes. “Thanks, House.”

Chase just made a vague grumbling noise and shifted, still curled into the couch.

House walked over and nudged his knee. “Come on, get up.”

Chase barely opened his eyes. “No.”

House snorted. “That’s cute. Let’s try again.” He nudged him harder. “Up. Now.”

Chase scowled but slowly— very slowly —sat up. His movements were sluggish, uncoordinated, like he wasn’t sure where gravity was anymore.

House noted it. Filed it away.

Cameron watched him, frowning. “Chase, you okay?”

“Fine,” Chase muttered, but his voice was a little too thin, his breathing a little too shallow.

House smacked his arm— not hard , just enough to get his attention. “Drink more juice.”

Chase blinked blearily at him. “… I drank one already.”

“And? You lost more blood than you were supposed to. You think your body runs on spite alone?”

Chase exhaled. But he obediently grabbed another juice box from the table and started sipping.

House rolled his eyes. “Pathetic.”

Cameron shot him a glare. “House—”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. If you two are gonna dramatically collapse every time you try to do something charitable, I will make fun of you.”

Cameron groaned. Chase just sighed into his juice.

House watched them both carefully. Chase’s color was still off, but his vitals were mostly normal. Cameron seemed to be bouncing back faster.

They’d be fine.

Still.

House sighed and sat down in his chair, popping a few pills from his pocket.

“You’re both useless for the rest of the day.”

Chase raised an eyebrow. “Did you really just give us the afternoon off by insulting us?”

House smirked. “It’s my love language.”

Cameron actually laughed at that.

House leaned back in his chair, watching them. They were exhausted, but they’d be okay.

Still, there was something gnawing at him.

It wasn’t just that the hospital had screwed up—though that was infuriating. It was the way Chase had reacted.

He hadn’t even protested when House stopped the blood draw.

Hadn’t admitted how bad he felt.

House knew, instinctively, that if Cameron had started feeling lightheaded before passing out, she would have said something. But Chase?

No.

House had seen it—how he had forced himself to sit still, to breathe through it, to not complain.

Like he was used to just pushing through it.

House didn’t like that.

At all.

He turned to Chase, voice deceptively casual. “You afraid of needles?”

Chase blinked. “What?”

“You hesitated before sitting down. Got all stiff and silent. That’s either nerves or you were contemplating running out of the room. So which is it?”

Chase scowled. “I’m not scared of needles.”

House tilted his head. “But?”

“… I just don’t like them.”

House gave him a look.

Chase exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “I had a lot of bloodwork done as a kid. My dad made sure I got every possible test, every possible vaccine. It got old.”

Ah.

House filed that information away.

“Not a fan of feeling out of control, huh?”

Chase shot him a vaguely annoyed look. “I chose to donate.”

“Sure. And then you chose to nearly pass out like a Victorian damsel. How’d that work out for you?”

Chase groaned. Cameron gave House a look.

“ House. ”

House smirked, but it softened slightly. “I’m just saying—maybe next time, say something before you turn into a human ragdoll.”

Chase muttered something unintelligible but nodded.

Good enough.

House turned back to Cameron. “And you? You planning on staying upright from now on?”

Cameron rolled her eyes but smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

House sighed dramatically. “Ugh. Fine. I guess you both get to live.”

Cameron smiled. Chase huffed a tired laugh.

House glanced between them. “Neither of you are leaving this office until you finish those snacks and drinks.”

Cameron just nodded. Chase muttered something about being treated like a five-year-old, but he didn’t actually fight it.

House leaned back, watching them.

They were exhausted, miserable, and still a little pale.

But they were here.

House let out a slow breath.

Yeah.

They were okay.