Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chase wanted nothing more than to go home.

When cases arose, Chase got invested. He threw himself into work and it was impossible to focus on anything else.

Waiting for test results wasn’t fun for that exact reason. He couldn’t focus on anything but the case, but there was nothing to do. All he could do was sit and think.

There was no real downtime during cases. Sure, there were moments like these where nothing proactive could be done, but thinking was incredibly important when dealing with patients. New ideas, even if House shot them down, were always welcome and valuable.

The diagnostics room was silent. House sat behind his desk rolling his cane between his hands with a harsh, stoic expression. Cameron moved her chair in front of the whiteboard and held onto the patient’s file, not a hint of ease in her form as she flipped through pages and scanned the document. Foreman stood beside Cameron, but in a different world, brainstorming independently as if Cameron weren’t there. Chase sat in his usual seat, elbows resting on the table and head in his hands as he willed his mind to just come up with something.

“I’m grabbing food,” Foreman announced, voice rough from lack of use. All the heads in the room turned toward him as their attention was collectively stolen by the first disturbance in the last while.

House sighed and rose from his seat shakily, visibly wincing and hand finding its way to his leg.

“Might as well,” he grumbled. He sounded defeated and a little frustrated, but too exhausted for the frustration to fully reach his voice.

Cameron gave Chase a look, eyes wide and lips pursed, still somewhat wearing her “focus face”. She smiled slightly, and incredible feat given the time, and tilted her head toward the door where their boss and colleague were headed.

Chase shook his head, eyes unfocused and not quite looking at her.

He watched as Cameron hesitantly rose from her seat with her sympathetic gaze lingering on him for a long moment. She had to rush to head out the door and catch up with the other two men.

Chase let out a breath when the door clicked shut. His head fell into his hands, practically dead weight.

Admittedly, the interruption had knocked him off his course. He was guilty of getting so deep into cases he neglected everything else, but when he reached the point where exhaustion, frustration, and fear were reaching their peak, he was too fragile to be productive.

He leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t making any progress and neither were any of his coworkers. They had the right idea. A change of scenery might help, something to reset his system.

He couldn’t bring himself to engage in another activity separate from the case. He knew over the intermediate meal at four in the morning the other people in his team were having a discussion about the case, but that still seemed too far removed from what he was hyperfocused on.

He pushed his chair back and stood up, vision faltering for a moment because of how sedentary he’d been.

He headed out the door and straight down to the patient’s room.

The patient perked up slightly at his entrance. Chase tensed at her movement, but a professional smile soon christened his features. He closed the door softly behind him, wary of the supposed serenity of the room.

“Did I wake you?” Chase asked softly. The patient shook her head, smiling weakly and shakily pushing herself up to a seated position.

“No,” she responded, voice clear and oddly chipper for her situation. “I saw the door open.”

Chase felt a slight warmth rush to his head. His body seemed to wake up and her words as if reminded of the job he was meant to be doing and providing what little energy it could.

He made his way over to her bedside, unphased by the machines and wires that surrounded her.

“You did?” He asked, surprised. “How’s your vision then?”

She shrugged. She turned her head to fully face him.

“Not getting worse,” she supplied. “Could you turn the lights up though? The nurses dimmed them but it’s really hard to see.”

Chase nodded and made his way over to the lightswitch. He turned the lights up to their full brightness before returning to her side.

“Have you noticed anything new, Faith? Anything else that’s changed?” Chase asked. He could feel his focus getting sharper, different from the muddled, stuck obsession he felt when he was far removed from but still deep in the case.

Faith shrugged, smile widening. “Not really. I haven’t tried walking in a bit so I don’t know how my balance is doing.”

Chase nodded. “Would you like to try?”

Faith’s smile fell. Her shoulders drooped more than they already were.

Chase leaned forward, maintaining his professional smile but letting some of his concern show through. The team learned right from the beginning that Faith was a very happy girl: newly sixteen and with a love for life that was long gone among the general population. It was jarring to see her down. She had been in high spirits since she arrived at the hospital, vision fading, horrid coordination, and a smile on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Chase asked.

Faith began tearing up at his question. She brought a shaky hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs, however it fell into her lap soon after. Her loss of strength was a symptom they were well aware of.

“Take your time,” Chase prompted quietly. He didn’t have to take care to not sound condescending or cold. With the cases he worked on, he often felt rushed. However with Faith right in front of him, he was strangely lured into slowing down. Time was of the essence, but scrambling wouldn’t help her. Not right now when she was weak and upset. The diagnosis was in the works and would come. Right now, she needed comfort.

She drew in a shaky breath and let it out, staring down in her lap. She took another breath, closing her eyes. As she exhaled, Chase could see the tension leaving her thin body. She repeated her breaths a couple more times. Chase subconsciously followed along.

She looked up at the doctor with tear-stained cheeks and a mild frown. “I’m scared.”

Chase was used to fearful patients. He worked in a hospital, fear and uncertainty were everywhere. Tears were everywhere. Pain was everywhere.

Over time, he became desensitized. Cries and worries found homes in every inch of the building.

Something about right now was different. Faith was so young. So happy. She had the world in the palm of her hand and she was scared because her body was giving up on her.

Chase glanced down at his hands, firmly clasped in his lap. He unclasped them, acutely aware of how still and tense he was.

“I’d be shocked if you weren’t scared,” Chase commented. Faith nodded, sniffling. Her eyes stayed firmly fixed ahead of her, staring deep into Chase’s eyes as she waited for him to continue. She expected more comfort to come. Chase would be a monster to not provide it.

“You’re in the hands of the best diagnostics team there is. We’re doing everything in our power to find some answers,” Chase said seriously. Faith’s smile returned and she giggled wetly.

“Big ego you have there, huh?” She joked. Chase mirrored her smile, somewhat emulating her sad eyes but sans the tears that still flowed freely down her cheeks.

“You should talk to my boss,” Chase replied. Faith laughed again, pausing to clear her throat.

“I’m not worried about that,” she assured. “I’m just scared. I don’t know what’s going on. I know we’ll find out what’s wrong, but right now I don’t know and that’s really scary.”

Chase nodded. His smile faltered. Her bluntness caught him off guard, but was far from unwelcome. He fought to keep his eyes on his patient as her stare was unrelenting. He didn’t want to seem flaky or distracted. He wasn’t.

“Is there anything that could help you feel better?” Chase asked, aware it was likely a stupid question. It was like comforting a child after a nightmare. He could explain and provide logic all he wanted, but Faith made it clear she wasn’t in need of critical thinking.

To his surprise, Faith considered the question. She chuckled lightly, shaking her head and looking away as her face flushed.

“My mom used to braid my hair when I was sick. That would help. She’s still on her way to the state, though,” Faith said shyly. Chase sat up straight, filled with sudden determination.

“I could braid your hair,” Chase offered automatically. Faith mimicked his posture, eyes wide with surprise.

“You could?” She asked in disbelief. Chase smiled and nodded, standing up from his seat and walking to the other side of the bed. Faith scooted backward so her doctor could reach her head.

“I might be a little rusty, but I don’t mind,” Chase warned. Faith laughed and shrugged. She pulled her knees up to her chest, shivering slightly under her thin hospital gown.

“I don’t mind either,” she assured. “My hair might be a bit knotted.”

“No worries,” Chase said, halfway mumbling. He softly ran his fingers through Faith’s hair, pausing when he hit knots and gingerly untangling them when they were encountered.

“Have you slept at all? It’s quite late,” Chase asked, concerned. Faith rested her chin atop her knees. Chase stepped forward so he could continue detangling her hair.

“A little. I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, though.”

Chase nodded, not paying mind to the fact she couldn’t see him. He used his pinky finger to draw a line straight down the center of her scalp, splitting the hair into two distinct sections. He took a small section of hair from the front of her head and used his middle and index finger to split it into three neat pieces of blonde hair.

Faith perked up, instinctively going to turn her head to face Chase but catching herself before the motion could continue.

“What kind of braid are you doing?” She asked, shocked and confused. Chase was confused as well. He wove the first piece under the middle and gently collected a small bit of hair from along her hairline. He held his in progress braid taut, staying mindful of preventing pain.

“Dutch, I think it’s called? Like I said, it’s been a while,” Chase replied. He was definitely rusty, but he didn’t forget how to braid like he feared he might have. The motions weren’t near as automatic as they used to be, but the steps were familiar. Somewhat comforting.

“How do you know how to do dutch braids?” She asked, returning her chin to the top of her knees.

“I had a sister,” Chase supplied quietly. “She was just like you. Loved getting her hair braided, especially when she was upset. It always calmed her down.”

“I’m sorry,” Faith apologized. Chase chuckled, taken aback.

“What for?”

“You said you had a sister. Did something happen?” Faith asked hesitantly. Chase instantly shook his head, alarm rising at the need to correct her.

“No, I just haven’t seen her in a while,” Chase answered. The blonde hair he was braiding suddenly felt a little heavier in his hands. He felt like a helpless teenager again, not sure what to do with a fussing toddler. When she was scared and Chase was right along with her, he’d sit her down in his lap and just braid while she cried. She’d wail and squirm like Chase’s hands were knives along her scalp, but it never took long for her sobs to turn to shuddery breaths and her relentless squirming to cease, making way for stillness and the occasional tremors that followed intense upset.

“Why not?” Faith asked innocently. Chase felt a flash of anger. He paused his braiding for the split second it took him to shake it off and become coherent.

“She lives in Australia,” Chase answered simply.

“I can’t imagine moving to another country,” Faith commented. “Let alone away from my family. That must’ve been hard.”

Chase had heard words like these before. Some similar in content, but more often with a certain tone. A tone that screamed “I’m sorry and I don’t know what else to say.”

Really, Faith wasn’t speaking in that tone. The implications of her words were entirely different. She wasn’t trying to make Chase feel better, she didn’t have any reason to, she was saying what she felt. She was a kid who had barely experienced the world and the thought of doing what Chase described was incomprehensible. She was just a kid.

“I guess,” Chase continued. It didn’t feel right to leave her comment hanging in the heavy hospital air.

“I miss my Mom,” Faith commented. Chase could hear the way the simple words caught in her throat. He wondered what it would be like to miss someone like that, to the point that speaking their name brought him to tears.

“I’m sorry,” Chase supplied uselessly. “You said she’s on her way?”

“Yeah. She moved to California after the divorce,” she explained. “It’s classic divorced kid shit, but I feel like she abandoned me. I know there were other reasons for all her decisions and everything, but I feel like I was an afterthought in the whole thing.

“Sorry if this is a lot,” Faith said, chuckling wetly. “You’re a doctor, not my therapist.”

Chase laughed and shook his head. “It’s no worries.”

He paused, considering his next words. “I’ve been there.”

She perked up. “Really? Did your parents get divorced?”

“It’s complicated,” Chase answered. His desire to verbalize his relation to Faith’s situation faded upon being questioned.

The room fell quiet after that. Nothing but beeps and breaths.

“How old is your sister?” Faith asked quietly.

“Why?” Chase asked, defensive but careful to not come off that way. Faith shrugged and inhaled shakily.

“Just curious,” she replied. Her words were thick with something Chase couldn’t pinpoint. There was something there. He wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t need to. He wouldn’t gain anything.

“Around your age now,” Chase answered after careful consideration. “I’d have to do the math. I haven’t seen her since she was a toddler.”

“Wow,” Faith exclaimed, sitting up a little straighter. “That’s a long time.”

Chase nodded, eyes glazing over as he stared at his hands. “It is.”

“Do you miss her?” Faith asked after a beat. Her voice was shaky, like she was tearing up.

Chase looked up toward the speckled, bland ceiling. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to hold off the tears that had suddenly sprung into his eyes.

“Uh,” Chase started, shocking himself with the way his voice wavered. He cleared his throat and sniffled. He looked back at Faith’s head, continuing to braid. “I think so.”

“You think so?” Faith asked. Chase expected such a question to sound accusatory, but she just sounded curious. She didn’t understand and she was asking for clarification. She didn’t sound judgemental or hostile as he feared she would be.

“I left before she had a chance to grow. She was just a baby, she didn’t really have much of a personality. It’s hard to miss someone you never knew, but I guess I wish I knew who she was,” Chase explained. He gave up on keeping his tears at bay. He let them roll down his cheeks, expression stoic otherwise. The only indication he was crying were the tears.

“I’m sorry,” Faith apologized. “That sounds tough.”

Chase let out a breathy chuckle. “For a sixteen year-old, you’re incredibly good at comforting.”

Faith laughed, far less breathy than Chase had. The sound was bright, though it carried the slightest remnants that she had been upset earlier.

“For a man you’re incredibly good at braiding,” Faith joked. Chase rolled his misty eyes.

“You haven’t even seen it yet,” Chase warned. Faith giggled.

Really, Chase was doing a good job. He feared he would be too rusty to produce an acceptable product, but the braid was neat, pulled tight against her head, and consistent in the steady increase in size. In hindsight it felt odd to be proud of something so trivial, but his handiwork lifted his spirits.

“I can tell,” Faith said. “Especially for how long it’s been. When was the last time you braided your sister’s hair?”

Chase felt his heart throb.

“I don’t know.”

Admittedly, he didn’t think about his sister much. He didn’t like to. He didn’t know her, anyway.

She was close to Faith in age by now. He wondered if she still liked having her hair braided. If the feeling of gentle fingers along her scalp and meaningful tugs on her hair as it got pulled back into a neat braid would still put her to sleep after all these years.

He felt calmer the further down Faith’s head he got as the silence of the room settled and it felt less foreign to retreat into his thoughts.

He remembered nights where his sister refused to go to sleep and would scream her head off and he’d run his hands through her hair and start tucking it away. Her breaths would even out, his own would as well. Her eyelids would start to droop, Chase would feel his shoulders roll back. As he methodically tucked each strand under the next, he’d feel lighter. He’d feel nothing in the best way possible. Nothing else mattered but the girl in front of him. His hands would automatically find the pattern of weaving and grabbing and tightening and that was all there was. Just his hands and a head of hair.

He wouldn’t feel anything as he’d braid. He wouldn’t feel angry or upset, tired or hungry, he would just be. The spike in his heart rate earned from wrangling a hysterical child into a seated position would fade within seconds of his fingers finding their way into her hair. Everything would just fade away.

Sometimes he could get the braiding done fast. He’d remain conscious enough during those mornings before school that he’d understand haste was necessary.

But those moments when time didn’t matter. When the end product wasn’t the focus. When he wouldn’t even get halfway through the first braid before his sister’s head would loll forward and her eyes would shut. When all he had to do was slow down and braid. It didn’t have to be good or fast, he’d just have to do it and she’d be soothed. The bare minimum was more than enough. What he could offer was beyond enough for the little girl he hadn’t seen in years.

He was enough in those moments. He could just exist, breathe, and not think. He could float away or be so aware of the carpet indenting his knees, the grease on his fingers from his sister’s long unwashed hair, the feeling of air rushing in and out of his nose, just be there. Just exist with his hands in his sister’s hair and nothing more important.

“Done this side,” Chase announced. His tears had come to a stop, though the emotion that prompted them remained, weighing him down and keeping him grounded in a bittersweet way.

Faith startled. She turned her head to face Chase as much as she could and smiled, sleep in her expression. Chase handed her the braid he’d finished and she replaced his fingers holding it together at the end.

“Thanks,” she said drowsily. Chase wasted no time starting on the other side.

He slipped into a space, pretending it really was his sister in front of him.

He wondered if she was still blonde. Maybe she dyed her hair or it darkened with age. He wondered if her hair was as curly as it had been when she was little. She had loose, messy curls hanging off her head and tight little ringlets just above her ears. His mother once said her own hair used to be curly.

He wondered if she still liked pink. He wondered if she still liked apple juice. There was no way she still slept with a nightlight or cried when it was time to bathe. He highly doubted she hated broccoli as much as she did when he knew her.

He really didn’t know her.

She had grown up by now. She would be a teenager. He wondered what classes she was taking and what she wanted to do for work. Or if she had any idea at all.

He wondered about her hobbies, what kind of music she liked, who her friends were. He wondered what her favourite food was, if she preferred a night in or a day spent out of the house. He wondered if she played any instruments or if she was more of a science person. He wondered if she preferred cats over dogs. He wondered if she was religious. He wondered if she kept a clean room or didn’t care what her space looked like.

He wondered who the hell she was.

He unknowingly fell back into a familiar rhythm. Muscle memory took over at some undisclosed point. He felt abnormally calm despite how down he was. He was content with his emotion, he let it spread from his mind to the farthest reaches of his body. He let it flow out through his fingertips and into the braid. He carried so little tension he was afraid his knees would give out. He could feel his heart’s steady thrum against his ribcage, slow and soft. He could hear the quiet whistles his nose made on every other breath.

He could have known who she was. He could have stayed.

Really, he understood his decisions. He understood why he left.

But in the moment, it was hard to care.

He didn’t miss his sister, but he wanted to meet her so badly.

He heard the beeping of the machines Faith was bound to. He saw brown roots peeking through her bleach-blonde hair. He smelled the sterility of the hospital air. He felt the slightly rough hair beneath his fingers, damaged from heat and bleach unlike the silky hair his sister had. He saw the bright white walls and bland bedsheets. He felt a weight in his chest that kept him cemented in place.

He finished the braid, sealing away the outlet for his long forgotten regret.

“Faith?” Chase said quietly. Her head had lolled forward. He assumed she was asleep.

She didn’t stir, confirming Chase’s suspicions.

He smiled softly. He blinked hard and more tears rolled down his cheeks.

Keeping the braid firmly pinched between his index finger and thumb, he reached for his pager. He paged Cameron to the room, hoping she’d have a hair tie.

He took the moment to collect himself. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He took a deep, shaky breath. He dropped his arm and stared at Faith, her head resting on her knees and her left elbow awkwardly propped up between her thigh and torso, hand still limply holding her braid. He was surprised she held up this long.

He breathed out a chuckle. He slipped his pager away and gingerly took the braid out of Faith’s hand.

Sooner than he thought possible, Cameron burst into the room, eyes wide and chest heaving.

“What’s wrong?” She asked urgently through panting breaths. Chase gave her a warning look, tilting his head toward Faith’s sleeping form.

“Jesus Christ,” she said, letting out a sigh. She walked up to Chase’s side, tightening her ponytail. Foreman followed close behind, also out of breath and looking mildly pissed off.

“I only paged you,” Chase said to Cameron. She gave him a confused look and put a hand over her heart.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, taking in the scene. She raised an eyebrow at the braids her colleague was holding.

“Do you have any hair ties?"

Cameron rolled her eyes, but she reached into her pants pocket and pulled out two elastics.

“Did you do these?” Cameron asked, handing the hair ties to Chase. He grabbed them and nodded, not looking her way as he started wrapping them around the ends of the patient’s braids.

“How? These are amazing,” Cameron asked, tone hushed as her adrenaline wore off and she seemed to realize Faith was asleep.

“I have a sister,” Chase answered quietly. He felt Cameron’s eyes on him, but he stayed focused on his task, tying off her braids as slowly as he could.