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cosmic_tuesdaysTitle: Breaking Through
Author: Hannah R. Orlove
Fandom: House, MD
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: None
Notes: This is set in the same universe as An Issue Of Bioethics, both of which were written for The Everyday Superheroes Fanfic Challenge. The epilogue takes place immediately after “Mob Rules.” The title of this piece comes from the song “The Great Beyond” by R.E.M.
It was actually fairly simple, if unusual – whooping cough wasn’t a common disease, but it had been easy enough for House to diagnose. Before treatment could begin, though, the patient’s history needed to be fetched. Which was where Chase came in.
“May I help you?”
“Yeah, I need the history for Ashley Chalier.” The nurse nodded and disappeared into the file stacks. Chase tapped his fingers on the counter while he waited, tumbling letters together in his head in an attempt to find a five-letter word for “karma.”
Last letter is ‘s’ from ‘Emphysema’…It’s plural…Karma…Karma…highlighter… ah, ‘vibes’ works.
Highlighter?
He’d suddenly gotten the image of using a blue highlighter on a textbook. He shook his head, wondering why he’d thought back to his university days.
“Here you are.”
“Thanks.”
He forgot about that less than two minutes later, walking back to deliver his quarry. He had no reason to remember it. Life was full of things like that – suddenly remembering what the shape of the glasses his aunt wore when he was six while he was cooking dinner. Stuff like that happened to everyone. So when it happened two days later, when he saw a swing under a huge tree when he was on clinic duty, he just shook his head and went back to Theodore’s knee. He probably saw the swing on television years ago and just didn’t remember the program.
He used the same excuse less than a week later, when he in line at the supermarket and suddenly remembered passing by a large field with some kind of crop in it, maybe wheat. There were dozens of fields like that on American programs. He paid for his groceries and left, perhaps a bit faster than usual.
Chase wasn’t one to dwell on the past overmuch. He didn’t have the time or the inclination for it. He also hadn’t read many picture-books when he was a child, and had no idea why he saw some tiny hippo-like beings in red uniforms in tall grasses for a moment in the library. It was an incredibly bizarre sensation. It wasn’t like remembering something, or like he saw something instead of the books in front of him. It was like seeing the books in front of him and the illustration at the same time in the same space.
He knew there wasn’t anything wrong with him. If there was, he’d have realized it long ago.
You keep telling yourself that, the specter of House said to him. It’ll become true if you repeat it often enough.
He wondered if most people got their bosses inside their heads. At least he could ignore it easily enough.
The sensations grew more frequent as time went on. Visualizing the refrigerators in the cafeteria when he was picking up his lunch, even though he’d only glanced at them once when the staff had forgotten to close the doors to the kitchens – maybe he just had a more vivid imagination than he’d thought. Seeing some kind of big pink bedspread while talking to Cameron – he’d seen pink bedspreads, and probably just connected the dots between Cameron being a girl and her owning a pink bedspread. Turning the keys in the ignition of an American car with white seats – he’d driven a lot of rented cars here, and couldn’t remember the exact model of each of them so his brain probably just spat one out. But he couldn’t ever remember owning green shorts. Maybe he’d been remembering a dream.
They were becoming stronger, too; just shaking his head wasn’t enough to get them out anymore. He had to stop and wait for them to pass. It was easy enough to hide them, though.
For a while, anyway. It wasn’t easy to deny slamming full-tilt into a wall when there were nearly three dozen people watching. At least he hadn’t broken his nose, but it did take a while for the bleeding to stop.
“You walk down the same halls every day. How could you miss the door after the first week?” Foreman couldn’t believe what Chase had done, even after he’d repeated himself almost ten times.
Chase shook his head and shifted the cold pack. “I’m telling you, I saw the door there.”
“You saw the door in the middle of the wall.” As usual, House didn’t ask a question, he made a statement. The exam room wasn’t filled to bursting with four people, but it wasn’t terribly comfortable, either.
“Yes.”
“When the door was actually twenty feet to your left.”
“I was distracted.”
“You don’t get distracted.”
“Well, I was, all right?” He moaned. “I don’t know why…”
“There’s always a why.” They all knew what that tone meant, and it usually meant their lives would start being stressful and stop being boring. “Are you sleeping enough? Eating well?”
“Yes. Yes. What am I doing? There wasn’t a why in this case. I got mixed up. I saw the door there. I tried to walk through it.”
“How could you have thought the door was there?” Cameron sounded like she couldn’t decide to be amused or worried.
“Hm. Could be a temporal lobe lesion, if you’re hallucinating.”
“I’m fine.”
He tapped his cane against his chin. “Maybe it’s a tumor. I could have Wilson looking at an MRI before teatime.”
“It’s nothing.” He closed his eyes, willing the pain to stop.
“How long have you been experiencing these phantom images?”
“What does it matter? It’s not going to happen any more.”
“Ah, ‘any more.’ What a concept. The implication being that whatever in question has happened multiple times. Now, if you’d said ‘again,’ the implication of that would be that it’s only happened once and won’t be repeated.” He hummed tunelessly while Foreman sighed.
“Well, it’s not going to happen again, all right?” He took a deep breath. “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be fine.”
“You heard him. Time to clear the room. Shoo, shoo.”
“Why are you staying, then?”
Chase opened his eyes to see House remaining in his seat. “Well, someone needs to keep him company during his convalescence. Oh, Cameron, fetch me a pack of playing cards.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been meaning to brush up on my Solitaire. And a pen and pad of paper – I want to keep track of winning strategies.”
They’d gotten used to their mentor’s enigmatic desires and whims, and ten minutes later House was shuffling a fresh deck, the slick cards cutting bridges in the air. At that point, Chase had gotten a new cold pack, and was trying to get comfortable.
He was getting to that place near sleep, that weight on his eyelids, when –
There was a sound like an incision in the air; House must have flipped a card out of the deck. “What am I looking at?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
“Come on, it’ll be fun. What am I looking at?”
“A playing card.”
“I’m expanding my résumé to include aggressive suggestion. Is it a Queen of Spades or a Jack Of Hearts?”
“How should –” Chase stopped, deciding to indulge House and guess based on the images popping into his head. “It’s black.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“No prime numbers, no little images in the corners?”
“How should I know?”
“Testy, testy. Let’s move on.” He set it down and flipped out another card after Chase heard the click and scribble of a pen. “And this one?”
“Black again. It’s a face card.”
“And this?”
“Red. Lots of little images all over.”
“Yet another.”
“Black. Ace.”
“Guess what I’ve got in my hand.”
“Blackjack.”
“That’s a game, but it’s also a card. Nicely done. And?”
“Red two.”
“Care to hazard a guess about the suit?”
“Armani.”
“You’ve been taking notes on the fine art of wit, I see. Good for you; you’ll have a little something extra in your envelope this Friday. As it is, keep going.”
“Are we going through the whole pack?”
“Eh, what else have we got to do today?”
“Clinic duty.”
“You’re injured and you’re in the clinic. I can get away with it this once. Indulge me.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “As soon as this headache goes away, I’m leaving. Black five.”
“My young padawan is growing a spine at long last.” House ignored the sigh. “Come on, guess what I’ve got.”
“Red queen. Can I have a drink of water?”
“If you like.” Another incision.
“Black…even numbered card. Eight or ten. May I have a drink of water?”
“Nothing’s stopping you from getting it yourself. And what have we here?”
“Never mind. Red again. A three.” There wasn’t another incision. “What, no more?”
“Well, that’s all we need, actually. Ten is the minimum amount needed for this kind of study.”
“What –” Chase began to get up.
“No, no, you need your rest. Stay there.” He heard House hit a few keys on his pager. Once he was done with that, he began shuffling the cards again. “We’ve got some of the best equipment in the world at this hospital. We can massage hearts, look inside brains, map out the inner workings of the body with magnets and radiation…but sometimes, the old methods work best.” He sighed contentedly as Foreman and Cameron came in. “Well, my dears, I have breaking news for you. It appears as though the number of powers Cuddy employs has doubled. Good for you, Chase.”
“What?” He repeated. He got up to look House in the eye, and he just smiled at his protégé.
“Congratulations. You’re a sensitive.”
“Wait, just – what?”
“The cards don’t lie.” He pointed to the ones lying on the counter.
Chase’s jaw dropped.
Each and every card he’d guessed was right. There was a list next to them, in House’s enigmatic handwriting that he’d labored to decipher. Chase hadn’t missed a single one.
“That’s not possible.”
“Why not? There are people out there who can control the weather, breathe underwater, even glow in the dark. Why shouldn’t you be able to read minds?”
“Because if I could, I would know that, wouldn’t I?”
“Not necessarily. Maybe you’re in deep, deep denial about it. It’s not just a river in Egypt, you know.” He picked up his cane and began to walk out. “If you don’t believe me, I can get Wilson to give you some official tests. You know, the kind they use to admit people into your club. I hear they have good cookies at the meetings.” He left with as much grace as he could manage – a fair amount, actually.
Chase sat back down. The idea wasn’t something he could easily take in. He suddenly felt very small, and couldn’t bring himself to look back at the cards.
“I’m too old,” he said to no one in particular.
“Actually, no.” They turned about to look at Wilson, now leaning against the doorframe. His tail was swishing back and forth. “Twenty-seven is the oldest recorded age for starting. You’re twenty-six. It’s unlikely, but possible, that you would start now.” He made his way inside, Cameron and Foreman stepping aside for him to look at the cards. “Ten out of ten. Nicely done.”
“I was guessing.”
“No, you weren’t. No one can guess and be right a hundred percent of the time. You were picking up on something.” His tail was slowly shifting around. Chase wished he could read Wilson’s body language better. “It was good he wrote these down; it’ll make your testing that much easier if you have something to show them first.”
The words Wilson was using were all ones Chase knew, but the concept they made was almost entirely alien to him. He knew that powers had grades – everyone knew that – and they obviously had to get them at some point after they started. The fact that he knew this information didn’t make it any easier for him to digest or accept.
He mumbled something of an apology as he brushed out of the exam room. He didn’t recall the drive back to his apartment, but knew that he had to have gotten in the car and walked up the stairs, because he came back into himself when he was standing in his den, looking at the bookshelves.
He idly wished American beer wasn’t all piss, so he would have had reason to buy some earlier, so he’d have some to drink now.
He was still looking at the titles when he heard the knock on his door. It took him a few moment to register what the sound was, and another handful of them to head on over and open it up to see who was intruding on his shell-shocked moping.
It was Wilson. He’d changed out of his lab coat but everything else he’d been wearing from work was intact. “I brought you the cards.” Chase took the proffered folder, flipping it open to find the sheet of paper and an envelope, which no doubt contained the cards.
“Thanks.”
“May I come in?”
Chase didn’t have the energy to argue, and knowing he’d have to face Wilson in the near future prevented him from slamming the door in his face. “Sure. Make yourself comfortable.” He sighed and closed the door once his new visitor was clear of its path, and tossed the folder onto the nearest clear surface. The oddness of having a senior member of the hospital staff in his apartment wasn’t lost on him, but he ignored that in favor of continuing the mope. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water’s fine.”
“Did House ask you to come?” He asked over his shoulder as he made his way to the kitchen. Wilson followed.
“No, I came on my own.”
“Power solidarity and all that?”
“More or less.”
Chase smiled faintly, shook his head, and turned to face Wilson. He’d hung up his coat and had his arms crossed over his chest. “You know, I really…” He stopped, swallowed, and started again, pointing the empty glass at the caudate. “The idea that – that it wasn’t me thinking of those things, that they came from other people, it’s making me sick.” His voice didn’t alter tone or tempo, staying flat and tight. “I’ve been getting more and more things – visions, whatever they are, for weeks now. They’re not going to stop, are they? They’re just going to keep getting worse and worse.”
“What makes you think that?”
“It’s what happens to telepaths, doesn’t it? They go completely whacked from everything coming into their brains unless they’re drugged to the gills.”
“No, that’s not.”
“What does happen, then?” Chase spat out the words. “Everything’s going to be hunky dory and turn out fine in the end? Has anything ever turned out that way? This isn’t a case we can solve with some antibiotics or surgery, this is a life that was fine but it’s just been royally fucked over.” He couldn’t keep his tone even anymore, and began to shout. “I never asked for this, so why am I getting it? I don’t want it, I don’t want this; I just want people out of my head!” He raised the glass above his head and held it there for a few moments, before turning and setting it down on the counter. His next words were much quieter: “I don’t know if I can go back home.”
Wilson sighed. “Powers are allowed to travel freely between the United States and Australia. You can go back anytime you want.
“You’re actually very lucky, you know.” Chase looked up. Wilson’s tail was curling up and rolling out, and it didn’t look like he noticed – but then, why would he?
“I’m lucky?” Chase gaped in disbelief. “What makes you think there’s anything lucky about me?”
“You’re not a US citizen. You don’t have to accept medication if you don’t want to take it.”
“But what if I do need medication? What if I do need to take pills to keep my mind from shattering? Can I travel if I’m on them? If I move back home, can I get them there? How can you possibly think I’m lucky?” He shook his head. “If either of us is lucky, it’s you.”
“Me?” Wilson almost laughed at that.
“Yeah. You were born here, you didn’t actually start, you’ve always had…” he gestured at Wilson’s tail. “You’ve always been like this. You don’t have to worry about the looks people are going to give you now that you’re suddenly different, or getting medicated, or –”
“No, I didn’t have to worry about any of that. I just had people call me ‘doggy’ in kindergarten.” His words cut through Chase’s, and he continued, hands on his hips, glaring. “Like I said, you’re lucky. You can pass. You don’t have to get used to being stared at. You’re never going to have people asking you if it’s real, or if it hurts if we hit it, or if it’s true you wag if someone pets you.” His tail was lashing back and forth – that, everybody could read. “Anyone who says children are naturally accepting is a liar.”
Chase was the one who broke eye contact by turning back to the sink to get the water. “Here.” He held it out in Wilson’s general direction.
He looked up when it was removed from his hand. “Thanks.” Wilson took a sip, then shook his head. “I doubt that was what you wanted to hear.”
“What did you think I wanted to hear?”
“Maybe some kind words about how your life is going to be fine and that things aren’t completely ruined for you.”
“Yeah, that would have been nice.”
“There might have been something about sticking together in the face of oppression in there too, but I’m not sure if I could have managed that.” He took another drink.
“Why not? I’m sure you’ve had a lot of experience with that.”
Wilson actually laughed at that while the end of his tail gave a slight jerk. “I do, but not with someone else. I’ve gotten used to ‘me and them,’ not ‘us and them.’”
Chase didn’t know how to properly respond to that, so he didn’t, so he wouldn’t accidentally say something wrong. He didn’t have to wait long for the silence to end.
“You really should get your license soon. It’s never good to wait to get registered.”
“I’m guessing you know the places where I can get that done.”
“The clinic in Trenton’s the most convenient one. I’ve been going there since I moved here.” Chase suddenly got a group of very clear images all packed close together: white tiles, tall counters he couldn’t see over, looking at blue band-aid on his arm. If he’d gotten them that morning, he’d have thought that they were some kind of half-remembered dream from the night before, but now he knew they were coming from Wilson. That knowledge made his guts clench together, and he wished he knew how to keep his mind apart from everyone else’s. Maybe they could fix that there.
He also got the distinct impression that these were old images, and wondered how long Wilson had been going to these places.
“How many clinics are there in New Jersey? For powers, I mean.”
“Three. Some states have more, some have less. It depends on the size and the population.”
“Of powers.”
“Yeah.”
Chase nodded. “Do I need to call ahead to make an appointment?”
“No, you can just show up. They’ve got a couple hotlines, though, if you really feel the need for that. You want the numbers?”
“That’s alright. I will need directions to the place.”
“No problem.” He glanced around. “I’m assuming you have something to write with around here.”
“By the phone.”
“Ah.”
While Wilson was writing, Chase considered, hesitated, and finally spoke. He felt he could get away with the words he would use, given what had been said already. Still, he did request permission. “Can I ask you a couple questions?”
“Sure.”
“When did you get your license?”
“When I was seven.” Wilson didn’t look up. “I get it renewed every eighteen months.”
“Oh.”
Wilson’s tail curled up again, slower this time, though he kept writing. “Don’t say ‘oh’ like that.” Chase couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, angry, or exasperated. “You were the one who said I’ve always been like this. My parents just thought it would be better for me if I got graded sooner rather than later.”
Was it? He held back those words, opting for another question. “What do you use for your – how do you keep it clean?” He’d always wondered about the fur on Wilson’s tail. It was the same light brown color as his hair, and looked incredibly soft. He did know better than to ask to touch it, even though it was incredibly tempting.
Wilson chuckled at the question, and Chase was glad to hear the tension dissolve. “I use baby shampoo.”
“Baby shampoo?”
“It’s either that or something from a pet store, and I refuse to degrade myself that way. And yes, I shower just like everyone else. Here you go,” he turned and handed Chase a detailed set of directions.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” Wilson’s tail was slowly shifting back and forth. “I should get going.”
He handed Wilson his coat. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Good night.”
“Night.” Chase closed the door behind Wilson and sighed before heading to bed. The next morning, he called the hospital to arrange for a few sick days’ leave and threw together an overnight bag before leaving for Trenton. Wilson’s directions were perfect.
He was very, very pleased with himself for getting the bag together. The tests took a total of three days – three long, intense, stressful days full of questions and examinations and more than a few needles. Wilson had been right; bringing the cards did help.
He was a sensitive, just as House had diagnosed, and a particularly unusual one at that. Most sensitives picked up thoughts or feelings, not images, which was what Chase did. When he’d explained what had happened in the hallway, it suddenly made sense for him: he had been viewing the door through someone else’s eyes and hadn’t been able to differentiate between what he was picking up and what he was really seeing.
He stayed there for the rest of the week, getting some basic training in keeping his mind apart from other people’s. He could have stayed for more lessons, but wanted to get back to his life as soon as he could. He was also a projective, evidently, and received a couple of lessons in putting images in other’s heads. It was harder to do that than to just get them, and it was almost impossible to ‘sort’ through someone’s mind for a specific image. He could read the top layer easily enough, but everything else was just…too foggy, or murky, or dense to look through. Most people didn’t think in images, so there wasn’t as much he could pick up on or understand than if he was an empath, for example.
Chase was a two – he was a projective as well as a receptive, but didn’t have a lot of raw power in either of those areas – so there wasn’t any need for medication. When he finally got his license, he asked if he’d have to get regraded if he moved back to Australia. He was told no, the grading system is a universal one, but he would need to get a new license, and this one will need to be renewed in a year. It did look a lot like a driver’s license, though his driver’s license didn’t have two barcodes or as much information packed on it.
When he got back, two weeks after he’d walked into the wall, it wasn’t as difficult to adjust as he’d feared. It was a bit harder to keep his mind to himself when he was around people who were afraid or upset, and in a hospital they were the norm. But if he remembered the training he got it was easier to keep track of what his eyes were telling him, not his powers. Most people in the hospital didn’t know he was a power, so that meant no awkward conversations about starting or coming out. The people that did know – six, tops – were generally more curious than paranoid, though he was asked a couple of times for a demonstration of his projective abilities. He showed them the corner kick that won him a game one time.
The day he got back, Cuddy had invited him to her office and explained how his job might be affected and how if he wanted a transfer to another department or hospital she’d do everything in her power to arrange it. He told her that while her offer was kind wasn’t necessary, and that he was perfectly satisfied where he was now.
Epilogue
“I’m just glad he’s gone. I hated having to go in there when he was awake.”
“Why?” Cameron teased. “Did he keep picturing you naked?”
“Actually, no. I was wearing handcuffs.”
Foreman gave a low whistle. “Leather-lined?”
“You think I checked?” He shook his head. “At least when people fantasize about you two, you don’t have to see it.”
“Yeah, lucky us.”
“Oh, I know. Nothing like knowing someone’s got the hots for you by seeing yourself naked in their bed.”
“It would cut out a lot of trouble – you’d know if they’re interested or not.”
“Are you going to bring me along to check out your prospects next time you go to a bar? Because I should warn you, Australian beer is pretty expensive.”
Cameron made a face. “How can you stand to drink that stuff?”
Chase smiled. “Funny – I’ve been saying that ever since I got over here.”
Author: Hannah R. Orlove
Fandom: House, MD
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: None
Notes: This is set in the same universe as An Issue Of Bioethics, both of which were written for The Everyday Superheroes Fanfic Challenge. The epilogue takes place immediately after “Mob Rules.” The title of this piece comes from the song “The Great Beyond” by R.E.M.
It was actually fairly simple, if unusual – whooping cough wasn’t a common disease, but it had been easy enough for House to diagnose. Before treatment could begin, though, the patient’s history needed to be fetched. Which was where Chase came in.
“May I help you?”
“Yeah, I need the history for Ashley Chalier.” The nurse nodded and disappeared into the file stacks. Chase tapped his fingers on the counter while he waited, tumbling letters together in his head in an attempt to find a five-letter word for “karma.”
Last letter is ‘s’ from ‘Emphysema’…It’s plural…Karma…Karma…highlighter… ah, ‘vibes’ works.
Highlighter?
He’d suddenly gotten the image of using a blue highlighter on a textbook. He shook his head, wondering why he’d thought back to his university days.
“Here you are.”
“Thanks.”
He forgot about that less than two minutes later, walking back to deliver his quarry. He had no reason to remember it. Life was full of things like that – suddenly remembering what the shape of the glasses his aunt wore when he was six while he was cooking dinner. Stuff like that happened to everyone. So when it happened two days later, when he saw a swing under a huge tree when he was on clinic duty, he just shook his head and went back to Theodore’s knee. He probably saw the swing on television years ago and just didn’t remember the program.
He used the same excuse less than a week later, when he in line at the supermarket and suddenly remembered passing by a large field with some kind of crop in it, maybe wheat. There were dozens of fields like that on American programs. He paid for his groceries and left, perhaps a bit faster than usual.
Chase wasn’t one to dwell on the past overmuch. He didn’t have the time or the inclination for it. He also hadn’t read many picture-books when he was a child, and had no idea why he saw some tiny hippo-like beings in red uniforms in tall grasses for a moment in the library. It was an incredibly bizarre sensation. It wasn’t like remembering something, or like he saw something instead of the books in front of him. It was like seeing the books in front of him and the illustration at the same time in the same space.
He knew there wasn’t anything wrong with him. If there was, he’d have realized it long ago.
You keep telling yourself that, the specter of House said to him. It’ll become true if you repeat it often enough.
He wondered if most people got their bosses inside their heads. At least he could ignore it easily enough.
The sensations grew more frequent as time went on. Visualizing the refrigerators in the cafeteria when he was picking up his lunch, even though he’d only glanced at them once when the staff had forgotten to close the doors to the kitchens – maybe he just had a more vivid imagination than he’d thought. Seeing some kind of big pink bedspread while talking to Cameron – he’d seen pink bedspreads, and probably just connected the dots between Cameron being a girl and her owning a pink bedspread. Turning the keys in the ignition of an American car with white seats – he’d driven a lot of rented cars here, and couldn’t remember the exact model of each of them so his brain probably just spat one out. But he couldn’t ever remember owning green shorts. Maybe he’d been remembering a dream.
They were becoming stronger, too; just shaking his head wasn’t enough to get them out anymore. He had to stop and wait for them to pass. It was easy enough to hide them, though.
For a while, anyway. It wasn’t easy to deny slamming full-tilt into a wall when there were nearly three dozen people watching. At least he hadn’t broken his nose, but it did take a while for the bleeding to stop.
“You walk down the same halls every day. How could you miss the door after the first week?” Foreman couldn’t believe what Chase had done, even after he’d repeated himself almost ten times.
Chase shook his head and shifted the cold pack. “I’m telling you, I saw the door there.”
“You saw the door in the middle of the wall.” As usual, House didn’t ask a question, he made a statement. The exam room wasn’t filled to bursting with four people, but it wasn’t terribly comfortable, either.
“Yes.”
“When the door was actually twenty feet to your left.”
“I was distracted.”
“You don’t get distracted.”
“Well, I was, all right?” He moaned. “I don’t know why…”
“There’s always a why.” They all knew what that tone meant, and it usually meant their lives would start being stressful and stop being boring. “Are you sleeping enough? Eating well?”
“Yes. Yes. What am I doing? There wasn’t a why in this case. I got mixed up. I saw the door there. I tried to walk through it.”
“How could you have thought the door was there?” Cameron sounded like she couldn’t decide to be amused or worried.
“Hm. Could be a temporal lobe lesion, if you’re hallucinating.”
“I’m fine.”
He tapped his cane against his chin. “Maybe it’s a tumor. I could have Wilson looking at an MRI before teatime.”
“It’s nothing.” He closed his eyes, willing the pain to stop.
“How long have you been experiencing these phantom images?”
“What does it matter? It’s not going to happen any more.”
“Ah, ‘any more.’ What a concept. The implication being that whatever in question has happened multiple times. Now, if you’d said ‘again,’ the implication of that would be that it’s only happened once and won’t be repeated.” He hummed tunelessly while Foreman sighed.
“Well, it’s not going to happen again, all right?” He took a deep breath. “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be fine.”
“You heard him. Time to clear the room. Shoo, shoo.”
“Why are you staying, then?”
Chase opened his eyes to see House remaining in his seat. “Well, someone needs to keep him company during his convalescence. Oh, Cameron, fetch me a pack of playing cards.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been meaning to brush up on my Solitaire. And a pen and pad of paper – I want to keep track of winning strategies.”
They’d gotten used to their mentor’s enigmatic desires and whims, and ten minutes later House was shuffling a fresh deck, the slick cards cutting bridges in the air. At that point, Chase had gotten a new cold pack, and was trying to get comfortable.
He was getting to that place near sleep, that weight on his eyelids, when –
There was a sound like an incision in the air; House must have flipped a card out of the deck. “What am I looking at?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
“Come on, it’ll be fun. What am I looking at?”
“A playing card.”
“I’m expanding my résumé to include aggressive suggestion. Is it a Queen of Spades or a Jack Of Hearts?”
“How should –” Chase stopped, deciding to indulge House and guess based on the images popping into his head. “It’s black.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“No prime numbers, no little images in the corners?”
“How should I know?”
“Testy, testy. Let’s move on.” He set it down and flipped out another card after Chase heard the click and scribble of a pen. “And this one?”
“Black again. It’s a face card.”
“And this?”
“Red. Lots of little images all over.”
“Yet another.”
“Black. Ace.”
“Guess what I’ve got in my hand.”
“Blackjack.”
“That’s a game, but it’s also a card. Nicely done. And?”
“Red two.”
“Care to hazard a guess about the suit?”
“Armani.”
“You’ve been taking notes on the fine art of wit, I see. Good for you; you’ll have a little something extra in your envelope this Friday. As it is, keep going.”
“Are we going through the whole pack?”
“Eh, what else have we got to do today?”
“Clinic duty.”
“You’re injured and you’re in the clinic. I can get away with it this once. Indulge me.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “As soon as this headache goes away, I’m leaving. Black five.”
“My young padawan is growing a spine at long last.” House ignored the sigh. “Come on, guess what I’ve got.”
“Red queen. Can I have a drink of water?”
“If you like.” Another incision.
“Black…even numbered card. Eight or ten. May I have a drink of water?”
“Nothing’s stopping you from getting it yourself. And what have we here?”
“Never mind. Red again. A three.” There wasn’t another incision. “What, no more?”
“Well, that’s all we need, actually. Ten is the minimum amount needed for this kind of study.”
“What –” Chase began to get up.
“No, no, you need your rest. Stay there.” He heard House hit a few keys on his pager. Once he was done with that, he began shuffling the cards again. “We’ve got some of the best equipment in the world at this hospital. We can massage hearts, look inside brains, map out the inner workings of the body with magnets and radiation…but sometimes, the old methods work best.” He sighed contentedly as Foreman and Cameron came in. “Well, my dears, I have breaking news for you. It appears as though the number of powers Cuddy employs has doubled. Good for you, Chase.”
“What?” He repeated. He got up to look House in the eye, and he just smiled at his protégé.
“Congratulations. You’re a sensitive.”
“Wait, just – what?”
“The cards don’t lie.” He pointed to the ones lying on the counter.
Chase’s jaw dropped.
Each and every card he’d guessed was right. There was a list next to them, in House’s enigmatic handwriting that he’d labored to decipher. Chase hadn’t missed a single one.
“That’s not possible.”
“Why not? There are people out there who can control the weather, breathe underwater, even glow in the dark. Why shouldn’t you be able to read minds?”
“Because if I could, I would know that, wouldn’t I?”
“Not necessarily. Maybe you’re in deep, deep denial about it. It’s not just a river in Egypt, you know.” He picked up his cane and began to walk out. “If you don’t believe me, I can get Wilson to give you some official tests. You know, the kind they use to admit people into your club. I hear they have good cookies at the meetings.” He left with as much grace as he could manage – a fair amount, actually.
Chase sat back down. The idea wasn’t something he could easily take in. He suddenly felt very small, and couldn’t bring himself to look back at the cards.
“I’m too old,” he said to no one in particular.
“Actually, no.” They turned about to look at Wilson, now leaning against the doorframe. His tail was swishing back and forth. “Twenty-seven is the oldest recorded age for starting. You’re twenty-six. It’s unlikely, but possible, that you would start now.” He made his way inside, Cameron and Foreman stepping aside for him to look at the cards. “Ten out of ten. Nicely done.”
“I was guessing.”
“No, you weren’t. No one can guess and be right a hundred percent of the time. You were picking up on something.” His tail was slowly shifting around. Chase wished he could read Wilson’s body language better. “It was good he wrote these down; it’ll make your testing that much easier if you have something to show them first.”
The words Wilson was using were all ones Chase knew, but the concept they made was almost entirely alien to him. He knew that powers had grades – everyone knew that – and they obviously had to get them at some point after they started. The fact that he knew this information didn’t make it any easier for him to digest or accept.
He mumbled something of an apology as he brushed out of the exam room. He didn’t recall the drive back to his apartment, but knew that he had to have gotten in the car and walked up the stairs, because he came back into himself when he was standing in his den, looking at the bookshelves.
He idly wished American beer wasn’t all piss, so he would have had reason to buy some earlier, so he’d have some to drink now.
He was still looking at the titles when he heard the knock on his door. It took him a few moment to register what the sound was, and another handful of them to head on over and open it up to see who was intruding on his shell-shocked moping.
It was Wilson. He’d changed out of his lab coat but everything else he’d been wearing from work was intact. “I brought you the cards.” Chase took the proffered folder, flipping it open to find the sheet of paper and an envelope, which no doubt contained the cards.
“Thanks.”
“May I come in?”
Chase didn’t have the energy to argue, and knowing he’d have to face Wilson in the near future prevented him from slamming the door in his face. “Sure. Make yourself comfortable.” He sighed and closed the door once his new visitor was clear of its path, and tossed the folder onto the nearest clear surface. The oddness of having a senior member of the hospital staff in his apartment wasn’t lost on him, but he ignored that in favor of continuing the mope. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water’s fine.”
“Did House ask you to come?” He asked over his shoulder as he made his way to the kitchen. Wilson followed.
“No, I came on my own.”
“Power solidarity and all that?”
“More or less.”
Chase smiled faintly, shook his head, and turned to face Wilson. He’d hung up his coat and had his arms crossed over his chest. “You know, I really…” He stopped, swallowed, and started again, pointing the empty glass at the caudate. “The idea that – that it wasn’t me thinking of those things, that they came from other people, it’s making me sick.” His voice didn’t alter tone or tempo, staying flat and tight. “I’ve been getting more and more things – visions, whatever they are, for weeks now. They’re not going to stop, are they? They’re just going to keep getting worse and worse.”
“What makes you think that?”
“It’s what happens to telepaths, doesn’t it? They go completely whacked from everything coming into their brains unless they’re drugged to the gills.”
“No, that’s not.”
“What does happen, then?” Chase spat out the words. “Everything’s going to be hunky dory and turn out fine in the end? Has anything ever turned out that way? This isn’t a case we can solve with some antibiotics or surgery, this is a life that was fine but it’s just been royally fucked over.” He couldn’t keep his tone even anymore, and began to shout. “I never asked for this, so why am I getting it? I don’t want it, I don’t want this; I just want people out of my head!” He raised the glass above his head and held it there for a few moments, before turning and setting it down on the counter. His next words were much quieter: “I don’t know if I can go back home.”
Wilson sighed. “Powers are allowed to travel freely between the United States and Australia. You can go back anytime you want.
“You’re actually very lucky, you know.” Chase looked up. Wilson’s tail was curling up and rolling out, and it didn’t look like he noticed – but then, why would he?
“I’m lucky?” Chase gaped in disbelief. “What makes you think there’s anything lucky about me?”
“You’re not a US citizen. You don’t have to accept medication if you don’t want to take it.”
“But what if I do need medication? What if I do need to take pills to keep my mind from shattering? Can I travel if I’m on them? If I move back home, can I get them there? How can you possibly think I’m lucky?” He shook his head. “If either of us is lucky, it’s you.”
“Me?” Wilson almost laughed at that.
“Yeah. You were born here, you didn’t actually start, you’ve always had…” he gestured at Wilson’s tail. “You’ve always been like this. You don’t have to worry about the looks people are going to give you now that you’re suddenly different, or getting medicated, or –”
“No, I didn’t have to worry about any of that. I just had people call me ‘doggy’ in kindergarten.” His words cut through Chase’s, and he continued, hands on his hips, glaring. “Like I said, you’re lucky. You can pass. You don’t have to get used to being stared at. You’re never going to have people asking you if it’s real, or if it hurts if we hit it, or if it’s true you wag if someone pets you.” His tail was lashing back and forth – that, everybody could read. “Anyone who says children are naturally accepting is a liar.”
Chase was the one who broke eye contact by turning back to the sink to get the water. “Here.” He held it out in Wilson’s general direction.
He looked up when it was removed from his hand. “Thanks.” Wilson took a sip, then shook his head. “I doubt that was what you wanted to hear.”
“What did you think I wanted to hear?”
“Maybe some kind words about how your life is going to be fine and that things aren’t completely ruined for you.”
“Yeah, that would have been nice.”
“There might have been something about sticking together in the face of oppression in there too, but I’m not sure if I could have managed that.” He took another drink.
“Why not? I’m sure you’ve had a lot of experience with that.”
Wilson actually laughed at that while the end of his tail gave a slight jerk. “I do, but not with someone else. I’ve gotten used to ‘me and them,’ not ‘us and them.’”
Chase didn’t know how to properly respond to that, so he didn’t, so he wouldn’t accidentally say something wrong. He didn’t have to wait long for the silence to end.
“You really should get your license soon. It’s never good to wait to get registered.”
“I’m guessing you know the places where I can get that done.”
“The clinic in Trenton’s the most convenient one. I’ve been going there since I moved here.” Chase suddenly got a group of very clear images all packed close together: white tiles, tall counters he couldn’t see over, looking at blue band-aid on his arm. If he’d gotten them that morning, he’d have thought that they were some kind of half-remembered dream from the night before, but now he knew they were coming from Wilson. That knowledge made his guts clench together, and he wished he knew how to keep his mind apart from everyone else’s. Maybe they could fix that there.
He also got the distinct impression that these were old images, and wondered how long Wilson had been going to these places.
“How many clinics are there in New Jersey? For powers, I mean.”
“Three. Some states have more, some have less. It depends on the size and the population.”
“Of powers.”
“Yeah.”
Chase nodded. “Do I need to call ahead to make an appointment?”
“No, you can just show up. They’ve got a couple hotlines, though, if you really feel the need for that. You want the numbers?”
“That’s alright. I will need directions to the place.”
“No problem.” He glanced around. “I’m assuming you have something to write with around here.”
“By the phone.”
“Ah.”
While Wilson was writing, Chase considered, hesitated, and finally spoke. He felt he could get away with the words he would use, given what had been said already. Still, he did request permission. “Can I ask you a couple questions?”
“Sure.”
“When did you get your license?”
“When I was seven.” Wilson didn’t look up. “I get it renewed every eighteen months.”
“Oh.”
Wilson’s tail curled up again, slower this time, though he kept writing. “Don’t say ‘oh’ like that.” Chase couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, angry, or exasperated. “You were the one who said I’ve always been like this. My parents just thought it would be better for me if I got graded sooner rather than later.”
Was it? He held back those words, opting for another question. “What do you use for your – how do you keep it clean?” He’d always wondered about the fur on Wilson’s tail. It was the same light brown color as his hair, and looked incredibly soft. He did know better than to ask to touch it, even though it was incredibly tempting.
Wilson chuckled at the question, and Chase was glad to hear the tension dissolve. “I use baby shampoo.”
“Baby shampoo?”
“It’s either that or something from a pet store, and I refuse to degrade myself that way. And yes, I shower just like everyone else. Here you go,” he turned and handed Chase a detailed set of directions.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” Wilson’s tail was slowly shifting back and forth. “I should get going.”
He handed Wilson his coat. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Good night.”
“Night.” Chase closed the door behind Wilson and sighed before heading to bed. The next morning, he called the hospital to arrange for a few sick days’ leave and threw together an overnight bag before leaving for Trenton. Wilson’s directions were perfect.
He was very, very pleased with himself for getting the bag together. The tests took a total of three days – three long, intense, stressful days full of questions and examinations and more than a few needles. Wilson had been right; bringing the cards did help.
He was a sensitive, just as House had diagnosed, and a particularly unusual one at that. Most sensitives picked up thoughts or feelings, not images, which was what Chase did. When he’d explained what had happened in the hallway, it suddenly made sense for him: he had been viewing the door through someone else’s eyes and hadn’t been able to differentiate between what he was picking up and what he was really seeing.
He stayed there for the rest of the week, getting some basic training in keeping his mind apart from other people’s. He could have stayed for more lessons, but wanted to get back to his life as soon as he could. He was also a projective, evidently, and received a couple of lessons in putting images in other’s heads. It was harder to do that than to just get them, and it was almost impossible to ‘sort’ through someone’s mind for a specific image. He could read the top layer easily enough, but everything else was just…too foggy, or murky, or dense to look through. Most people didn’t think in images, so there wasn’t as much he could pick up on or understand than if he was an empath, for example.
Chase was a two – he was a projective as well as a receptive, but didn’t have a lot of raw power in either of those areas – so there wasn’t any need for medication. When he finally got his license, he asked if he’d have to get regraded if he moved back to Australia. He was told no, the grading system is a universal one, but he would need to get a new license, and this one will need to be renewed in a year. It did look a lot like a driver’s license, though his driver’s license didn’t have two barcodes or as much information packed on it.
When he got back, two weeks after he’d walked into the wall, it wasn’t as difficult to adjust as he’d feared. It was a bit harder to keep his mind to himself when he was around people who were afraid or upset, and in a hospital they were the norm. But if he remembered the training he got it was easier to keep track of what his eyes were telling him, not his powers. Most people in the hospital didn’t know he was a power, so that meant no awkward conversations about starting or coming out. The people that did know – six, tops – were generally more curious than paranoid, though he was asked a couple of times for a demonstration of his projective abilities. He showed them the corner kick that won him a game one time.
The day he got back, Cuddy had invited him to her office and explained how his job might be affected and how if he wanted a transfer to another department or hospital she’d do everything in her power to arrange it. He told her that while her offer was kind wasn’t necessary, and that he was perfectly satisfied where he was now.
Epilogue
“I’m just glad he’s gone. I hated having to go in there when he was awake.”
“Why?” Cameron teased. “Did he keep picturing you naked?”
“Actually, no. I was wearing handcuffs.”
Foreman gave a low whistle. “Leather-lined?”
“You think I checked?” He shook his head. “At least when people fantasize about you two, you don’t have to see it.”
“Yeah, lucky us.”
“Oh, I know. Nothing like knowing someone’s got the hots for you by seeing yourself naked in their bed.”
“It would cut out a lot of trouble – you’d know if they’re interested or not.”
“Are you going to bring me along to check out your prospects next time you go to a bar? Because I should warn you, Australian beer is pretty expensive.”
Cameron made a face. “How can you stand to drink that stuff?”
Chase smiled. “Funny – I’ve been saying that ever since I got over here.”
