MST: Tickle Me Emo
Title: Tickle Me Emo
Rating: R
Summary: How emo is this House/Chase story? It's so emo, Chase's funeral is the LEAST angsty part.
Author's Notes: Contains strong references to the most recent episode "Son of a Coma Guy," but no hardcore spoilers.
[The scene opens, and we see CAMERON, FOREMAN and CHASE in the conference room.]
CHASE: So House is still in Atlantic City?
FOREMAN: Yep.
CAMERON: He muttered something about a hoagie on his way out...
[TRITTER enters.]
ALL: Gaahhh!!
CHASE: I told you, I'm not saying a word.
CAMERON: Me either.
FOREMAN: Where the hell is my lawyer?
[TRITTER puts a laptop computer down on the table.]
TRITTER: We have ways of making you talk.
[THE COTTAGES eye the laptop suspiciously.]
CAMERON: What is that?
TRITTER: Badfic Torture still isn't technically outlawed by the Geneva Convention.
FOREMAN: I'm pretty sure the police have to adhere to stricter standards than the Geneva Convention...
TRITTER: Not in my world! Start reading, puppies!
[ALL pagers go off.]
ALL: We've got fanfic sign!!!!
I obviously do not own any of this.
CAMERON: Uh oh. The author's trying to pass the buck already. This doesn't look good.
Guilt, fear of isolation, helplessness, chronic exhaustion, loss of interest, significant weight loss:
FOREMAN: Just a typical day on fanfiction.net.
The symptoms were there, but I had never acknowledged them.
CHASE: The explosive diarrhea, though, THAT got my attention.
I am supposedly one of the best diagnosticians there are, but what good is it if I can't even save someone right in front of me?
FOREMAN: It depends. Is this person insured?
"Please turn your bibles to Psalm forty-one," the priest murmured, his voice wilting in the chilly, still air of the funeral home.
CHASE [heckling]: Get off the stage!
FOREMAN [heckling]: You're not funny!
"Blessed is he who has regard for the weak;
the Lord delivers him in times of trouble."
CAMERON: The LORD, however, prefers DiGiorno.
"He looks like he's sleeping," sobbed a horde of melodramatic bitches,
ALL: Whaa?
FOREMAN: Well, that's a novel twist on the old Greek chorus.
CAMERON: What hauntingly subtle imagery.
CHASE: Tolkien, eat your heart out.
peering into the casket from their seats.
CAMERON: I don't think that's physically possible, unless they're giraffes.
They obviously hadn't known Robert Chase very well.
CHASE: Yeah, I'd say at most I know a baker's dozen of melodramatic bitches, not a whole horde.
If they'd ever bothered to watch him at rest, rather than leaving after a good night's fuck, they'd know Chase- no, Robert -
FOREMAN: -- no, Pooky -- no, Lord Finklemeyer --
CHASE: Wait, wait, wait. Is this author implying that this entire HORDE of melodramatic bitches left me after "a good night's fuck"?
FOREMAN: It does appear that way.
CHASE [pumping his fist]: SCORE!
CAMERON [grumbling]: At your rate, I wouldn't be surprised if you went through them all in the same night...
always slept on his side. His mouth was always slightly open and tense, as if to protest,
CAMERON: Zzzz...hey hey, ho ho... this penis party's got to go... zzzzzz...
and his brows knit together in some unknown concern I knew I could never subdue. In his unconsciousness, he would grasp my fingers like a child,
FOREMAN: Then I'd put him in his Johnny Jump-Up.
and clutch my hand to his heart. This brought me more comfort than anything. That was all we ever saw him as. Comfort.
CAMERON: Yes, some nights I like to watch Lifetime movies while eating a pint of my favorite ice cream, pralines and Chase.
FOREMAN: That's... a highly disturbing mental image.
"The Lord will sustain him on his sickbed
and restore him from his bed of illness."
CHASE: But sometimes, the LORD will smear Ben-Gay in his underwear and put his hand in warm water.
But that's all gone, now. I watched him die, and I couldn't save him. I can't stop replaying that last day over and over in my mind.
FOREMAN: In slow motion, with John Madden calling it.
CHASE: And it's Robert Chase at the twelve-yard line, and it's a FUMBLE!
I could have stopped him, somehow. I know it.
CAMERON: But it was too late. Chase had already bought William Hung's Greatest Hits.
Robert stood at the door of my office, staring into my own dilated pupils with those pale, placid eyes,
CHASE: Aw, crap. I got my Runts candy mixed up with my Valium again.
as I gripped my leg.
CAMERON: I enjoy randomly copping feels on myself. It makes the day go by faster.
The pain wouldn't stop; it was so strong that I could barely breathe.
CHASE: Somehow, I can TOTALLY relate to that right now.
He bent down to pick up the empty prescription bottle at his feet, and in determined strides, came beside me and pressed an open palm to my chest.
FOREMAN: Chase knows the five-point palm exploding-heart technique?!
"Where does it hurt?" he murmured, as he always did, nestling his forehead into the crook of my neck.
CHASE [softly]: Headbutt.
"Everywhere,"I replied, as I always had. And it did. I was tired of my pain, my life.
CAMERON: My whiny characterization.
"Give me your tired, your weary," he'd say, pressing his lips to my temple.
FOREMAN: Your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free.
CHASE: Get me, I'm the Statue of Liberty.
"Father, please heal this man. Take his brokenness and pain..."
CHASE: And ram it.
CAMERON: So Chase just gets on the God hotline whenever House runs out of Vicodin?
I'd never believed in the healing properties of prayer, but from his mouth, it was the momentary tranquility I needed to regain my sanity.
CAMERON: Honey, I think sanity left the building a looooooooooong time ago.
CHASE: That horse isn't just out of the barn, it's 20 miles down the road and still at a full gallop.
Robert helped me to his car and drove me to his apartment.
FOREMAN: Chase, why does your apartment complex say "Shady Pines"?
He soothed my torment with kisses and hushed the cacophony of rushing blood that filled my ears with his soft mewling,
ALL: MEWLING??!!!?!!
FOREMAN: I do not think that word means what you think it means.
CAMERON: I knew it. There is no God.
CHASE: Uh, will you guys excuse me for a moment?
[CHASE walks over to a trash can in the corner of the room. A moment later, we hear the sounds of VIOLENT RETCHING.]
FOREMAN: So is this officially the wussiest depiction of Chase in a fanfiction EVER?
CAMERON: Sadly, no.
as he lowered himself onto my cock.
CAMERON and FOREMAN: GAAAAAAAHHH!!!
CAMERON: MY EYES!
FOREMAN: I'm imagining a complex system of pulleys and levers involved here.
[CAMERON looks at him.]
FOREMAN: What?
CAMERON: And we all thought Chase was the kinky one.
CHASE [still off-camera]: What? What am I missing?
CAMERON and FOREMAN: Nothing!
Tears streamed down his face,
FOREMAN: Okay, NOW is it the wussiest depiction of Chase ever?
CAMERON: He's crying during sex. I take it things aren't going too well.
FOREMAN: Either that, or it's going REALLY well...
CAMERON: Will you listen to yourself?
FOREMAN: Point taken.
and I kissed them away as we reached completion.
CAMERON: Copulation complete. Quit or Retry?
As I put on my pants and rose to leave, feeling much better, Robert reached for my hand.
[CHASE returns, sipping ginger ale.]
CHASE: What did I miss?
FOREMAN and CAMERON: Um, nothing.
CHASE [glancing at the fic and growing suspicious]: Why is House putting on his pants?
FOREMAN: Don't think about it.
CHASE: Don't tell me we --
FOREMAN: I said don't think about it!
"Don't leave me," he sighed drowsily, curling up into the blankets. His voice held a desperation so unlike him, that I failed to identify its meaning.
CHASE: It meant I really wanted some kung pao chicken for dinner.
I tried to tug away, but he held fast.
CAMERON: And I landed in a pile of shaving cream.
"These meetings mean nothing," I reminded him in my barking tone.
FOREMAN: So Chase is mewling and House is barking? What is this, Animal Farm?
Robert's face fell as he pulled my hand close to his chest and lowered his sunken eyes.
CHASE: Sorry, I just turned into the Crypt Keeper for a minute.
"I know." As his breathing evened and softened, and his face took on that customary, pained expression,
CAMERON: ...Chase realized it was time for a dose of Immodium AD.
I lowered myself back into his bed. Lying close to him, I realized how desolate he looked, knees drawn loosely against his gaunt and pale body. His protruding bones shed shadows against his stomach,
CHASE: God almighty, don't tell me I'm manorexic in this story too.
FOREMAN: So we know you're dead, and you probably have an eating disorder now too. You realize that if you start cutting yourself, you're going to hit the angst trifecta?
pulsating like waves as he breathed. I closed my eyes and let sleep overtake me.
ALL: SLEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
One time wouldn't hurt.
CAMERON: Yeah, that's what Mark Foley said.
"I said, 'O Lord, have mercy on me;
heal me, for I have sinned against you.'
FOREMAN: Yea, verily, this badfic is an abomination in the eyes of the LORD.
My enemies say of me in malice,
'When will he die and his name perish?'
CAMERON: "I mean, what is his frigging DEAL?"
Whenever one comes to see me,
he speaks falsely, while his heart gathers slander;
then he goes out and spreads it abroad.
CHASE: Then it ends up on Page Six, and everyone thinks I'm shtupping Paris Hilton. Uh, thus spake the LORD.
All my enemies whisper together against me;
they imagine the worst for me, saying,
CAMERON: "He's pregnant with assbabies!"
'A vile disease has beset him;
he will never get up from the place where he lies.'"
FOREMAN: That's not a vile disease, that's just being a lazyass.
My mind jolted awake at the sound of a resounding thump.
CAMERON: Chase was blasting his 50 Cent records again.
Keeping my eyes squeezed shut, I clenched my fingers around the cold sheets beside me.
CHASE: Um, why?
I sat up abruptly
ALL: SEGA!!!
at the realization that I was alone. Ignoring the dull throb in my thigh,
FOREMAN: Not to mention the dull fanfic I was starring in...
I reached for the cane discarded on the floor. As I limped through the halls, I followed the sound of periodic thumps into the kitchen.
CAMERON: Or I was following my nose to some Fruit Loops. I'm not sure.
"Chase?" Robert sat, slumped, at his small kitchen table, one hand in a loose fist,
FOREMAN: Speaking of fruit loops...
the other wrapped around the neck of a bottle of vodka,
CHASE: Ah, breakfast of champions.
CAMERON: You're drinking Aristocrap? Chase, you really ARE a masochist!
knuckles white with tension. Craning his neck, he turned his face towards me, mouth quivering, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed.
CAMERON: Pants totally filled.
Robert raised the bottle to his lips and drank deeply for a moment
ALL: Whoooooooooooo! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!
before setting it down heavily onto the table with that familiar thump, exhaling in ragged pants.
FOREMAN: And you say Americans are out of shape! You can't even drink without getting out of breath.
CHASE [slurring]: Long as m'drinking arm works, s'all that matters!!
"What?" he groaned sickly, gulping as if he were about to vomit.
CHASE: I guess fic!me is having flashbacks to when I was "mewling" earlier... hurgh...
FOREMAN: You okay there, buddy?
CHASE: Pass me the ginger ale.
His knees banged against the arms of the chair in a clumsy effort to straighten himself. In his disoriented scuffle,
CAMERON: I'm no English major, but is it possible to "scuffle" all by yourself?
FOREMAN: I'm sure Russell Crowe has managed it.
two small pills spilled from his clenched hand and were sent skittering across the table. Robert reached out sluggishly and clawed to retrieve them, knocking over an orange prescription bottle, cracked haphazardly, as if crushed by a fist.
CHASE: My Flintstones vitamins made me really angry today, okay?
Picking it up, I recognized the brand name as a tricyclic antidepressant. I hadn't even known he'd been taking antidepressants. I grabbed his wrists and shook him.
CAMERON: Chase! You fool! Have you asked your doctor about Celexa?
"Chase, how many did you take?" I screamed at him.
FOREMAN: More importantly, did you save any for me?!
His head began to loll backwards. I grabbed his hair and shook him again. "How many did you take?"
CAMERON: Who friggin' cares? Stick your finger down his throat already!
CHASE: Hey, I told you, no eating disorders.
Robert stared wearily into my eyes and gave a harsh laugh. He sat within the reaches of death, and he laughed.
FOREMAN: Man, did you see the Colbert Report last night? Anyway, back to my suicide.
But it was the first time I had ever seen him truly happy.
CHASE: Well, obviously you never saw me riding the teacups at Disneyland.
CAMERON: Chase isn't "truly happy," he just swallowed a whole bottle of antidepressants! He's high as a kite, you idiot!
FOREMAN: So I guess in the same way that "Foster's" is Australian for "beer," "Robert Chase" is Australian for "suicidal emo wangst receptacle."
CHASE: That's about as accurate as the Foster's commercial.
"Enough," he whispered raggedly.
CAMERON: Oh, Chase is trying to tell us he saw that Jennifer Lopez movie! Now this suicide makes sense.
His body slackened, and his eyes rolled back lazily in their sockets.
FOREMAN: He died as he lived... kind of a slacker.
He didn't wake up.
CHASE: No shit. Really?
"Even my close friend, whom I trusted,
he who shared my bread,
FOREMAN: He who helped me move my sofa...
CAMERON: He who went shopping with me...
CHASE: He who pressed the "abort fanfic" button...
has lifted up his heel against me."
CAMERON: And those stilettos were HOT.
All of us took advantage of the solace Robert seemed to radiate.
FOREMAN: Then we realized it wasn't solace, it was just that Robert had been drinking phosphorus for breakfast.
He was an excuse to feel superior, an amiable painkiller, a therapist, or even an object of lonely lust.
CAMERON: He sliced. He diced. And for three easy payments of $29.99...
The bottom line is that we all poured our weaknesses and desperation into his life, seeking comfort, empathy.
CHASE: You guys are all fucked up, you know that?
FOREMAN: Hey, I don't have any weaknesses or desperation. Except when I'm reading badfic.
CHASE: Well, quit pouring it into my life!
FOREMAN: Well, quit radiating all over the office!
CHASE: Tastes great!
FOREMAN: Less filling!
And as long as we were satisfied, we were too blind to see that he was breaking beneath the heavy burdens of our lives.
FOREMAN: Or we were too blind to see that Chase was A GOD DAMNED GROWN-UP.
CHASE: Seriously. Deanna Troi has more raw testosterone than fic!me.
I was too blind. I could see the guilt pouring from every face in that room. It was easy to tell that many people had just come to his wake to atone for their neglect and abuse.
CAMERON: How many times did I forget to change Chase's water and give him a chew toy? I'll never forgive myself.
They didn't want that on their consciences. I don't either, but it will never leave me. If I had just looked past my patients and addictions, I could have stopped him.
CHASE: Yeah, House! The hell with all those sick patients and your own chronic pain, you should've been devoting 100% of your attention to MY neuroses! Let's get on the ball here!
I could have fixed him, just as he had fixed me time and time again.
FOREMAN: All I needed was a soddering iron and a little bit of duct tape, and all this could've been avoided.
And did I deserve a savior? Never.
CAMERON: Billy, don't be a hero.
"But you, O Lord, have mercy on me;
raise me up, that I may repay them."
FOREMAN: And Moses tied his ass unto the tree... What?! It's in there!
I could say this was a human mistake, and that I won't do it again, but that won't bring him back.
CHASE: I'm fine with that! Really!
The man in that casket should have been me.
CAMERON: Well, you could still climb in with him.
It should have been any other reassurance-seeking failure in that room.
FOREMAN: HEY! I'm not a failure!
CHASE: Technically, it doesn't say you're at my funeral. Unless you're one of the sobbing melodramatic bitches with giraffe necks.
CAMERON: Nah, his neck's not that long.
FOREMAN: Yeah, my neck's not that -- HEY!
It should have been anyone but him.
CAMERON: Anyone? Even Mother Theresa? Gandhi? Martin Luther King, Jr.?
CHASE: Technically, they're all dead already.
CAMERON: It's a hypothetical question. Just go with me here.
"In my integrity you uphold me
and set me in your presence forever.
FOREMAN: So, remind me again: which part of "integrity" involves eating a gutful of antidepressants the morning after nailing your boss?
CHASE: And now that I think of it, suicide is a mortal sin. I shouldn't even be getting a real funeral with a priest.
CAMERON: Maybe it's a rent-a-priest. Like the funeral equivalent of the TomKat wedding.
Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel,
FOREMAN: God of Israel? Boy, somebody's asleep at the wheel.
from everlasting to everlasting.
Amen and Amen."
CAMERON: Echo, echo, echo...
Fin.
CHASE: Flipper, no!
[TRITTER grins evilly at CAMERON, FOREMAN, and CHASE.]
TRITTER: Well, kids? I've got plenty more where that came from.
[CAMERON and FOREMAN look at CHASE anxiously.]
CHASE: What? What?
FOREMAN: Chase, you're not going to...
CAMERON: Tattle?
CHASE: Are you KIDDING me? That was child's play compared to the usual crap I go through in badfic. At least this time, I died while I was high on goofballs. [Growing defiant] I say bring it ON, motherfucker!
FOREMAN: Attaboy, Chase!
TRITTER: Curses! Foiled again! I'll be back, kiddos!
[TRITTER storms out. A few minutes later, HOUSE enters.]
FOREMAN: House! You're back!
CAMERON: How was Atlantic City?
HOUSE: Depressing as hell. I could really use some solace. [Looks at CHASE.] Oh, Robert, surely you can help take the pain away...
CHASE: AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!
[CHASE bolts out of the room as fast as his legs can carry him.]
CAMERON: Well, so much for child's play.
FOREMAN [suspiciously]: Hey, how did you know about the badfic we were reading?
HOUSE: What badfic?
[CAMERON and FOREMAN look at each other, extremely disturbed.]
HOUSE: Well, I guess I'll be off.
[HOUSE walks out into the hallway, rounds a corner, and holds out his hand to TRITTER.]
HOUSE: Told you it would work.
TRITTER [grudgingly slapping a fifty-dollar bill down in HOUSE's hand]: Goddamn, Doctor House. You're far more sadistic than I could ever hope to be.
-end-
Stinger: "Chase, how many did you take?" I screamed at him.