Chasing Hearts (Robert Chase x Reader)

Chapter 7
Breaking points

"Are you getting enough sleep, or should I call in another round of caffeine shots?" Foreman's tone is half-serious, half-concerned as he flips through the patient charts at the counter.

You rub your temples, attempting to alleviate the pounding that echoes between your ears. "At this point, sleep is just an urban legend."

He chuckles, but it's short-lived. The morning light filters through the window blinds, casting stripes across the stack of charts piling up at the station. There's a moment of rare quiet between you, the calm before the next inevitable storm.

"You seemed... off yesterday," Foreman says after a beat, his eyes sharp as he looks at you. "Everything okay?"

You force a smile, a well-practiced mask. "You know how it is here. Stress becomes second nature."

Before Foreman can respond, Cameron walks by, clutching her tablet and muttering about lab results. The hospital's symphony of controlled chaos plays on, a constant backdrop to conversations like these.

Suddenly, the distant sound of footsteps brings a shift in the air. You don't have to turn to know who's walking in.

Foreman's eyes flicker past your shoulder, a subtle change in his expression confirming your instinct. Chase is entering the room, his posture a study in self-containment. He doesn't say a word, just makes his way to the board with a tense determination that's become more pronounced in recent days.

Foreman clears his throat and leans in, lowering his voice. "That's the third day in a row he's come in like this. Did something happen between you two?"

You glance at Chase, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the way his jaw is perpetually clenched. A chill runs down your spine as the memories of recent arguments replay in your mind. It's not just the fights but the silence afterward that cuts the deepest, an icy expanse between you that neither seems willing to cross.

"No, nothing new," you finally respond, though even you can hear the hollowness of your words.

Before Foreman can press further, House's voice booms from down the hall, interrupting the undercurrent of tension. "If you're done whispering like schoolkids, we have a case that can't solve itself. Unless, of course, we're all planning to become the hospital's new gossip columnists."

The room stiffens, the usual flurry of movement resuming. Chase barely glances at you as he grabs his file, but there's a moment—just a split second—when his eyes meet yours, unreadable and distant.

"Let's move," Foreman mutters, handing you a fresh chart. The look he gives you before turning away is one of mild frustration, as if saying, "Sort this out before it eats you alive."

You take a deep breath, letting the cold hospital air bite into your lungs, and follow him out.

The team gathers around the patient's file, the overhead lights casting stark, unforgiving shadows. House is pacing, his cane tapping against the floor in a staccato rhythm that echoes in your mind. Foreman starts summarizing the case, flipping the pages with practiced ease.

"Male, 45, brought in with severe abdominal pain, fever, and rapid weight loss over the past month," Foreman reports. "Initial scans showed irregularities in the liver. We're waiting on biopsy results."

House narrows his eyes. "Patient history?"

Cameron chimes in, looking up from her notes. "He's a single father. His teenage son has been staying by his side since the admission."

The mention of the father-son relationship hits Chase visibly. His jaw tightens, but he stays silent, eyes locked on the whiteboard as if it holds the answer to more than just medical riddles. You shift uneasily, the tension in the room palpable.