yes, robert chase worked in a hospital. and also, yes, he thought you were going to die whenever you had the slightest cough.

you’d laid down on almost every piece of furniture in yours and your husbands apartment because you were so exhausted. and when chase got a few hours off of work, he’d come home and check your temperature with his hand periodically throughout the day. overall, you hated being sick.

you threw your body onto the couch next to chase, who was on the phone speaking quietly. “chase, ‘m cold,” you murmur out, moving to rest your head on his lap. he doesn’t respond — only throws the three previous blankets from earlier over you. after what felt like an eternity, chase hung up the phone and glanced at your flushed cheeks for a moment before speaking up, “you alright?” “no,” you scoff quietly, earning a quick response from him; “why’s that?” “I’m cold!” “well, if I were to turn the heating up anymore, I’d be sweltering,” he rolled his eyes, pressing his hand to your forehead. “can I at least have another blanket?” you say, pressing your head into his stomach. “yeaaaaahhh…no. you’re burning up. rest, please?” he spoke, pulling you onto his lap properly, letting you rest your head against his shoulder. “can I have a popsicle?” “no! you’re sick, you should be sleeping and resting your voice,” he stated matter-of-factly. to be honest, he had a fair point. you were practically drifting off just from being held. and before you knew it, you were asleep.

when you were awoken, it was because of house, foreman, and cameron showing up at your door. “no, don’t wake them! they’re sick,” chase rushed to your side, making sure house couldn’t poke you with his cane like he normally did to wake you up. “I’m awake, chase,” you sigh, holding the blankets close to your body. “yeah, you sure look it,” foreman muttered, looking at some of the pictures of you and chase that were framed along the mantle piece.