It was Chase's birthday. Everyone had come to celebrate: you, Foreman, Wilson, and even House. The latter decided to organise it himself, saying, "I'm a great party planner."

Chase decided to accept, knowing that if he didn't, he would be fired. Now, the party surprisingly ended up being crazy in every way. Women everywhere, loud music, expensive wine, and lots of fun with just five men against the world. Chase was so drunk that he didn't even know where he was standing.

"Yo, buddy," Chase muttered, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You're his diagnostic partner on House's team. You're pretty close: in fact, you were his best man when he married Cameron. But that's another story. Robert, disoriented, leaned his cheek against yours; he smelled like strong whiskey and some tequila.

"Let's dance," he shouted, taking your arms and lifting you up. The Isley Brothers started playing. His hand took yours and his other hand found its way to your bum. You laughed with him: you were just as drunk as he was, but you had limits. Chase, in this case, had crossed them.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're handsome?" he said, and in the fluorescent lights, his cheeks were flushed. You weren't sure if it was from the drink or something more abstract. He lifted his chin, closing his eyes and enjoying the slow, sensual music as if it were pure ecstasy.

Chase was out of control. People think House put something in the drinks.