DISCLAIMER: This fanwork is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
House M.D. and other copyrighted characters are the property of Fox Broadcasting Company, Universal Television, and Bad Hat Harry Productions. I am not profiting from this fanwork; I made it out of love for the series. Clara is my self-insert, and she belongs to me.
Author's Notes: My first House MD self insert fic! I'm so excited to put this out finally, its been awhile I wrote something but I hope I haven't fully gotten rusty.
Do note that there will be mentions of past emotional abuse, intrusive thoughts, imposter syndrome, and ableism against Clara.
It began with a single sneeze, then a cough, and quickly escalating to fourteen in a row and hadn’t let up for nearly a week.
At first, Chase had written it off as a mere pollen allergy since he was accustomed to Clara's allergies and her sneeze fits-- until he saw that she had used up a full box of Puffs.
He had offered her a script of Claritin-D, but Clara refused to take them on the basis that she didn't want to feel drowsy all day, which was fair he thought, she already took melatonin to sleep at night.
Robert knew all her chronic conditions by heart and never made her feel less for them. While she appreciated his care, old conditioning sometimes made her feel guilty for leaning on him.
He made his way downstairs and smiled at Clara.
Clara was quietly sorting through their pantry for something healthy but warm to reheat. She caught a glimpse of him, from the corner of her eye.
"Oh hey..!" she smiled at him. The same dazzling smile that made his heart melt. Her green eyes caught his, bright even through the haze of sickness, and for a moment, he forgot the cold at all.
Chase made his way over to Clara and gently snaked his arm around her waist.
"Hey yourself, what's wrong? And don't lie to me," He murmured in her rose-brown hair.
Clara sighs and coughs. "Its just a cold, Rob. I'll be fine. I was thinking of noodle soup tonight?" But in actuality her throat felt like someone had lodged in a rusty metal plate inside it.
Without another word, Chase gently presses the back of his palm against Clara's forehead feeling for hints of a fever.
"Not a fever yet but you do feel a bit clammy," Clara got lost in his blue eyes, she didn't dare protest now.
He went to their medical cabinet and got her some cough drops, and ushered her to bed. Clara let it happen. Deep down she liked that Chase loved to care for her.
Chase gracefully laid her down on the bed and took out her night clothes, a simple nightwear set, cotton and breathable. Clara began to pull at the hem of her shirt, and Chase paused her.
“Please, allow me,” he insists. Clara nods. She appreciated him so much because no one in his life seemed to. And she had experienced firsthand what that was like -- people demanding you be useful to them, but it was never enough, and she would still be treated poorly, from her own “family” or cohabits, as she appropriately called them.
But it was different with Chase; he appreciated everything she did: Bringing him both dinner and lunch at the hospital when there was an emergency. Driving him back home too. It wasn't an obligation to Clara, it was just what you did for someone you genuinely loved.
For once she didn't feel like she had to scramble to justify her very human faults around him, she got sick, everyone does, its not a moral failing like her cohabits would treat it.
"You're a bit quiet, everything okay?" Chase said as he handed her the cold medicine, a purple liquid that tasted like grape. Clara sipped it carefully then quickly swallowed it down with a glass of lukewarm water.
"Just, yeah, haha, a sore throat. Really you don't have to do this you must be so busy with other things--"
Chase took Clara's hand and gazed gently into her eyes sincerely.
“You are not and will never be a burden to me. I'm not your pathetic excuse for a family, who would neglect a sick child because you were too inconvenient for them. That's not who I am, Clara.”
Clara teared up. Chase wiped her tears gently and held her close to his chest his hands gently brushed hers and he stroked her face.
“You’re sick. That’s it. People get sick,it’s normal. It’s why doctors exist in the first place.”
His voice softened, it soothed Clara. This made Clara realize something she should have been told a long time ago.
Pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Clara sniffled and swallowed, her throat feeling a little sore, which he picked up on because he was an observant doctor.
Then he adjusted the blanket around her unhurried, and even adjusted her pillow, like he actually wanted to do this for her, compared to the sloppy and hasty 'care' she had, usually with a scowl on the cohabit's face wishing that they could be anywhere else but with her, so much for 'family' being everything.. Chase had a similar upbringing, and he understood it more than anyone.
"Oh, the tea should be ready, a small spoon of honey should help you too... And.. Clara?" He smiles gently at her.
"Yeah, Chase?" She smiled.
“You don’t have to earn being taken care of.” He gently stroked her hair once more, and left to get her honey and lemon tea, and returned with the grilled cheese sandwich as well, with pepper jack cheese, just the way she liked it.
Clara's heart fluttered again, she still wasn't used to the fact that Chase remembered everything about her; what she liked on her toast, her favorite color, her favorite pizza topping... the list went on. For once she didn't feel invisible, and thrown to the side. Around Chase she was the centerpiece of attention.
"Want the windows open? Might seem counter-intuitive but some fresh air can help the allergies,"
"Sure! I'd love that," Clara said with a slight rasp in her throat, she gently cut her sandwich into pieces, Chase was about to do it for her but she smiled and shook her head, she didn't mind cutting her own pieces.
Chase kisses her forehead again and smiles at her, he adjusts the pillows. He also placed her cold medicine on the adjacent table, including a time of when to take what, and what to avoid, etc.
"Do you need anything else, darling? Want me to stay?"
Clara thought for a bit and shook her head, earnestly.
"I'll be fine, I'm feeling a bit hungry and dazed, wow," Clara observed.
"Of course, you're sick, your body needs to refuel," Chase got off the bed. "I'll be down the hall if you need me okay? If you start feeling even a little warmer let me know, sweet dreams, love,"
Cara sighed, her heart grew warm. What did she do to deserve a Forever One like him?
Without wasting anymore time she took a big gulp of the tea, the liquid warming her throat as it flowed downwards. Relief. A spoonful of honey did wonders.
As she took a bite of her sandwich; the ugly thoughts began to crowd inside, as the brain remembers trauma and old cycles are more comfortable than the hand that will never let your heart go, because your brain is always waiting for the other shoe to drop -- especially when the 'love' you've experienced has always been conditional.
"He should be caring for patients who have it worse than you,"
"You're so weak and pathetic for needing rest from a cold,"
"You're so selfish and taking up all his time when other people have it so much worse than you,"
"YOU HAVE A COLD? BIG DEAL! SOMEONE ELSE IS STRUGGLING WITH CANCER! YOU BOUGHT THIS COLD UPON YOURSELF!"
The thoughts grew louder and louder, in any other moment, Clara would usually then cry herself to sleep but this time, something new was brewing in her blood: Defiance. Who were they to tell her she didn't deserve care? And most of all, why should the pathetic, paltry words of people who didn't matter be the loudest?
Clara had had enough, she sat up firmly and closed her eyes.
"No. I fucking deserve this, fuck off," Clara stated out loud to the clamoring thoughts in her head, with the utmost resolve.
Quiet. She then picks up a pillow to scream in it.
"I'm a person too, I'm a human being, and the last time I checked, even the most 'useless' person deserves to be cared for, so fucking STUFF IT! SO WHAT IF IT'S 'JUST A COLD'? DO I HAVE TO WAIT FOR IT TO BECOME WORSE SO I 'DESERVE CARE'? SO YOU CAN YELL AT ME MORE? YOU ARE THE USELESS ONES, NOT ME!"
After she finished screaming, Clara removed the pillow, her hair was messed up a little but her mind was finally de-cluttered. It actually felt good to say it...
Her cohabitants of course were long gone, she had cut off contact permanently. She smiled and continued to eat her sandwich. Just a cold or not, doctors are required to treat every, single, patient. No matter the severity.
Now that the storm had passed, she allowed her brain to wander at a more amusing thought: what House would say in this moment, he'd probably make a quip or two about how people are weak for needing a pill for the slightest sniffle, but that was just House being House, she laughed softly to herself.
Even if he was blunt, it was preferable, at least he had no false pretenses and still helped patients.
He was a better doctor (alongside Chase) than most people she had the displeasure of knowing.
The medicine finally kicked in and Clara began to feel drowsy, and with her sandwiches and tea finished, she neatly placed the plates and glass on the table tray under the drawer. Not wanting to leave a mess behind. She cleaned off the crumbs from her sheets into the napkin and tossed it in the bin.
Chase arrived in the room an hour later to check on Clara, his eye settled on her sleeping figure and her rose brown hair slightly fanned out against the pillow, sticking up from static. He smiled a little at this.
But what caught his eye were the clean plates, glass and napkin properly disposed of in their respective places.
He paused for a moment longer than he meant to.
There was no mess. No forgotten crumbs, no half-finished food left behind. Just careful, deliberate tidiness, even in a moment where she had every right not to care.
Something in his expression softened.
“You never should’ve had to learn to make yourself smaller like that,” he murmured quietly, more to the still air than to her. “Or disappear so cleanly.”
He stepped closer and gently adjusted the blanket over her shoulders again, like it was instinct rather than thought.
“You were never an inconvenience,” he added, softer now. “Not even when they made you feel like one,"
"Goodnight, Clara. I love you, more than you can ever imagine, feel better soon, not for me, not for others.. but for yourself,"
