dr_robchase | (no subject)

Since he was just a child, Chase had been brought up to learn that God punished the wicked and the wicked earned such a punishment for their sins. Even though he never had the faith to make it through seminary, he couldn't quite shake the notion that bad people deserved penance. It hadn't exactly been helped by having to watch his mother drink herself down a dark hole. Bad actions make good people into sinners.

This, more than anything, was why Chase was feeling uneasy. He worked at the Compound, he saw the changes on a day-to-day basis and the latest one he'd witnessed when picking Nate up from the Children's Office had him slightly uneasy. He sent Nate off to play when he returned to the Treehouse -- or, rather, the Victorian estimation of the thing -- and leaned on the bedroom door. "You have a minute?" he asked, of the Doctor. "I wanted to talk."

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"You need the weight, Doctor," Chase pointed out with a sympathetic look on his face. "I mean, I love you, I do. But when we first met, you sort of reminded me generally of a stringbean. And I don't mean that in a sexy way."

"Perhaps," the Doctor conceded, "but this stuff just goes to my belly and sits there like...like a metaphor that I can't think of right now but is probably distasteful." He held out a hand to Chase. "Come on. Tea time. At least that's a treat."