House is parked across the street. He slips a hand into his pocket and the four-ways flash, and he hasn’t looked back to see if Chase is coming or not, because he is. He can hear him walking behind him. He opens the driver’s door and moves to get in but stops, turns to face Chase as he approaches, and leans against the body of the car after tucking his cane down along between the seat and the door.

“Hey,” he calls as he approaches, to slow him, stop him from just going around and getting in. “Listen, you can change your mind, but you’ve got to tell me now,” he says. “Because you need to be sure that this is really what you want. If it’s not, I’ll take you home.”

There’s a kind of finality about this that almost seems like this is the moment of safe wording out. House is watching him, neck craned in to make out every shifting expression, every flicker of emotion in the dim street lights. This is how it’ll be if he says yes, too, not the questions and waiting to see if he’ll lie, but just keeping tabs on how close he is to his limits through body language, through all the little things that give him away. It’ll be safe word enough, because House has this sense that Chase isn’t looking to jump with a net beneath to catch him if he really falls, he’s looking for a blind leap, a free fall, one where the only failsafe is trust and entirely out of his own hands.