Chase glanced over as Connor took the pills, relieved he hadn't fought him on that. It would help ease the anxiety a little. It wouldn't take away the cause, but sometimes you needed something to help you along. "I've got something at home for nausea if you need it too," he told him, flicking his indicators on at the exit of the parking lot and waiting for the right of way. It wasn't like he knew Connor very well. This could be a regular thing for him, but the small handful of encounters they had, Connor had always been cool, calm and collected. Much like Chase himself. But his eyes were red and puffy, his hair a mess, a slight sheen of sweat that could be caused from a panicked state he was in. His hands had the tremors too. Maybe it was withdrawal? Was it DTs? A possibility, and could explain why he had come to Chase, who was a doctor and could treat withdrawal symptoms. It was hard for Chase to switch his mind off trying to analyse Connor here. That aside, though, he was worried about the poor guy. Something was wrong, and he had come to Chase for some reason or another that had yet to be disclosed.

"What did you do, murder someone?" It was meant as a joke. He couldn't have any idea at that point how close he skimmed to the dark truth. "I've got plenty of skeletons in my own closet. Trust me on that. Whatever you've done, it's unlikely to scrape remotely close to what I've done. You can trust me. You just took my pills, so you get doctor-patient confidentiality by default." A stark confession from him, but it was only fair. He wasn't the squeaky clean doctor persona by any means. He had a lot in his past that was messy, illegal, immoral, unethical, and downright sinning, if you wanted to take it that far.