Work Text:
Wilson slipped the last few papers into his briefcase and closed it with a snap. Sighing, he let his hands rest against the dark leather for a moment, House's parting shot still ringing in his ears. He recovered, squared his shoulders and slipped on his trench coat. Braced to ignore House, he strode past the diagnostic conference room, but he needn't have bothered; House was no where to be seen. Only Chase sat at the long table, bent over what might have been a report but looked suspiciously like a crossword puzzle.
Wilson hesitated and then pushed the glass door open. "Hey."
Chase looked up, startled by Wilson's greeting. His arm slid across the page he was working on--definitely a crossword, then.
"Do you want to get a drink?" That sounded a little weird, so Wilson amended, "I'm going to go drink copious amounts of alcohol and it'll look slightly less pathetic if I'm not doing it alone." Maybe he should have stopped while he was ahead.
Chase hesitated a moment, calculating the weirdness of getting a drink with his boss's best friend. "Long day, huh?"
"You have no idea."
Wilson watched as Chase considered the offer, sure he would decline. Wilson prepared his answer--something along the lines of just as well, I'm a maudlin drunk. Anything to laugh it off. But Chase's expression resolved and he said, "Sure, maybe not 'copious amounts' but I'd be up for a drink or two."
Wilson smiled, felling first relieved and then immediately apprehensive. Drinking with Chase might stave off the loneliness, but it meant his drunken actions could have repercussions at work. And House had never been happy when the bodies orbiting him collided. Too late now, though, Wilson supposed. Chase had already agreed and the only thing more awkward than Wilson's invitation would be rescinding the same.
They went to a bar around the corner from Wilson's apartment; it was short on charm but convenient, and that was their only real requirement. Chase insisted that Wilson drop his car off at home and Chase drive them both, forestalling Wilson's protest by reminding him that it was his express intent to get drunk and this way Chase could just drop him off and save him from retrieving his car in the morning. Wilson guiltily agreed that he had a point. If Chase passed judgment on Wilson's intended debauchery, he didn't show it. Or maybe he had just assumed that anyone who kept close counsel with House would have an alcohol problem.
This theory was substantiated as they took seats at the bar and Chase said, "Let me guess the reason for the alcohol..."
"I don't want to talk about him," Wilson replied and ordered bourbon.
Chase opted for a beer and waited until their drinks had been served to say, "Yeah, he's been in a fine fettle all afternoon. He made an intern cry." He pulled a dish of bar nuts closer to him, stocking his napkin with peanuts and pretzels. Wilson refrained from pointing out how many unwashed hands had sifted through the bowl before his.
"Still don't want to talk about him," Wilson reminded Chase, taking a throat-burning swallow. The intern wasn't House's only victim today. He'd interrupted an appointment with a patient's daughter. One to whom Wilson had been trying to gently break the news that the most he could do now was make her mother as comfortable as possible. House had stalked in, taken in the tumor-ridden films and the daughter's attractiveness and informed her in the bleakest possible terms that it was time to dump Mommy off at Hospice and start fighting siblings for the good china. Wilson wasn't sure who he was really angry at--House for his cruelty or himself for failing to protect his patient from it.
"Sorry," Chase muttered, munching a pretzel stick meditatively. "It's just hard not to talk about him, sometimes. It's embarrassing how much I talk about my boss to anyone who'll stand still long enough. My girlfriend is sick of hearing about--"
"Chase," Wilson warned and Chase winced.
"Right. I'll stop now, promise." He took a long swallow, possibly to prevent him from again speaking of House.
"So...you have a girlfriend?" Wilson asked for a lack of better conversational direction.
Chase considered the question with a rueful expression. "No, actually, now that I think about it, I probably don't. I haven't spoken to her in, uh, threeish weeks. We hadn't been dating that long." He shrugged dismissively. "I just got busy with the patient and sort of forgot. Oops."
"Yeah. Oops," Wilson repeated. "That's kind of how all three of my marriages went."
"Do you think it's possible? To balance work and romance, I mean," Chase wondered, popping a pretzel in his mouth.
"Theoretically, yes, but I've never seen it done." Wilson studied the bottom of his glass.
"Is it worth it?" Chase scraped idly at the label on his beer with a thumbnail.
"I don't know. Too late now. For me, anyways." Wilson couldn't stop the note of self-pity from creeping into his voice.
"Aw," Chase sighed, laying a friendly hand on Wilson's forearm, "don't say that--it's too late for me, too." He grinned slyly and Wilson rolled his eyes and smiled back.
"I must be great company," Wilson remarked, flagging the barkeep down for a refill. "Don't you have better places to be than hanging out with your boss's pathetic friend?"
Chase shook his head negatively. "Not really. It's not like I broke a date with Keira Knightly to be here. It was this or "Wheel of Fortune" and a bowl of Spaghetti-O's."
Wilson made a face at Chase's culinary selection and finished his drink, quickly ordering another. Chase was watching him guardedly when he finished that and he decided to make it his last. It wasn't as much alcohol as he'd wanted to consume, but it was more than enough to take the edge off while still being able to walk in a straight line. More or less. He cautiously made his way to Chase's car, pretending not to notice how close Chase kept on his heels, ready to keep him from face-planting into the asphalt.
Chase's fingers tapped on the steering wheel as they waited out a long light. "He drives me crazy, you know. It's not that I hope for anything resembling approval--I gave that up a long time ago. Now all I work for is to avoid his deep and abiding scorn. And even that's too much..." his voice trailed off wistfully and he shook his head, dismissing his own foolishness. "And I'm talking about him. Again."
"It's okay," Wilson told him. "I've consumed enough alcohol that I can do that now." He cracked the window, the cold breeze welcome on his flushed face. "Expecting something other than contempt from House? How ambitious of you." He considered that a moment and then continued, voice wry and bitter. "At least you've only been doing it a few years. Me? More like a decade."
"He respects you," Chase was quick to protest. "You're his best friend. His only friend. He doesn't have to associate with you. I'm his employee."
"Friend implies some kind of mutuality," Wilson countered bitterly, tracing out an angry line in the fog on the window. "I'm not his friend--I'm convenient. I clean up messes, smooth things over, pick things up."
There was silence as Chase tried to think of a rebuttal, but Wilson knew there wasn't one. He recognized his neighborhood and turned back to Chase. "This is my stop, but if you want to come in, we could continue the conversation." He seemed to be chockfull of awkward invitations tonight. "There aren't too many people who...understand. About House."
Chase nodded but looked a little dubious. Wilson realized that he'd never had any of the fellows in his apartment and this would be breaking some kind of unspoken rule. "Okay," Chase said finally with a decisive nod.
"Great," Wilson managed. He was acutely aware of Chase's footsteps echoing his as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. They didn't say anything as he fished his keys out of his pocket and managed to fit them into the lock. Fumbling for a moment, he turned on the lamp, illuminating the spare apartment. Decorating had been too daunting, especially since it seemed that he spent more time packing and unpacking than not. "Here, let me give you the tour. Living area, dining area, bedroom through there and bathroom through there, kitchen." He gestured at each room in turn. "Tada."
"Nice." Chase uncertainly draped his coat over the arm of Wilson's couch, taking in the mismatched furniture Wilson had salvaged from his divorces.
"Yeah, if you're a co-ed. I just got sick of looking and took the first thing available," Wilson explained and wished he'd bothered to at least decorate a little. Gotten a few throw pillows or something.
"No, really," Chase tried again. "I wasn't being an asshole."
Wilson smiled reassuringly. "I didn't think you were. Do you want something to drink? I realize we just got done with drinks, but maybe water?"
"Water's great," Chase confirmed and followed Wilson into the narrow kitchen. The quarters were cramped as space was at premium. Wilson nearly whacked Chase in the head with the cupboard door as he got out the glasses.
"Sorry," he grimaced. "Ice?"
"Okay," Chase leaned against the counter, watching as Wilson rummaged around in the freezer for an ice tray. "Was he always like this?"
"Um." Wilson twisted the tray so the ice cracked and popped. "No. I mean, yes, he was always an arrogant jerk who loved pissing people off, but he wasn't quite so, I don't know. Quite so." He left the sentence there, unsure just what had changed. "Or maybe it's me. He's worn me down. I just don't know..." He felt his chest tighten at the remembered closeness. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. When Chase put a hand on his shoulder, he nearly flinched, realizing how pathetic he must look. But Chase's expression wasn't mocking, instead his eyes were soft, warm. After years of derision, compassion was almost alarming.
"It's not you," Chase said, fingers squeezing to emphasize his words.
Wilson wasn't sure what the proper response to the hand on his shoulder was, so he ignored it, but felt sorry when Chase moved it a moment later. "Yeah. I'm just a victim."
"You're the one who said it." They shared a small smile. A few strands of blond hair fell across Chase's forehead. Wilson took a sudden step back, moving to the sink. His shoulder brushed Chase's as he passed him, and he caught the spice of Chase's cologne and the warm scent of Chase himself.
"What about you? When are you going to leave your abuser?"
Chase shrugged. "Sometimes working for him really sucks, but the idea of working somewhere else sucks worse. So I guess I'm stuck." Wilson handed him a glass.
"And here we are." Wilson raised his water in a mock toast and they clinked glasses. He took a long swallow and set his water down on the counter.
"Yeah," Chase breathed, and Wilson realized they were standing far too close, even given the confined space. He could see in perfect detail the eyelashes framing blue-green eyes. "Here we are."
Before consciously knowing what he was doing, Wilson leaned in and kissed Chase, lightly on the mouth. He pulled back, realizing with sudden horror exactly what he'd done. He held his breath, keeping his gaze on the collar of Chase's shirt, noticing Chase's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Chase hesitated and then kissed him, stepping in so that Wilson was pressed into the counter.
Wilson refused to think about it, relying on instinct and habit as Chase's lips worked over his. His hands automatically came up to cup Chase's face. He could feel the hard tile of the counter digging into the small of his back. Their belt buckles caught on each other with a dull clank of metal and Wilson felt white-hot fire run under his skin as he flushed deeply.
Wilson yelped, breaking the kiss, as he felt something cold sear down his side. Chase stepped back and they both looked down. A large, icy patch of water soaked Wilson's front and down his leg. Chase righted the glass he still held sheepishly.
"I am so sorry," he said aghast, biting his lip and assessing the damage. "I've just killed the mood, haven't I?" He set the glass down firmly on the counter to prevent further damage.
"It's fine," Wilson quickly assured him. "Refreshing." He pulled at the fabric of his sodden trouser leg, trying to keep it from sticking to his skin.
"Here, let me get a towel," Chase grabbed a dish rag and set about mopping Wilson's soaked front, but Wilson caught his wrist.
"No, really, it's fine. It's just water."
Chase straightened, letting Wilson take the cloth from him. "I really am terribly sorry. You're the one who's supposed to be smashed, but I'm up-ending my drink on people."
"You were distracted," Wilson pointed out.
"A little," Chase agreed. He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze downcast. "Look--I should go."
"Sure," Wilson said quickly. "Thanks for going out with me. To get a drink, I mean."
Chase collected his jacket and Wilson accompanied him to the door.
"See you tomorrow," Chase said uncertainly.
"Yeah, tomorrow." Wilson shut the door behind Chase.
He sighed and watched the door for a moment, as if his mother or House would suddenly burst through it and demand to know when he'd started kissing boys. When they didn't, he found himself asking the same question. But the wet fabric clinging to his chilled skin proved too much of a distraction to come to a satisfactory answer.
He changed, peeling out of his work clothes, which now stank of stale cigarettes and alcohol. He found a pair of pajama bottoms and slipped gratefully into them. Drawstring waistbands were possibly the best thing ever. He was still looking for a clean t-shirt when there was a knock at the door. Answering it, he found Chase standing there, his expression enigmatic.
Wilson's heart fell. Chase was going to make a big deal out of this, demand answers, and possibly apologies. Why couldn't they both just pretend it hadn't happened? And why hadn't he found a t-shirt before answering the door--it seemed unfair that he was going to have to apologize for his inappropriate behavior while the draft was giving him goose pimples.
"Did you forget--" Wilson started, but was interrupted as Chase tackled him, pulling him in for a fierce, wet, and highly inappropriate kiss.
* * * * *
Wilson woke up before his alarm went off, dry-mouthed and achy. He fumbled check the LCD display and turn it off before the obnoxious buzzer sounded. Tender muscles protested as he shifted, reminding him of the previous evening's athletics and he groaned at the full realization.
He'd slept with Chase.
Of all the spectacularly bad things he could have done, this was the worst. His mistake, however, was no where to be found. On the way to the bathroom Wilson saw that Chase's keys were gone.
A hot shower beat some life back into him and he turned the water up as hot as he could stand. He washed thoroughly, inventorying the bruises and sore muscles, each twinge accompanied by a memory--Chase's mouth on his neck, Chase's hands on his hips. He futilely pushed them away and let the water run over him until it turned cold.
Dressing hurriedly and ignoring the mussed sheets and scattered clothing, he wondered just what the proper etiquette was. A thank you note? A please, let's never speak of this again note? He wondered if Miss Manners had ever addressed the question. Best to just take his cue from Chase, he decided.
It was a plan which might have worked if Chase had been around to take a cue from. When Wilson was called in for a consult, Chase was running labs. When Wilson picked up lab reports, Chase was in the clinic working House's hours. When Wilson reported for his own hours, Chase had elected to go scout the patient's house. Wilson was beginning to get suspicious.
Fine, if Chase needed space, that was fine. He was busy with patients anyway.
When Chase did finally deign to talk to him, it was on House's orders. He skulked into Wilson's office, clutching an arm-load of folders protectively. "House wants you to look at these," Chase said stiffly, handing Wilson a thick manila envelope.
"Oh," Wilson said, accepting them. "Is that it?"
Chase nodded and turned, ready to escape.
"Chase," Wilson called, knowing it'd be awhile before he got another chance, as Chase was becoming increasingly elusive. Chase's shoulders tensed visibly and he turned. "You don't have to avoid me," Wilson tried.
"I'm not," Chase protested woodenly, eyes fixed on a glass paperweight.
"Yeah," Wilson sighed, "sure you're not. But in case you were--I'm not going to...do anything. If you were worried."
Chase met his eyes briefly and looked away again. "I'm not worried, either. Not really."
"Okay," Wilson agreed readily, "but if you could quit running the opposite direction when you see me coming, I'd appreciate it."
Chase opened his mouth to argue but Wilson looked at him and he closed it again, ruefully. "It's just," he said finally, "I figured you probably weren't too keen on seeing me. That it'd be best if I stayed out of your way."
"What? Why?" Wilson was puzzled, replaying his version of the night, trying to figure out where Chase had come up with that conclusion.
Chase shifted his weight from foot to foot. "It's just that I...pressed my advantage. I was afraid you'd be angry. And wouldn't blame you if you were."
Wilson considered this a long moment, mulling over the implications of Chase's statement. Then he rose from his seat and came to stand in front of Chase. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"Okay," muttered Chase, eyes resolutely on the knot of Wilson's tie.
Wilson brought his hands up to grip Chase's elbows. "Look at me. You didn't do anything wrong. Sleeping with me," he hissed this bit through gritted teeth, praying that Cuddy or House's uncanny hearing wouldn't catch this conversation, "was probably not the wisest decision. But it's also not worth feeling guilty about."
Chase nodded. "All right."
"Do you believe me?"
"Yeah, I do. Can I, uh, go now?"
Wilson released him, taking a step back and sighed. "Sure."
Chase turned to leave but hesitated at the door. "Hey, Wilson?" He smiled a little. "I'll quit avoiding you."
* * * * *
Chase lagged behind the others as they were leaving, offering to finish the case notes. Foreman shot him a look as if he were crazy and Cameron was wracked with guilt, until House asked him which nurse he was hoping to bang.
He waited until they'd cleared out, scribbling half-distracted notes on the file. It didn't actually matter what he wrote--Cameron would doubtless go over and do things again to her liking anyway. After he was sure that no one was going to return, he packed his things up and left the paperwork for tomorrow. Messenger bag slung over his shoulder, he stopped next door, with a surreptitious glance around. He rapped lightly on Wilson's door and took a breath to settle his nerves.
Wilson looked up from the article he was reviewing as Chase entered and smiled.
"House?" he asked.
"Left already," Chase confirmed, sinking into the chair across from Wilson's desk. "So did the others." Wilson relaxed visibly. "You busy tonight?" Chase inquired as casually as he could manage. If this thing between them continued, they'd have to work up some sort of code.
"Uh, yeah, sort of," Wilson replied looking over the stacks of files and papers on his desk.
"I won't distract you then." Chase fidgeted with the strap of his bag.
"Wait," Wilson stopped him before he could move for the door and gave his paperwork an unhappy look. "Give me fifteen minutes."
"Sure," Chase agreed, stretching his legs before him. "However long you need."
Wilson nodded and bent over the file before him. Chase sat quietly and watched him work, studying the flex of Wilson's forearms and the curve of clavicle just barely visible at the loosened collar of his shirt. Occasionally Wilson would steal glances his direction and Chase would look hurriedly away. Yeah, he was smooth.
Finally Wilson set his pen down and sat back, looking over at Chase. "Screw it. I'm done here. Dinner?"
Chase was only too happy to agree. "What do you feel like?"
"Oh, I get to pick?" Wilson asked with exaggerated enthusiasm.
"It's not much of a sacrifice on my part," Chase confessed. "I'm not picky; I'll eat just about anything."
Wilson straightened his desk quickly and grabbed his coat. "How about the diner on Roe? Everyone can use a little more 50's kitsch in their diet."
"The grease isn't bad either. I'll met you there."
Chase left first, neither of them willing to take the small risk that someone would notice them leaving more or less together. It took very little to feed the flourishing hospital grapevine. It felt a little like a bad spy movie but he was willing to go to far more extreme measures if it kept House from learning of their affair.
Chase arrived at the diner in question and took a corner booth, considering the contrived ambiance of the restaurant. The management had gone with a half-hearted sock hop theme, at least, he thought that was the impression the worn red leather booths and poodle skirt-clad waitresses were trying to achieve. The Platters do-wopped over decrepit loud speakers.
Wilson entered a few minutes later and slid into the seat across from Chase, the leather of the seat creaking its objection. The waitress stopped by with a swish of pink felt and collected their drink orders. As the restaurant was mostly empty of customers, it didn't take her long to return with Wilson's Diet Coke and Chase's Sprite.
"So..." Chase said when she'd left again, orders for dinner scrawled across her notepad.
Wilson used the straw to push the ice around his glass. "So?"
"That's all I've got. I was hoping something witty would come to me, but no luck," Chase replied ruefully. "The only thing I ever have to talk about is work, since I don't actually have a life. And we came here to get away from work."
Wilson took a sip of his drink and considered. "Let's see. I'll go through all my standard questions. Seen any good movies lately? No," he answered before Chase got a chance, "you just said you don't have a life. What kind of music do you like--you do like music, right?"
Chase rolled his eyes. "I like rock, all the classic stuff." He shrugged. "Nothing too wild."
Wilson made a face. "Lame. Favorite color?"
"Blue. Yellow's good, too."
"Well, isn't this scintillating?" Wilson observed, rolling his straw wrapper into a crumpled ball.
"Hey, you ask stupid questions, you get stupid answers," Chase replied amiably.
"Let's see you do better," Wilson challenged. "And don't tell me the shark story."
"It's a good story!" Chase protested, feigning offence. "Fine. Tell me about yourself. How about your family?"
Wilson took a deep breath and released it slowly, settling back into his seat with a slight shrug. "Mom. Dad. Younger brother. The usual."
"And you call my answers lame," Chase muttered sulkily. "If that's the best you can do, I don't think you have any room to criticize my conversation skills."
"All right, I was born March 12th, 1969 at Norwalk Hospital to Ben and Leah Wilson. I spent an uneventful youth attending Meadow Hills Elementary before matriculating Southland Junior and High Schools. I enjoyed baseball and joined the chess team."
"Okay, okay," Chase interrupted. "My question wasn't any better."
Wilson grinned. "No really, there's not much to know. I come from a staggeringly boring family. My parents thought Canada was wild and exciting when I left for McGill." The waitress interrupted with their food. They were quiet as they applied condiments. "Why'd you decide to study in the States?" Wilson asked, dragging a fry through a puddle of ketchup.
"Mostly to get away from my dad." Chase discarded his tomato, relegating it to the edge of his plate. "Although that's not what I put on my applications."
"Did it work?" Wilson asked.
"Sort of." Chase considered the question, brow furrowed. "His calls were easier to ignore when I knew he couldn't actually show up on my front step. I always thought being on the other side of the planet would be enough. It wasn't." Chase chewed on his straw for a moment and then finished with, "Now he's dead and it's still not quite enough."
"I'm sorry," Wilson said quietly.
Chase shrugged. "S'okay. I've gotten used to it." He studied his plate, trying to read the auspices in the scatter of his fries.
When the silence got uncomfortable, Chase said, "Sorry to be a buzz-kill." Bringing up you dead dad was never a turn on. "Maybe I should try this conversation again. I, uh, wanted to study in the States because I love the climate and the people...?"
Wilson laughed incredulously. "You came the Northeast for the weather?"
"I was hoping to get into UC-San Francisco."
"Oh," Wilson grinned, "that's unfortunate."
"Nah. I like it here. Snow has its good points."
"When you're not scraping it off your car, maybe." Wilson didn't look convinced.
They finished their burgers and Chase worried momentarily about the bill--this wasn't exactly a date, but it wasn't exactly not, either. But the waitress preempted the question by splitting the bill before he could ask her to.
Outside the restaurant they stopped. The sun had long since set and stars would have been visible except for the light pollution that smothered them.
"Do you want to come back to my place?" Chase asked. He'd cleaned his bathroom and changed his sheets in anticipation of this very question.
"Sure," Wilson said, eyes dropping from Chase to the pavement. "I'll follow you over."
Behind the wheel of his car, Chase wondered what the hell he was doing. He was sleeping with a co-worker--which he supposed he'd already done when he'd banged Cameron--but this was a department head, his boss's best friend and a guy. He pushed the thought from his mind with some effort, focusing instead on the road ahead and on not losing Wilson through red lights.
Sometimes things happen. Eventually this thing would un-happen and everything would go back to normal. At least, he hoped so. He parked on the street in front of his apartment and Wilson's Volvo pulled up behind him. Wilson followed him up the stairs as he keyed the door open.
Wilson had joked about his apartment looking like a college kid lived there, but Chase's actually did. Posters for crappy sci-fi flicks hung on the walls and an entire shelf was devoted to action figures.
"Wow." Wilson surveyed the room. "I've died and gone to a fantasy convention."
"Yeah," Chase said a little sheepishly. "I have to pretend to be a mature adult at work, but actually I'm twelve years old."
"No, I like it," Wilson assured him, examining a limited edition Nightcrawler figurine. "I might have to adopt a similar decorating scheme." He turned back to Chase and removed his over-coast, draping it over the futon arm. Chase did the same, taking a step toward Wilson, who closed the rest of the space between them. Wilson brought his hands up to curl around the back of Chase's neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Chase sighed lightly and let his arms twine around Wilson's waist.
"Bedroom?" Wilson suggested and Chase was only too happy to agree.
Later, as Wilson was scrambling to collect his clothing, Chase smoothed the tangled sheets out over his legs and pulled them up to his waist. He felt strangely modest in light of what they'd just done.
"You don't have to go. If you don't want to..." Chase shrugged as casually as he could manage propped up on one elbow.
Wilson paused in his search for his other sock; his face clouded a moment. "I, uh. I really should go. I've got--"
"No, it's fine," Chase interrupted, not particularly interested in Wilson's excuse. "I understand." He flopped back onto his pillow, staring at the ceiling. "I don't have anything to feed you for breakfast tomorrow anyway."
"Maybe some other time," Wilson said patronizingly, finding the missing sock and slipping it on.
"Sure," Chase agreed, "some other time."
* * * * *
"I can't believe you eat this stuff." House pulled a box of muesli out of Wilson's cupboard. "It's not even food."
"Good," Wilson shouted from the living room. "Then maybe you won't eat it."
House thrust the box back into the cupboard and opened the fridge instead, hunting until he came upon a Tupperware of left-over lasagna. He zapped it in the microwave and brought it out to the couch. "I knew you were holding out the good stuff."
"Well. I do try." Wilson's phone rang, cutting off further commentary as Wilson dug it out. "Dr. Wilson," he answered.
"Hey, it's me," Chase said.
Wilson cast a glance at House, who by all appearances was completely absorbed in shoveling lasagna into his mouth as fast as possible. "Hi...Mom," Wilson replied carefully.
"Hmm. Either this is some kinky new game we're playing or House is there," Chase mused dryly.
"Oh, he's fine, at least for him," Wilson replied, keeping his tone slightly distracted and vaguely patronizing. House shot him a dirty look. "How are you?"
"Look, I'm at Blockbuster and I'm debating between Deep Blue Sea and Anacondas II. Do you have a preference?"
"Sorry, Mom, but I'm not really feeling up to that. You know I've been really busy with work and all." Wilson could hear the track of a movie trailer in the background. He tried to shift away so House wouldn't overhear.
"Come on, you love campy horror flicks," Chase insisted. Wilson could practically see Chase's grin as he took advantage of Wilson's position.
"No, really I don't."
"Fine," Chase sulked. "It Happened One Night? Is that classy enough for you?"
"Uh huh," Wilson said trying to imitate the absent tone he usually used with his mother. "That sounds good."
"Okay, but I'm getting Puppet Master VII, too," Chase warned. "And maybe Lake Placid."
Wilson sighed heavily. "Right. ...Okay. Whatever you think's best," he reluctantly agreed, knowing he'd regret it later when forced to sit through the flicks in question.
There was some shuffling on the other end and a woman's voice asked if Chase had a membership card, Wilson waited until Chase said, "So you'll be over later?"
"Yes, I'm going to try. No, I know--I mean it this time. Okay, I have to go now. Love you," Wilson murmured; House's attention was still focused on the TV.
"Hey now, no need to get sappy. They're just movies."
"Bye, Mom," Wilson said more forcefully.
"You're crazy," Chase laughed.
Wilson hung up. House turned to him critically. "Shame on you, avoiding your mother."
"Why? You avoid yours," Wilson pointed out unruffled by the accusation.
"No, I don't," House retorted, licking the back of his fork. "I avoid Dad; it just so happens that Mom's usually with him."
"Convenient, that," Wilson observed dryly. He propped his feet on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles.
"You up for the new Tarentino flick tonight?" House asked.
"Can't," Wilson said apologetically.
House gave him a disbelieving look. "Why not?"
"The board meeting's this week." Wilson kept his eyes on the TV show; it was easier to keep his expression unconcerned without looking at House.
"A meeting which isn't until Thursday."
"Yeah, but Ketterlinus is giving a presentation and he wants me to go over it with him." Wilson propped his feet up on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles.
"Ketterlinus is the most boring human on the planet," House complained.
"Then I guess it's a good thing you aren't invited."
"You could beg me to come and I wouldn't. God, Ketterlinus." House folded his arms across his chest sullenly. "You're such a masochist."
* * * * *
Chase woke slowly, wakefulness settling over him gradually. Stretching extensively, he realized he was alone in the bed. Again. This unpleasant thought brought him further into the world of the fully conscious and he sat up to confirm that Wilson had left. He pushed aside his disappointment and fumbled for a pair of clean boxers. He paused as a noise caught his attention and the stainless-steel clang of a pan in the sink, brought him out to the kitchen.
"Do you have a rolling pin?" Wilson asked, without turning from the dough he was kneading. He wore gray sweats and a white undershirt, his feet bare and pale against the aging linoleum of Chase's kitchen.
"Good morning to you, too," Chase managed around a yawn. He recognized the sound of brewing coffee. Excellent. He poured himself a generous cup, watching as Wilson worked the ball of sticky dough, which clung to his fingers. He had matching floury fingerprints on the legs of his sweatpants and another smudge under his left eye. "What are you making?"
"Did you know you have no breakfast food in this entire apartment save a box of stale frosted flakes?" Wilson returned and then gestured to the dough. "This is going to be cinnamon rolls."
"Normally I skip breakfast or pick something up on the way to work," Chase explained and took a long sip of coffee. "And no, I don't think I have a rolling pin."
"I guess I can make do," Wilson grimaced, searching through Chase's cupboard for a serviceable cup. He rolled the dough out, the lip of the cheap plastic thermos he'd appropriated leaving uneven track marks in the tough. Chase watched, fascinated as Wilson sprinkled more flour on the counter to keep dough rolling smoothly.
"You cook a lot," Chase said and hoped the caffeine would start kicking in soon.
"I like to cook. Though technically this is baking." Wilson worked on a spot where the dough had gotten too thin. "It's a hobby both relaxing and tasty. Though with the way my waistline is going, I should probably focus less on pastries and more on the vegetable dishes."
Chase shrugged unconcerned. "Nah, you look great."
Wilson shot Chase a look that said he appreciated the effort but wasn't buying it for a minute and turned back to the dough. He liberally applied melted butter, followed by sugar and cinnamon. He rolled it up, cut it into thick slices and arranged them in a pie tin that Chase had forgotten he owned.
"I'm definitely keeping you around," Chase said as Wilson washed the flour from his hands. "I can't cook anything that doesn't come out of a box or isn't some kind of sandwich variant. My BLTs are pretty good. But anything that requires cracking a cookbook is beyond me." Chase licked a finger to collect some sugar that had scattered across the counter.
"You should learn; it's not hard. It's a hell of a lot easier than medicine. And people don't die on account of my cooking." Wilson double-checked the temperature of the oven and slid the rolls in. "Well, at least not usually." He straightened and turned back to Chase. "I could teach you, if you like."
"Sure. I had a rigorous day of Saturday morning cartoons and loafing planned, but I can reschedule."
"I wouldn't interrupt cartoons--"Wilson rolled his eyes, "--and since the rolls will take forty-five minutes or so, I suppose lessons can wait until after breakfast."
Wilson was bemused to find that Chase was absolutely serious about the cartoon watching, but he sat patiently through the new Batman cartoon anyway. He could even hold an intelligent conversation on whether Gotham was supposed to represent Chicago or New York. The cinnamon rolls were done just in time to bring that argument to an amicable close.
Before he could pick the discussion up again, his pager went off, sending him scrambling to dig through the pockets of his jacket. He checked the screen of his pager and grimaced.
"It's House. I've got to go."
Wilson collected their plates to take out to the kitchen. "It's all right, the cooking lessons can wait."
Chase scrounged for clothes and dressed, wondering how long he could dawdle and still hope to escape a reprimand. He didn't like his odds. Casting one last mournful look at a third cinnamon roll that was calling his name, he shouldered his bag.
"They'll still be here when you get back," Wilson smiled, seeing his expression.
"Will you?" Chase asked instantly and realized it sounded needier than he liked.
Wilson looked at his watch briefly. "Maybe. I've got to go in later myself."
"All right," Chase agreed, "I'll see you around."
He didn't see Wilson at work, and the apartment was empty when he returned hours later. The cinnamon rolls had been put away and the dishes washed--not just the dishes used to make the rolls, but also the ones that had been moldering in the sink for the past week. And his sheets had been changed, the bed made up with hospital corners.
* * * * *
"Hey. The Tivoli is showing a She Gods Of Shark Reef and Cat-Women of the Moon double feature tonight."
Wilson looked up from the patient file to House who leaned over him, blithely ignoring the filthy looks Nurse Previn was shooting his direction. Wilson wrote in a note that Propofol couldn't be used during the colonoscopy due to the patient's egg allergy and set the folder on the stack he was working through.
"You in?" House demanded and made a face at Previn and another nurse who had the nerve to be at the Nurse's Station.
Wilson had told Chase he'd meet him for dinner. "What time?"
"The first show starts at seven and I want to be there early so we can get good seats."
"I can't make it," Wilson said. "I've got to start staff evaluations."
House snorted dismissively. "Let them do their own reviews like I do. You get out of doing it and they get the review they were hoping for. It's win-win. Unless you're Cameron, she always has half a dozen areas that need improvement."
"How responsible of her," Wilson tone was just the slightest bit reproving. "Some of us actually have real departments to run."
"Zing," House acknowledged the slight. "Come on, are you really so lame that you'd rather work than see women in cat suits?"
Wilson hesitated; House was clearly set on this and a refusal would mean putting up with his sulking. "Fine. But don't complain if I can't hang out on Friday because I'm stuck doing evaluations."
"Wouldn't dream of it," House promised airily and, the argument won, he turned and retreated to make someone else's life miserable.
Wilson found Chase later that afternoon, working a shift in NICU. Chase smiled brightly as he saw Wilson's approach, waving him over.
"Hey, Dr. Wilson," he said cheerfully. After a quick glance around, he said in a quieter but no less enthusiasm, "We still on for tonight?"
Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and Chase's smile faltered. "Actually...I'm afraid I'm going to have to cancel. Some stuff's come up..."
"Cat women who live on the moon, by any chance?" Chase asked blandly. "House was talking the film up earlier. A real cinematic gem, apparently."
"I'm sorry," Wilson tried. "I really am."
Chase shrugged lightly. "It's no problem. Really. We can do it some other time. It wasn't anything special."
Wilson squelched the impulse to embrace Chase, settling instead for leaning in a little closer. "I'll make it up to you. Promise." Chase looked at him skeptically. "This weekend? I'll cook," Wilson offered.
"All right," Chase said, expression softening. "But it had better be good."
The movies were true classics. Cheesy costumes, flimsy sets and the most tenuous of plots. But still, there was nothing like planets of Amazonian women to inspire a few heterosexual fantasies.
"I wonder why they stopped making these films," House mused as they cleared out of the theater. "Best genre ever."
"Sure," Wilson agreed. "If you don't actually have disbelief to suspend."
"You're such a snob," House told him.
"Amazing how standards have that effect."
"I have to say I'm worried about you," House confessed with over-enunciated concern. "If girls in cat suits don't do it for you, maybe it's time to turn in the Hetero Club membership card."
"Right, definitely the litmus test for straight," Wilson agreed, collecting House's empty popcorn bucket and stacking it under his own.
"Oh my God, Jimmy!" House yelled at the top of his lungs. "I had no idea you felt that way about me!"
Wilson's shoulders tightened and he struggled to keep from craning around to see how many of the remaining theater patrons had turned to stare at them. "Shut up, House," he snapped.
"No, I will not knock boots with you!" House managed to be even louder and more scandalized this time. "It's an abomination before God."
"We're leaving now." Wilson took a firm grip on House's arm and steered him to the door.
House let Wilson pull him along, but not without shouting, "Help! This man is trying to have his way with me! Rape!" In a normal tone to Wilson he said, "Dammit, I need a whistle for people to take me seriously."
Wilson dropped House's arm outside the theater, the tips of his ears burning. "I hope that was as amusing as you'd thought it would be," he gritted out.
"Better actually," House grinned, "but you know I was kidding--you can have your way with me anytime." He leered suggestively.
"Currently the only way I want to have with you involves a baseball bat and a body bag," Wilson muttered darkly.
"Mmm, kinky." House prodded Wilson ankle with his cane. "You want to get something to eat?"
"Actually," Wilson grimaced, "I don't. See you tomorrow, House." He turned and walked away. For a moment he thought that House might follow him but he refused to look. When he got to his car, he was alone.
Chase opened the door on the second knock, wearing white boxers and a ratty maroon t-shirt with what looked like mustard down the front.
"Uh, hey," he managed, obviously taken aback at finding Wilson on his doorstep.
"Can I come in?"
Chase blinked and got out of the way. "Sure. What's up?"
Wilson stalked past Chase and threw himself down on the futon. The TV was on, Jay Leno monologueing about world events that made poor fodder for comedy. Chase took a more hesitant seat beside him, watching Wilson from the corner of his eye.
"It's nothing," Wilson said shortly.
"Okay," Chase agreed. They watched Jay tell scripted jokes for a few minutes.
At the next commercial Wilson said to no one in particular, "He really has no regard for me. None at all."
Chase wisely said nothing, apparently absorbed in a commercial for feminine hygiene products.
"I'm sorry," Wilson said quietly. "I shouldn't have blown you off for House."
"It's okay. It wasn't a big deal." Chase reached out and placed hand on Wilson's knee. "How bad was he?"
"He wasn't. Not really, not more that usual." Wilson rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know how poison ivy gets worse the more you're exposed?"
Chase shook his head shortly. "No, Australia doesn't have poison ivy."
"You get poison ivy and you get an miserable rash, which is bad, but it gets worse because your allergy is exacerbated on every subsequent exposure. Each time you have it, it's that much worse." Wilson scratched absently along his forearm, remembering a particularly bad rash he'd gotten after a camping trip. "House had been having that effect on me. Every encounter leaves me with weeping blisters."
Chase swallowed. "Oh."
"The problem is clearly me," Wilson concluded, slumping back into the lumpy embrace of Chase's futon. "He's no worse than usual. Sure, he accused me of attempted rape, loudly, in a crowded theater--" Chase winced in sympathy, "--but that's really par for the course in House world."
"He treats you like absolute shite; you have a right to be annoyed," Chase reasoned.
"I'm pretty sure it's a right I forfeit when I go running back for more."
Chase grinned crookedly. "I don't know about that." He leaned in slowly and kissed Wilson softly once and then again. "Want me to help you with your rash?"
Wilson grunted, "Okay, I realize that you meant that to be sexy..."
Chase's fingers worked down the buttons of Wilson's shirt. "Is that a yes?"
"Mmm, yes," Wilson murmured and pulled Chase in for another kiss. "Most definitely a yes."
* * * * *
Wilson pushed open the door to House's office. House sat at his desk, feet propped up on his desk. "Hey, have you seen my phone..." Wilson didn't bother finishing the sentence as he recognized the cell that House was currently fidgeting with as his own. "Oh good. You've found it."
"Yeah, it accidentally fell into my pocket." House sat up, feet dropping to the floor. "More importantly, you've been cheating on me." House's blank expression was his best poker face.
"I have?" Wilson repeated dumbly.
"With Chase."
Wilson felt his stomach bottom out. But House didn't seem vengeful, merely sarcastic. He held up the open phone, displaying Wilson's call history. "Apparently you two have been quite chummy, lately."
"Oh." Wilson's nerves steadied. "Yeah, apparently working for you is stressful, though I never would have guessed it. He just wanted to talk to some one who knew what an asshole you are."
"Right. Chase sure does like to talk about the feelings. He's almost as bad as Cameron."
Wilson held out a hand. "Can I have my phone back or do you still have to call China?"
House's eyes narrowed and Wilson's palms prickled in under that piercing gaze. "Sure." He tossed the phone to Wilson so quickly that Wilson nearly dropped it. "I've got things to do."
He left Wilson standing in his empty office, wondering what had just happened.
* * * * *
The fellows were gathered in the lab, waiting for their tests to come back. Or pretending to wait, in Chase's case. He already had the results but didn't feel like returning to the conference room without Cameron or Foreman to act as a buffer between himself and House. He'd been working to keep a low profile these past few months.
"Just because I don't feel the need to share the intimate details of my life with patients doesn't mean I don't relate," Foreman shot at Cameron, who gave him a thin-lipped grimace over her microscope. They'd been going back and forth about the issue for the past half-hour. "Besides, we're their doctors, not their friends. We need them to respect our judgment and authority."
"You just say that so you can buffalo them into doing whatever you think is best."
"Twelve years of school says that I do know best," Foreman retorted.
"Ugh!" Cameron exclaimed in exasperation and contempt. "Maybe you think you know the best medical course, but that doesn't make it the right choice for the patient."
Foreman's rolled his eyes, but his answer was interrupted by House's arrival. House ignored them, however, heading for straight for Chase, wearing a dark look that made Chase's immediately uneasy. Chase scrambled to his feet, as House closed the distance between them.
"How long have you been sleeping with Wilson?" House demanded.
At first Chase wasn't sure he'd heard the question right--the roaring in his ears made it difficult to hear--but House repeated it, enunciating viciously.
"Uh. I..." Chase struggled to put the right words in the right order. "Since January."
House took a step back, surprised, which confused Chase. How could House be surprised? Unless he'd been bluffing and Chase had just had cracked like an egg.
"You're fired," House told him.
"You can't sack me," Chase returned incredulously. He was acutely aware of Cameron and Foreman looking on, united for once in matched expressions of disbelief.
"Of course I can," House sneered. "You don't have anyone to protect you this time."
Chase tried to swallow, which was difficult with his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. "What I do with my personal time isn't grounds for dismissal."
"It is when Wilson's what you're doing."
"I understand that you're angry..." Chase started, trying to think of a defense that would satisfy House.
"Angry?" House snorted dismissively. "Why would I be angry that a lazy, sycophant in my employ decided to seduce my best friend?"
"I didn't seduce him," Chase protested, feeling his face heat in a bright flush. "It just happened."
"Geez, Chase. You seem to be 'just happening' to most of your coworkers. You're becoming quite the office slut." Chase realized that there was no way this conversation was going to be anything but bad for him and tried to exit, but House braced his cane against the edge of the counter, blocking Chase's retreat. "What?" he asked, "Is Foreman next?" Chase flinched away, remembering the last time he'd really pissed House off. "Or are you just trying to get to me? And here I always thought it was just your daddy issues."
Chase flinched involuntarily as House shifted his grip on his cane. House looked over to where Cameron and Foreman stood, slack-jawed and staring. Hopefully he realized they would be witnesses, Chase thought miserably, and that they'd be enough to keep House from actually bludgeoning him to death with his cane. House hesitated, reconsidered what he was about to say and instead spat, "I'll finish with you later," and stalked out of the room.
Chase took a breath and held it for a moment before turning to Cameron and Foreman. "I think I'm going to take the rest of the day off."
Cameron nodded tightly and Foreman looked from the door back to Chase, as if expecting House to come back through it with a semiautomatic.
"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," Forman said.
* * * * *
"Hey," Wilson answered his phone, Chase's number on the caller ID.
"He knows." Chase's voice was calm, almost toneless.
"What?" Wilson asked, unsettled. "Who knows what?"
"About us. House knows about us," Chase elaborated. "He asked me flat out...caught me by surprise. And I just told him."
"It's okay," Wilson assured him, trying to muster some kind of conviction. He sank down onto his chair, just catching the edge of the seat. "He was going to find out sooner or later, no matter how careful we were. And he got the idea from snooping through my phone. It's not your fault."
"He fired me."
"He can't fire you," Wilson returned quickly. "Not for this, the liability--"
"He's not going to put 'slept with my best friend' on the dismissal. It'll be something else, something plausible, something reputation ruining."
"Cuddy won't let him, once she understands..." Wilson winced at the thought of explaining the situation to her. Her expression alone would be brutal. Never mind that, he'd deal with it when he had to.
"Even if he doesn't fire me he can still make my life miserable enough to quit."
"Chase," Wilson pleaded, "he's not going to do that. I won't let that happen."
"Yeah, okay." Chase didn't sound convinced of Wilson's ability to keep that promise and Wilson didn't blame him.
"Hey, I have to go," Wilson said hurriedly, as House himself flung open the door to his office. "Talk to you later. Don't worry." Wilson hung up. He turned to House, who stood leaning heavily on his cane and glaring at him. "So you know," he sighed.
House didn't say anything at first, giving him a hard look before pacing across the room to the window and turning back to Wilson. "The truth came out--kind of like you two," House sneered. "I always knew you had a thing for hot blonds but really--Chase? Seems a little desperate, even for you."
"He had me at g'day." Wilson shrugged. "What's it to you, House?"
"You cannot sleep with Chase," House ordered, throwing himself into a chair across from Wilson's desk.
Wilson folded his arms across his chest. "Why not?"
"He's my employee and I said so."
"That's not actually how it works. You don't own your employees. Or your best friend," Wilson added pointedly.
House ignored that comment, snagging a bent-nail puzzle from Wilson's desk and taking it apart nimbly. "So who's on top? I never pegged Chase for a top--no pun intended--but I bet he'd do whatever you ask."
"House," Wilson warned.
"What? I'm just curious, is all. Who gets the..." Here House made lewd thrusting gesture with his cane to make his point. "Oh, God, don't tell me you take turns."
Wilson rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Is this what it's going to take? Enough humiliation and you'll forgive me?"
"Sure," House agreed too readily. "And you like getting it up the ass from Chase?"
"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."
"Yeah, I can see how--" House started, twisting the words viciously, but Wilson cut him off.
"I'm not breaking up with him, House. You have two choices--either you accept that and our friendship continues, or you don't accept that and our friendship doesn't." Wilson was pleased that his voice was steady and even. "No matter what, though, you're going to treat him well, or at least no worse than usual. You don't get to fire him, or threaten to, or make his life hell."
House stared at him for a long moment and Wilson waited for the retaliation but House just got up and left, leaving Wilson in his wake.
* * * * *
Chase kept a low profile in the following weeks. He spent as much time waiting for results, checking on the patient or in the clinic as possible. When he couldn't avoid House's presence, he contrived to have Foreman or Cameron in the room as human shields. Even with those precautions, he felt on edge most of the time, sure that when House's retribution came, it would be as thorough as it was brutal.
And each day that he escaped unscathed, Chase's apprehension grew. It didn't help that Cameron and Foreman were treating him like some kind of outsider. They weren't exactly antagonistic but strangely cool and twice he caught them talking about him, judging form Cameron's guilty look and the hastily discontinued conversation. He tried not to let it bother him, but the only times he really forgot his concerns was when he was with Wilson.
"So...Dr. Wilson, huh?" Cameron queried casually. She'd asked him if he'd wanted to help her with this MRI, but he hadn't realized she was planning an interrogation when he'd agreed.
"Yeah," he answered vaguely, examining an illuminated slice of the occipital lobe.
"You're really together?" she pressed.
"Yep." He hoped monosyllabic answers would dissuade her inquires.
"You're gay now?"
"Sure." He didn't feel up to explaining the intricacies of his sexuality to Cameron. Besides, she'd believe what she wanted to, regardless of his actual answer.
"I see," she muttered, her mouth a thin line of judgment. He hoped that she was finished but several minutes later she started again. "I know that it's not my business, but I'm worried about you."
"You don't have to be," he told her shortly. He pointed to a blur on the screen. "What's that?"
"A shadow," she dismissed. "I know you've had a tough time since we broke up."
"We didn't break up. We were never together," he reminded her. "I believe the term is fuck buddies."
She ignored his correction. "But I don't think Wilson is a healthy choice. I'm sure he means well..." she trailed off ominously and when he didn't react continued with, "I don't think you know what you want and he's taking advantage of that."
"He's not taking advantage of me," Chase said flatly.
"I doubt he thinks he is either," she assured him, "but Wilson can't see beyond his own pathologies. He'll take what he wants and justify it later." She held up a hand to ward off his protest. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."
"I don't want to talk about this, Cameron."
"Right, and that's your choice," she confirmed unnecessarily. "But just think about it. You shouldn't have to be ashamed."
"I'm not."
"Sure--which is why you bent over backwards trying to hide your affair. That's not ashamed at all."
"Oh here's a thought," Chase snapped, losing patience. "Maybe it was to avoid lectures like this one. As much as I appreciate your concern, you lost the right to give me advice about my personal life a long time ago." He stood abruptly, the chair legs scraping against the tile floor. "You can manage the rest of this yourself, right?" She nodded dumbly, as he turned and exited, hands deep in the pockets of his lab coat.
In his anger, he didn't realize his miscalculation until he was back in the conference room, where House had the patient file and a selection of journals scattered across the table. Foreman was no where in sight, Chase saw with alarm. Unable to retreat gracefully, he moved to the coffee maker, pouring the dregs into a clean mug.
"Results back?" House asked.
"No, Cameron's working on them." After tasting the sludge and realizing he'd been optimistic in judging it drinkable, he poured it out in the sink and began hunting for the coffee filters. After a fruitless search in the cupboards, he slammed the door shut in frustration and turned back to House. "What do you want?"
At the anger in his tone, House looked up. "For you to do your job? I know that must be very frustrating for you..."
"No--I mean, what do you want from me? What are you planning?"
"Besides world domination?"
"I know you've got some god-awful punishment planned. You're just biding your time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike."
House sat back in his chair, regarding Chase with surprise. "Are you suffering any delusions or hearing voices to go along with that paranoia?"
"There's no way you'd forgive me for sleeping with Wilson that easily. You want to punish me? Fine, but just do it. I'm sick of watching my back, looking for the sniper," Chase finished breathlessly.
House laughed, taking Chase aback. "You want punishment--"
"I don't want it. I just know that's coming and would like to get it out of the way. So come on. Hit me with your best shot."
"Okay, Pat Benatar, I'd love to," House said, rolling his eyes, "unfortunately, I can't deal out justice. If I punish you, you go crying to Wilson and he punishes me."
"...And you care?" Chase asked incredulously.
House made a face. "Of course not, but it'll make my life uncomfortable. So when your relationship with Wilson goes down in flames--which is inevitably will--it won't be my fault.
"Really?"
"Yes, really," House snapped, "What do you want to hear? That I've put itching powder in you scrubs?"
"That's more believable."
"And tempting. But you're safe."
"Okay. Wow--I feel like I've just had a stay of execution," Chase confessed.
"If Wilson hadn't foiled my plan to cut your brake lines, it would be."
"I'll have to thank him."
* * * * *
Wilson unlocked his office and his heart seized until he recognized the shadowy figure lurking behind his desk as House. He took a breath and flipped on the light. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"I can't help it if your nerves are delicate," House retorted.
"Move," Wilson ordered, rounding the desk. House hesitated, looking up at him with a guarded expression, finally he got up and abandoned Wilson's chair. It did not escape Wilson that House made a show of rubbing his bad thigh. Wilson set his briefcase down, surprised at the easy victory and took the newly vacated seat.
House made his way to the window, pushing the blinds aside to look outside. Wilson squelched the impulse to tell him he was going to bend them.
"Why Chase?" House asked, still intent on the view out, though there was nothing much to see.
Wilson sighed shortly, considering the question and abandoning each answer as soon as he thought of it. "I don't know," he finally confessed. "Is this the part where you harass me about my no longer latent homosexuality?"
House turned back, still leaning on the window sill. "I was figuring that or make a crack about Chase being prettier than any of the girls you've dated--had to see which opening presented itself." He crossed his arms, shrugging slightly.
"Do you think I'm gay?" Wilson asked, unsure what he wanted to hear.
"If you say so. You're a little old to call it a youthful indiscretion," House allowed.
Wilson forced himself to meet House's gaze. "And you're...okay with this?" he pressed further.
House strode to the low sofa and threw himself onto it. "Of course not. Homosexuals are the devil's foot-soldiers and why God's punishing America. That and the feminists." He gesticulated wildly, apparently trying to encompass the army of gays trying to take over the government. "Please don't tell me you think women are human."
Wilson couldn't help but smile at House's dramatics. "Afraid so," he apologized.
"Ah!" House clutched his face in pain and disappointment. "No wonder Cuddy's getting uppity." House sobered as the joke died. "I'm okay with it. It just makes things...different."
"What," Wilson asked wryly, "afraid I'll make a pass at you?"
"Or that you'll take advantage of me when I'm drunk," House suggested. Wilson's bemused expression faltered. He recovered but House had caught it and scowled deeply. "I was kidding, for Christssake. I don't think you're going to rape me. Please." House voice was scornful. "If you're bending Chase over your desk three times a day, it's not like you'd be interested in my bony ass."
"Yes, thank you." Wilson frowned. "I appreciate the sentiment."
* * * * *
Chase checked his reflection nervously, feeling silly for doing so. House didn't care much for personal presentation and Wilson had already seen him at his worst. But he still couldn't help but feel that his clothing would be assessed as some kind of statement. He really hoped that jeans and a light pink dress shirt said something like "I'm confident and not at all concerned about hanging out with my boss and my lover who also happens to be my boss's best friend." Maybe the pink shirt was too gay. The less ammunition he gave House, the better this would go.
He changed into a more reserved white, rolling the sleeves up to give it a casual air. Or maybe it just made him look like Wilson. He reconsidered his whole dress-shirt decision, but it was too late to change again, because Wilson knocked and let himself into the apartment.
Chase ran a hand through his hair, assessing the affected tousle in the mirror before turning for Wilson's inspection.
"You look nice," Wilson said appreciatively, pressing a quick kiss to Chase's cheek. "Hmm," he muttered looking down. "You're wearing sandals?" His voice was a strained sort of neutral.
Chase examined his nude toes, glad the nails were at least trimmed. "I...could change into my loafers."
"Oh, good idea," Wilson confirmed. "You do look good though." He leaned in for a more lingering kiss, before pulling away to ask, "You do have clean socks, right?"
Chase laughed and left Wilson to rummage through his dresser. "Yeah--they may even match." And he did manage to find a suitable pair of socks.
"Right, let's go. We've got to pick up beer on the way over," Wilson said with a final appraisal.
The ride over was surprisingly relaxed. They argued good-naturedly about what to listen to. Wilson scoffed at Chase's musical selections and Chase refused to listen to golden oldies until he actually was one. They compromised on a soft-rock station that was relatively inoffensive.
House the open the door to his apartment, demanding, "Beer?" Wilson held up the six-pack and House inspected it briefly before admitting them.
"Have you started the burgers?" Wilson asked, following House with Chase taking up the rear.
"Yeah, in the kitchen."
Wilson wasn't too amused when he realized House had "started" the burgers by leaving a package of frozen ground beef in the sink. He took charge, busying himself about the kitchen, as comfortable as if it were his own. He dubbed Chase his sous-chef and set him to work washing and slicing potatoes. House leaned against the counter, getting in the way and watching them, Chase imagined, for signs of gayness.
"So. You guys." House pushed himself up into a seat on the counter, his heels thumping irregularly against the cabinetry. Chase felt himself tense at the affected casualness in House's tone. It always marked the calm before the storm. "Do you ever--"
"House." Wilson turned from kneading onion, parsley and Worcestershire sauce into the ground beef. The two stared at each other, the standoff made ridiculous by the bits of raw meat clinging to Wilson's fingers and swinging of House's sneaker-clad feet. Finally House looked away.
"Hey, Chase, wasn't that an insane amount of puss we lanced from the patient yesterday? I swear, I don't think I've ever seen that much pus come out of a human before. Ugh. And the smell..."
"Yeah," Chase agreed, actually glad for the safer--if more disgusting--turn in the conversation. "It's too bad you missed it, Wilson."
Wilson grimaced. "Uh huh, sounds like. Oh well, maybe next time."
"The expression on Cameron's face was so worth it, even if I can never eat tapioca again," House started again, sharing a grin with Chase over the memory of Cameron's distress. "You have to see the way her eyes get kind of wide--"
"Actually," Wilson interrupted, "I'm pretty familiar with that expression. It's the one where her eyebrows knit and she looks like she's trying to kill you with her brain? You're going to dip those in olive oil and put them on the baking sheet," he directed to Chase. "It's an expression she frequently wears in my presence. That girl should really take a chill pill."
"Do people still say 'chill pill'?" House sneered. "Besides, you're just bitter that she's the only woman yet to be unaffected by your charms."
Wilson shook his head in ruefully agreement. "And on my otherwise perfect record. I don't get it--she like you and you're a thoroughly reprehensible human being."
"It's part of my appeal," House sniffed.
"Really," Chase interjected, before a discussion of House's appeal could erupt, "I'm not sure what the fuss is about, because I've been there and it's not that great." He laid the thin slices of potato out in on the baking sheet.
"That's true," Wilson agreed.
"Of course you say that," House retorted with an eye roll directed at Wilson. "You like to think that Chase has up-graded." They bother turned to Chase, looking for confirmation or denial.
"Most definitely," Chase answered. "Cameron is like doing a judgmental coat rack."
Wilson rewarded his loyalty with a smile, while House scoffed and replied that Chase was bound to say that.
"I might have to say it," Chase conceded, "but that doesn't make it not true."
"Gag me with a spoon, you two are disgusting," House grumbled, but the insult held none of his usual venom.
They proceeded to discuss Cameron's many failings and then moved on to Foreman and Cuddy, who were also pretty easy targets. There was unanimous agreement that Cuddy was a hard-ass but totally do-able.
"What do you think she'd say to a threesome?" Wilson asked Chase, his expression sly.
"Hey, no fair," House protested, "Cuddy's had the hots for me for years, no moving in to take advantage of that sexual frustration."
"Why haven't you moved in on that?" Wilson asked.
"She's easier to manipulate when she's frustrated," House assured them. "It's all part of my plan."
"She'd probably be even easier to manipulate if you gave her what she needed on a regular basis," Wilson pointed out.
"More pleasant too," Chase added.
House looked cross. "My system works. I don't need you do putting your various kinks in it."
"Aw, don't tell me you're jealous," Wilson teased.
"Why would I be jealous? If Chase is as bad in bed as he is with a scalpel, I'm not sure your acclaimed prowess would be enough to make up for it."
Wilson blinked at House's attack, and then said simply, "I meant jealous of us, not her."
There was a distinctly uncomfortable silence.
"Oh. Right," House said shortly.
"I should probably go check on the potatoes." Wilson stood and exited, leaving House and Chase and a spot on the couch that wasn't wide enough for Chase's comfort.
"I don't--" House started.
"I know," Chase finished hurriedly.
"Good." They sat and watched the Yankees make a mess of things, the occasional clang of pans from the kitchen. Wilson reemerged with their plates precariously balanced.
Chase accepted his gratefully, ready for a distraction. "Thank you," he murmured as Wilson sank down into his seat between them.
"The potatoes are good," House said around a mouthful.
"Those were all Chase," Wilson replied modestly, though he'd carefully directed Chase's actions and prevented him from over-salting, "and they are good."
House turned to Chase. "You didn't fuck it up."
Chase settled into his seat, exchanging a wry look with Wilson. "Thanks so much."
"You're welcome." House looked back to the TV. "Who's up for Rocky II?"
Epilogue: Six Months Later
Wilson let himself into Chase's apartment. Chase was sitting at his dining room table, cup of coffee clasped before him.
"Hey," he greeted as Wilson entered. "There's a fresh pot if you want some."
Wilson made himself a mug and took it in to sit across from Chase.
"I have some news," Chase said, having drained his cup. "I was offered a position at Roanoke Memorial as an attending."
Wilson took a quiet sip of coffee and traced the handle of his mug with a thumb. "You going to take it?'
"I think I am." Chase eyes were clear but solemn; the morning sunlight caught strands of his hair and turned them gold.
Wilson nodded once slowly. "I think you should. It's a great opportunity for you."
"I'm excited about it." Chase didn't sound terribly excited. "But it brings me to my next point." He paused.
"You're breaking it off." Wilson voice was neither surprised nor upset, merely stating fact.
"Yeah." Chase swallowed with difficulty.
"It's for the best," Wilson assured him. "Roanoke is a long way away."
"Seven hours. I Mapquested it."
"And I don't think either of us would be up to a long-distance relationship."
Chase nodded, his eyes looking from the table to Wilson. "You're okay?"
"I'm going to miss you," Wilson confessed, "but my world isn't lying in smoldering ruins right now."
Chase smiled. "Good."
Wilson got up and circled around the table to stand over Chase. He took Chase's chin in his hand, studying his face for a moment. "You're going to do great." He bent over to kiss Chase lightly. "You'll see." He smiled fondly and then took their empty mugs out to the sink and left.
House was sprawled across the couch when Wilson entered. He looked over, but didn't get up.
Wilson shut the door, standing near the doorway as though not quite sure he really wanted to be here.
"Chase broke up with me." This got House's attention; he sat up, an arm slung over the back of the sofa. "He's taking a job in Roanoke," Wilson finished evenly. He took the seat on the couch that House's feet had just vacated.
"I know." House watched Wilson from the corner of his eye. "I wrote his recommendation."
"Oh."
House hesitated. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Wilson propped his feet on the coffee table, "I think I am."