Fic: The Hand That Feeds
Title: The Hand That Feeds
Author: doctorpancakes
Pairing: Hilson
Rating: PG-13, probably
Disclaimer: I own an ill-considered box of reese puffs cereal (it tastes like peanut butter. WEIRD. I don't own House, his show, or his boyfriend.
Author's Note: This has taken me way too long to get out there, so big apologies for that. Follows on from those previous stories, so I guess go read those first if you like reading things that make sense. Also, this is pretty silly, and most of it has been written and sitting gathering dust on my hard drive for like a month now. You've been warned.
Wilson had already been up and about for some time when House rolled, half-conscious, into the kitchen that morning. He was wrestling with a solid brick of a malt loaf that refused to produce neat slices no matter how hard he sawed into it with the bread knife, because someone had put it in the freezer without slicing it first.
“How are you awake?” House asked, incredulous as hell.
“How did you think it was a good idea to put the malt loaf in the freezer unsliced?” Wilson replied.
“Just consider it your morning workout;” House yawned, trying to aim the coffee pot in the general direction of his mug as he poured, with moderate success. “Rock-solid malt loaf's cheaper than a gym membership. Morning, Wilson.”
Wilson grumbled quietly to himself, trying his darndest not to mind when the bread knife skipped, leaving him with an uneven half-slice of bread to try and make toast out of without becoming electrocuted. Such was life with House: a little chaotic, a little disorderly, but never a dull moment. Wilson was - dare he say it - decidedly chipper about the turn their relationship had taken some weeks previous. Hitherto, he may well have imagined that he might one day meet some nice new lady friend, and House would once again grudgingly relinquish his residency chez Wilson; now, however, he was beyond pleased not to have to choose between friendship and relationship again. It was like being asked if he wanted the pecan pie or the crème brûlée for dessert, and saying yes to both. Indeed, it was precisely like an abundance of dessert, thought Wilson: messy and outrageous and comforting and the kind of thing one never tires of at the end of the day. What, me a glutton for punishment? he thought. Heavens, no.
“Morning, House,” said Wilson, giving House's arm a light squeeze as he passed him.
“So... what are you up to today?” asked House.
“My... job?” Wilson paused for a moment, before acquiescing to the unspoken request that he respond in kind by asking: “You?”
“Same.” House ripped open a packet of cinnamon Pop Tarts and started to munch on one, untoasted. “I'm really getting bored with trying to find creative ways to avoid Cuddy.”
Ah. Cuddy. The awkwardness. He wondered if Cuddy knew that he and House were, you know, special roommates.
“Yeah. That. So does she know we're...?” Wilson lowered his gaze meaningfully toward House, pointing to himself, then House, then himself again, raising his eyebrows.
“You mean...” House lowered his voice to an almost imperceptible whisper, eyes darting about the room as though in a paranoid search for eavesdroppers, “sweetie-pies?”
“Yes House. Sweetie-pies,” grumbled Wilson, rubbing his temples in an attempt to avert his oncoming headache. “Does she know?”
“No, does your mom?” asked House, leaving a puddle of sarcasm on the floor beneath him.
“Well no, not yet, but she - that's beside the point. I think we should probably tell Cuddy about... us, before she hears it from a third party, don't you think?” asked Wilson.
“It's not really any of her business, is it?” asked House, mouth full of pastry crumbles and crunchy frosting.
“Well, given that the two of you have a, a history - “
“Ancient history,” corrected House.
“You broke up like three months ago!” exclaimed Wilson, exasperated.
“So? You're not exactly Mr. Disclosure, are you? How many times did I only accidentally find out you'd been dating somebody? Hell, do you phone up all your exes every time you start seeing somebody new? 'Oh hi Julie, just a heads-up to let you know I've started banging one of the lunch ladies from the canteen! Yeah, the redhead, how'd you guess? She's got this cute little - '”
“This is different, House,” Wilson cut him off before House's hand gestures could become any more embarrassingly graphic. “None of my exes are also my boss. You work in the same building and see each other almost every day. You don't think she'd feel a little betrayed if she had to find out about us from, I dunno, Foreman?”
“Who says it's any of Foreman's business either? You two don't have a... history, do you?” House's tone was decidedly dripping with mockery. Wilson had to grant that his decision to be upfront about a relationship was somewhat unprecedented in recent years, but felt his decision was justified: after all, anything to encourage the least possible amount of workplace hostility, he thought.
“Har har,” he deadpanned. “I just meant, it's kind of inevitable that the people we work with are going to know, and it's not like it's some sort of guilty secret, so I just thought it might soften the blow a bit if one of us were to tell Cuddy first. I'll do it.”
“You'll do it? I'm the one with the... ancient history,” House observed.
“She's a lot less likely to assume you're screwing with her for laughs if it comes from me,” countered Wilson.
“You know, in that case, maybe I should - “
“House, don't.” Wilson gave House his most pleading look, laced with a little flirt and as much attempted eye sex as he could muster at that time of morning.
“Fine,” House acquiesced. It was decided. That morning at work, Wilson would take a short trip to Cuddy's office, have a brief chat, and it would be done. Easy as pie. What was the worst that could happen?
---
Wilson straightened his tie, adjusted his jacket, then straightened his tie again. Then fixed his hair. Again. This would be easy, he thought. He just had to have a word with the Dean of Medicine, his colleague and friend, to let her know in no uncertain terms that he was doing her ex-boyfriend, who also worked for her. Yeah, this would be easy. What's the worst that could happen? Certainly she wasn't so volatile and small-minded as to take it badly. But if she did... he shuddered to think. Hell hath no fury, and all that. Best not to dwell on the matter. After all, it was inevitable that she and House would at some point start seeing other people, and they were all adults, weren't they? He knocked on Cuddy's office door and poked his head in, sheepishly.
“Wilson, what can I do for you?” Cuddy looked tired.
“Can we talk for a minute?” asked Wilson.
“We are talking,” said Cuddy.
“I know. I mean, about something personal?” he said, shuffling his feet.
“Yeah. What.” Something about Cuddy’s overall attitude said at once that she didn’t have time for this shit, and that this was clearly not the best time he could have chosen to have a word.
“It's about House,” he said.
“Oh God, what has he done now?” she asked, rubbing her temples.
“Nothing. It's just, I mean, I guess I thought you should know, given that you two have a history - ”
“Ancient history,” she said, cutting him off.
“Why does everyone keep saying that? You broke up like three months ago!” exclaimed Wilson, thoroughly confused by the whole thing.
“Look. Wilson, we went out, it didn't work, we broke up. I'm over it. What's your point?” Cuddy glared at him. Yup, thought Wilson, this definitely wasn’t a good time to have a chat.
“Before it gets round to you via the hospital grapevine, I thought you should know he's seeing somebody.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay... well, just between us, not that it's any of my business, but do you think it's serious?”
“I wouldn't be telling you about it if I didn't think it was,” Wilson smiled a little.
“Hmph. Okay. There's just one thing I don't understand,” said Cuddy. “I can't imagine House was too chickenshit to tell me himself, so why did he send in his lackey to tell me he has a new girlfriend?”
“Because... I'm House's new girlfriend,” mumbled Wilson quietly.
Cuddy blinked. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Wilson shrugged. “No kidding!”
“Look, this is exactly the kind of immature bullshit I'd expect from House, but - actually no, come to think of it, I expect it from you too. But I mean, as far as playing-stupid-head-games-with-Cuddy goes, this is the saddest mindfuck you guys have ever come up with,” said Cuddy with an exasperated sigh, returning her attentions to a file folder on her desk.
“Lisa, this isn't a - whatever. Believe me, or don't. Just thought I'd do you the courtesy of letting you know, instead of hearing it second hand from, I dunno, Nick,” said Wilson.
“Who's Nick?” she looked up from her paperwork.
“You know, Greek fellow, the paramedic?”
Cuddy stared blankly.
“The one with the lazy eye?” he offered.
“Oh, that Nick. What does Nick have to do with any of this?” she asked.
“Nothing, I just - “
“Is Nick House's new girlfriend too?”
“What? No! I just meant, oh, never mind.”
---
“Well, that went poorly,” sighed Wilson, sinking into his chair.
“What, did she fire you?” asked House, placing a preemptively supportive hand firmly on Wilson's shoulder.
“What? No! No, she just - ” he broke off, momentarily distracted by the gentle pressure House was applying to his tension-wound neck. “Oh hell, that's... keep, keep doing that. No, she just... didn't believe me.”
“Huh.” House had stopped squishing Wilson's neck. House was thinking. “Probably could have predicted that, I guess.”
“Well, that's that I suppose. Can't say we didn't try,” Wilson shrugged, taking a sip of his now-cold coffee. A moment passed in resigned silence.
Vvvvt vvvt vvvvt, went House’s phone, which skitted across the surface of the desk.
“Text, hang on,” he said, flipping it open. “It’s Cuddy.”
House brought the phone around, displaying the text to Wilson. It read:
From: Cuddy
WTF
“Told you it went badly,” said Wilson.
House was too busy composing a response to Cuddy to acknowledge Wilson’s statement with anything more than a small grunt. As he hit send, he said:
“I have a plan,” House announced. “Leave everything to me.”
“I have a bad feeling about this. Should I have a bad feeling about this?” Wilson regarded House with mild foreboding.
“You'll enjoy this. Trust me,” said House, a decidedly mischievous glint in his eye.
Why this last statement filled Wilson with utter dread, he could not fathom.
Author: doctorpancakes
Pairing: Hilson
Rating: PG-13, probably
Disclaimer: I own an ill-considered box of reese puffs cereal (it tastes like peanut butter. WEIRD. I don't own House, his show, or his boyfriend.
Author's Note: This has taken me way too long to get out there, so big apologies for that. Follows on from those previous stories, so I guess go read those first if you like reading things that make sense. Also, this is pretty silly, and most of it has been written and sitting gathering dust on my hard drive for like a month now. You've been warned.
Wilson had already been up and about for some time when House rolled, half-conscious, into the kitchen that morning. He was wrestling with a solid brick of a malt loaf that refused to produce neat slices no matter how hard he sawed into it with the bread knife, because someone had put it in the freezer without slicing it first.
“How are you awake?” House asked, incredulous as hell.
“How did you think it was a good idea to put the malt loaf in the freezer unsliced?” Wilson replied.
“Just consider it your morning workout;” House yawned, trying to aim the coffee pot in the general direction of his mug as he poured, with moderate success. “Rock-solid malt loaf's cheaper than a gym membership. Morning, Wilson.”
Wilson grumbled quietly to himself, trying his darndest not to mind when the bread knife skipped, leaving him with an uneven half-slice of bread to try and make toast out of without becoming electrocuted. Such was life with House: a little chaotic, a little disorderly, but never a dull moment. Wilson was - dare he say it - decidedly chipper about the turn their relationship had taken some weeks previous. Hitherto, he may well have imagined that he might one day meet some nice new lady friend, and House would once again grudgingly relinquish his residency chez Wilson; now, however, he was beyond pleased not to have to choose between friendship and relationship again. It was like being asked if he wanted the pecan pie or the crème brûlée for dessert, and saying yes to both. Indeed, it was precisely like an abundance of dessert, thought Wilson: messy and outrageous and comforting and the kind of thing one never tires of at the end of the day. What, me a glutton for punishment? he thought. Heavens, no.
“Morning, House,” said Wilson, giving House's arm a light squeeze as he passed him.
“So... what are you up to today?” asked House.
“My... job?” Wilson paused for a moment, before acquiescing to the unspoken request that he respond in kind by asking: “You?”
“Same.” House ripped open a packet of cinnamon Pop Tarts and started to munch on one, untoasted. “I'm really getting bored with trying to find creative ways to avoid Cuddy.”
Ah. Cuddy. The awkwardness. He wondered if Cuddy knew that he and House were, you know, special roommates.
“Yeah. That. So does she know we're...?” Wilson lowered his gaze meaningfully toward House, pointing to himself, then House, then himself again, raising his eyebrows.
“You mean...” House lowered his voice to an almost imperceptible whisper, eyes darting about the room as though in a paranoid search for eavesdroppers, “sweetie-pies?”
“Yes House. Sweetie-pies,” grumbled Wilson, rubbing his temples in an attempt to avert his oncoming headache. “Does she know?”
“No, does your mom?” asked House, leaving a puddle of sarcasm on the floor beneath him.
“Well no, not yet, but she - that's beside the point. I think we should probably tell Cuddy about... us, before she hears it from a third party, don't you think?” asked Wilson.
“It's not really any of her business, is it?” asked House, mouth full of pastry crumbles and crunchy frosting.
“Well, given that the two of you have a, a history - “
“Ancient history,” corrected House.
“You broke up like three months ago!” exclaimed Wilson, exasperated.
“So? You're not exactly Mr. Disclosure, are you? How many times did I only accidentally find out you'd been dating somebody? Hell, do you phone up all your exes every time you start seeing somebody new? 'Oh hi Julie, just a heads-up to let you know I've started banging one of the lunch ladies from the canteen! Yeah, the redhead, how'd you guess? She's got this cute little - '”
“This is different, House,” Wilson cut him off before House's hand gestures could become any more embarrassingly graphic. “None of my exes are also my boss. You work in the same building and see each other almost every day. You don't think she'd feel a little betrayed if she had to find out about us from, I dunno, Foreman?”
“Who says it's any of Foreman's business either? You two don't have a... history, do you?” House's tone was decidedly dripping with mockery. Wilson had to grant that his decision to be upfront about a relationship was somewhat unprecedented in recent years, but felt his decision was justified: after all, anything to encourage the least possible amount of workplace hostility, he thought.
“Har har,” he deadpanned. “I just meant, it's kind of inevitable that the people we work with are going to know, and it's not like it's some sort of guilty secret, so I just thought it might soften the blow a bit if one of us were to tell Cuddy first. I'll do it.”
“You'll do it? I'm the one with the... ancient history,” House observed.
“She's a lot less likely to assume you're screwing with her for laughs if it comes from me,” countered Wilson.
“You know, in that case, maybe I should - “
“House, don't.” Wilson gave House his most pleading look, laced with a little flirt and as much attempted eye sex as he could muster at that time of morning.
“Fine,” House acquiesced. It was decided. That morning at work, Wilson would take a short trip to Cuddy's office, have a brief chat, and it would be done. Easy as pie. What was the worst that could happen?
---
Wilson straightened his tie, adjusted his jacket, then straightened his tie again. Then fixed his hair. Again. This would be easy, he thought. He just had to have a word with the Dean of Medicine, his colleague and friend, to let her know in no uncertain terms that he was doing her ex-boyfriend, who also worked for her. Yeah, this would be easy. What's the worst that could happen? Certainly she wasn't so volatile and small-minded as to take it badly. But if she did... he shuddered to think. Hell hath no fury, and all that. Best not to dwell on the matter. After all, it was inevitable that she and House would at some point start seeing other people, and they were all adults, weren't they? He knocked on Cuddy's office door and poked his head in, sheepishly.
“Wilson, what can I do for you?” Cuddy looked tired.
“Can we talk for a minute?” asked Wilson.
“We are talking,” said Cuddy.
“I know. I mean, about something personal?” he said, shuffling his feet.
“Yeah. What.” Something about Cuddy’s overall attitude said at once that she didn’t have time for this shit, and that this was clearly not the best time he could have chosen to have a word.
“It's about House,” he said.
“Oh God, what has he done now?” she asked, rubbing her temples.
“Nothing. It's just, I mean, I guess I thought you should know, given that you two have a history - ”
“Ancient history,” she said, cutting him off.
“Why does everyone keep saying that? You broke up like three months ago!” exclaimed Wilson, thoroughly confused by the whole thing.
“Look. Wilson, we went out, it didn't work, we broke up. I'm over it. What's your point?” Cuddy glared at him. Yup, thought Wilson, this definitely wasn’t a good time to have a chat.
“Before it gets round to you via the hospital grapevine, I thought you should know he's seeing somebody.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay... well, just between us, not that it's any of my business, but do you think it's serious?”
“I wouldn't be telling you about it if I didn't think it was,” Wilson smiled a little.
“Hmph. Okay. There's just one thing I don't understand,” said Cuddy. “I can't imagine House was too chickenshit to tell me himself, so why did he send in his lackey to tell me he has a new girlfriend?”
“Because... I'm House's new girlfriend,” mumbled Wilson quietly.
Cuddy blinked. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Wilson shrugged. “No kidding!”
“Look, this is exactly the kind of immature bullshit I'd expect from House, but - actually no, come to think of it, I expect it from you too. But I mean, as far as playing-stupid-head-games-with-Cuddy goes, this is the saddest mindfuck you guys have ever come up with,” said Cuddy with an exasperated sigh, returning her attentions to a file folder on her desk.
“Lisa, this isn't a - whatever. Believe me, or don't. Just thought I'd do you the courtesy of letting you know, instead of hearing it second hand from, I dunno, Nick,” said Wilson.
“Who's Nick?” she looked up from her paperwork.
“You know, Greek fellow, the paramedic?”
Cuddy stared blankly.
“The one with the lazy eye?” he offered.
“Oh, that Nick. What does Nick have to do with any of this?” she asked.
“Nothing, I just - “
“Is Nick House's new girlfriend too?”
“What? No! I just meant, oh, never mind.”
---
“Well, that went poorly,” sighed Wilson, sinking into his chair.
“What, did she fire you?” asked House, placing a preemptively supportive hand firmly on Wilson's shoulder.
“What? No! No, she just - ” he broke off, momentarily distracted by the gentle pressure House was applying to his tension-wound neck. “Oh hell, that's... keep, keep doing that. No, she just... didn't believe me.”
“Huh.” House had stopped squishing Wilson's neck. House was thinking. “Probably could have predicted that, I guess.”
“Well, that's that I suppose. Can't say we didn't try,” Wilson shrugged, taking a sip of his now-cold coffee. A moment passed in resigned silence.
Vvvvt vvvt vvvvt, went House’s phone, which skitted across the surface of the desk.
“Text, hang on,” he said, flipping it open. “It’s Cuddy.”
House brought the phone around, displaying the text to Wilson. It read:
From: Cuddy
WTF
“Told you it went badly,” said Wilson.
House was too busy composing a response to Cuddy to acknowledge Wilson’s statement with anything more than a small grunt. As he hit send, he said:
“I have a plan,” House announced. “Leave everything to me.”
“I have a bad feeling about this. Should I have a bad feeling about this?” Wilson regarded House with mild foreboding.
“You'll enjoy this. Trust me,” said House, a decidedly mischievous glint in his eye.
Why this last statement filled Wilson with utter dread, he could not fathom.