FIC: "Australian Hold 'Em", Greg House/James Wilson
Title: Australian Hold ‘Em
Authors: amazonqueenkate and hawkeyecat
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters: Dr. Gregory House, Dr. James Wilson
Community: slash_me_twice
Prompt: 028. Innocence
Word Count: 3,054
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer: Sadly not ours. Pity. We could use the money.
Authors' Notes: Spoilers for “Sex Kills”. Also, shameless Aussie-mocking.
Summary: So how did Chase know about poker? And why didn't Wilson?
It all started simply enough.
"So. How does Chase know you play poker?" Retrospectively, if Wilson had known what his question would spawn, he…would have asked it anyway.
House shot Wilson a bemused look. "What, he can't know anything before you? I'll write a memo. 'Send all test results to Wilson before Chase sees them.' Cameron would be running after you constantly." Not exactly a pleasant thought.
Wilson rolled his eyes and sunk onto the couch. "Test results are different from poker," he pointed out. "For one, there's more paperwork involved."
"Cards are technically paper," House countered, walking toward the kitchen.
"True, but they're not work. Unless you combine business and pleasure."
"Me? Do that? Never."
"Right." Wilson crossed his arms over his chest, watching House as he tossed open the fridge. "So… You care to answer my question?"
House emerged with a beer and a wry twist to his mouth. "So he knew I play poker. Why's it matter?"
"It's not exactly something you advertise. Did he ask?"
"He's worked for me for two years. You think I let him sit around with his crosswords all the time?" House returned to the couch, taking a seat beside Wilson.
"Wouldn't be the first time." Wilson kicked up his heels onto the coffee table and reached for the nearest journal. "Have you two played?"
House raised the bottle to his lips, then paused and cocked his head. "That's interesting."
Wilson quirked an eyebrow as he flipped open the journal. "What's interesting?"
"Your reaction to Chase knowing something before you." How could that possibly be interesting?
"Yes. Right. My surprise at the reigning king of nondisclosure sharing personal information with his underling? Totally inappropriate."
He snorted and took a swig of his beer before replying. "Poker isn't exactly personal."
"It's more personal than what you usually offer," Wilson pointed out. And he hadn’t told Wilson, which was strange, if only because of the Chase-knowing part.
"Assuming I offered and he didn't try to get me to play."
"Does he even know how to play?" Wilson flipped another page in the journal.
He could almost feel House's eyes on him. "He plays doctor better than he plays poker," House allowed.
Somehow, Wilson's next breath caught in his throat funny, and he made a choked snorting sound. "You've played with him?"
He could see House's arm reaching forward, setting down his beer on the table, and the couch creaked and shifted. Great. Now it felt like he was being studied. "'Played' is an overstatement. More like 'beat mercilessly'."
"So he owes you his first born child?" he quipped in response, and kept looking at the journal.
"Assuming he ever wants children. And cons a woman into having one."
"Well, there are worse things to owe you, I suppose."
"Why do you even care that he knows?" House prodded.
He shrugged and flicked another page over in the journal. "I don't care. I just think it's curious."
"That he knows I play poker, or that he knew before you? Which is kind of weird, come to think of it."
"A combination, really." He paused, closing the journal. "Why did you tell Chase before me? Afraid I'd beat you?"
"Why does it matter? Unless you're…" House smirked at him. "Jealous."
Wilson allowed the word a beat of silence before he snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yes, House. I am insanely jealous of Chase. Over poker.”
"Then it doesn't matter why Chase found out I play poker before you." House swiped his journal and flipped it open.
"Give me that," he demanded, reaching for the journal again. "And it's just strange."
House refused to relinquish his hold. "Not that strange. There're things Cuddy knows that you don't."
"Not things about your hobbies," Wilson insisted, tugging at the damn journal.
"Might as well ask how he knew about hookers." There was a distinct possibility of ripping the thing.
"You're a little more open about what you theoretically do than what you really do." He wasn't going to let House win this one, so he pulled harder.
"Except hookers were also a reality," House pointed out, smirking down at the journal. Which he was apparently still reading.
"And probably hilarious, seeing his reaction. You can't really shock him with poker."
House let go of the journal abruptly, which Wilson hadn't expected. "Interesting."
His elbow banged into the arm of the couch, hard, and he cursed under his breath. "What's interesting?" he demanded again, rubbing his now-bruised elbow.
"You're more interested in poker, which Chase knew and you didn't, than the hookers, which involves my sex life and you both knew."
He rolled his eyes. "House, everyone in the tri-state area knows about your hookers."
The shrug he got was apparently intended to concede the point. "But Chase knew about poker, and you didn't, and that's apparently a crime."
"It's not a crime, it's just odd. Unless those two are synonyms. It's been a while since I've taken an English class."
"How is it odd?" House demanded, reaching again for his beer.
"I don't know. Not mentioning a hobby to your best friend but mentioning it to your underling? Completely normal."
That earned him a smirk. "You are jealous. Though over poker is weird. I'd think it'd be more over the pretty blond thing."
"I am not jealous," he repeated with a roll of his eyes. He was irked, not jealous. There was a difference. "I'm just surprised you haven't taken me for all I'm worth yet."
House leered openly, and badly. "Oh, I've taken you plenty. Just didn't involve cards."
He rolled his eyes. "Even more incentive to beat me at cards, then," he replied, and opened the journal again.
Much to his surprise, House let the subject go and started bothering him about dinner instead. Okay, the dinner part wasn't that much of a surprise, but dropping the subject of his supposed jealousy was.
At work the next day, Wilson found himself swamped with patients and the need to deal with various members of his department. He didn't have much time to go to his own office, let alone steal House's coffee. It was only on his way back from talking to one of his more recent hires that he noticed Chase lounging in one of House's chairs, facing House, who was saying something. Instead of a frown or smirk, though, he looked like he was nearly smiling.
Smiling. Greg House did not smile, unless he was tying Wilson's shoelaces into Gordian knots or scarring Cameron's delicate mind for life. Wilson tried to brush it off as a fluke-maybe he'd just read a witty internet article on the evils of hospital administration-and went about his work… But that didn't stop him from swinging past House's office a few hours later, just in case.
House and the others were gathered in the conference room, whiteboard covered in scribbles and books open on the table, and House was leaning over Chase's shoulder while talking, peering down a some chart or file. His chest practically rested right against Chase's shoulder.
Probably a rational explanation for that, Wilson told himself. Maybe House just had to see whatever Chase was holding said.
But why not take the folder from Chase?
So Wilson went back about his business, visited a few more patients, and tried not to imagine exactly what kind of stakes House and Chase had played for during that one illustrious poker game.
At least, until he passed House's office the third time.
This time, Chase was perched on the edge of House's desk, laughing over something and tossing the red ball in the air. And House wasn't prodding him to get off.
And for that, well, Wilson's next appointment could wait ten minutes.
Wilson entered House's office before he realized that, dammit, this gave credence to House's jealousy theory. Too late now.
"House," he greeted, suddenly enough that Chase very nearly dropped the ball. "Need you for a minute."
House swatted at Chase with a folder. "Go check that rash."
"Right, boss," Chase replied flippantly, sliding off the desk and to his feet. He nodded to Wilson as he brushed past.
Wilson watched him leave in a manner he considered "not glaring". "So," he said once the door had shut, his hands finding their way to his hips. "Interesting case?"
House kicked his feet up onto the recently vacated desk. "Considering it's one of my cases, that's a stupid question."
Nodding, Wilson opened his mouth to say something - and then realized he really hadn’t prepared anything new to say. He frowned slightly and groped at the first words that came to mind. "Presents with a rash, I take it?"
"Since I sent Chase to check on it that would make sense."
Wilson could feel his expression twitch. "Where're the others?"
"Cameron's in the lab, and Foreman's…somewhere." House shrugged. "Why?"
"Curious," he replied, mimicking House's shrug.
And there it was again - the studying. "Or wondering why Chase was in here?" House questioned.
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Why would I care?"
"Did you actually need to talk to me about something?"
…okay, point. He paused for a moment, considering an answer that didn't involve lying through his teeth. "Just wanted to know how your case was going," he…fibbed.
"And…that couldn't be asked with Chase here?" Damn House, Chase, and wherever House had gotten his observance, curiosity, whatever.
"I never said Chase had to leave."
"Could've just talked to me with him here." House: 3. Wilson: 0. Great.
He shrugged again, for lack of a better reaction. "He's the one that fled the scene of the crime."
Possibly the wrong word choice, judging by the way House's eyebrows rose. "Crime now?"
Wilson cursed inwardly at whatever mental slip had let that out. "Figurative language. It's like calling Cuddy a cheap call girl. You don't really mean it."
"He didn't flee. I kicked him out." He leaned back in his chair. "And what'd you really want?"
And House kind of had kicked him out, come to think of it. "Then that's your problem. I didn't request a private audience."
"If you needed me and didn't care if Chase was here, you would have just said whatever it was.” House kept looking at him, which was staring to get on Wilson’s last nerve. “So why'd you want him gone?"
"Why'd you assume I wanted him gone in the first place?" he retorted.
"Thought I just explained that." He really, really hated the smirk House got at times.
"Never mind. You know what? I have a meeting. With a patient." He threw up his hands and started for the door, mostly so they wouldn't have to talk about this.
"Yeah, and you're not jealous," House called after him.
All through his meeting, chart updates, and time spent with patients, Wilson tried to pretend House didn't have a point. After all, what was there to be jealous of with Chase? He had a funny accent, daddy issues, and a penchant for sleeping with drugged-up coworkers. House would never get involved with someone that emotionally…messy.
But Chase had lasted with House for more than two years. He could put up with House, even liked him. And House…liked Chase. Plus, Chase was pretty.
Wilson decided he really, really did not like the kid.
He took this thought with him as he went back to the apartment, driving the long route in autopilot. Maybe he could lure Chase into a false sense of security and shave that pretty blond hair right off his pretty blond head. Well, okay, that was petty, but then again, so was House's stupid smugness at the whole jealous thing. So what if he was a little jealous? Just a little, mind you, nothing to write home about.
And making chicken Kiev had really been the plan all along. It had nothing to do with being pissed off at Chase and irritated with House.
Or, well, annoyed with himself.
By the time House got home, he'd segued from taking out his annoyance on chicken to mashing potatoes by hand, the metal of the masher clinking so loudly against the bowl that he didn't even hear the door. Or maybe it was the louder-than-necessary Led Zeppelin he'd turned on in the stereo. He wasn't sure.
He did notice, though, when the music was turned down. And when two hands landed on the counter to either side of him. "You are incredibly stupid," House informed him. "And trying to deafen yourself."
Wilson rolled his eyes and kept on the mashed potatoes. "And why is that?"
"Music was about twice as loud as it should've been. Can't hear your patients thank you if you lose your hearing."
He snorted and shook his head. A few more lumps in the potatoes died noble deaths. "This from the man who listens to his iPod so loudly I can hear it in the next room."
"But I don't actually talk to patients, so it doesn't matter."
"You talk to your underlings."
"Who can just write whatever they want me to know. Wasn't there an issue about one of them?" House rested his chin on Wilson's shoulder, and he considered shrugging him off.
"Yes,” he answered, gritting his teeth. “I always did think Cameron was too perky."
He could practically feel House smirking against his shoulder. "She is. No question about that. The problem was more about the blond one, though."
And again. He somehow resisted the urge to flick potato in House’s general direction. "Do we have to beat the dead horse?"
"Not animal cruelty if it's dead," House mused.
"And about equally useful."
"Good to know you don't actually have a problem, then."
Sighing, Wilson jabbed the potatoes one last time with the masher and managed to turn around to look House in the eye. "I doubt you'd believe I didn't even if I didn't."
"Which means, in short, you do actually have a problem." House didn't sound as smug as Wilson expected.
"Is it so bad if I do have a problem?" he questioned.
"Except for the part where he's my employee and has reason to talk to me, not really. Kinda flattering, actually."
"Flattering?" He rolled his eyes. "And like his being your employee would stop you."
"The employee part, no," House conceded. "The parts where he's more fucked up than us combined and I'm with someone would, though."
And as much as Wilson hated to admit it, when he put it that way… "I'm not fucked up," he insisted, crossing his arms.
"No," House drawled. "Three marriages and a sexual identity crisis before you hit forty are normal."
"I have always been an overachiever," he admitted, allowing himself a hint of a smile.
House smirked back at him. "Not always so stupid, though."
"I thought I'd try it out. A new look. If this doesn't work, there's always plastic surgery. Perhaps a tattoo."
"One that says, 'I cheated on my first two wives and the third exacted retribution for them, so now I'm paranoid,'" House suggested. "Though that's kinda long."
"I'll come up with an acronym. Or a mnemonic device. Something catchy." That would hopefully get them off this damned topic.
"Try HDC." …or not.
Wilson frowned after a few seconds of trying to decode the acronym and only getting “House Does Chase.” "And that stands for…?"
"House doesn't cheat," House informed him bluntly. "Or you could go with IAI-I'm an idiot."
"Only if you get one that says 'smartass,'" he suggested.
House brushed a kiss across his lips, stubble catching lightly on his skin. "All of which would be true."
Wilson sighed. "Yeah, I know," he admitted.
"So the whole being-an-idiot thing. All brought on by poker?"
"Chase mentioned in passing that you played, and it was news to me." He shrugged.
House rolled his eyes. "Which resulted in you being jealous. That's…weirdly endearing."
"Well, I couldn't be normally endearing,” Wilson noted, and then paused a beat to actually consider that option. “Unless, of course, you'd prefer I send you flowers and chocolates on all the major holidays."
From the looks of it, House wasn’t impressed. "Now that's trite. Jealousy of one of my employees hasn't been done before, though."
"Don't worry," Wilson assured him, "because after this, it won't be happening again."
"Nah, you'll move on to Cuddy," House mocked him.
"She does have the bigger breasts," he retorted.
"I've noticed. Daily. She's also got the boss thing going on."
He smirked. "Can't be with someone more powerful than you?"
"Not when I've known her since she was a lowly undergrad."
"I suppose I'm safe, then," Wilson commented with a slight smirk.
House snorted at him. "Also safe from coup by blond Brit."
"Australian," he corrected, rolling his eyes.
"If I ever start actually calling him Australian, you can be worried," House promised him. Which...was more reassuring than it had any right to be.
Wilson snorted. "I'll keep that in mind."
If, at work the next day when Wilson sat in on the differential, he hovered close to House and shot nastier-than-usual glares at Chase, House didn't comment.
Chase, on the other hand, looked alternately confused and terrified, which suited Wilson just fine. After all, that way, he'd be more concerned about what had pissed Wilson off than sucking up to the boss.
And maybe-just maybe-the next time House volunteered some personal information about poker, hookers, or even his thoughts on the weather, Chase would think twice before running to brag about it to Wilson.
In the meantime, though, inducing a little paranoia didn't hurt.
Especially considering Chase looked about ready to come crawling to Wilson instead to beg forgiveness for whatever he may have done. Though he wouldn't; Chase seemed to know Wilson wasn't exactly a fan of his-something Wilson decided was a distinct advantage.
He'd have to remember that, and utilize it sometime. An metaphorical ace under the table, just in case.
Not that he'd ever need it. This was House, after all.
And an Australian man-slut who was not above sleeping with high coworkers. Considering House was perpetually somewhat stoned, that was a bad combination.
No, Wilson decided, he'd definitely keep the "disapproving superior" thing in case he needed it.
Provided, of course, that House didn't kill Chase for propositioning him first.
Authors: amazonqueenkate and hawkeyecat
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters: Dr. Gregory House, Dr. James Wilson
Community: slash_me_twice
Prompt: 028. Innocence
Word Count: 3,054
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer: Sadly not ours. Pity. We could use the money.
Authors' Notes: Spoilers for “Sex Kills”. Also, shameless Aussie-mocking.
Summary: So how did Chase know about poker? And why didn't Wilson?
It all started simply enough.
"So. How does Chase know you play poker?" Retrospectively, if Wilson had known what his question would spawn, he…would have asked it anyway.
House shot Wilson a bemused look. "What, he can't know anything before you? I'll write a memo. 'Send all test results to Wilson before Chase sees them.' Cameron would be running after you constantly." Not exactly a pleasant thought.
Wilson rolled his eyes and sunk onto the couch. "Test results are different from poker," he pointed out. "For one, there's more paperwork involved."
"Cards are technically paper," House countered, walking toward the kitchen.
"True, but they're not work. Unless you combine business and pleasure."
"Me? Do that? Never."
"Right." Wilson crossed his arms over his chest, watching House as he tossed open the fridge. "So… You care to answer my question?"
House emerged with a beer and a wry twist to his mouth. "So he knew I play poker. Why's it matter?"
"It's not exactly something you advertise. Did he ask?"
"He's worked for me for two years. You think I let him sit around with his crosswords all the time?" House returned to the couch, taking a seat beside Wilson.
"Wouldn't be the first time." Wilson kicked up his heels onto the coffee table and reached for the nearest journal. "Have you two played?"
House raised the bottle to his lips, then paused and cocked his head. "That's interesting."
Wilson quirked an eyebrow as he flipped open the journal. "What's interesting?"
"Your reaction to Chase knowing something before you." How could that possibly be interesting?
"Yes. Right. My surprise at the reigning king of nondisclosure sharing personal information with his underling? Totally inappropriate."
He snorted and took a swig of his beer before replying. "Poker isn't exactly personal."
"It's more personal than what you usually offer," Wilson pointed out. And he hadn’t told Wilson, which was strange, if only because of the Chase-knowing part.
"Assuming I offered and he didn't try to get me to play."
"Does he even know how to play?" Wilson flipped another page in the journal.
He could almost feel House's eyes on him. "He plays doctor better than he plays poker," House allowed.
Somehow, Wilson's next breath caught in his throat funny, and he made a choked snorting sound. "You've played with him?"
He could see House's arm reaching forward, setting down his beer on the table, and the couch creaked and shifted. Great. Now it felt like he was being studied. "'Played' is an overstatement. More like 'beat mercilessly'."
"So he owes you his first born child?" he quipped in response, and kept looking at the journal.
"Assuming he ever wants children. And cons a woman into having one."
"Well, there are worse things to owe you, I suppose."
"Why do you even care that he knows?" House prodded.
He shrugged and flicked another page over in the journal. "I don't care. I just think it's curious."
"That he knows I play poker, or that he knew before you? Which is kind of weird, come to think of it."
"A combination, really." He paused, closing the journal. "Why did you tell Chase before me? Afraid I'd beat you?"
"Why does it matter? Unless you're…" House smirked at him. "Jealous."
Wilson allowed the word a beat of silence before he snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yes, House. I am insanely jealous of Chase. Over poker.”
"Then it doesn't matter why Chase found out I play poker before you." House swiped his journal and flipped it open.
"Give me that," he demanded, reaching for the journal again. "And it's just strange."
House refused to relinquish his hold. "Not that strange. There're things Cuddy knows that you don't."
"Not things about your hobbies," Wilson insisted, tugging at the damn journal.
"Might as well ask how he knew about hookers." There was a distinct possibility of ripping the thing.
"You're a little more open about what you theoretically do than what you really do." He wasn't going to let House win this one, so he pulled harder.
"Except hookers were also a reality," House pointed out, smirking down at the journal. Which he was apparently still reading.
"And probably hilarious, seeing his reaction. You can't really shock him with poker."
House let go of the journal abruptly, which Wilson hadn't expected. "Interesting."
His elbow banged into the arm of the couch, hard, and he cursed under his breath. "What's interesting?" he demanded again, rubbing his now-bruised elbow.
"You're more interested in poker, which Chase knew and you didn't, than the hookers, which involves my sex life and you both knew."
He rolled his eyes. "House, everyone in the tri-state area knows about your hookers."
The shrug he got was apparently intended to concede the point. "But Chase knew about poker, and you didn't, and that's apparently a crime."
"It's not a crime, it's just odd. Unless those two are synonyms. It's been a while since I've taken an English class."
"How is it odd?" House demanded, reaching again for his beer.
"I don't know. Not mentioning a hobby to your best friend but mentioning it to your underling? Completely normal."
That earned him a smirk. "You are jealous. Though over poker is weird. I'd think it'd be more over the pretty blond thing."
"I am not jealous," he repeated with a roll of his eyes. He was irked, not jealous. There was a difference. "I'm just surprised you haven't taken me for all I'm worth yet."
House leered openly, and badly. "Oh, I've taken you plenty. Just didn't involve cards."
He rolled his eyes. "Even more incentive to beat me at cards, then," he replied, and opened the journal again.
Much to his surprise, House let the subject go and started bothering him about dinner instead. Okay, the dinner part wasn't that much of a surprise, but dropping the subject of his supposed jealousy was.
At work the next day, Wilson found himself swamped with patients and the need to deal with various members of his department. He didn't have much time to go to his own office, let alone steal House's coffee. It was only on his way back from talking to one of his more recent hires that he noticed Chase lounging in one of House's chairs, facing House, who was saying something. Instead of a frown or smirk, though, he looked like he was nearly smiling.
Smiling. Greg House did not smile, unless he was tying Wilson's shoelaces into Gordian knots or scarring Cameron's delicate mind for life. Wilson tried to brush it off as a fluke-maybe he'd just read a witty internet article on the evils of hospital administration-and went about his work… But that didn't stop him from swinging past House's office a few hours later, just in case.
House and the others were gathered in the conference room, whiteboard covered in scribbles and books open on the table, and House was leaning over Chase's shoulder while talking, peering down a some chart or file. His chest practically rested right against Chase's shoulder.
Probably a rational explanation for that, Wilson told himself. Maybe House just had to see whatever Chase was holding said.
But why not take the folder from Chase?
So Wilson went back about his business, visited a few more patients, and tried not to imagine exactly what kind of stakes House and Chase had played for during that one illustrious poker game.
At least, until he passed House's office the third time.
This time, Chase was perched on the edge of House's desk, laughing over something and tossing the red ball in the air. And House wasn't prodding him to get off.
And for that, well, Wilson's next appointment could wait ten minutes.
Wilson entered House's office before he realized that, dammit, this gave credence to House's jealousy theory. Too late now.
"House," he greeted, suddenly enough that Chase very nearly dropped the ball. "Need you for a minute."
House swatted at Chase with a folder. "Go check that rash."
"Right, boss," Chase replied flippantly, sliding off the desk and to his feet. He nodded to Wilson as he brushed past.
Wilson watched him leave in a manner he considered "not glaring". "So," he said once the door had shut, his hands finding their way to his hips. "Interesting case?"
House kicked his feet up onto the recently vacated desk. "Considering it's one of my cases, that's a stupid question."
Nodding, Wilson opened his mouth to say something - and then realized he really hadn’t prepared anything new to say. He frowned slightly and groped at the first words that came to mind. "Presents with a rash, I take it?"
"Since I sent Chase to check on it that would make sense."
Wilson could feel his expression twitch. "Where're the others?"
"Cameron's in the lab, and Foreman's…somewhere." House shrugged. "Why?"
"Curious," he replied, mimicking House's shrug.
And there it was again - the studying. "Or wondering why Chase was in here?" House questioned.
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Why would I care?"
"Did you actually need to talk to me about something?"
…okay, point. He paused for a moment, considering an answer that didn't involve lying through his teeth. "Just wanted to know how your case was going," he…fibbed.
"And…that couldn't be asked with Chase here?" Damn House, Chase, and wherever House had gotten his observance, curiosity, whatever.
"I never said Chase had to leave."
"Could've just talked to me with him here." House: 3. Wilson: 0. Great.
He shrugged again, for lack of a better reaction. "He's the one that fled the scene of the crime."
Possibly the wrong word choice, judging by the way House's eyebrows rose. "Crime now?"
Wilson cursed inwardly at whatever mental slip had let that out. "Figurative language. It's like calling Cuddy a cheap call girl. You don't really mean it."
"He didn't flee. I kicked him out." He leaned back in his chair. "And what'd you really want?"
And House kind of had kicked him out, come to think of it. "Then that's your problem. I didn't request a private audience."
"If you needed me and didn't care if Chase was here, you would have just said whatever it was.” House kept looking at him, which was staring to get on Wilson’s last nerve. “So why'd you want him gone?"
"Why'd you assume I wanted him gone in the first place?" he retorted.
"Thought I just explained that." He really, really hated the smirk House got at times.
"Never mind. You know what? I have a meeting. With a patient." He threw up his hands and started for the door, mostly so they wouldn't have to talk about this.
"Yeah, and you're not jealous," House called after him.
All through his meeting, chart updates, and time spent with patients, Wilson tried to pretend House didn't have a point. After all, what was there to be jealous of with Chase? He had a funny accent, daddy issues, and a penchant for sleeping with drugged-up coworkers. House would never get involved with someone that emotionally…messy.
But Chase had lasted with House for more than two years. He could put up with House, even liked him. And House…liked Chase. Plus, Chase was pretty.
Wilson decided he really, really did not like the kid.
He took this thought with him as he went back to the apartment, driving the long route in autopilot. Maybe he could lure Chase into a false sense of security and shave that pretty blond hair right off his pretty blond head. Well, okay, that was petty, but then again, so was House's stupid smugness at the whole jealous thing. So what if he was a little jealous? Just a little, mind you, nothing to write home about.
And making chicken Kiev had really been the plan all along. It had nothing to do with being pissed off at Chase and irritated with House.
Or, well, annoyed with himself.
By the time House got home, he'd segued from taking out his annoyance on chicken to mashing potatoes by hand, the metal of the masher clinking so loudly against the bowl that he didn't even hear the door. Or maybe it was the louder-than-necessary Led Zeppelin he'd turned on in the stereo. He wasn't sure.
He did notice, though, when the music was turned down. And when two hands landed on the counter to either side of him. "You are incredibly stupid," House informed him. "And trying to deafen yourself."
Wilson rolled his eyes and kept on the mashed potatoes. "And why is that?"
"Music was about twice as loud as it should've been. Can't hear your patients thank you if you lose your hearing."
He snorted and shook his head. A few more lumps in the potatoes died noble deaths. "This from the man who listens to his iPod so loudly I can hear it in the next room."
"But I don't actually talk to patients, so it doesn't matter."
"You talk to your underlings."
"Who can just write whatever they want me to know. Wasn't there an issue about one of them?" House rested his chin on Wilson's shoulder, and he considered shrugging him off.
"Yes,” he answered, gritting his teeth. “I always did think Cameron was too perky."
He could practically feel House smirking against his shoulder. "She is. No question about that. The problem was more about the blond one, though."
And again. He somehow resisted the urge to flick potato in House’s general direction. "Do we have to beat the dead horse?"
"Not animal cruelty if it's dead," House mused.
"And about equally useful."
"Good to know you don't actually have a problem, then."
Sighing, Wilson jabbed the potatoes one last time with the masher and managed to turn around to look House in the eye. "I doubt you'd believe I didn't even if I didn't."
"Which means, in short, you do actually have a problem." House didn't sound as smug as Wilson expected.
"Is it so bad if I do have a problem?" he questioned.
"Except for the part where he's my employee and has reason to talk to me, not really. Kinda flattering, actually."
"Flattering?" He rolled his eyes. "And like his being your employee would stop you."
"The employee part, no," House conceded. "The parts where he's more fucked up than us combined and I'm with someone would, though."
And as much as Wilson hated to admit it, when he put it that way… "I'm not fucked up," he insisted, crossing his arms.
"No," House drawled. "Three marriages and a sexual identity crisis before you hit forty are normal."
"I have always been an overachiever," he admitted, allowing himself a hint of a smile.
House smirked back at him. "Not always so stupid, though."
"I thought I'd try it out. A new look. If this doesn't work, there's always plastic surgery. Perhaps a tattoo."
"One that says, 'I cheated on my first two wives and the third exacted retribution for them, so now I'm paranoid,'" House suggested. "Though that's kinda long."
"I'll come up with an acronym. Or a mnemonic device. Something catchy." That would hopefully get them off this damned topic.
"Try HDC." …or not.
Wilson frowned after a few seconds of trying to decode the acronym and only getting “House Does Chase.” "And that stands for…?"
"House doesn't cheat," House informed him bluntly. "Or you could go with IAI-I'm an idiot."
"Only if you get one that says 'smartass,'" he suggested.
House brushed a kiss across his lips, stubble catching lightly on his skin. "All of which would be true."
Wilson sighed. "Yeah, I know," he admitted.
"So the whole being-an-idiot thing. All brought on by poker?"
"Chase mentioned in passing that you played, and it was news to me." He shrugged.
House rolled his eyes. "Which resulted in you being jealous. That's…weirdly endearing."
"Well, I couldn't be normally endearing,” Wilson noted, and then paused a beat to actually consider that option. “Unless, of course, you'd prefer I send you flowers and chocolates on all the major holidays."
From the looks of it, House wasn’t impressed. "Now that's trite. Jealousy of one of my employees hasn't been done before, though."
"Don't worry," Wilson assured him, "because after this, it won't be happening again."
"Nah, you'll move on to Cuddy," House mocked him.
"She does have the bigger breasts," he retorted.
"I've noticed. Daily. She's also got the boss thing going on."
He smirked. "Can't be with someone more powerful than you?"
"Not when I've known her since she was a lowly undergrad."
"I suppose I'm safe, then," Wilson commented with a slight smirk.
House snorted at him. "Also safe from coup by blond Brit."
"Australian," he corrected, rolling his eyes.
"If I ever start actually calling him Australian, you can be worried," House promised him. Which...was more reassuring than it had any right to be.
Wilson snorted. "I'll keep that in mind."
If, at work the next day when Wilson sat in on the differential, he hovered close to House and shot nastier-than-usual glares at Chase, House didn't comment.
Chase, on the other hand, looked alternately confused and terrified, which suited Wilson just fine. After all, that way, he'd be more concerned about what had pissed Wilson off than sucking up to the boss.
And maybe-just maybe-the next time House volunteered some personal information about poker, hookers, or even his thoughts on the weather, Chase would think twice before running to brag about it to Wilson.
In the meantime, though, inducing a little paranoia didn't hurt.
Especially considering Chase looked about ready to come crawling to Wilson instead to beg forgiveness for whatever he may have done. Though he wouldn't; Chase seemed to know Wilson wasn't exactly a fan of his-something Wilson decided was a distinct advantage.
He'd have to remember that, and utilize it sometime. An metaphorical ace under the table, just in case.
Not that he'd ever need it. This was House, after all.
And an Australian man-slut who was not above sleeping with high coworkers. Considering House was perpetually somewhat stoned, that was a bad combination.
No, Wilson decided, he'd definitely keep the "disapproving superior" thing in case he needed it.
Provided, of course, that House didn't kill Chase for propositioning him first.