FicWad

Obfuscation of Truth TITLE: Obfuscation of Truth, part 1
Part of the Denuo AU
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: R
PAIRING: House/Wilson
DISCLAIMER: not ours. Wish we could have them, but whoever all owns them, we're not trying to infringe on anything. All rights are with the creators of the show, the studios, whatever.
The Denuo universe was created by Lara Bee and myself. More stories from different shows can be found here: http://home.arcor.de/larabee/mag7/denuo.html
Macx's Voice of Warning (aka Authors' Note): English is not our language; it's German. This is the best we can do. Any mistakes you find in here, collect them and you might win a prize The spell-checker said everything's okay, but you know how trustworthy those thingies are.....
WARNINGS: paranormal element, slash (duh!)


It was twelve days before Christmas and winter had taken a strong hold of the East Coast region. Snow storms, bringing tons of the cold and white stuff, were a nuisance, right down to power failures and slow going on the roads. Coupled with a new wave of coughs, sneezes and general cold symptoms of all varieties, it wasn't a time for House to be jolly. Not that he enjoyed Christmas in any other year, but he had been looking forward to taking some time off and spend it with Wilson.
Then Foreman came down with the cold and was out of commission for a week. The moment he was back, still looking sick, it was Cameron's turn. It actually still was her turn. She wasn't expected to come back to work till after Christmas. She was a walking virus colony and House wouldn't let her even talk to a patient with a foot-thick wall between them.
Neither House nor Wilson had shown signs of infection and even Chase was valiantly fighting off the bug. Not many other doctors at Princeton-Plainsboro were so lucky. It was an epidemic.
And right at that worst time as Cuddy fought with too many patients and little personnel, the hospital was additionally swamped with the result of a multi-car pile-up right in their front yard, so to speak.
The roads were slippery, most drivers stayed home if they didn't have to be out, but some idiot had apparently believed he was God and had raced down the frozen road, at high speed, and crashed into several waiting cars at an intersection only a few blocks down from the hospital. Like in a game of pool, the cars had gone spinning off in all directions, no traction at all, and slammed into buildings, other cars, and one crashed into the bus stop where people had been hoping to maybe catch a bus.
Sirens blaring, lights flashing, victims were brought in. It was an 'all hands on deck' situation. Whoever was able, whoever was still in the hospital, was called down to the ER. Whether it were nurses, doctors or med students, everyone was there. Even some of the volunteers who came to help out with the children and elderly, entertained them, fed them, read to them, were there.
Dr. Gregory House surveyed the scene, a grimace on his unshaven features. He had been looking forward to catching an early flight out of this place, go home and have his peace, but whoever was Up There, he really didn't like House, it seemed.
House glimpsed his lover among the crowd of victims, nurses, doctors and paramedics, working on a bloody form that might be a man or a woman. It wasn't clear. There were bodily fluids everywhere and more were coughed up by the victim. Wilson didn't as much as grimace.
House had already treated several broken bones, bruises, cuts, contusions, open fractures, crush fractures, and he had had to pronounce a young man dead on arrival. Never a great experience.
Dumping his gloves, he pulled a new pair out of the box next to the bin and put them on. Limping to a treatment room - which was nothing more than a curtained off area - House wondered briefly if he had to take a painkiller tonight. As much as he was free of the debilitating cramps and agonizing pain of before, Tim Sunkeeper had warned him that strenuous use of the leg would set off complaints. Well, limping around for hours and taking care of the walking wounded was probably somewhere along the lines of 'strenuous activity'. A paramedic had nearly run him over with a gurney and he had actually bumped into his leg. House had yelled at him for good measure, not just to keep up his cover but because he was furious, too.
A new rush at the doors alerted him to incoming patients, accompanied by paramedics, and the three stretchers were equally flocked over by responding medical personnel. House was with one, too. The paramedics pushing the stretcher looked tired, there was blood on them, soot on their faces from working the accident scene.
"Caucasian male," one of them said curtly. "Age twenty-nine. Was trapped in his car for about an hour before the fire crew could get him out. We got a Ringer into him, but he lost blood. Unconscious since we arrived, no response. Pupils unequal. Broken ribs, broken clavicle, suspect inner bleeding."
House let the paramedic ramble on. Blue eyes were locked on the bloody, badly bruised features. There was a vicious, deep and badly bleeding cut on one side of the face, the hair was matted together with blood and grime, the neck held in a collar to prevent movement. The white shirt had been pristine before, but now it was nothing but sweat, blood and more grime. There were rips and tears. The pants had fared no better.
"Nurse!" House bellowed, eyes never leaving his patient.
He had no time for shock. Shock would be for later. Now was the time to push aside emotions, whatever they were, and act.
A harried, tired looking woman hurried to his side. House had discarded of the cane and was going through the vitals, noticing the wheezing sound of each breath. The patient was having difficulty getting air.
House flashed a light into the eyes and didn't like the unequal reaction. The victim's breathing was shallow and sounded wet and rattling. He was dangerously pale and his blood pressure was down and still dropping. He probed the ribs on the left side and grimaced briefly as he felt them give. The broken clavicle was the least of his - and the patient's - problems.
"Call surgery. We need an OR. Now! Tell them I have a white male, age twenty-nine, flail chest and possible hemothorax. No known allergies, good physical condition, no serious medical history. No drugs, no abuse of any other substances. We need two bottles of AB negative."
She nodded briskly, not asking how he knew any of this from just being with the victim for a minute or two.
House stepped back as two male nurses came in and pushed the gurney aside. His mind was whirling.
"Damn," he whispered, then snapped off the gloves, limping out of the now empty cubicle.
His leg started to ache.
House was confronted with more patients and it had something therapeutic to lose himself in diagnosing these strangers, one who was semi-coherent and answering questions as best as possible.
Another part desperately wanted to go with the man he had just released into emergency surgery.
And a tiny part was screaming for Wilson.
*
Wilson caught up to his exhausted looking lover outside one of the treatment rooms. Inside were two patients. They had to crowd people into rooms since Princeton-Plainsboro was swamped. More doctors and nurses had come in, braving the weather, helping out, and things had quieted down.
"Hey," he said quietly, briefly scanning over House as he did habitually.
Wilson had sensed nothing throughout the hectic hours of treating victims from the mass crash, and his empathic abilities were too weak to pick up the suffering of each and every person. He was prone to attune himself to a single patient he treated over a period of time, but not the emergency victims. It was a blessing. House was different, but with the chaos, Wilson hadn't sensed too much of him either. Maybe a spoke or two, but he had been unable to react.
So right now his senses were anchoring themselves on his lover, the one person he knew so intimately well that it was instinct. He felt waves of concern, of anger, of disbelief, and... worry. House's blue eyes met his, reflecting his exhaustion.
"Leg?" Wilson asked quietly.
House didn't answer, just started to limp off. Okay, so the leg was probably complaining about the abuse. Not like it would have done before the Healer had given it a shot, but it would bother his lover.
They ended up in House's office. It was dark outside and snowing quite heavily again, and Wilson wondered if they should give going home a try or not. It was still dangerously slippery out there. He didn't fancy a broken bone right now.
"Chase is here," House broke the silence between them.
Wilson blinked. "He is? When did he come in? I thought he wanted to go to New York."
House stared out the window, keeping most of his weight off his bad leg. "He came in with the last batch of victims."
Wilson's frown deepened as those emotional waves thickened. Something was very, very wrong here.
"Greg?"
"He's currently in surgery."
"Chase..." He stopped. "You mean... as a surgeon, right?"
But Chase didn't do surgeries. Maybe in an emergency case, yes, but he wasn't that kind of specialist. His specialty was radiology and he worked in intensive care.
"They had to cut him out of his car. He was right in the middle of it." House's voice was toneless, distant.
"Oh damn... Who's in the OR?"
"Schmitt."
Wilson nodded. Schmitt was good. He was one of their best emergency surgeons.
"News?"
"They're still at it."
House winced and he massaged his leg. His hand went into his coat pocket, coming out with a plastic orange bottle. Wilson didn't comment, aware that even though it said 'Vicodin' on the outside, the pills inside weren't. House took two, leaning back against the sideboard, eyes closed, head dropping back. His throat muscles worked as he swallowed the pills. For several minutes there was nothing but silence, then Wilson approached slowly, taking in the outer signs of relaxation.
"Go home?" he suggested.
House opened his eyes and glanced at the snow outside. "No chance. I heard the couch is comfy."
Wilson sighed. He knew it was suicide to attempt going home. And there might be more ambulances tonight, though Princeton-Plainsboro was swamped already. Cuddy had relayed their maxed out capacity to the emergency services, requesting their take patients elsewhere if possible.
"Probably," he relented.
Their eyes met, but neither man touched the other in any way. They were at work. People might come in. It was an unspoken rule and so far they had managed to more or less hold up to it. And Wilson was aware that if they touched now, things would most likely get out of control. As much as he craved just a brief caress, it would probably throw him completely off course, would have him stay here and hold on to House and never let go.
"You'll be okay?" the oncologist just wanted to know.
"Yeah. Go to your couch."
Wilson hesitated for a moment, then did just that. He walked into his own office and settled down on a couch he had used as a bed often before. It wasn't the most comfortable of solutions, but it was better than the floor.
Sleep didn't come, though. He dozed off, still semi-aware of his surroundings, and his mind still anchored to House.
*
House didn't sit down in his special chair, the one with the foot rest. He remained where he was for a while longer, then left and limped toward the elevators, taking the next one to the surgical floor.
Had anyone asked him, he would deny feeling worried about Dr. Robert Chase, but any empath would have sensed it, especially an empath so closely anchored to him as James.
Sitting down in the waiting area, elevating his leg, House settled in for the wait.
Throughout the long hours he was aware of Cuddy coming and going, of Foreman briefly checking in on him, asking about Chase. He answered the question with a habitual scathing remark, then settled back into waiting.
*
Even when Schmitt exited the OR, looking tired but positive, House didn't leave right away. It was the relief that kept him here.
"Flail chest, just like you said," Schmitt had told him tiredly.
Chase hadn't been the first emergency patient for him that day, and might not be the last.
"He broke his fourth to seventh rib. Clean breaks through and through. One punctured his left lung. There was also aortic damage, resulting in hemothorax, but I think we got that fixed, too. His ribs have been operatively fixated. The clavicle's broken. Clean and uncomplicated. If all goes well, he's off the ventilator in two or three days, but the rest will take months."
The prognosis was good, though the injuries were serious. Healing would take a while. His emotions weren't as all over the place as they had been when the man in surgery had been Wilson after the attack, but Chase was one of his team. Like it or not, he had grown attached to him. Recent acts by the Australian had shown him that there was more to the intensivist than a rich boy who had set out to annoy his father, someone who bought his way into juniorships.
Watching the nurses settle Chase in the ICU, attached to monitors, catheters and IVs, House felt suddenly very tired. His leg was still complaining on a low level. He rubbed over the completely numbed scar, a reflexive move from the times before the healing had taken place. He swallowed two more ibuprofen and limped off, heading back to Diagnostics.

Outside, the snow was still falling heavily.
*
The morning brought some weather relief and those who had spent almost twenty-four hours in the hospital were sent home to rest. Others had managed to come in and Cuddy had drawn up an emergency duty roaster until normalcy settled in. Patients were transferred or released, and by midday things were almost back to normal.
House and Wilson had gone home the first chance they had had, with Wilson driving. While he looked as bad as anyone who had spent the night here, he was a bit more awake than House.
They made their way through the snow-ploughed but rather silent streets. Whoever didn't have to be out in this weather wasn't. Wilson parked the car in the garage and they took the elevator upstairs. Clothes were shed, showers were taken, and both men just collapsed in bed, dropping off to sleep almost immediately.
*
House was the first to wake. He felt refreshed, though not completely awake, and he smiled briefly as he discovered his lover. Wilson was still fast asleep, spread out over his side of the large bed in full splendor, one arm flung out. His hair was in wild disarray and there was a beard shadow House found rather appealing.
He followed the call of nature, his leg blessedly pain free again, and he rubbed over the deadened skin almost reflexively. A shower followed and when he limped out once more, Wilson sat sleepily on the bed, drawn between getting up and just keeling over again.
"How's the leg?" he asked, voice roughened from sleep.
"Still there," House quipped. "Everything else you'd probably feel."
Wilson smiled a little. "Yeah, probably."
He got up and shuffled past House to the bathroom.

It took him quite some time to reemerge, looking his spiffy self, the hair perfectly styled, and House's fingers itched to ruffle it, destroy the perfection. He got that itch under control, but only barely, and held out the coffee he had made. Wilson took it gratefully, leaning against the kitchen counter next to House.
"Breakfast?" House prodded.
Wilson sighed. "I'm all for getting a bagel on the way."
House leaned over, brushing their lips together. "I'll have your soul next, James Wilson," he growled.
James chuckled. "You already have it," he replied, a warm light in his eyes. "And I'm too tired to cook. As for your idea of breakfast... no, thanks."
"You wound me."
"And you give me food poisoning," Wilson shot back.
"Bagels it is," House declared cheerfully. "Your treat."
"Isn't it always?"
"Oh, the odd year or two I might be in the mood to spend a dollar or two."
Wilson shook his head good-humoredly. He drank the last of his coffee.
"C'mon. Let's go."
"Already?"
"I don't want to be late."
House grimaced. "We'll be late because of the snow anyway? What's an hour or two on top of that? And after last night, Cuddy can give us a break!"
Wilson grabbed his coat. "It's either now and a free meal for you - again. Or you stay and miss food."
"When you put it that way..." House limped toward the coat rack.
He followed Wilson into the elevator and to the ground floor where the car was. Wilson's Volvo looked like a shoe box next to the bike and the gleaming red sports car.
They were on their way not much later, braving the weather.
*
"Excuse me?"
House looked up from where he was signing a report and examined the tall but well-muscled form of the man who had just stepped up to the nurses' station.
"I'm looking for Dr. Robert Chase? He was brought in here last night. He was in that car crash."
The nurse briefly checked her logs. "He's in 104. Are you family?"
House stepped around the station. "Chase has no immediate family left," he interrupted whatever the man was about to say. "Both parents are dead, no siblings. That makes you...?"
The man smiled a little. He had pale gray eyes, set in a sun-tanned, handsome face with a slightly squarish jaw, and his dark blond hair was immaculately cut. Though he wasn't wearing a tie and suit, House had the impression he wore them at his job. The blue jeans, hiking boots and white shirt weren't exactly Armani, but they hadn't been off the rack at Wal-mart either.
"John Pyre," the blond now introduced himself. "I'm a friend."
House's eyes narrowed briefly. "Uh-huh."
"Robert and I wanted to meet last night. When he didn't come I called and the cell was not responding. Then I heard about the accident."
"And you concluded he was right in the middle of it," House finished, letting disbelief bleed into his voice.
"Not right away. But I was there and I thought I had seen what was left of his car. So I called the hospitals and I was told he was brought here."
House didn't know what it was about the man that struck him as slightly odd, but there was something, and it had him on edge. Maybe it was the intensity with which he was examined in turn; maybe it was something else.
"Chase is in no condition for visitors."
"I didn't come here for small talk. I want to know how he is," Pyre explained.
"Pretty messed up. Collapsed lung, multiple fractures, concussion. Still under pain medication. He wouldn't recognize you even if he knew you."
Pyre smiled more. "He knows me, Dr. House. We've known each other for a while."
House frowned. "And you know me, apparently."
"Chase talks about you."
"Oh, the infatuation of the youth."
Pyre's smile grew more. "Maybe."
"So, you're what then? Lover? Boyfriend?"
There was a moment of silence and those gray eyes grew more intense. "No. None of the above."
House smirked. "But you'd love to be."
"I'm his friend, Dr. House."
"Huh. That's what they all say." House started to limp off, heading for room 104.
Pyre followed. He was silent, his eyes straying over the closed doors, the room numbers, until they reached the glass-walled one where Chase lay. House had been here before, checking on his junior, and he had found the sight of the silent, motionless figure strangely disturbing. He knew just how bad the injuries had been - and still were. Chase was on a ventilator, was fed by IVs, a heart monitor keeping track of his vitals. He had been in and out of consciousness, but the painkillers kept him under. Tomorrow they would start taking him off it, trying to get him lucid enough to check on his cognitive functions, and hopefully the tube would be the next to go.
Pyre stood outside the room, gazing through the thick wall of glass, his face expressionless. Only his eyes held this intense look.
Much to House's surprise he didn't ask the most common question: is he going to be all right? The blond was silent; just silent. Finally he nodded once and turned back, facing House.
"I know I'm not related to Robert and my rights are rather limited, but I'd like to visit him."
"Check with the nurses for visiting hours," House only said gruffly, then limped on.
Pyre didn't follow him and when House glanced over his shoulder, the man was no longer there. Frowning to himself, he went over to the elevators, waiting for the next one, thinking.
*
Things were rather subdued in Diagnostics, but House had no intention to let his two remaining juniors wallow in their misery. He had his own misery to dole out and they could wallow in that. Cameron had come back this morning and looked shocked when she had heard about Chase's accident. She had gone to see him and come back pale but composed.
"Twenty-seven year old female," House now interrupted whatever morose thoughts were in their heads. "Skin full of blisters. Nasty little things. Itching, bleeding, generally unpleasant."
"Allergic reaction to something?" Cameron asked immediately.
"That's the fun in that - no. All allergens tested on her came back negative."
"Maybe it's something rarer," Foreman jumped in.
House quirked a smile. "For you to find out. Go and test her. Run whatever you think necessary and get back with the results."
He turned and went back into his office, leaving them to their own devices. Wilson was in a board meeting today, the last before the holidays, and House was hoping for lunch with his lover. Anything to distract him from boredom and thinking too much about one of his team lying battered and bruised and very much unconscious on another floor.
*
The case distracted them for a few hours until House's mind supplied them with a solution to their troubles, and Linda Gabor's medical problem, and then there was only the matter of writing everything up. House left that to his two underlings.
He checked in on Wilson, who was busy with several appointments that had come in despite the weather, and then limped off to clinic duty. He hadn't been able to wriggle out of that one. It was the usual share of broken bones and bruises. Nothing interesting, nothing serious. The occasional cold and one hypochondriac woman completed the picture.
With nothing much to do, aside from evading Cuddy, House found himself in the ICU, outside Chase's room, watching him. He had grabbed the chart from the nurses' desk and was reading it, while also keeping an eye on the man visiting Chase.
John Pyre.
Boyfriend or whatever. House was sure that something was going on there, but it was subliminal. And it was coming from Pyre, who, well yes, was the only conscious person in the room right now.
House approached the room and stood in the doorway. Suddenly Chase's eyes moved behind closed eyelids. He moaned softly, his face twitching. He mumbled something, not real sentences, only blurred words.
Nightmare.
Pyre almost unconsciously reached out and touched one lax hand. Chase moaned again, moving faintly, holding on to his hand with weak desperation. Pyre reached out to stroke the pale forehead and cheek, avoiding the tape over the vicious cut that had been glued shut. There would hopefully be no scar, or at least only a very faint one.
The Australian quieted down, breathing hard. Then his eyelids fluttered and glazed, haunted eyes looked at him from between half-closed eyelids. There was a spark of recognition, but no other reaction. Chase seemed to try to force his consciousness closer to the real world, but the drugs and the exhaustion won. His eyes closed again and he slept once more.
Pyre had a smile tug at his lips. His eyes wandered over to the heavily-bandaged chest and the smile vanished.
"It's the sedatives," House remarked, startling the other man.
Pyre turned his head and gave him a blank look.
"He won't reach consciousness until dosage is decreased. They'll attempt that tomorrow."
"I see. Can I help you?" he asked.
"No, just checking."
"On what?"
"Don't want you molesting defenseless Australians. International scandal and all," House quipped.
"Don't worry. I'm good," Pyre replied, light amusement in his voice.
House tilted his head, then turned and left.
*
"He's doing him."
Wilson let the newspaper sink into his lap, looking at his lover with a mild frown.
"Come again?"
"That Pyre guy. He and Chase are doing it."
That got him a slightly deeper frown. "And you know that how?"
"I just know it."
"Ah. You're a telepath now," Wilson teased.
"No. I've got eyes." House gestured with the spoon he was using to eat his ice cream. "And they're so at it."
"You see that from a man visiting his friend who was involved in a car crash? Chase is in the ICU, with severe injuries, under heavy sedation, and you talked to his friend once."
"It was enough."
"House, sometimes a friend is just a friend."
"Uh-huh." House dug into the melting ice cream.
Wilson only rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"Friends like... we are?" the older man insisted.
"Yes. No... not like we are now. I mean, before we..."
"Fucked?"
Another eye-roll.
House grinned mischievously and slowly licked off more melting ice cream, making it look sensuous and erotic.
"Grow up," Wilson only muttered and pointedly returned to his reading.
"They are so together," House repeated after a minute of silence.
Wilson sighed.
"You don't have to agree with me, but it's quicker," his lover sang. "I'm right."
"Sure."
"Twenty bucks says I am."
"I'm not betting with you."
House grinned wolfishly. "Because you know I'm right."
"Right," was all Wilson replied.
House nudged him with his cane and the younger man looked over the rim of the newspaper. House just gave him that quizzical look.
"What?"
"What's for dinner?"
Wilson blinked, then shook his head and returned to reading. The nudge was stronger now, but he refused to react, until the cane poked hard enough to leave a bruise
"You'll have canned soup if you don't stop this!" the oncologist threatened.
"Chicken noodle?" House asked with a hopeful, wide-eyed look.
"There's a microwave in the kitchen and you know how to use it. You want chicken noodle soup, go heat up some," was Wilson's dismissive reply.
House pouted. Even from behind the newspaper, Wilson could hear it. It wasn't hard to imagine those narrow, scruffy features pulling into the perfect mirror image of a boy that didn't get what he wanted.
There was a poke with the cane.
Finally he lowered the paper.
"If this is some blatant attempt for sex..." Wilson started.
House's wolfish grin had him regret the words. "I knew you couldn't resist a good poke with something long and hard..."
That got him an exasperated look. "Thinking of Pyre and Chase makes you hot?"
"I'm not into threesomes."
"Since when?" Wilson blurted.
House grinned more. "Why? You want me to invite Chase and have him bring his boyfriend along?"
"For one, that would be a foursome. And second, Pyre is not Chase's boyfriend."
"Is so!"
"Is not. Now accept it and go on with your life."
"I'd rather go on having sex."
"We're not having sex."
"Not yet," House corrected him, the smile now lecherous. "That can change quite quickly."
Wilson folded the newspaper, tossing it onto the couch table. He got up with a huff and started toward the kitchen.
"Hey!" House protested, following at a quick limp. "Oh, I see. Kitchen sex. Kinky."
"No, it's called cooking. If I can shut you up, I'll reheat dinner from last night."
House was very quick and even faster with his cane as he pinned his lover to the fridge, those intense eyes almost glowing.
"I'd rather we reheat something else."
"We didn't have sex last night," Wilson pointed out.
"All the more reason to have it tonight."
"Thinking of two strangers having sex really turns you on," Wilson murmured, voice dropping into an almost seductive tone.
"Thinking of you and me having sex really, really makes me quite horny," House corrected him and his lips ghosted over Wilson's ear.
There was the scratch of stubble, the unmistakable weight of the taller man leaning against him, and Wilson felt a light stirring. House's hand cupped one butt cheek, squeezing.
"They are doing each other," his lover whispered hoarsely. "Like rabbits."
"Are not."
"Take the bet?"
Wilson hungrily captured the familiar lips, the stubble scratching more. "You'll lose," he growled.
"I never lose."
And then all bets were off as House's hand abandoned the butt and dove right for the prize. Wilson moaned his appreciation and pushed into the groping hand, his own hands fisting into House's clothes.
"This fascination with Chase is an unhealthy obsession," the oncologist managed between their kisses.
"Obsession is if you can't stop thinking about something."
Wilson shot him a 'so?' look.
House looked into the chocolate depth, his own eyes alight with passion.
"I'm pondering Chase, I'm obsessed with you."
"You're just trying to get me laid," Wilson corrected him.
"That's an obsession. I like to hear you cry my name, pushing deep inside you, having you come all over," House said roughly, voice hoarse and seductive.
Wilson swallowed at the image the words evoked.
"I'm not having obsessive sex fantasies about Chase."
"You better not," James answered with a flare of jealousy.
House grinned more, clearly aware of the brief slip. "Jealous," he teased.
"Of Chase? You wouldn't have a chance," the other shot back.
House smirked. "Wanna bet?"
"I told you, I'm not betting with you any more."
Stubble scraped over his skin again and Wilson pulled House possessively close.
"Scaredy cat," his lover teased.
"Bastard," was the mumbled reply.
It was also the end of conversation as House opened Wilson's belt and pushed his way into his pants.
*
House wouldn't have thought that a new case might grab his attention that quickly. It wasn't really the medical file Cameron tried to make him read that had him interested, but the fact that social services got involved twelve hours after the admittance of baby girl Joy Isabelle Fielding. The parents were arrested for abuse of a minor and House's interest was tickled. He browsed through the file and limped off toward Pediatrics not much later.


"Baby girl," he announced before his remaining team an hour later, standing in front of the whiteboard. "Four months of age. Presents with blood blisters on the skin, lessening appetite, restlessness, inability to sleep for prolonged times."
"Isn't that the baby Cuddy had the parents arrested for abuse?" Foreman asked with a mild frown.
"Yes. Inconsequential for us," House replied curtly.
"Inconsequential? If they mistreated their child..."
"They didn't."
"How can you be so sure?" Foreman challenged.
"Because blood blisters aren't the normal signs of child abuse," House told him. "I'd expect bruises and broken bones, contusions and burns."
"Abuse can also come from not feeding a child," Cameron interjected. "If she doesn't want to eat, maybe they gave her the wrong food or none at all. Has anyone checked her blood, stomach contents...?"
"Yes," House interrupted her. "Pediatrics has her on a drip and guess what?" He smirked. "She blisters."
"She's blistering from an IV?" Foreman frowned more.
"She also developed skin reactions when the nurse lifted her up the way any normal child is carried."
The two juniors exchanged glances.
"Allergic reaction?" Cameron hazarded a guess.
"What allergy causes blood blisters?"
Silence. House nodded.
"None," he answered his own question. "I want a detailed medical history of the parents and the kid. Get it."
"But the parents were arrested..." Cameron protested.
"So go to the police and ask them nicely to let you talk to the big bad parents. You're good at that." House threw the marker onto the table and limped off. "Take Foreman with you if you want an ex-con along to keep you safe."
Foreman rolled his eyes, not commenting, and Cameron just shrugged. But they followed the orders.
*
Pain medication was reduced that evening and Chase woke slowly, returning to the world in a more than semi-conscious state. He was still groggy, but he was awake. Schmitt was there to ask him questions, which he painfully slowly answered by writing on a notepad. As the pain made itself known, the nurse adjusted the feed from the IV that contained the pain medication.
The fixated ribs were doing fine, the lung was healing, and there had been no relapses or emergency surgeries. Everything was good. Still, all of this would take time.
John was there when the nurse and doctor left, smiling at his friend.
"Hey."
- Hey - Chase wrote, the letters rather like chicken scratch. - Didn't have to stay -
"What else should I have done after I found out what happened?" Pyre asked incredulously. "Gone home?"
- Job -
"I'm on vacation, Robert."
- Not vacation -
"I agree with you if you say it's not what I wanted it to be like, but hey, I'm here with you. That's okay then." He smiled.
Chase's tired eyes crinkled a little and one corner of his mouth twitched. He was drugged up to his eyebrows and that was good, in John's opinion. Chase's body had gone through the wringer and had come out with some serious damage.
- No company -
"I can still tell you all about my latest escapades, we can watch TV, have dinner..." John nodded at the IV. "You in liquid form, me from the cafeteria. It's quite nice food there, too."
Chase's eyes drooped.
"Don't fight it. You need rest," Pyre advised gently. "I'll be here. Don't worry."
The Australian tried to write something, but exhaustion didn't let him. He dropped off to sleep once more and his visitor smiled more. It was a sad smile, but one filled with relief and hope.
*
"The parents are negative for drug abuse," Cameron reported her findings. "Their families had deaths by cancer before, one uncle died of a car accident, an aunt suffers from high blood pressure. Neither remembers their parents or grandparents talking about something like this ever occurring in the family before."
"Everybody lies," House said softly, eyes on the whiteboard.
"I talked to their regular doctor and their pediatrician," Foreman added. "Pediatrician was stumped by the symptoms, but he never thought it might be abuse. He said the baby developed normally, but she often had skin rashes that got infected and up until a week ago, no blisters. The parents claim the first blister appeared when their kid bumped her head. It was just a light bump and they didn't think any of it, but within half an hour there was a blood blister."
House nodded. "Like when the nurse lifted her to change the diapers."
"Autoimmune?" Cameron guessed.
House's eyes narrowed in thought.
"Wide field. And she's so young," Foreman argued. "Her parents have no history of autoimmune diseases."
"Doesn't matter. Look it up. I need more information."
They nodded and left, and House limped over to the TV, switching it on. Eyes on the moving pictures, his mind was whirring. Halfway through the program he got up and grabbed one of his medical tombs, starting to page through the chapters, then he went online, digging for information on something he prayed their latest patient really didn't have.
*
"Dysphagia, blisters in the mouth, extreme loss of weight, gastroesophageal reflux, as well as already scarring esophagus," House listed the symptoms. "Extremely fragile skin that shears off when she's cuddled too hard, sleeping disorder, muscle and fatty tissue being eaten away."
He stopped in front of the two juniors watching him.
"You were right, Cameron, it's autoimmune, and it's also genetic. It's called Epidermolysis Bullosa. The human epidermis consists of a stratified epithelium mainly composed of keratinocytes and relies on a stem cell compartment to undergo constant regeneration. Genetic mutations affecting the capacity of basal keratinocytes to adhere firmly to the epidermal basement membrane lead to severe, and very often lethal, blistering disorders known as epidermolysis bullosa. It's rare and there is nothing medicine can do for the kid."
Cameron stared at him, eyes wide in shock, mouth opening to protest. "But it's not fatal!"
"Most forms aren't," he agreed. "In this case, though, Joy won't live to see her first birthday. She'll be lucky to see the next week. EB rarely present in such extremes at a young age. It grows progressively, it never stops, it never gets better, but this baby is at a stage where she doesn't eat any more, where she cries in her sleep, and where the slightest contact breaks the skin. If the infections don't kill her, weight loss will. She's dying."
Foreman briefly lowered his eyes. "Damn," he muttered.
"There has to be something..." Cameron tried again.
House smiled humorlessly. "There's nothing. About ten thousand people in the US suffer from this, Cameron, and only a very tiny percentage out of those ten thousand have what little Joy has. They die. Case over. Go tell the parents."
She looked stricken.
"Want me to send Wilson along? He's good at giving terminal patient's relatives the happy news," he added, voice sarcastic and dark.
"You're a bastard," she snapped and rose, stalking out of the room.
House sighed and looked at Foreman, raising his eyebrows. "Wanna add to that?"
"Nope. What she said."
He gathered his files and followed.
House remained behind, smiling darkly. "Yeah."
*
Wilson had heard about House having a new case and he had seen the fall-out. Cameron had been drawn between sadness and fury. The sadness was probably for the patient, while the fury was reserved for House. Wilson didn't ask about the case as such. Whatever it had been, it had hit a nerve House probably didn't even know he had. And had this happened at another time, with the team all present and accounted for, Wilson wouldn't have seen the need to investigate into his lover's mood. But Chase was still in the ICU, on a ventilator, and that fact played a role as well.
Coming home, he found his lover on the couch of their joined living room, watching TV, eating chocolate pudding. It was a large bowl and it had been full when Wilson had seen it last this morning. Now it was almost empty and the oncologist grimaced. That grimace deepened as he discovered the leftovers of last night on the table, too.
"You're going to make yourself sick," Wilson only remarked.
House grunted something, eyes still on TV.
Okay, not in a mood to talk. Fine. Wilson didn't need to talk either. His senses were telling him a lot, too. As were his eyes, for that matter. Something was bugging House, something that the case had only enhanced.
They spent the rest of the evening in silence, House doggedly staring at the TV, but Wilson knew he wasn't seeing much of the program. When the oncologist rose to go to bed, he didn't expect House to follow - which he didn't, at least immediately. It was when Wilson slid under the covers that his lover entered the bedroom, shed his clothes, and made a quick trip to the bathroom.
Lying there in the near-darkness of their shared bedroom, Wilson debated with himself whether or not to offer wordless comfort. House had his back turned to him, not giving any physical indication that he wanted to be held, and he normally wasn't prone to needing this. Still, the emotions touching Wilson's senses were something else, and finally he risked it all by moving closer. He snaked an arm over the narrow waist and when it wasn't shrugged off with an annoyed grunt, Wilson settled more against the older man. He rested his forehead against House's back, between his shoulder blades, and closed his eyes.
House tolerated him. He was tenser than Wilson wished he would be, but he didn't push him off.

It was how he finally drifted off, still alert for violent shifts in the mood he was sensing, but nothing tore him out of his sleep.
*
"Epidermolysis Bullosa."
Wilson looked up from where he was pouring milk over his cereal, meeting the blue gaze of his lover. House looked his usual rumpled self, this time almost all in black, something Wilson found rather attractive on him. House hadn't shaved, which was an indicator of his mood. The beard was five days old and normally he would by now introduce it to a razor.
When he had woken this morning he had been alone in bed. A shower and a shave later, he had found House in the kitchen, on what looked like his third coffee, munching dry cornflakes from the box.
"She has two weeks left, at most."
"The baby girl?" Wilson clarified.
It got him a jerky nod.
Wilson knew a little about Epidermolysis Bullosa, but not much. It was a genetic disease, it had different subtypes, and most people lived quite long with it.
"EB arises from abnormalities in proteins of the dermal-epidermal junction. These specialized protein components aggregate to form anchoring complexes, which attach the epidermis to the dermis. The mortality rate in infancy is over 87 percent," House went on, voice almost dead and without inflection. "The baby has the most severe kind. Her esophagus is shot, she's already losing muscle and fatty tissue, she can't sleep from pain, and the slightest bump makes her blister. Her skin's shearing off already in places."
Wilson studied the taller man, frowning lightly. It wasn't like House to linger of a diagnosis, however grim. He found out what was wrong, then left the field to the specialists who might or might not save the patient. Terminal illnesses were just that: terminal. There was nothing anyone could do but help the patient ease his passing.
A diagnosis like this, in a child, would hit the parents hard. It was genetic, which meant their next child might have it, too. They would have to watch their baby die, wrapped up in gauze, looking like a burn victim, in pain. Wilson knew similar pain from relatives who lost their loved ones to cancer. Death was never pretty.
But death also rarely ruffled House. He tried to scan the mood more deeply, but his limited abilities wouldn't let him. He still needed to work on that, but right now it did nothing. Opening himself wider, he tried to get a few blips.
"You did all you could," he only said now.
House glared at him. "Stop the psych babble!" he snapped. "I don't need it."
Wilson hastily gathered his shields. "No, you don't. You also never linger on a diagnosis. It glances off you."
House turned away, limping over to where his backpack sat. He pushed some books inside and closed it.
"Greg?" Wilson tried, gingerly reaching out with empathic feelers once more.
"Don't," House simply snarled.
It was like a slap in the face and Wilson winced away from the anger he felt from his lover. It wasn't directed at him and didn't have the devastating effects hatred had, but it smarted.
"Stop," Wilson only said.
House turned to him, frowning.
"Stop mixing up Chase with the baby. Two different cases. One fatal, one not."
The emotions stabbed at him again for his daring words. Wilson grit his teeth so hard, he feared he'd break them.
"Accept that you're worried about Chase!" he insisted. "I know you are already. But he's fine, he's healing, and he has friends. The baby will die and as doctors we accept death as well. You never had a problem with it!"
This time the stab had him squeeze his eyes shut, inhaling sharply. Damn, damn, damn.
"Don't psycho-analyze me, Wilson," House snarled harshly. "And keep out of my head!"
He grabbed the backpack and angrily went toward the elevator, slamming the cargo doors shut.
Wilson fell against the kitchen sink, feeling slightly nauseous. He wasn't sure House knew what he had done by focusing his anger over something not Wilson's fault on Wilson. If he had been aware of it, House was truly in a nasty mood because he knew how painful such emotions were for the oncologist.
James closed his eyes, feeling a belated tremor run through him. Sometimes he cursed his empathy, sometimes he was grateful for it. Right now, he hated his openness to House more than ever.
*
Christmas decorations had come up this morning and House grimaced at the cheerfulness of it all. It wasn't that he hated Christmas in general, just the commercialism of it all. His team, sans Chase, had thankfully kept it down in Diagnostics, and aside from a bowl with Cookies - homemade by Cameron, no less - there was little to nothing in the area of reindeers, Santa and angels. Not even a miniature Christmas tree. The one standing in the entrance hall of the clinic was enough already.
Oncology, especially the children's ward, was awash with cheerfulness and House tried not to be there. Not that he regularly hung out around bald little kids who were all so heroic, but since his lover was the head of oncology, he sometimes passed through.
Thinking of James, a trickle of guilt went through him. He remembered the pained look and thinking back, House realized what he probably had done. There had been this flash of pain in those dark brown eyes and he had put it there.
Because he had lashed out at his best friend.
Like he always did.
But before it had never been this personal. Wilson was touching him on a much more intimate and deeper basis now. House had the power to hurt him more than ever, too. His anger could be a weapon and he had used it this morning.
Fuck.
His anger had started to dissolve. The parents of the sick child had, of course, broken down over the terminal diagnosis, and while Cameron had held up well against the emotions and the suffering, he knew she was hit hard as well.
Nothing could be done about it.
That was life.
Live and die. Sometimes sooner than later, sometimes too early.
House pushed the thoughts aside. He would look in on Wilson later, see if he needed to do some damage control.
That Chase was in an out of consciousness and semi-coherent one day after his surgery was good news. The tube had to stay and while he was lucid, Chase managed to scrawl questions and answers for his visitors. Cameron dropped in throughout breaks, as did Foreman. House hung back, watching others treat someone he had worked with for years now, and he had read Chase's chart while no one had been watching.
It was how he also saw Pyre coming back, visit Chase and stay at the bed for a while, talking softly to the sleeping or sedated man. House studied the man, frowning thoughtfully, still not able to grasp who he was.
Sure, he believed that there was something between the two men and something very wicked insisted that they were doing each other.
House had kept an eye on their resident Australian ever since the interference the intensivist had run for him. He had called House about the visit of House's parents, after Foreman had set them onto the trail of House and Wilson living together, being together. Wilson knew something he wasn't telling House, which House had grudgingly accepted after a while. His lover could keep secrets very well.
So he watched Chase. And he found that while Robert Chase wasn't any different from before he had started watching him so closely, there was something about him House had never noticed. It had nothing to do with his medical abilities. It was something else. House couldn't yet put his finger on it, but he was at like a dog with a bone. John Pyre was another clue. Even if Pyre wasn't doing Chase, he wanted to. There was something in those eyes, in that face, that spoke clearly to House. Pyre was interested. The question was, Chase too?
"Don't you have any cases?"
He looked up from his contemplation of the floor and his feet, right into those light gray eyes. Pyre was smiling a little, a smile underlined with worry for Chase.
"Nope," House answered. "Don't you have a job?" he shot back.
"I do. I'm on vacation."
"Honeymoon trip to the Bahamas with the little wombat?"
Another smile. "No."
House started to limp away and grimaced as Pyre followed. "What do you want?" he finally snapped when they reached the elevator.
"The question is more: why do you keep hanging around here? Robert is in good hands, according to the nurses. Dr. Schmitt is a very capable doctor. You're not his treating physician and even without cases, I doubt you've got nothing to do."
House frowned and walked into the elevator, Pyre following him again.
"Robert told me you're not interested in the mundane. This is mundane."
"Chase talks too much," he groused.
They stepped out on the right floor and House pointedly limped toward his office, faster than anyone thought it possible for him and his bum leg. When Pyre didn't stop and actually entered the office, too, he rounded on him, shooting him a glare.
"What do you want, Pyre? Sue me?"
The other man chuckled. "No, even though I am a lawyer."
House groaned. "Typical."
Pyre reached for the over-sized tennis ball, but House was quicker, snatching it away from him.
"Hands off!"
"I'm an environmental lawyer. I work for a Japanese business company here in America."
"And you're doing Chase?" House went right for the throat.
Pyre raised his brows a little. "And you're slightly obsessed with what Robert does in his off time?"
"Only when he's doing environmental lawyers."
"Don't worry. We're simply friends."
"Right..." House wriggled his eye brows suggestively.
"We worked together in the past. We became friends. Nothing else, Dr. House. Nothing to worry about."
"Uh-huh."
"Are you always so protective of your employees or is Robert special?" Pyre asked, amusement in his voice.
House played with the red ball. "I just want to know what a guy like you wants from someone like him. You're obviously gay, he isn't. You're a lawyer, he's a doctor. If you aren't study buddies, which I doubt since you're not Australian, where's the connection? I find it interesting how you came here, looking for him, staying for the past days. You wouldn't spend your vacation here if he wasn't special for you."
"He is special. Even if he doesn't have some kind of special ability, even if he's only human, he's very special for me."
House felt his insides come to a screeching halt. The words echoed through his mind.
Abilities.
Only human.
No way. He was too sensitized to the paranormal, to discovering it in the world around him - in rediscovering it. He was hearing things.
Pyre frowned at House all of a sudden, apparently aware of his mental brake. "You don't..." He stopped, then almost laughed. "You don't know," he finally said.
"Know what?" House snapped, not in the mood to play games.
"Dr. House, I'm an ally," the lawyer said. "I've been working with and for paranormals for over twenty years."
House stared at him, stunned. His hand clenched around the head of the cane, knuckles whitening. "You're what?" he finally hissed.
"An ally. And I know about you. I thought..." He hesitated, the gray eyes suddenly narrowing. "Oh hell, no. Robert..." he murmured. "He never said you knew. I only thought he didn't want to talk about you."
House's mind was somersaulting, trying to grasp the conversation. "Chase...?"
"Is an ally, too. I didn't realize that you didn't know!" Pyre laughed weakly. "Dear god... all the time Robert told me about you, about your abilities... and I never realized that you didn't know about him...."
House's face had clouded more and more, and now the shadows were rather foreboding. "What abilities?"
Pyre smiled mildly. "Maybe you weren't aware of his status, but he was quite clear as to who you were. He told me that when he applied for the junior position, he knew you were a paranormal, though you didn't use your abilities throughout work. He had wanted to be part of your team, come hell or high water, and he didn't care if you used your heritage or not. He wanted to learn."
House felt his world spin. He still stared at the lawyer, unable to grasp the latest revelation. Robert Chase was an ally. An Australian ally. And he knew about House himself. What he didn't know was the fact that House's abilities had been neutered with the Vicodin.
"Did he work with Stacy?" he asked tonelessly.
Pyre frowned. "No. I wasn't aware of any Stacy. She's an ally?"
House laughed; it was more of a bark. "Forget I asked. You allies really do need a better information network."
"It's working. And the growth of the Nexus gives us a greater advantage, but it's also a danger."
"Life on the edge," was the sarcastic snark. "So the little wombat is an ally? And what else is he good at hiding?"
Pyre didn't rise to the bait. "I wasn't aware of him hiding from you. Allies don't go around introducing themselves to whoever they meet. We're important to the vampire community and they know others... it's rare. He came from Australia to work here, and he was a trusted and well-placed ally there."
"Top of the pops in the Outback, huh?"
"The local shaman trusted him."
House was silent, chewing on that. He just couldn't get the term 'ally' associated with Chase. Then again, he would never have thought Wilson was an ally either, and look what they were now, what Wilson had become.
"Robert was a good student," Pyre went on. "He was great, actually."
"You weren't there."
"No, I just know his grades and I read his paper for his doctorate. And you know he's good or else you wouldn't have hired him."
House grinned darkly. "His Dad made a call. Quite convincing. And the money he left for Cuddy wasn't too shabby either."
"It's not only about money. It's also about abilities, about knowledge. Robert is good. He knows his stuff. He's young and prone to make mistakes, but that's what juniors do. They learn; he learns from you."
House was silent for a long time, eyes narrowed at Pyre. Finally he asked, "Who told him about me?"
The lawyer smiled a little. "That you have to ask him."
*
There is something perverse about visiting a man who has a breathing tube stuffed down his airway, who is drugged to keep him mostly unaware of how bad his body is off, and ranting at him. Asked to describe Dr. Gregory House in three words, 'perverse' would have come up nine times out of ten with the people questioned.
House looked at the semi-conscious man, meeting the slightly dull hazel eyes, and he leaned forward on his cane.
"You are full of surprises, aren't you?" he asked the younger doctor.
The sluggish recognition in Chase's face made way for confusion.
"I talked to your boyfriend. Turns out he knows more about me than I want people to know. Turns out you know more about me than most, too."
The confusion grew.
"Is this a game, Chase? You wanted to spy on me? Make out how well I work? Newsflash, I don't function any more!" House spat. "The Vicodin took care of that!"
Chase blinked, minutely shaking his head, relaying that he had no idea what House was going on about.
House smiled viciously. He had closed the door as well as the blinds to give them some privacy, and he knew for a fact that aside from Wilson, he could expect no one to enter. Foreman was in neurology and Cameron already home.
"You came here for the famous Dr. House, right? You also came here to ogle at the Diagnostic!"
Chase's eyes widened.
"Yes, I know. How convenient, right? You come here, all happy about a job Daddy dearest paid good money for, and you don't just get a crippled genius, but a paranormal as well."
The Australian groped weakly for the pen and paper on his bed, the only way he could communicate right now.
"How did anyone know about me?" House demanded, anger rising. "I'm not in the yellow pages and fuck, I don't want to be! I'm neutralized, Chase! Didn't it ever occur to you that not everything works as it should? That this isn't the Diagnostic you expected? Or is your kangaroo brain two brain cells short of a threesome?"
Chase scrawled painfully slow and House read 'not reason' in chicken scratch.
"Not the reason you came here? I think it is. Bored in Australia? No fascinating paranormals to gawk at? I don't care who you were in Melbourne, how high you were placed. You're an ally and you conveniently forgot to tell me."
- No - was the desperate plea on paper.
House glared at him. "Did you know Stacy, too?"
Confusion again, the clouded eyes wider once more.
"She's an ally. She also ruined my life. Go do the math."
Chase was struggling and the apparatus controlling the ventilator was blinking, just seconds away from an alarm.
- Didn't know - he wrote.
"Why should I believe a liar?"
More struggling. There was a warning beep.
- No spy -, was on the paper next.
House faced him silently. "Why should I believe a word you say? You bought your way into my team. You omitted you are an ally. Everybody lies," he added.
Chase's eyes were by now an open book into his soul. There was plain desperation there, fear, worry, denial, and something House interpreted as a plea. He was also exhausted, still too pale, his hair unkempt, dark circles under his eyes, and he appeared rather haggard.
House straightened, sighing.
"You're not fired, in case you're wondering. I'm not that petty. But when the tube is out, we talk. And I want to know the truth."
He gave Chase no chance to reply. House simply turned and left, aware what kind of emotional upset he had just created. But he was furious. Too many people had betrayed him in the past and while he hadn't trusted Chase in any way he had trusted Stacy, he was part of his team, and he had lied. Not about little things, like sleeping with Cameron. Not about what a patient had said or what he had omitted to do. It was about something very personal.
Limping to his office, he grabbed his backpack and left. He didn't care about leaving half an hour early, nor about Cuddy's yelling tomorrow. He just needed to get out of here, clear his head, and while he preferred a fast ride, the bike had been mothballed for winter. So he aimlessly drove through the winter wonderland that was the Plainsboro area, lost in thought.
*
"You yelled at a man who's a) under heavy pain medication and b) intubated. How very much you."
The words were mumbled into the pillow, Wilson's half-lidded brown eyes looking at his lover. He was currently turned on his stomach, head pillowed, arms around the pillow in question. He only wore his pajama pants and was nude from the waist up. It was a situation House took advantage of, letting his hand play over the smooth skin, feeling the texture and the warmth.
Wilson had had a hard day and he had come home, almost dead on his feet, halfway asleep before he had even taken his shoes off. He had declined food and just made his way into the bedroom where House had found him like this not much later. James was in no mood to do anything but just lay here.
That was fine with House.
No words had been lost about this morning. House didn't want to talk about it and Wilson didn't touch the topic.
Instead, House tried to forget his anger, his fury that came from nothing really specific. He didn't cry over patients. That was Cameron. Doctors needed the distance. They couldn't be human and caring, not when confronted with the world of pain and suffering. Distance was good; distance was healthy.
But this had gotten to him. Not the baby, not Chase, just the fact that the men and the woman on his team were only human, too. They could fall ill, could be involved in accidents, could die. Chase hadn't died, but it had been close.
Propped up on one elbow, laying on his side, House caressed his lover, smiling a little to himself. He had related Pyre's information to Wilson and while the empath had been surprised, it was a rather dull surprise. Probably because he was so tired.
House felt a little unevenness under his fingers and gazed at one of the few permanent scars that had remained from the terrible accident so long ago. Two of those scars were on Wilson's back, another was at his neck. It was the most horrifying of all. Not because it was ugly or had healed horribly. No, it was simply the reminder of how close a call this had been. Wilson had nearly died because of that injury.
Long fingers caressed the scars while blue eyes strayed to where the largest one, the one on Wilson's neck, was currently hidden from direct view.
"So Chase is an ally," Wilson went on. "And Pyre is one, too. Makes things easier."
"How come?"
"We might need his help one day. It's good to know you have an ally close by. I know my share of contacts, but Chase is closer."
House snorted. "I'm more interested in how come he found out about me. Even with the Nexus, there isn't some kind of bulletin board out there."
Wilson turned more, eyes opening fully. "No, there isn't," he confirmed. "Even I didn't know about you and we were best friends way before the infarction and the temporary loss of your abilities."
"So how did he know?"
It was something that didn't sit well with House; not at all. He didn't like the idea that others blabbed about him, gave away his information. Sure, the Nexus knew about him, but that wasn't public information. Chase had been aware of him before he had come to America.
"Ask Chase," Wilson yawned. "After he is coherent again."
He snuggled back into his pillow and House felt himself smile. He leaned over and kissed his lover between the shoulder blades, drawing a little murmur.
"Do you feel this?" he whispered, barely loud enough for Wilson to hear.
Wilson grunted sleepily. So House continued the caress, like petting a cat, losing himself in it. Part of him wanted to make up for the discomfort he had caused his empathic lover. Part of him was too scared of letting go.
Wilson fell asleep not much later, but House wasn't tired yet. He stayed in bed for a while, thinking, then got up and went into the living room to read some of the journals that had come in the last week.
*
Snow had started to fall again and the world outside looked rather peaceful. Covered in fluffy white snow, Christmas lights blinking on the trees and streets, inside shop windows and homes, nothing reminded people of the terrible accident from a few days ago. Those who had been able to leave had been released, others transferred, and a few still remained in the care of Princeton-Plainsboro.
Like Robert Chase.
Chase slept a lot, was still on an IV, and was daily subjected to medical examinations and Q&A sessions by Schmitt.
John Pyre was still around. Chase couldn't say why it felt so good to have his friend there when he was visited by colleagues, too, but it was. John was his usual calm and centered self, read the newspaper out loud, told him about what else had happened and might be interesting, and he talked about odd cases without mentioning names or giving anything away.
Chase felt oddly comfortable around Pyre; always had, actually. The moment they had met he had liked the older man. That Pyre was gay had been no big secret. While working together on that fateful case that had brought them together, Chase had discovered that unimportant fact. It had come up almost casually, and he had never felt unwell with the knowledge.
Today, years after their first meeting, things were still developing. His own past made sure that whatever emotions Chase had for someone, especially a man, he would primarily turn away and try to ignore it all. He had been burned by what had happened to his best friend and room mate in college.
Of course, today he was a grown-up. He didn't have parents who would shun him about his decision for a partner. His mother had died fifteen years ago, his father just recently, and he couldn't care less about what his stepmother thought. Still, that trauma of college was there. It had made Chase careful.
He knew John loved him. Pyre had told him so, adding that he would respect whatever Chase decided upon. So far, Chase was drawn between giving in and trying, and just turning away. He was attracted to the other man. There was no denial about that. They had kissed and he knew John was willing to give him space and time, but it would be cruel to hold out on Pyre indefinitely.
Staring at the ceiling, Chase sighed softly, feeling a twinge from his ribs.
*
House was back in the room, looking at a still very pale and haggard Chase. The effect was doubled because of the covered wound in his face. No ventilator this time. It had come out the day before. House leaned back in the chair he had pulled close to the bed, leg stretched out.
"Once more without the tube," he said without preamble. "You talk, I'm all ears."
Chase wet his lips, looking at his lap.
"Waiting," House commented. "A dollar a second. Five after a minute."
"I... didn't come here just because you are a Diagnostic," Chase started, voice scratchy and rough from the ventilator.
"But you knew I was one."
The hazel eyes briefly flickered over his face. House smiled nastily.
"You didn't know that the Vicodin effectively neutralized my abilities, right? Bad research, Chase."
"I didn't research you!" came the immediate protest, followed by a dry cough.
"No, Daddy probably did."
There was a twitch in one cheek. "I never asked my father to donate money or help me with getting this job," the Australian said harshly.
Even now, years after Rowan Chase's death and his ill-managed attempt to make up with his only son, Chase still resented the father who had abandoned a fifteen-year-old with his alcoholic mother. House didn't comment on that, though.
"I didn't know until you told me throughout the job interview," was the slightly softer addition.
"Well, it earned him bonus points with Cuddy, who in turn stood on my toes long enough until I hired you."
"Everybody lies," Chase told him quietly, for the first time meeting House's eyes head-on. "And you do, too. About this." There was a challenge in those eyes.
House tried to look innocent, but part of him was surprised at the audacity. Chase rarely challenged him, and most of the times he lost. Now... now was different.
"If it had just been the money, you'd have still ignored my application," the younger man told him firmly. "I wouldn't have gotten the interview."
"Money works miracles."
"You're not corruptible."
House smiled nastily. "Oh?"
But Chase was right. If it had been only the money, then to hell with the kid. Chase had had good references, though. House had found something in that application that had interested him, had made him talk to the intensivist, and he had hired him. Chase was young, he made mistakes, he thought he knew everything and ignored the complications in the game of medicine and diagnoses. It was House's job to teach him and in the past years he had grown.
"You came here knowing what I was," House continued. "Where from?"
Chase studied his lap again. "I called someone in New York."
"Who?"
"I was flying over to the US and would be an ally in the area, and as such I was supposed to inform the local community leader."
House was aware of that. Allies were rare and treasured. Those moving permanently from their old home to a new one and also changing cities, and with that communities, were required to contact the vampire community close by and tell them of their existence. Allies were still mostly working for vampires, who had the greatest needs of covering up their existence.
"The guy I talked to knew you. His name is Troy Kristensen."
House frowned, the name ringing a bell.
"You and him met fifteen years ago," Chase supplied. "Back then he wasn't the leader of the vampire community just yet. He asked for your help as a Diagnostic and you gave it. It's how he became aware of you, knew that you were a Diagnostic."
"Troy," House murmured. "Yeah. Arrogant little bastard."
Chase smiled briefly. "Still is."
"Looks like he failed to tell you I'm not functioning any more."
That got him a shrug.
"Not that I told anyone anyway," House added.
Their eyes met and Chase finally dropped his gaze again. "I didn't come here to spy," he said almost defensively. "I came to learn. Even without being a paranormal, I would have wanted this job. You're world-renowned, one of the best. That you're also a Diagnostic only added to my decision that I had to be here."
"You never told me you're an ally."
Chase hesitated. "I wasn't sure how well received that would have been. The local community in New York knows and that was most important. I thought that if you had trouble, if people suspected something, I'd help. I would have tried to stay anonymous."
"Where do you draw the line between natural genius and paranormal?" House taunted.
Chase shrugged. "I'm not sure. The moment things got too extreme, too fantastic maybe. But you were sometimes just as stumped as we were. You were making mistakes, too."
House snorted.
"Nothing indicated that you were displaying Diagnostic abilities. I thought it was a good cover."
"You thought wrong," House told him with a little growl. "And you didn't read up on your paranormal, Dr. Chase. A Diagnostic has to spend time with a patient. Lots of time."
He raised an eyebrow and Chase's eyes widened.
"You don't," the younger man said weakly.
"Nope, I don't. So much for the fantastic and paranormal." House rose and started toward the door.
"Dr. House?"
The call kept him back and he looked at the slender figure on the bed. House hated to look into the unnaturally pale face with its smudged eyes. Chase looked like a child and a lot younger than his almost thirty years.
"You said I'm not fired?"
House smirked. "Nope. I still need my whipping boy and you fit so perfectly, Chase. Just don't let that new boyfriend of yours mess up your pretty butt."
Chase's mouth opened to protest, but House was already outside, whistling to himself. This would take some getting used to. Not the boyfriend or Chase's apparent interest in gay sex, but the fact that the other was an ally, had an ally boyfriend, and knew more about House than others. Aside from Wilson.
As for Wilson, he would leave it to his lover whether or not to tell their resident Aussie about his own paranormal status. Now that would be fun. He could just imagine the coronary about to happen when Chase found out about the oncologist being an empath and ex-ally.
Oh, yeah. Fun for all the family.
*
The fact that Chase had gotten the information about him from the New York vampire community bothered House. It bothered him enough to finally go through Wilson's little black book and find out the cell phone number of one Ezra Standish in Salt Lake City.
He got connected on the second ring.
"House," he neutrally. "What's your connection with the New York community?"
Standish was silent for a second, then, "I know their leader. We've been in contact before. Why?"
"I need to talk to him."
Another moment of silence. "I need to repeat myself: why, Dr. House?"
"I'm just not going to give you an answer," he snapped, aware that his mood was coming into the conversation, and his mood was rather annoyed.
"Dr. House, you might understand that giving out private contact information for a highly placed individual is... delicate, to say the least."
"Well, so is blabbing out information about me to whoever ally calls just to say hello!"
He could almost hear Standish's frown. "You might want to explain that."
House snarled silently. "One of my team is an ally."
"Which you didn't know."
"Good deduction. He called New York to say he's relocating here, good little ally he is, and Kristensen had nothing better to do than tell him what I am. I don't like this."
"You want to lodge a formal complaint with Troy?" the vampire asked, sounding amused.
"I know Kristensen. I helped him a lifetime ago. I know he's an arrogant son of a bitch. I just want to know what rode him to tell Chase who I am."
Standish was silent once more. "Let me get back to you, Dr. House."
Before House had a chance to rant again, Standish had hung up. He glared at the phone and slammed the receiver into the cradle. Damned vampires!
*
Standish called back an hour later, and House gave him a grumpy hello.
"Troy remembers you," the vampire said pleasantly, a wide smile in his voice. "He'd love to talk to you."
"He won't love it when I'm done with him!" House growled.
"Be gentle, Dr. House. Troy respects your talents and told me he's forever grateful for your aid back then. He wouldn't have given Dr. Chase your information if Dr. Chase hadn't been trustworthy. I take it Dr. Chase never gave you up to anyone?"
"No," was the grudging reply. "He also didn't tell me who he was."
"Go easy on him," was Standish's only advice.
After he had hung up, House wondered who he meant. Troy or Chase? He'd give the New York vampire a piece of his mind for sure. If there was one thing House reacted almost allergic to it was his paranormal status and people knowing about it because others blabbed it out.
*
Wilson knew he would find John Pyre in Chase's room and when he entered, the lawyer was just leaving. Chase was apparently asleep. Pyre shot him a brief smile and nodded toward the door, silently requesting they take this outside.
"I'm Dr. James Wilson," Wilson introduced himself.
"I know who you are."
Wilson raised an eyebrow and Pyre smiled more. There were fine lines around his eyes, crinkling lightly, and the suntanned features reflected the amusement. Wilson had never met Pyre before now and he was surprised by the positive vibes. Not that the empath was truly talented when it came to actively using his powers, but sometimes, things stood out. Like this man. Taller than him, probably his age, blond, good-looking in a handsomely rugged way, and the topic of House's latest obsession.
"We never met, true, but Robert talked about you, too."
"Like he talked about House?"
They walked down the corridor and Wilson steered them toward the elevator. The doors closed after them, giving the two men a brief moment of privacy.
Pyre inclined his head a little. "Robert doesn't know if you are a paranormal, too, but he suspects you're at least an ally."
"That's...a rather daring suspicion. Even more daring is you telling me this. I could be a normal human being, with no affiliation or knowledge of the paranormal, Mr. Pyre."
The other man smiled. "You could."
But Wilson's reaction had already confirmed the suspicions and Wilson knew that.
"So he assumes I know about House's abilities?" he asked neutrally, tentatively staking out the area they were talking in.
"Yes."
"Because I'm with him?"
"You are close. He figured that your time together brought you closer in that regard as well."
The doors opened and conversation stopped until they reached the office. Wilson locked it. Not to keep Pyre in, but to keep sudden visitors out. He had no appointments and he didn't plan on having any surprises.
"This is a matter of trust," he now simply said.
"I'm quite aware of that, Dr. Wilson. I'm an ally. I come from a family of allies. I've been taught what trust means in the world of the paranormal at an early age. I think ally children grow up fast, like paranormals who come into their powers, whatever they are. We learn on a different basis, and we learn that this is not a game." Pyre nodded to himself, gray eyes serious. "I'd be honored if you trust me, but I don't demand answers or that trust. If you're an ally, you have the right to keep information pertaining House to yourself if it keeps him safe. If you're a paranormal, it's your choice whether or not to turn to me for help. I haven't worked with many outside the community and my specialty is vampires." He grinned a little. "With the occasional oddball."
Wilson mirrored the smile. He was trying to get a grip on the man and while it wasn't easy, he didn't get warning signs.
"Chase is partly right," the oncologist finally said. "I know what House is. I didn't know about him until a few years ago, though. I've been an ally a lot longer than knowing him, in case you wonder."
Pyre silently stored that information, not pushing or questioning Wilson further on the statement.
"How did the two of you meet?" Wilson asked, his whole demeanor easy and disarming.
James Wilson had no real clue as to how to consciously use his abilities to influence people. House had told him it was instinctual, that he did it every day. It wasn't manipulation of any sort; it was a matter of giving people what they needed, of helping them open up, trust him, take that last step they were afraid of. Trusting Wilson wasn't forced by his empathic skills, but he made it easier to drop all guards. What House called the 'Soother' was how Wilson returned that trust, giving the other person a positive reward for it.
So without actually trying to, Wilson was making it easier for Pyre to talk to him, answer his questions, and build a base of trust between them.
Now those gray eyes looked at Wilson and the lawyer smiled. "We met over a case, what else? A lawyer from New York and an Australian doctor here for a juniorship don't really mingle in the same places. Insane hours on both fronts."
Pyre stopped for a moment, looking past the oncologist, apparently studying the poster print behind him. Finally he spoke again, voice softer, almost thoughtful.
"I lost my partner five years ago. It was an accident." Pyre briefly closed his eyes. "A stupid, stupid accident." But he didn't go into detail as to what kind, Wilson noticed, silently listening. "We had been together for twelve years, Dr. Wilson. Ever since college. Back then it was just fuck buddies, but it developed. It became so much more. It became love. I was going to be a lawyer, he wanted to be an architect or a city planner. Matt was my world and we had so many plans. Then..." He stopped again. "I was in mourning. I didn't look at another man for years, not even for a quick roll. I tried to be more sociable in that regard, but it didn't happen. I buried myself in work and brushed off whoever wanted more than friendship."
"Until you met Chase?"
Pyre smiled a little. "In a way. It wasn't love at first sight. We met because his name was given to me as someone who might be able to help me in a case. I called him, we worked on the case together, and we became friends. Nothing more. But like with Matt, the friendship deepened. At least I started to feel something again. Something softer and more... intense."
Wilson studied the other man. His empathic skills were solely fixed on Pyre and while he wasn't that good at reading emotions from almost total strangers, he knew enough about it by now to determine that there were no lies. This was honesty. Brutal honesty and honest feelings.
"I knew Chase wasn't gay, but he knew I am."
"Wasn't gay?" Wilson echoed. "He is now?"
Pyre laughed softly. "No. He's bi, actually. He told me once. It was his coming out. He likes women a lot, but he sometimes lets his mind wander to men, too. He had a few one-night-stands in the past, but all his longer relationships were with women."
That was news for Wilson, but he accepted it. House liked to make little jokes about Chase's hair, his clothes, his handsome looks. Sure, he liked to imply that Chase might be bi-curious, but it had never crossed the line.
"So you had hopes?"
"I still have. I love him, Dr. Wilson. It's a real feeling for me and I know he's scared of himself, of what admitting to being attracted to me means."
That emotion was true as well. Wilson tilted his head, meeting the calm gaze.
"You gave it a lot of thought."
"I've had time to think about it. And you probably know the feeling only too well."
Wilson drew back a little, surprised by the words. "How..?"
"I'm an ally, Dr. Wilson. I knew from Robert about Dr. House. We talked about the two of you, about how long it took for you to become a couple. I had never met you, but I believed that it was hesitation on your part. You, like Robert, are bi. You were married. You like women. You also like men and you fell in love with someone very unlikely."
"Chase isn't unlikely," Wilson said, trying to steer the conversation away from him.
"No, he isn't. He's scared." Pyre hesitated, then shook his head. "No, not scared. He's hesitant. We kissed before. He liked it. It's all we did and I..." He laughed briefly. "Damn, I'm so easy. I jerk off to a fantasy of him."
Wilson studied him. Pyre had control over his emotions. He felt something like sadness over the loss of Matt, but it had been dealt with. It wasn't like that burning, scathing, painful emotion many relatives projected when it came to losing a loved-one because of cancer. Then there was that softer wave, that ripple when it came to Chase. Pyre did love the Australian, but he had the control and the distance of an emotionally developed adult, not some hormone-driven or obsessed teenager or young adult. Not that adults couldn't be obsessed, he mused. Wilson had read his share of medical case histories of obsessive husbands, jealous of everyone even looking at their wives, beating them up over little things and apologizing profoundly later.
Sad, sad cases.
"So what do you want to do about it?"
Pyre chuckled. "You're as protective of Robert as Dr. House."
"He's my colleague."
"And a friend?"
"Probably." Wilson smiled as well. "Yes, he is," he corrected himself, thinking of what Chase had done for him and House in the past months.
"To answer your question, I won't harass him over this. Whatever step he wants to take, I'll accept it."
"That's very selfless and generous."
"Robert is my friend," Pyre repeated firmly. "I love him, but I also want his friendship. He's not averse to moments of intimacy, but something probably happened in his past that makes him hesitant. Should he decide to take the next step, I'll be there."
"How long will you be here?" Wilson asked all of a sudden.
The lawyer shrugged. "My vacation is until Monday. I've to be back in the firm on Tuesday. I'll be here as often as I can in person, but like I told you, insane hours." There was a wave of regret. "I'd love to have Robert with me should he feel comfortable with me throughout his recovery. I talked to Dr. Schmitt and he said rehab doesn't have to be here. Should Robert want this, we can set up rehab in New York. But that's not for discussion just yet."
He rose fluidly and nodded at Wilson.
"Thank you for your time, Dr. Wilson. I appreciate what you are doing. I promise you I won't hurt him."
And with that he left.
Wilson leaned back, hands folded over his stomach, gazing at the closed door. The emotions ran true to the words, which was something. And Pyre was serious about his intentions.
*
Allison Cameron came into the private room and smiled at her colleague. She had seen Robert Chase in all stages of undress and complete nudity - no small wonder since they had slept together once.
"Hey," she said softly, smiling.
He gave her a wan smile that turned into a grimace as the movement pulled at the face wound. His color still looked bad and Cameron had talked to Schmitt from doctor to doctor. A colleague as a patient was never something to look forward to. Operating on a colleague who had come in because of a car crash, trying to save his life, was really low on any doctor's wish list.
Chase was doing as well as expected. His lung was healing nicely, his ribs were mending, as was the clavicle. It had shattered in several places. He would be released into rehab soon. He was already going through breathing exercises.
"How are you holding up?"
"Great. Always wanted to see hospital life from the other side." He grimaced.
Cameron chuckled. She pushed her hands into her coat pockets.
"So... anything I can get you? I know you have a friend visiting, but maybe... from home?"
"No. I'm good. Thanks. How are things with House?"
"Same old. He's his grouchy self, snappish, grumpy, and he has scared at least twice as many patients in the clinic in the last few days."
"Oh. I bet Cuddy's happy."
Another grimace. "Oh yes. Very. She's close to having a major hissy fit. I never thought he be in such a bad mood ever again." Cameron shrugged a little at Chase's quizzical look. "You know, since he and Wilson got together. He has become more bearable. Not much, but a bit."
Cameron knew what was on House's mind. It was on hers as well. Even Foreman had been hit hard by Chase's accident and near-death. They were one man short and it wasn't because of some measly cold but something very serious.
Her and Chase's one-night stand hadn't been off to a good start. She had been drugged out of her mind, scared by the possibility of an HIV infection, and Chase had been... well, a man. No man could say no to a determined woman whose inhibitions had been completely shot to hell. It had been a wild and crazy time, Cameron had enjoyed it, but she knew that it had been a mistake the next day. She shouldn't have slept with a colleague. Well, she had. No going back.
It had been a quiet understanding between them that this was not to be repeated. There was nothing wrong with Chase as a man, but she didn't want to pursue a physical relationship with a colleague she worked with. She had burned herself with approaching House. Such childish infatuation and the naïve hope that she might change him. House couldn't be changed. Not even Wilson could manage that. You either took him as he was, faults and snarks and all, or you turned and left.
She hadn't left House as a friend, but she had closed the chapter of romantic involvement with House.
Cameron stayed throughout her lunch break with Chase and they talked. She carefully tried to investigate as to who Chase's visitor was, but he insisted the man was simply a friend. John Pyre from New York. He had never mentioned him before and from the few words it seemed he had known him for a while. In the end she gave up.
Chase was growing tired again and Cameron left for the day, promising to drop by again.
*
"You're probably the only person I know who calls a community leader and rips him a new one over something like this."
Wilson shook his head and pushed the freezer door shut with his hips. With the frozen dinner in hand, he walked over to the microwave, reheating the chicken and rice leftovers from two weeks ago. It was still enough for two and he had managed to get House to help with the salad. His lover's bad mood had made for great chopping.
"He had no right!" House repeated the old argument. "I'm not going around telling everyone he's the blood-sucking undead!"
"He made a decision based on facts about Chase. Your intensivist is a highly placed ally and he knows how to keep secrets. Kristensen wouldn't have given this information to just anyone."
"He could have told me!"
Wilson frowned slightly. "Chase?"
"Yeah."
"He had no obligation to. Allies are primarily working for vampires."
"So you say I should get bitten?"
Wilson rolled his eyes and programmed the microwave. "No, I'm saying you should drop the topic and find something else to obsess about."
"Like our two lovebirds?"
The other man sighed deeply. "While I agree with you that John Pyre loves Chase, it's not a relationship just yet."
House leaned forward, a leering grin on his face. "Oh, tell me all, Jimmy. The gory details, the dirty little secrets..."
Wilson shook his head in mild exasperation. "No."
"No?" House feigned hurt. "I'm your best friend! I'm the one who can fuck you senseless. And you won't tell me?"
"Exactly."
House's whine of protest was lost on Wilson, who simply waited for his dinner as his lover continued to try and wheedle facts out of him.


Dinner was accompanied by House griping about Wilson's close-mouthedness concerning what he had picked up, and watching TV. It ended with companionable silence as both men continued watching TV, legs touching, shoulders too, after a while.
"So, tell me about Pyre," House prompted.
Wilson sighed and sank even deeper. "Greg..."
"He's in love with our Aussie, right?"
Another sigh. "Yes."
House grinned. "Knew it. You owe me."
"We never bet!"
"We should have."
"You always win anyway."
That got Wilson a superior smirk.
"So he loves him and they are at it like rabbits?"
"No. Chase... is careful," Wilson answered, just as carefully.
House frowned and turned his attention away from the TV. Blue eyes were suddenly solely fixed on Wilson and the other man tried not to let too much slip through his careful mask. He knew House was aware that Chase had told Wilson something about his past, something that explained his actions in the last few months concerning them. Wilson had never told his lover. It was up to Chase. It had been a private conversation and unless the Australian wanted House to know, Wilson would keep his confidence.
"You know why?" House now asked.
"Yes."
"You think Chase can handle this?"
Wilson raised an eyebrow, quite aware of the serious note to his lover's tone. "Since when do you care?"
House huffed. "I don't. It's bad enough to run a department with only two juniors. I don't need one with three where one's a lovesick puppy!"
Wilson tried to hide his smile at the loud complaint. He knew just where to put that one, how to interpret it.
"Yes, oh the hardship," he said.
"Exactly. So... do I have a pining puppy now?"
"No, you have a young ally who has been trying to come to terms with his emotions for quite a while now. He and John didn't just meet yesterday."
House looked thoughtful, but didn't say anything. Wilson elbowed him gently.
"Don't tease him too much. This is serious, Greg. There are issues in his past and they come into play with this. John's serious. He won't force Chase into anything."
Blue eyes shot him a glare, but House refused to admit, commit to, or promise anything.
Wilson knew him too well to force the matter at hand. He doubted House would needle Chase more about his looks and dialect any more than before. His lover wasn't unnecessarily cruel. He also liked to watch first, then attack. So for now, things would continue as before.
But should Chase make the step into a homosexual relationship, the cards would be dealt anew.
*
Chase looked up from the book he was trying to read as Wilson entered his room. It was past lunch time and while he was off the ventilator and the IV had been removed, hungry wasn't something he was at all.
"Dr. Wilson, hello," he greeted the other man.
His voice was back to normal, the rough scratchiness gone, but he felt and sounded weaker than he wanted to.
"Hey. How are you?"
"Fine."
Wilson raised his brows. "Sure. I'm a doctor, Chase. I know how to read a file."
"Yeah, well..." He shrugged faintly. "Could be better."
Wilson walked over to the blinds and closed them, making Chase frown. After his talk with House, the older man had been suspiciously absent, and House was the only one to close blinds for privacy.
"I know you talked to House," Wilson now said. "He told me about it."
Chase kept his silence. He didn't know what was going on and he didn't want to guess. This could mean anything.
"I know you're an ally."
Okay. That was... unexpected.
"Looks like Mr. Pyre didn't tell you about our conversation."
"Uh, no."
"I'm quite aware of the paranormal, Chase. I'm also aware of what an ally is. Actually, I've been one all my life. My family works as allies."
Chase blinked. "I didn't... know."
But as Pyre had told House, he had suspected.
"Kristensen only told you about House."
"Yeah."
"I think Troy found it more important. Had you asked about allies working at the hospital, you would probably have gotten my name. Otherwise, I wasn't aware of you or House. Or Stacy, for that matter."
Chase was unable to believe what he was hearing.
Wilson smiled. "I didn't know about Stacy, I didn't know about House. I helped some paranormals, but I never suspected him."
"And his abilities are really no longer there?" Chase asked.
Wilson hesitated a little. "A lot has happened in the last years." He studied his interlaced fingers, then met Chase's eyes. "I know you were trusted by the Melbourne shaman, that you worked closely with him when it came to paranormal problems. I need to trust you as well."
"Does House trust me?" Chase asked quietly.
"He doesn't trust allies. That includes me."
"Oh."
"But I trust you to help us should we need you. Things have changed profoundly for both Greg and me, Robert," Wilson said quietly, his voice taking on that calm, soothing quality. "It started with the accident, when I was thrown through the glass wall. Everyone said it shouldn't have broken and they were right, but the man who attacked me was a magic-user. He was hallucinating and I was the enemy. It was how Greg and I discovered what we felt for each other, and what we are. He has been burned by Stacy and he will never trust an ally like he trusted her. She betrayed him. It left scars larger and more horrible than the one on his thigh."
Chase was silent, just listening. Wilson suddenly met his eyes, the dark brown color almost hypnotic.
"Do you remember the homeless guy brought in some months back?"
He nodded.
"That was my brother Derek. He's a fully functional telepath. A very strong one. It's what drove him nearly insane."
Chase gaped.
"My grandfather is a latent empath. Apparently it runs in the family," the other man added, smiling wryly. "It runs in the family and it didn't stop at me."
"You're an empath?" Chased simply asked, feeling less shocked by that than anything else.
"Yes. I have empathic abilities, I can calm people down, something House calls the Soother, and I can remove my presence from someone's mind. Become invisible without actually disappearing. It's mostly instinctual. I can't control the last ability most of the time. It's like a defense."
Now Chase understood why Wilson had told him he had to trust him. That was... quite a lot. Wilson smiled again, eyebrows raised a little.
"As for House, his rehab helped."
"San Diego?"
"Yes."
Chase frowned a little. "He went to see... a healer?"
Wilson looked impressed. "Yes."
"But healers can't regrow dead or removed tissue."
"No. They can only take the pain."
"Then..." Chase stuttered. "But he's still on Vicodin!"
"You're an ally, Chase. You know about smoke and mirrors."
"He's... not?"
"No."
"And the pain?"
"Mostly gone. Ibuprofen can take care of it after too much walking."
And Wilson told him about the healing process, about what it involved, how far Sunkeeper had been able to help. Chase simply listened, filing it all away, the ally in him working overtime.
"I never noticed," the Australian murmured, still stunned. "You're good."
Wilson chuckled. "Thank you. Runs in the family. Even being a paranormal now myself, I can't just forget about what I did all my life."
"I don't believe an ally who becomes a paranormal ever stops being an ally," Chase said quietly. "You are just unofficially an ally." He smiled a little.
"Yes. That's why we need you here, Robert," Wilson told him.
"I'm not going anywhere," Chase replied calmly.
"Good. When you're up to it, we can talk some more. I think there's a lot to tell," Wilson said with a smile.
"Probably."
"Does the name 'Nexus' mean something to you?"
Chase tried to keep his surprise hidden, but he knew he had done poorly. He knew that in his current condition he was far from good at anything.
Wilson smirked. "Well, then we have a whole lot to talk about."
"You... know?"
"I work with Dr. Jackson, Chase."
"And you went to Las Vegas and Salt Lake," the intensivist added, voice relaying his growing understanding.
"Yes. Don't mention the Nexus to House, though. He's... well, allergic in that regard."
"His reaction to anything paranormal seems a bit extreme. I mean, he's been a paranormal for a long time, right?" Chase wanted to know.
Wilson shrugged. "Yes, but that doesn't mean he can't be House about it."
Chase smiled. "True."
"Take it easy, Robert," Wilson advised before he left. "We have time to catch up to things and your recovery is the primary concern."
"Thanks."
Wilson smiled briefly, nodded, and then left. Chase sank back deeper into his pillow and stared at the ceiling.
"Damn," he simply whispered, mind whirling.
*
Chase was released a day before Christmas, under the stern advice to take it easy. His ribs were taped, as was his clavicle, making it hard for him to move freely. Pyre, who had had to return to New York, was there for his release.
House wasn't. At least not close by.
He watched from the icy coldness of the balcony as Chase was wheeled out and helped into a waiting car.
A big car. Expensive. Money to burn.
He smirked.
Lawyers.
Someone joined him, bundled up in a thick winter coat. Wilson had his hands stuffed into the coat, breath warm puffs in the frigid air. A few snow flakes were already settling on his hair.
"You're going to freeze to death out here," he said.
House didn't answer, just watched the man in the black turtleneck and the woolen coat get into the driver's seat, the limo pulling out into the street.
"What?" Wilson wanted to know.
"Nothing."
He turned and walked back inside, shaking snow off his clothes. Wilson went after him, frowning.
"You know I can pick that up," he commented.
"What? I showered!" House whined.
A deep sigh answered that comment and Wilson put his hands on his hips, shooting his lover the Look. House grimaced and limped to his chair, sitting down.
"Chase is going to be fine," Wilson said almost unnecessarily.
"Yeah."
"I'm working tomorrow."
House narrowed his eyes at that. It was truly superfluous. He knew Wilson always worked on Christmas and took off the day after and New Year's instead.
"And it's snowing," James added, eyes dancing.
"One more inane comment or remark and I'm going to do something unspeakable," House threatened.
"Like what? Run me out of the hospital? I bet I'm faster," Wilson teased.
House's cane, handle first, snapped forward and caught the oncologist at the thighs. Wilson stumbled forward.
"I was thinking about pushing you up the glass wall and having my wicked way with you," House growled, eyeing Wilson's crotch with a hungry look.
"All in the Christmas spirit?" his lover asked.
Now the cane was replaced by a hand ghosting over the pants, coming dangerously close to more sensitive areas.
"My Christmas spirit is just fine."
"Apparently it's rising," came the dry remark.
House grinned. "Apparently," he rumbled.
Wilson slid smoothly sideways, making House whine like an unhappy puppy.
"I, unlike others, have work to do. See you tonight."
House grinned only more as he watched his lover go.