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In Deceptione Veritas TITEL: In Deceptione Veritas
Part of the Denuo AU
AUTHOR: Macx and Lara Bee
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: House/Wilson, Chase/OMC
DISCLAIMER: not mine. Wish I could have them, but whoever all owns them, I'm 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 my first language; it's German. This is the best I 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!)


Jessica Wilkinson, mother of a daughter by the name of Hannah, was brought in on a Thursday. Her main complaints were shortness of breath and chest pain. Her husband claimed she had coughed up a minor amount of blood.
So she was immediately examined head to toe, then sent home with the diagnosis of the flu. It was the season. Nothing special. Rest, Tylenol, teas.
Two weeks later Jessica Wilkinson was back. This time in exam room two, this time being examined by Dr. Gregory House. Her breathing problems had intensified. Exercise and breathlessness were one thing, but by now even lying down had her gasping, trying desperately to draw in air.
"I can't go up the stairs without being out of breath," the slender woman explained, her breath coming in little gasps.
"I see your prior doctor did a chest x-ray," House remarked, flipping through the pages with an expression of disdain.
Jessica only nodded.
"Inconclusive, it says here. I hate that word. In-con-clu-sive." He rolled it around on his tongue. "So... vague. Your doctor also said you have a lung problem. Now really... who would have thought? Idiot."
Jessica's breathing was harsh and she looked a little blue around the lips.
"Let me tell you something, Jessica. How about we keep you here and see what we can find out?" he offered with a beatific smile. When she didn't answer, House snapped the file shut. "Great! I'll get you a nurse to check you in. Boredom, you're so busted!"
And with that he was out of the exam room and whistling to himself.
"Nurse? No more patients for me. I've got a case," he told the nurse on duty, smiling widely.
Then he started to beep the team.
*
"Asthma, emphysema, or pulmonary bronchitis...?" Foreman listed, looking none too excited.
"All tested for. All not happening," House interrupted, writing on the whiteboard. "Give me something else, people. We have a thirty-three year old woman who can't even breathe properly while doing nothing at all. Height, weight, family history... all just peachy. No asthma, no allergies, no prior lung injuries or even a slight flu. Comes down with breathing problems and all you can tell me is bronchitis?"
Foreman sighed. "Her chest x-rays revealed nothing."
"Her chest x-rays revealed nothing," House echoed, grimacing. "Since when do we rely on another doctor's work? Idiots, all of them. Do an MRI, a CT scan, test her blood, you know the drill."
Cameron was leafing through the file. "She already had a blood test. And a pulmonary test. Her lung volume is insufficient and her O2 levels are pretty low."
"Yes, we know that," House said with barely any patience in his voice. "Now tell me why?"
There was no answer.
"Okay, suggestion: how about that MRI then?" His raised his brows.
Foreman finally got up and Cameron followed, both leaving Diagnostics with Jessica's file. House went back to looking at the whiteboard, which was pretty empty of conclusive symptoms. Each of them spoke either of a cough, allergies or the flu. None were runners-up for the first prize of being this woman's main problem. Something was underneath all of that and he wanted to find out.
Well, time for bugging Wilson.
And he was off, too.
*
He had spent two months in a rather pricey rehab center outside New York. They had trained his damaged lung, treated his ribs, his breaks and cuts and bruises. Robert Chase had let them do whatever they deigned necessary. His therapeutical sessions involved psychological evaluations, the chance to talk about the horrifying accident, and he felt his knots ease.
In those two months he saw no more of John than he would have in Princeton. The lawyer came by on weekends or if he had an afternoon off, but mostly he was deeply involved in some new case that took up all his time. So when Chase was allowed to leave the rehab center and move into New York, he didn't expect the other man to be there on that day, smiling at him.
"You got a spy here?" Chase teased as he was wheeled out to the waiting car.
"Well, I asked them to call me," John told him and stopped the wheelchair so Chase could get out. "I suspected you wouldn't," he added.
Chase shrugged. "I could have taken a cab."
"I'm cheaper."
"You had to take time off work, come out here..." the Australian started.
"I'm here," Pyre interrupted him. "I'm your friend, Robert. It's what friends do."
Chase was silent and simply got into the car.
"You have to be back once a week?" John asked as the limo pulled out.
Chase nodded, sinking into the comfortable seats.
His ribs twinged when he lay in awkward positions or moved wrong, but they were mending. His collar bone was already looking good and aside from muscle weakness that needed the continued therapy he felt better than in weeks.
"I have an appointment with a rehab specialist in the City. I'll give him a call tomorrow."
John nodded. "Okay."
The drive to John's place was spent either in silence, Chase watching the outside world flash by, or chatting about meaningless stuff. He was tired, the medication still weighing him down, and he hated the fact that his lung still wasn't back to normal. The doctor at the rehab center had cautioned him against straining himself, and as a doctor himself Chase knew it would probably take another month. It didn't mean he was any happier about it.
*
Chase looked around the huge apartment, stunned by the expanse, the money this had involved... and the fact that he liked it here. Not because of the luxury hidden underneath tasteful decoration, but because it felt... nice. No hideous prints that were 'in' but had no taste spoiled the walls. No strange sculptures or paintings. Just lots of space and a very individual and personal taste.
"Robert, if you object, tell me," John said calmly.
He turned to look at the blond. There was nothing but friendliness there.
"I'm just... won't this bother you?"
John chuckled. "No. I've got room to spare. Don't worry."
Because there was no one else in his life. This place was empty.
"Thanks," Chase said quietly.
For a moment it appeared like John wanted to say something, then he just smiled.


The guest room was spacious, almost as big as a normal bedroom, with a small bathroom attached. Chase felt tired just looking at the bed and he couldn't suppress a yawn. John chuckled and squeezed one shoulder.
"Go get some rest. I've work to do anyway. Papers to read and sign, proposals to go over, the stuff and all."
Chase didn't argue. He changed into something more comfortable from out of his suitcase, then stretched out on the bed. He heard Pyre moving around outside, then even those soft sounds were gone, leaving him with the faint noises of New York. They lulled him into sleep and he dozed off not much later.
*
"Damn, will you look at this?" Foreman muttered.
Cameron leaned over and looked at the display. Jessica Wilkinson's CT results.
"What are those? Cysts?"
"Looks like it."
The lung CT showed not just one or two. It showed a lot of them.
"But from what?"
Foreman shook his head, stumped. "No idea."
*
"Biopsy the lung."
Cameron was all protest at House's words. "It's invasive and unnecessary. We can see the cysts on the CT!"
"And they tell you what? Right! She has cysts in her lungs. But why? Get a tissue sample."
"He's right," Foreman agreed.
House just raised an eyebrow at that. "How nice of you to finally agree on something with me."
"We don't know what's causing this," the neurologist went on. "This is our best option."
"Knock her out, get the sample," House repeated. "Then tell me what you found out."
*
Cameron had left it to Foreman to talk to the father. The daughter was with her grandparents and the worried man was listening to what Foreman was explaining.
"Lung cysts? From what?" Andrew Wilkinson wanted to know.
"We don't know yet. That's why we need to biopsy your wife's lung."
"Is it dangerous?"
It was a regular question. All relatives asked them when doctors explained about surgery or suggested treatment. They were laymen and the doctors the experts. It was up to Foreman to tell the man what was about to happen, without using too many medical terms.
"A lung biopsy removes a small piece of lung tissue which can be looked at under a microscope," the neurologist said. "The biopsy can be done in several ways. The method used depends on where the sample will be taken from and your overall health. In your wife's case, we'll be doing a needle biopsy. A long needle is inserted through the chest wall to remove a sample of lung tissue. It's done with a local anesthesia."
"It's surgery?"
"Yes. A small one, but it is surgery."
Wilkinson nodded jerkily. "Okay. And this will help in telling you what Jessy has?"
"We hope so, Mr. Wilkinson," Foreman only replied.
*
"Lung cysts?" Wilson asked thoughtfully over lunch. "But no lung tumor?"
"You're not getting her. She's mine," House growled, picking at his fries. "Oncology is overcrowded anyway."
"I hope she won't be one of mine," Wilson replied amiably. "You ordered a lung biopsy?"
"Yes. Cameron was freaking out over it. She still hasn't learned about the necessities," House sighed theatrically. "Once in a while you need to poke the patient with something sharp and painful."
"You don't have to enjoy it, though."
"If I can't enjoy my job, then what?"
Wilson smiled. "Enjoy lunch. Which I paid for. Again."
"It's not gonna change even if you keep complaining about it," House shot back and pointedly dug a spoon into Wilson's dessert.
His lover gave him a misgiving frown, rescued his tray of dessert, and pointedly turned away to keep it safe.
"Baby," House teased.
"Buy your own."
"Mom didn't give me enough lunch money," House whined.
"Then complain to Mom."
"She's mean."
"I'm meaner. Why don't you terrorize your minions instead of trying to steal my food?" the oncologist suggested.
"Good idea. I want my results." House pushed up, grinning. "Later."
Wilson chuckled. "Later."
*
"Excessive growth of the muscle cells around the airways, and blood and lymph vessels," Foreman reported. "The excess muscle cells are starting to block the airways, trapping air in the smallest air compartments in the lung and causing the difficulty in moving it out of the lungs."
"Which results in a breakdown of the lung tissue and the formation of small cysts," House finished, twirling his cane. "Nice. "
"But what causes it?" Foreman asked.
Silence.
House was staring at the whiteboard with all its listed symptoms. There was an intense expression in his eyes.
"CT her kidneys."
"What?" Cameron blurted.
"CT. Her. Kidneys," he repeated as if speaking to a child.
"But she has a lung disease!"
"Very good, Dr. Cameron. But I want you to look at her kidneys."
"What good will it do to...?"
"CT her kidneys!" House snapped. "Now!"
Her angry expression doubled and she stormed out. Foreman gave him a quizzical look.
"Why the kidneys?"
House grinned. "Now that would be telling. Go and keep an eye on her before she comes back with a liver scan."
Foreman shook his head and walked off.
The grin faded off House's face, replaced by the prior intense expression. The cane kept twirling.
*
"Angiomyolipoma." Wilson lowered the scan and looked at House, Foreman and Cameron. "It's an unusual, frequently asymptomatic, kidney tumor. That's from your pulmonary problem?"
House nodded, the cane twirling lazily.
"Maybe it's unrelated," Cameron hazarded a guess. "There's nothing that causes a kidney tumor and shortness of breath."
"She doesn't have lung cancer from what I'm reading here," Wilson agreed. "No tumor cells in the biopsy."
"It's related," House only said.
"It can't be," Cameron argued. "The kidneys and lungs have nothing in common that might lead to this."
House thumped his cane onto the ground. "LAM."
Wilson frowned. "Lamb? As in sheep?"
"No. LAM as in L - A - M. Fifty percent of patients with LAM suffer from Angiomyolipoma."
"What's LAM?" Foreman asked, puzzled.
"I'm surprised they didn't teach you that, Foreman," House quipped. "LAM - Lymphangioleiomyomatosis."
"I read about that somewhere," Cameron spoke up. "It's rare."
"Rare enough for Jessica Wilkinson to have it," House said. "It's a lung disease that affects almost exclusively women. The disease is characterized by an unusual type of muscle cell that invades the tissue of the lungs, including the airways. Over time, these muscle cells grow into the walls of the airways, and blood and lymph vessels, causing them to become obstructed. The muscle cells block the flow of air, blood, and lymph vessels to and from the lungs, preventing the lungs from providing oxygen to the rest of the body. Sound familiar?"
"How do we treat it?" Cameron wanted to know.
"There is no cure," Wilson said slowly. "It's genetic. At least she'll know now."
"That's all?"
"That's all," House agreed. "We know what she has, we tell the loving husband, and off she goes.."
"But..." Cameron looked flustered.
"Nothing 'but'," he told her sharply. "Go and tell her and the hubby. Tell them that the University of Cincinnati is conducting a trial with a new drug, too. They might be interested in her."
"How do you know that?" Foreman asked, mystified.
"I read, Foreman. Lung Disease Monthly. Nice center fold-out," House replied. "Always a turn-on. I live for those wicked alveoli." He pushed to his feet and went into his office.
Wilson didn't follow. He just gazed after his lover, hands in his coat pockets, then left Diagnostics. He was well aware that House wanted to be left alone. House hated nothing more than an illness that was beyond treatment, something that cheated him out of a fight, a battle of wits against virus, and for the rest of the day he would be insufferable.
*
New York was... New York. Big, loud, full of people, full of sights to see and sights to avoid. It was a hubbub of noise and lights. Chase wasn't a big city boy. Compared to Melbourne, this was intense. Melbourne was countryside, New York was... superlative in many things.
Of course he did the tourist stuff. He even bought a ticket on an open-top tour bus and let a young woman in a tour guide uniform explain the sights, tell the history and sprinkle it all with funny anecdotes.
John kept teasing him about it for days. New York born and bred, John Pyre knew more about the city than many guides and Chase was given the Pyre Guided Tour soon after. It was entertaining and ended in a nice little club off the main tourist routes, with good music and even better food. They watched a game on a big screen TV, and generally had fun.
Despite the pain of rehab, the fact that he would have scars to tell of the accident, and despite the general persisting weakness of his body, Chase was really having fun. He could drop his guard and be who he was. And it was nice to be that person with John.
He knew he was fighting the inevitable and he was sick and tired of hiding. Not what he was, but what he wanted. He had never given this a chance; he had hidden behind the fear and remembered horror of what had happened to his best friend.
He was older now.
He had a job.
Should he care?
His mother was dead, his father had died recently, he didn't owe his stepmother anything. This was about himself, about what he felt, what he wanted, what he needed. This was about who he was and his decisions. He only had to justify them to himself.
Chase knew there had been something between him and John. He had realized throughout the past months, and maybe even before, that the lawyer felt something for him, wanted more than their friendship, but he had held back - because of him. John was keeping a distance that was starting to affect Chase, that made him want something much more intimate. Chase didn't want that strange gap between them any more. He wanted to try this, he wanted to know what it was... what it would be like.
It was after coming home from the game and the great food and even better day that he finally did what a part of him had told him to do for a while now. Looking into those gray eyes Chase walked over to the slightly taller man, feeling his stomach knot and twist. He was feeling nervous. Damn.
John was the one with the experience.
John was the one who had been in a serious relationship before.
Part of Chase hesitated. So what was Pyre after? A replacement for Matt? Just entertainment? John had had a partner for twelve long years... and Matt had died five years ago. In an accident.
But why wait so long if it was only that? They had known each other for years now; Pyre had never tried anything. Chase was confused and he was unable to make sense of many of his emotions and thoughts.
Those gray eyes watched him, a glimmer of hope inside them. Chase had seen that expression so many times before, but only now he realized what it meant. John had waited. So long and so patiently.
Maybe he needed to make this step.
Maybe he needed to risk something in their relationship.
"John, I..." Chase broke off and just leaned forward, blowing all caution to hell.
Their lips collided. There was no other term for it. It wasn't a very refined kiss, it wasn't the angels singing and all bells ringing. It was a physical contact that wasn't all that different from a first kiss with a woman.
Only that this woman was a man and that this man now took control and answered the kiss. Hands carefully touched Chase's arm, his side, and he didn't flinch away. He closed his eyes and did what he would do with a woman. He kissed. Just kissed. Fingers were now in his hair, carding through the longish strands, and it felt nice.
The kiss ended slowly and John pulled away.
"Wow," the lawyer chuckled. "I think I can take a hint."
Chase felt a light blush creep over his cheeks. "Uhm, well..."
Whatever he wanted to say, it was stifled by a kiss initiated by John. This one was more refined, led by someone with a lot more experience in the kissing-another-man-department than Chase.
This time, when John pulled away, there was a silent question in his eyes. Chase smiled, still in a semi-embrace. It felt very, very nice. Good. Comfortable.
He could get used to it.


They ended up making out on the couch. There were kisses and there was touching, there was warm skin under his hands. It wasn't his first man, sure, but it was the first time this didn't happen as a quickie in a dark corner. It wasn't just sex. It was exploration, getting to know the other. Chase liked what he saw, he liked the hard, firm planes. John kept fit and he looked good, and Chase loved to explore all of it.
Pyre did the same, touching the healing marks, the scars, the still torn looking flesh. He caressed each injury with gentle fingers, kissed the scars, and Chase shivered. John's lips locked over a perked nipple and suckled gently, making the Australian groan. His lover smiled fondly at the reaction and Chase ran a caress over the firm chest, down south, over the navel and dipping further.
When he touched the stirring arousal, John grabbed his hand.
"John?"
"It's not about this."
"I want it. I'm not a novice, John. I want to touch you."
"Robert..."
"I don't want to do the nasty," Chase replied. "I don't think I'm up to more than this. I just thought you'd like it."
John released his hand. "I like it," he said honestly. "I'd never say no, Robert. I'm not strong enough for it and I've been dreaming about this for so long." He smiled crookedly. "And I know you're not up for much." He was still caressing Chase's upper body, hands straying over his butt now and then. "I also know you have experience."
"So what's the problem?"
"I want this. I want us. And I want us to last. This isn't some quick fuck for me, Robert."
Chase swallowed a little.
"This isn't just about immediate gratification. I want a relationship."
Chase stared into those so very serious eyes and gave a little laugh. "Damn."
Brows rose.
"This is... fast."
"Too fast?"
"No... not really. Just... surprising. The relationship thing, I mean." Damn, he was stuttering.
"Why?" John simply asked.
Chase moved back a little, giving them a moderate space. "I don't know. I didn't expect it."
"That I want this?"
"I know you want to sleep with me," Chase told him openly. "You were subtle, but I could see it. And it's not like I wasn't attracted. I was just..."
"Cautious?"
"Yeah."
John smiled, his hands lightly stroking over Chase's body. "Yes, I'd love to sleep with you, Robert. I've... had fantasies. When you're up to it, when you want it, but not now. I like this, too. I like touching you and kissing you. I like you being here."
A relationship. A partner. A male partner. Being a couple. The Australian closed his eyes. Why fight? he thought. Why fight when there was no family to protect, no father who would disown him over something that was his personal life? What did he care what others thought?
He didn't. Not any more. The last year had changed him. Too much had happened. He had found out about House, about Wilson, knew the truth, and they knew his secret. They knew he was an ally. House would tease him no matter what he did. He would ride him as he rode Foreman, he would snark and snarl throughout good times and bad times. House wasn't the problem. Neither was Wilson. Or even Cameron. And Foreman was low on Chase's priority least when it came to other people's opinions.
He was making this decision for himself.
Only for himself.
Chase opened his eyes and leaned over John, closing the distance, bringing their lips together.
"I like it, too," he said softly.
His hair was falling forward, obscuring his view, but he saw the smile on the older man's lips, and then there were long fingers pushing back the obnoxious strands, carding into the hair.
John's expression was loving, intent, warm. He didn't say what was clearly in his eyes, and Chase was thankful for it. It frightened him.


They spent the next hour on the couch, exploring without taking too many liberties, and Chase cursed the remnants of the medication for his lack of stirring. John teased him, but without malicious intent.
Chase felt good... it was nice... it was what he wanted. And for once, he didn't look over his shoulder. He didn't need to please anyone with his actions, he didn't need to cover his ass, he didn't need to look for a way to come out on top. There was no one pushing him.
This was only about him.
And he had made his decision.
*
House watched with interest and complete silence as his lover went through his mediations again. It was a time when House just looked at the younger man, took in the chestnut hair - finally Wilson had let it grow a bit again - the relaxed, youngish features and the slender, nicely shaped body that hid underneath a ratty old shirt and old sweat pants. His feet were bare, his arms nicely tanned, his whole appearance... relaxed. It was a different relaxation from post-coital bliss. It wasn't the limp-weight-on-mattress relaxation either. This was an inner balance achieved by something other than sex or heavy petting.
House let the time pass in silence, sometimes diverting his attention to a journal, but mostly he was looking at Wilson. Finally, after almost an hour, dark brown eyes opened, blinked briefly, then turned to meet his gaze.
At his quizzical expression, House grinned. "I like to watch."
"I knew you had voyeuristic qualities."
"I don't hear you complaining."
Wilson smiled. "I'm not."
"So... got your kumbayayas out?" he teased.
James got up in a fluid motion and House leered, licking his lips.
"Yes, actually I did. And I can feel that, Greg," he added with a smirk.
"I hoped so."
House also knew how serious these sessions were. He lightly teased his lover about them, but without the training, Wilson might never get the hang of shields against negative emotions directed solely at him. He had been hit twice with such force, it had made him throw up or collapse, whimpering in pain. House didn't want to ever see this again, but it was likely unless Wilson trained.
So he did. Whenever there was time. And House watched when he was home.
"I like watching," House purred as he limped toward his lover. "It's a very nice view."
James smiled and kissed him. "And you feel nice, too," he returned the compliment. "All relaxed and mellow."
"Don't tell the others or I'll have to kill you," House mumbled, kissing him again.
"They wouldn't believe me."
Wilson detached himself and walked over into the kitchen, getting himself a cold soda. He silently offered House one, but he declined, nodding at the glass of water on the couch table.
"You want to do something this afternoon?" Wilson asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.
House waggled his eyebrows. "I think I do."
It got him a smile. "You're insatiable. Don't you have a bike to ride?"
"I'd rather ride you," House purred.
"Get your mind out of the bed. And the gutter. And wherever else it loves to reside."
"Aw, shucks. You take the fun out of life."
Wilson grinned. "And you love me."
"Oh yeah, and that. Nearly forgot it."
James came over and gave him a loving kiss. "I've some work to do for the board."
House caught him before he left, kissing him once more. "You do that. I think I'll... ride the bike."
"You do that," Wilson murmured and left for his office.
House smiled, eyes on the retreating back, then he limped to the wardrobe to grab his bike gear.
*
He stood in front of the mirror and gazed at his image. So much had changed in the last few months and with those changes, he had changed, too. Chase gazed into a much leaner, more defined face, with less of the baby face optic of before. There were more pronounced cheek bones, one cheek marred by the still visible scar of his car accident. It was long and thin and it changed his appearance as much as his changing body had. He had developed much leaner lines, had added some muscle throughout rehab. He hadn't been bad looking before, but now those muscles were visible underneath his skin.
He had grown up.
Thirty years old and he had physically changed into a grown man.
He had to smile at that.
Add to the changes, he had finally decided on a haircut. The longish strands were gone, leaving the dark blond hair in a much more manageable length.
"It's short," John remarked, stepping into his line of view.
Chase shrugged. "I wanted something new."
"I liked it longish."
He smiled wryly. "Well, I was done with it."
A careful arm slipped around his waist, gently drawing him against a taller, broader body. Lips descended onto the nape of his neck, kissing almost chastely.
"It has its advantages," John murmured, nibbling.
Chase shivered, trying to stop that electric feeling that always coursed through him. It was like a touch-deprived man finally getting all he wanted, and in a way he had been deprived. Of a lot. Now he had given in to something he had feared, had tried to shy away from, and it had proven to be the most wondrous experience.
Newly in love.
It was laughable, at the age of thirty, to be so girlishly high on happiness when someone touched him like this. Someone kissed him. Someone... loved him.
John's hand was still resting comfortably on his stomach, making no forays further south. His new lover hadn't been anything but careful and accommodating. While John Pyre was gay, had always been gay, had been in a strong relationship with a man for twelve solid years, Chase's experience was that of two one-night stands.
Six months rehab in New York had changed a lot.
Especially his outlook on life.
He had nearly died in that car accident, his body had been put through the wringer, and now, healed and healthy, he didn't care about his old life any more. Well, most of it.
Chase closed his eyes and enjoyed the attention. He had fought the notion that John saw the woman in him, the weaker part of the relationship. He didn't want to be just a warm body, a toy to get his rocks off, and he surely didn't want to end up spreading his legs just because he was the more inexperienced part.
"We're equals," John had told him that day, looking very serious.
Six years older than Chase, an experienced and wealthy lawyer, respected and with his own firm, he was far more than an intensivist with a fellowship at Princeton-Plainsboro. He was money. His own money. Not Dad's money. Not like Chase.
"You're not feminine to me, Robert. I'm clearly aware that you're a man. I love that man."
Chase still reeled with the love declaration. He couldn't really respond to it, couldn't reply to it. He was still growing into something he wanted, but he didn't have much of an idea how to actually handle... to live... to be.
The hand on his stomach was distracting and Chase didn't know when his rational mind shut down and gave in to the instinctive need to feel this man with him. He turned in the embrace and captured John's lips in a kiss. Pyre opened up immediately, kissing back. Chase let his hands slide to the hem of the other man's sweater and pushed underneath, meeting naked skin.
John deepened the kiss, dominating the encounter as Chase let his hands explore. When they separated, both men were breathing harder, eyes reflecting the same emotions, and Chase didn't lose any time ridding himself of his t-shirt.
No words were lost as more clothes were divested of. Naked skin brushed against naked skin, and Chase moaned as his proud erection bumped and rubbed against a similar arousal. John stepped back, giving Chase a good view of the nicely shaped, tall form, the visible signs of his arousal, and he licked his lips.
He wanted this.
He wanted to be with him.
"Bedroom," John offered.
Chase took him up on it, unable not to touch as they proceeded to the bed, feeling hungry for every touch.
The bed was comfortable underneath him and he enjoyed the sensation of the kisses and caresses, the hand closing around his erection and stroking. John only briefly interrupted the stimulation to get the lube, adding slickness to it. Chase reciprocated the touches and caresses wherever he could, rubbing over peaked nipples, finding sensitive spots, wanting all of the other man.
John's hand cupped his balls, fingers sliding over highly sensitive skin, and he arched into that expert touch. When one finger slid deeper into his cleft he made a sound of protest. John leaned over him, kissing him.
"I know," he murmured, voice husky with arousal. "I won't."
Chase had only ever had penetration twice in his life. Once, as his first time, which he hadn't enjoyed at all. He had tried it a second time, figuring that first times never went all too well, but again it had been rather uncomfortable. It didn't get him off. He didn't like the feeling of being pinned down and fucked. He had never reached a climax throughout it and his partners hadn't been too interested in it.
John knew it. They had talked about it as their relationship progressed, and Pyre accepted it. Fingers were fine. He could deal with fingers, even finger penetration, and he liked the sensation, but everything else not. But the stimulation from those maddening fingers as they stroked over his most private area was heady. They dipped in twice, making Chase gasp. He was relaxed, looser than he thought he could have been with his past experience. Then John was stroking him harder, heading for the climax.
Chase came hard, spilling over his lover's hand. John kissed him, nipping and licking and lightly biting at his lips, jaw and neck, and Chase moaned softly with his release. Pyre still stroked him languidly and he gasped as a thumb caressed over his sensitized head.
Gray eyes watched him, a smile crinkling the skin around them, and Chase smiled back. His own hand was feathering over the lawyer's hip, heading for the still very strong arousal.
John let him, laying back, giving Chase full access, which the younger man used to his advantage. When he started to trail a wet path down to the hard erection, John pushed himself up on his elbows, watching him. Chase grinned up at his lover, then took the hardness into one hand and drew his tongue over the hot length.
John gave a hiss of appreciation. The move had caught him by surprise and his eyes dilated a little as Chase continue to use his tongue and lips to pay attention to him.
"Robert..." he groaned.
Chase decided to up the ante and he closed his lips over the glistening head, suckling gently.
John gasped, hips twitching up, the gray eyes reflecting the growing need. Chase smiled to himself and paid undivided attention to what he was doing. He wasn't as skilled as Pyre, but he knew what he was doing, and he knew from the growing tension and soft encouragement that the lawyer was appreciating this very, very much. He drew on his experience with what he liked, what women had done for him, what had felt good, and he simply did that to John. It looked like he was right.
"Close," John groaned. "Robert..."
He squeezed the hard length and fondled the balls, licking and suckling. His tongue flicked against the erection and had his lover moan loudly. Pyre's feet pushed into the mattress as he cried out, coming suddenly, and Chase drew back. He licked off the few specks on his lips, but swallowing it all had never been his forte. He was willing to try in the future, learn, attempt to overcome hesitation, but not today.
"Oh hell," John whispered. "Damn."
Chase crawled up the prone form, smiling. "I take it you liked?" he drawled.
John chuckled and drew him into a kiss. "You are full of surprises," he murmured, running his fingers through the short, blond strands.
"Get used to it."
Chase grabbed a towel and wiped off the mess John had made. He lay back down next to the other man and let himself get drawn closer, John kissing him languidly.
Four more weeks and he would be back at work.
Four more weeks of getting to know John in a different way, and getting to know himself like that.
Chase closed his eyes, feeling pleasantly sated and sleepy.
Four weeks were a long time right now, but he knew he would see them fly by.
For now, he wouldn't think about the deadline. He'd make the most of it.
*
When the phone rang House let the answering machine pick it up. Wilson was working late and he didn't feel in the mood to talk to anyone. If it was Cuddy, she'd probably leave threats and curses enough to melt the digital recording device. And if he felt in the mood, he would follow her loving and motherly advice to move his butt into the hospital because of some case or other.
As it was, the voice was female, but it definitely wasn't his boss.
"Greg, it's Rose. Please call. Thanks."
And Rose Wilson hung up.
House frowned at the blinking red light that signaled the call on the answering machine. He had yet to move from where he slouched in his couch chair, and something inside him was giving off faint alarm signals.
Finally he grabbed the portable phone and dialed Wilson's parents' home. Rose answered after the third ring.
*
Wilson came home past ten, looking tired and slightly harried, but not enough to alarm House in any way. There had been a board meeting over something or other, and then there was the matter of one very sick cue ball currently occupying most of Wilson's time. House had told his lover again and again that caring only aged him prematurely, but Wilson couldn't stop caring. It was in his nature. Caring was Wilson; without caring, he wouldn't be the man House loved. So he spent insane hours with a patient who would probably be dead by the end of the next week, talking to sobbing relatives, and coming home tired and in need of beer, food and sex.
House had the first ready, holding out the bottle without a word. The second was offered with a raised eyebrow and declined with a sigh. The third would have to wait till later.
"Your Mom called."
Wilson looked at him over the rim of the bottle. He loosened his tie, hair falling messily into his forehead, and despite the clean pressed shirt, he looked rumpled.
"Mine called her."
That got House a pair of raised eyebrows. "Y-your mother called mine? Why?" Wilson blurted.
"I guess it's the underhanded sneak attack call. I'm not answering her calls or letters, so she chooses the next best target - your parents."
"What did my mother say about it?"
"They talked. Mother stuff, I think." House shrugged. "Then something about wanting to talk to me. I'm not buying it. It's like the peace offering where you get a knife in the back after you exchanged meaningless hellos."
Wilson looked slightly confused, then his face shifted into an uneasy expression. "Maybe you should talk to her, you know. Just... to let her know you're okay."
"She knows I'm not okay!" House snapped. "I'm not okay because my father thinks I'm the scum of the earth. I'm not okay because he would rather have you run over by a bus than spend one more second with me. And I'm not okay because I don't want their pity!"
Brown eyes met irate blue ones. Wilson didn't flinch away from the surge of emotions and House felt a sliver of pride. His lover was getting better, even when he was tired, but it was also a deceptive strength. Wilson was still rather susceptible to single-minded hatred directed at him as an individual.
"She's your mother, Greg. Even if your father doesn't agree with your life, your choices, your choice in partners, she might have a different opinion."
"Oh, beware the day Blythe House becomes an individual!" House scoffed. "She's the perfect wife to a Marine, Jimmy. She will never have her own opinion. This is my father's way of spying."
Wilson just gazed at him, then picked up the bottle and rose, walking into the bedroom. House didn't follow. He waited until his lover came back, sans tie and dress shirt and suit pants. Of course he wasn't naked, even if House entertained fantasies to the like. Wilson was wearing a t-shirt and sweat pants, was bare-footed, and looked very much at home and at ease.
He settled on the couch and flipped through the channels. House joined him not much later, silently sitting down next to the relaxing form, and the topic of Blythe House and House's parents in general wasn't picked up again.
*
Chase was greeted by his lover when he came home. John opened the door and smiled at the younger man.
"Uh, hi?" Chase stuttered, surprised, key in hand.
His eyes roamed over the jeans-and-t-shirt clad form, took in the bare feet, the smooth skin, the incredibly sexy appearance, and something pooled rapidly down south.
"Hey. Missed you," John purred.
Chase was pulled forward, the door slid shut behind him, and lips met his in a gentle kiss. It was a caress, a tender question whether or not this was okay, and Chase deepened it in an answer. Pyre reacted to that and slid Chase's jacket off the narrow shoulders. Shirt buttons popped open as the two men staggered through the room and Chase felt the arousal rush through him. He fought with the t-shirt on his lover's frame just as John tried to get his own off.
Fingers tangled in his short hair and Chase gave a grunt of triumph as he finally had smooth skin to touch. John had started to nibble his way down Chase's neck and he yelped when he left a quick bite. Pyre gave him a little push and Chase was against the desk. Before he could react John was on his knees and Chase's pants were open. The Australian groaned as his growing arousal was surrounded by wet heat.
It didn't take him long to reach climax and he cried out his lover's name as he came. His knees were like jelly and he was glad for the hands on his hips. Pyre pushed himself up and claimed Chase's mouth, kissing him soundly.
"Welcome home."
Chase laughed softly. "Thanks."
The kisses grew more, both men delighting in the contact, and Chase wrapped his arms firmly around his lover, not letting go. He was semi-dressed, flushed, debauched, but he enjoyed the presence of John too much. Sometimes he felt like a drowning man who had discovered a well of water.
It was addictive. He wanted this and he wanted it to last.
John stepped back and the expression in those gray eyes made something in Chase shiver with longing. He had never felt so much, so badly, so heavily, so... intensely. He had allowed himself to experience this and it was more than he had ever expected it could be. John pulled him toward the shower. Chase followed, smiling. One more week, he thought, and then he would be back home. Until then it was just them, like a vacation, and he didn't want it to end.
*
When Chase came back after just over six months of rehab and regeneration, it wasn't to some stormy welcome party with cake and chips and more unhealthy food. Actually, there wasn't even a party banner or a party hat close by. He walked into Diagnostics to the astounded, open-mouthed Cameron and the wide-eyed, surprised Foreman. House was sitting off to the side, feet up on a chair, reading the newspaper.
"Chase?" Cameron finally sputtered. "But... you're already here?" She almost squeaked the last words.
"Uhm, yeah," he answered, confused.
"Why?!"
"It's... my first day?"
Cameron's eyes flew to House, her brows drawing down, her whole face going from surprise into glare mode.
"You said he'd be back tomorrow!"
"Whoops," House only commented, not even looking up from the article he was apparently reading.
"You knew!"
Now the paper was lowered. "Of course I knew."
"And you lied!"
"No, I saved Chase the embarrassment of too much cake and throwing up from not enough alcohol."
Cameron looked flustered, her hands were on her hips, and she was drawn between anger and resignation. Foreman rose and nodded at Chase.
"Welcome back."
"Right," Cameron added. "Welcome back, Chase. You look good."
"You finally got rid of the mop," House commented, still not rising.
Chase met the alert blue eyes and he was aware that despite the apparent disinterest, his boss was closely examining him.
"You cut your hair," Cameron repeated unnecessarily.
"It was time," Chase only answered.
Her eyes were on the only visible reminder of the accident, the scar on his cheek. It would probably never fade completely and in a way it gave him something more mature. John had called it his 'pirate scar' and Chase had scoffed at it. It was a leftover injury and while some people might think it looked daring and dashing, it was just a memory of what he had survived.
House was still studying him and Chase shifted uncomfortably. In the last six months he hadn't had any contact with House, but Wilson had called frequently and they had talked. It was good to be kept in the loop, especially since so much had happened. Chase had hoped to meet his temporary replacement, Dr. Kagome Higurashi, but the young woman had already left.
"Brought the boyfriend along?" House asked, turning a page in the newspaper.
When he looked up, Chase didn't turn away from the penetrating gaze.
"Or was it just mutual comfort?"
"John is in New York," Chase answered evenly.
"And he'll stay there?"
"He works there."
Foreman frowned a little, just like Cameron.
House just grunted.
"Uh, who's John?" Cameron stuttered.
"You remember the big, blond hunk swooning over Chase's sick bed a few months ago," House interrupted whatever Chase had been about to say. "Couldn't take his eyes off the little wombat. Looks like the mighty hunter caught his prey." He grinned lecherously.
Chase shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't wanted any attention drawn to his developing relationship, but with House, all bets were off.
"And before we go gossiping," House went on, folding the newspaper, "we better get our Aussie reacquainted with what it means to work for his money. Go and find me a new case before I get this need to torture any of you even more." The last was directed at Foreman and Cameron.
The two juniors hesitated only a moment, then headed out. Chase was about to follow, but a well-placed cane across his knees stopped him. Again those very perceptive eyes were on him. He wasn't saying anything for a long moment.
"It's my choice," Chase finally said firmly.
House grinned wryly. "It always is. Wilson told me you talked."
"Yes."
"Don't get any funny ideas."
Chase frowned. "About what?"
"I'm online again, Chase. You know it, I know it, Wilson knows it. That's it. I'm not some performing dog in a circus."
"I wouldn't..." Chase protested, flustered.
"Then don't."
The cane was lowered and House pushed to his feet. He limped over to the kitchenette to get himself coffee. Chase watched him a second longer, then left Diagnostics to talk to Cuddy. There was paperwork to finish concerning his reinstatement as a junior to House's team and it would probably take the whole day.
*
Work went back to normal. They had their cases, House bitched and grumbled about stupidity and lies, and Chase was getting used to it all again. It wasn't really that hard.
He had a beer with Wilson the week he was back at work, in the evening, after work. Wilson let him talk and he talked in turn. It was a relaxed, friendly atmosphere, completely House-free, and it turned into a regular occasion for the next two months. It was easy to talk to the oncologist and even if it was the empath setting him so much at ease, Chase didn't mind. There was too much on his mind and he needed this.
"So, how serious is this?" Wilson asked as they talked about New York and Chase's time with John.
"Very," the Australian answered.
"Sounds like it."
"I don't know how to describe it," Chase sighed. "I've known him for years and suddenly... I mean, I never dared to think that way."
Wilson grinned. "It's not so hard for me to believe that, Robert."
Chase smiled sheepishly. "Yeah."
"Are you going to move to New York?"
"No," was the immediate answer.
Wilson's brows rose a little. "No?"
"John and I talked about it. He has a great job, his own firm... and I have my fellowship. I can't just run off to New York and hope for something equally good. Working with and for House... there is nothing anywhere that could give me the same experience."
"Don't let him hear it," Wilson only muttered. "His head would explode."
"Probably."
"Having a relationship like this over a distance is hard."
"New York isn't that far away. I can drive there in no time. John can come here. We'll manage. It's too soon for anything else," Chase added.
That was all that was said about the topic and they soon talked about something else. Wilson had told him that he didn't give House anything on their meetings. He had yet to tell his lover about what had set off Chase's protective mode prior to knowing that they were paranormals. Chase was grateful for it. He didn't know if he could handle that on top of the day-to-day House.
*
It wasn't the first time, Chase realized, that he had seen Wilson wince away from Foreman's angry expression. It was just the first time he saw it with the eyes of an ally. Foreman's animosity was unchanged when it came to the relationship between the two department heads, and he didn't mind expressing that opinion whenever he saw fit. House usually ignored him, but something about Wilson set off Chase's alarms. The oncologist wasn't normally around when Foreman was in one of his moods, but if he happened to be there, it was never pretty.
The empath was clearly aware of what the neurologist felt and didn't say.
Chase didn't watch for long. He cornered Foreman in the lab after another rather barren and formal exchange with their resident head of oncology. Wilson was getting better with shields, Chase decided, but it still hurt. And usually it only happened when House wasn't there. As if Foreman knew that he could hurt the other man.
"Foreman."
The other man looked up from his work. "What's up?"
"That's what I wanted to ask you."
Foreman frowned. "What?"
"There's this massive chip on your shoulder when it comes to Wilson, and House, and I want to know what's going on."
Dark eyes closed off, but Chase saw a glimmer of anger before that. "None of your business."
"It is. We're a team Foreman. We work together."
"Don't give me the team crap, Chase! You've never been on the team! You turn where the wind blows!"
Chase felt something rustle through him with rising anger. He bit it down. That had been his past. A past full of insecurities and Vogler. He had left it behind and he knew that ever since the discovery as to who House and Wilson were, things had changed dramatically for him.
"And you are trying to do what? Drive a wedge into House's relationship with Wilson? Bad news, Foreman: they've known each other for twelve years. You can't change what happened."
Foreman tensed even more.
"Why do you care anyway?" Chase demanded. "What is it to you? Don't tell me you were interested in one or the other."
Now there was even more fury. "Hell no!" Foreman spat. "I'm not like that!"
"Like what? In love?"
"You don't know what this is, Chase!" the neurologist snapped. "You don't know where this can lead!"
"I'm in a gay relationship, too," Chase said coldly.
The others had never asked, but he knew Cameron had wanted to and Foreman had just given him a strange look. House had spilled more about John and him in one sentence than a full-blown kissing session could have done. Chase didn't care. He stood by his decision; the former fear and reluctance had made way for determination. Cameron hadn't treated him any differently and Foreman... well, he wasn't giving him the hate looks he gave Wilson. So it had something to do with House, not with the fact that it was a homosexual relationship.
"That's different."
"It isn't. It's two men, Foreman. I'm not different from either of the two. My lover works and lives in New York, though. Not here, at the hospital. Is that it?"
Foreman was glaring at him, then abruptly turned away. "What if the hospital administration gets wind of this? What if they decide to fire House?"
"News flash, Foreman: they know. Cuddy knows, half the hospital staff knows, the other half is part of the rumor mill. The grapevine works and everyone here, aside from one or two thickheads, knows. And they don't give a flying shit one way or the other."
"Don't think House has a bonus here!" Foreman insisted. "They're just looking for a reason to finally get rid of him, and that's it!"
Chase couldn't believe it. "Not if they don't want to hit the headlines over firing two staff members because of a homosexual relationship."
"You really have no idea about the real world out there!"
Chase shook his head, tired of the accusations that his background had always sheltered him. It hadn't. Aside from John, and lately Wilson, no one knew much about his life in Australia, about his family, about watching his mother drink herself to death because his father had made off. Everyone always saw the money. Money didn't make a happy life. Money made a comfortable life, but Chase didn't want comfort. He wanted happiness.
"And you have no idea who I am, Foreman," he only said levelly. "You know nothing about me. I know next to nothing about you."
"You want to know about me?" Foreman yelled. "Well, how about I was the top of my class when I was at medical school? How about I was one of the few who managed to land a place with Professor Carter? How about Carter got involved with one of his students and got fired over it when it hit the fan? How about the fact that all my work was deigned worthless because I might have won favors with the professor through sex? How about falling behind on my schedule because of it? I had to repeat those two years, Chase! I could have been here sooner! I could have written papers under Professor Carter! He was renowned!"
Chase listened with mild shock and growing understanding, but also disgust.
"So this is about your career?" he asked neutrally.
"What else is all of this about? We learn, we move on, we get what we want in life! But maybe it doesn't touch you. You've got the big bucks already!"
Chase felt tired all of a sudden. It all came back to his father's money. So typical. With House he knew where the teasing remarks and taunts came from. Now, with Foreman, he knew it, too.
"Yeah, I got the money. I also don't want to lose this job. But I'm not about to alienate my boss over something petty as that."
Foreman's anger flared again.
"I know, I know, it's bad if House has to go, but he won't. And even if he does, you're not in med school any more, Foreman. You're all grown up." Eyes hard, Chase met the anger head-on. "Wilson isn't a student, nor is he a junior or on this team. He's a department head, sometimes consult. Nothing House does with him would influence your 'grades'. If this was Cameron, sure, I'd agree. But Wilson?"
He shook his head, sadness coursing through him.
"Get over it, Foreman. You're only destroying yourself."
With that he turned, leaving the lab, heading for NICU. He had a rotation there and it would take his mind off things.
Hopefully.
*
The next few days, nothing much happened. Foreman was Foreman and Chase tried to stay a watcher, but it was getting increasingly harder to simply stand by and do nothing. He knew what drove Foreman into this defensive mode, but he didn't want to be the tattle-tale who ratted out a colleague. Then again, that was all they were. Colleagues. Not even friends.
"I don't need to read emotions to know you're down."
Chase started and a look of guilt crossed the youthful features, then he gathered himself. Wilson smiled at him, looking tired from a long consult with despairing results. Still, the brown eyes were lively, sparkling with humor at catching Chase off guard.
"And before you ask, I'm not spying. I'm not that good. I barely get a blip from you."
That was reassuring. Mostly.
"But you get more from Foreman."
Wilson tensed a little. "That's different."
"No, it isn't. You're not actively reading him, but the negative emotions directed at you hurt."
"You read up on empaths."
"I just thought it might be better to know more." Chase shrugged. It was normal ally work.
Wilson knew how it worked and he simply nodded. "Knowing that people who direct their emotions singularly at a low level empath hurt the empath isn't broad-spectrum empathy knowledge, though."
"I have eyes. I can see. And I can add two and two."
Chase looked into those dark brown eyes, held the gaze, determined to show Wilson that what he did and had done was to protect the other man. He was an ally and it was his job. There were very few vampires in Princeton-Plainsboro and the New York community had yet to call. House and Wilson were the only two paranormals he was in close contact with, daily so to speak. Chase took his job seriously, and he would do everything to make sure nothing happened.
Wilson just nodded, looking tired all of a sudden. "I get a lot from Foreman."
"And it hurts."
"Yes. Sometimes."
Chase was silent. He knew that as an ally he had to protect the paranormals under his care, and he counted both House and Wilson as such. House would probably skin him alive if he knew. Still... Foreman's problem stemmed out of a completely different area.
Wilson watched him, but he didn't pry.
"I talked to Foreman," Chase finally said.
Brows rose. "What about?"
He sighed. "You."
Wilson blinked. "Me?" There was a hard to interpret emotion in those eyes.
"You and House," Chase clarified.
"Oh. I didn't know it had become a topic," Wilson remarked neutrally.
"It hasn't. He just... I couldn't help but ask what's wrong with him. He keeps on lashing out and I don't understand why."
"Now you do?"
Chase nodded, evading the dark brown eyes.
"And it's personal?" Wilson hazarded a guess.
"Yes and no. I'm not sure he told me in confidence, but I don't want to spread this..."
"It won't ever go past me if you don't want it."
Chase closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He knew he could trust Wilson, but then there was House... How much could House get out of Wilson?
"Robert," Wilson interrupted his thoughts, "what you told me in the past, about you, is still only my knowledge. House can poke and prod and threaten all he wants, but what I know doesn't mean he knows."
"Yeah," Chase murmured.
"Will this knowledge be harmful for us?" Wilson asked.
"I'm not sure. It's Foreman's past. A huge part of his past. If it had happened to me, sure, I'd be pissed, too. He just... he's more than that."
Wilson studied him and Chase wondered if the empath was reading him. Finally the oncologist nodded.
"He is," he confirmed. "It hurts to be in the path of his hatred."
Chase chewed on his lower lip. "It's nothing personal," he finally said. "Not in a way you might think anyway. It's not against you. It's a bad past."
Wilson listened, not saying a thing. And Chase slowly explained what Foreman had told him, what had happened to the neurologist in the past, and he saw in Wilson's eyes as the understanding grew. Maybe he was betraying something said in confidence, but Foreman had blurted it out, almost yelled it at him, and he had never asked Chase to keep it to himself. Maybe he had forgotten, maybe he was already beating himself up over these revelations, but Chase had to tell the wounded party in question. Wilson needed to understand.
And Wilson did.
The empath exhaled slowly, nodding, as Chase finished.
"It would be easier if he hated gays," Wilson murmured. "This... this is really complex."
"Yes. I know." Chase played with a pen. "Will you tell House?"
"Only if I can get the holy vow from him that he doesn't let Foreman know that he knows." Wilson smiled wryly. "At least now I know how to take all of this and my shields are getting better. I just need to get these fluctuations under control."
"Fluctuations?"
"Sometimes it gets stronger. I mean the emotions I receive."
"House?" Chase hazarded a guess.
"No, not really. There was only one occasion when... when his anger was too much." Wilson hesitated, then pushed that thought aside. "But I know his emotions. I'm used to them. Sometimes I perceive him much stronger, though. And then he's a complete blank spot for a second or two. With you, I barely get a blip if I don't concentrate, but Foreman is overpowering. Fluctuations."
Chase frowned. "You're a low level empath. You shouldn't be too receptive."
"But I am."
"Did you ever get tested?"
"I asked a Seeker. He said I'm a low level. And that aside from my empathic abilities, I have some related powers."
Chase nodded. "Maybe you should talk to him again?"
"About what? Empaths can't train to be stronger. What we have, we have," Wilson argued. "I'm low level."
Chase shrugged. "Then why are you so receptive sometimes?"
Wilson hung his head. "No idea."
*
Wilson walked into the loft, smelling pizza, and hearing the soft keys of piano music. House wasn't playing himself. He was lying on the couch, an empty carton of take-out pizza next to him, reading. Wilson hung up his jacket and went over to the couch.
"Did you leave any for me?"
House gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. "Fridge," he only said.
"Great. Cold pizza."
"Microwave, Jimmy. The latest in technological breakthroughs."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Nuked pizza. Yummy."
House turned his head to grin at him. "Should have had a steak and fries with the wombat if you dislike the nuked stuff."
"Chase and I just talked."
"No dinner? Cheap date. I'd drop him if I were you. Can't even pay for food."
Wilson programmed the microwave. "We're not dating."
"Right!" House sang. "Jealous boyfriend."
When the pizza was done, Wilson walked back to the couch and sat down next to his lover. "You? Jealous? You've been pushing me off toward Chase for eternity."
"I was talking about tall, blond and handsome. The one who needs his boy toy."
"You think Pyre is handsome?" Wilson raised an eyebrows as he bit off his pizza and chewed. "Do I have to be jealous now?" he added after swallowing.
House frowned. "Not my type."
"Chase isn't mine either. I like mine scruffier. You know, the mangy street dog kind of guy."
"For not liking him, you spend a lot of time with the wombat."
"It's what friends do."
House glanced at him, brows drawing down in a quizzical frown. "And what else do friends do?"
"Talk."
"About?"
"You're nosy."
"I'm interested in my lover's life," House corrected him.
Wilson ate the last of the pizza slice and licked off his fingers.
"So?" House probed impatiently.
"So what?"
"You gonna spill?"
"No."
House finally dropped the journal, looking mildly exasperated. "What good is it that I let you two hang out if you don't bring home the juicy pieces of gossip?" he complained.
"Greg, it's private."
"You're getting to peep into their love life and I get to just torture him over work?"
Wilson shook his head in mild annoyance. "It's not about Chase and Pyre. It's about something else. And until I can construe a vow or oath for you that you don't go about spilling what I tell you, I'm not."
House gave him an affronted look. "I'm not a gossip!"
"No, you just use it against others."
The shrewd expression in the blue eyes had Wilson groan silently. "This is about Foreman, right?"
Wilson refused to answer.
"I knew it!" House triumphed. "Chase knows and he told you!"
"I feel like pre-school," the oncologist muttered and got up to get rid of the pizza plate.
"And you won't tell me!" came his lover's whine.
House was following him, like a rabid dog with an option for a juicy bone.
"Pretty please?"
"No!" Wilson cried, exasperated. "This is private!"
"Everything is private with you. Come on, have some fun!"
"Not when it concerns something like this! You want to know, ask Foreman why he hates me for loving you!"
House was perfectly still for a moment, then an arm snaked quickly around Wilson's waist and pulled him against the taller form. Stubble scratched against smooth skin as lips descended, and then Wilson was kissed deeply, tenderly, with a lot of unspoken emotion. He returned the kiss, closing his eyes, and when they separated, Wilson's hands were fisted into the already rumpled shirt. He dropped his head to rest it briefly against House's chin.
"You still feel it," House rumbled.
"Yes. It's getting better, though."
"Good."
The next kiss was more demanding and Wilson let House lead, feeling a rush of emotions from his lover. Possessive, needy, loving, worried...
Heated blue eyes met dark brown ones.
House stepped away, smiling, then limped off toward the bedroom. Wilson didn't need more of an invitation.


Wilson knew his lover was curious about what Chase had told him, what was wrong with Foreman, but he had kept his wheedling nosiness to a minimum. Of course House had tried using sex on him, a rather pleasurable torture, but Wilson hadn't spilled a word.
"That bad?" House murmured as he kissed his neck.
"That private. Ask Foreman if you have to know."
House grunted and wrapped an arm around Wilson's abdomen, pulling him closer. He nuzzled the warm skin and Wilson enjoyed the tender attention.
"I just might. Don't blame me if I have to fire him, though."
"Why would I?" Wilson asked sleepily.
"You'll have to get me a new junior then."
He laughed softly. "As if. Ask Cuddy. And you wouldn't fire him."
"You sure?"
"Yep."
"Wanna bet on it?"
"No."
"Scaredy cat."
"Just reasonable." He wriggled around until he lay on his back, looking into a pair of amused blue eyes.
"You finally realized you can't win against me?" House teased.
"No. You're a bastard. Whatever way this turns out, you always find a way to twist it to your favor."
House chuckled. "Exactly."
"So you're going to ask him?"
"Maybe. How bad is it?"
"This isn't about me, Greg," Wilson only said. "He's your problem when push comes to shove."
House shrugged and let his hand slide down south. Wilson shot him an exasperated look.
"Using sex to distract from the topic? Cheap, even for you."
"But it works."
"Most of the time."
"Like right now," House shot back, grinning evilly.
And then his hand closed around the stirring length. Wilson wrapped a hand around his lover's neck and pulled him into a kiss.
*
"Hey, Mom," Wilson greeted his mother as she picked up the phone.
It was mid-afternoon, sunny, and House had taken his beloved bike for a long ride.
"Jamie! How nice to hear from you, honey. How are you?"
"Fine, Mom. Just fine."
"Is everything okay with Greg?"
Wilson smiled. "Yes, Mom. That's not why I'm calling. And there's nothing dramatic happening at the hospital either. Or paranormally," he already pre-empted her next questions.
"So this is about... well, let me guess... Greg's mother?"
He sighed. Yes, his mother had a strangely empathic streak, without even being an empath. It could be the fact that she was a mother and knew all her children only too well.
"Yes. House told me she called. She wanted to know about him."
"About both of you, actually. We talked for quite a while. Blythe was interested to hear about her son. And her son's partner."
Wilson frowned. "It's not what I gathered from the last time we...ah... ran into each other."
Rose sighed. "Honey, it's difficult for her. She wants Greg's happiness, but she's also old school. She wanted to see him married to a woman."
"Not sleeping with a man," Wilson added wryly.
"I told her love comes in many guises, and if she wants her son to be happy, she has to accept that you are that happiness."
"I doubt she can."
"I don't believe Blythe is as closed off to the possibility of same-sex relationships as her husband is. John is... hard-headed, even older school, and he was in the army," his mother said.
Wilson rubbed his head at the memory of that particular headache. "Yeah, I felt that hard-headedness," he murmured.
"How are your abilities, Jamie?" Rose asked.
"Fine."
"James..."
He rolled his eyes. Mothers!
"Fluctuating," he told her as he had told Chase. "I'm getting better at blocking, but it's not always a sure bet I can do it right away. Some emotions make it through. Chase is back from New York and he thinks I might be developing, but that's stupid. I can't jump levels."
"Like in real life, paranormals don't fit into handy little drawers when it comes to their abilities, Jamie," his mother lectured. "You were a very late starter to begin with, your brother is a full-blown telepath..."
"Mom," Wilson groaned. "I'm a low level empath, okay? This is probably some freak glitch because I was never fully online and some Trigger thought it to be funny to give me the last push." His voice rose a little with the last words. "I'm low level!"
"You might want to talk to that Seeker again."
"Mom!"
"Jamie, I'm only trying to help," his mother argued.
"You're not!" Wilson felt agitation shudder through him.
It was bad enough that he had come into his abilities way, way past puberty. It was a nuisance to be so receptive to certain emotions. He didn't need additional complications. A small voice argued that there had been occasions... and he shut it up.
"So, tell me about Robert Chase. How is he?" his mother switched topics.
Wilson dutifully updated her on their resident ally. Rose was very interested in the young Australian. The phone call ended after another thirty minutes of general conversation, chatting about paranormal business, Rose inquiring subtly into Chase's love life with another ally in New York, which had Wilson grin, and then a promise to call again soon.
Wilson hung up, smiling, feeling a little better than before. He made himself a tea and settled on the couch. He knew his Mom wouldn't drop the topic of his powers, but for now he had his peace.
At least until a rather adrenaline-high and ecstatic House came back from his bike trip. Then all bets were off.
*


Lisa Cuddy had given the decision she was about to make a long and hard, as well as very thorough brain-storming. She had spent weeks deciding whether or not to go through with something that would probably change a lot of things, but most likely wouldn't impact right away.
Of course, one impact would happen immediately in the form of Dr. Gregory House. She could have bet on his appearance in her office, looking somewhere between outraged, pissed and in disbelief.
"You could at least have asked me!" he growled as he slammed the file onto her desk.
"I did. You didn't object."
Blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You emailed me!" he accused.
"Of course I did. You don't answer your phone, I wouldn't dare trying to page you over something trivial as this, and I'm not that desperate that I'd use Dr. Wilson as the messenger."
"Since when?"
She regarded him calmly and he huffed. "You ride me with everything until I'm that far from calling pest control, but you let this slide by?" House finally asked.
"It's my hospital."
"And it's my damn department!"
"A department run by one department head, namely you," she shot back. "A department that has no other employees, no other doctors, but it has three fellows."
"So?"
"So it's not how this works."
"It has worked like this for a good long time!" House snapped. "Never change a running system! And never burn a bridge before you crossed it!"
Cuddy gave him an amused look. "I gave you a choice to object."
"I am objecting!"
"On what basis?"
"You need a basis? Fine! I object on the basis that I don't need him."
"You had Dr. Chase for close to five years now, House. Something has to change. He's been in Diagnostics for all the time as a fellow. He's a qualified intensivist and you complained about him spreading himself thin at times that he can't work with you any more. It's either Diagnostics or NICU for him. You want to lose him? Fine. I'll grant his request for NICU on a permanent basis."
House froze. "What request?"
"I talked to him, House. He needs change, not floating between intensive care and diagnostics. He needs to know where he stands." Cuddy's dark eyes were serious, her stance relentless. "I want to have him in Diagnostics, but if you can't have it, he'll switch and you can run on with a new fellow. Someone crazy enough to stand the abuse for the next two years."
House's mouth was a thin line. He finally turned and limped toward the door.
"House!"
"I'll talk to him," he said gruffly.
And then he was out the door, mind whirling.
*
House found his junior in the lab, testing blood for viral infection and urine for whatnot. The short hair still threw him off and the scar had changed Chase's appearance more than just subtly in the Diagnostic's eyes. Chase had grown up, had matured, and it didn't just show in his physical changes. Too much had happened to the Australian not to change and the fact that he had taken a huge step in form of getting together with a man had shown House a new side in him.
"So you think you can last on my staff?"
Chase looked up, slightly startled, then his face settled into a quizzical expression. "What staff?"
"Exactly. I don't need one."
The Australian carefully put away the blood sample. "It's not what Cuddy told me."
"Cuddy's management. What do they know?"
"Apparently more than you."
House smirked at the show of backbone. Yes, Chase had changed. There had been this backbone before, but it always cowered in the face of House's seniority and his moods.
"And you think you can do it? Why not Foreman?"
"You don't like Foreman."
"I don't like you either."
Chase smirked in return. "But you can trust me."
House's eyes narrowed. "Can I?"
"If you don't know by now, maybe it would be best for me to change departments."
"Blackmail, Dr. Chase? You think this will get you the position?"
"I wasn't aware there was a position in the first place."
"Oh, there are plenty of positions and I bet you tried some of them out already." House sniped.
The hazel eyes sparkled briefly. "I don't want to leave the team, but I need more than just a fellowship," he finally said.
"Loverboy not rich enough for your taste?"
Again the taunt didn't get House very far. "It's not about the money, Dr. House."
"It never is until there is none." House contemplated the younger man, the decision he had to make.
Chase's expression was firm. "I want more than a fellowship. I can have it in NICU."
"Then take it."
"Do you want that?"
House laughed wryly. "It's not always about what we want, Chase. And it's not about playing one against the other. You make your choice."
The slender shoulders squared. "I like Diagnostics. I want to work with you, but if you only keep fellows, there is no future for me. I can deal with NICU and there is a spot. I have the references, the experience, the credentials."
House was aware of that. In Chase's shoes he would have left after the initial two years if the head of the department showed no interest in a permanent position. But Chase hadn't left. Chase was still there. So were Foreman and Cameron, but they didn't stand a chance for a staff position.
"You stay as a regular and you'll do the paperwork," House only said.
Chase smiled a little. "Wouldn't want to deprive Cameron of her emails."
"Billing and patient paperwork," House clarified. "You get the money from the patients, we get the money from the boss."
It got him a smirk. "Are those the only conditions?"
"Keep your nose out of my private life, my paranormal life, and don't make a bigger nuisance out of yourself than you already are and we're peachy," House replied flippantly.
"Deal."
"You're so easy and so glutton for punishment," he sang.
Chase only smiled again.
"Well, Dr. Chase, welcome to the non-existent staff of Diagnostics. There's a first time for everything, you're a bit late for the virgin part. I think loverboy took care of that." House smirked maliciously. "I hope it was as good as what's to come now."
"He didn't, it was, and it's none of your business, paranormally or not," Chase replied easily. "Go torture Cameron and Foreman."
"You're their boss now, too."
"You take care of the bossy part pretty much already."
House chuckled. "This will be fun to watch when I tell them." He turned and waved. "Don't be late for the first staff meeting. And bring cookies."
*
"You actually said yes?" Wilson asked, surprise coloring his voice.
He slouched in House's visitor chair, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, looking very comfortable and actually like at home.
House shrugged. "Cuddy asked so nicely."
"She threatened to make it happen whether you wanted it or not," Wilson translated.
"And that."
"What did the others say?"
"Foreman went into rant and bitch mode about what mistakes Chase has made, how many people he killed, and how many more he will if I make him a permanent member of my non-existent staff." House shrugged. "He has the memory of an elephant when it comes to such events."
"Chase really did get a patient killed," Wilson pointed out.
"I remember, I was there, I took the fall," House answered sourly.
"So it's now suddenly forgiven and forgotten?"
"No."
"I also remember the bitching and snarking. And Chase sucking up to Vogler," Wilson said dryly.
House rolled his eyes. "Water under the bridge."
"You'd still be responsible for his actions - and mistakes."
"No different than before then."
Wilson regarded him curiously. "What's going on?"
"I'm looking into early retirement," House quipped.
"As if. Why choose Chase?"
"Out of the three candidates, he's best qualified."
"You could get someone else. Entirely."
"And I'd have to potty-train him again," House snapped. "No way. Got him whipped into shape. He's gotta do."
"Appeasing the gods?" Wilson teased.
"Cuddy might think she's god, but she isn't. Not with that cleavage."
Brown eyes suddenly sparkled. "You like him."
"Do not! Don't ever say such foul things in my presence again!" Outrage swung in House's voice.
Wilson smirked. "I know you like them all."
"That's a lie and you take it back right now!" The blue eyes lit up.
"I won't. And I think it's a good thing."
"I tolerate those little do-gooders."
"Cameron's a do-gooder."
"And Foreman's obnoxious and Chase is our resident pet wombat."
Wilson gave him that exasperated look of his and House sighed.
"I better fire him. Too much maintenance."
"You won't." Wilson raised his brows a little, not moving otherwise. "You know that with Chase out of fellowship status, he has the same authority you have."
"What authority?"
"Your rule of terror."
"Oh yes, that. Forgot."
"As if."
House smirked, juggling with his tennis ball and a stapler. "As for authority, he still has to learn how to properly drive someone close to tears of frustration."
"But he's good and he'll be regular staff. Let him run and he knows where to go."
"Home to his handsome, strong knight in shining armor."
"Not everything Chase did and does revolves around John," Wilson pointed out.
House replaced the stapler and tossed the tennis ball between his hands. "It's a motivator, though."
"It's also a motivator when you haven't been able to advance in your career for four years."
"He could have. NICU loves him."
"You need him."
House shot his lover a narrow-eyed, dark look.
"And you trust him."
That turned the narrow-eyed look into a glare. Wilson smiled calmly.
"He lied to me."
"Everybody lies. And he has grown up. Face it, House, you raised him well." Wilson grinned irreverently.
House snorted and tossed the ball at him. Wilson caught it deftly. His eyes sparkled and House couldn't but feel this pull the younger man had, something that wasn't paranormal but felt so out of the ordinary. He walked over to him, grabbed the tie and captured the lips in a deep kiss.
Wilson blinked at him in pleasant surprise and not just a bit of arousal.
"Greg... we're at work."
"I noticed. The Rules only say no sex. A kiss has yet to qualify as sex," he said roughly, releasing the tie.
Wilson swallowed and smoothed the slightly rumpled tie.
"I'll get the beer," House simply remarked as he stepped away, aware of his own rising need to do more than just kiss his lover.
But he went by the Rules. They were there for a reason. Even if they sucked.
"O-okay," Wilson managed. He got up and ran almost nervous hands over his white coat.
House chuckled. "Relax, Jimmy. Nothing about you says we just fucked."
"We didn't...!"
House smirked evilly. "But in a few hours, you'll be radiating it for the world to see," he promised darkly and left his office.
*
They had made love on the bed, slow and seductive, and House had gasped his lover's name as Wilson had filled him. The shower had been just as erotic, but House hadn't found it in him to rise to the occasion again. He had only wanted to touch and feel and look at his lover, take in everything he knew so well and reacquaint himself even with the smallest dimple and the tiniest imperfection. James had run his own hands over the quite prominent bullet wound scars, had kissed and caressed the one still red on his neck, and those dark eyes had been filled with unspoken emotions.
Empath. Feeling so much. House loved to see it in return.
"You want some advice on how to run your regular staff?" Wilson teased him as they ate reheated pizza on the couch while watching TV.
House snorted. "It's Chase. I know how to make him run."
Wilson chuckled. "Yeah. And it's only one person. I think you should be able to manage."
"He can do the managing."
"You're the boss."
"And I terrorize the minions."
"Of which he's no longer part of."
"I can still terrorize him."
"True." Wilson wiped his greasy hands on a napkin. "Go forth and do your thing."
"I think I just did."
"Oh, so bad, Greg."
House grinned and ran a hand over the thigh nearest to him. It would be interesting to see how Chase fared, especially against Foreman who had looked far from happy, but also not too argumentative. Foreman hadn't even tried to become a regular staff member and Cameron was still too naïve to be considered a viable candidate.
"I'm bad," he purred.
"I know that. I live with you."
"And you don't complain."
"Why should I?"
Wilson pushed the empty carton aside and made a grab for the remote, but House held it out of reach.
"Monster trucks," he proclaimed.
"It's a repeat from two nights ago!"
"I like to watch Son of Beast squash all resistance into tiny little, bite-sized cubes of scrap metal."
Wilson chuckled. "Suit yourself."
But he stayed. He always stayed. He enjoyed it as much as House.
Both men settled in to watch, comments flying back and forth about the show. A normal evening. Just so very much them.