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Knowledge
by Lavalle
Wilson knew what people said about his relationship with House. He was the submissive one. Well, that was true, in a manner of speaking. At Princeton-Plainsboro Wilson demurred to House on a near daily basis. It wasn't that Wilson doubted his own medical knowledge or ability, just that he was willing to admit that Greg House was a better diagnostician than he was. Hell, you don't specialize in something as simultaneously broad and narrow as cancer without losing some of what you learned in countless diagnostician classes. A million different types of cancer, but, when you got right down to it - they all behaved the same. The bewildering array of diagnoses, symptoms, ailments and treatments that House's team dealt with on a daily basis were enough to send James running back to a terminal cancer patient just for the relative lack of turmoil.
Yes, Wilson was well aware of what people said. Why would he put up with that sort of abuse from House? Who could stand to be around House as often as Wilson was? Doesn't he get tired of House shooting down his ideas and poking fun at him all the time? Oh Wilson had heard it all, and seen it all. The concerned, slightly pitying looks from Cameron, tinged with just a small patina of jealousy. Foreman stared as though Wilson had something wrong with his brain; as though the neurologist could get inside and see what sort of neurological problem "friendship with House" was a symptom of. Put it up on the whiteboard and maybe there's a treatment. Chase simply laughed; the young Aussie seemed at a loss to say why Wilson endured it, but, unlike the other two Fellows, Chase didn't care. Wilson sort of admired that; it made him more comfortable in the diagnostic medicine lounge. He knew Chase wouldn't ask, and, if Chase didn't ask then Wilson wouldn't accidentally tell the truth.
Everyone lies, House says, but for different reasons. It's the reasons that are important. So, when people ask Wilson why he puts up with House, he lies.
~~~~~
House is naked, on Wilson's marriage bed; a kink they had discovered a few months prior thanks to a particularly fortunate drunken accident in Wilson's bedroom when Julie was out of town. Occasionally it induces a twinge of guilt, but that's treatable with a few doses of Greg. Well, no matter, Wilson thinks, it happened and they enjoy the illicit benefits. House's own twin bed is too small anyway.
Wilson is tying each of House's hands to the lattice-iron headboard. He doesn't tie Greg's feet; he knows how to avoid causing unnecessary pain. House smiles up at James before speaking.
"Your ties," he smirks, gesturing with his chin in the direction of his wrists, "how will I cope at work from now on, Jimmy?" Wilson knows House has figured out their game by now.
"You'll manage," James responds, his voice growing husky at the familiar short-form of his name, "and I know I'll pay for this the next time you accept a patient from me." Wilson doesn't care though. Here - only here - he gets to be in control. He runs a finger down the side of House's face, tracing the stubbled jaw, reveling in the crisp contrast between soft skin and sharp hair. House's breath hitches; Wilson knows he's wondering what James has planned for tonight. Wilson's lips curl up; House always teases him about his mouth at work. He doesn't tease here, not in the bedroom - not where Jimmy is in control.
~~~~
House sat at the table, eyes glued to the symptoms board, mind miles away. This week's patient was simple - Lupus, for once. You almost had to laugh at the irony really. Cameron's first guess, unless she went for Vasculitis, would have the case solved. Record time; Cuddy would be pleased. Two patients in one week might have been a record for Dr. House and his crack-shot team. House mused, instead, about Dr. James Wilson. Boy-Wonder oncologist, House had called him. Mild mannered, demure, compassionate; hell, patients thanked him when James told them they were going to die. Jimmy was just too nice. House knew what everyone said about their relationship. He got the looks too, though he wasn't sure if Wilson knew that. The anger from Cameron, though that had been simmering before, and for different reasons. Anger too, actually, from Foreman - that one was a bit of a puzzler. House had always assumed Eric really was apathetic to anything that went on outside the medical realm of PPTH. Chase, for once, opted out of saying anything, or sending one of those expressive, Australian stares in House's direction. Now that was interesting; why was Chase so uninvolved? Hell, he was usually the first one to jump on with the ass kissing, differential suggestions, or whatever else - why was he so distant this time?
Everyone knew House liked a challenge. Only interesting and strange cases were allowed; only the ones no one else could solve. Why James Wilson, boy-wonder oncologist, then? Sometimes the sheer obliviousness of people shocked House. How could no one see what a puzzle James Wilson really was? Three wives; two divorces and a third one brewing into completion - and yet what a nice man! How could a serial philanderer have the nurse's station so aflutter every time he walked by? Everyone. Everyone knew Wilson cheated; it was one of those accepted rules of the universe. Cuddy will wear a low-cut blouse; Cameron will form an inappropriately close bond with a terminal patient; House will want all his Vicodin refills; and Dr. James Wilson will sleep with someone he isn't married to. Perhaps that was why House stuck with Jimmy; everyone knew, but no one knew. As much as House enjoyed solving a puzzle, he enjoyed being one too.
House tilted his chair back onto two legs, tossed his ball in the air, and slowly smiled.
~~~~~
"It's Lupus." Cameron stated, confidently. Chase almost smiled; she sounded so smug.
"Wrong." Quipped House, only to receive a startled double-take from Chase.
"Uh, House. I'm fairly certain it is Lupus, this time." Foreman looked slightly amused, like the ducklings had caught House in a boo-boo. Chase remained neutral; he waited to see what would happen. House simply sighed deeply, disappointment written clearly on his face.
"Oh come on," he held his hands out, palms up, in almost supplication, "of course it's Lupus. Ten points for a first guess victory, Cameron; but minus ten-points for the look on your face right now." Chase let his smile creep out now; even when she was right, Cameron still let House make her look like a first year intern. Oh well, her loss.
Chase watched Dr. Wilson enter the room, and instantly turned to survey House. Chase liked to see the split second instant when House realized that Wilson was in the room. Chase didn't think anyone else saw it, and he was relatively certain that House didn't think anyone saw it. But Chase did; he was more perceptive than people gave him credit for being.
"It's not cancer." Wilson supplied. Chase laughed; the diagnostic office started to feel a bit like a circus tent. House rolled his eyes and geared up for a prime diatribe.
"Thank you, Dr. Wilson. Why, we were just about to treat him for cancer on a hunch, you may have saved this poor boy's life." House held his hands together and fluttered his eyebrows; eyes large like a doe's. "However shall we repay you, oh wise one?" Wilson pursed his lips and brought his hands to his hips. This was Chase's favorite part. Wilson never needed to say anything, but what he spoke with his eyes was more voluminous than any words could ever be, especially when directed at House. There was always a look in Wilson's eyes. This time Chase knew no one else noticed; no one paid that much attention to Dr. Wilson. He was so easy to read; wrong. It was a look of... power... control... and a promise of something that Chase was fairly certain he might like to be in on, in a weird sort of way.
"Well, it's not like you actually treat patients on a hunch, daily, House, so we're in the clear on that one." Wilson tilted his head, and smiled predatorily. "Close call." The sarcasm all but dripped onto the floor; that would be a slippery route for House to tread.
Wilson turned to leave, lab coat tails fluttering with the speed of his departure. He glanced at Chase and stopped. Chase got the tail end of the menacing look that House had just been the victim of; it was subtle, but it was there. It promised retribution; it said `yes, you can needle me at work, and take you're frustration out on me, and even make me the laughing-stock, pitiable, poor friend of House, but you had better be prepared for the consequences.' Oh yes, Chase knew why Wilson let House get away with his antics at the hospital. And furthermore, Chase knew why House had such a deep bond with Wilson despite all appearances to the contrary.
Wilson was in control.
~~~~~
Wilson froze, his eyes glued to the blond Aussie's, frustration slowly leaving him. Chase's eyes widened imperceptibly; if you weren't looking for it, you would never have seen it. Then, a smile; a raised eyebrow; and a small, one-shoulder shrug. Barely a movement at all really, but it spoken volumes to Dr. Wilson. James discreetly returned the smile, and strode confidently out the door.
Well, that was interesting, he thought to himself.
Chase knew.
~~~~~
Cameron turned to gather her charts from the table; Foreman went to refill his coffee. House barely registered their presence, so caught up in Wilson was he. That look had House reaching for another Vicodin in the hopes that he would be pain-free later that evening; maybe he and Wilson could experiment in the shower...
House watched Wilson stop, watched the look pass between James and Chase, watched the words that all but wrote themselves in the air pass between their eyes. House knew he had completely underestimated Chase. The Aussie wasn't uninterested, or uninvolved, he was simply displaying a level of discretion that House had never seen from him before. Well, credit where credit was due, House supposed, shrugging.
Chase knew.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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