Disclaimer: House and Wilson aren't my creations and I therefore make not a penny from writing about them. Woe is me.

-.-.-.-.-.-

It wasn't something Wilson ever put into words until the afternoon he caught Chase staring as he carried on one of his usual, mobile conversations with House in the hallway.

Behind the glass walls and blond bangs he could see the expression of intense puzzlement. And so, as House took off in what looked like (but was probably not) a random direction, Wilson strolled over into Diagnostics, where Chase had gone back to reading -- pretending to read -- some journal or other.

"Was there something you needed?" he asked, and watched with amusement as Chase jumped slightly, looking up at him.

"Ah. No, Doctor Wilson."

"So you were just staring for entertainment?" Wilson cocked his head and smirked, not unkindly. "There had to be something."

"Actually --" There was that characteristic pause while Chase weighed his options and decided which limb, if any, to climb out on. "Honestly? I was trying to figure out whether you knew or cared about how it looks. You and House. You've heard the gossip, I presume."

Wilson let out a brief chuckle. "He starts half those rumors himself. He thinks it's funny."

"But it's that thing you do, walking around like that. That's what really looks ... odd. But I don't suppose it matters." Chase picked up the journal again in a desperate attempt to backtrack before he got himself into any more trouble.

Wilson breathed out a sigh and pulled up a chair to sit across the table from Chase -- who raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"How often," asked Wilson, "does House stay still?"

"Rarely," replied Chase, his eyes revealing a veiled but growing curiosity.

"How often do you have to catch him in the hallways just to get information out of him?"

Chase blinked. "Daily."

"And you miss half of what he says because he's a moving target. And he talks to the walls or the ceiling or the floor instead of directly to you."

"Often," Chase admitted. Putting down the journal, he pushed the hair out of his face and looked squarely at Wilson. "Actually -- all the time. It can be a bit aggravating."

"You can't keep up with House and keep your distance," said Wilson, smiling, "much as you might like to. It wasn't always that way, but then there was the leg." He shrugged. "I learned. If you stay well clear, he leaves you in the dust and you miss whatever he said. But get within normal hearing range and you run into the logistical problems. I'm sure you've noticed."

"Yeah. I've tripped on his cane. I've been almost knocked over because he doesn't walk straight, and once I knocked him over by mistake." Chase shifted, mulling it over. "That got ugly. I try to stay out of the way, but then I don't hear well enough and I have to ask him to repeat things. He gets annoyed."

"Precisely," Wilson said, folding his arms behind his head. "And he makes the annoyance--that would be you--go away. By whatever means he feels is appropriate."

"Um. Yes," said Chase. "Frequently." He leaned back in his chair and rubbed a forefinger thoughtfully across his jaw, considering this new information. "So that's your solution. Eliminate the distance, mimic the way he moves, let people talk if they want. And it works?"

"Well enough that I don't even think about it. Not until I catch someone looking at me funny." He smiled again, wondering what Chase might actually do.

"You're not advising me to try it?" Chase asked warily. "Because you know you're the only one who could do that and live."

"Maybe I'm not the only one who could," Wilson replied amicably as he got up to leave. "Maybe I'm just the only one who's tried."