"'Sup?" A blond, very tired Australian asked. It was four a.m. on a Monday morning, and he had just been woken up by the sound of his mobile chirping. A noise

much too chipper for that time of night.

"Just wanted to see how you were doing." House replied.

"I – did we get a case?"

"Nope."

"Well then what – do you need me to do anything? Because I'd like to get a couple more hour's sleep."

House wasn't going to let his fun be taken away from him that abruptly. He snorted. "Right. As if you get up at six." Chase scowled. He liked to go for a run in

the morning, followed by a long shower. And the fact that House made damn sure none of his ducklings dared to be late for work meant if he wanted to

accomplish all this, his alarm had to be set for six o'clock. "I do get up at six!" he whined indignantly.

"Sure."

"I do!"

"Whatever you say, dear."

"House..."

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm hanging up now. Bother Wilson."

For a second, sadness flashed across the diagnostician's face. He swallowed, relieved Chase couldn't see him. "Wilson's left for Barbados."

If Chase hadn't been half-asleep, he'd have worried at these news. House was bound to be frustrated without his loyal sidekick – and frustrated House could

only be controlled by Wilson. As it was, though, the intensivist merely yawned. "'M hanging up..." he mumbled, and did just that.

Half an hour later, Chase's phone rang again. He shot up, located the noise, and groaned. "What now, House?"

"Hi, Chase!"

"Hi."

"Are you sleeping okay?"

"I was."

"I'm eating scrambled eggs."

"Yeah – good for you. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"No. We're talking."

"But – "

"You should be glad. Most employer's take no interest in their subordinates' private life."

"It's the middle of the night. Unless there's anything work-related you'd like to tell me...?"

"..."

"Okay then." Not bothering to say goodbye, Chase hung up. House cocked an eyebrow. Looked like he'd have to teach his Australian duckling some etiquette.

Chase had only just fallen asleep when House called yet again. This time, the intensivist didn't bother with anything resembling politeness. He picked up his

phone and hissed, "Stop. Calling!"

House didn't seem impressed in the slightest, but Chase could definitely hear the smirk in his voice. "You sound stressed. Are you getting enough sleep?"

"I swear, when I get in to work, I'll – "

"You'll what? Tell on me? Throw a punch?"

Chase balled his fists. He ordered himself to stay calm. House would win anyway. The Australian sighed quietly.

"Was there anything you needed, Dr. House?"

"No, thank you. I'll see you in the morning!" And House hung up, leaving the intensivist to strangle his pillow in frustration.

It was six minutes past eight when Chase arrived in the conference room. His fellow ducklings were already there but House, luckily, wasn't.

"Hey," Cameron said, glancing at her colleague, "good morning." Foreman looked up to, raising an eyebrow. "You look like crap."

Chase scowled. "House." he explained. The diagnostician had called him twice more, which meant that the night had been anything but relaxing.

The three doctors spent a quiet couple of hours in the conference room, waiting for their employer to arrive. Finally, they heard the familiar rhythm of his cane

on the tiled hospital floor. House entered the room and managed to piss off all his staff in a matter of five seconds as he threw his backpack at Foreman,

whacked Chase over the head with a folder and ordered Cameron to make coffee.

"What?" he demanded, when all three stared at him.

"Good morning." Cameron replied pointedly, before rising. Maybe House would calm down when he got his coffee. Chase threw his boss a dirty look and got to

work tidying his hair.