Guest, espogio and Rei – thanks! No Jebeth, he probably won't, but that's how we love him, isn't it? ;) verlan, feel better soon – and as you'll see, this chapter's for

you! :]

At that command, Wilson looked decidedly shocked. He had expected House to at least mask his orders slightly, the way most employers did. House's fellows

never got fooled into being anything like equals, but now that he was involved with one of them...unlike the oncologist, though, Chase took his superior's

rudeness in stride.

"You mean your job." he said, and even managed to look straight into the diagnostician's eyes. He did leave, though. After all, you had to choose your battles.

While the intensivist made his way back to the diagnostic department, House and his friend were discussing monster trucks – not Wilson's choice of topic, but

his favourite diagnostician adamantly refused to talk about Chase.

"I'm serious, it'll be awesome!" House beamed, while Wilson looked apprehensive.

"You're talking about an evening spent with some guys you met on the street, they're probably – "

"Those are my friends you're talking about."

"Yeah. Well, how about spending the evening with all your new 'friends'? I'll be...somewhere else."

"You're mean today."

"And you're going soft. Chase must be rubbing off on you."

"Thought I told you to lay off that subject?"

"Well – if you hadn't noticed; I don't usually do whatever you say."

House glared and got up. "I'll go spend time with some people that do then." Wilson's grin was wiped off his face when a stack of papers was knocked on the

floor. And not exactly accidentally.

House made his way back to the department of diagnostic's in a huff. His mood wasn't lifted when he found his office was still occupied by his employees.

"You aren't done yet?" he asked, entering.

Foreman flashed him an annoyed scowl. "You were gone for less than half an hour." Chase didn't say anything, not trusting himself to play his role convincingly.

Shrugging, the diagnostician sat down in his Eames chair. "Well, looks like we're spending some quality time together. Someone get me coffee." Chase and

Foreman were watching him with twin looks of annoyed disbelief, until Chase got up with a sigh, going to fetch his boss a cup of coffee. He had just sat down

again when House glanced at his employees over the top of his book. "Quit staring dumbly. And Chase, go buy me a lollipop."

That did it. Chase clenched his fists, hissing, "Bastard. You think you're so great, sitting there – " He stopped himself. Foreman and House both looked stunned,

but unlike his neurologist, House had soon gathered his bearings.

"Excuse me?!" he said, giving Chase a chance to backpedal. Which the Australian took.

"Sorry." he mumbled, leaving the room hastily. When he returned with the desired sweet shortly afterwards, he was also carrying a piece of birthday cake on a

colourful paper plate.

House raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Um...one of the nurses brought some cake in, to celebrate. I ran into her just now."

Tentatively, the intensivist held out the plate.

"Well, thank you so much, Dr. Chase." House smirked, pretty terrifyingly. He glanced at Foreman, wondering whether his performance had been convincing, and

noticed the neurologist looked...well, not exactly suspicious, but definitely puzzled. The diagnostician frowned for a split-second, unsure what to do next. Then,

he gestured at Foreman.

"Go do something." he said dismissively. The neurologist nodded, leaving quickly. He expected his colleague to get chewed out and was quite glad not to be

there for the show.

As soon as Foreman had left, Chase looked at his boss. "Sorry." he said, meaning it this time. House looked at him and shrugged. He got up and embraced his

worried wombat, letting the younger doctor snuggle against the soft cotton of his coat. "It's fine. Maybe I have to turn it down so you can keep your temper."

"Turn it down? What, your...antisocial way of interacting socially?"

"Yeah."

"Don't. The others would get freaked out. I'll just have to learn to only be myself when none of them are around. After all – " Chase smirked, "I'm used to rolling

over when you get intense."

House gave his Australian a soft peck on the cheek. "Maybe I should get intense right now." he muttered, before pulling away suddenly.

"What's up?" Chase asked, watching the diagnostician scrunch up his nose before exploding in a giant sneeze, "Aaaah...TISHOO!"

The intensivist had his hand on the other man's forehead immediately. "You don't seem to have a fever..." he mused, pulling up House eyelid, "And you – "

"Hey! Get off!" the diagnostician smacked Chase's hand away, leading the younger doctor to roll his eyes exasperatedly.

"I was just checking..." he said sullenly, keeping his hands to himself now.

"I'm f- " House began, continuing, "Ah-tish-oo." Gratefully, he took the tissue his employee was holding out. "Thanks."

"I'll go make you some tea." Chase said, vanishing into the conference room. House sighed.

"I hate tea!" he shouted.

Shortly after, House and Chase were watching TV together, the intensivist happily slurping sage tea. House hadn't touched his own mug, but Chase tried not

to mind. Though he had put honey in. And lemon.

"What are we gonna say if someone walks in now?" Chase asked, between sips. The two of them were lying on House's Eames chair together, covered by a

blanket Chase had found somewhere. Even without the diagnostician's known aversion to any kind of human contact, their position could be deemed

compromising.

"We'll tell them you were freaked out by Luke's cruelty and just needed some to 'hold you'." House replied, his voice convincingly whiny at the end of the

sentence. "They'd believe that." he added, in response to his underling's look.

"No they wouldn't."

"So we'll say the radiator broke down. Who cares. Different topic. You know how I'm sick and all?"

"I thought you were fine."

"No, I sneezed in the middle of that sentence, remember? Thus proving that I'm not. On the contrary, I'm feeling extremely weak."

"Maybe you should drink your tea."

"I hate tea."

Chase rolled his eyes. "Good God. What do you want?"

"My cake."

Sighing, the younger doctor got up, went to the desk and carried the paper plate back to his boss. He was glad he'd done that just a moment later, when

Cuddy stormed in.

"Why is Cameron doing your clinic hours – again?" she demanded, barely glancing at Chase.

"I'm sick." House answered, looking up at Cuddy like a forlorn puppy would.

"You don't look sick."

"I am. Right, Chase?"

The Australian nodded. "He is, Dr. Cuddy."

The administrator snorted. "Right. One of your lackeys agrees, so it must be true. Please. Chase speaking his mind when you're around? That would be a first."

Throwing a look at the fellow, Cuddy seemed slightly uncomfortable. "No offense."

"None taken..." Chase muttered.

"You, get to the clinic, now." Cuddy ordered, turning. Before House could utter another word, she was gone.

Left alone, the diagnostician shot his employee a reprehensive look.

"I was gonna eat my cake!" he whined, getting up reluctantly.

The Australian shook his head disbelievingly. "How the hell is this my fault?"

"Well, normally, I'd just order you to do my hours."

"And now...you won't?"

"Can't. And that is your fault."

"Well, why?"

"Because you're just too damn good-looking. Don't want you to get all mad. And...quit, or something."

"I wouldn't do that."

"Sure...you say that now - right after I told you I wouldn't make you to my clinic duty anymore."

Chase grinned. "That did help. Yeah."

"Shut up."

"Love you too."

Despite himself, House was smiling as he limped towards the detested clinic.