Yvi

Title: Double-Sided
Pairing: Insinuations of House/Wilson; mentions of Amber/Thirteen and the canon relationship that gets revealed at the end of Frozen (hi, this is me sucking at describing this without spoilers).
Spoilers: Frozen, Don't Ever Change
Rating: R for language and subject matter
Disclaimer: Don’t own ’em, making no profit off ’em, etc.
Word Count: 1,580

Summary: Talk of testicles, threesomes, and STDS over lunch. House disapproving of Wilson's extracurricular activities. Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. The usual.




That was the thing about Wilson. He could be incredibly incisive, totally obtuse, and a dash of catty-bratty high school cheerleader all at once.

Sitting on cracked plateaus of squeakily protesting vinyl with nothing but menus and moroseness on the table, both of them, and House was making an expertly drawn point of not mentioning the look on Wilson’s face. Anything painted out that obviously couldn’t be accidental.

When it arrived, Wilson kept his attention on his food, not even rolling his eyes as House stacked his onion rings into a tower and proceeded to squirt ketchup over them for a makeshift volcano. It wasn’t his most impressive effort, but sculpting a vagina out of mashed potatoes wasn’t an option this time.

“Cheer up, emo kid.”

“Excuse me?”

“You want to talk about something.” The onion volcano was getting lopsided. House judiciously devoured some of it for the sake of symmetry. “It can’t be about a patient because you didn’t see any of the really lost causes today, can’t be about drugs or you’d be witty and ironical to try and ingratiate yourself, so it’s gotta be something out of the ordinary. Something…juicy that I’d never expect you to bring up…” He leaned in and stage-whispered, “She finally bit your balls off, didn’t she? And you wanna get the ‘I told you so’ part out of the way and get drunk now, right?”

“And you’re going to encourage talking about that if it’s the case?”

“I’ll try to tolerate it for the two seconds it’ll take to get a plastic surgeon on the phone. Don’t worry, I have my suspicions about Taub’s testicular status too. Then you two can really bond.”

“No, you’ll like this one.” Wilson snagged an onion ring from the top of the messy pile and frowned before addressing House through the middle of it. “Amber’s been talking about threesomes.”

“Threesomes?” House repeated with considerably more gusto, noting with approval when a few heads suddenly found their table extremely fascinating. Gratifyingly, Wilson’s eyes made a slow ascent to the ceiling. “As flattered as I am…I can honestly say I’ve never discussed them with you like that. Blondes aren’t usually my type, though, sorry. Chase still cries over it.”

“This,” Wilson began, “is why I don’t mention these things.”

If he stayed in control of the conversation, maybe he could keep it relatively on-road instead of careening through the guardrail. “So who’s the third wheel? You didn’t want to tell me, so it’s embarrassing. You’d be through the roof if it were a girl, but you look weirded out and she’s the kind of commanding bitch who’d want the attention, so it must be another guy—not quite as hot, but bisexuality is very in this year.” No response. House narrowed his eyes as Wilson chewed complacently. “It’s not Foreman, is it? I thought the stick up his ass might’ve started to dislodge, but maybe that’s just because he knows he’ll be getting a much cooler replacement.”

Wilson blinked at him. “She,” he said, “is Thirteen.”

The woman discreetly eavesdropping at a neighboring table looked aghast. House accommodatingly shot her a scandalized look. “You dirty old man!”

Wilson obliviously hung his head. “She’s hot, but she’s…Thirteen.” He looked up, eyes narrowed. “You think she’s hot.”

“I would never,” House virtuously proclaimed for the woman’s benefit.

“She wants the best of both worlds, thinks lesbians are sexy, and she’s manipulating me into thinking similarly. Who could that possibly sound like to you?”

“I don’t recall it ever taking much persuasion to convince you lesbians are hot.”

Wilson twisted his glass noncommittally, fingertips marring the condensation and sending rivulets into his napkin.

“Thirteen’s hot, okay, but you’re still hovering on the edge of midlife—you could probably get someone younger.” If they kept this up, maybe the riveted librarian-looking audience member would jot their descriptions on a napkin and get them reported for pedophilia. Making Wilson have to explain that one was potentially awesome.

“Snappy suspenders and baggy pants just reek of sex for me.”

Come to think of it… “I thought Amber and Thirteen hated each other.”

“They’re friends on Facebook.”

“What kind of idiot solicits a threesome through Facebook?”

“You, probably.” The words rolled off Wilson’s tongue easily, a response that surprised neither of them. “She’s moved on.”

“Oh, not that—“

“Some things matter more to her than getting to work for you now. And since Thirteen one-upped her by being more of a masochist and actually landing the job, if she sleeps with her it’ll…neutralize that or something. I don’t know.” Wilson grimaced and flailed with his fork. “It’s girl on girl action. When have you ever needed to analyze that?”

It wasn’t actually a surprise that he was actually trying to make it make sense, but House snorted anyway and tore into his burger. Wilson, rationalizing that threesomes were okay because it would help Amber make a better person of herself. The fact that he’d get some extra fuzz was purely a convenience. They’d be on Oprah next. For now…thoughts bottled-water clear in his mind, neatly capped and twisted shut: Amber smirk-smiling at how she’d banged his best friend and his only bangable staff member, making her presence known every minute of the day without actually being in the hospital, doing her moniker proud with more sanctimonious crap about love versus respect and we’re social equals, Greg.

And Wilson potentially having two supple young things in his bed and so-called social life was just not cool. If Amber had him whipped, he’d fall from grace (would it be in poor taste even for him to mention that incident?) loving every last second of it. House put on an affectedly interested face and stuffed a forkful of salad into his mouth to forestall spewing out a dozen answers at once. “Wow, you’ve cleansed her soul and she’s cleansed your hotel room. I’m getting all weepy here.”

“You’d be all for it if you were seeing someone who decided turning over a new leaf also entailed threesomes.” Wilson shrugged. “Thirteen’s hot and Amber can talk anyone into anything. And your witticisms have been slipping lately, so this should give you a boost and a few rounds of ammunition to unload on my love life before you go home and sulk because you aren’t getting any. Besides, it’s not like I can talk to anyone else about this.” And he smiled in a way that didn’t bode well at all.

And maybe that was hitting close to home, even with the pathetic balm of the following remark, but at least he had an actual home as opposed to an extended hotel stay and preferably-not-extended girlfriend’s apartment to his name. “Yeah, you know me, always there for anything.” A theatrical wiggle of his eyebrows

Wilson snorted, started, and actually looked almost terrified for a moment. Only a split-second, then collected himself and it shifted into…intrigued, House noted, definitely intrigued. Like throwing seed to a flock of birds, sending them scattering in a flurry of wings and shrieks before they started settling back to peck-step, peck-step closer in and survey the new development. “What, do you want to be Thirteen?”

“Twenty-one was way more fun,” House returned demurely, biting off another mouthful and reaching for his cane.

He’d actually turned over the idea of calling Thirteen by her real name just to get under her crystal-clear skin, but that meant acting like he gave a crap what her name was to begin with. She could call herself Suzabelle, Queen of the Fairies, and it wouldn’t matter one way or another to him except the potential for mockery would be way more fun.

Maybe he should start calling her Queen of the Fairies anyway. She was probably the type to spell it faery and wear claddagh toe rings. And she was bi, so it was fitting, sort of, but he’d climb Mount Kilimanjaro himself before he went out of his way to bring up that point now.

Over a month, closer to two, since he’d found out about the two of them, and Wilson was still shacking up with Amber. Not a dark cloud in sight. It couldn’t be long now. Maybe he could pay a call girl to lounge around Chez Bitch and ask for Wilson. See how many vital organs he’d have then, let alone fuck-buddies. Under the table, he vaguely registered that his foot was tapping frantically against the tiles. It wouldn’t do an inch of good to start reminding Wilson that sleeping with a colleague wasn’t smiled upon in the oncology handbook and as department heads they should be upholding moral standards instead of tearing them down.

“Whatever screwed up shit you pull, just remember you’re a role model for other professionals,” and how the fuck had that managed to go clunking out of his mouth? It seemed to amuse the hell out of the screwed up, sweater-vest wearing little shit sitting across from him, anyway. Fuck it. Just fuck it all.

He got up to stick Wilson with the bill and get back to the hospital to tell Thirteen about the colorful history of STDs he was already drawing up for him. But not before that bland smile was flashed at him again, dark eyes shining as if Wilson was reveling in some private joke. House was almost positive he didn’t approve of it.

“Right. I’ll pencil you in just in case Thirteen needs an understudy.”