Disclaimer: House M.D. belongs to Fox. I wish I owned House, Cuddy and Wilson. If I did, I would make them all make out with each other and would be far to busy with that to write silly little fics like this.
"If You Were Gay" belongs to...Avenue Q? Someone that isn't me.
Chase walks into House's office, dim, lights off, the curtains drawn, music playing out of his computer on low volume. Ah. It's one of those days. One of those House-is-pissed-at-the-world-and-will-undoubtedly-take-it-out-on-the-world's-easiest-target days. And Chase, though he would never admit it out loud, is fully, and painfully aware of the fact that there is something about his floppy hair, his accent, his general good looks and utter lack of a backbone that made him the world's easiest target.
Expecting the inevitable abuse that he would be unable to stand up against and would have to simply take like a little girl, Chase was more than a little surprised when House looked up at him and grinned. For the briefest flicker of a moment he thought it was just a friendly smile. Then he realized that this was Gregory House, and if he ever had given, or ever would give a friendly smile to anyone, it would certainly not be to Robert Chase. Then the fear kicked in.
The complete terror, the unabashed urge to turn around and speed walk out the door, tail tucked firmly between his legs made its way through his entire being. But he knew that whatever evil scheme lay behind those evilly twinkling eyes, it couldn't be worse than facing the torment that would come from an outward display of cowardice. So he stood, head held high, and said,
"Listen, House, Anderson is not responding to treatment. I know you think-"
Chase is cut off as House's eyes widen in an over-the-top display of excitement.
"OOOH! I love this song."
He reaches for the mouse and turns it up. Chase wrinkles his nose. Was he listening to… Sesame Street? It sure as bloody hell sounds like it. He writes it off as another one of House's many eccentricities, ignores it, and continues.
"I know you think there's no way it can be anything other than-"
"Hey! I'm trying to listen to a song here. You're being rude," House says firmly, and turns the music up even louder. Now Chase is unable to block out the words.
If you were gay, that'd be okay, I mean, cause hey, I'd like you anyway…
Right. It's not the first time House has dropped annoying hints about his sexuality. Ignore it, and it goes away for a couple of weeks, and then you ignore the next oh-so-clever quip. That's the way it goes. But a bloody song? Was House really bored enough to go through such lengths to torment him? If anyone needs a bloody girlfriend, or boyfriend, or blow up doll it's that gimpy legged, sad, lonely bastard.
Chase reaches across House's shoulder and clicks stop on the itunes window. He then begins to talk about the case, pretending he doesn't hear House mutter "Well that struck a nerve, didn't it?"
The next day, he's walking towards House's office. This time, the blinds are open. House happens to glance up and see him heading down the hall. He immediately moves to his computer and begins fiddling with it. Chase groans. He can't possibly be planning on using the same joke again.
He walks in, and with a wave of relief, hears a catchy tune by the Ramones. He starts talking about work. House tries to look innocent. Then, the song ends.
Ahhh, an afternoon alone with my favorite book: Broadway Musicals of the 1930s…
"Wow! Isn't that such a coincidence? Wasn't this song playing the last time you were here? Do you think that means something?"
"Not really. Now, Foreman is busy running tests, but he wanted me to tell you that…"
He creaks open the office door slowly and sticks his head around it, Cameron right behind him. He listens.
If you were queer, I'd still be here, year after year, because you're dear to me.
"Listen, Cameron. I forgot. I've got to… make a call. You don't really need me for this anyway, right? Here're my notes," he says distractedly, thrusting some papers in to her arms, not acknowledging the open-mouthed look of confusion on her face.
Chase must really be as idiotic as House says he is, because he walks in to House's office the next day under the ridiculous notion that he's had his fun with the very, very, sad little joke. He is completely wrong. This time, House is lying on his couch, pretending to be asleep. Chase's ears are blessed with the dulcet tones of that fucking annoying little puppet singing:
I'm happyyyy, just being with you! So what should it matter to me, what you do in bed with guys!?
Nicky that is wrong!
No it's not! If you were gay, I'd shout hooray! And here I'd stay! But I wouldn't get in your way!
At this point, Chase throws the manila case folder he's holding onto House's desk, turning on his heel and leaving to the sounds of victorious chuckles.
He storms through the hall, furious, turns a corner and crashes hard into Wilson who looks at him in surprise.
"What's the matter with you?"
"Fucking. Gay. Puppets."
Shaking his head, he smiles a sympathetic, knowing smile and claps Chase on the shoulder. Aside from that, there's nothing he can do.