Work Text:
“You know you can't avoid him forever?”
A suave voice chimed behind her; there was a touch of urgency in his tone.
Duck. Charmeuse called him Duck, House’s own decoy leaned on the bar nursing a cigarette. He was clearly aggregated; he had been patrolling the Lucky 38 like a hawk. Each time he gave her a sharp look between her and the elevator and her again, ever so often. She took notice of the feedback that echoed from his earpiece, mostly interfering with the microphone in her necklace Robert gave her. House was speaking to him.
“Is he bothering you?” She sheepishly looked away, swirling the last bit of wine in her glass. Charmeuse didn't think he was that impatient to see her, but after the conversation he overheard, he must want answers. A woman beckoned for Duck to return to her.
“He needs you.” Is all Duck said before disappearing into the crowd on the casino floor. He needs you, rang in her head while she rode the elevator up.
Charmeuse shut her eyes, wondering how she found herself in this state of affair. It all started with a Moscow Mule, or three. She and her colleagues were on a train to Moose Jaw for reconnaissance. There was a gentle snow coating the windows of the compartment, the woman to her left flipping through a newspaper, while the other woman laid across on the bed. Charmeuse let the alcohol stew in her, and her mind wandered. Mr. House and her had a casual relationship, a friendship. They were friends, he said so himself. Yet she found herself thinking about him in a not-so-friendly way, especially now with liquor in her tummy.
His brown eyes flashed in her mind, his voice called to her softly, a smile covering his face that showed all his imperfections and charm. Everyone else knew him as Mr. House, she knew him as Robbie. Her Robbie.
“He is very handsome, isn't he?” Agent Wasila mused out loud, bringing Charmeuse back to reality, her eyes fluttered open.
“Uh, who?” Charmeuse slurred, turning her head towards her fellow spy in panic.
“Mr. House.” Wasila adjusted the newspaper so Charmeuse could see the, so called, one and only Mr. House-Duck. “Have you seen his new girlfriend? I think she's in that new flick… soooo pretty!”
Charmeuse tensed as Agent Wasila rambled on, then Agent Winter spoke up.
“Wasila, you know Chapel only likes older men.” She snickered, uttering Charmeuse’s codename. Agent Chapel.
“Mr. House is far too young for her.” Waslia smirked.
Something hot flared up in her stomach. Duck was a good decoy. There were times he mimicked House’s real mannerisms eerily well. But they were right. Too young, even if he was her age, he had a far shorter fuse than House. Calm, House. So sure of himself, even faced with opposition. No, they were too different; they lived in two different worlds. He was the face of America, and she was just a fly on the wall. It was a miracle they were even friends.
“He wouldn't be interested in someone like me; Mr. House dates celebrities, not nobodies.” Charmeuse patted her hair. She hated how bitter she sounded, like a jealous woman.
“Aw, maybe your boyfriend will introduce you two.” Agent Winter teased. “Then you can dump him for House.”
Tic.
And there it goes, that familiar sound clicked from her necklace, small enough for only her to notice. Robert was definitely listening intensely. The necklace he had given her obviously had a tracker and a microphone, but she didn't mind. Her spy work was exciting, but she could tell each time she left his watchful eye, he would grow uneasy. Calling every day, asking if she was okay, almost every hour. He wasn't collecting information to blackmail her; he was worried; he cared about her. So she let him listen. This is the first time she wished he hadn't.
“Ahem.” Charmeuse cleared her throat, indicating she was done with this conversation.
Despite keeping their personal lives private she couldn't hide this one little preference from two professional spies. Perception was the name of the game. The smell of cigarettes and expensive cologne clings to her clothes, the flashy jewelry he begged her to wear, how could they not notice? Even her own boss knew!
“Ah, the Chapel is angry, we better shut up.” Agent Winter cooed.
She simply huffed, as they both giggled to themselves like school girls.
They both figured out she had a “boyfriend” the first week she stayed at the Lucky 38. Much to Charmeuse's horror, a small piece of her was just glad they couldn't track her. Instead of travelling back to the gloomy bayou after missions, she would instead catch the first flight back to sunny Las Vegas. Back to the Lucky 38, back to him. Like clockwork.
He needs you.
Ding! And then she was in the elevator again; it opened with ease.
“Charmy!” Her face heated up at the sound of his little nickname for her. He was standing in the middle of the room, looking up at her. Signature pout on his face. Charmeuse stood straight, faking a brave face, looking down the loft. Her necklace felt like it weighed 10 tons. Robbie was already halfway up the stairs by the time he found the right words to say.
“You took your sweet time.” He was curt, unlike himself, his soft self. A tight knot formed in her throat.
“Drowning my woes, the situation at Moose Jaw wasn't what we expected”
“As much as I love hearing about your escapades, we have more important things to talk about.” He held out a hand and they both walked to one wide window that painted a grand view of Vegas. They were both quiet for a moment, watching the lights below. Charmeuse broke the silence with a sigh.
“Robert…”
“I am interested, Ms. Chambers.” He didn't look at her. Hands, he stared at her hands.
“What.” The word fell out of the woman’s mouth.
Mr. House chuckled, finally facing her. “There is a very small percentage of you interested in me, too. Less than 10%. Based on ah, factors I won’t list outside the bedroom. I was hesitant to push it, gambling the chance of ruining our relationship. So I kept quiet. Perhaps, if I played my cards right the percentage would rise over time.”
Charmeuse folded her arms, percentages, cards, and gambling, it was all he knew. She couldn't decide if she wanted to laugh or kick him.
“So you're insisting that you weren't trying to court me these past few months were lies?” She teased, half heartedly, not knowing how to respond to him confessing.
Charmeuse watched his cheeks turn pink, lips pursed, turning back to look at the city he loved, eyes dark.
She lifted her hands to his face, making him face her once again, cradling his head.
“What if I told you your chances were higher than you think, Robbie?”
His eyes went wide, “Numbers, please, tell me the percentage!"
Charmeuse rolled her eyes, “100%, God! Would you just kiss me already!”
Her command made him stand up straight; he wasn't that much taller than her, but in that instant he was a mile tall. Who was she, barking orders at the Mr. House? His brown eyes burned into hers. Charmeuse squeaked when Robert’s left hand cupped her head, the other found her waist. He in a hurry closed the gap between them. She could have sworn she heard him growl as soon as his lips crashed against hers. It was clumsy, almost hazardous how they pecked at each other. His moustache tickled her as he peppered kisses down her neck.
There was someone shuffling behind them; the clinging of glasses made them break apart just in time to see Duck pouring a few glasses of wine.
“Finally.” Duck sighed with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, exhausted from playing wingman for six whole months. “Fucking, finally.”
He had the first drink.