sodiumbisulfite

 

 

 For as long as he could remember, Thursday night had always been movie, pizza, and beer night with House. House provided the television and the movie, while Wilson provided the beer and the food. You know, the pricey stuff.

 

As Wilson walked unsteadily up the sidewalk to House's door, his arms weighed down with drinks and food, he silently hoped House had chosen a film with a little more substance than last weeks "Gaytanamo Bay." Wilson was all for a good porno now and then, but that monstrosity had been some of the filthiest he'd ever seen. Borderline grotesque really, and Wilson shuddered just thinking about it as he kicked House's door.

 

A few agonizing minutes later, House opened the door, acknowledged Wilson's presence with a nod, and limped his way back over to the couch without offering any help. Not that Wilson should have expected him to, but just one of these times....well, it would be nice. 

 

Wilson stepped inside and and kicked the door shut behind him. He meandered his way over to the couch, where he loudly dropped the food and beer onto the coffee table, slipped out of his jacket, and plopped down onto the couch. 

 

"Thanks for helping me with that," Wilson mumbled, grabbing a beer and twisting the cap off. House ignored him and reached for the remote.

 

"Bad news," House said as he turned the power on the television. "All the good porn was taken. So, naturally, I had no idea what else would entertain you, so I asked the air-headed young person behind the counter for a suggestion."

 

Wilson perked up at this. Air-headed young people liked romantic comedies. Wilson loved romantic comedies. 

 

House tossed the empty DVD case at Wilson, who picked it up and raised an eyebrow. 

 

"Twilight?" He flipped the case over. "What the hell is this?" 

 

House shrugged and pressed play. "Damned if I know. The girl said it was the 'best movie ever', which means that it's probably awful, which to me means that you'll probably like it. I was trying to be thoughtful." House gave Wilson an exaggerated pout and grabbed a box of Chinese food.

 

Twilight, as it turned out, was a nauseatingly unrealistic high school romance movie starring Vampires. If there had been a deeper plot, it was lost on House, who had fallen asleep within the first ten minutes. 

 

Wilson, however, remained on the edge of his seat, biting nervously on his nails, completely terrified. 

 

Wilson hated vampires. They scared the shit out of him, though he'd never admit it. However, he had always taken comfort in the fact that:

 

a. Vampires couldn't go out during the day. And since Wilson had no life, and was always in bed by 9pm, they didn't pose much of a threat to him in that regard.

 

and

 

b. Vampires had large fangs and other such obvious features, such as looking un-dead, to name just one off the top of Wilson's head. This comforted Wilson, since he assumed that if he did ever see a vampire, he would know with enough time to start running away. 

 

But, Twilight! Twilight was showing Wilson that that vampires looked normal. They didn't even have fangs! And what was worse was that they could walk around during the day without anyone even knowing what was walking amongst them. 

 

Wilson felt his legs begin to shake. Sure, if these vampires went into the sun, they ~*~dazzled~*~ but so what? How many times had Wilson treated patients that were covered in glitter? Too many to count off the top of his head, and for all he knew, it hadn't been glitter at all. It had been the skin of a killer. 

 

Wilson felt sick. Jersey was a great place for vampires to live, too. It was covered in a thick layer of smog ninety-nine percent of the time, so natural sunlight wouldn't be an issue for them here. It wasn't much different than Forks, Washington when it came down to it, except for the amount of precipitation, Wilson supposed.

Wilson swallowed heavily, and reached for another beer.

 

By the end of the movie, Wilson was convinced that Jersey was infested by Cullen-esque vampires. He looked over at House, who was snoring loudly, pieces of fried-rice down the front of his shirt. 

 

House could be a vampire, Wilson thought, moving himself further down the couch. He was basically a genius, after all. Gorgeous as hell, and he had eyes that Wilson could get lost in for hours. They were inhumanly beautiful. And, sure, he was sleeping right now, but he could just as easily be faking it. Wilson had seen this first hand, almost every time House was supposed to have been working. 

 

By the time his leg had stopped shaking, Wilson had bitten all of his nails as far down as they could go. 

 

He reached for his sixth beer.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The next morning, House briefly looked up from his PSP to watch Wilson walking into the kitchen, dark circles of sleeplessness under his eyes. 

 

"You look like shit." House smiled slightly and went back to his game. 

 

"Thanks. Couldn't really sleep." Wilson walked over to the coffee pot and poured the remainder of the ground-filled liquid into the only clean mug (he hoped it was clean, anyways) he could find in the cupboard. 

 

"Don't tell me Twilight scared you? That was the worst movie I've ever seen. Worse than Rain Women. And that was bad. Didn't even get a rise out of me, if you catch my drift." 

 

"That's...lovely. I'm going to work." 

 

"I'm not. Called in. Horrible explosive bowel movements. Must have ate something that didn't agree with me."

 

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Right."

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Wilson walked into work feeling a bit more neurotic than usual. He was questioning everyone's possible Vampirism as he passed them in the lobby. Twilight was the worst thing that had happened to him since...well, since ever really. As if he didn't have enough stress in his life...

 

He only felt a bit of relief upon remembering that if his patients had been vampires, they wouldn't have been able to get cancer. Upon rationalizing that, he felt good enough to grab a real cup of coffee from the cafeteria before heading to his office, where he was now convinced he'd be safe until work. 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

He was at the condiment station when he first saw him. Biting off the tops of Splenda packets when he convinced himself that he was hallucinating. Lack of sleep was obviously playing games with his mind. He slowly placed the lid back on top of his cup and picked it up, laughing at his stupidity as he turned toward what he thought he had seen. 

 

Only, he was still there. He being Edward Cullen.

 

No way!  Wilson began chewing on his lower lip. That was just a movie. Edward can't be real. That's...ridiculous.

 

Wilson looked around the cafeteria, to see if anyone else was seeing him too. Odds are they weren't, because if the movie had been any sort of clue, if any of the women in this hospital had seen him, they'd be all over him by now, panties left back at the door. And, as Wilson scanned his eyes around the room, everyone was indeed minding their own business. 

 

He brought his coffee up to his lips, returning his glance towards Edward. Their eyes locked, and Wilson tilted his head back, taking a sip. Where was the Bailey's when you needed it? When he lowered his cup, Edward was gone.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

A few hours later, after his third patient had left, leaving a handful of snot filled tissues on top of his desk, Wilson kicked his feet up, and loosened his tie. He had managed to choke down eight cups of coffee, and was feeling much more awake now than he had been when he had first arrived at work. 

 

But, feeling awake doesn't mean a nap isn't in order. So, after making sure he had some time without patients, Wilson decided to take a short nap. He closed his eyes, and leaned back in his chair, resting his arms behind his head. He let out a relaxed sigh, and began to think of House. 

 

(Wilson would never admit it, even to himself, but he did this in hopes that he would somehow dream of House. And, that somehow these dreams would be really, really hot.)

 

The sun blaring in through his windows was making sleep difficult, so Wilson sat up, fully intent on shutting the blinds when he saw him again.

 

Only this time, Edward was on the porch, pressed up against the sliding glass door to his office. Hands pressed firmly against the cool door, his breathing leaving marks of fog on the glass.

 

Wilson jumped up from his chair, and began jumping around his office screaming. He stopped eventually and peered through the fingers of the hands he had brought up to his face, and noticed Edward was still there. He looked around him, and picked up the nearest object -which happened to be a book- and chucked it as hard as he could against the door. The glass shattered (it was a very large book) and Edward disappeared. 

 

"And stay away you asshole freak!" Wilson was hysterical now, He turned towards his desk, placed his hands on the balled up tissues, not even caring about the obvious gross, and lowered his head. He tried to regulate his breathing. 

 

Calm down Wilson, calm down. This is insane. You are insane...You really, really need to calm down.

 

Upon that realization, Wilson remembered that he had some marijuana in his desk drawer. Normally, he wouldn't tap in to his patient's medication, but this was a special situation. He needed to relax, and that seemed to be the only option.  He straightened himself up, only to find himself face to face with Edward, who was already inhaling a blunt, his golden eyes staring right into Wilson. 

 

Wilson began to slowly back up, but Edward was extremely fast and managed to move around the desk and grab his arm before Wilson could do much of anything. 

 

"W-What d-d-do you w-want?" Wilson was practically crying, shaking so hard he could barely speak. 

 

Edward removed the blunt and handed it to Wilson. "Just relax," his voice was beautiful and when he passed it to Wilson, Wilson jumped at the absolute chill to Edward's skin. 

 

Wilson brought a shaky hand up to his mouth and inhaled. 

 

Edward smiled as Wilson exhaled the cloud of smoke in his face. "Better?"

 

Wilson closed his eyes and smiled slightly as he felt the chemical take over. 

 

Edward reached out and ran an ice cold finger down Wilson's cheek. "Good. I need you to to be relaxed when I do this."

 

Wilson opened his brown eyes, and stared into Edward's topaz ones. "Relax?"

 

"It's just," Edward placed his hands tightly on Wilson's shoulders. "You smell so good."

 

Wilson snapped back to reality, as Edward placed a hand in his hair and pulled his head back. "Wait! P-please! Don't do this. D-don't!"

 

Edward leaned in, and Wilson felt his breath against his neck. "PLEASE. PLEASE, JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" Wilson struggled, but he knew he would be no match for Edward. He had learned that last night. 

 

Edward just laughed and bit down.

 

Wilson screamed.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

"Wilson!"

 

Wilson jumped to his feet and balled his fists, punching the air. "Get away from me you asshole. Get away!"

 

House grabbed the television remote and tossed it at Wilson's head. "Will you calm down? You're ruining the movie! Cost me five bucks to rent you know."

 

Wilson shook his head, and brought his hands up to his eyes, rubbing them. "Where...what?" He ran his hand down his neck, expecting to see blood on his hands, only there was nothing. 

 

"I didn't get bit?"

 

House raised an eyebrow and glanced over at the empty beer bottles on the coffee table. "How many of those did you drink? Lightweight. No, you didn't get bit. You fell asleep almost as soon as I put this piece of shit in. I knew I should have got The Magic Bed 4 as antique as it is."

 

Wilson slowly sat back down on the couch and watched as the credits began to roll up the screen. 

 

So it had all been a dream then. 

 

He turned towards House, and felt his stomach grumble. 

 

But if that was true, why did House smell so damn good?

 

 

 

 

                                                                              ~*~FIN~*~

Title: Stay Away From the Glass: Tales of Petty Crime and Self Punishment
Pairing: Multiple, the more the merrier I always say; House/Wilson, House/Bruce Wayne, House/Gob Bluth, Wilson/Joker
Rating:NC17
Length:21,700
Warnings: Violence, NonCon, Major Character Death 
Spoilers: None
This is an Xover: 3 ways, actually. House/ Arrested Development/ Batman. I wrote Batman with the Nolan!Verse in mind, because the characters are most attractive to me in that verse, lol. Special Guest Appearance by the Aqua Teen Hunger Force.  
Author's Notes:  Special thanks to my beta lifefeed , to rosenskimmer , and to causticchick  for the title. Thanks to Chris and Pat for daring me to include things in this fic, and to Fireball Island for inspiration when I needed it the most. Hugs to those on my FL as well, who gave me feedback now and again and red the parts I posted for input! :)
Summary:  It's a crazy world out there, and unfortunately,  Wilson's about to get shoved right into the middle of it. 


Well, here you are. My BigBang Fic. It pissed me off a lot (still does, lol) but I wanted to try and write something different and a bit over the top, and I think I accomplished that much at least. Those of you who are brave enough to read this, please have fun! That's what I was aiming for. Why So Serious, yaknow   :)

Link: housebigbang.panfandom.ca/fiction/stay_away.htm

  House leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles on the top of his desk, knocking some charts onto the floor in the process. He switched on the power to his PSP and began his journey; stealing cars and shooting down pedestrians with AK47s. Quite frankly, being able to partake in some Grand Theft Auto somewhere around three hours a day was the best part of his job. Saving lives, figuring shit out...it had all grown tiresome.

 

He was right the middle of a helicopter heist when he heard the door to his office swing open. He had left the blinds closed over the door as a way to ensure that he heard people barging into his office, just in case he was engrossed in some less than moral activity. (Porn comes to mind)

 

"Christ, House," Wilson batted the floor-to-ceiling blinds out of his way as he stepped into House's office. "Your blinds just sliced my arm."

 

"That'll teach you to roll your sleeves up in an attempt to appear busy." House narrowed his eyes as his helicopter just barely missed a skyscraper.

 

"Some of us," Wilson flopped down in the chair across from House's desk, "are actually busy. Like, oh I don't know...me for example? I can't remember the last time I had a free minute to play video games at work." 

 

House snorted and tilted his PSP as if that would help anything. "Well, that's why you have to convince Cuddy that your job is so important, demanding, and complicated that you need at least three underlings to help you so that your patients don't die. Then, you just make them do everything, so you can play video games and then collect a paycheck at the end of the week like you figured everything out all on your own."

 

Wilson shook his head. "You're unbelievable."

 

House shrugged. "Did you need something, or are you just being annoying for the hell of it?"

 

Wilson sighed and tossed a box of guitar picks and strings and a box of heart shaped chocolates onto House's desk. "Happy Valentine's Day."

 

House finally looked up. "You're an idiot."

 

"Wow! Thanks, House! I love you too!"

 

House eyed over the candy. (Chocolate covered coconut, his favorite.) "Shouldn't you be giving this stuff to your wife?"

 

Wilson threw his hands into the air. "She's not my wife!"

 

"...Yet."

 

Wilson stood up quickly, sending the chair falling backwards onto the floor. "You make the idea of it sound sweeter every single time you suggest it."

 

"The sex is always better when you're cheating on one of your wives, what can I say?" House went back to his PSP. 

 

Wilson reached up, pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to think of a way to respond. All that came out was an unintelligible noise, and he turned and stormed out of the office.

 

House looked up and watched him leave.

 

 

*

 

"We're getting married." Wilson sat across from House in the cafeteria, loudly slamming his tray down in front of him. 

 

House reached over and grabbed a handful of fries, shoving most of them into his mouth at once. He glanced down at his hand. "What, no ring?" Pieces of half-chewed fry landed on Wilson's tray. 

 

Wilson pushed the tray towards House, a disgusted look on his face. "Not to you. To...Jane."

 

House scoffed. "You're an idiot." He grabbed Wilson's Coke and drained most of it in one gulp. 

 

Wilson rolled his eyes and placed his hands down on the table. "You know...you can still decide that this," he motioned furiously between them, "is actually worth something to you, and I'll call the whole thing off."

 

House leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, smirking ever so slightly. "What? And hurt Jane? Wouldn't dream of it. Besides, you know what they say. Fourth times the charm."

 

Wilson just stared at him.

 

"Oh, I'm sorry. Fifth?...Sixth? I'm afraid I've lost count."

 

Wilson balled his fists, so tightly that the color was draining from his knuckles and traveling into his face, House noticed. They sat like that for a few moments; Wilson counting to ten at least eight times, and House eating fries while casually disregarding his true feelings, per usual.

 

Finally, Wilson stood up. " I assume you'll be my best man again?"

 

House nodded slightly.

 

"Good." Wilson turned and left.

 

House watched him leave.

 

*

 

"I just wanted you to straighten it out, not strangle me!" House frowned as Wilson re-tied his bow-tie a bit too snug.

 

"Oh, shut up and stand still! I'll be done in three seconds." Wilson stood back to admire his work (and House, while he was at it.) "Perfect."

 

House grumbled and reached up, loosening the tie a bit once Wilson went back to admiring his own self in the full length mirror. 

 

"Well...how do I look?"

 

"Like you're getting married for the millionth time."

Wilson smiled, seemingly pleased with that answer. He walked over to House and gave him a pat on  the back. "Well, let's go do this."

 

*

 

Jane's walk down the aisle was a bit too dramatic for House's taste. Too many flowers, too much orchestral music, and too big a smile from Wilson. 

 

He cursed himself under his breath.

 

What if he had been right? The fourth time could be the charm. Jane wasn't like Wilson's other wives. She was needy enough to keep Wilson happy, and from what House overheard at the rehearsal dinner the previous night, she was horny enough to keep him satisfied. There'd be no reason for Wilson to come over anymore. 

 

So this was the end, then.

 

The one marriage that would work and House had pushed Wilson into it. He had been the idiot, not Wilson.

 

House began to silently say a eulogy to his sex life, when the first kiss as husband and wife brought his attention back to the wedding. After all was said and done, House watched as Jane hugged her eleven bridesmaids one-by-one, a nauseating look of pride on her face. Halfway down the line, House felt Wilson's arms wrap around him tightly. He stood perfectly still for a minute, his arms pressed against his sides, but then he wrapped his arms around Wilson even tighter, realizing that this would probably be the last time he ever got to hold Wilson this close.

 

Wilson leaned in. "See you tonight?"

 

Or not.

 

House smiled to himself and then pulled back from the hug, raising an eyebrow at Wilson. He nodded.

 

Wilson quickly leaned in to hug House one last time before his walk back down the aisle, pressing his mouth practically against House's ear. "You're right about the sex being better."

 

And with that, Wilson took his unsuspecting wife's hand, and walked her down the aisle, turning to smile at House knowingly, before stepping through the church doors.

 

House smiled. 

 

"Idiot."

       House sat on the faded green recliner in Wilson's apartment. Wilson was engrossed in some sort of boring news program and House, never one for boring news programs, couldn't help but fidget with his cane. He bounced it back and forth between his knees, desperately trying to think of something to talk about, to drag Wilson's attention away from the t.v., even if only for a second.

 

He couldn't. 

 

It's wasn't surprising, really. He'd never really been good at holding a conversation with Wilson, unless it involved some sort of sarcasm and a hint of pretentiousness. 

 

He let his cane fall loudly to the floor, and Wilson glanced over towards it, and tilted his head slightly. "Need help with that?"

 

"No."

 

Wilson looked as though he was about to get up for it anyway, but House grabbed it before Wilson could get completely off of the couch. 

 

"Everything alright?" Wilson settled back down into the cushions and stared back at the screen. 

 

"Sure. Isn't it always?"

 

Wilson made some sort of noise, and House rolled his eyes. 

 

"Hey, Wilson?"

 

"Hey, House?"

 

"I love you."

 

House could see the corner of Wilson's mouth turn up. "I love you too."

 

House forced a smile as Wilson looked over towards him, briefly. He didn't believe him. How could he? How could someone as handsome as Wilson, who could have any woman he wanted, be in love with a miserable, old, bitchy, cripple like him? It didn't make sense.

 

And life just had to make sense.

 

House glanced around Wilson's apartment, taking in all of the photos perfectly placed on shelves, and perfectly aligned on walls. All of Wilson with his various wives and girlfriends; plaques of his amazing conquests. 

 

Beautiful, able-bodied, conquests.

 

There were no pictures of Wilson with House anywhere. And why would there be? He couldn't go hiking or skiing. And he certainly couldn't build Habitats for Humanity in Belize. 

 

House began to feel incredibly insecure. He'd never admit that he was capable of such feminine emotions, but there it was. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat when Wilson's phone started to vibrate on the coffee table.

 

Wilson reached forward and picked it up, putting the television on mute. 

 

"Hello?" His voice was almost sing-songy. It made House nauseous. 

 

"Who is it? Jane again?" House couldn't have hidden the venom in his voice even if he had wanted to. 

 

Luckily, he didn't want too.

 

Wilson rolled his eyes at House and stood up from the couch, walking into the kitchen with the phone.

 

"She's a Succubus, you know. She'll kill you when she's done with you!" House leaned back into the recliner, straining his neck, in an attempt to hear Wilson's conversation. He couldn't, so he just let his imagination run wild. He figured it would take only three weeks before there were pictures of Wilson and Jane on the walls. 

 

He stood up and made his way over to the bookshelf, eyeing over all of the marriage self-help books, and cookbooks that were arranged in alphabetical order, by author. (And of course all of the pictures.) He picked one of the frames up and blew the dust off of it. 

 

Wife-Number-Two. What a bitch she was. 

 

"See something you like?" Wilson tossed his phone towards the couch as he made his way back into the living room, and walked over to House, standing beside him and taking the picture from him. "What a bitch she was, huh?" 

 

House turned and looked at Wilson, an amused look making its way across his face. "Well, I wouldn't have put it so nicely, but basically." 

 

Wilson set the picture back on the shelf and ran his hand down House's back.

 

"How come you don't have any pictures of me? My chest not big enough? Can't brag about me or something?" House turned to face Wilson.

 

"Oh I can brag about you, alright. I just figured you wouldn't appreciate hundreds of pictures of your cock all over my house." 

 

"Better than no pictures of my cock all over your house."

 

Wilson raised an eyebrow and placed a hand on House's forehead. "Are you on your period or something? You're awfully moody tonight."

 

House rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He shoved past Wilson and sat on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. 

 

Wilson walked over and flopped down next to him, turning the sound back on the television. They sat in silence for a few minutes until Wilson finally cleared his throat. 

"...I don't have any pictures of you anywhere because I don't like thinking that I'll ever have to remember you. I just sort of assume you'll always be here. You know?"

 

House just stared at the television. 

 

Wilson reached over towards the coffee table and grabbed his wallet. He opened it up and pulled something out. "But if it makes you feel better...here."

 

House looked down at the crinkled up Polaroid that Wilson set on his lap. You could hardly make the image out anymore it was so crinkled, but House knew what it was and it was easy for him to make out his own figure sitting on Wilson's lap, his arms wrapped around him tightly, at Wilson's second bachelor party. They were wearing bright feather boas and tiaras.

        House had been completely drunk at the time, or at least that had been his excuse for doing such a thing, and he was sticking with it.

         But apparently Wilson knew better.

 

"We're so gay." House smirked at Wilson.

 

"Pretty much...yeah." Wilson leaned over and kissed House, and then shoved the picture back into his wallet. "So...are you going to tell me when you're off your period so we can have sex again?"

         House just smirked and started to undo his belt. 

         

        

 

 

 

"I cant believe you talked me into this." House tugged at his tie, loosening it up a bit around his neck, as he darted his eyes around the restaurant. "Look at this place. It's filled with over-dressed and underpaid people, shelling out money the probably don't have on food that probably isn't even worth it."

 

"Do you always have to be so cynical?"

 

"It's not being cynical, it's being realistic." House picked up his tumbler of Scotch and took a sip, opening the menu in front of him with his free hand. 

 

"And to think people can't understand why I love you. You're such a warm hearted individual."

 

House opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the waitress, who flipped open her ordering pad, and started to give a spiel about the specials that evening. House interrupted her. "Just spaghetti and meatballs. Al Dente if you can handle that here in this fine establishment." He lifted his menu up and held it out towards her without even looking up.

 

Wilson sighed, and looked at her apologetically. "I'll have the special, thanks."

 

After she had trotted off, Wilson raised his wine glass. "To many more years of...this." 

 

"And mind-blowing sex? I can drink to that." House clang his glass against Wilson's and downed the rest of it. Wilson smiled and shook his head, taking a sip of his wine. "Unbelievable."

 

By the time their food arrived, Wilson had finished half a bottle of the Cabernet he had ordered for the table, and House had thrown back at least four tumblers of Scotch. They were in good spirits, and only when Wilson cut into his dinner, did House get sarcastic.

 

"Mushroom raviolis? DIsgusting."

 

"They're actually rather good. Want to try?" Wilson held his fork out, a large piece of ravioli dangling in front of House's face.

 

"No thanks. I don't find fungus that has probably been peed on by a few wild animals while thriving in dirt, appetizing." He shoved the fork away with his hand. Wilson just shrugged, "Your loss."

 

By the time they had finished dinner, they both concluded that they were too intoxicated to drive, so they opted to walk the short distance to House's apartment. The walk home was done in silence for the most part, until Wilson spotted the the neighborhood duck pond out of the corner of his eye.

 

"Oh. My. God." He grinned wildly and started sprinting down the small hill towards the water, removing his tie, and flinging it behind him as he ran. 

 

"Wilson! What are you doing?" 

 

Wilson removed his suit jacket and tossed it, giggling wildly when the wind grabbed it, and flew it a few feet behind him. "I can walk on water, House!"

 

"Wilson-" 

 

"No, House, I can! I can walk on water, like that apostle, Peter!" 

 

Wilson started hopping from foot to foot as he unbuttoned his dress shirt, slipping one arm out and then the other, and then letting the wind carry that off as well.

 

House sighed and started walking down the hill. "Christ, Wilson-"

 

"That's right!"

 

"No," House sighed and shook his head. "How much wine did you drink?"

 

Wilson just laughed and slipped off his pants, and then turned towards the water, wearing only his boxers and his black socks. He spread his arms out wide, and turned his head upwards towards the sky. "I am going to walk on this water, and you are going to worship me as your God!" 

 

Wilson took a few steps forward, and then walked right into (not on) the water. He continued forward, until the water was up to his waist.

 

House reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his pills. He had a feeling he was going to need them, when Wilson began yelling out prophesies at the top of his lungs. 

 

"Have you ever seen such a miracle as this?!" Wilson turned around in the water and grinned stupidly at House. "I have walked on water! I have done the unthinkable!" 

House pointed towards Wilson's stomach. "Is that so? So tell me why you're up to your waist in that duck-shit filled water."

 

Wilson, arms still spread wide, glanced down. And for the first time since he had stepped foot into the murky pond, he realized that he was not on top of the water at all.

 

"I'm drowning! Oh please help...I'm drowning!" Wilson began to panic, waving his arms around wildly as he waded his way through the pond, onto the shore. House offered Wilson a hand, and Wilson took it, tears streaming down his face. 

 

"I could have died!...I did die!" He began to pat himself down, "I'm dead! I'm so dead!" He only stopped when House grabbed his chin in his hand, and tilted his face up for a better look. House smirked.

 

"You aren't dead. But you are high."

 

Wilson stood there, staring at House, looking as though he was trying to understand what House had just said. He gave up after a while, and began shivering instead. House shrugged off his own jacket and handed it to Wilson, who tied the arms around his neck like a cape. 

 

Fortunately for House, the walk to his apartment from the duck pond was mere minutes. This spared him the embarrassment of risking too many people seeing him with a half naked man, soaking wet with a jacket-cape around his neck.

 

When they arrived, House ushered Wilson into the apartment, and tossed a clean towel at him. "Take a shower and warm up a bit. I'm sure that'll help you feel better and calm down." 

 

Wilson just stood there, staring down at the towel. House sighed and pushed him down the hallway towards the bathroom with the tip of his cane. "Be quick, or I'm coming in to get you." 

 

When the door was shut, and House heard the water turn on, he made his way back towards the couch, where he flopped down and turned on the television. He put the sound on low so he could listen for anything bizarre coming from the bathroom.

 

"You don't say!"

.......

"Me too!"

.......

"Well what do you think about Rachel Ray?"

.......

"I completely agree. We should write her a letter!"

 

Wilson's animated conversation, which was progressively getting louder, woke House up from the sleep he had accidentally fallen into. He glanced at his watch. Two-thirty in the morning. He had been asleep for over three hours. 

 

"Oh yeah?"

 

House turned off the television and held his breath, listening. Who the hell was Wilson talking to at this hour?

 

"So...what are you wearing?"

 

House reached for his cane. Oh hell no, If Wilson's drunk dialed Cameron again...

 

He made his way towards his bedroom and peered inside. Empty. He turned and headed back down towards the bathroom. The door was still shut, but the light was on.

 

Sneaky bastard!

 

House opened the door, ready for a fight, when he realized Wilson wasn't on the phone at all. Instead, he was heavily engaged in conversation with the bathroom light switch. 

 

House pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture. "Hello, this year's holiday cards." He smirked and slipped the phone back into his pocket. 

 

Wilson either didn't notice House standing there, or didn't care, and he lovingly ran his fingers down the switch plate. "You're so beautiful tonight."

 

House rolled his eyes. "Okay, Romeo. Say goodnight, it's time for bed."

 

Wilson leaned in and kissed the switch plate. Small pecks at first, and then he ran his tongue around the switch. House cursed himself for being so slow getting his phone out, because by the time he did, Wilson had turned off the light.

House led Wilson into the bedroom and shoved him onto the bed. He crawled in next to him and tossed Wilson a blanket. "You are so, so high. No wonder those raviolis were so expensive."

 

"No, I'm not." Wilson pulled the blanket up to his chin. "I'm in love with her."

 

House reached over and turned off the light, the bedroom glowing in a soft blue light from the street-lamps. "Of course you are. Now shut up, and sleep it off."

 

House was awoken about a half hour later by a persistent tapping on his shoulder. He rolled over onto his back, but didn't open his eyes. He just made an incoherent noise, which was just enough to get Wilson talking. 

 

"House! They're holding a banquet in my honor."

 

House opened an eye and glanced over at Wilson. He was sitting upright, hands clasped together and wide eyed with an excitement that House had only ever seen Wilson display when he was going down on him. 

 

He gave in. "Who is?"

 

Wilson grinned so wide, his eyes began to squint, and he pointed towards the wall opposite the bed which had a large tapestry adorning it. The tapestry, something House had picked up many years ago, was adorned with knights and swords aplenty. House breathed a sigh of relief that Wilson was witnessing a banquet and not a medieval execution. 

 

"Congratulations, Wilson. That's...really something."

 

"I know! They've prepared so much food, and look how they all bow down to me!" 

 

"Mmmhmm...," House was slowly drifting back to sleep.

 

"The pig tastes wonderful, thank you!"

 

House opened an eye, and looked over at Wilson, who was happily gorging himself on an imaginary feast. House laughed himself back to sleep.

 

The next morning, House found Wilson sprawled out on the bathroom floor, empty packages of Alka-Seltzer all over the place. 

 

"Morning. Now whose the drug addict?"

 

"You are." 

 

House smirked and spun his car keys around on his finger.

 

"Where are you going? You're supposed to take care of me when I'm like this! It's what being in love is all about." 

 

"I will when I get back. I ordered some of that mushroom ravioli you had last night and I have to go pick it up."

 

The sheer thought of the raviolis made Wilson want to vomit. "So, you want to get food poisoning too then, I take it?"

 

House just grinned. "You have no idea how badly."

    When House showed up at the restaurant Wilson had asked them to meet at, he instantly knew something was wrong. Behind a wall of empty wine glasses, Wilson sat hunched over, hands wrapped tightly around the one glass that had something left in it.

    He barely looked up when House sat down, and turned away when House reached for his hand.

    "Wilson-" House ran a thumb slowly over Wilson's knuckles, but Wilson refused to look up.

    "You're late." Wilson brought the glass to his lips, letting it linger there for a moment before taking a sip. He set the glass down, and began to absentmindedly run his finger around the rim.

    "At least I showed up." House snapped.

    Wilson let out an aggravated laugh, and for the first time since House had arrived, looked up. "You know...you have a lot of nerve." He raised the glass and finished it off, setting it down loud enough to attract some unwanted attention towards their table.

    House sat back and crossed his arms. "Yell at me now and you'll regret it later I assure you."

    "The only thing I regret," he began motioning a hand between them. "Is ever thinking that this could work." He stood up abruptly, almost knocking over his chair. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, throwing a few twenties down onto the table. "You don't even know what today is, do you?" Wilson stood there with balled fists and furrowed brows.

    House raised his wrist and glanced at his watch. "Tuesday." He looked up and raised an eyebrow at Wilson. His attempt at humor failed, however, and he watched as Wilson reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

    "You know what House? That's it. This...is over. We're over." He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair, and without looking back walked away. House exhaled loudly through his nose and waved the waiter over (which wasn't that difficult to do, considering Wilson's little outburst had attracted everyone's attention), and ordered himself a glass of Scotch.

    When Wilson started driving home, he became annoyed even further upon remembering that home was actually House's apartment. He sucked in a breath and pressed down on the accelerator in hopes that he could beat House home, get his stuff, and find a hotel for the night.
   
    He struggled with his keys briefly before he managed to get the door to swing open. He stepped into the darkness, and felt along the wall for the light switch. He flipped on the lights, and was sobered rather quickly.

    House's apartment was just as Wilson always remembered it, except for the coffee table. Instead of being cluttered with Playboys, various remotes and dirty dishes, the table was clean, with a huge box on it. There was a bottle of wine next to the box, and a couple of glasses next to that.

    Wilson walked over towards the box and pressed his lips together, as he reached down for the sticky note that had been haphazardly placed on the side of the box.

     Bet you thought I'd forget.
        -House

    Wilson was feeling rather ashamed by now and with a shaky hand he reached for the box, lifting it up and picking at the Duct Tape, which was all House had bothered to wrap it with. When he managed to get it open he reached inside and pulled out a Build-A-Bear that had been dressed to look quite a bit like House. He held it to his chest.

    "Happy Anniversary."

    Wilson jumped at the sound of House's voice. "House."

    House shut the door behind him and leaned heavily against his cane. "And you thought I forgot." He smirked, proud of himself, and Wilson felt nothing but shame. "I was late because I was trying to be romantic or what have you."

    "House, I'm sorry. I-"
   
    House walked over towards Wilson, and stopped right in front of him. He reached out for the bear that Wilson was holding and looked it over. He laughed through his nose and handed it back. "It's not nearly as cute as me. Don't hold it against him." He pushed past Wilson and tossed his cane onto the couch as he limped towards the bedroom.

    Wilson watched him go, hesitating for a few moments before slowly making his way down the hall as well. When he got to the bedroom, House was already on his back, arms behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. "Wilson, just leave."

    "No, House, I want to talk."

    "There's nothing to talk about."

    "House-"

    "Wilson, it's okay. You managed to put up with me for 365 days. That's 364 more than most people would have. Congratulations."

    "House, stop it! I wasn't putting up with you. I wanted to be with you...I still do."

    "So you break up with me. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense." House rolled his eyes, and turned over onto his side, reaching for the blanket.

    Wilson could feel himself become agitated. This was all becoming very high-school. Without thinking, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a box of his own, and chucked it at House.

    Hard.

    "You idiot!" House sat up quickly and brought a hand to his nose, taking it away and looking at the smear of blood. "What the hell was that."

    "Happy Anniversary." Wilson turned and started down the hallway.

    As he was buttoning up his coat, House limped up in front of him, and without saying a word, pushed him up against the door.

    "I take it you opened the box?" Wilson raised an eyebrow, but House said nothing, just pressed his mouth hungrily against Wilson's and slowly ran his hands down the front of his shirt.

    Wilson closed his eyes, feeling his body react to every touch. House fumbled with Wilson's belt, and then silently thanked the Vicodin and Scotch he had indulged in earlier as he dropped to his knees.

    Wilson banged the back of his head against the door and closed his eyes as he felt House's tongue run up along the underside of his cock. House flicked his tongue over the tip of it, before opening his mouth and taking in as much of Wilson as he could.

    Wilson moaned and reached down, grabbing a handful of House's hair.

    It didn't take long, it never did, and within a couple of minutes Wilson was catching his breath, and House was wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

    "A little help here." House reached out for Wilson's hand and cursed as he got up from the floor.

    Wilson watched as House limped over towards his desk, flinging the door open and pulling out a bottle of pills. "So, the box. You...you opened it?"

    House tilted his head back, swallowing his pills. He tossed the bottle back in the drawer and turned his attention back towards Wilson. "Yeah, thanks."

    "And?"

    "And I think you have some serious making up to do-" House pointed a finger towards his very obvious erection. "-before I say anything about anything." Wilson smirked and walked over towards House, dropping down in front of him. It was only a matter of minutes before House was moaning, "Yes."

    And that was answer enough for Wilson.


  



   

   

(for ace_of_spades6 )

Wilson barely looks up when Chase walks into his office.

He knows that House has just fired him and that he is Chase's last desperate attempt to get his job back, and he's just not in the mood.

"Can I...help you?" Wilson pushes his chair back from his desk and gathers up some files as he asks the question. It's an attempt to make it seem like he's busy, in an attempt to get Chase out of his office without pestering him about House.

He would have thought by now that House's team would have realized he doesn't have that much weight over what the man does, anyway.

Chase says nothing, just stands by the door and stares at him. His eyes are rimmed with red, and Wilson is somewhat pleased that he isn't the only one House can make cry.

Chase's lack of a response is annoying, however, and Wilson walks towards the door, ready to leave the situation. "I have to see my patients. I assume we're done here?"

Chase reaches forward and takes the files from Wilson's hand and tosses them over to the couch.

Wilson watches as they bounce off the cushions, papers sliding across the floor.

Chase reaches behind him and locks the door.

Wilson can feel his chest tighten up and by the time Chase wraps his hand around Wilson's throat, Wilson can barely breathe. He reaches up, startled, and tries to pry Chase's hand off of him. The boy is stronger than he looks, however, and refuses to give. Instead, he leans in and mashes his mouth against Wilson's.

Wilson is moaning in protest, and does the only thing he can think to do. He kicks Chase, hard, in the shin.

Chase stumbles back, and Wilson takes the opportunity to slip past him and try for the door, but he isn't quite fast enough. Chase reaches out and grabs him by the arm.

Wilson can feel himself being pulled back towards Chase. "Why are you doing this?"

Chase shoves Wilson up against his desk. He bends him over and places a hand on the back of Wilson's head.

"You're all he cares about."

It's all he says, and all he ever will say to Wilson.

He pushes down on Wilson's head, and Wilson can feel the trickle of blood from his nose. It happens almost as soon as his face meets the hardwood of his desk. He closes his eyes, and struggles to hold back his tears as he feels Chase's hands on his belt.

"P-please." Wilson is begging, and the tears begin to fall. "Don't do this." He can hear the zipper on Chase's pants, and hears him spitting somewhere.

Wilson can only assume, and hope, that it's in the palm of his hand and that he's using it to lube up the cock that Wilson is almost certain is about to ruin any last bit of dignity he might have had in this situation.

When he feels the head of Chase's cock press against his ass he thinks about House.

He thinks about what House will say when he finds out Chase raped him. He's sure that he won't say much of anything, because House never says much of anything when it matters. But maybe if Wilson is lucky, and he can play it just right, House will hold him and comfort him, and-

"Fuck-"

Wilson grimaces as Chase forces himself inside. Chase has no reservations about what he's doing, and Wilson can tell with the forcefulness of each thrust that he isn't going to start having them either.

It hurts, and Wilson does all he can to keep himself from crying out. It's bad enough that he is aware of what's going on, he doesn't need the entire hospital knowing. Chase has other ideas, however, and reaches forward for a handful of Wilson's hair. He pulls back, hard, and finally evokes a reaction out of Wilson.

Wilson is clawing at his desk, and yelling out rather loudly for someone who only seconds before wanted no one to know what was going on. Chase's movements are becoming faster, and Wilson is sure that this will be over just as fast as it started.

Might as well enjoy it...

Wait, where did that thought come from? Wilson isn't sure, but he is sure that it doesn't feel quite as awful anymore. And as he reaches down and starts tugging on his own cock, he's beginning to realize that it almost feels good.

House doesn't realize what he's losing.

Wilson smirks and pulls on himself harder and faster, matching Chase's pace to a T. He wants to cum when Chase does, and so he focuses solely on himself.

When he hears Chase moan, and feels him bite on his shoulder it's over, and he falls forward as he cums against his desk.

A few seconds later  he feels Chase fall forward against his back, and he knows it's over for him too.

Chase steps back, and gets dressed. Wilson expects him to say something, anything, but he only walks out of the office, slamming the door and leaving Wilson bent over his desk, where he stays for a few minutes afterward trying to take in what just happened.

At the end of the day, Wilson finds himself in bed with House. They are sweaty, and entangled, and happy.

House lets out a yawn as he pulls the blanket up over them. "I'm glad I fired Chase."

Wilson can only smile as he reaches out and pulls House closer to him. "Yeah, me too."

Wilson sprinted into the living room wearing a white t-shirt and flannel pants. House, who had made himself comfortable, sprawled out on the couch watching infomercials, looked up somewhat annoyed as Wilson drowned out the sound with his shrieking and blocked out the screen with his flailing body.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Th-there's a mouse....in your bed!"

"Ok."

"Ok? OK? Th-there's a mouse in you're bed and you're okay with that?!"

"I'm not okay with it, but there's nothing I can do about it. It'll leave eventually. Now get out of the way."

"It won't leave House, it's dead!" Wilson started sprinting around again, looking rather pathetic.

"How the hell did a dead mouse get in my bed?" House was interested now and sat up, reaching for his cane.

"I don't know, but it did. Get it out, get it out!"

House tried to hold back a smile as he pushed past Wilson on his way to the bedroom. He made his way over to the bed, Wilson following a few feet behind. Sure enough, there under the covers, was a dead mouse. House poked at it with his cane, just to be sure.

"Yup, he's dead alright."

"Get him out!" Wilson was frantic, hovering behind House, peering over his shoulder.

"I'm not touching it. You get it."

"M-me? No way! You're used to touching bizarre diseases, you do it!"

House rolled his eyes and made his way over to his dresser. He opened a drawer and felt around until finally pulling out an old shirt. He walked back over to the bed and tossed it over the mouse.

"There. Now just scoop it up and throw it in the trash."

Wilson looked at House wide eyed. "You're joking?"

"Completely serious. Scoop it up. Throw it out."

Wilson bit his bottom lip and took a weary step forward. He slowly began to reach out for the shirt covered mouse, but retracted his hand before he could wrap his hand around it.

"I...I can't. I can't do it."

"Why?"

"Because! If I scoop it up, I'll feel the mouse and I'll throw up, I know it."

"Have you always been such a baby?" House turned and started to walk out of the bedroom. He was quickly stopped as two arms tightly wrapped around his waist.

"Don't go. I'll get him out, just...don't leave me alone with it."

House pressed his lips together, doing his best to suppress his laughter. He failed, and threw his head back, laughing enough to make Wilson cross his arms and look rather embarrassed.

"Fine. Just hurry up. That 'set it and forget it' guy is going to be coming on the t.v. soon."

Wilson nodded and walked over towards the bed, assessing the situation. He tried a couple times to build up the nerve to scoop the mouse up in the shirt, but eventually decided the best method would be to take the sheets off and bundle them up around the mouse.

House leaned on his cane and watched with amusement as Wilson walked down the hallway, holding the ball of sheets as far out from his body as he possibly could.

After all had been said and done, and the sheets has been tossed into the garbage, House handed Wilson a beer and the two of them flopped down on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table.

"Well that was absolutely ridiculous." House grabbed the remote and turned his infomercials back on.

"I'm sorry. But that was just disgusting. I mean, who knows how long it had been there! That thing could have been there last night when we were having sex! I mean..what if...what if that's how it died!? What if we crushed it?" Wilson grew pathetically pale and House placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"Well then at least he died happy. I know I would've if your cock was the last thing I saw."

Wilson rolled his eyes and set down his beer, leaning in to kiss House...just as a mouse ran across the top of the couch. He screamed and jumped up, covering his face with his hands, skipping frantically on the couch.

House shook his head, smirking, and lifted himself off of the couch. He grabbed Wilson's hand and helped him down. "Come on," he pressed his lips against Wilson's neck. "Let's go and see if we can't kill this one too."

                                                                                        Thursday
  

      Wilson is not surprised when he receives a page from House in the middle of the night. He is surprised, however, that after following the address given to him, he is pulling into the parking lot of an otherwise deserted IHOP. He takes in a deep breath, preparing himself for god knows what, and steps out of his car. It's cold, and he's mad at himself for leaving his apartment without a jacket. Wrapping his arms tightly around his chest, he walks into the restaurant. After only a second, he spots House in a booth in the farthest corner. 

      "This was your emergency, House? Pancakes?" 

       Wilson slides into the booth across from House and unrolls his napkin. He pulls out a fork, lifting it to the light and looking it over for any spots of grime. He doesn't see anything, but is still not entirely convinced of the sanitary state of the utensils in a 24-hour pancake house. For all Wilson knows, the dishwasher's girlfriend just dumped him an hour ago, and he wants to take his rage out on anyone who is taking away from the time he can spend texting her, begging for forgiveness. 

      Wilson reaches across the table and places a thumb over the straw in House's glass of water, lifting it from the glass, and splashing its contents over the fork. 

      Just to be sure.

      House rolls his eyes.

      "You're absolutely ridiculous."

      "Hey, I'm not the one sitting at an IHOP at three in the morning."

      "Uh..yes you are."

      "Not by choice." Wilson points out as he reaches across the table and takes a stab at House's pancakes.

      "Hey! Order your own!"

      Wilson ignores him and brings the fork up to his mouth, biting off the pancakes (which by now are terribly cold) and makes a face as a significant amount of syrup drips down his chin. He frowns and picks up his napkin, trying to wipe it off of his face, but instead just ends up leaving remnants of napkin behind on his sticky chin.

       House doesn't bother pointing it out.

      "So...why are we here?"
 

      "I need your advice."

      Wilson sets his fork down and raises his eyebrows in disbelief. "You woke me up in the middle of the night...for advice?"

      House nods. "I'm pretty sure that's what I just said."

      "You are absolutely unreal." Wilson shakes his head and takes another stab at the pancakes, this time slamming the fork down with enough force to express his annoyance. He takes another bite and sets the fork down in front of him. "Well...what about, then?"

      House points down towards the booth. 

      "You need advice about IHOP?" Wilson reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You know what? I don't have time for this. I have a full day tomorrow, I'm going home to get some sl-"

      "No, you idiot! I don't need advice about IHOP, I need advice about this thing!" House reaches forward, grabbing a handful of Wilson's shirt, pulling him across the table. Wilson looks down besides House, and his eyes widen.

      "Th-That's a kid."

      "I am well aware what it is."

      "What? Who's-"

      "What do I do with it?"

      "Where did you get it!?"

      "Oh you know, the corner store was having a sale..."

      "House! Did you...find him somewhere?"

      House sighs and looks down as the kid begins to stir in the seat beside him. "No, I didn't find him. Apparently, he's my responsibility."

      Wilson sits back into the booth, and takes that last statement in for a minute. He does some math in his head, and tries to figure out who the kid's mother could be. 

      "Did you...get more than you bargained for with a hooker one night?"

      "Maybe you shouldn't be talking about hookers with this kid right here."

      "He's not even awake."

      "Now he is. Heard the word hooker and perked right up."

      Wilson smirks and peers back over the table. "Takes right after his father then."

      "Huh?" 

      "Seriously though," Wilson leans in towards House, keeping his voice low. "Is his mother a hooker?"

      House rolls his eyes. "I'd call Stacy a lot of things, but a hooker isn't one of them."

      Wilson's eyes get wider, if that was even possible. "Stacy? Does...does Mark know?"

      "Well, I'd imagine." 

      Wilson shakes his head, pressing his lips together. "That man has more patience than anyone should."

      "...Right. Look, back to the matter at hand. I've got this kid here, and I'm completely lost. You seem like the motherly type, so be a good friend and help me out, ok?"

      "Sure House."

      "What are you smiling at?"

      "Nothing."

      "Good. So, what now?"

      "How old is he?"

      "Why does that matter?"

      "Well, it should matter. You should want to know these things!"

       House looks the kid over. "I'm guessing no older than one."

      "What's his name?"

      "Theo. Look, why does all of this matter to you?"

      Wilson ignores him and just slides out of the booth and walks over to the other side of the table, sliding in next to House. He leans over him, so he can get a better look at the kid. 

      "House, he's completely adorable."

      "Great! He's adorable! So what do I do with him? You're not helping me here."

      Wilson reaches over House and carefully picks Theo up, holding him in his arms as he leans carefully back against the booth. "House, you're a doctor. You can't be that incapable of taking care of a baby."

      House watches as Wilson brushes some hair out of Theo's face. The kid is cute, sure, but not nearly as cute as Wilson is being right now.

      "Maybe not. But I don't feel like doing it."

      Wilson shoots a look at House.

      "...Alone. I don't feel like doing it alone."

      Wilson smiles at that, and nods as he carefully slips out of the booth. "Alright."

                                                                                                        Friday

    When House arrives at his apartment Friday evening after work, he is greeted by Wilson who is covered in what appears to be spit-up and what House hopes isn’t pee.

    “Say hi to Daddy!” Wilson practically tosses Theo into House’s free arm and runs the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead.

    “Look, Wilson-”

    “House, not now. I have too much to do around here to baby proof everything.”

    House peers over Wilson’s shoulder and cringes at the amount of half put together baby furniture and the like, that is now strewn about his living room.

    "You're cramping my style with all this junk. Get rid of it."

    Wilson waves him off and walks over to the baby gate that is resting against the kitchen doorway. "This junk is necessary."

    "Wilson, it’s just for a weekend.”

    Wilson sighs wistfully. "It sure seems like that doesn't it? They grow up so fast."

    House’s jaw drops in disbelief and he shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”

    “Hmmmm?”

    “Nothing. Forget it.”

                                                                                                Saturday

    House is woken up to the sound of a screaming baby. He opens an eye, and looks around the room until he spots Wilson curled up on the nearby chaise.

    "Your turn, Mommy!" He reaches beside him for the spare pillow and tosses it at Wilson. It hits him in the face, and Wilson groans as he stretches. "You're his Father, you do it." He tries to reposition himself on the lounge, but is disrupted as another pillow hits him in the back of his head.

    "You said you'd help me. And you getting up so the cripple doesn't have to is a big help."

    Wilson sighs, and kicks the blanket off of himself. He sits on the edge of the chaise wearing only plaid boxers and black dress socks. House can't help but smile.

    "Might want to take care of that before you go swaddle Theo, or whatever it is that you motherly types do."

    "What?"

    "Or I guess I could take care of it for you?"

    Wilson follows House's gaze down between his own legs.

    "Oh for god's sake!" Wilson grabs the blanket off the lounge and ties it around his waist. "There problem solved."

    "Problem concealed."

    Wilson rolls his eyes and storms out of the bedroom, only to return a few minutes later with a crying Theo in his arms.

    "I told you to take care of it!"

    "He obviously wants his Father!"

    "Well that isn't going to happen, so figure out an alternative!"

    "Oh it certainly is going to happen!" Wilson sits down on the bed and places Theo on House's chest. House just sits there and watches as Theo rolls off and onto the bed.

    Wilson just about has a heart attack and scoops Theo right up. "House! Be careful!" He hovers over House until he is sure that Theo is secured by at least one of House's arms.

    "Wilson, it's a kid. He's not going to break by falling onto a padded surface!"

    Wilson presses a finger against House's lips, shutting him up. "Shhhh. See, I told you."

    "Told me what?" House's words are muffled because Wilson's finger is still firmly pressed against his mouth. (Not that he's complaining)                         

    "That all he wanted was his father. He stopped crying."

    House looks down at Theo, who is curled up on his chest, sucking on his thumb. "He's probably just tired."

    "He looks just like you."

    "Wilson-"

    "No, he does. He has your hair, and your nose, and your attitude most of the time."

    "Are you crying?"

    "..."

    "Wilson, you sap! Stop it."

    "I'm sorry, it's just..."

    "Just what?"

    "Nothing, House. It's nothing."


                                                                        Sunday

    By four in the morning, Theo is finally sleeping. House plops himself down on the couch, kicks his feet up on the coffee table and lets out a sigh of relief. Wilson walks into the room with two beers. He hands one to House and sits down beside him.

    "He's out like a light."

    "Good. If I heard one more scream out of that kid, I was going to drive him over to Cuddy's  and leave him on the doorstep. Ring the doorbell and run away."

    "You wouldn't get very far." Wilson smirks and takes a swig of his beer.

    House lightly punches his shoulder. "Gee, thanks."

    Wilson just smiles.

    "Look...thanks for helping me with that thing. I don't think I could have handled it on my own."

    Wilson turns and looks at House. It's not often he thanks him for anything, and Wilson can't help but feel a bit of warmth come over him. "He's not a thing, and you're welcome. I had fun. It was...nice seeing you with him."

    "Okay."

    They sit in silence for a few minutes before Wilson just can't take it anymore and he takes House's face in his hands. House closes his eyes when he feels Wilson's lips on his own. Time stands still, until it doesn't, and Wilson is back on his side of the couch, beer in hand.

    "I'm...I'm sorry. Just...seeing you with Theo, it did something to me I guess."

    "You know he's not my son right?" House smirks slightly as he brings his beer bottle up to his mouth, taking a long sip.

    "...What?"

    "Not. My. Son."

    "But you said-"

    "I said he was Stacey's son. And beyond that I couldn't get a word in edgewise, you were so googley eyed over him. However, if it keeps you kissing me like that, we can keep pretending he's mine."

    Wilson just stares at House for a minute and then looks around the living room. "I spent 500 dollars on baby stuff."

    House nods, taking another sip of his beer. "I know."

    "What are we going to do with it all?"

    House thinks for a minute and then sets his beer on the coffee table and stands up. He holds a hand out for Wilson. "Come on. We can go to the bedroom and try to make one of our own."

    Wilson smiles and shakes his head, but certainly doesn't object.

  

 

"An ice cream truck?"

House ignored him and slid open the door on the side, ushering Wilson inside.

"Where did you find an ice cream truck?"

"I borrowed it."

"You mean you...stole it?"

"That's not what I said."

"Well, true but-"

House pulled on the door handle, slamming the door shut and cutting Wilson off. Wilson sighed and glanced around the inside of the truck. There were a few coolers pressed up against the side, and a folding chair tossed carelessly onto the floor. Candy hung from displays on the walls of the truck. Overall, well, it looked like an ice cream truck.

And it was so cold in there.

A few seconds later, Wilson ducked out of the way as House's cane went flying back towards the coolers from the front of the truck.

"House!"

"Sorry! No room for that up here!"

"Some warning would have been nice!"

House waved a hand at Wilson and turned the key in the ignition. The truck started rather loudly, and House squealed the tires as he pulled away from the curb.

Wilson went flying and fell into some empty boxes.

"God! House...slow down!"

"That wouldn't have happened if you were sitting down!"

"It wouldn't have happened if you knew how to drive!"

House turned a corner then, rather abruptly, sending Wilson this time face first into some boxes that weren't so empty.

As soon as he hit them, he could feel the drastic change in temperature against his skin, as ice cream soaked into his clothes.

"Shit," he mumbled as he reached up for one of the coolers, using it to hoist himself up. "House...this is absurd. Where are we going?"

House sighed. "You just can't have fun ever, can you? Don't worry, we're just about there."

Wilson could feel himself start to shiver, so he slowly sunk down back onto the floor, and wrapped his arms tightly around his body in an attempt to keep warm.

When they finally did stop, House didn't get out of truck, but instead climbed into the back, and sat down beside Wilson. Wilson almost felt bad when he saw House wince in pain as he lowered himself to the ground, but quickly got over it when he remembered how sore and cold he was.

"House...what're you doing? What's going on?"

"I wanted to talk."

"And you had to do it...in an ice cream truck?"

"I didn't think you'd listen to me if we stayed at your place. This way I could at least bribe you with ice cream."

Wilson snorted. "Yeah...I don't know how well that's going to work at this point. I've lost all desire for the stuff on the way over here."

House looked Wilson over and frowned. "It looks so good though."

Wilson grabbed his tie and brought it up to his mouth, licking some of the ice cream off. "I guess it's not too bad."

House watched Wilson intently as he took another lick of the ice cream off of his tie, then slowly ran his tongue over his lips, licking the excess off.

House shifted uncomfortably, and Wilson looked up, catching his gaze.

"Something...wrong?" Wilson licked some ice cream off of his wrist, and before he could question his friend again, House had reached forward, grabbing a handful of Wilson's hair. He pulled him forward and met his mouth with a hungry kiss.

Wilson struggled at first, but soon House could feel him relax, and he opened his mouth. Wilson moaned into the kiss and reached forward, fumbling with House's belt.

"I can't tell you how long I've wanted you to do this," Wilson reached into House's pants, wrapping his hand around his cock when all of a sudden -

*knock knock knock*

"Hey! Anyone in there? I'd like some ice cream, please!"

"Go away!" House yelled and reached forward for Wilson, who was already frantically trying to tuck House back into his pants. "Dont. Stop."

"House, it's probably a kid. We can't - No. I'm going to see what she wants."

House buried his face in his hands and groaned. "Unbelievable."

"What? You can't hide out in an ice cream truck and expect people to walk on by on a hot summer day. Five minutes...and we'll pick up where we left off."

"Five seconds."

"Fine....fine."

Wilson ran a sticky hand through his hair before sliding open the serving window on  the side of the truck.

Outside, a woman with streaks of blond in her hair and a silver necklace in the shape of a tie stood before him, holding a handful of dollar bills.

Wilson cleared his throat. "Uh, can I...help you?"

"I'd like a Spongebob ice cream please." She smacked the money down on the inside of the window and crossed her arms.

Wilson just looked at the money, and then back up at the girl. "Huh? Oh...Oh, okay. Hold on."

He closed the window half way and began to rummage through the freezers looking for the Spongebob ice creams. House pulled himself up and started rummaging also, in an attempt to get rid of the girl faster.

"Tell her we're out."

"I can't tell her we're out. She's really...adamant about it."

House smirked. "You're scared of a kid?"

"She's not a kid, House."

"Well then ignore her, and she'll go away."

"No, I think I'm going to -"

House, impatient man that he was, shut Wilson up with another kiss, and spun him around, bending him over the cooler. Seconds later, Wilson's pants were around his ankles and House was pushing into him, causing Wilson to yell out rather loudly.

So loud, in fact, that the girl who had been waiting for her ice cream overheard and, rather intrigued, slid the window open and peered inside.

When House and Wilson had finished, and cleaned up the best they could considering, Wilson noticed something shut between the window and the side of the truck. He walked over and pulled it out. It was a napkin.

Hey, thanks for the show. It was well worth the 3 dollars. I'm still pissed about the ice cream, but I'll get over it.  -Jane

Wilson turned pale and House snatched the napkin out of his hands.

"I'd say we were worth at least five bucks. Cheap."

Wilson just buried his face in his hands.

    "What the hell is this?" House tossed his cane onto  the floor and plopped down onto the couch beside Wilson, picking up a carton of food from the coffee table.

    "Uh...Thai, like you wanted."

    "Not the food, the television. What the hell is this?"

    "Kitchen Nightmares."

    "Looks stupid. I'm changing it."

    "What? No! It just started and--Hey!" Wilson leaned over, ripping the remote from House's hand and flipping the channel back to where it was, then tossed the remote behind the couch. "I just need to see what he thinks of their food. Its the best part, ok?"

     "What who thinks?"

    "Gordon Ramsay."

    House gave Wilson a blank look.

    Wilson sighed. "He's only the best chef in all of America."

    "If he's so great, then how come I've never heard of him?"
   
    Wilson ignored him and just waved at him to shut him up as Chef Ramsay appeared on the television. House rolled his eyes and sunk back into the couch cushions, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table, shoveling forkfuls of noodles into his mouth, trying to enjoy the show.

    After a few minutes, however, House had had enough and found himself peering over the back of the couch in hopes of finding the remote Wilson had tossed.

    "Wilson."

    "Shhhh!"

    "Wilson! This is ridiculous. All he does is sit there and say 'Fuck' all the time."

    "I know. It's...sexy."

    House turned his head and raised an eyebrow at Wilson. Wilson could feel his cheeks begin to burn.

    House smirked and slammed his carton of Thai food down onto the coffee table, pieces of food spilling down the sides. He loudly smacked his hand down beside it.

    "These noodles are fucking pathetic. A fucking baby could have made a better meal!"

    "House...what are you doing?"

    "Trying to express my sheer hatred of this fucking Thai food! I've eaten better food out of the hospital dumpster!"

    Wilson gave House a look of disbelief.
   
    "...And I'm trying to get you to fuck me."

    Wilson just shook his head.

    "Well?"

    "Well, what?"

    "Is it working?"

    "I said it was sexy. I didn't say I wanted to fuck him." He thought for a moment. "I only want to do that when I see him doing the dishes."

    House snorted. "Nice try."

    Wilson shrugged, turning his attention back to the television. "It was worth a shot."

Lack of sleep has taken its toll, and when he looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, he hardly recognizes the man staring back at him.

He turns on the tap and holds his hands under the running water until it becomes unbearably cold. He bends over, and brings handfuls of water up to his face. It is a sorry attempt to clean up, but it's better than nothing.

Standing back up, he grabs the hand towel off of the thin metal rack, wiping the water off of his face. His eyes still rest above dark circles caused by insomnia, and his hair has become unkempt, but at least he feels a bit better.

He runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to straighten it out, trying to remember the last time he had bothered to get it cut.

He thinks it was right before her funeral, but for the life of him he can't remember.

He grabs his toothbrush and spreads too much toothpaste on the worn bristles, and brings it up to his mouth. Opening up, he begins to brush carelessly, going through the motions, and not caring when globs of foam fall onto his shirt.

He rinses, spits and stands up, using his finger to wipe away the toothpaste from his shirt the best he can.

He stands back and looks himself over.

Good enough.

He flips off the bathroom light and walks into the bedroom, grabbing his keys.

He reaches for the door handle, hesitating for a moment and turning around, glancing one last time around the apartment he shared with her.

He takes in a deep breath and exhales slowly, before stepping out of the door, and leaving that part of him behind.

He tells himself it's for the best.



When he knocks on the door, he instantly regrets it and considers a fast retreat to his car.

He's suddenly not sure why he's come here, or what he even expects from this.

Or from him.

His inner turmoil is time consuming, and before he can make a decision, he hears the door unlock, and then House is standing before him looking just as unsure about the situation as Wilson feels.

House raises an eyebrow and makes a face that Wilson can only interpret as annoyance. The second he feels his eyes stinging, Wilson is looking down at his feet. 

Have his shoes always looked so raggedy? He doesn't think so, but it's hard to know for sure-

A finger on the bottom of his chin interrupts his thoughts, and he soon finds himself face to face with the one person he has been avoiding for weeks.

They stand in silence for what seems like forever, and when it becomes unbearable, he struggles to say what he's been wanting to say for so long.

But his words fail him.

"I....I don't know why I came. I'm sorry, I-"

He turns to leave, but House pulls him to his chest and wraps his arms around him.

And just holds him.

Wilson returns the embrace and closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of the man that he's so desperately wanted to be this close to for so long.

And then it happens.

For the first time in a long time, he cries. All over House's shirt, and almost instantly he can feel House tense up.

He panics and lets go of House, pushing him back, using the back of his sleeve to wipe his face.

"God this is embarrassing. I'm such a...baby."

"Well just consider yourself lucky I have a soft spot for kids."

"You...hate kids."

"Well, then consider yourself lucky I've had a few beers."

Wilson can't help but smile at that, and House smiles back, stepping to the side so Wilson can come in.

He does and makes his way over to the couch he's become so familiar with over all these years, while House goes to grab them a couple beers.

He kicks off his shoes and stretches out, smiling to himself.

It's only a matter of minutes until he's asleep.

    House swung open the door to his apartment, rolling his eyes dramatically when he spotted Wilson sprawled out on his couch, an open book in his lap.

    "Don't you have somewhere to be?" House pushed the door shut and tossed his cane at Wilson, which hit him upside the head. "Like, in my kitchen. Making me dinner, perhaps?"

    "Hello to you too." Wilson reached up and rubbed the back of his head, frowning. "I was going to cook, but then I came across this and just...lost all motivation."

    House raised an eyebrow and limped over to the couch, peering over Wilson's shoulder.

    "Mmm. Appetizing. Nothing like staring at a dead baby's gaping chest cavity to get you in the mood for dinner."

    "Like I said...not in the mood for dinner."

    House sighed loudly and shoved the anatomy book off of Wilson's lap and onto the floor. "What the hell are you looking at that for anyway?"

    Wilson shrugged. "I was bored."

    "And you thought looking at a black and white anatomy text book would amuse you? You have some altered sense of entertainment."

    "There's not much to do here, House. Not my fault."

    "You could have been lying on my bed, naked, waiting for me to get home?"

    Wilson raised an eyebrow at House. "Right, because that's something you'd want to come home to."

    House just raised his hands and shrugged, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "Only one way to find out."

    Wilson sat there for a moment watching House, a grin slowly spreading across his face. He pushed himself off the couch and made his way down the hall towards House's bedroom, stripping off his clothes as he went.

    Forty five minutes, an orgasm, and a shower later, Wilson had forgotten all about the gaping chest cavity.

    Good thing too, because House was starving.

    /fin

"Was this really necessary?"

"Yes. You wanted to come with us, so yes."

"No...I wanted to come with you. And I have a feeling if it had just been you, I wouldn't look so completely..."

"Sexy?"

"No...I was thinking more along the lines of ridiculous. But I'm glad that you think so."

House rolled his eyes and stuck his hand deep into the bucket of popcorn he was nuzzling in the crook of his arm, spilling a significant amount of the concession onto the floor.

Wilson sighed and reached up, tugging uncomfortably at the bullet proof vest House had forced him to wear.

Earlier in the week,Wilson had tried to convince House that he could get away with being Commissioner Gordon in his normal day to day attire (shirt and tie), but House had rebutted with a "Gob would do it. He'd want to go all out."

Wilson, who had found himself involved in a competition with Gob that only he knew about, sucked it up and went all out. As a matter of fact, before it had fallen off into the tub of popcorn that House had since taken possession of, he had even been wearing a fake mustache.

"Stop fidgeting with it," House pushed Wilson's hand away from the velcro straps on his vest with the handle of his cane. "You're going to mess it up."

"Well I'm sorry, but this isn't that comfortable! Not that you'd know anything about it, it's not like you dressed up or anything!"

"I did so."

"Tying a hospital sheet around your neck and drawing a bat on your T-shirt in white board marker is hardly dressing up."

"I'm a cripple, cut me some slack."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I just don't see why you'd expect me to try and squeeze my agonizingly painful leg into skin tight leather. Seems sort of cruel if you ask me."

Wilson reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine...whatever." He looked around at the growing line to get into the movie. The heat of all the people crowding around them was beginning to get unbearable and he reached up, loosening the top few buttons on his shirt.

"How much longer?"

House glanced down at his pager. "An hour."

"An...hour? This is ridiculous, we should have just waited until -"

"WHY SO SERIOUS COMMMMISSIONER?"

Wilson jumped at the screaming in his ear. "Gob! What the hell?"

Gob grinned, the red makeup smeared around his mouth making him look even more maniacal than usual. "Just getting into character. "

"Well...stop it! Act like you're dying for once in your life!"

House grinned, shoving more popcorn into his mouth, enjoying the show way too much.

Gob shoved the armful of candy he was carrying at Wilson, who stumbled backwards, trying to keep it all from falling to the ground. He frowned at the amount of (his) money that had obviously just been spent.

"What, did you buy the entire concession stand? What do you need all this for?"

"A dying man needs his candy." Gob stepped towards House, backing him up against the wall. "Just like the Joker needs his Batman."

House beamed.

Gob licked his lipstick covered lips.

Wilson felt sick.

He stepped forward, piling the candy into House's half-empty popcorn bucket. "Here. I'm going to the bathroom. Save my spot in line." He pushed through them, marching his way into the nearest stall and locking the door behind him. He took in a few deep breaths, counted to ten, and walked back out feeling as calm as he possibly could.

This feeling, however, quickly dissipated as House turned around to hand the candy back to Wilson, his face smeared with red and white makeup.

"Took you long enough." House mumbled, piling the boxes of candy into Wilson's arms.

"Not that we're complaining." Gob piped in from behind him.

"I'm complaining," House slipped the lip of the popcorn bucket between Wilson's thumb and forefinger. "My arms were falling asleep."

"Your mouth clearly wasn't." Wilson turned his head slightly as the pile of candy pressed up against his chin.

House reached up and wiped his hand over his mouth, smiling somewhat embarrassed as his hand came back down covered in makeup.

 "Oh. Well, you know how it is. Have to distract the bad guy long enough to save Gotham or whatever." He waved a hand at Wilson, trying to dismiss any further inquiry.

"And distract me you did." Gob stepped in front of Wilson, grabbing some popcorn out of the bucket and feeding it to House.

"The good guys always win in the end, you know," Wilson mumbled as the line started to move forward. "You'll see. I'll show you."

"There's nothing to be nervous about, okay buddy? He actually looks pretty good all things considered."

    Michael Bluth smiled somewhat reassuringly at his son, George Michael, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

    "Yeah...okay."

    Michael removed his hand and pressed the button for the elevator. When the doors opened, the two stepped inside.

    As the elevator started to make its ascent, George Michael began to fidget with the buttons on his shirt. "You know, maybe we should wait for the rest of the family to get here. I'm sure Gob would like to see everyone, you know?"

    The doors opened and Michael gave his son a light shove out into the hallway. "Don't be silly. Gob'll be happy to see you. Second door down there on the left, okay? I'm going to go get some coffee."

    "W-wait -" But the doors shut before George Michael could get anything else out.

    He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets, slowly making his way down the hallway until he got to the door that had a small white board attached to it, with "Gob Bluth - Magician" written across it in Purple and Yellow marker. He took in a nervous breath and pushed open the door.

    "Hey, Uncle Gob?" George Michael stepped into the room and turned the small corner, spotting Gob sitting on the side of his bed, with his back facing his nephew.
    
    "G-Gob?"

    "George Michael!" Gob quickly tied his silk robe shut and turned his body sideways, giving his nephew a nervous smile, while kicking a rather large object onto the floor. "What...what are you doing here?"

    "Oh, well my Dad thought you might like to see me."

    "Your Dad's an idiot."

    George Michael jumped back as a man reached up from the floor and grabbed the side of Gob's hospital bed, pulling himself up. He hopped over to a nearby chair and picked up the cane that was there, narrowing his eyes at George Michael as he wiped the sleeve of his suit jacket across his mouth.

    Gob let out a nervous laugh and shrugged at George Michael. "This is Dr. House. He was just, ah...checking my vitals. Since Im dying..you know they have to do that sort of thing at least four times a day."

    House and Gob exchanged glances, but George Michael was so preoccupied by hearing his Uncle say he was dying that he failed to notice.

    House cleared his throat and picked up the chart that was hanging off the end of the bed, pretending to look it over before tossing it back a few seconds later. Gob made a face as the clipboard hit his leg.

    House pushed his way past George Michael, stopping for a second in the doorway.

    "Page me when this kid's gone. I'll come back then with your nightly injection."

    Had George Michael picked up on that innuendo he probably would have passed out, he was close enough as it was.

    "So...your dying?" George Michael looked down towards his feet.

    Gob, realizing that he probably wasn't acting like he was, let out a few forced coughs and crawled slowly under the hospital covers. "Yeah. I have cancer, probably the same kind your Mom had. Runs in the family or something."

    George Michael looked confused, since last he had heard, men did not have ovaries, thus did not get ovarian cancer.

    "But Gob, my Mom had ovaria-"

    "I know. And now so do I. Life is so incredibly unfair." He forced out a few more coughs and an incredibly exaggerated sneeze. Then, for dramatic effect, he wrapped his arms around his stomach and rocked back and forth.

    "Gob!" George Michael sprinted over to the bed and reached forward grabbing onto his Uncle's arm. "Are you okay? I mean..obviously you're not okay. But are you -"

    Gob looked up and realized that he apparently was doing a damn good job of acting (Take that, Tobias!) as George Michael reached out, wrapping his arms tightly around Gob and started to cry.

    Gob, always having had a soft spot for his nephew, suddenly began to feel bad and pushed him off.

    "Hey. George Michael."
   
    George Michael sniffed and looked up at Gob.

    "Want to know a secret? But you can't tell anyone. Especially not your Dad, he ruins everything for me."

    George Michael, who normally couldn't keep anything from his Father, agreed. His favorite Uncle, after all,  was on his death bed.

    "I don't really have cancer!" Gob spread his arms out, a huge grin on his face.

    George Michael stammered. "You..don't really have...cancer?"

    "That's right! It's part of my greatest illusion yet! A sure fire way to get back into the Alliance. When they see me rise from my death bed, there's no way they'll refuse me again!"

    "But...you aren't on your death be-"

    "So smile, kid! I'm perfectly fine!"

    After a few seconds of disbelief, George Michael did smile, once he realized that he had been let in a huge secret.

    "Now run off and tell your Dad to take you to dinner or something. On me, here." Gob pulled open the drawer in the side table next to his hospital bed and pulled out his wallet. He tossed a Bluth Company credit card at his nephew.

    "Wow, thanks Gob. I'll come back later and -"

    "Don't bother. Those injections...they put me right to sleep. You know, because of the cancer."  Gob winked and formed quotes with his fingers as he spoke.

    George Michael nodded and walked out of the room, leaving Gob without his only source of money, and wishing he hadn't just outed himself to his nephew.

    He was going to have to get him back up here soon and shove a forget-me-now down his throat.

    But for now, he would settle on shoving something else down someone else's throat.

    He reached for his phone and paged House.

Wilson sat in House's recliner shoveling Lo Mein into his mouth, his eyebrows furrowed.

House, who had been somewhat amused by Wilson's unpleasant behavior, set his carton of rice down and flung a chopstick at him.

It hit Wilson on the nose, and fell onto his lap, staining his khaki's with some soy sauce.

"Why are you being such an idiot?" House picked the food carton back up, this time using his fingers to shovel rice into his mouth.

"Because I thought we," Wilson moved his hand erratically between them, "were going to have dinner."

"We are. Duh."

"I thought we were going to have dinner without that idiot Gob!" Wilson tossed the chopstick back at House.

"Hey, Hello. Idiot Gob is sitting right here." Gob didn't even bother to look at Wilson, just reached onto the coffee table for the chopstick he had flung, handing it back to House.

Wilson set his food down loudly and crossed his arms. "I guess I just don't really care to acknowledge you're existence."

Gob kept eating.

House rolled his eyes. "You're acting childish, you realize."

"I don't really care! This is...ridiculous!"

"A guy's gotta eat, Dr. Wilson. Come on!" Gob shook his head, and picked up the bottle of wine Wilson had brought over, taking a gulp straight from the bottle.

House followed suit.

Wilson was getting furious. He loosened his tie. "A guy's gotta eat, huh? Well I've got news for you Gob. A man with 'terminal cancer' : a - probably wouldn't have that much of an appetite, and b - would be in the hospital eating shitty hospital rations, not sitting in my best friend's house eating Chinese takeout that I paid for, and drinking wine straight from the bottle when there are clearly wine glasses in front of him!"

Gob and House both stared at Wilson.

After a minute of silence, Gob picked up the wine and took another sip. "Calm down buddy, don't give yourself a nasal abrasion."

"You aren't clever," Wilson narrowed his eyes. "And that doesn't even make sense!"

Gob shrugged.

House turned away from Wilson. "This dinner needs more magic! It's too fucking serious and annoying right now."

"I can fix that, House. I'll be right back." Gob got up from the couch, but not before resting a hand on House's thigh for a moment that was just long enough for Wilson to take note of.

"So he's calling you House now?" Wilson raised an eyebrow.

"Last I checked, that was my name."

"I just didn't realize that you were that buddy buddy I guess."

House made a disgusted face at Wilson. "Jealousy is an awful look for you."

Wilson opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted when Gob emerged from the kitchen with an apple and what appeared to be a knife sharpener, with a dangerous looking sharp end.

Wilson rubbed his face with his hand. "This can't possibly end well..." House swatted at him to shut up.

"This is a real apple!" Gob went to hand it to Wilson, who turned in his chair, shunning both Gob and the apple.

House grabbed the apple instead, bouncing it off of Wilson's leg.

"Ow! House, what the hell?"

"Yep, that's a real apple." House grinned at Gob.

"And this," Gob continued once the apple was back in his hand, "is a real sharp metal object!" He took the apple and speared it onto the edge.

House nodded, anxious to see what came next, Wilson felt around in his pocket for his cell phone, since he was pretty sure he'd have to call 911.

Gob, remembering how unsuccessfully he had performed this trick before, took a deep breath before continuing.

"What? No Final Countdown?" Wilson smirked.

House swatted at him again.

Gob ignored Wilson's comment and tossed the apple into the air, while simultaneously jabbing the metal object into the side of his neck. It took only a second, and the apple soon fell on the top of his head, and Gob fell to the ground, a steady stream of blood flowing from his neck.

Wilson flipped open his phone, dialing 911. "So...if I say it was a suicide attempt, he'll get locked up for a while, yes?"

House grabbed a handful of napkins and pressed them against the wound. "Wilson, he's a magician. He'll get out. No one can confine a magician in jail, it's impossible. You just need to accept that Gob is awesome, and I like hanging out with him."

"I can be awesome too," Wilson mumbled as he pressed send on his phone.  

    The morning after House had gone to dinner with Gob, Wilson was walking towards the elevator when the all too familiar sound of a Segway was heard coming up from behind him. 

      Fast.

      He sighed and raised his voice, not bothering to turn around. "Mr. Bluth, I really don't think you should be riding that thing in the hospital." 

      But it wasn't Gob. A fact that Wilson realized as House zipped by him seconds later and crashed into the wall next to the elevator. 

      Wilson sprinted over to help him, bending down and extending a hand. 

      "You okay?" He furrowed his brows and gave House the once over to make sure he wasn't bleeding.

      House swatted Wilson's hands away. "I'm fine!" He attempted to get up on his own, but the pain in his leg proved this to be a more difficult task than anticipated, and he eventually held his hand out for Wilson's help.

      "Thanks," he muttered as he got off the floor and straightened out his clothes. "Damn thing is harder to control than I thought." 

      "I can't believe you bought one of those." Wilson bent down to pick the Segway up as House struggled to open his bottle of pills. 

      "I didn't." He raised his cane and tapped at the black pouch attached to the front of the Segway. "I'm borrowing it."

      Wilson pressed his lips together as he realized the pouch said "GOB". 

      "So I take it dinner went well?" He brought his hand up and rubbed the back of his neck, not entirely sure he cared to hear the answer.

      House grinned. "Why? Jealous?" He reached forward for the Segway and got back on, hooking his cane over the handle. 

      Wilson frowned. "No. I was just...genuinely curious."

      House kept grinning and leaned forward, pressing the button for the elevator. "Don't worry Wilson. Gob may be a great magician, but he won't make your best friend disappear."

      House was mocking him.

      Wilson felt his ears turn red. 

      House segwayed into the elevator. "Coming?"

      Wilson stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to their floor. "That thing is ridiculous."

      "This thing helps me get around. It's like I've got two good legs again. I can finally outrun my team and my patients. I'm going to see if I can keep it."

      "I'm sure Gob will want it back."

      "Maybe. But he won't need it back anytime soon. I admitted him."

      "You...admitted him? For what?"

      "His cancer, duh."

      "He doesn't have cancer!"

      "Well I know that. But the rest of the world doesn't. The Alliance doesn't."

      "What the hell is the Alliance!?"

      "It doesn't matter. What does matter is that you keep your mouth shut."

      "No. House...I refuse to be any part of this."

      "But you owe me."

      "For what!?"

      "For the consult." House maneuvered the Segway and headed for his office, just barely missing the plate glass wall. 

      Wilson cringed and turned, heading for his own office.

      Once there, Wilson walked into a familiar scene; someone he didn't know, talking on his office phone.

      The man turned around when he heard the door open and cupped his hand around the phone. "I'll let you know what I find out, alright buddy? Alright, goodbye." He placed the phone back on  the receiver and held out a hand.

      "Dr. Wilson?"

      Dressed in a suit jacket and tie, Wilson could only assume that this was probably someone from the alluded "Alliance", here to question and then arrest him for admitting someone with faux-cancer.

      He held out his hand and nodded, trying his best to swallow back the nerves that were so fervently creeping up on him. 

      "Yes, I'm Dr. Wilson."

      "Great. Michael Bluth. I'm here about my brother, Gob."

   

    ~*dum dum dummmm*~