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[icon] Wilson in Therapy - 3 - brenginee
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Subject:Wilson in Therapy - 3
Time:05:40 pm
Title: God, we must be fun at parties.
Series: Wilson in Therapy
Author: Renoir-girl.livejournal.com
Series begins: http://brenginee.livejournal.com/21037.html
Pairing: Wilson and House (platonic)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none really, a pinch of UST but not more than you'd find in the show.
Spoilers: Action takes place directly after "Euphoria II" and refers to elements of that episode.
Summary: Wilson seeks distraction the day following "I Care, I'm Pathetic" (Wilson in Therapy-2)
Disclaimer: House and Wilson are not characters I created, nor are their histories mine. House's home is not a setting I created. The rest grew from my imagination.
Notes: Massive thanks to autumnfaerie for inspiring the House-snark and to cocoajava for beta-reading.
  1. Wilson in Therapy - 1
  2. I Care, I'm Pathetic
  3. God, We Must be Fun at Parties
  4. What's the Differential for Horndogging?
  5. She made me feel funny. Good.

Wilson pulled out of the parking lot and into Route One traffic, rolling down his windows to enjoy the cooling air despite the smog. The day had been stifling, but now clouds gathered, threatening storms, but bringing with them cooler air and the scent of the promise of rain. He inched the car forward, pulling into the space left by the car in front of him, and sensed the poisoning presence of tobacco smoke. Instinctively his hand drifted to the button to raise his powered windows, but he paused.

The cars inched forward as lights changed and traffic stepped back from gridlock for mere moments. He pulled up into a fresh cloud of cigarette smoke, stopped the car again, and breathed deeply, allowing his eyes to fall shut for just a moment. As an oncologist, he never would pick up another cigarette. No matter what.

Finally they made it through the light and the generous smoker sped away. Wilson pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall between two covered malls and parked. He pulled off his tie and locked the car, went in to a Blockbuster Video, and later carried a DVD into Al Tayebat, the new Moroccan deli. A short time later he emerged with a small shopping bag and headed to his car, turning up his collar against the misty rain blowing in.

After he parked on the street outside House's apartment building, Wilson sat a few moments, listening to the rain hammer the roof of the car. They hadn't made plans-he was just here in hopes that House wasn't busy and would let him in. Mostly he hoped poker night hadn't been moved. He slipped a hand through the shopping bag's handles, picked up his umbrella, and grabbed the DVD.

He shook the rain off the umbrella inside the foyer and heard a lush voice singing over trumpets and a swinging rhythm. He knocked on the door and heard House inside, shouting above the music, that morons can't appreciate good music. The door swung open and House stopped short. With the music still blaring behind him, he looked quizzically at Wilson, and then noticed the DVD. "Oh, goodie! Is that The L Word? I knew you'd see reason."

"Yes, it's The L Word. I trust you have some Rocky Road?"

House cocked his head to one side. "Crunchy chocolate ice cream and a chick flick? Are you sure you're not turning into one of those limp-wristed metrosexuals?"

"You could do with a little cleaning up." Wilson pushed in past him, hoping for the best, and handed over the DVD.

"Hey! This isn't The L Word! You'd rather watch Will Smith than a bunch of hot lesbians? Ma, I'm getting worried about Junior--he doesn't seem interested in girls."

Wilson chuckled ruefully and carried the bag across the living room to the kitchen and set it on the table. He pulled out two plastic containers of couscous and an aluminum tray of kebabs.

House turned the music off and hobbled into the kitchen. "Wait a minute. You have food."

Wilson handed him the second couscous and pointed at the kebabs as he walked around the table to get a fork and plate. "Help yourself." He walked out into the living room and placed the plate on the coffee table. He looked at the television, sighed deeply, and decided not to sit down just yet. He walked over to the stereo. "Who were you listening to?" he asked, peering at the record label. "It was pretty upbeat."

"Carolina Cotton. What's going on?"

"I just thought we'd watch a movie. If you're busy..." Wilson turned to hear House's response, but the renowned diagnostician only squinted at him, then pulled open the refrigerator door.

He pulled out two beers and offered one. "Sorry, I drank all the tequila last night doing body shots with the hooker you told me to get."

Wilson took the proffered beer and settled on the couch. "So do you think Foreman will be coming back to work?"

"He'd better come back. I can't lose my black guy now. I just got him trained!"

"Right. He's not a talented physician or anything."

House limped over to an aluminum frame lounge chair next to the television and flopped down, propping his bum leg up on the ottoman. He raised his cane and balanced it straight up on one finger. "Do you know what he did today?"

"Laid around in bed?"

House let the cane slip through his fingers and laid it across his chest. "He told me he thanks God for me."

"That bastard."

"Personality change could be significant. But I don't think it's the disease. He's cured of that. This is Daddy's influence."

"Don't like the new personality?"

"Not if Daddy influences him right out of his career."

"You think he's going to make Foreman quit?"

"No, I think he's going to make Foreman suck."

"So now you think a doctor can't be both thoughtful and on top of his game."

House screwed up his face in mock apology. "I didn't mean you!"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Okay, so then it's the God thing you don't like. You're afraid he's going to become religious."

"Follow in Daddy's footsteps."

"You can't have a religious employee?"

"No, then they actually expect a day off in December. Something about somebody's birthday..."

Wilson picked up his plate and pushed the couscous around with his fork. "I think that's discrimination."

"Then they start telling patients to put their trust in God...that's bad for business, you know. What will doctors do then? Watch TV? Oh...wait...I already do that..."

"Lots of working doctors have an active faith."

"I already have a Dr. Faith. And a Dr. Nice. I need a Dr. Hardass. Someone who can do his job without a lot of baggage getting in the way."

"You're getting ahead of yourself. He mentioned God once. I'll bet once he's working for you again, he'll turn into a bitter cynic in no time."

"From your mouth to... uhm..."

Wilson grinned and looked again at his plate. He should be hungry. It was good food. "So how's Steve McQueen?"

"I don't know. He can't hear my thoughtful inquiries after his health over all the squeaking and running on that wheel of his. It's like he's running for his life or something." Using his cane to help himself out of the lounge chair, House hobbled behind the couch.

Wilson listened to the ping of the record coming off the turntable and the swoosh of the record sliding into its cardboard sleeve, a sound remarkably similar to the sound of the cars driving by on the wet road. "It is a pretty nasty way to treat someone you care about, subject them to experimentation." Where was this coming from? Don't poke a sleeping bear, Jimmy.

Thump-step, thump-step, House moved over to the window. "You always hurt the ones you love. Or so they say."

"In your case, you don't even have to love them. You get off on hurting them."

"Ouch, Jimmy boy. Somebody's cranky. Time for a nap, or do you need to borrow the hooker?"

Wilson took a long draw on the beer. "Where'd you put the movie?"

"I was right before. Something is going on with you. Come here for a counseling session?"

Wilson laughed. "Not at all. Look, I'm fine. Just put in the movie, okay?"

"It's on the kitchen table."

Wilson stood and fetched the DVD, then popped it into the machine as House settled into the center of the sofa. As Wilson sat, their knees fell together. He noted the contact, acknowledging only to himself that his need for comfort was as acute as House had guessed. But this was not a friend you went to for an understanding hug. As he felt the beer loosen his joints, he took what was offered and pulled a pepper off the kebab spear.

  1. Wilson in Therapy - 1
  2. I Care, I'm Pathetic
  3. God, We Must be Fun at Parties
  4. What's the Differential for Horndogging?
  5. She made me feel funny. Good.
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[icon] Wilson in Therapy - 3 - brenginee
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