Summary: Wilson has the swine flu, and House and Wilson watch Sesame Street. House/Wilson. Preslash and slight slashiness. Oneshot.
Timeline: Set sometime at the beginning of Season 6
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.
Author's note: This story really isn't rated M. Probably more of a T. I just wanted to make it clear that despite the title, this story is not for kids.
Sesame Street and Swine Flu
House looked down at the man in the bed. Wilson's hair was greasy, and hung down across his forehead in clumps, far from its normal perfection. His eyes were blood-shot and puffy, and his nose was a bright red beacon. The bedspread was littered with used Kleenexes and the disposable plastic sleeves for the digital thermometer. "God you're pathetic when you're sick."
"Go away House," Wilson groaned.
"Sorry, no can do."
"Shouldn't you be at work by now?"
"Nope. I've been told to stay home."
"Yeah right. Cuddy's gonna punish you with extra clinic hours if you don't get in to work in the next hour."
"She's the one who told me to stay home, given that I'm not feeling well and I'm living with someone that has a confirmed case of H1N1."
Wilson groaned. "So that's why you made me take the test. I should have known." Wilson sighed. "You're not sick."
House continued on, pretending he hadn't heard Wilson. "Besides, someone has to be here to bring you juice and chicken soup."
At that, Wilson finally glanced up at the other man, and sure enough, there was a glass in his hand. A small bubble of happiness formed in his chest, that for once, someone was taking care of him. The glass was placed on the already crowded nightstand, and then House limped around to the other side of the bed. He pushed some of the used tissues back towards Wilson's side of the bed, and then slid under the covers. "So, what are we watching?" When Wilson didn't answer, he looked up at the television screen. "Sesame Street? Are you serious?"
Wilson had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "When I was sick and had to stay home from school, I'd watch Sesame Street and Mom would bring me toast and chicken soup."
House smiled, remembering similar events in his childhood, except that most of those memories were tainted by the fights that usually happened later in the evening, when John House would accuse his wife of mollycoddling her only son. He sighed, and shifted around to arrange the pillows more to his liking.
For a long time, the only sounds other than the TV were when Wilson would cough or blow his nose. The show was almost halfway over when he asked, "so when did Sesame Street become all about Elmo? God he's annoying."
"No kidding." House thought for a minute. "Sometime in the 90's, I think. Before then, the show was geared toward 3-5 year olds, and Big Bird had the personality of a kid that age, despite being 7 feet tall. But they decided they needed to appeal to kids even younger, so Elmo the Annoying took over."
Wilson smiled. "Why would you know all that?" he asked.
House shrugged, once again wondering why everyone else didn't remember all the random stuff he routinely catalogued in his mind. "The worst thing is that with Elmo, they finally figured out how to cash in on the merchandizing possibilities. They only sold like a billion Tickle Me Elmos. The person who thought up that toy should have been tortured to death. I'm surprised that mobs of angry parents didn't do it years ago."
At that, Wilson laughed, which quickly turned into a coughing fit. Finally it ended, and he took a sip of the apple juice House had brought. He leaned back into his pillows and continued to watch the show until House suddenly asked, "so who's your favorite?"
"What?"
"Sesame Street. Who's your favorite character?"
Wilson thought for a minute. "Bert and Ernie."
"That's two characters. You have to pick one."
"Why?"
"Because they are totally different. You can't like them both." House paused. "I bet you like Bert."
"Yeah, so what?"
"No one picks Bert."
"I do."
"That's because you are Bert."
"What? No I'm not."
"You totally are. If it weren't for me, you'd spend your free time reading oncology journals. They're your version of Bert's Boring Stories."
"I'm an oncologist. I'm supposed to read oncology journals."
"Yeah, but could they be any more boring? 'Therapeutic dosage increased by 0.1 mg, and the mortality rate decreased by 0.2%' Snooze."
"I thought you said I wasn't boring."
"You're not, you just need me to push you into things. On your own, you'd never watch TV during clinic hours. You would have never sawed my cane in half if I hadn't been pushing you all that week. Most people are boring, and would never do that stuff, even when pushed. You are way more fun than most people. You just need a little help getting started. And when you do lose it, you put even Bert to shame. I mean, a bottle through the stained glass window of a funeral home? Now that was impressive."
Wilson groaned at the memory of one of his most embarrassing moments.
"Not only do you act like Bert, you even kind of look like him."
"What? I'm not yellow."
"No, but you've got the unibrow thing going on."
"No I don't."
"If you spent a little less time on your hair and a little more time looking at your face, you'd see that those caterpillars you call eyebrows are about to merge. Face it, you're Bert."
"Well, if I'm Bert, then you're definitely Ernie."
House snorted. "Most would say I'm Oscar the Grouch."
Wilson grinned. "Only someone who doesn't know you as well as I do. Not only are you the one with all of the good ideas that get us into trouble, I've never met another grown man who enjoys bubble baths like you do."
"Hey! Not fair. Cripple here."
"Oh yeah, because a bum leg and slippery porcelain go together so well. I wouldn't be surprised if you had a rubber ducky, just like Ernie."
The glint in House's eye became decidedly wicked. "Trust me, if I had bath toys, they wouldn't be suitable for children."
Immediately, a mental image of House in the bathtub with a dildo the color of Ernie's rubber ducky popped into Wilson's head. Holy crap, where had that come from? He gasped in shock, which immediately turned into another coughing fit. He doubled over, hoping it would be over soon. God he hated being sick. He lay there, exhausted, dimly aware that House was awkwardly patting his back. When the coughing fit was over, he shifted around so that he was staring at the TV again. They watched the rest of the show in companionable silence.
When it was over, Wilson commented, "well that totally sucked. The only time we saw Bert was with his pigeon, and we only saw Ernie when he was talking with Oscar. We never even saw them together!"
"It's because of the rumors."
"What rumors?"
"That Bert and Ernie are gay."
"They are not gay."
"How do you explain the fact that they live together?"
"We live together," Wilson protested.
"They share a bedroom."
"But they have separate beds!"
"The show began in 1969. So of course they showed them with separate beds. The Beaver's parents had separate beds, and they still managed to get it on and have two kids."
"That's crazy. No one thinks Bert and Ernie are gay. Only you would think that."
"Then how come in Avenue Q, a musical that's an adult take on Sesame Street, they discuss 'Bert's' sexuality? Of course, it turns out that only Bert is gay."
"There's a musical with gay puppets? Seriously?"
"Oh yeah. Gay puppets. Puppet sex. An entire song about how the internet was invented for porn. Trust me, this show is definitely not for kids."
Wilson was only half listening to House. He was fixated on House's earlier comment. "But I'm not gay."
House was looking at him with a predatory look in his eyes. Before Wilson could react, he had moved to pin Wilson to the mattress, and before Wilson could process what was happening, a tongue had forced its way past his lips. Instinctively, he kissed back, until his brain caught up with what his body was doing. He pushed back on House's shoulders until the other man rolled off of him. "What the hell, House? I've got swine flu. Are you trying to get sick?"
House shrugged. "If I get sick, then I wouldn't have lied to Cuddy. Besides, I figure it's inevitable, living in the same house. Especially now that you aren't running around wiping down every surface with bleach. Might as well speed up the process."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Well, I feel like crap, so if you want to get the flu, feel free to lick my toothbrush or something."
At that, House started laughing.
"What?"
"Those are your reasons for not making out with me? You have the flu and you feel like crap? Just admit it—you're gay!"
"No, I'm not."
"If you really were straight, you'd be complaining about boy cooties. Admit it, you liked it."
Wilson was glad that his fever made it impossible for House to see that he was blushing.
House seemed to sense Wilson's answer, even though Wilson hadn't said a word. "Come here." He pulled Wilson close, so that Wilson was snuggled up beside him. "Nap time. We'll make out when you feel better."
Wilson closed his eyes, enjoying the closeness. He felt himself being pulled under by drowsiness, and he mumbled, "I guess we really are Bert and Ernie." The last thing he heard before he fell asleep was the rumble of House's laughter.
THE END
Author's note: Everyone always makes comparisons with Sherlock Holmes and Watson, which was what the writers were thinking when they invented the characters of House and Wilson. This week, as I was sick (not the flu, thank goodness), it struck me that Bert and Ernie describe them soooo much better. Don't you think? Or am I the only one that sees it?