"How many times have we done this?" Wilson asked. He leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes. He was vaguely aware of House's leg brushing against his as House sat down next to him.
"Done what?" House asked as he pressed a can of soda into Wilson's hand. "The part where everyone pointed out that my idea could possibly kill someone, or the part where you insist on sitting shiva with me until we find out if the patient's going to get better or take a trip to the morgue?"
"Yes. Both. And you only sit shiva after someone's died. A close family member, not a total stranger." He rolled the cold can across his forehead.
House gasped in mock indignation. "Wilson! That person is a patient! How dare you call her a total stranger!"
"Him," Wilson corrected. "Please tell me you knew that."
"Of course I did. Who could forget the brave struggle of Donnie Whiteman?"
"Danny Whitman. Like Walt." Wilson propped the can between his legs and closed his eyes again.
"Love Walt. Hate the theme park. It's all full of happy people." House shuddered melodramatically.
Wilson laughed despite himself. He folded his arms across his chest and slouched down so that the back of the sofa cradled his neck.
"You know you really don't need to do this. I'm perfectly capable of sitting on my ass and waiting for someone to come find me."
"I know. But when this inevitably works you'll want to gloat. Me being here means you don't have to wait to do it. That's how considerate I am. That's how wonderful I am. Now go buy me a pony."
House snorted a laugh and popped open his can of soda. He took a long drink while his eyes darted from the clock to the door. No one had gone running past with a crash cart. That was a good sign. "Wanna go to Atlantic City and waste some money? By which I mean I'd waste your money. I'm not going to go wasting my own."
Silence. Then a snore.
"Wilson?"
Wilson's head came to rest against House's arm. House scoffed and carefully moved his arm so he could put it over the back of the sofa. He put his soda can down on the coffee table and propped his feet up next to it. Wilson sagged closer, breathing slow and deep. House tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Staying awake wasn't going to make the patient respond any faster, he rationalized, and if he could catch a nap he'd be better, more clear-headed if they came to him and asked for his advice.