Contains slash-if-you-squint
Words: 490
Disclaimer: House isn't mine.
Crazy but true fact: I wrote this over a year ago. I have no idea if it was supposed to be longer or if so what else might have happened, but it seems to be cool with that. So here I am, posting it. (I have a new House fic in the works, I swear, because I promised, and it just needs a few last touches and some editing.)
I also rediscovered a crackscript for a fic in which Wilson and House make a bet involving lupis and a puppy, but I have no interest in actually writing it into something this site would allow me to post (if I've read the guidelines right). So if anybody would like to volunteer to do that, that would be hilarious.
Anyway, here this is. Hope it amuses.
Believe Them
There were no words, just the loud thump of a cane being hitting loudly against the nearest available furniture to attract someone's attention.
James Wilson jumped and twisted around to see over the back of the couch. House was standing in the doorway, not even trying to fight the disbelieving smirk on his face.
"You're watching Sleepless in Seattle? Seriously?"
Wilson reddened and turned deliberately back towards the television. "It's a good movie."
House hooked his cane over the trim of the entryway and limped over. "It's a chick flick," he said. "Are you a chick?"
The couch dipped as House sat down and propped his leg up on the table. Wilson glanced over, trying to gauge how much pain he was in and how much Vicodin was involved. It was impossible to tell, really, but there was always the possibility that playing along with House would give him something else to think about, maybe get him to take fewer pills without realizing it. That seemed like a better plan than lecturing about addiction… which never worked anyway.
Wilson sighed. "Only after a really, really long day."
House gave him a look dripping with mock concern. "Did you have a really, really long day?"
On the TV, Meg Ryan was saying something meaningful that probably would have been a lot more moving if Wilson hadn't stopped paying attention as soon as the front door opened. "Yes," he replied, deadpan. "And naturally I came right here and sought out this movie, which, as luck would have it, just happened to be on."
"Huh." House considered that for a moment, then reached for the remote. "Well, Jimmy, there's only one way to reassert your masculinity, and that's—"
Wilson saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and pulled the remote away. He almost laughed at the look that flashed across House's face – like a kid who thought he was going to get to play with something and had to relinquish it to a parent instead. He held up a hand, telling House to wait, and then got up and went deeper into the apartment.
After a moment he returned and sat back down on the couch.
House squinted at him, trying to figure out what was going on. "Okay, I'll bite," he said after a minute. "What did you do?"
"Oh, nothing." Wilson turned his attention back to the TV. "I just stole a pair of your socks. Masculinity reasserted."
"By stealing my socks?" House asked with a snort. "How is that supposed to…"
He sat back, inspecting Wilson more closely. It would have been disconcerting if Wilson hadn't been expecting it. When his eyes flickered with that look he usually reserved for solving cases and was followed closely by clear amusement, Wilson had to force himself not to grin.
The corners of House's mouth turned up ever so slightly. "You put my socks in your pants. That's clever."