Change of Scenery

This was only written for the sake of a few laughs, and as an excuse to make House and Wilson kiss. It's highly rushed, has a implausible plotline, but I hope you think it's fun for a little read.

Enjoy

"Richard Samuels," House noted, thumbing over the patient's charts before tossing them hastily back onto the bed, "chronically low blood pressure, 60-80 range. I've got the trick – amphetamines – uppers, in the common tongue. 'Should perk you right up. They work wonders on seemingly unwaveringly stable oncologists, I can tell you that much."

"Doc," the man in the bed began, "I'm not an idiot. You think I haven't tried that?" he explained, wheezing a little, lifting a defeated hand stuck with a blood-pressure monitor, and as if to dramatically mimic his symptoms, letting it fall weakly back down.

"Dick," House replied with a stiff glare, "There's such a thing as being too 'Zen'. You should get up, move around, try going for a run. Sure as hell keeps me healthy." As punctuation he tapped twice on his limp foot with his cane.

Samuels let his eyes slide slowly closed. A shallow sigh was released. "I do exercise. I play soccer. I go jogging with my wife. Nothing works. I just faint halfway through – my head spins, I get tired and fall down."

House frowned, and uttered a single word in a gravely tone. "Anemia."

"Not it. I did a blood test for it a month ago."

House glared hard. He readjusted his grip on his new, firey cane. "You did a blood test all by yourself? That's brilliant. You should be the one asking the questions, not me! You could do the diagnosis yourself."

Samuels sighed again, giving up an annoyed look. His voice was unconditionally weak and slow; House thought about commenting that it was lowering his blood pressure just to listen to him, but didn't. "Look, I'm just telling you what doesn't work. I want you to tell me what does."

The doctor looked thoughtfully towards the floor, lifting his lip. A routine clinic case – he figured only a moment of deliberation would go into solving it – what particular moment, he wasn't sure, because this one was occupied with the dilemma of purchasing a chicken wrap or a pita in the cafeteria today.

"It's gotten so bad, I can't even get excited about my wife anymore." Samuels noted sadly, turning towards the window longingly.

House's ears perked up, a small smirk on his face. Never admit sexual weakness to Dr. House. After all, even this cripple's dick still runs full-speed-ahead.

"Maybe there just isn't anything in her to get excited about?"

"Ha ha, very funny," Samuels responded disappointedly, "I love my wife, I promise you. I just can't hold a pulse steady enough to perform."

Dr. Wilson was standing outside in the hall, watching House through the large pane of glass, either keeping an eye out to ensure the other doctor was actually doing his job, or to be entertained with the odd exchange that House always had with his clinic patients.

House caught the oncologist's eyes and tapped on the glass with his free knuckles to beckon his friend in with a wicked smirk on his face.

Wilson walked cautiously into the room where House stood at the end of a tired-looking patient's bed.

"This fellow's having trouble getting it up for his wife," House described, turning dramatically to the doctor on his left.

Wilson tipped his head in a half-shrug. "Unfortunate, mind you, I don't think it's cancer."

Samuels looked from one doctor to the other confusedly. "Great."

"Ever think that it is her that isn't getting you up?" House continued.

"Hey, I am still sexually attracted to my wife. I'm telling you. It's a medical issue." Samuels insisted with a hopeless look and a weak moan.

House raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you just need a change of 'scenery'," and with that, he fisted Wilson's white collar and pulled him into a hard kiss.

Wilson fought fruitlessly against the other man's rough stubble, pressed a palm into his friend's chest and pushed. Eyes wide, he tensed as he felt a hand squeeze his bottom and pull him up. He sighed and decided to stop fighting as a sour tongue joined his own, until a high tone in the background awoke him.

Wilson pulled out of the embrace, and with an arm still folded into his comrade's chest, noted the monitor for their neglected patient's heart rate. "House, he's flat-lining."

House raised an eyebrow, turning briefly to the blacked-out patient and then back to Wilson. "Well, I guess I was wrong."

XDDDD After writing it, I noticed that that last line of his is particularly out of character for House. Ah well. Let's say he's being sarcastic – 'cause House'd never admit he's wrong!

I hope you liked it!