AN: Another ficlet from me. I swear, I write longer fics than this. I just need a long and involved plot to do it. There's slight H/W in this, though it's implied and one-sided.
"Metaphor"
House looked over at Wilson, expectant. Wilson returned the look, confusion apparent. The two were currently in House's office, alone. Wilson's confusion didn't go away, but he closed his mouth, then his eyes, as if he were trying to visualize the thought he was having, so he could then vocalize it. House looked away, studying the desk, before looking up when Wilson sighed.
"You know, you should really stop speaking in metaphors. It's so much easier to understand you when you, you know, actually say what you mean," Wilson said finally, his hands on his hips.
"That's no fun and you know it. I love making people thing--I especially love it when they're too stupid to figure out what I meant," House responded, smirking.
"Are you--insinuating that I'm not--intelligent enough to think at your level?" Wilson asked, narrowing his eyes at House in exasperation.
"All I did was ask you a simple question! It's not my fault you're too dense to figure it out on your own. Besides, it's not like acting you're insulted by the simple truth will get you anywhere. I'm not going to explain my metaphor; it isn't relevant to the conversation."
"No, it is relevant. You don't speak in metaphors unless the metaphors mean something--at least to you. So spill. What did you mean by it?"
House gave Wilson an appalled look. "I'm not just going to tell you!" he muttered, pulling out his bottle and popping a pill in his mouth as he leaned back in his chair. "You have to figure it out on your own," he continued smugly.
Shaking his head, Wilson turned away from House. He pursed his lips in thought. "What if I can't?"
House shrugged, placing the bottle back in his pocket. "Then you'll be plagued by it for all eternity," he muttered sarcastically. "It was a dumb metaphor anyway. Come back later, I'll think of a new way to get my point across. You know, in a way that even you can understand it."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Can't you just tell me and leave out the guessing game?"
House looked up at him before sighing and looking away. "It's not that important. I'll live if you don't figure it out--and don't worry, you'll live too. Just go and do your job. I'm sure you have sick and needy patients you need to attend to."
Sighing, Wilson turned on his heel and walked out of House's office, obviously agitated. House couldn't help but smile at the thought of tormenting Wilson. Mocking Wilson and pissing him off was what he lived for--a young boy tormenting and torturing the one girl in the class he thought was cute. At that thought, House's smile grew larger. Maybe that was a metaphor Wilson could understand.
