1Author's Note: I won't give any spoilers, but tonight's episode bit the fucking big one and left me wondering when the writers were replaced with pods. Here's hoping this chapter cheers someone up.

Crossing a city is simple enough. Crossing a city that has been spanked flat by a nuclear explosion is more problematic. For one thing, there's a lot of debris clogging the road in the form of trees, buildings, cars, dead bodies, etc. For another thing, people no longer feel the need to respect the no-pedestrians-in-the-street thing. This all meant that the truck carrying the five doctors had to stop roughly every five minutes to move something or someone. All-in-all, it was like crossing Calcutta at rush hour during a typhoon while your mother was driving you in her Yugo.

None of this bothered the stalwart doctors. They were professional healers on a mission only to save the citizens of Princeton. No hardship would deter their uncomplaining spirits.

"This sucks." Chase announced poutily for perhaps the fifth time since they had started out across town in the bumpy personnel carrier.

"Of course it sucks." Foreman decided to reply this time, just for something to do. "The world blew up. Sorry, your litter-bearers are dead, you'll have to make due with military transportation."

The Australian doctor shot him the finger irritably.

House ruffled Chase's blonde hair. "Awww, leave Dr. Barbie alone, Foreman. He's just upset that all the hair gel factories have been wrecked."

To be fair to Chase, it was pretty uncomfortable. The doctors were crammed into the personnel carrier with roughly 8000 soldiers and their gear. Personal space was at an extreme premium on this ride and it was bumpy, so it wasn't House's fault if his left side tended to rub against Wilson's right side now and then. If he was shifting that way a bit, it was just that he preferred to brush against his best friend rather than the giant Dolph Lundgren lookalike on his other side. And if he tended to notice how warm Wilson's body was or that he still smelled pleasantly of Obsession cologne, it was just that...that...

House glared at the oncologist. "Hey, Wilson, you're sweaty and you stink."

Wilson didn't even bother to look over. "And you're a colossal, limping pain in the ass. Who's to say which is worse?"

After that, House had tried to distract himself by starting a sing-along, but that hadn't gone over well. He had taken the lyrics to "Dontcha" and customized them to the whole team. "Dontcha wish that Wilson didn't have VD" gave way to "Dontcha wish that Foreman didn't steal your weed" and "Dontcha wish that Robbie had a schlong like me". He'd just started on a good, solid "Dontcha wish that Allie didn't smell like pee" when "Allie's" foot collided with his shin. Jeez. Touchy. At least the soldiers seemed to think he was funny.

After that, he'd taken to repeatedly banging his cane on Wilson's foot and saying "Are we there yet?" until Wilson yanked his cane away and handed it to Foreman. Well, hell. No one had a sense of humor anymore?

It felt like they'd been riding for at least seven or eight hours, but House didn't think that likely. Someone would have had to take a whiz in that time. It was full-dark when the truck finally stopped for the last time.

The soldiers picked up their gear and piled out of the transport. House went last, trying to figure out the best way to get down without landing on his right leg. Ignoring Wilson's outstretched hand, he chose to slowly sink to the floor and slide on his butt until his feet touched. He straightened and looked around expectantly. "What? No applause?"

Wilson gave him a sarcastic round. "Very nice, House. You looked like a kid on the playground slide."

"The slide is a perfect metaphor for life," House said, reclaiming his cane from Foreman. "You struggle up the ladder, come crashing down to land on your ass in the dirt, only to get back up and do it all over again."

Wilson frowned. "That doesn't even begin to make sense to anyone but you." He sighed. "And sadly, to me."

House took a moment to survey their surroundings. The camp was set up close to the woods on the outskirts of town, a green tent paradise swarming with military personnel. Kind of like Emerald City if the munchkins had been camoflaged and armed.

"Dr. House? Dr. Wilson?"

And here was Oz the Great and Powerful. The Army Dude from the hospital.

"We should be up and ready by tomorrow morning, but for now we've got a mess tent and some sleeping quarters over there." He pointed to a spot close to the road where a group of soldiers were coming and going with meals in their hands.

Food. Food was good, especially since House had never gotten his second lunch. To his disappointment, "food" turned out to be the standard military MRE-Meal Ready to Eat. He looked down at his package. "Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and pound cake. And oh, look-" he held up a small bottle. "Hot sauce. Who the hell puts hot sauce on meatloaf?"

"Missing my stuffed peppers right about now?" Wilson gloated as they made their way to the sleeping tents. He plopped down in the grass where a dozen or so soldiers were enjoying their meals and started eating.

House made a face. "Yes. Your stuffed peppers just smell like someone spewed on a plate. This shit," he poked the mystery loaf "smells like it, looks like it, and probably tastes like it." He took a cautious bite. "Yep. Just needs some bile and a few pieces of corn floating in it for dramatic effect." He looked over at Wilson hopefully.

Wilson stared back evenly. "House, we've had this discussion. You cannot make an oncologist puke." He shoveled in another mouthful to prove his point.

That sounded like a challenge, and Greg House was never one to slip a challenge.

"Necrotic bowel."

Wilson took another bite.

"Bloody diarrhea."

Wilson gulped down some Tang and looked at House expectantly.

"The smell of advanced gangrene."

Wilson tore into his pound cake.

"Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts?" House tried.

Wilson yawned elaborately. "Handsome young oncologist, one. Whiny old diagnostician, zip." He looked around. "On the plus side, you do seem to have worked your magic on some of Uncle Sam's finest."

House looked up. It did seem that there were half a dozen or so fewer soldiers than there had been, and those who remained in earshot were looking decidedly green. Meh. That wasn't a victory. Making Wilson sick would have been, but he quietly accepted that he might have to give that dream up forever.

House ate some meatloaf against his better judgement as a cover for watching Wilson. Dumb Wilson. Why does he have to be so unflappable, anyway?

Wilson sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

He's tired. He only does that when he's tired or I've pissed him off. House thought for a minute. And I haven't had the chance to piss him off today. It seemed like a missed opportunity.

Wilson groaned and massaged the back of his neck

He's stressed. He only does that when he's stressed or I've pissed him off. And I haven't had the chance-what the hell, Greg! Are you teaching Wilsonology 101 here? Give it a fucking rest!

He shoveled in the rest of his meal and poked Wilson, who was dozing lightly beside him. "Come on, Sleeping Ugly. Let's grab a tent before all the good ones are gone."

They found the ducklings had staked out the last three tents and were currently arguing over who would sleep with whom.

"I'm not sleeping with bloody Foreman!" Chase snapped with a glare at his co-worker. "I had to share a hotel with him at the Atlanta conference and he snores like a jet engine."

Foreman glared back. "I'm surprised you could hear me over your teeth grinding!"

Cameron glared at both of them. "Well, all I know is no one is sleeping with me." She gave House a hopeful look. House stepped closer to Wilson. "So you work it out amongst yourselves." She shot into one tent and zipped it decisively closed.

House clapped his hands briskly. "Well, that's decided." He shoved Wilson toward the nearest free tent and smiled at his male ducklings. "You boys go straight to bed, now."

The inside of the tent smelled like canvas, slightly musty canvas, but it was roomy enough and there were two cushy-looking sleeping bags on the floor, so that was okay. Everything said "Property of the US Army", as if George Bush had gone on a drunken tagging spree.

Wilson collapsed in a tired heap and pulled off his shoes, socks, and dress shirt. House followed suit on his own sleeping bag. He lay there in the dark and tried not to think about Wilson tossing and turning just two feet away from him. There was no way anything would happen, not in this smelly US Army tent.

"It's cold as hell in here," Wilson mumbled.

The again, sometimes the gods handed you a gift.

House sighed dramatically and got to his knees. "Come on. Push your sleeping bag next to mine, if you're so cold." He sighed again to show that he was really, really put out.

Wilson eagerly complied, started to lie down again, then hesitated. "Switch me sides," he said.

"Why? You afraid the boogeyman lives on that side?"

"No, because if I roll over in the night I don't want to kick your bad leg."

Fuck, but Wilson was hard to resist when he went into Protective Best Friend Mode. House was even briefly tempted to thank him or say something nice back, but fortunately the urge passed.

House rolled onto his good side and Wilson situated himself behind, close enough to share the blast furnace that was House's body but not quite touching him.

All was not so serene in other tents.

"Hey, Foreman," Chase said sleepily from the next tent, "yo mama so old she was a waitress at the last supper."

"Hey, Chase," Foreman snapped back, "yo mama such a cracker her wedding china says Cool Whip on it."

"Hey, Foreman, yo mama so...so...fat-er, no, so ugly...oh, bugger." Chase fell into a sullen silence.

"Don't know what you're whining about," came Cameron's disgruntled voice. "I had to share a room with Cuddy at the Atlanta conference and she farts in her sleep."

Just inches from House's ear, Wilson gave a sleepy snort of laughter that sent a warm breath across House's skin.

He turned his head toward his roommate. "Wilson?"

"Mmmm?"

"Ever seen Brokeback Mountain?"

"Nope."

A slow smile spread across House's face. "Good."

END PART 3