Disclaimer: I do not own House M.D.
"This is the second time this week that you're paying for our meals. I can't help but be suspicious that you're on to something, House."
House shrugged innocently, cutting off a piece from his steak and chewing on it contemplatively. "Why do you always automatically assume that I'm an ass?"
Wilson tilted his head at the tablecloth, "Because you are," he told him wryly, "the last time you tried to do something nice you had dosed my coffee and almost killed me."
"I didn't kill you." House said exhaustingly, shaking his head at the ceiling.
"Seriously. Why are you paying for dinner? Did you… what, poison my food?" Wilson accused suspiciously, guardedly pointing at his plate.
"Yes, Wilson," the older doctor played along sardonically, "I have a deal with this restaurant."
The brown-haired man grudgingly cut into his food, still apprehensive as he took his first bite, "Are you going to run out of here halfway through so then I'll end up having to pay?"
"Damn," House grumbled sarcastically, "Wilson, you ruined my plan!"
"It's just…" Wilson pressed, "you paid for lunch the other day. And now you're paying for dinner?"
"It's not that expensive." He shrugged.
"Doesn't matter! Greg House doesn't pay for things if he doesn't have to!"
House shrugged unimportantly, taking a sip from his glass. "So," he switched topics casually, "Did you end up asking somebody on my team about my whiteboard?"
"No," Wilson said, "I didn't think it was that big of a deal."
"It's not," House agreed, "but you always make things into a big deal."
Wilson looked slightly bothered as he dropped his utensils exasperatedly. "Okay," he began slowly, "I'm going to change the topic to something more agreeable. And then you're going to be polite again."
"All right, Mommy." The diagnostician mocked sweetly.
"How's your patient been doing?"
"What patient?"
"The one with the vomiting." Wilson supplied helpfully.
"Oh," House said, nodding, "Gastritis Guy."
"He has gastritis?"
"No," the older man shook his head, "but it was something that we had discussed as an option. How's it going in the oncology ward?"
Wilson sighed, "The same. There are just too many people dying in my life." He said despondently, avoiding his friend's gaze.
"I'm still here." House said indignantly.
"Don't act hurt," the brown-haired man admonished sourly, scowling, "I know you're not."
House shrugged, cutting further into his steak. "You know what they say," he said in a pretentiously wise voice, "all good things must end."
"Yes, but must they all snowball to an end?" Wilson rested his forehead on his palm, supporting his arm on his elbow exhaustingly.
"Poor Wilson," House sympathized sardonically, "the teddy bear is down."
"Shut up, House," Wilson snapped bitterly, "why are you only friendly in little doses? Can't you just be nice for a day's worth of time?"
"My niceness is limited," House said stiffly, "during this past week you've already used up what I would normally spend on you in half a year. If you expect more you'll be forking over the cash."
"So… you charge for your pleasantness?"
"Of course. How else would I make money? I've already made a fortune off of Cuddy." House said with a satisfied and sarcastic smirk.
Wilson rolled his eyes, sighing. "Don't you ever get miserable being miserable?"
"That's totally an oxymoron, Wilson."
The younger doctor raised his eyebrows seriously, inquisitively eyeing House for an answer.
"Wilson," House began, "when all you ever felt was pain, it doesn't hurt anymore."
"I can't tell you how often I think about how different you would be if your leg would be human again and Stacy and you were still married. I think we could actually have normal conversations."
"You really shouldn't be judging my divorce," House said pointedly, "you're taking over New Jersey with this marriage fetish."
"It's not a fetish, House."
"I'll bet you fifty bucks that you'll get married again by the end of the year."
"I wouldn't mind taking that," Wilson said broodingly, "I'm not in a very… marriage-mood right now." He gloomily picked at his food.
"This isn't the first death you've ever been through, Wilson. And in the past you weren't so stiff about it either. Besides, there are always fish in the sea. This time you should steer clear of the sharks."
Furiously, the oncologist dropped his silverware, looking cantankerous enough to march out of the restaurant, "Would you just for once be supportive for a friend and not be such a damn robot with your feelings?" he growled.
"Jesus, I woke the beast."
"You are the wrong person to have this conversation with," Wilson dismissed, his hands going up defensively as he got out of his chair, "if you ever fall in love again, maybe we can try to pick up this conversation where we left it off."
House looked revoltingly up at his friend, "Sit down and don't be such a drama queen. It's really quite embarrassing." He murmured the last part sarcastically, pretending to shamefully hide his face behind the dessert menu. By the time that House had peered up above it again, Wilson was striding away from the table. House scowled.
"I hope you know that this is the last time I'll be paying for your food!" he shouted after the brown-haired doctor noisily. Other couples and families eating nearby looked uneasily at House and the abandoned seat in front of him.
"It's his time of the month again." He explained to them all, pointing disapprovingly after Wilson's disappearing figure.
--
"What is this?" Thirteen asked amusingly, a smile soaking through her voice.
House abandoned the whiteboard and walked over to where Thirteen was hovering over his desk with something resting in her hand. He snarled at her, snatching the item from her grasp.
"When did you sneak away from the table?" he asked suspiciously, staring to the discussion chairs where Kutner, Taub, and Foreman were all curiously watching out of the corner of their eyes. "We were just in the middle of a differential diagnosis for the Bleeding Boy."
Thirteen raised her eyebrows at the object now nestled protectively in House's palm. "You bought Wilson lunch?"
"He's been avoiding me. Normally I wouldn't mind, but Wilson writes my vicodin prescription and my bottle's almost empty."
"So you bought him lunch?"
"Yes. Wilson is very easy to bribe. Like the dog. Dangle some bacon and he bounds straight up." House firmly put the packaged sandwich he had been holding into his desk drawer along with the note pinned to the top. It included the sandwich's receipt, House having written You can't ignore me forever! on the bottom in red marker.
He hobbled back to the whiteboard, twirling the marker in his fingers.
"So now we have a new symptom. He's twitching at random moments, can anybody tell me why?" House inquired to his team, a bit frustrated when he turned around to see Thirteen still not deposited in her seat. "Thirteen, it's very amateur to snoop around your boss's desk when he's only a few feet away."
The brown-haired doctor returned to her chair reluctantly, sighing.
"Uh," Kutner spoke up, still looking intriguingly into House's office to see what the two doctors were quarreling over. "Well, um, it's probably just a mild allergic reaction to the meds we were giving him."
"All right, well, that's the boring version," House brushed off unimportantly, "let's assume that it's not. Twitching doesn't mix with vomiting blood and seizures. But oddly enough, those two symptoms don't mix together to fit one disease either. So… do we have multiple conditions?"
"Are you saying that he has three separate diseases?" Foreman asked doubtfully.
House ignored him, staring expectantly at his other doctors. When they were all silent, he sighed, turning to the whiteboard. "Apparently you're all still in third grade. Should we make a Venn diagram?" he asked them all in a simpering, sugar-coated voice as he drew three overlapping circles on the board and marked arrows to connect the symptoms to the circles.
"We can also mix twitching and seizures or just twitching and vomiting blood. Only two different diseases." Taub brought up.
"Bingo," House nodded approvingly, leisurely capping and uncapping his marker, "now, twitching and seizures are generally in the same category. One is just a little bit more severe than the other."
"House, that's ridiculous–" Foreman said immediately.
"Force a seizure out of him and take him off his meds. See if he still twitches." House instructed, and the moment that his team members were on their feet and shuffling out the door, he hobbled to his desk and took out his concealed gift. He hastily limped over to the oncology ward and burst through Wilson's door.
"Don't you ever knock?" Wilson said irritably, knitting his eyebrows together as he frowned at House.
"I always hope that if I don't give you any warning I can catch you doing something you're not supposed to be," House grinned sarcastically, thrusting the wrapped sandwich to his friend, who took it reluctantly.
"What is this?" Wilson asked immediately, holding the meal a safe foot away from his body.
"My privates in tissue paper." The diagnostician said, beaming eerily. He took a seat in front of Wilson's desk. Wilson edgily looked at the note stapled to the top.
"This is a receipt for food." He said, staring at the contents of the piece of paper before sighing at the statement boldly standing out on the bottom in piercing red ink. "I thought you said that the last time you would pay for my food was that dinner last night."
"Everybody lies," House shrugged noncommittally, "If you're not going to eat the food I'm going to steal it from you."
"Did you do that when you were a kid? Steal your parent's food just to make them angry?" Wilson said suspiciously before unwrapping the meal and taking a tentative bite.
"I'm not only here to deliver food," House said, leaning closer to the desk, "Wilson, I'm not miserable."
"Don't give me the 'all you've ever felt was pain' speech," Wilson pleaded, holding up a hand and shutting his eyes firmly, "House, just admit that you're life is as good as your leg is."
"I don't need love to be happy. Maybe to you, commitment is the recipe to contentment but I don't need that for satisfaction."
"House, the most romantic interaction you ever have is having a cheap hooker over for an hour every week."
"That's all I need." House said smugly, smirking, "after there are four ex-Mrs. Wilson's you'll agree with me."
"House, sex is just a desperate attempt to seek out affection if you're not in love with the other person."
House scowled, "Oh, don't get deep on me. You've run through about seven The Ones in your life. I only had to run through one to realize that true love is a bunch of crap. Love is a bunch of crap." He grabbed his cane, getting up from the chair and limping over to the door. "Enjoy your free food while it lasts."
Wilson rolled his eyes, "Sometimes I'm ashamed to call you my friend, House."
"Likewise, Jimmy."