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Kara x


11.) Smile

"My patient is smiling," House yelled as he barged into Wilson's office.

Wilson glanced up from his paperwork as House pushed the door shut with his cane. "They're probably happy you left. God knows I will be."

"Words can hurt, you know. And who said anything about her being happy?"

Wilson tilted his head and looked quizzically at him. "This may be unbelievably stupid of me, but usually I tend to assume that smiling people are happy. Like how motionless people are unconscious and how limping doctors are obnoxious pill-poppers. Am I wrong so far?"

House's eyes glinted. "She's got lockjaw. She's in complete agony, yet to the rest of the world, it looks like she's smiling."

Wilson opened a drawer and shoved the paperwork into it, knowing from experience that he wasn't going to get anything done right now. "What's that I hear? It almost sounds like...one of your metaphors. Or someone screaming. It's hard to tell the difference anymore."

"She's just like this boy wonder oncologist I know," House loudly interrupted, "who contorts his face into a smile for everyone he sees, be it carcinoma-ridden toddlers or his dashing parasitic leech of a best friend, while behind everyone's back he's tossing back antidepressants like Tic-Tacs. I think you might know him."

"You mean to tell me Dr. Rogers is depressed?" Wilson feigned shock as House rolled his eyes. "Seriously, House? Has your misery really come to such a level that you're now against smiling? Next you'll be setting kittens on fire."

"Smiling is just another social pretence we use to try and reassure the rest of the world that everything's okay, even though it isn't, and that we're happy, even though we're not."

"It makes people happy, which in turn makes you happy."

"Oh, go rescue some abandoned puppies, you delusional, saccharine moron. You smiling does not make other people happy any more than you sustaining some well-deserved gunshot wounds would make other people's stomachs tear open."

"My, you do paint a graphic picture," Wilson replied sarcastically. "But if your expression doesn't affect people, it's better to smile than to scowl, because smiling uses fewer muscles. Allows you to conserve more energy for useful actions. Such as walking out of my office, for instance."

House tossed his cane to the floor and sat down on Wilson's couch, propping his feet up on the arm-rest. "Expression does affect people. But you smiling doesn't make people happy. It irritates them."

"And since when have you had a problem with that?"

"I don't, when it only affects other people. But this irritates me."

"Dear God," Wilson exclaimed, "we can't have that."

House turned his head to look at Wilson. "You're more sarcastic than usual today."

"Oh, you noticed. I've been taking classes," Wilson smiled.

House sprang to his feet, "See! You're doing it again! You're smiling for other people's benefit!"

"Oh, for God's sake..."

"Don't talk to the Nonexistent One, it can't hear you."

"So, what? You just want me to stop smiling? Even when I want to?"

"Yes! Especially when you want to!"

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"You're you, Wilson. When you want to smile, it's normally to make some sick puppy - metaphorical or literal - feel better. But sick puppies don't want to see happy, healthy puppies parading around. They want to be around other sick puppies so that they don't feel alone. Or they want to be around sicker puppies so they feel better. Or maybe they just want a squeaky toy to chew the hell out of." House blinked. "I think I lost the metaphor. What were we talking about, again?"

"I forget. Why don't you leave, and then come back when you remember?"

"Sure, I'll - oh, you minx."

Wilson was now leaning across the desk, with that slight glow in his eyes that always came from being near House. "House, you can't talk about why people smile. You never do it. You're allergic to any outward displays of happiness, because you're miserable and you want the world to know it. You want the universe to have a constant reminder that it screwed you over."

"You're wrong, Wilson," House replied flippantly, but there was a new kind of look in his eyes. Barely detectable, but there. Panic.

"Fine. Prove it. What makes you smile? Ever?"

"Well, there's sunshine on cloudy days, and frolicking through grass fields in the springtime..." House pretended to look wistfully into the distance.

"Yes, House. Make a joke and pretend you're just withholding the answer, when in reality you can't think of one."

House now looked annoyed, which pleased Wilson, because when House was annoyed he tended to haemorrhage information. "Puzzles. My puzzles make me smile. At least when I solve them."

"You smile because you've proved to yourself that you're still a diagnostic genius, that you still have a purpose. It's narcissistic."

"So?"

"I bet you can't give me an instance where another person made you smile. As in, a genuine, healthy relationship with someone else. Like normal people have."

"Cuddy," House shot back.

"Smiling when she bends over does not count."

"Fine," House sighed exaggeratedly. "Stacy."

"That's true," Wilson conceded, "but then you panicked, and pushed her away at the first opportunity."

House gestured to his leg incredulously.

"We're not opening that can of worms again, House," Wilson cut him off before he could protest. House muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," House snapped. Defensive. Wilson was interested now.

"What did you say?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It always matters. What did you -"

"You."

"What about me?"

"You make me smile. All the time. Your comments, your glances, how you know me, how you don't, how you pay for my lunch, how you're my reluctant conscience, how you smile - you're in my head, Wilson. You make me as close to happy as I get." House groaned and covered his eyes. "See? The sappiness...I think I'm melting."

Silence. House put down his hands and looked over at Wilson, who had frozen.

"Well? Are you happy now?"

Silence. Then Wilson spoke.

"Yes, actually," he smiled. That genuine, goofy, infectious smile that set the room aglow. And House suddenly smiled back at him, almost involuntarily.

The moment was rich and colourful; then, as suddenly as it began, House broke it by staggering to his feet, that 'epiphany' look in his eyes, and started rushing towards the door. "The stiff shoulders weren't from the cleaning job," he muttered, glancing briefly at Wilson before rushing out of the office.

Wilson just stared after him, still smiling.