Disclaimer: Totally not mine. Out of cute and creative ways to say it.

"Hey, Wilson, time to get up!" House shouted as he was getting out of the shower. Holding the wall with one hand and the towel he was using to dry his hair in the other. As he pulled on his underwear, he noticed that the other man hadn't moved. Hadn't so much as turned over. He was still sprawled out like he had been dropped there from a height and was too injured to move. That thought brought a shudder through House. He had to be more selective about what he let into his mind.

Slipping on his jeans, he hobbled over to the second bed. Gently shaking the younger man's shoulder, he said more quietly, "Come on, Jimmy. Wakey-wakey…"

Wilson mumbled something incoherent and turned over on his side, curling into a very tight ball. House decided to let him sleep until he was ready to go. It bought him a few minutes, anyway. When he had gotten his shirt on, brushed his teeth, and ran his fingers through his hair, he sat down on the bed beside Wilson and popped a vicodin. Once more, he shook his friend's shoulder. "Wake up, Jimmy. It's getting late. We gotta be there by seven or we'll miss the first deal." No response. House cupped both hands around his mouth to both amplify and distort his voice. "Code blue, fifth floor! Code blue, fifth floor!"

Wilson sat up so quickly that he got twisted in the sheet and fell off the bed. He blinked his eyes, surprised, then it changed to annoyance. "What the Hell, House? There's not an easier way to wake me up than sending ME into cardiac arrest?!"

House smirked. "Easier, maybe. More fun, definitely. But I figured you'd be pissed if I put your hand in warm water again."

Wilson tried to continue to look stern, but just couldn't keep it up. His face cracked into a restrained grin, then finally a full smile. "Okay, I'm up. Now what?"

"Well, most of the normal world would say now is the time to haul your sorry ass up off the floor, but as you probably know that, I'm gonna say it's time for us to get to the poker game."

Wilson got to his feet, stumbling once, and House felt a disturbing wave of alarm rush through him as he barely kept himself from reaching out to steady him. He told himself that it was only because Wilson seemed so vulnerable in that moment, so young, innocent, and not quite awake. That led to The even more disturbing thought that Wilson felt like that every time he stumbled, which was quickly squelched by reminding himself that he NEVER looked that vulnerable. EVER.

"Earth to House? Anybody home?"

"Yeah…huh?"

"I said, what poker game?"

"Oh," said House, quickly recovering from being caught daydreaming. "Remember, I told you about the riverboat gambling thing? Poker tourney tonight. Five hundred gets you in."

Wilson pulled on one of the rattiest t-shirts House had packed, a grey one with a stick figure falling down the stairs and a caption that said in childish scrawl 'I think I brained my damage'. "Let's rock and roll," he said.

House rolled his eyes. "That shirt's too appropriate. Aren't you forgetting something?"

Wilson was almost awake now, and realized his error. "Uh…yeah. Right. I need pants, don't I?"

"Well, I'm sure the ladies out there wouldn't mind, but I'm not sure I want to be out there with you. Just imagine the rumors!" He put his hands to his face in a mock expression of horror as Wilson dug through the suitcase for another clean pair of jeans.

"Yeah, like you care about rumors!" Wilson said, shaking his head. "Okay, ready now." He took one last look at his hair in the mirror. He needed to try to fix it or something, but as bad as the color was, he just couldn't find a reason to mess with it.

House, still feeling guilty about his hair, pulled a blue-grey cap from his bag and tossed it to him. Wilson looked at it briefly, taking in the playing cards with skulls on them and the words 'No Limit', and smiled. He put it on, adjusted it, then looked back in the mirror and smiled. He looked nothing like the boy-wonder oncologist, even less like St. Jimmy. "Cool," he said.

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"I'll call your twenty-five," said Wilson, staring intently at the four-hundred pound man dressed like Waylon Jennings sitting across from him. "And raise you fifty. I'm all in" He scooted the chips across the table into the pot.

The cowboy looked at his cards, then at the little pip-squeak of a man who was left in the game with him. He couldn't believe it. This scrawny little guy and his crippled old buddy show up in his town, beat all his buddies out of the game, and now he was still raising? At least the cripple had the good sense to lose. Too bad his little friend wasn't as smart. Oh, well. The two hearts in his hand and two on the board said he had a good chance. There were also two aces up. This guy probably has a third ace, and thinks he's hot shit. "Call. All in too" he said.

House took a moment to watch Wilson from the sidelines. He hadn't been allowed to stay beside him, had to leave the table when he lost out, but it was almost more interesting watching from here. He had never seen Wilson play like this. Carelessly, without thinking every possibility through. He wasn't concerned with winning, just having fun. He wasn't taking any of it seriously. And he was absolutely kicking ass!

He saw the slight grin on the cowboy's face as the third heart fell on the table, and he jumped up in excitement, dropping his cards down.

House saw the look cross Wilson's face, and he knew he had won. He also knew he was going to say something that would get him in trouble. "No, Jimmy, don't," he muttered under his breath. "Just be you right now. Don't try to be me."

If they were with the X-men, it might have helped. Unfortunately, Wilson had neither ESP or super-hearing, and House's sarcasm began leaking out of Wilson's mouth. "Wow, a flush. Not a bad hand. Not bad at all. Even worth going all in over."

"Yeah," said the cowboy arrogantly. "Beats the hell out of your three aces!"

"Yup," Wilson quipped. "Except when you add the forth one." He dropped the cards on the table, both aces face up, matching the two in the flop.

House saw the look on the cowboy's face and began making his way to the table again. The two young security boys stopped him. "You can't go in there until the game is over."

"What are you, blind or stupid? The game is over. The Jersey Kid won." The taller of the two boys looked confused, and House whacked him in the shin with his cane as he shoved past. He thought briefly that if there was any trouble, these two boys weren't exactly reassuring as the police force. This thought came only a split-second before a large fist connected with Wilson's already abused midsection, simultaneously knocking the wind out of him and knocking him back into the crowd.

House leaped (so to speak) into action, and swung his cane at the cowboy's head. The blow connected solidly, hard enough to hurt his hand, but the cowboy merely turned to him unfazed. He picked House up easily by the front of his shirt and carried him over to where Wilson was getting to his feet. The crowd, already riled by the fact that these two out-of-towners had beaten the local boys, took to the violence easily, and three of them quickly subdued the security guards.

"Put him down!" Wilson demanded, still gasping for breath as he stood to face his attacker and get House out of the situation.

House struggled in the grip. The cowboy was over 6'7", and held him easily off the ground, as he simply reached out and picked Wilson up in the same manner. The crowd cheered happily as he carried both his captives to the side of the boat. "You boys swim?" he asked almost conversationally.

Wilson was suddenly terrified. He could swim, but… "Please, I can but I don't know if he can, look, I know you're mad and if you'll just put us down I'm sure we can work this out and-"

Next thing he knew, he was flying through the air. Remembering the summers spent during his teen years trying to impress the girls on the high dive, he tucked his head and pulled his knees to his chest. Hitting the water from the second story of the boat still wouldn't be pleasant, but it would be better than landing flat on his back, or something equally painful. He barely heard House cry out as he hit the water half a second before he hit as well.

The impact jarred him, but he surfaced almost immediately and treaded water. "House!" he screamed, scanning the surrounding area for his friend. Finally, he saw him, struggling to keep above the water a few yards away. Swift, strong strokes pulled him to his panicking friend's side.

"Wilson!" He gasped breathlessly, more afraid than Wilson had ever seen him. "I don't think I can swim! My leg!"

Knowing the statistics about people trying to rescue drowning people, he shoved that out of his mind. "Grab on!" he shouted over the splashing. When he was close enough, House wrapped his arms around Wilson's chest and clung on as the younger man slowly made their way toward the shore.

Wilson dragged himself and House onto the shore, both gasping for breath. House, upon settling onto the shore, immediately curled up into a ball in pain. Between the ice cold water and the exertion and tension on his leg from trying not to drown, daggers of pain shot through everything from his abdomen and his right ankle. He wasn't sure he could even get up. Wilson was at his side instantly, rubbing the angry, cramping muscle, trying to undo the knots the freezing water had put in it.

Anger replaced the fear. He wanted to get a hold of the cowboy and do things to him a doctor shouldn't even think about. He would start with removing each of his freakishly long limbs one by one. With a butter knife. Or the backside of a scalpel. House's pained whimpers tore through him like bullets, and it was only worse because he knew what he was doing was hurting him, but that it would make it better quicker. "It's okay, it'll go away, it always does, I'm sorry, so sorry…"

He kept mumbling words and nonsense syllables until House finally began to relax. Dripping wet on the riverbank, and suddenly exhausted from the adrenaline crash, they just laid there, side by side, breathing harshly, House occasionally coughing up some of the water he took in, Wilson occasionally allowing himself to gasp for the breath he had lost getting both of them to shore.

"You want to call the police?" He gasped to House.

"Hell no!" House replied raggedly. "First of all, that was the Ohio river was just swam through. That means we're back in Kentucky. I've had all I can take of the Kentucky cops. Let's just find a way back to the hotel.

Wilson helped House to his feet, and they hobbled toward the road. House was still in pain, but it wasn't as bad as it had been a few minutes ago. They stood on the side of the road, waiting for a car to come by. Finally, Wilson broke the silence. "House, this has been an interesting vacation. I really appreciate you doing this. It's been a real adventure, and I've had a great time-"

"With the exception of being shot at, locked up, beat up, dyeing your hair, and getting thrown off a riverboat? Why do I sense a 'but' here?"

"But I don't think I can take much more. Can we go home now?"