082. Bomb

Things I Miss

Wilson was drunk. Very drunk. In fact he was fairly sure that absolutely shit-faced was a really good description of the state he was in right now. He'd feel vaguely guilty about that except that House was in much the same state and it was all his fault anyway. House had figured out what was wrong with his latest patient, saving her from a fairly unpleasant death, and her husband had thanked them by giving the Diagnostic Medicine department four cases of what had turned out to be very, very, very good and surprisingly strong beer from a local microbrewery.

Wilson had been there to see the looks on not only House's face but also Foreman, Chase and Cameron's faces as they debated with themselves about the whole ethics thing attached to accepting gifts from patients. Chase, who it turned out had tried this beer before and deemed it the closest thing Americans could come to decent beer, was the first to break, pointing out in an artfully casual tone that technically the beer hadn't been given to them by a patient and therefore they didn't really need to return it. Cameron had then tentatively suggested that they might even offend the husband of their patient if they tried to return the beer and he'd really been very good about their usual method of treating a patient which as in many cases had actually made things a little worse before saving her life. So perhaps making him rethink how pleased he was probably wasn't a good idea.

When Foreman had then suggested that they should take the cases down the back stairs and bring their cars around to avoid Cuddy finding out, Wilson had looked over at House and had almost laughed at the proud look on his face. The smuggling of the beer had proceeded with almost military precision, ending with House smiling wickedly at him and inviting him over to taste-test some of his ill-gotten gains.

Which was how he had ended up slouched on House's sofa, in a state of being absolutely shit-faced, with House who was in a similar state and who was also staring at the bottle in his hands as though it held the secrets of the universe.

"You know what I miss the most?" House said suddenly.

Wilson blinked and tried to make sense of the question. He was fairly sure that they'd been talking about baseball in which case the question made no sense whatsoever since, as far as he knew, House had never played baseball. Of course it was entirely possible the conversation had veered into another topic where the question did make sense; he just couldn't think what that topic might be in his current state of being shit-faced.

Finally he realised that House was waiting for his response.

"Uh, what?"

House sighed, a terribly sad little sound that made Wilson heart skip a beat for reasons he wasn't compos mentis enough to think about.

"I miss doing bombs."

Wilson frowned as he tried to make sense of that. His beer-addled brain couldn't find any context in which that statement actually worked.

"Huh?" he said, falling back on utter confusion in the hopes of an explanation that did make sense.

"I miss doing bombs," House repeated, picking morosely at the label on his beer bottle. "You know, a running leap off the edge of the pool then…huge splash. I miss them. They were fun."

A slow smile grew on Wilson's face as he pictured House doing that. For some reason it wasn't a young House in his mental image but his friend as he was now. Then he frowned.

"Why can't you do bombs?"

House's head swivelled a wobbly path from staring at his beer bottle to looking at Wilson. He had this adorable little hurt look on his face and Wilson's brain suddenly wobbled as he realised he actually had used the word adorable in reference to House.

"Can't run," House said mournfully, looking as drunk as he sounded. "Not properly anyway. Even if I could, I can't get the proper lift-off. Need a real leg for that."

Wilson looked at the sad, mournful expression on House's face and he did two things that he would later blame on the beer though he would always do so with a smile. He reached over and gently rested his hand on House's ruined thigh, stroking it with a feather-light touch. Then he leaned in and nibbled lightly on House's pouty lower lip.

House froze when he did that and Wilson was just on the verge of pulling back and making some comment about the strength of the beer with the few remaining brain cells that weren't either inebriated or lustful or both when House suddenly moved and pulled him into a kiss. Wilson went with it because the kiss was good – hot, wet, sloppy and oh-so-good. When they finally pulled apart they were both gasping for breath but House had this look of amused chagrin on his face that confused Wilson.

"Too much beer," House said in explanation, something that confused Wilson and sent a thread of hurt spiralling through him until he realised that House was looking down at his crotch where there was a distinct lack of the usual result of a kiss like that.

Then Wilson looked down at his own crotch and realised that he was in the same state…or lack of a state as the case may be and he returned House's chagrined smile.

"You're right. Too much beer," Wilson said.

The smile he got from House was a mix of drunken pleasure and wicked amusement then House was lurching to his feet, swaying even more unsteadily than normal. Wilson staggered to his feet, intending to help him but changing his mind at the last minute when the room swirled around him. He didn't think he could help House right now. In fact he was fairly certain he'd make it worse.

"Bed," House said firmly, getting Wilson's attention again. "Sleep. Then, when we're sober, sex."

Wilson considered that for a moment as the room slowly stopped moving then he nodded. He liked that order of things.

"Yes. Good."

House gave him a sloppy smile then grabbed at his cane, taking three goes before his hand managed to close around the handle. He then staggered towards the bedroom, leaning a good deal more on the cane than was normal. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at Wilson with a tiny frown.

"Bed. Sleep. Sex," he said firmly. "Needs you as well. Can't do it on my own."

Wilson gave House a silly smile and stumbled towards him. "Oh, yeah."

House's expression became something decidedly on the side of affectionate then he continued lurching his way towards the bedroom. Wilson followed and they both somehow managed to strip down to their boxers without killing themselves or each other. They collapsed onto the bed and closed their eyes as it threatened to take off. House yanked the sheets and blankets up and Wilson snuggled into House's side, burying his face in House's shoulder. House made a few grumpy noises in response but didn't try and shift him so Wilson settled himself in more comfortably.

"Sleep," House commanded as Wilson felt an arm slowly wrap itself around him.

"Mmm, sleep," he murmured as his eyes closed. "Then sex."

"Yeah," came the slurred response from House then the only sounds in the room were soft snores.