When House didn't show up at lunchtime that day, Wilson went straight to his office. "I ate a whole candy bar and you didn't swoop down and snatch it from me," he said. "Something must be wrong. How's your leg?"
"How's your ass?" House shot back, clearly irritated.
Wilson flushed immediately, looking around to make sure nobody was in earshot. Then he shrugged and gave an embarrassed smile. "Sore, but worth it."
The unexpected bit of honesty did the trick – House was amused enough to nod and admit: "Same."
It was a touchy subject. More than once when he was drunk and enumerating all the reasons why his life sucked, House had mentioned how damn annoying it was to not even be able to enjoy a good screw without paying for it later, sometimes for days. And that was if the leg even held up long enough to make it a good screw.
Wilson doubted he was supposed to remember these tearful speeches, so he kept his tone light and just asked, "Do you want to go down to the cafeteria, or should we drive and get something?"
House relaxed visibly now that no confession of weakness was required. "No to the cafeteria, yes to the getting something, but no to the we. If I don't research this a little more I'm not going to sound omnipotent this afternoon… and we all know how disappointed my team would be."
Wilson gave a huge theatrical sigh. "The things I do for you. What do you want?"
"Something spicy, I don't care. And you're paying." He waited til Wilson was almost at the door before getting his attention again. "Hey." His eyes were very bright and his smile wicked. "That was pretty cool, wasn't it?"
Two days later, they were watching TV in the clinic when House said, out of the blue: "How's your ass?"
They both looked equally surprised by the question. "Uh… all better."
"Good."
A moment later, keeping his eyes determinedly glued to the TV, Wilson said, "You know, House, it… really wasn't… that bad. At all." A brief pause. "I'd do it again."
House caught the tiny little emphasis on the word, and pretended he didn't. "I'll bet you would."
But that Friday, they were sitting on the couch at House's place, and he said, following nothing: "Okay."
Wilson glanced back and forth from him to the TV. "Okay… that tampon really would provide you with superior protection all day long?"
House rolled his eyes at the commercial. "First of all, look at her: that girl's not even menstruating. They need to show a chick bloated up the like the Pillsbury Doughboy, double-fisting chocolate milkshakes, and scowling like she's about to eat me. Kind of like Cuddy today, actually." They watched a few more minutes, and then he elaborated: "Okay, you can do me."
Wilson forgot to be flippant. "Seriously?"
"Yup." House wouldn't look at him.
Even when he turned off the TV and undid his tie.
TBC.
Sorry for the cliffie! I've got the next part mostly written. Expect it soon.
And review!