kickthecane

There is a one hour interview with Hugh Laurie that's been posted recently on You Tube. I don't know the details about it, but he talks about doing the show for two and a half years already so it must be recent. The video is obviously homemade and a little bit bouncy and blurry, but still watchable. HL is of course adorable and it's obvious the audience thinks so too.

It's split into six parts and here is the link to the first one http://youtube.com/watch?v=bMH22-nCrKA . You can find the links to the rest of it there. FYI part four has him talking about RSL for about half of the segment and part five has him answering questions about House/Stacy, which he feels has run it's course and Hameron, which he doesn't think would work.

I thought when I posted the first part of this that all I'd do was take the existing story, split it in two and put it up. However things rarely turn out the way I think they will and this has been no exception. I've ended up adding so much to the second part that it really doesn't work to just have two parts so I'm going with three now and this is the second part. Sadly to say there isn't any smut in this part at all (H/W just wouldn't shut up) but I promise I'll make up for it in the next and final (god willing) installment.

Title: The Real Deal

Author: Kickthecane

Word Count:  2154

Pairing: House/Wilson

Rating: R (naughty words, some sexual situations) will eventually graduate to a PG17 at least

Warnings: Silliness ensues along with sex. Set in the spring after all the Tritter nonsense.

Disclaimer: Fox owns, I just pretend.

Summary: House is in a giving mood and Wilson wonders what it's going to cost him.

No betas so all the mistakes are mine alone.



The Real Deal
Part Two


Wilson calmly turned and looked at him with such a mildly puzzled expression that for a moment House thought maybe, just maybe, he'd been wrong about Dick Guy and that Wilson hadn't picked him because of a surface resemblance to a certain best friend. Then he looked at Wilson's hands and knew he'd been right all along.

See House knew Wilson was a liar and a good one, often bordering on great. He even freely admitted there had been times when Wilson had lied to him and if chance and circumstance hadn't gotten in the way he, House, would never have been the wiser. So using that as a corollary he figured there had been other times and other lies that had been successful though he didn't like to think about that too much because he had enough trouble sleeping as it was. Anyway, the point being Wilson could lie and lie really, really well.

Except when he couldn't. Because while Wilson could spin out a great, big, fat one complete with stereophonic sound and pretty colors, he could only do it when he had enough time to plan ahead. He was like those actors who can act the pants off a Willie Shakespeare character, but sucked at improv. He needed to plot, to project all the variables in a conversation, to know where every turn and each slippery slope was so that he could agilely avoid them with a roll of those big brown eyes or a boyish smile or a charming shake of that too long hair. If he didn't have the chance to do this then invariably he'd give himself away with a nervous stutter or suddenly averted gaze—or hands clenched in fists.

And right now Wilson's always perfectly groomed nails were making perfectly crescent shaped grooves in the palms of his hands. House knew that could only mean one thing; Wilson was trying desperately not to shit himself.

God it had really turned into a great evening.

"Waiting for an answer here."

"And it's going to be a long wait since I have no idea what you're talking about." Wilson lied again, though his fists were still telling the truth.

"Dick Guy. Remember him? Tall, dark, thin, bright blue eyes; you on your knees in front of his…"

"House." Wilson was back in the guest room now, rubbing the back of his neck and trying desperately to sound bored, but the façade was cracking.

"Any of this ring a bell? I could go on."

"Do us both a favor and don't." If Wilson had been made of glass his shards would be all over the floor by now.

"Dick Guy. Tight jeans, snazzy sneakers and a vintage Dead t-shirt. Jesus, Wilson, all he was missing was the cane."

"Please don't do this." The plea sounded pathetic, but House was on a mission and figured that a little pain might make later pleasure better.

Besides, he was enjoying the hell out of himself.

"And a brain if my guess is right, but then I doubt you picked him for his scintillating conversation. Tell me did he at least have a limp?"

"I can't do this. Can we just not do this?" And House figured he had maybe twenty seconds before Wilson punched him in the face or locked himself in his bedroom whichever he thought of first.

"Okay." And House smiled, a truly, genuinely, terrifyingly kind smile.

Wilson looked at that smile and blinked, then gulped and there was fight or flight right there in his eyes, except House had no intention of allowing him to do either. Instead he shot out a long arm and grabbed a bony wrist and pulled and pulled until Wilson was there, right there, all of him, pressing close, body to body and god it felt good—right, and House leaned even more, pressing, and snaked an arm around the trembling back.

"Like I said, why settle for second best?" House whispered into the surprisingly vulnerable looking ear and then figured he'd seal the deal with a soft bite and quick lick of promise of more to come.

Except it didn't work. Oh Wilson shuddered in a nice, satisfying way, but instead of sagging unsteadily into House's manly embrace, his arms came up and he pushed, shoved really, and the next thing House knew he was sprawled onto the bed on top of some very prickly sheets with Wilson still standing in the middle of the room doing his best pissed off King of Siam impression.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I thought that was pretty obvious." House sat up and rubbed his shoulder theatrically. "You been working out? Is that where you met the other me?"

This time he saw Wilson throw his hands in the air. He was also back to pacing, though again the effect was kinda spoiled by the too small room.

"Okay, you've had your fun, maybe you should go."

"Fun?" House was honestly surprised; this wasn't how the scenario was supposed to work. By this time, they should both be semi-naked at the very least, to say nothing of flat on their backs, preferably on Wilson's bed where he was betting the sheets were silk or had a thread count of about 900 and were soft as a baby's ass.

"I mean it House; get the hell out—now."

"You think I’m kidding." It was a revelation not a question. All night long House had been plotting, waiting for the right moment, trying to think of something clever to say to bridge the awkward moments between revelation and satiation. Once he'd done that, the rest had seemed simple. It had never occurred to him that first he'd have to convince Wilson he was making a serious offer.

"Of course I think you're fucking kidding!" Wilson didn't look nervous. He didn't even look angry. Just tired and slightly disgusted. He sighed and backed towards the door. "Just let yourself out. I'll see you at work on Monday."

"Why?"

"Because we share a goddamn wall. I couldn't avoid you unless one of us quit and you're too much of a jackass for anyone else to hire you and I'm too far in debt to risk looking for another job right now. So come Monday you'll still have me to torment. Does that make you happy? Will you go away now?"

"That isn't what I meant." Maybe it was the quiet tone of House's last sentence or the utterly bewildered look on his face that made Wilson stop his backward escape to the sanctuary of his bedroom.

"Are you serious?" Okay, so he wasn't buying it, but he had stopped ordering House to go home every other sentence so that was something.

"Like a heart attack."

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. "Because it's what you do. Stir things up, make people uncomfortable, mock them for wanting what the rest of the world thinks of as normal human needs and comforts."

"Not you. I don't do that to you."

"Especially to me."

God he hated it when Wilson was right, "Okay, but only when it's for your own good."

"And too much of a good thing can make you feel terrible."

"But that wasn't the case…"

"House," Wilson was practically shouting now, "you aren't gay!"

"Is that all this is about?" House started to grin, but Wilson looked like he wanted to hit him again so he stopped. Sort of.

"Well of course I'm not gay."

Wilson was back to doing his Yul Brenner imitation.

"You know to really pull that look off you'll need to shave your head."

"Dammit House!"

"Okay, okay, not gay, I know." He cocked an eyebrow and looked up doing his best Princess Di. It seemed celebrity impersonations were contagious. "But I am bi."

"Bullshit." Wilson shot that last back in such an assertive manner that House blinked in surprise.

Of course, nothing could shut him up for long, "No really I am. Bisexual. Always have been, always will be, a lifelong member of the club. Look," He pretended to struggle to pull out his wallet, "I have a card in here somewhere."

"Goodnight House."

"Wilson!" The tone was sharp and Wilson stopped like a dog in a shock collar that'd just discovered the boundaries of his world. "Think about it. Think about me. I'm a thrill seeker, an adrenaline junkie. If it's dangerous or illegal or just plain bad for you, I've done it or wish I still could. You think someone like that, someone like me, would be the kind of guy who'd let a little thing like a y chromosome get in the way of exploring what's sometimes  dangerous, occasionally-- depending on where you are--illegal and feels pretty damn great any time you can get it?"

Wilson frowned, but it was his thinking frown and not the 'I'm going to rip off House's head and spit down his neck' frown, "Well when you put it that way." The frown deepened. "But if that's true how come I've known you for more than ten years and this is the first I've heard about it?"

"You've been gay all your life and you never told anybody. Not me, your three wives, or for that matter even yourself."

"Not the same thing and you know it. Besides, you aren't exactly discreet when it comes your love live or your sex live since they don't necessarily mean the same thing in your case."

"Nice." House put on his puppy dog expression. He knew as a manipulation tactic it was beneath him, but he was running out of ideas. 

He shouldn't have bothered; Wilson wasn't buying it. He just raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms and threw his earlier words back at him, "Waiting for an answer here."

House shrugged, it'd had been worth a shot. "Right. When I first met you I was with Stacy and therefore monogamous, a term I know you are only vaguely familiar with."

"I remember." House thought he must be losing his touch. Not only did Wilson not rise to the bait, he didn't even sound like he believed him. "I also remember the reason why. She told you and anyone else that would listen that if she ever caught you cheating she'd rip your balls off and stuff them up your ass."

Damn Wilson and his almost total recall,  "She would have too." House shuddered involuntarily at the memory. 

Wilson winced sympathetically, but it didn't keep him from pressing on, "And after she left? We are talking about five years here."

"Except for Cameron, who have I gone out with on a date?"

"This is true." Wilson paced some more, then stopped and pointed, "But what about that? How do you explain Cameron, and all those jokes about Cuddy, and the teenybopper stalker, and that woman with the implants?"

House laughed out loud, "What is this, a reverse intervention? Wilson are you trying to convince me I'm straight?"

"You never paged me to look at some hot guy's ass."

"It wasn't until a month or so ago I'd known you'd be interested. Next one that shows up at the clinic I'll speed dial you, I promise. As for the rest, bi remember? Besides it wasn't like I was getting any."

"How about the hookers?"

"They come in all shapes and sizes you know, with and without fun bags."

Wilson stopped right in front of House, looked down at him and softly spoke, "And me? Okay I get why you didn't say anything when you thought I was straight, but how about after that? Why did you wait till now?"

House looked up into Wilson's face stalling for time while he tried to think of a lie. Unfortunately, his mouth worked faster than his brain and he was horrified to hear the truth come spilling out of it.

"Because tonight was the first time I knew you'd be interested."

Wilson smiled and leaned over until his face was an inch from House's, "Dick Guy?"

House gulped and nodded, "Daniel." 

Shit! He didn't believe it. What the hell had come over him to actually make him admit the truth? And now Wilson wasn't saying anything, just looking at him with his own version of the puppy dog eyes and he did it a hell of a lot better then House ever could. But he still wasn't talking, and House desparately needed him to, though he wasn't sure which would be worse, outright rejection or a vow of eternal, undying love.

What he got was neither. Wilson finally broke his gaze and slowly straightened up. Then he  turned and walked to the door. He hesitated for a moment and then looked back at House over his shoulder, his face impassive and his hands relaxed at his side.

"Okay, let's do it."

Okay, I started a piece a while ago where House drags Wilson out of his big ole closet. Unfortunately it's hit a couple of snags and I doubt I'll ever finish it, but I liked this bit and think it stands pretty much alone. I've split it into two parts and will post the second in a few days after I'm done obsessing over the editing.


Title: The Real Deal

Author: Kickthecane

Pairing: House/Wilson

Rating: R (naughty words, some sexual situations) will eventually graduate to a PG17 at least

Warnings: Silliness ensues along with sex. Set in the spring after all the Tritter nonsense.

Disclaimer: Fox owns, I just pretend.

Summary: House is in a giving mood and Wilson wonders what it's going to cost him.

No betas so all the mistakes are mine alone.




The Real Deal



It'd seemed like a good idea at the time. Wilson'd moved into his new place a couple of weeks ago and knowing Dr Anal Retentive as well as he did, House figured all boxes were unpacked, pictures hung and furniture placed just so. In other words, chances were good he could visit without fear of being of being told to get off his lazy ass and unpack the three sets of dishes Wilson had somehow managed to acquire even as he lost the kitchens they'd all been bought for. Who says divorce couldn't have it's funny side.

So he figured--since the aforementioned fired clay had undoubtedly found a new home in the shiny, almost looks like wood, pressed board and laminate kitchen cabinetry of Wilson's overpriced and under-insulated condo--he'd grace his friend with his presence and a bag full of take-out. Add the twelve pack of Rolling Rock, the 3D version of Wildcat Women and two pairs of those snazzy cardboard viewing glasses and he knew he'd be welcomed with open arms.

Once in a while even House can make a mistake.

His first clue came when he banged on the door and no one answered though he was pretty sure he could hear movement behind the less than sound-proofed walls. The second was when he knocked again and Wilson answered with a muffled, "House, go the fuck away. I'm busy."

Now for a normal mortal this would have been a pretty big hint, but House being House just took if for an invitation to use the key he'd appropriated when Wilson left the spare on his desk after the closing. He juggled bag and cane under one arm and stuck the shiny new piece of metal into the lock and leaned in. The door being as new as the key and recently oiled worked way better than House expected and a second later he found himself halfway into the living room, hopping desperately on his good leg like some demented one-legged bunny; cane, bag and DVD complete with snazzy viewing glasses left behind in a trail of squashed cheese steaks with peppers and extra sauce. Fortunately he'd left the beer in the hall for later retrieval.

That's when House finally realized Wilson was serious about wanting to be alone.

Well, maybe not alone. Wilson had company. And okay, maybe company wasn't exactly the right word either, but Wilson sure was entertaining. At least House assumed the other guy was entertained since he seemed to have no problem standing there with his dick hanging out while Wilson knelt in front of him with one hand on said appendage and his mouth only a silly millimeter away from following its lead.

"Oops," House smiled brightly and ignored Wilson's groan, "my bad."

"House," Wilson disentangled himself with as much dignity as he could, which was precious little at that point, and slumped down into an embarrassed heap on the floor, "don't you ever listen to anything I say?"

House considered the question for a second or two, "Um, no." He turned and leaned down and shoveled the sad remains of his favorite meal off the recently immaculate beige carpeting and back into the sack. "Damn, I was really in the mood for a hoagie." He shrugged. "Got any eggs?"

"House…"

"That's okay," House straightened up holding the dripping bag, "I'll look for myself. You guys hungry?"

"I could eat." Dick Guy grinned easily and just like that House was pretty sure he wasn't going to become his second best friend.

"No you couldn't." Wilson hissed and stood up looking first at House in a silent plea and when that didn't work, back at Dick Guy, "And for god's sake zip up your pants!"

Dick Guy shrugged good naturedly and obediently stuffed and zipped and never lost his amused smile. Yeah, House decided, he really didn't like him at all.

"Look," Dick Guy was looking at House and appeared to think he could make this situation less awkward, which made House think there was another reason to not put him on his Christmas list—he was stupid. "I didn't mean to invade anybody's territory. Jim didn't say he had a boyfriend."

"I don't."

"He's shy."

"House!"

"But you guys seem pretty cool so maybe we can salvage the night with a threes…"

"Daniel!"

"Daniel?"

"House!"

"Yeah, yeah, Who's on third," House was getting a little tired of this game and besides, his stomach was growling. "I'll be in the kitchen." He limped off leaving a trail of greasy onions and pizza sauce in his wake.

Of course he only got as far as the door before he lobbed the bag into the sink and ducked behind the door so he could eavesdrop. Unfortunately Wilson knew him really well too, so for the next few minutes the only thing House could hear was a low murmur of voices, one 'I'm sorry,'—Wilson's; one 'Give me a call sometime.'—Dick Guy's and the quiet shutting of the front door.

Ten seconds later Wilson was in the kitchen talking to House's backside as he rummaged in the fridge. "Do you even understand the meaning of the words private space?"

House continued to search the refrigerator like it held the meaning of life, "I have a word of my own. Stethoscope."

Wilson threw his hands up in the air, or at least House assumed he did since he still wasn't turning around. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I tell you I had plans tonight? Plans that most definitely did not include you."

"Well sure," House pulled an arm out of the fridge and threw some cheddar in the direction of the counter, "but you didn't say what kind of plans. I thought you were just going to be your normal OCD self and review cases all night." He straightened up holding eggs, butter and a carton of milk. "My coming over here was a mission of mercy; I was rescuing you."

"Un huh, and when you saw I wasn't working?"

House shrugged, "It was still a rescue." He shook his head sadly, "That guy was so wrong for you."

"You figured that out just by looking at him?"

"Well you gotta admit I saw quite a bit." House batted his eyes innocently and waited for the blush on Wilson's cheeks to really settle in. "Though when it comes right down to it, what I saw wasn't all that much."

"House!"

"Got any hot sauce? I'm really in the mood for something spicy."

"I don't get it."

"You buy it all the time."

"That isn't what I meant." Wilson was pacing, or as least he was trying to; it's not easy when you're in a 5'x8' space. "First you make this big production about how I should deal with things and admit I'm gay and now that I have you apparently don't want me to do anything about it."

"That is so not true," House honestly looked offended, which was a big tip-off that he was being insincere. "Who gave you the rainbow tie? Bought you the complete DVD collection of Joe Gage's Working Men Trilogy? Got you a five-year subscription to Playgirl?"

"That's your idea of being support…? Wait, Playgirl?"

"Damn, I ruined the surprise."

"Please tell me you're joking."

"Don't worry, none of your neighbors will ever know. I had it sent to your office."

"I'm in hell."

"I thought it would be a nice break from all those boring cancer rags."

"Gay hell."

"Aw come-on Jimmy or would you rather I call you Jim?"

"And apparently it's celibate."

"Hot sauce?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"This is a stupid movie."

Silence.

"My glasses don't work."

Silence again, only more eloquent.

"Maybe I should try and make the screen bluer."

"House, forget it, you've already made it so blue if feels like I'm watching this piece of crap at the bottom of a swimming pool and it's so dark in here I can't find my beer."

"I still can't believe you didn't see it in the hall."

"I had other things on my mind."

"You let it get warm."

"Who left it in the hall in the first place?"

"It tastes like shit warm, no matter what Brits like Chase say."

"Chase doesn't say that. He's Australian, they like their beer cold."

"Tomato, tomahto."

The credits were rolling. Thank you Jesus, Wilson thought to himself as he groped around until he found the lamp on the side table by nearly knocking it over. He fumbled some more until he was able to twist the knob and winced when the bulb, which he was accidentally staring at, almost blinded him. He blinked until the dots finally cleared then looked down at the ungainly lump at his feet. He nudged a rib with the toe of his shoe.

"Get up and go home."

"Don't wanna, I'm too comfortable."

"You're on the floor."

"Yeah, I really like this carpet, it's all soft and fuzzy."

"Don't forget filthy too thanks to you." Wilson stopped abruptly. The last thing he wanted to do was bring up House's memorable entrance earlier. So far his friend had been unusually silent about the whole thing and Wilson didn't want to cue him to make up for lost time. Especially since one aspect of the thing seemed to have escaped his own personal Sherlock's usually razor sharp powers of deduction.

In fact when he thought about it, except for those few cracks in the kitchen, House hadn't mentioned what he'd seen. Maybe, Wilson thought, he'd been more shocked than he'd let on. After all it was one thing to be okay with knowing your best friend was gay, quite another to actually see what exactly that entailed.

He'd think about that later. Right now it was time to get one best friend out the door or at least stashed somewhere so he could go to his own room and pout in private about his ruined plans to finally get laid and see if sex with another guy was as good as he thought it was going to be. Of course it wasn't going to be as great as it could… Nope not going to think about that—not now, not ever.

"Either get up and go home or crash in the guest room. Your pick."

"I still can't believe you actually turned a perfectly good office into a guest room."

"I don't need an office. I have one at work. Besides," he pointed to the credenza, which right now just looked like a big honking piece of carved wood, but when the doors were opened, housed his computer, files and he had to admit, his home office. "I have that."

House shuddered, "Nice of Julie to give you all the ugly furniture."

"She didn't! I asked for…" Wilson sputtered, "And I needed a guest room."

"For what?"

"Oh I don't know, guests maybe?"

House snorted, "What guests? Any women—oops sorry, that was last year—men, you have over will be sharing your bed and I'm your only friend and I like sleeping on the couch."

Wilson raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at the carpet.

"Okay, not this couch, but if you'd bought the one I liked."

"Leopard print with a built in vibrator? Not going to happen."

"You have no style."

"So go make friends with Martha Stewart. Come on I'm serious, get up while I go make your bed."

"Aw but Mo-om, can't I stay up for another half hour?"

"Not a chance, but if you're good and get into your jimmies right now, I'll let you read for a little while."

"Jammies."

"That's what I said."

"No, you said jimmies."

"I did not."

"Yes, you did. I wonder why you said that?"

"Nothing to wonder about because that isn't what I said."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did."

"Not."

"Uh huh."

"You're stalling."

"Is it working?"

"Nope."

"Damn."

"I'll get you some sheets for the bed and there's a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. Use it." Wilson turned on his heel and ignored the "Yes mom." comment that came from the direction of the floor.

He found the sheets in the hall closet. They were still in their plastic wrapping and so stiff it took him a half dozen or so good shakes before they unbent enough to open up. He smiled, House hated new sheets, said they were too scratchy. With any luck they'd give him a rash. It was the least he deserved after ruining Wilson's plans. Although, and he paused as the thought hit him, if he was honest with himself (Which he rarely was, but there's an acception to every rule.) he wasn't really all that upset about House's surprise visit

Something else to think about. Later. Maybe. Maybe not.

He was almost done making up the bed when House finally limped into the room. It was amazing how good House was at timing his entrances so that he got out of anything resembling work. He pulled up the duvet and threw the extra blanket back on the foot of the bed then turned to go to his own room.

House leaned into his face and blew out a huge gust of air. "See, Mom, minty fresh."

"Your dentist would be so proud."

"Now about those jimmies?" House smirked.

And Wilson ignored him. "There're sweats in the second drawer."

"Cool."

"Goodnight House." Wilson turned once again to leave.

"Hey Wilson, just one question."

He sighed, "House you know where the glasses are, and the water, and I am not…"

"Nah, not thirsty. I just wanted to ask you something."

Suddenly Wilson was exhausted. It had been a very long and fairly disappointing day. "Couldn't it wait until morning?"

"Sure," House said amenably, which would have made Wilson nervous if he wasn't so focused on leaving. "I just wondered," House raised his voice a little since Wilson was already out of the room and halfway to his own, but he still sounded only pleasantly curious, "why you were willing to settle for a substitute when you could have the real thing?"

This is a new thing for me so forgive me if I do something stupid with formatting etc. This lj is only for my fiction and at the pace I write that means it's going to be pretty sparce.

I do have something for today though. It's fanfic, gasp, for House MD and deals with the relationship between House and Wilson. It's also incredibly fluffy without an angst bunny in sight. Okay maybe a small 'aw' moment is stuck in there somewhere, but hey it's House fic, and aren't there rules about that somewhere? It's not slash, though I don't guarantee I'll always be so demur.

I hope you enjoy it.
-Kick


Title: What's For Lunch
Rating: G friendship not slash unless you squint really, really hard
Disclaimer: Not mine and sadly never will be
Word Count: 942
Summary: It's lunchtime and House isn't hungry.

First post here, first House fic, first fan fic. I'd say I was a virgin, but that would be pushing it. Not beta'd so the mistakes are mine.

What's for Lunch?


"Have you seen that new P-Capper on 5D? Wanda?" House took a tray off the pile, but didn't grab any silverware. Instead, he just stood there swinging the thing in his hand.

"Her name is Wynona," Wilson did a little dance to dodge House's makeshift weapon and grabbed a tray for himself. "You might want to remember that unless you're aiming to piss off yet another pharmacist."

"Whatever." He started flipping the tray up in the air. "The name isn't important, but she's got an ass you could flip quarters off of."

Wilson grimaced, "That's a kind of disturbing image actually. Besides, I think she's married."

House shrugged to show he was completely uninterested in the woman's marital status, "She wants me."

"Again?" Wilson examined a fork, and tried to decide if it was dried egg or mustard on the tines. "That's the third time this month you've proven fatally attractive to new staff." He gave up and grabbed another one, tarnished, but at least egg free.

House leered, "What can I say, I'm a babe magnet." He limped backward, looking at Wilson, the tray, now along with his cane, tucked under his arm.

"And you know this because?" Wilson snagged a salad and a couple of packs of Thousand Island dressing. "Aren't you eating?"

"Not hungry, and isn't it obvious?" House looked at the tray in his hand and then lobbed it back down the line towards a surprised nurse who caught it before it crashed into her own. He ignored her yelp and subsequent glare and instead twirled his cane suggestively at his friend.

"What? Cripples are sexy?" Wilson looked down at his tray and sighed. He traded the thousand island for ranch and added an extra scoop of croutons to his salad along with four more cherry tomatoes.

"Exactly." House filched a crouton off the salad. "It's that whole tragic hero thing, the Heathcliff effect." He threw a bag of barbecue potato chips on Wilson's tray and as an afterthought, a huge piece of chocolate cake.

"Heathcliff. Stop me if I'm wrong, but wasn't he the guy who ran out into a killer storm to chase after his girlfriend never to be seen again? His 'dead' girlfriend who, by the way, had chosen to marry another man? And I'm not paying for those."

"But I got them just for you." House batted his eyes and failed miserably at trying to look innocent.

Wilson had to admit it did look like good cake. They'd gotten to the steam table. He smiled; they had eggplant parmesan, which amazingly was one of the few things the cafeteria got right.

"Ewww, what's that?" House pointed at the entrée Wilson was already salivating over.

"You know what it is; I've made it for you before."

"And I didn't eat it. Oh look, they've got Reubens again."

"House, they always have them. Even the cooks have figured out it's practically the only thing you'll eat besides peanut butter and chips."

"And cherry tomatoes." To prove his point House stole one off Wilson's salad. "And the point is Heathcliff is a tragic romantic figure. Chicks dig tragedy."

"It's a wonder you don't have to beat them away with your cane, literally."

"As cripple jokes go that was pretty lame."

"So was your pun." Wilson smiled charmingly at the food server. He figured being extra nice to the cafeteria staff kind of made up for House and kept them both from getting spitballs in their food. "I'll have some of the eggplant. It looks great as always."

House whimpered stopping both the lunch lady and Wilson in their tracks.

"What?" Wilson was using his concerned voice, his eyes automatically lowering to look at Houses right leg.

"You aren't seriously going to get that?"

Wilson sighed and consciously relaxed his shoulders as he looked back up at House's face, "I like it."

"But I don't." House's whine was the perfect imitation of a nine-year-old girl begging for a pony.

"Which surprisingly enough works really well for me."

"Don't you like Reubens? I mean they're kind of your heritage and all."

"Yeah if I'd been raised over a deli. And they're okay, but today I want the eggplant."

"I bet it's not even kosher."

"Need I remind you my mother served ham for Hanukah last year?"

"It was good too. Course not as good as a Reuben."

Wilson grabbed his forehead like that would keep it from exploding. "House if you want a Reuben, get it. I'll buy."

"Well, duh! But I told you, I'm not hungry."

"Then, then…" Wilson spluttered as House leaned both hands on his cane and grinned that smile he only seemed able to dredge up for the other doctor.

"Elementary. See I'm not hungry enough for a whole sandwich, but if I had a friend…"

"Which is getting more theoretical by the minute."

House ignored the interruption, "…if I had a friend who just happened to have a big Reuben sandwich that he couldn't finish then I bet, being my friend and all, he'd let me have a bite."

"I'll finish it." Wilson realized he'd made a tactical error when the corners of House's mouth started to twitch. "That is I could finish it if I was going to eat it, which I'm not because…"

At that point, the food server slid the piece of eggplant parmesan back into the warming pan and turned to the stack of sandwiches. "No dressing right?"

Wilson took the plate from the woman's hand and wondered where he'd stashed his copy of The Complete Italian Vegetarian Cookbook. It was time to cook another dinner for House.