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Out Tonight
by Miss Diagnosis
What's the time
Well it's gotta be close to midnight
My body's talking to me
It says "Time for danger"
"I'm bored."
Surrounded by a tower of charts, James Wilson tried to ignore his friend's whine, hoping he'd get bored with him and go away. Unfortunately, the chance of that was as good as his winning the lottery without buying a ticket.
"Wil-l-l-l-l-son.....c'mon, where's your sense of adventure?"
"House, you really need to get a hobby, one that doesn't involve a partner. I hear that the Lab guys have a running game of Trivial Pursuit at Woody's every Thursday."
"No drugs, sex, or rock and roll? Cruel, man, no can do."
"Vicodin, hookers who make house calls, and your iPod...need I say more?" Wilson scoffed with a look of bemused tolerance.
"I can do all of that at home or here which means it's only fun if I'm escaping from Cuddy-induced hard labor in the Clinic concentration camp."
"Well, I'm afraid I can't get you off the chain gang that I'm chained to myself, so go find something to amuse yourself. I've got at least two more hours of charting before I can begin to think about leaving."
With a thoughtful look on his face, House walked out of Wilson's office in search of three ducklings he could roast on his spit until Wilson was ready to go. Two hours to find something they could do tonight. Ah, the smell of danger was in the air...somewhere.
It says "I wanna commit a crime
Wanna be the cause of a fight
Wanna put on my tight shirt and flirt
With a stranger"
House's fellows were working hard at nothing, their usual modus operandi when there wasn't a new case to keep them busy. Foreman had the latest issue of JAMA on his laptop while Cameron was being her usual overly solicitous self, wading through House's mountain of mail which her boss would have otherwise swept into File 13, unopened. Chase had the Entertainment section of the paper, working on the crossword as House pushed open the door to the conference room.
"Heads up, thralls! The Dungeon Master has returned and needs a diversion."
"That's it! A six-letter word for slave!" Chase exclaimed, hurriedly filling in the empty spaces for 13 across. "I told you minion didn't fit."
"We couldn't find any interesting cases, House. The Hospital's been surprisingly quiet this week. I just checked thirty minutes ago," Foreman told him, the usual exasperated resignation plastered on his face.
Cameron pulled a few envelopes out of the pile she had already opened, hesitantly saying, "We could get back with one of these..."
Before she could finish, House cut her off. "Not that kind of diversion. I'm looking for the after-work, fun kind with just enough danger to amuse me, but not cause Wilson to have a coronary which rules out skateboarding, ice-skating, and bungee-jumping."
"Did you check the newspaper?" Chase asked him disinterestedly without looking up, holding out the newspaper sections without the crossword.
"There are no monster truck jams in town, no good rock concerts tonight, and no sporting events where I wouldn't have to climb three hundred steps just to get a nosebleed."
"I hear there's a new play opening at the Majestic; it's supposed to be very good." Cameron told him, hopeful that she might be asked to go along.
Wise to her desperate attempt, House squashed her expectation. "Yeah, that would be right up Wilson's alley, but where's the risk in that? No talking, no laughing, no eating, no drinking...hmmm...what's wrong with that picture?"
"You can't sit still for 30 minutes. You're worse than a kid." Cameron told him, her frown of disgust apparent in her voice. "For once you might think of someone else besides yourself."
"Well....no, that'd just make him think he was a good influence on me, which of course he's not. Anyway, the last time I indulged Wilson that little treat he wrung out all the entertainment value I was having conversing with the actors."
Naively misunderstanding, true to her nature, Cameron asked with concern, "He wouldn't let you talk to the actors after the show?"
"Not exactly, after, more like during. Apparently, it's a major faux pas when you call out lines to improve the dialogue." House told them with a faked air of incredulity. "I had to scrape Wilson out from under the seats; he was stuck there tighter than gum on a movie theatre floor."
"Can't you just once have fun like a normal person?" Foreman argued for lack of something better to do.
"That would assume I aspire to normalcy. I would be hazarding my reputation of eccentricity for an alternative lifestyle I wouldn't even have to hide in the closet for."
"With your one-liners, you'd give Seinfeld a run for his money." Chase told him with a slight twist of his lips.
With the intensity that only overcomes his face when someone's casual statement sets his ever brilliant mind turning words until they fit the missing piece of the puzzle, House's lips quirked into a smile, and he walked into his office after snatching the newspaper out of Chase's hand, crossword unfinished.
I've had a knack from way back
For breaking the rules once
I learned the games
Get up life's too quick
I know someplace sick
Where this chick'll dance in the flames
We don't need any money
I always get in for free
You can get in too if you get in with me
Let's go out tonight
House was waiting by PPTH's lobby elevators when James Wilson exited, briefcase in hand, filled with work he intended to complete later that evening.
"Ready to go?"
"Go where, House? I have only "R's" on my agenda tonight: Repast, Rest of Paperwork, and Repose for at least 6 hours of sleep. That implies my destination is the fourth "R"...my Residence."
"You missed an "R," and you promised, Wilson!" House told him with the petulance usually reserved for six year-olds with a talent for sticking their lower lip out.
"I don't remember promising anything, and what did I miss?"
"Recreation! And I've got just the thing, we can...."
"Oh, no you don't! Whatever, wherever, whoever it is, the answer is emphatically, categorically, NO!" Wilson backpedaled as only someone frequently ensnared in more than one of House's schemes would wisely do.
"You can't say no yet, maybe it's something you'll like!" House argued.
Finger-made quotation marks emphasized Wilson's use of the possessive. "Why is it that even when it's one of `my recreational activities,' as you so quaintly put it, I still end up looking for a noose to hang myself with? Need I remind you of the last theatrical experience you humored me to attend?"
"Spoil-sport...I'm just trying to keep you from taking yourself too seriously," House volleyed.
"That implies you know how to be serious," Wilson told him, the truth of House's words hitting a little too close to home.
"Well, this time's different; we've never done this before. There's no way for you to get hurt or for me to get in trouble. It's OK to laugh; in fact they want you to laugh. I'll even take care of the sixth `R'--Recompense for tonight's Repast and Recreation."
"Somehow, I'm sure it will still involve my providing Restitution before the night is over," Wilson trying with great difficulty to top his friend's word game with the seventh `R.'
"Nah, I don't think they give Refunds, but I'll be sure to Reimburse you, as usual, if I come up short." House upping the ante with double `R's'.
Intrigued in spite of his wariness of anything House deemed amusement, Wilson did get the final `R.' Resigning himself to a night of `God-knows-what-he'll do next,' he followed his friend out the hospital doors to the parking lot.
I have to go out tonight
You wanna play? Let's run away
We won't be back
Before it's New Year's Day
Take me out tonight! Meow!
When I get a wink from the doorman
Do you know how lucky you'll be?
That you're on line with the fiend of 221B
Let's go out tonight
I have to go out tonight
Walking down the single step of the downtown bistro, L'Etoile Verte, Wilson was pleasantly sated enough by the wonderful meal they'd just finished to forget his caution of House's plans for the evening. Walking in step with his friend, he started to head for the car, but was pulled up short by a tug on the sleeve of his coat.
"We don't need to drive. It's right down the block."
"Where are we going?" Wilson asked, following anyway as he was prone to do when jerked by his clothing. "Just tell me; you don't have to pull me like a dog on a leash."
"You haven't been obedience trained, so it's necessary. Be glad I didn't bring your choke collar." House teased as he turned into the seedy-looking doorway of a building with darkened windows.
Looking up overhead on the awning, Wilson spotted the name `Monkey Business' and his worst fears were turning his recent meal to the acid burn of indigestion. "Now, remind me why I shouldn't be worried by this? Lap dancing? Stripping? Karaoke?"
"We've done all those, silly. I told you, this was something new. It just opened last week, according to the ad in the paper."
"So when you said, there's a new restaurant downtown you want to try, that was just code for this club that happens to have a restaurant a couple doors down."
"Oh, come on, it's just a clever name for a comedy club. I told you it was just for laughs...what's to be afraid of."
Again warily following his friend through the door, Wilson was pleasantly surprised to see it was just what House said it was. Adjusting to the darkness, Wilson took in the tables, dimly lit by candles, with a bar in the back. The room was semi-filled with patrons who were quietly laughing at the antics of a comedian currently working his way through a series of bawdy jokes. Reassured by the seemingly safe entertainment, he followed House to a vacant table near the front of the stage and sat across from his friend.
When the waitress came back with their drinks, Wilson relaxed back into the chair to get the start of a pleasant buzz going. The combination of alcohol and a full belly soon had him relaxed enough to enjoy the humor, and the laughter was soon bubbling out of him in response to the gentle hilarity. House, too, seemed to enjoy the comedic joking, openly laughing with the rest of the club's customers. As the next comedian took the stage, Wilson was surprised when they were joined by three newcomers.
"Ah, if it isn't Larry, Curly, and Moe...what brings you here, tonight? Wilson and I were just down the street having dinner," House said, acting surprised, with the emphasis on acting.
"You ordered us to be here no later than 9pm, House!" Foreman told him incredulously, taking the seat next to him.
"Just remember you said, your treat," Chase reminded him, pulling up a chair on each side of Wilson for Cameron and himself.
Wilson was now sitting at the table like a fox, alert to the sound of the approaching dogs. Knowing when to beat a hasty retreat, he started to rise from the table but made the fatal mistake of reaching for his wallet, thinking paying the bar bill would placate his companion. House quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him forward so that he lost his balance, having to catch himself on the chair next to House, recently vacated by Foreman who had gone to retrieve drinks from the bar.
"I was just going to the men's room, House!"
"Sure, you were. Last time I checked the cash register isn't next to the urinals."
"Why did you ask them to come?"
With a mock look of confusion, House told him, "You're always ragging on me to get my staff to bond. I'm only encouraging their teamwork."
With that a voice from the stage made an announcement that sent a chill straight down Wilson's spine. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, it's your turn to provide the monkey shines at Monkey Business. There's a $100 prize for the man or woman who can win our Comedy Contest by telling the best joke or comedy routine! Who will rise to the challenge?" the voice demanded.
You wanna prowl
Be my night owl?
Well take my hand we're gonna howl
Out tonight
In the evening I've got to roam
Can't sleep in the city of neon and chrome
Feels too damn much like home
When the Spanish babies cry!
So let's find a bar
So dark we forget who we are
Where all the scars from the
Nevers and maybes die
Let's go out tonight uh-huh
"Well, don't expect me to get up there, not for $1000 much less $100," Wilson told House.
"Nah...that's no fun."
"When is your turn?"
"Not in my league, I wouldn't want to make them cry. Besides, that's not near as fun as what I've got in mind."
Wilson didn't like the sound of that comment, but didn't see a way to make good his escape without a scene as House's arm was slung over the back of his chair and the steel grip of his fingers was firmly entrenched in his shoulder.
Contestant after contestant got up to take a turn at stand-up comedy. House had his hey day, heckling each and every one, turning the would-be comedians into straight men to his quips. The audience loved it, and went wild with ever-increasing laughter. No one was immune, and the diagnostician found a new way to sharpen his wit-sharpened tongue, some of the jokes at the expense of those at his table. Luckily, it was mostly all in good fun, and the contestants left the stage seemingly unperturbed.
One of the contestants, a stocky, well-muscled mountain of a man in overalls took the stage and introduced himself as Jerry and that he was a mechanic for one of the local car dealerships. Jerry talked with a typical "Joysey" accent, and he started telling jokes about life in the garage, to which the audience gently humored him with laughter and an occasional groan. Wilson kept an eye on House the whole time, waiting for the shoe to drop. House seemed to be silently enjoying this guy, and Wilson thought maybe House had run out of steam until Jerry started talking about one of his customers, Dr. Kaiser.
"Doctors, they think they're the only guys who're smart and should get paid the loot for what they do. I have this big time heart surgeon, Dr. Kaiser, as a customer who is so full of himself, like he's the only pro on the block and I'm just dirt on his shoe. I make it my job to take him down a peg or two. I was removing some engine valves from his car on the lift one day. `Hey, Kaiser. Is dat you? Come over here a minute' I ask him, real nice-like. He strolled over ta me as if he was doin' me a favor so I told him, `So Mr. fancy doctor, look at this work. Just like you, I take valves out, grind `em, put in new parts, and when I'm finished, this baby will purr like a kitten. Tell me why I shouldn't get paid big bucks like you when we do da same work?" Jerry seemed pretty pleased with his seemingly witty comparison of their work. That is until a lone voice from the audience, spoke out before Jerry could continue his comedy schtick.
"No, dude, you still got a ways to go for the big bucks. There's one tee-tiny difference, between us that you're missing."
Jerry, caught off guard, made the mistake of asking his challenger, "What ya talkin' about? You a doctor?"
"Yes, and before you get the big head, try doing your work with the engine running."
The audience roared and Jerry's face turned a dark shade of red, embarrassed at having his joke turned on him by someone whose profession he had used as the subject of his joke, no less. As fumes almost came out of the man's flaring nostrils, Jerry left the stage to the laughter of the club's customers, glaring at the man with the cane, sitting smugly at the table. Jerry left him with a look that clearly said "in da parking lot---later."
"House! That man looks like he might have mob connections...watch what you say!" Wilson hissed at him.
Unrepentant, House just made a "finger gun" and blew off the non-existent smoke after shooting it at Wilson.
Wilson, always trying to bring House to an awareness of the feelings of others, couldn't help himself. Without thinking of the consequences, he turned to his friend and loudly told him, in a voice that the audience could hear, "Dr. House, you might work with the engine running, but you always have the same model, it hasn't changed since God made Adam. Jerry, there, has to keep up with new models that come out every year."
This gave the audience a reason to change sides suddenly, with a newcomer added to the melee. Voices rejoined, "Yeah, what he said" and "He got ya there, doc" was accompanied by more laughter, this time directed at House.
Wilson was still eyeing Jerry, hoping that his joke on his friend would dissuade the mechanic from pounding House when they left the club later. Unfortunately, he missed House's glare at him followed by rubbing his hands together eagerly as a new contestant prepared to take the stage.
The next contestant, a cocky-looking guy in a suit hustled onto the stage and introduced himself as Alan and told them that he was a lawyer.
"Oh, yeah, you're the new guy with Snake Shark, and Wolf over on 4th, aren't you?" came the rejoinder from the PPTH table.
The lawyer thought he'd try to console Jerry and at the same time, put the sarcastic, heckling doctor in his place. He told the audience and Jerry that they shouldn't worry about the good doctor or any doctor because they all think they have a God complex.
Wilson cringed, silently praying that House would let it go and not take it for the opener that he knew it could be. After all, he himself had jokingly accused his friend of thinking himself God on more than one occasion. His prayers were to be unanswered tonight.
"You've got it wrong. It's God who has a doctor complex."
The lawyer wasn't so easily intimidated. Alan pulled a small piece of paper out of his inside pocket, and scrutinized it closely. "Ah yes, I have your prescription you wrote me on my last visit, Doctor. Did you know that I've used it as a railroad pass, and twice, it got me into Radio City Music Hall. It also came in handy to get me into Yankee Stadium, and my daughter played it on the piano and won a scholarship to the Wilson Music Conservatory."
"Well at least we lowly doctors still have to worry about sharks attacking us which is more than lawyers can say."
"Sticks and stones, doctor. That's just a nickname like sawbones."
"Yeah, but I was talking about the kind that swim in the sea. They don't attack lawyers...professional courtesy, you know."
"Cold, doctor, very cold, but not all that funny."
"Yeah, it's so cold outside that I saw you with your hands in your own pockets for a change."
"This from the profession who routinely plays with rats in the name of science. Birds of a feather flock together, seems to me." Alan wasn't going down without a fight, it would seem.
"Nah, I like rats. I have a pet rat named Steve McQueen."
"He really does!" Cameron added helpfully, trying to defuse the situation.
House turned an icy stare on her to shut her up. She was no match for the master. "Did you know we docs are now using lawyers instead of rats for scientific experiments? Know why that is? Because one, there are many more lawyers than there are rats; two, there is no danger of forming any attachment to the lawyers; and three, there are certain things that even rats won't do!
The audience came back with nervous laughter from the seemingly imminent confrontation between the two men.
"Doctors are always talking their lingo to convince us of their self-importance. If you ask Dr. House what a headache is, he would tell you, "It's an aspirin deficiency."
"Yeah, but doctors are way more important than lawyers!" House said with marked exaggeration. "Did you ever hear anyone get up in a crowd and shout frantically, `Is there a lawyer in the house?"
By now, Alan had jumped down off the stage to walk up to House's table, and Jerry had come up to stand next to him. The people in the club could smell the blood of a fight and were cheering them on, with "JER-RY! JER-RY!" and "Go lawyer, Go lawyer, Go lawyer, Go!" Wilson was suspicious of Cameron's and Chase's absence and turning to look towards the bar, he saw the young doctor appearing to be taking bets, with Cameron pulling on his arm, trying to make him stop.
"House, stop now, for God's sake, stop it! This could get ugly, stop arguing with him!" Wilson pleaded.
Hooking a thumb at the lawyer, House told Wilson, "Relax, Wilson! Arguing with a lawyer is like mud wrestling with a pig; after awhile you realize that the pig actually enjoys it!"
"If you don't stop now, Cuddy will have to find you a new lawyer, House and you know PPTH has used up most of them in the phone book on you," Foreman added, trying to help Wilson rein in his boss.
"Like that would help. Changing lawyers is like moving to a different deck chair on the Titanic," House scoffed.
Alan was getting desperate and he stooped to a light bulb joke, much to the audience's dismay.
"Know how many docs it takes to screw in a light bulb? Only one but like Dr. House, here, he has to have a nurse tell him which end to screw in."
"Well, you know how many lawyers it takes to screw in a light bulb? Oh, I forgot, none. Lawyers only screw us."
Seeing a confrontation which he might have to break up, Wilson decided a new tactic was in order to turn the rising tide of anger he sensed coming from the perturbed contestants.
Wilson turned to his friend, trying to re-direct the snarky jibes to himself. He ratcheted his voice up a few decibels, as he ranted at House, "Maybe you need to get an Optirectomy to sever the cord that runs from your eyes to your rectum, and hopefully get rid of your shitty outlook on life."
Alan turned an admiring eye on Wilson, while Jerry clapped Wilson on the back, the muscled behemoth almost knocking him off his chair. It appeared he had gained a fan club he didn't really want, knowing it wouldn't help get his friend to cease and desist.
House turned to his friend and got to his feet, picking up his air guitar, and singing to him in his best Adam Ant parody.
"Goody two, goody two, goody goody two shoes
Goody two goody two, goody goody two shoes
Don't drink don't smoke--what do you do?
Don't drink don't smoke--what do you do?
Subtle innuendos follow
There must be something he's hiding."
Wilson gave a quiet chuckle. "Well, everyone knows your blood type. It's `B negative!"
Not to be topped, House shot back with a barb of his own. "This from the man who shops for future Mrs. Wilson's at "Needy `R Us!" Turning to the audience, he told them. "Wilson once had a fight with his wife over breakfast. As he stormed out of the house, he yelled back at her, `You aren't that good in bed either!' Like the wimp he is, he decided to call her up and make amends after he got to work, but it took 10 rings before she picked up. Wilson asked her what took her so long to get to the phone and she told him she was in bed. He asked her why she was still in bed at lunchtime, and she told him she was getting a second opinion."
The audience roared as Wilson's face turned red, that joke hitting a little too close for comfort with his first wife's fling with the cable guy. All bets off and the gloves on, Wilson let his lips loose without his brain's consent.
"Well, at least I don't have to buy sex like some people I know."
"Did you know that Dr. Wilson has been married three times?" House quickly asked the audience, completely ignoring Wilson's comment. "Wilson thinks that getting married is like going to a restaurant with friends. He orders what he wants; then, when he sees what the other guy has, he wishes he had ordered that."
"And House's idea of gift-giving in a meaningful relationship is bringing home a wool glove to give to his faithful right hand."
"Hey, don't knock masturbation! It's sex with someone I love!"
"You stole that joke from Woody Allen."
"Nah, he stole it from me. You think marriage was invented because it's only limited fun cheating at cards." Addressing the audience, House continued. "When Wilson wants to have sex with his wife, he thinks he's playing WHO WANTS TO BE A MILLIONAIRE. When his wife tells him, `Not tonight, dear, I have a headache,' he doesn't give up and asks her, `Is that your final answer?' When she tells him `Yes,' he's such an agreeable guy, he tells her `OK, then I'd like to phone a friend." House snickered.
"Yeah, and it's usually you I'm calling," Wilson volleyed back a truth, without thought. "If you're such an expert on marriage, why aren't you married?"
"Why else, Wilson? You haven't asked me yet! Guess I can't trust those voodoo doll rituals after all. And Mom was getting so excited about the possibility of a wedding."
"HOUSE!" Wilson hissed in a much more subdued voice. "We're not gay, and I'd prefer that my reputation remain intact as a long-standing heterosexual."
"I'm not sure about that. I told Stacy I was gay. No girlfriend, always with you, and I wear sneakers. Even she didn't argue with that logic."
By now, the ducklings were back at the table, and Foreman and Chase were about to bust a gut trying not to laugh at the two men. Cameron was watching Wilson closely, seeing a man who was no longer amused by the banter, with a look of hurt on his face while putting his coat on to leave.
"Don't go away mad at me, honey." Speaking to the audience, House told them, "Don't worry...he's not really mad. He just likes the great make-up sex we have. He always comes back no matter what I do."
Cameron's jaw dropped as she saw the color drain from Wilson's face. It was clear to her that this was no longer a game, but somehow House had used Wilson's feelings for him to see just how far he could push the younger man, yet again. Cameron knew that the two men shared a strong bond of friendship, but everyone had limits, and it seemed House had just stepped over the line.
The double entendre of House's last statement about Wilson drew blood. Wilson often wondered himself why he put up with the abuse but he didn't need it rubbed in his face. With ill-concealed emotion, Wilson turned back and told him, "Go to hell."
Wilson pushed through the tables of people who had turned back to their own conversations. House hung his head, tapping his cane on the floor, his humor evaporated like dew in the morning sun. He looked up into the eyes of Cameron who was frowning at him, clearly telling him to go after Wilson with a jerk of her head. His pride warred with her contempt, but in the end, she won. Emptying his wallet on the table to settle the bill, he got up from the table to limp after his friend, his leg stiff from too much sitting.
I have to go out tonight
You're sweet wanna hit the street?
Wanna wail at the moon like a cat in heat?
Out on the street, he realized with relief that Wilson hadn't sped off without him, because House had driven. Just down the street, Wilson was trying to hail a cab as it had just started to rain. Just as one pulled up and Wilson was about to get in, a quick push of the cane closed the door, and House leaned in to send the aggravated cabbie on his way.
"What kind of man do you think I am that I would leave my date stranded for a way home?"
"I'm not your date, and I wasn't stranded, House. I'm perfectly capable of taking a taxi home." Wilson's hurt and anger had deflated, leaving behind resigned defeat as he followed House to the car and got in the passenger door.
House didn't immediately start the car, but turned to his friend. "You are my date by my definition of the word--this is a social engagement between two people."
"The part of the definition you left out is that it's usually romantic in nature."
"I didn't leave it out, it was implied," House told him as he leaned closer to the other man. "Everywhere I go, everything I do--it's usually with you. If that's not dating, then I don't know what is."
"People who go on a date usually observe a certain behavior with one another. They're careful to try to please the other person. That's why they call it dating behavior."
"Maybe we just skipped dating and went straight to marriage...would explain our tendency to fight," House told him. "I'm sorry, Wilson. I was just looking for a bit of the old days, that's all. Somehow, things just....got out of hand."
"Things don't just happen, House. You make them happen and you always have to up the ante until someone gets hurt. I can't help that I care about you and don't want to see people get mad at you. God only knows, you never see how pissed off you make people or that your cane won't always protect you when you push them too far."
"You aren't responsible for me, Wilson. You can't protect me from everything, not even from myself," House whispered as he rubbed his thumb down Wilson's cheek to dry the raindrops that were running down his friend's face.
The emotional intensity between the two men was heavier than the humidity that was steaming up the windshield from their wet clothing. In spite of what Wilson had said in the club, it had always been there between them, unacknowledged, unspoken. As House's fingers continued to stroke Wilson's face, the two men drew closer together, and Wilson thought it was finally going to happen.
A knock on the windshield startled both men apart. Cameron's face appeared at House's window, and Wilson saw Chase and Foreman on the sidewalk behind her. He rolled down his window in disgust.
"Are you alright? You know he can be such an ass," she assured Wilson, pointedly ignoring her boss.
"Yeah, I'm fine, and I'm long familiar with this particular pain in the ass."
"And the ass is fine too, thanks for asking," House told her sarcastically, royally pissed at her for butting in where she wasn't needed or wanted.
"See you at work tomorrow, then," she answered reluctantly with a final concerned glance at Wilson, reserving the usual scowl for House as she walked away.
He didn't know what she had interrupted, but House just knew that the mood had changed. He turned to Wilson as he started the car. "Are we alright?"
Rubbing his forehead and pinching the bridge of his nose, Wilson felt the beginnings of a tension headache. "Yeah, House. Just take me home...it's been a long night."
House reflected on his `night out' with his friend and what he'd told Wilson about taking him home. Although he still thought it counted as a date, House let out a heavy sigh. With a self-deprecating smirk, he just knew that this was one date that wouldn't end up with a kiss at the door.
Just take me out tonight
Please take me out tonight
Don't forsake me - out tonight
I'll let you make me - out tonight
Tonight - tonight - tonight!
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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