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Food for Love
by Jaryn
On Monday it was a bit of a cinnamon donut.
House broke a bit off right from Wilson's hand while pacing Wilson's office and thinking out loud about his current case.
"Foreman wants to give the kid steroids, Chase thinks we should wait until we do a biopsy and Cameron is too busy crying about kiddie prostitutes to be any help whatsoever," House said before stuffing the bit of donut in his mouth.
Wilson contemplated what was left of his donut before taking another bite. He signed another stack of paperwork and glanced up at House. "So, what do you think?"
House stopped at the door to the balcony and sucked sugar off his finger. "Broken heart syndrome."
Wilson blinked a few times, his pen poised over the next form to sign. "You mean stress cardiomyopathy?"
"No. I mean the kid is literally dying from a broken heart," House said. "Brought up in a violent home, on the streets at eleven, prostituting at twelve, doing hard drugs probably a few months later to cope. No love. No affection. No hope. Not that surprising is it?"
"What would be slightly less surprising is that kind of life causing or exacerbating an actual condition that you just haven't been able to diagnose yet," Wilson finally said and looked down again.
A few minutes later House walked out without saying anything more.
On Tuesday it was a handful of fries.
Wilson had been sitting alone in the cafeteria, wondering why he'd even bothered to get lunch because he wasn't hungry, when House showed up and sat down across from him. His hand automatically reached for Wilson's untouched fries.
"So, you're a stud in bed," House announced after swallowing his first mouthful of purloined food.
It was a good thing Wilson wasn't eating anything right then because he probably would have choked. Instead, he just spluttered. "What?"
"Are you just a natural or is it a finely honed technique?" House went on, unperturbed.
Wilson glanced around quickly before glaring at him. "House."
"I'm thinking it's the technique. I can easily imagine you poring over the Karma Sutra or How to be a Bitch to Your Bitch."
Wilson pressed his forehead to the heel of his palm. "Please shut up."
"Come on, aren't you going to share your secrets?" House grabbed some more of Wilson's fries and sat back with a smirk.
"You said Bonnie told you I was..." Wilson gestured weakly in the air.
House shrugged. "I lied."
Wilson opened and closed his mouth a few times before he could manage to actually say anything. "And now you're ... trying to get me to reveal my secrets?"
"What can I say? I'm curious."
"You're insane."
House leaned back in. "Well, that's not a secret."
Wilson refused to say anything about his so-called `techniques', though he was tempted to make something truly ridiculous up, like that kissing a woman's ear and rubbing her stomach at the same time would give her an earth-shattering orgasm during sex.
What really stopped Wilson from saying anything at all though was the slightly disturbing idea that House had only started this particular conversation in the first place to cheer him up.
On Wednesday it was half of Wilson's salad sandwich.
Since he wanted to be alone, Wilson had opted to have lunch in his office. It therefore didn't surprise him at all that House showed up just as Wilson was about to take his first bite and promptly stole half of his sandwich. Wilson frowned, watching House as he complained bitterly about Foreman and Cameron in between eating his sandwich.
"Foreman's not going to leave and Cameron will always be Cameron. If you don't want her on your team then stop complaining and fire her."
House looked mildly surprised for a moment before he tilted his head and eyed Wilson curiously. "How do you know Foreman's not going to leave?"
"If he was going to leave he'd do it in a fit of anger and never mind the two weeks notice. He wants to be convinced to stay," Wilson said. "I think he has been convinced. He's just looking for the right time to withdraw his resignation letter. Probably he's hoping for you to beg, but saving that, it'll be after you save this kid with the broken heart."
House scratched at his neck, "And what happens if I don't save this kid with the broken heart?"
"You will," Wilson said.
"I will," House repeated doubtfully. "And where did this shining confidence in me come from? Is it the meds?"
Wilson almost laughed. "Trust me, it's not the meds."
On Thursday, it was a lollypop.
Wilson never usually ate them and he had no idea why he'd even had a sudden craving for one. Whatever the reason was, he'd ended up stealing one from a clinic exam room.
Of course, House did save the kid with the broken heart, diagnosing her with two entwined conditions that interfered with her heart and adrenal glands - a score for Foreman.
When House walked in to gloat, Wilson quickly took the lollypop out of his mouth, slightly embarrassed to be caught with one. And not only a lollypop but a red one; the ones House liked.
"All in all I think I was still right about the broken heart," House said and snatched the lollypop from Wilson's hand before putting it in his mouth and sucking on it.
Wilson stared at him in disbelief. "I ... just had that in my mouth."
"Come over to my place tomorrow night. I want to rent that new Bond film," House said, taking the lollypop out of his mouth to speak.
"You haven't invited me over in months," Wilson said, his disbelief growing monumentally.
"Well, now I am," House replied with an impatient pinched look to his face.
"Okay," Wilson said slowly.
House looked at the lollypop in his hand and what might have been a smile quirked at his lips. "Great. You can cook dinner then too."
"What?"
"Come on, I bet you're craving a home-cooked meal and since we both know I don't cook, I'm lending you the use of my kitchen."
"To cook you dinner," Wilson said with a frown.
"To cook us both dinner," House corrected, walking closer to Wilson's desk.
Without really thinking about what he was doing, Wilson reached out and snatched his lollypop back before putting it in his mouth. He was well aware that he probably had a childishly defiant expression on his face but he couldn't help it.
House stared at him for a moment before suddenly laughing. Wilson was sure he hadn't heard House laugh like that in a long time. "That's like totally gross, dude," House joked surfer-guy style and walked over to the door to leave. "See you tomorrow night."
On Friday, Wilson cooking dinner purposely for both of them didn't stop House stealing from Wilson's plate while they sat side-by-side on House's couch.
Of all the times out of all the years that House had been doing it, Wilson didn't know why he chose then to ask, "Why do you always steal my food?"
House glanced at him quickly, looked briefly back at the TV, and then suddenly focused on Wilson with an alarmingly intense expression.
"House?"
House just kept on staring.
"What, do I have something on my face?" Wilson lamely tried to joke and even raised his hand as if to check. House stopped him though, gripping Wilson's hand and pushing it back down to Wilson's thigh. He kept both their hands there.
"Are you suuuure you want to know?" House asked, raising his eyebrows.
Wilson tried to breathe normally even while his heart was suddenly thumping like a racehorse inside his chest. "Uh ... yes, I'm sure."
House leaned in and for one crazy moment, Wilson thought House was about to kiss him but at the last second, House twisted his head until his lips were next to Wilson's ear instead. "Immaturity, invasiveness, possessiveness, trust, intimacy. Love...of food."
Pulling back out of Wilson's space, House let go of his hand and stood up, walking away to the kitchen. "You want another beer?"
Wilson didn't answer; he felt paralysed. He was still in the same position when House came back with a new beer and went back to eating and watching the film.
"House," Wilson struggled to say a few minutes later.
"Shut up. I'm watching a movie here," House said lightly.
Wilson found himself smiling a little and settled back to watch the film as well.
About half an hour later, when they'd both finished eating and Wilson was absorbing the feel of House's body pressed alongside his own, even though there was ample space for them both to stretch out, he had the sudden realisation that he was waiting for something. That they both were. And they'd probably keep waiting until whatever they were waiting for just ... happened.
It didn't matter when it would happen. Maybe it didn't even matter if it did happen at all, but only that the possibility was there.
"I let you steal my food," Wilson said when the credits were rolling.
House made a soft, snorting sound but didn't look at Wilson. "I know," he said.
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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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