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Fifty Bucks Says
by Jaryn
A drop of sweat slowly travelled down the side of House's temple. Wilson watched it out of the corner of his eyes without breaking their stare. He felt a matching drop starting to slide down his own forehead, falling towards his left eyebrow.
Their hands wavered stiffly side to side before steadying in the middle again.
Another minute passed by, with only the sound of cars passing outside to be heard, before House suddenly pushed harder and Wilson strained to take the extra pressure. He clenched his jaw and tightened his grip around House's hand.
This was just like House, Wilson thought. Pushing and pushing at him. Taking things above and beyond where they were supposed to safely stay. Everything was a game to him and yet, at the same time, nothing was a game. Not underneath. In the maze and dark corridors of House's psyche, it was all deadly serious, all a result of his insecurities, his thriving need for complexity and who-knew-what-else. It was just like House to never yield either, no matter what and no matter who was involved. No matter what was at stake.
House leaned in further over the table and Wilson mirrored him. The muscles in his arm were starting to shake but House remained steady. Solid. Wilson knew he was going to lose but he refused to go down easily.
A puff of air escaped House's lips and his brow wrinkled. Something, perhaps a sense of victory, glinted in his eyes that made hot anger explode in Wilson's gut. He grimaced and used every last ounce of his strength for one last try.
House, apparently, was taken by surprise by this because he faulted and their hands shifted in Wilson's favour. House's face tightened and became further lined with aggression. Just when Wilson thought he might be able to win after all, House yanked his hand free and grabbed Wilson's shirt, shoving him from his chair. They went sprawling to the floor and Wilson gasped when a good portion of House's weight landed on his chest.
Wilson shoved at him hard and they went rolling towards the couch, trying to pin each other's arms down. House thigh slid up into Wilson's groin and Wilson panicked a little, trying to twist away, but House didn't take advantage there. Instead, he grabbed Wilson's left wrist and managed to press it to the floor.
Before House could try getting his other hand down, Wilson threw their combined weight to the side and they went rolling back towards the table in a chaotic tumble of limbs. This time, Wilson landed on top and grabbed both of House's wrists, pushing them down hard against the floor with a loud knock of bone hitting wood.
Wilson looked down at House, breathing hard, kneeling so his legs were either side of House's hips and their faces were only inches away from each other. House was breathing hard too but he wasn't trying to break Wilson's hold.
Their breathing gradually slowed but neither broke the gaze. A conversation that could never have been vocalised passed between them. House's lips twitched and then Wilson's did, even though he tried to stop it. It was far too late though. In one burst, they both started to laugh hard enough to bring tears to their eyes. Wilson's forehead sagged onto House's shoulder as the laughing died down a little and he released his hold on House's wrists.
One of House's hands stroked over Wilson's hair briefly and Wilson raised his head in mild surprise. There was smile a on House's lips.
"Get off me, you ass," House said, his expression smoothing back into a more neutral expression, though the skin around his eyes was still crinkled up as if he was still laughing on the inside.
"You're calling me the ass? You're the sore loser." Wilson straightened up so he was sitting lightly on House's lap. "I nearly had you."
"In your dreams," House huffed, shoving lightly at Wilson's shoulder. His hand then landed on Wilson's thigh, just above the knee.
Wilson frowned. "I had you. You know it."
House rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine. You had me. Now will you get off me?"
Instead of waiting for Wilson to move, House pushed his upper body up until their faces were, once again, only inches apart. Wilson breathed in sharply through his nose and leaned back a little.
Nothing happened for a short while.
"I'm not letting you up until you hand over the cash. You agreed that I won," Wilson said finally.
House's expression changed slowly. It was the kind of expression he got when he was studying a scan of some kind. Intense. Thoughtful. Speculative. He leaned forward a little and Wilson tensed up, holding himself tightly in place. "There's a fifty in my left pocket. Get it yourself."
Wilson's eyes flickered down House's torso before meeting his eyes again. Shifting his weight back slightly, Wilson moved his hand to the left pocket of House's jeans and slid his fingers inside. He touched a piece of paper and pulled it out. It was a receipt. Wilson gave House a look.
"Your left, Jimmy, not mine," House said, clearly amused.
"Jerk," Wilson muttered and dug his fingers into House's other pocket. This time he pulled out a fifty dollar note. Not bothering to hide the smugness on his face, Wilson slipped the note into his own pocket. "Thanks."
"Pleasure," House said, his lips lifting up at the side.
Wilson licked his lower lip, which was a little swollen. House must have clipped him during their roll across the floor. "Remind me never to arm wrestle you again."
House scrunched up his face. "Spoilsport."
Rolling back on his heels, Wilson got to his feet and then held his hand out. House frowned at Wilson's hand a moment before gripping it and letting Wilson pull him up. Once he was steady on his feet, House groaned and rubbed at his back and then his shoulder.
"On second thought, we might be getting too old for a repeat performance."
Wilson dropped down onto the couch in a splayed out sprawl, letting his head fall back so he was looking up at the ceiling. "You can say that again."
House collapsed beside him, sitting close enough that their legs were pressed together. He then leaned even further into Wilson's space. "On second thought, we might be getting too old for a repeat performance."
Wilson laughed quietly. House flashed Wilson a grin before leaning his head back, sliding his hand behind his neck. A few minutes passed before House sighed and Wilson looked over at him to see his eyes were closed.
"You okay?"
"Fine." House nudged Wilson's knee with his own. "We okay?"
Wilson smiled briefly but didn't answer. House lowered his arm and looked across at Wilson, frowning. Rolling his head to the side to meet House's eyes, Wilson studied him quietly for a moment. "It wouldn't take much, you know."
"What?" House's frown deepened.
"For both of us to win. For there to be no fight in the first place."
House's expression slammed closed and he sat forward, brushing a hand through his hair. He grabbed his cane from where it had been leaning against the coffee table and got to his feet. "Why don't you spend that hard-earned money on a hooker? Fifty bucks goes far, trust me."
Wilson sighed. "I should go home, it's getting late." After getting to his feet, Wilson collected his jacket and shrugged into it. House avoided his eyes and stood looking down at the floor, both hands resting on the head of his cane. Wilson walked over to him and stood there, waiting.
Eventually, House turned his head and met Wilson's eyes. He looked away again but, after a pause, he reached up and squeezed Wilson's shoulder.
Wilson nodded, more to himself than anything. "See you at work," he said. He walked towards the door and let himself out quietly.
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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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