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Murphy's Law -- The Alternate Ending
by cryptictac
Disclaimer: David Shore =/= me.
Notes: When I posted the story, people wanted to see an ending where House and Wilson... you'll see. Thus, I delivered. This can either be viewed as an alternate ending, or the real ending -- you choose. :D
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House yanked the fridge open and peered in, eyeing the two bottles, three sandwiches and two apples, all of which had post-its on them. Scratching his head, he tried to decide which he wanted and after a moment's deliberation he reached in and fetched one of the sandwiches. Pulling back, he shut the fridge and, much to his surprise, Wilson was standing there, a scowl on his face.
"Whoa," House exclaimed.
"Not sticking to your end of the deal, I see," Wilson remarked, glancing down pointedly at the sandwich.
"Oh, come on," House replied. "You really think I would?"
Wilson looked at him evenly, hands now on his hips. "No, but that's not the point. You can try to stick to your end of the deal."
"It's not like you're sticking to the end of yours."
He watched Wilson blink in surprise and then quickly try to smooth his expression back to neutral. "You want me to stick to the end of mine?"
House snorted. "What were the chances of the coma guy waking up, really?"
"About the same as the chances of you not eating my food."
"Exactly."
Wilson sighed and glanced around the kitchen before he looked back to House. He then took a step towards him.
House looked at him suspiciously. "What are you doing?"
Wilson shuffled closer still. "Sticking to my end of the deal."
"Huh?" House exclaimed, dumbfounded. "What?" Before House had a chance to step back Wilson had quickly seized his face in his hands. They felt warm and clammy; Wilson was obviously nervous as hell. House felt his own palms instantly slicking with sweat. "Wilson--"
"House, shut up," Wilson ordered.
"Have you lost your mind?"
Wilson shifted even closer, until their bodies made contact. "You're the one that made the bet," he murmured.
House couldn't dispute that. He opened his mouth to retort to that, but found he was too shocked by what Wilson was doing to actually think of anything witty. He tried to turn his head to look away but Wilson's grip tightened.
"You've lost your mind," House confirmed.
"House, shut up."
Wilson was up close now; House could feel his quick breath against his lips and could see that Wilson's pupils had dilated. He felt Wilson briefly swipe his thumbs over his cheekbones before their lips suddenly made contact.
They didn't kiss at first: it was just their mouths pressed together, both breathing rapidly and nervously against each other. House's eyes were still open, as were Wilson's. He felt Wilson's lips suddenly move slightly against his and House didn't mean to respond but he did; he tentatively moved his lips against Wilson's.
Wilson responded in turn by moving his lips again and before House realised what was happening he was kissing Wilson gently. Or maybe Wilson was kissing him gently. It didn't really matter which it was because the kiss was languid and soft to the point where House's eyes closed and he found himself pressing himself lightly against Wilson. The sandwich he was clutching suddenly slipped from his hand and landed with a slap to the floor.
The sounds in the room seemed to fade; the clock ticking over the oven, the television playing in the background. All House was aware of was this; the taste of Wilson's mouth, the way his lips kneaded against his, how Wilson's breath had quickened. House opened his eyes briefly and saw that Wilson's eyes were closed and his brow was furrowed in deep concentration, like he was drinking in each moment. Squeezing his eyes shut again, House found one hand drifting to Wilson's hip and he pulled Wilson against him just as the kiss deepened, tongue nervously touching tongue.
The kiss naturally began to taper off until they both stopped, lips pressed together without motion. House was the first to break away a moment later, opening his eyes as he did so, and he saw that Wilson's face had flushed a deep red. House swallowed thickly and drew in a shakily breath.
The sounds in the room slowly came back into focus. House cleared his throat and stepped back awkwardly, glancing down at the sandwich lying on the floor. "Uh..." he began, his hand rubbing anxiously along his jaw.
Wilson was just as awkwardly stepping back, hands now burrowed deeply into his jeans. "Well, uh..." he tried. He couldn't seem to find anything to say.
"Yeah," House agreed, though what he was agreeing to, he had no idea. House glanced at Wilson just as Wilson glanced at him and they both quickly diverted their eyes, uncertain where to look. "Yeah," House repeated, just for something to say.
Wilson abruptly stooped down and snatched the sandwich off the floor and then stood straight again. He weighed the sandwich in his hand as if considering something. He then hesitantly peeled the post-it off -- Property of James Wilson, it declared -- and with a slight, coy smile he slapped the post-it on House's chest.
"Finders keepers," Wilson remarked, his smile broadening. He then turned away and walked out of the kitchen, opening the sandwich as he did so.
House watched him, a smile that he was failing to suppress breaking out on his face. He glanced down at the post-it and snorted to himself with a grin before he reached up to the fridge and pulled it open to grab Wilson's other sandwich out.
Finders keepers, indeed.
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Really the end now
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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 Fox Television, 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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