House MD Fanfiction

Aftermath

Hilson, first kiss, 1,879 words
By: bananacosmicgirl

“Spring is supposed to be nice.”

“What – so you mean that when spring’s around people get so high on the lovey dovey crap, that they won’t mug each other?”

Wilson shot House a look, although its impact was lessened by the fact that the area around his eye was rapidly turning a bluish purple, or perhaps even a blackish purple. House couldn’t decide.

“I was just walking home, minding my own business,” Wilson said. “So why me?”

“Yeah, ‘cause muggings usually only happen to people who are unpleasant and stick their noses in where it doesn’t belong.”

Wilson rolled his eyes, and then winced because the movement hurt. “If that was the case, you’d get mugged every day.”

“Oh, ouch,” House said, pretending to be hurt.

He swabbed the area around Wilson’s eye and then continued onto the nose and mouth, both bloodied. The shirt had already been discarded and sent to the trashcan; Wilson had told House in no uncertain terms that he’d never wear it again. House felt it was a waste of space to keep a shirt no one would use, although he thought the blood splatter wasn’t that bad.

Still, his heart had sped up when he opened the door to find Wilson, bruised and bloody, outside.

“’s it bad?” Wilson asked.

House looked down at him, taking in the whole picture of the blackened eye and the bloody nose, and the bruise on his ribs, and he wondered why he thought the pathetic look was a bit—cute.

“You’ll be up chasing girls in no time,” House said.

“Women,” Wilson said. “You’re the one who chases after seventeen-year-old girls.”

“She chased me, not the other way around,” House said.

“Yeah, and you really told her no.”

“You’re worse than Jiminy Cricket,” House muttered.

“Thank you,” Wilson said, as though it was something to be proud of.

“You’re good to go,” House said, getting up. His leg ached, and he paced this way and that to get the blood pumping again.

Wilson sat up from the couch, touching his own face gingerly.

“I don’t suppose you have a mirror?” he asked.

“I don’t suppose you could go five minutes without looking at yourself?”

Wilson glared at him. “You know, I was just mugged. You could show some sympathy.”

“Do you know me?” House asked.

Still, he stepped closer to Wilson. There was a part of him that wanted to comfort Wilson, but that part was squashed down by the part that screamed, I don’t have any idea of how to comfort anyone. He didn’t do comfort; that was Wilson’s forte. Wilson was the one who could get people to say thank you after delivering a death sentence. House was the one who usually got a punch in the face, not unlike the one Wilson had received from his assailant.

“You’re fine,” House said. “Or you will be. Take an aspirin, go to bed. You’ll look like you’re part racoon for a few days, and then you’ll be off to find ex-wife number four. Or five. Which is it again?”

Wilson glared at him again by the end of his little speech. “You’re such a great friend, House.”

“That didn’t sound very honest,” House said.