House attempts to make a nice birthday breakfast.

James Wilson awoke to a smoky room and the stench of burning…something.

He clambered out of his best friend's bed and hurried into the kitchen. What if something was on fire? Was House okay?

House was presently standing in front of the stove, cursing bacon and the inventor of the frying pan to hell and beyond, while two blackened pieces of toast peaked out of the toaster, the only thing that seemed to be going smoothly was the two mugs of coffee sitting on the table.

The eggs lay on a plate, forgotten, they seemed to have turned to robber cement, Wilson noted as he poked them.

He cleared he throat to make his presence known.

House looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing, House?"

"Making you breakfast," he said plainly, as if it were obvious.


"It's your birthday."

Wilson nodded. "But if you blow up your apartment, I won't have a very good birthday. How about we drink the coffee, forget about homemade breakfast. I have a much better birthday celebration in mind," he said, taking a sip of hot coffee as he said it.

House shrugged and turned off the stove and followed Wilson back to the bedroom.