A/N: For a standard disclaimer see my profile. The lyrics on top are not mine, they're from "At My Most Beautiful" by R.E.M. Once again - this is translation of the fic I wrote in Polish, and this one is sadly NOT finished. Until I catch up with the Polish version, you can expect an update every two days, but from that point you'll just have to be patient. Or give me a finger and stop reading, your choice. The rating is only for some minor cursing, no dark stuff, getting naughty or violence in this story, it's pure Hilson friendship fluff. So if you don't mind the occasional "fuck", this is kid-friendly. ;) Enjoy.


"I've found a way to make you smile.

I've found a way,

a way to make you smile."


On a Friday morning Wilson woke up with an excruciating headache. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but he soon decided it was a bad idea. A very bad idea. The light shining through partially drawn shades and sudden movement - he felt as if someone detonated a grenade somewhere between his temples. With a soft groan he fell back on the pillow and tried to stop thinking. This morning thinking hurt.

"Jimmy, old buddy! How are you this fine morning?" House. Wait just a moment. House? Wilson cracked open one eye and noticed that he was lying on a very familiar couch and there was a very familiar son of a bitch standing in front of him, wide grin on his face. Something clicked in his dazed mind and pieces of last night started to come back to him. The game. Salami pizza. Beer. A lot of beer. And probably some vodka, but he wasn't sure about that.

"Go away" he mumbled and closed his eyes again. "What are you doing up at this hour, anyway?"

"For your information, it's almost ten, so the question should be 'What am I doing on this couch at this hour?'".

A long moment passed, before the meaning of House's words reached Wilson.



Wilson opened his eyes and jumped up. Oh, another bad idea...

"I had... Had an appointment with a patient at nine!" he stuttered out, trying to force the room to stop spinning.

"Calm down, Cuddy already called to ask what's going on with you" House shrugged and limped off towards the kitchen.

For some reason it didn't make Wilson feel calm at all.

"House, what did you tell her?"

"That your hangover is hungover, so, instead of patting bald heads of your dying kiddies, you're going to spend today in agony on my couch" said House and disappeared behind the door.

"Christ, House, tell me you're joking" groaned Wilson.

"Of course I'm joking" came from the kitchen.


A tousled head appeared from behind the kitchen door. "No."


"All right, all right. I told her we went out to get a drink, you were hitting on some barely legal college student and her boyfriend broke your nose, and now you're ashamed to go to work with a squished purple potato in the middle of your face."


"Jimmy, your naivety makes me sad" said House, returning to the living room with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.

"So you didn't really tell Cuddy that I'm hiding my broken nose in your apartment?"

"Of course I didn't."



Wilson closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten. Then he opened them again and looked at House, who was leaning against the piano with the expression of someone, who just won the state lottery.

"House, unless you tell me what you told Cuddy, I'll get up from this couch."

House raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be a threat? Jimmy, how on Earth did you manage to spend a decade in the company of a master and not learn to threaten properly?"

This time Wilson was the one who smiled. "If I try to get up now, we'll see how salami pizza looks ten hours after consumption. I promise to aim at your shoes."

"That's better." House nodded with delight. "You're learning, young Padawan."

"Listen, we've got to get our stories straight. If I tell Cuddy one thing and you tell her something else, she will know we're lying and she'll be mad at us for a week."

House looked up, his expression dreamy. "I love it, when Cuddy is mad. She's soooo sexy... That blush, those stormy glares... Quickened breath..."

Wilson let out a heavy sigh. "How do you think, what is she going to believe? Your insane story about how I got stuck for the entire night in a men's room in a gay club and now I have to nurse my fragile, traumatized psyche? Or me, telling her that I ate some bad chili and asked you to call her for me and say that I won't be coming in today, because I can't get out of the bathroom for more than five minutes?"

"Oh, that one's better. Gay club... didn't think of it..."

"And how do you think, who is going to get an extra shift in the clinic for shamelessly lying to their boss?"

House smiled triumphantly. "Beautiful, Jimmy, beautiful! See, that's how you do it! I knew you had it in you!"

Wilson didn't say anything, only stared at House with a sour expression.

"All right, all right. I told her you had high fever and a nasty cough and I, world renowned infectious diseases expert, believed that you should stay in bed at least until Sunday. And I should stay with you, in case in your delirium you decide to wander out on the street in nothing but your pajamas. So we both have three free days. Cool, isn't it?"

Wilson lay back on his pillow. "Brilliant. Spectacular. Whole weekend with you, because if I go anywhere and someone sees me, Cuddy will give those extra clinic hours to me. I'm overwhelmed with joy."

House clutched at his heart in an over exaggerated gesture. "Jimmy! Are you trying to tell me that you don't want to spend time with me? You wound me!"

"Great. Why should I be the only one, who feels like crap today?"

"Because you're the only one, who drank enough alcohol to intoxicate the entire football team, plus the coach and the masseur?"

"Ah, right" muttered Wilson. The smell of House's coffee reached his nose. "I need caffeine, if I want to feel human any time soon."

"I know" said House lightly. "Puking can help too."

"Ugh. Shut up" moaned Wilson. "That was supposed to mean 'How about you go to the kitchen and get me a cup of coffee?'".

"Me? I forgot, which one of us has two good legs and can run around as he pleases? Ah, yes, I remember - it's you!"

"And which one of us is going to throw up all over your carpet it he tries to make two steps in the general direction of the kitchen?" Wilson glared at House.

"You know, if I knew you're going to be such a pain in the ass in the morning, I'd pour your sixth beer in the sink. Your obnoxiousness is beginning to seriously outweigh the entertainment value of this whole situation."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to spoil your fun" growled Wilson.

"So don't spoil it. I know it goes against your nature, but you might want to think about me and my needs from time to time."

"House. Coffee."

House put his coffee mug on the piano and bowed with his arms crossed. "Yes, master, of course. Whatever master wants! Does master wish a breakfast to bed as well? Some fried eggs? Toast? Leftover pizza?"

Wilson clenched his teeth and silently repeated No, I can't beat House to death with his own cane three times.

"Coffee. Now" he drawled.

House laughed and went to the kitchen.

This is going to be a very, very long weekend, thought Wilson.