When he walks into House's apartment to see him grinning at him around his cigarette, so pleased with his narrow escape, Wilson seethes with resentful anger. It's just another reminder of House's deception.
None of it was real.
The rehab, the apology - all lies.
House gives him an odd look as Wilson starts purposefully toward him, and Wilson remembers seeing him across the rehab lounge, how stunned he was to see House smoking…how he let it go without comment, because House deserved a little leeway for trying so hard…
He wasn't trying at all… it was all an act.
And the cigarette - the cigarette was a secret joke for House alone to get - a subtle slap in the face while he spouted meaningless words…just to screw with me.
House raises his eyebrows, speculative, mockingly lifting the cigarette to his lips again as Wilson closes the distance between them. He isn't expecting it, isn't prepared when Wilson plucks the cigarette from between his fingers with one hand, the other snatching his right wrist off his cane and jerking him forward, off balance.
House leans backward against the wall, readjusting to stay on his feet, defiant eyes laughing at Wilson, daring him to give vent to the fury on his face.
The last thing he expects is for Wilson to crush the lit tip of the cigarette against his palm. Wilson ignores his yelp of protest and pain, forcing his hand shut around the smoldering embers, holding it shut and allowing the burn to linger.
"Smoking in front of an oncologist, House," Wilson murmurs with a cool smile. "Now that's just insulting."
House struggles to pull his fist away, a guttural groan escaping his lips, but Wilson doesn't yield, and his smile doesn't change.
"Don't you know those things can kill you?"