Disclaimer: This is it.
A/N: Originally created for the sick_wilson community using the S'mores Prompt Table: beans, bed, cabin, cell phone, and….
Leads to fluff. Hope you enjoy!
House and Wilson had developed quite a following while at the business retreat Cuddy had prescribed for them. At any one time, a dozen eyes trained on the two as they escalated their snark from defcon five to defcon one. No one realized it was how the friends kept from getting bored.
Lunch was the only time the "Odd Couple" got a break. Everyone peeled their eyes from the entertainment and contemplated the best way to devour their unappetizing food. Everyone, except a white-haired woman who never took her twinkling, blue eyes off them. House pointedly stared in her direction, and she winked in return.
Clearly unamused, House turned back to the table and snatched Wilson's chocolate chip cookie from his tray.
"Could you at least eat yours before stealing mine?" Wilson grumbled.
"I'm practicing a preemptive strike like the career coach showed us earlier. Besides, I'm doing you a favor by not eating the beans, bunkie. You should do the same for me."
Wilson forked a few leaves of lettuce into his mouth, but he looked a little gray and stopped. "No beans, no cookie. I'm done." He shoved the tray away, and abruptly left.
House shrugged and tried Wilson's salad. Wasn't half bad. Especially with two helpings of beans.
Feeling full when he pushed away from the table, House went on to the next scheduled event. He figured he'd catch up with Wilson, but Wilson wasn't there. Before he could ditch out of the room, the leader corralled him into a human pretzel, handholding exercise. He tried talking his way out of the situation. "Why not waterboarding? It's way more fun." But the head honcho ignored House, and guided him toward a group.
After watching in disgust as his team stepped over and under arms and became hopelessly tangled, he couldn't take anymore. "This is one great party, but gotta go. See you next week for Twister at my house." He gave the facilitator a baleful glance as he snatched back his cane and left.
A buzz of foreboding danced in the back of House's head. Wilson's had displayed erratic behavior during the last three days of their hellish four-day extended weekend. One moment, Wilson could be volleying banter back and forth with him, and next, press his lips together and get that gray look. He'd announce a sudden fascination with the great outdoors, and disappear.
House brushed away the feeling. After all, the next session was the "Sundae Social." He could get into the sundae part, if not the social aspect. He sat as far away as possible from the participants while he dug into his do-it-yourself confection. The ice cream was creamy and homemade, and House was reaching a state of nirvana when he saw the same old woman from lunch bearing down on him carrying two heaping bowls.
Putting his almost finished container aside, House held out his hands for the woman's offering, "If you think you can buy my witty repartee or silence with that dessert you're smarter than you look."
"I brought it for your friend. Isn't he here? You two are always together. The two of you make such a cute couple."
"Sorry to disappoint, but we're only friends. Wilson's cooking is adequate but his laundry skills fail gay standards."
"Oh? But you argue like lovers. So that's why you didn't follow him back to your cabin? No need for make up sex?"
"Cabin?" House glommed onto the word. That electrical undercurrent was buzzing again. "You saw Wilson go back to the cabin in the middle of the day?"
"Why yes." The woman's face colored a rosy pink. "Not that I'm a busybody or anything, but your friend spends a lot of time there, um…moaning. With all those tiffs the two of you have, I just thought he needed some time to jerk off on his… Wait! Don't you want to bring him the ice cream, Dearie?"
House hustled back to the cabin, but slowed down as he approached. He wanted to hear for himself Wilson whacking off for his own amusement. Leastways, he hoped that was what Wilson was doing. He was more worried than he had a right to be. As he reached the door, his heart dropped. The sound coming from within was not the muffled mew of mounting ecstacy but the bleat of pain.
He brusquely pushed open the door. Wilson was huddled on his left side in the fetal position on the bottom bunk, the blanket wound tightly around him.
"What's going on?!" House dragged over a chair to the bed.
"Nothing. I'm fine." Wilson hissed a whispered breath. To prove the statement, he tried rising, but his unsteady arms could not support his weight. He collapsed back onto the mattress and groaned, "Amend that to I'll be fine in a moment."
His face was flushed. House ran a hand under the dark bangs, and it came away warmed and slightly moist from fever.
Serious, blue eyes zeroed onto his friend. "Give it up, Wilson. Tell me what's wrong."
"Appendicitis. Started on the way up here. Thought if I could tough it out until we leave tomorrow—"
"—Then you could receive your, 'I'm an Official Idiot,' certificate from the folks here at Camp MiniHaHaTheJokesOnU." House whipped out his cell phone—no coverage. "Trust me, you already earned it." He leveraged up. "I'll be back, Doctor Idiot."
An explanation, a phone call from the retreat director's office, and one airlift later, House and Wilson's chopper was nearing a properly staffed hospital.
Wilson's cognitive ability rapidly deteriorated under the influence of fever. He babbled to an invisible audience. "This isn't right. It's ass-backwards, House taking care of me." He giggled. "Ass backwards. If only." He wagged a quixotic finger in space. "But House rules—no touching." The EMTs smirked, and House sat silent, ignoring them. He was too involved with analyzing what Wilson was saying. He tentatively nudged Wilson's fingertips with his own, and the confused man took hold of the whole hand, squeezed, and sighed as he mouthed, "House," then dropped into unconsciousness.
Hours later, Wilson's unfocused eyes opened upon a field of blue. A few flutters of the eyelids, and he realized House was gazing intently at him. He felt his friend's hand clutch his wrist and take his pulse, and heard the familiar rough voice.
"The surgeon said you were right…and wrong."
"Right…about…appendicitis? I am…a doctor." Wilson spoke slowly as he fought off the woozy fog of anesthetic.
"But wrong about waiting. It ruptured while he was opening you up."
"Damn…it didn't feel that bad."
"Like the last time your appendix was about to burst?."
"I don't have to…answer that question. I recall you saying…I earned my proficiency certificate…in idiocy."
"As long as we cleared that up."
"So what's the hand for? What kind of hospital is this? No…monitors?" Wilson tilted his head to see better. His wrist was abandoned and a warm hand was encasing his.
He was surprised when House swooped down and brushed a kiss against his lips.
"I'll never admit to being a big fan of 'Trust Camp,' Wilson, but the experience turned out to be an eye-opener. How about we exclusively watch each other's back from now on?"
"Watch each other's, wha—, huh?"
"Euphemism, Dopey. Definitely have more in mind than watching your backside. More like, exploring, touching…."
Wilson slipped his hand from House's, and gripped the neck of his t-shirt, bringing the shaggy face down to his. He gave House his approval with one hell of a hot kiss. When they parted Wilson murmured, "And they say an appendix isn't good for anything."