Title: A Dish Best Served Cold
Characters: Wilson, House (Gen, Humor)
Summary: At first, Wilson thought he was imagining it…
Author's Notes: For tsuki_no_bara, who wanted, House and Wilson with "fiddle."
At first Wilson thought he was imagining it. Then it snowed, and winter in New Jersey was always a bitch, so he dug out his wool sweaters and things were good again for about two days.
By lunchtime on Saturday, he found himself thinking about a second shower, just to warm up. "Does it seem cold in here to you?"
"Nope," House answered, stumbling over to his guitar.
Wilson listened to him pick out "Satisfaction"—in that Rolling Stones t-shirt, and House wore t-shirts even in January, so he was clearly the wrong person to ask.
Wilson checked the heating controls. "Sixty-two degrees!" he yelled. "Stop playing with the thermostat, House!"
"Lower temperatures keep you young."
Wilson turned the setting back up to sixty-eight. "There's no science behind cryogenics."
House paused mid-note. "So that's a No on getting you the 'Faithfully Frozen' package for your birthday?"
"Hah-hah." Wilson went into the kitchen to make soup.
When he woke up the next morning, his nose was numb and the bathroom floor was like ice. "House!" he barked, turning the heat back on. Then he got into the shower and plotted revenge.
That night, he plied House with beer and a succession of loud movies—Terminator 2, Lethal Weapon, Beverly Hills Cop. He took a bathroom break and snuck into House's room instead, throwing the covers off the bed and opening all the windows. He pushed the comforter as close to the bottom of the door as he could get it, and slipped out into the hallway.
"Bring popcorn!" House yelled from the living room, "Arnold's going down…"
Wilson rolled his eyes and put a bag of Ready-Pop into the microwave. He joined House a few minutes later and settled in to enjoy the rest of the show.
It was after midnight when Wilson got up to go to bed, brushing his teeth and putting on his pajamas to climb under the electric blanket. He drifted off, wondering how long it would take for House to discover his handiwork.
"Wilson!" The sound woke him from a dream involving skiing down the side of a city bus. He didn't answer, but House wasn't expecting it anyway.
Payback was a bitch.
Wilson could hear House shoving the windows down and rustling around in the next room. Then his door slammed open and shut, and suddenly House was in the bed, jostling his way under the covers and elbowing Wilson to move over.
"You think you won that round, but you're wrong," House said, pushing his icy feet up against Wilson's calves.
"Get off!" Wilson said, muscling his way in from the edge of the bed and stealing back his pillow.
House might be right, but crowding and blanket-hogging aside, some victories were just too sweet to resist.
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