Title: Limping Twerp
Pairing: House/Wilson friendship
Summary: Wilson gets into a fight defending House.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. *sniff*
A/N: Idea is from scifiroots' post on Adopt-a-Plot-Bunny at sick!wilson. Unbeta'd ficlet so please forgive any mistakes.
Wilson sighed at his friend's dramatic entrance. "It's not as bad as it looks."
"Really?" demanded the other man as he limped to the exam table and its wounded occupant. "Because your eye and lip look pretty damn bad to me." House seized Wilson's chart from where it lay on the stool beside him. "Oh look, it says here something about cracked ribs and bruised kidneys, too."
"I'm just going to be sore for a few days."
"You're lucky you're not going to be in jail for a few days," House grumbled as he began to unbutton Wilson's dress shirt.
"Hey!" Wilson protested, batting at his friend's hands. "Cut it out!"
House glared at him as if he was one of the stupidest patients he'd ever been forced to deal with. "I'm going to have a look for myself, thank you very much."
Wilson latched onto House's wrist with a death grip and matched his glare. "You're not getting me out of my clothes without dinner and a movie first."
"Fine," House snapped as he perched on the stool. "But if one of those ribs turns out to be broken and punctures your lung, don't come crying to me."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Wilson growled. "Wait… why are you even here?"
"Because our favorite bartender called me," House growled and smacked Wilson's shin with his cane. "Smartass. You could have been killed! Mikey told me about the huge ogre you picked a fight with."
"Mikey's got a big mouth."
"No, but he does have common sense – something you seem to be lacking. You really told him not to call me?"
"I didn't want to worry you."
"And you showing up at home ridiculously late with a black eye and busted lip wouldn't have worried me?"
Wilson's angry façade broke and he wearily buried his face in his hands. "Look, I really don't feel like talking about this right now."
"No, you really won't feel like talking about this when we get home and I dope you up so you can sleep tonight. Right now we've got nothing but time until you're discharged. So…" He gestured for Wilson to talk and rolled his eyes when he remained silent. "Mikey also told me the only reason he didn't call the cops on you for throwing the first punch."
"Let it go, House."
The pleading tone almost crushed House's resolve. Almost. "He called me a limping twerp?"
"Still not talking."
"You call me a limping twerp," House pointed out angrily. "Why should you care if someone else does?"
"Because." Wilson hissed as he stared at his friend. "Because… you're… you're my limping twerp. And no one else has the right to call you that."
"You heard me."
"So what, is that like my pet name or something? No honey buns or snookums? I get limping twerp?"
Wilson raised an eyebrow as a smile quirked at his mouth. "This whole experience might be worth it just to hear you say snookums."
Before House could fire back a retort, the ER doctor swept into the room, casting a frustrated glance at the newest occupant. "Doctor House," he nodded curtly. "I suppose you're going to take Doctor Wilson home?"
"Well, Doctor Branson, it's easy for us to carpool seeing as we live together."
Branson opted to ignore the sarcasm and turned to face his patient. "You're ribs aren't cracked, just bruised. Keep ice on the ribs and kidneys tonight, no more than twenty minutes at a time."
"He has does have an MD after his name, you know," House snapped.
"Fine," Branson sighed in defeat and handed a list of care instructions and scripts to Wilson. "Just follow these and you should be okay. If you have any complications or questions…" He paused and glared at House. "Well your friend there has an MD after his name too so he should be able to take care of them." He shook Wilson's hand and smiled. "Feel better soon."
"Is that a doctor's order?" House sneered as Branson exited the room.
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "House, can you please stop being an ass?"
"Can a shark stop swimming?"
"I guess not," Wilson muttered as he slid off the exam table, wincing and grabbing his side as his ribs protested. He was surprised when a hand materialized on his elbow, keeping him steady and providing a small source of comfort. He glanced up and found a pair of concerned blue eyes studying him. "Look, I'm sorry if I scared you, but I get so sick of people saying bad things about you when…" He smiled down at the hand gripping his arm. "…they don't know the real you."
"So you pick a fight with a three hundred pound moron instead of someone you might have a chance against? Like Chase?"
"Wombats fight dirty."
"Cuddy then? Oh wait, she'd just smother you in her cleavage."
The two men stared at each other and simultaneously commented, "But what a way to go!"
After a shared laugh, Wilson groaned and leaned against House. "I think I'm ready to go home and let you dope me up now."
"Why, I thought you'd never ask, my little idiotic imbecile."