Chapter Text
At some point House woke up. Mainly because his back was hurting and the sofa was cold, hamster had up and left and was probably burrowed in his blankets like some sort of rodent, snoozing away, oof, why didn’t he wake him up. Idiot. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to get up, save for his back hurting. He was also a bit too stuffed to want to go anywhere.
No wonder Wilson slept on the sofa so often, when full of food it really had a certain call to it.
But now he was able to move and cold enough to no longer be feeling his toes. Up and away then, into bed, find out how to drive Wilson suitably insane later, right now he was…so..sleepy. He didn’t get sleepy but god fucking dammit all those gayass cupcakes was driving him to fucking nap, probably all the sugar.
But he had to move, a blind hobble to bed and boom, out like a light once more.
This time when he woke up in the morning Wilson was long gone, his leg was killing him, and he was hungry. A wonderful combination of things to start the day with, started it off with a warm bath, mainlining ibuprofen, then checked the fridge for the leftovers, he was a simple man with simple tastes and he knew for a fact that the pot roast leftovers would be divine.
But there were none left. Damn that hamster.
Though he did do the dishes, so that was nice.
Man he was bored though, not being at work most of the day was incredibly boring, who knew. And he needed to fucking distract himself but he couldn’t just show up at work?
Could he? You know what, yes he could, and he would, after he ate something because someone deprived him of the leftovers he worked so hard to leave alone last night. Maybe he’d drop off lunch for the hamster to make a point of not stealing the leftovers, plus he knew Wilson’s fat ass would enjoy it.
Hm. Macaroni. No kraft mac and cheese shit he had standards (allegedly)
Who didn’t like macaroni, even if it was long and annoying to make, he was craving it, which was apparently something his body knew how to do, usually when he craved stuff it was medication or meat, didn’t know you could crave large amounts of cheese and pasta but here we are.
How do you make macaroni, however, was the million dollar question. As mentioned he’d never had macaroni that didn’t come out of a box, so making it would be an experience.
Some dull part of his mind wondered if he was going insane.
No way was he willingly cooking for Wilson out of his own free will, why the fuck was he doing this. He’d never done this before and probably never will again, yea, maybe he was just feeling weird off vicodin and getting out of Mayfield, that had to be a good explanation.
After yesterday’s jihad of trying to fight against his computer screen while his hands were covered in various meat juices he’d decided against using the internet for recipes for the time being, and his phone screen was too small for him to see anything worth a damn on while the kitchen was full of steam. So what should he go to, the humble cookbook.
Did Wilson have cookbooks?
Scratch that, he definitely knew Wilson owned cookbooks, because he brought one for him ages ago as a joke, he was acting like a weird little housewife in ‘98, it and Wilson was a sentimental little hamster and never threw out gifts no matter how much he hated them, so he definitely did have that cookbook somewhere, and if House remembered correctly it was one of those glossy types marketed towards newlyweds full of home cooking for your husband and kids, so it would definitely have mac and cheese in it.
Once he found it that was.
_
Wilson was in a considerably better mood today, he slept well last night, dinner was good and he didn’t have to make it for once, and nothing was sweeter than food you didn’t make. He had some (read: all) of the leftovers for lunch so he wouldn’t have to brave the cafeteria food, and this time he wouldn't overeat like he did yesterday because he only had a certain amount of food.
Plus he wasn't all that hungry today anyways, yesterday's fridge raid had filled him up well.
Rounds were uneventful. The usual. He had a few consults, an odd carcinoma presentation but nothing too interesting, Diagnostics seemed to be doing well enough without House there to harangue them, it was still alarmingly strange to have him not randomly be bursting in and terrorising his patients but he was getting used to it now, it had been over a month since he was off work after all. Plus now he knew he was safe and sound and probably snoozing yet
It was the only explanation for why he hadn’t messaged yet, he always messaged right before he was about to do something monumentally stupid and he was last online last night, it was fine, besides he had the proof with his own eyes that House was in bed by the time Wilson woke up in the morning, must’ve hobbled his way over after passing out last night on the sofa.
Wonder what he was up to, probably still asleep knowing him, it was weird to think that last night the man not only cooked and cleaned, but also ate of his own will.
Strange indeed. It was his break now and he’d been meaning to do this email for a while.
Cuddy had asked for updates on his health, he should email her about it, say he was doing well, afraid to jinx it as he was he knew that Cuddy also cared for that creature of a man that just so happened to be living with him right now, probably more than was strictly professional, but she cared still so she would tell her. (Wilson was entirely trying to ignore the fact that he too was guilty of caring for House more than he should but shhh, he’s an idiot)
She was a busy woman and unlike some people he didn’t get anything out of annoying her like House did so an email it was, he began composing it, should he give her that much information, saying that he hadn’t relapsed yet and was controlling his pain in other ways should be enough, but he did really want to tell her about the eating but wasn’t that too much information. Probably, but it was important.
So he told her about it, the fact that he was cooking and cleaning and tried to not let the incredulity seep through as he told her, rambled really, about how he’d been weirdly normal over the past few days, he’d obviously been complaining about his leg massively and was mainlining enough ibuprofen to take down a moose, but the thing was he wasn’t eating these on an empty stomach, he’d been eating weirdly enough, and he’d been eating well. He even cooked yesterday.
He was currently eating the leftovers of the pot roast at his desk while drafting the email. Mm, it was even better now, the meat had fully marinated, juicy, a little cold because his thermos was on its last legs but lukewarm enough not to hate it. His spoon scraped the bottom of the thermos far too quickly for his liking, he wasn’t even full, what was this? He sent the email while contemplating getting a snack, waited for a response, curse his weak will and need to snack. Couldn’t afford this right now, he already overate yesterday.
—
House found the cookbook, unearthed it from the bottom of Wilson’s bookshelf, down with all the dusty self help and marriage books that he’d been buying for years and never managed to get around to, still glossy and clearly never been touched, pages untarnished by Wilson’s horrible habit of dog earring books, a heavy hardcover more useful for bludgeoning someone to death than for cooking, flicked the pages till he found a recipe.
Did they have cream cheese?
Like, he knew Wilson brought some store brand last time he went shopping, the man got stressed and proceeded to gnaw his way through a pack of bagels and absolutely lather them in cream cheese and ham, but he hadn’t had an episode in a while so there may still be the cream cheese. 10 ounces of cheddar seemed excessive but he was craving cheese…again a thing that never happened before and was thus an extremely strange thing to be feeling. He ended up eating an ounce (or three) of it just straight up. That, that was a lot of cheese, why on earth did he do that???
Now, the recipe called for milk, but said you could use heavy cream if you wanted to, and what was House if not extremely lacking both sanity and self control. He knew they had heavy cream, no idea why they had it, its not like Wilson would actually use the entire carton anytime soon, he used it sometimes in pasta sauces when he was all sad and hamstery and then forget about the carton till it went bad and started stinking up the whole fridge.
Anyways, cheese, creamed and otherwise, cream (of which he used absolutely all of otherwise it would go bad), melted into a concoction that would probably kill anyone lactose intolerant in the Princeton area, the pasta was boiling, a bit less than al dente. The sauce smelled unreasonably good. And then he mildly wondered what the fuck it was that he was doing.
Also, he would be the very last person to admit that he stuck his finger in the hot cheese sauce and didn’t realise how hot it was until his finger was solidly burned, then stuck his finger in his mouth, which had more nerve endings than his fingers and managed to burn his mouth in the process.
He would never admit to this but we all know that’s exactly what he did. We also know he did it more than once.
Somehow this man had the energy to make macaroni first thing in the morning, don’t ask me how he did that, he didn’t particularly know himself, plus all the cheese he just mainlined had placated his hunger till he could figure out how to make this properly. Clearing through Wilson’s ecosystem of cupboards yesterday had the side effect that he currently knew where everything was and he could use that for his advantage.
Pasta in the dish, a casserole dish that was all dead and chipped and cracked, why did Wilson still have this, looks like it survived the Cold War??
Anyways, pasta, sauce, bacon, the bacon wasn’t in the recipe but you know, bacon. Wilson only had turkey bacon but even then, this would be so bad for Wilson’s dumb little hamster diet, get back at him for making him eat so much yesterday. And he could bother Foreman, wanted to see him simmer and seethe as he got given the reins of diagnostics for a while, he got used to the power and all, and now all of a sudden he’d yank that power away from him just by looming, not having his medical licence wouldn’t stop him for being an overall menace to his ducklings and Wilson.
He ended up frying up some of the bacon bits he didn’t use for the macaroni, again, what the fuck was he doing, he was pretty sure vicodin hadn’t suppressed his hunger that much, his appetite was never like this what on earth was going on, he wasn’t a rodent like some people in this house, never had a need to stuff his cheeks like this even before the vicodin.
Had Wilson finally rubbed off on him or something, this was evil.
Right, it said to bake for 55 minutes, he didn’t have time for that, he heated up the oven more, pulled the random pots and pans in the oven out a little bit to late, he’d already preheated the oven and managed to forget about them in there until he caught a whiff of the wonderful smell of burning metal and teflon, nearly burned his hand again and then this time successfully put the casserole dish in there and prayed it wouldn’t crack like an egg.
Why was he still hungry, bacon and cheese for breakfast? What the fuck, he never even made breakfast, and if someone forced him into it he’d maybe eat like 3 spoons of cereal and let the rest rot. Why did he not only mainline far too much cheese but also ate bacon after that and why was he aggressively waiting for the macaroni to be done. How do you even aggressively wait, this was meant to fuck with Wilson’s diet, not his own!
—
Wilson was getting antsy now, House hadn’t messaged or called at all, he shouldn’t be worried, House was a grown man more than capable of looking after himself and there was no way on God’s green earth would he like getting smothered and coddled by his overbearing hamster of a best friend - as House had put it. But speak of the devil.
“House?!”
“Yep, my greatness cannot stay confined in your flat any longer.”
“Who let you in!”
“Let myself in.”
“Oh for the love of god.”
“Cheer up you infernal little creature, I come bearing gifts, I am a benevolent ruler.”
This could only be bad, “Gifts of what exactly?"
“Large amounts of lactose.”
House absolutely lived for that baffled little face Wilson made, it made him look genuinely like a confused little rodent “House what does that mean.”
“Macaroni, for you. Made by yours truly.”
“I literally just had lunch.”
“Too bad, I’ve got food for you and I know you’re gonna eat it, I used that cookbook I bought you a decade ago that you never used. Now it’s mine.”
House just produced an absolutely bulging box of macaroni from…somewhere, he didn’t have a bag, where did that even come from? Wilson opened it there were little bits of bacon and way too much cheese, it was still warm and he had to admit it smelled absolutely divine. It also smelled like it would do horrible things to his energy levels for the rest of the day.
“You can keep the cookbook, I wasn’t using it , but it is…1.06. This took you at least 2 hours to make, plus half an hour to get here and bother me about it. You could’ve just messaged like yesterday ”
”One and a half thank you very much, and where is the fun in doing something without being able to bother you about it. And I was bored”
”Of course you were, anyways, this took you a while, what possessed you to wake up and start making macaroni, first thing in the morning and this is what you do?”
“Of course not, I had a bath first and inhaled ibuprofen. Then I made macaroni.”
“and that is more reasonable how exactly?"
House ignored that last bit and presented a fork from somewhere, where was he spawning these items from?
“Just eat the pasta. Made it specifically for you.” That was a lie and you know it, but Wilson didn't, so he ate it. Feigning annoyance, feigning because let's be real, leftovers did not fill him up and he was antsy for an excuse to eat something actually filling and House just served him one on a silver plate - or well, in a tupperware - of course he wanted to.
And by god if House didn't manage to deliver, the absurdity of House cooking aside there was the fact that he was apparently really good at it, just never decided to work with it till now where he was bored enough he decided to do something about it.
Creamy, smooth, unreasonably rich, the bacon bits were doing something to him that he'd definitely regret in an hour,shovelled some more into his mouth, while chewing and without really thinking he took another heaping forkful and shoved it into House’s mouth. House was absolutely not expecting this.
“Mmph!?”
He then started eating himself, House chewed and swallowed painfully, “Ha-” he got another bite shoved into his mouth post haste, seriously Wilson! It did taste very good though, he should make this again, they both very clearly liked it. And then Wilson shoved another bite in his mouth.
Fucking hamster using his own plan against him