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Food Poisoning

Summary:

House and Wilson get food poisoning and spend the night at House's apartment being miserable, but less miserable than if they were alone.

Notes:

Trigger warnings:
Very brief consideration of forced vomiting, not as part of and ED, and obviously vomiting. I didn't go into a huge amount of detail describing it, but it is an integral part of the fic.

Work Text:

House barged into Wilson’s office at exactly 5pm. “Wanna come over and watch The L-Word?” Wilson should have refused, really. He was slightly behind on his paperwork, and if he wasn’t going to stay and finish it he should have just gone home. His stomach kind of hurt and he was tired, so really, he should go home and rest. But it was House, and he did want to find out what happened next, not that he’d ever tell House that. Plus, being around House usually made him feel better. As long as he didn’t let on he wasn’t feeling well, they would sit and watch The L-Word, and he wouldn’t have to think. 

 

“Sure, why not?” He signed one last prescription sheet while House watched, oddly patient, then packed up his things for the night. They didn’t speak as they walked to their cars, and Wilson noticed House was walking a little more slowly than normal. He could have pressed House on it, House certainly would have pressed him on it, but not talking was suiting Wilson just fine right at that moment. 

 

“Don’t bail on me,” was all House said when they reached Wilson’s car. He promised House he wouldn’t, put his stuff on the front seat, and started the engine as House limped off toward his own car. The drive to House’s apartment had never felt so long. Wilson’s stomach was really starting to hurt, and he felt slightly nauseous. Maybe this had been a bad idea. 

-

House reached his apartment before Wilson did. He’d sped a little bit to make sure he did. What he’d thought was a mild stomach ache seemed to be getting worse, and if he was going to puke he’d prefer to do it before Wilson got there. When he got inside he debated forcing himself to, just so he’d feel better, but decided against it. Maybe he could get Wilson to fuss over him if he didn’t. He would never admit it, but the way Wilson always tried to protect him and make sure he was okay made his heart melt a little. He collapsed onto the couch to wait, but not before pulling a trash can into what he hoped was an inconspicuous but reachable place. Wilson knocked on the door a few minutes later and House shouted that he could come in. Wilson sat down beside him, eyeing the trash can House had moved. “You moved the trash can.” 

 

“I can’t rearrange my own furniture?” 

 

“Of course you can, but why there?” Before House could respond, Wilson winced slightly, putting a hand to his stomach. 

 

“Food poisoning.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Your stomach hurts. That’s why you didn’t question skipping dinner and why you were looking for the nearest trash can.” To his credit, House did move the trash can between them. 

-

“We didn’t have breakfast together, which means the hospital food must be bad. I’ll call Cuddy.” He didn’t need to hear whatever House decided to do to antagonize their boss this time. 

“Thanks for letting me know, I hope you and House are alright.” Then she hung up, presumably to go figure out what had been affected and make sure patients were alright. 

 

Meanwhile, House put the TV on. “I bet you ten bucks you puke first.” 

 

Wilson stared at him, half incredulous, half secretly pleased House could find the humor in a shitty situation. “Fine.” They shook hands. Wilson was actually feeling a little better, sitting on House’s couch and watching a show. It felt intimate somehow, despite the fact that they were a trash can’s width apart on the couch. Maybe it was how it wasn’t even a question that they would weather this together. He supposed there was something domestic about being sick together. Maybe it was the domesticity of it that made it intimate. Another sharp pain in his stomach brought him out of his thoughts. “Ow.” House sent an almost sympathetic glance his way. The nausea was getting worse. Wilson was starting to wonder if winning this bet was worth it. Before he could decide though, House lurched forward, leaning over the trash can and breathing hard. Wilson scooted over and put a gentle hand on House’s back, rubbing it slightly. He hadn’t really thought before doing it, but fortunately House didn’t seem to mind. He actually relaxed a little under Wilson’s hand before actually throwing up a second later. “Better?” House nodded as Wilson felt his stomach lurch. To his surprise, House put a tentative hand on his back as he leaned over the trash can, rubbing it the same way Wilson had done for him. They continued that way for the next several hours, barely talking. It seemed to hit House a little worse than Wilson, who privately suspected that was because House had stolen most of his lunch. It was also possibly due to drugs destroying House’s immune system, but Wilson preferred his explanation. Mostly because it was a little petty. 

 

Around midnight Wilson began to doze off. He still didn’t feel great, but he wasn’t throwing up every forty five minutes to an hour anymore like House was, and he was exhausted. He was woken up almost immediately by House throwing up again. “Sorry,” House murmured. Wilson thought it might be the most sincere he’d ever heard House. 

 

“Feel any better yet?” House shook his head slightly. All his bravado from earlier was gone and he just looked small and miserable. Wilson pulled his feed up onto the couch, scooted over so he was right next to House and pulled his best friend into a brief hug. He half expected House to pull away, but instead he let Wilson support his weight for a moment before pulling away. They sat there for a while, Wilson’s knee pressed against House’s thigh, not speaking. Wilson didn’t quite dare to break whatever spell had fallen over them. House just seemed too sick and tired to feel like talking. Wilson realized he wasn’t safe yet as his stomach started feeling worse again. He leaned forward, bracing one hand on the edge of the trash can and holding his stomach with the other. House’s fingers caressed his back as he threw up again. They spent the rest of the night like that, slipping in and out of sleep and occasionally puking. They didn’t talk about the touch, or how someone’s head was on the other’s shoulder when they woke up more often than it wasn’t. 

 

When Wilson woke up he found House sprawled across his lap, still sound asleep. He still felt mildly queasy, but he was also hungry which was a good sign. He hoped House felt alright when he woke up. Wilson thought he’d fallen asleep around five in the morning, but he thought he’d half woken up to the sound of retching a couple more times after that. House looked a little pale, but other than that he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. 

-

House woke up with his head on Wilson’s lap, feeling sick to his stomach. He didn’t feel like he was going to puke though, which was an improvement from the last three time’s he’d woken up. He sat up slowly, groaning softly. Wilson turned to look at him. “How’s your stomach?” 

 

“Not great but I think I’m done puking.” Wilson looked a little better than House felt. “You?” 

 

Wilson nodded in agreement. “I might try breakfast.” House grimaced. Lunch maybe, but no way he was eating until his stomach settled a little more.

 

“There might be bread in the fridge.” Wilson reached out and put his forearm to House’s forehead.

“You’re not running a fever, why are you being nice?” House’s stomach chose that moment to rebel and he dry-heaved over the trash can. Wilson put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. 

 

House panted for a moment, “That’s why.” Wilson gave him a confused look. “You.. took care of me. Even though you were sick too.” Wilson didn’t respond, instead pulling him into a gentle hug. “Don’t get used to it,” House muttered. 

 

After Wilson got some toast from the kitchen, he sat down on the opposite side of the couch again. The moment was over and to his surprise, House felt his chest tighten a little. He didn’t want it to be over. The exhaustion must have made him bold, because he scooted across the couch so he was next to Wilson again. Wilson glanced over at him, eyebrows raised slightly. Was he blushing? Wilson finished his toast and House decided to be brave again. He shifted his weight slightly so he was leaning fully against Wilson. The other man caught his breath slightly and put a tentative arm around House’s shoulders. After a minute they both relaxed into the position, and House couldn’t help but think this was the beginning of something new. 

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