Chapter Text
“Welp, that’s that,” House says, turning off the television in the clinic room. “Let’s get lunch – and by get lunch, I mean you’re going to pay fo-” he cuts off abruptly, as he finally faces Wilson and sees the man’s red eyes.
“Aw, don’t go getting sentimental on me. What, did the lead character remind you of your first – no, second wife?” Wilson manages to muster a glare at House, though what little sharpness it may have carried is dampened by the pathetic look of the man.
House rolls his eyes and gets up from the table, grabbing and launching a tissue box at his friend. Wilson dutifully wipes his eyes and blows his nose, before following House out of the room to the cafeteria.
- - -
At lunch, Wilson is less resistant than usual as House swipes fry after fry off his plate, protesting only half-heartedly that he’d already paid for House’s lunch, and what else did he want? Seeing as Wilson wasn’t in a conversational mood, House fills up the empty space, explaining at length how stupid his team was.
“We’ve been consulting on this case for almost a week, and the best my team can come up with is that the patient is in love. In love, really? Something has to be wrong with that kid’s head for him to fight a guy twice his size. Teenagers are stupid and love makes you stupid, but even that combination doesn’t account for the idiocy it takes to get beaten up so bad you get taken to the ER. Seriously, I-”
“House.” House glances up from the leaf of lettuce he’d been shredding into smaller and smaller pieces. Why did he get salad anyway? Oh, right, to cover the burger he was actually eating for lunch, to save Wilson a few bucks at checkout. House is thoughtful that way.
“House, how can anyone be brave enough to love?” House blinks. He wasn’t expecting that.
“Um, have you even been paying attention? Love makes you stupid, duh.”
“No, this isn’t about your case. It’s-”
The older man scoffs and rolls his eyes, “What, it’s about the soap opera then? You tell me, Mother Teresa. You're the one who loves every one of your patients like your God's one and only son, until your heart is oozing out of those pathetic puppy dog eyes.”
Wilson sighs exasperatedly, putting his face in his hands. “Forget it. Tell me more about that case.”
House grins, but files the interaction away for later. Wilson is a sentimental sop, but something about this feels different.
“Actually, the case is booooring. Did I tell you about–” the diagnostician begins, filling the rest of their lunch with dramatized retellings of the clinic patients he saw that day. His wild hand gestures and gross habit of speaking with his mouth full as he complains about the idiocy and lies of his patients draw a begrudging grin from Wilson.