Chapter Text
"You're getting fat," House said after opening the door, and while noticing that a, Wilson did not have a patient with him, b, he was not even pretending to do paperwork, just staring off to the mid- distance towards House's office. "This will help with that."
He thrust the pamphlet at Wilson, which flew straight into his friend's face. The paper missed Wilson's eyes, but made him scrunch up his face in a way that a treacherous little voice in House's head labeled 'adorable', and no amount of self-admonishing, lying or threatening with violence could silence it.
That little voice got him into a lot of trouble lately. Just last night, it produced a wave of misery and self-hatred and yes, guilt in such a strong whirlwind, that House ended up buying a ticket for Wilson to go into a 3 star ski resort in Europe. A horrible one with syrupy tourist-trap names like 'the Lovehike of Adventure' and the ‘Bountiful Snacktrail of Santa’ or whatever the fuck it was. Where Wilson was sure to find his fourth alimony-taker, but beforehand would consider the thought that House actually made something nice happen for him, and they could stay friends forever and with the new Just Waiting For The Right Moment to Ask for a Divorce Mrs Wilson (the 4th) could maybe distract him long enough until House cured himself of that stupid fucking crush he diagnosed himself with last night.
Hey, he had run out of whiskey, and it was a full moon, and a season of General Hospital just finished, and he accidentally ended up doing more soul-searching than his big manly man-emotions were capable of handling, okay? Happens to the best of us.
He needed to do something that would take Wilson out of his sights for a while (but like in a non-permanent way), that silenced the last of the shitty feelings he felt about their last big fight and what he did that started the fight, and it also had the added benefit of providing Wilson with some exercise. Because middle age creeps up on people like a bitch. And exercise, which Wilson wasn't getting anymore, because his best friend was a cripple.
They used to go hiking together, regularly, when House was still with Stacey. House has an absolute whiplash now when he thinks back on those memories with his new 'Maybe That Wasn't Just a Phase at University' lens. Wilson, sweaty, standing next to a tree with the wind in his hair, the sun on his face.
God, he was always beautiful, and House never realised that the tightness in his stomach meant that he wanted more of him in every single way there was, very much including the sexual.
Wilson hated running, but he liked those machines at the gym, and when they got into the busier months in the hospital and could not go away for a few days to climb a mountain because one or the other one of them was always on call, they went to work out together.
House forgot how much of an active life he used to lead. Not that it was in any way regulated, but they had periods when they went to work out together three times a week. Hiking was out of the question now with House's leg. He could have done something for upper body strength, if he had any self esteem and actually wanted to focus on maintaining what little health he had left. But his body betrayed him, so it no longer deserved care. And House himself. He was going to be fine, burying this feeling back so deep it never resurfaced again. Wilson was probably itching to get married now that it’s been what, a few months since the last one was all paperworked away, and House planned to do a lot of drugs to destroy certain new revelations in his brain, while Wilson sweated and moved his body in a picturesque snowy resort crawling with needy single women who barely spoke English, and everything would be right in the world.
Besides, he booked the holiday with Wilson's money anyway.
The only problem, as it turned out, was that Wilson had decided this would be the perfect time to be difficult.
Truth be told, House went a little crazy for these instances. When Wilson decided to stoop to his level and stop pretending to be Mr Nice Guy, to sink his teeth just as deep in that imaginary bone as House did, and snarl and never let go and outlast even the most persistent boners House got for him. It was nice to find your match, is all. Satisfying to see that you could still inspire some knee-deep irritation in someone so well that only five minutes into the conversation they ended up shouting in your face that you were a dick.
"AND YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE THE DECENCY TO OWN UP TO IT?"
"I've just told you, haven't I?" House shrugged, because yeah, maybe it did cost a lot. Flying to the magical land of Austria to Ski on a Hillbrück or whatever the fuck it was called. "And don't pretend you wanted to spend Christmas with your parents. You'd rather die than be dragged into their world-famous, all-neighbors-invited Hanukkah celebrations again."
"Thirteen days, on my own, on the other side of the world, for this amount of money? I don't even know how to ski, House!"
"So drink some mulled wine and flirt with the first ginger you see. It's gonna be great, believe me. Everyone in Europe thinks Americans are so cool, so everyone will want to become your friend."
Wilson squinted. What was it about that bundle of sentences that tripped off one of his special House-bullshit sensors, he had no idea.
"Why do you want me out of the way? Are you planning something nefarious?"
House did his "who? ME?!" dramatic hand gestures, then stopped when he realized he was not fooling either of them and in fact he might end up looking even more suspicious.
"It's a wonderful way to lose weight, learning to ski or snowboard. Plus all that fresh air. Beautiful country, too, and you've never been, right?"
"I thought it was Chase who had that fatphobia problem, when did you catch it? Also, how dare you."
House made a show of looking over Wilson's mid-section, and enjoyed Wilson's embarrassment and his obvious desire to pull his lab coat closed or maybe to suck in his stomach, when they were interrupted by the knock on Wilson's office door.
"This discussion is not over," Wilson threatened with some prime finger wagging in House's direction before he plastered on a fake smile and opened the door to greet the old lady on its other side with a cheerful, "Please come in, Mrs. Carter, Doctor House is leaving now.”
Since House did not appreciate his tone, and because he knew how Wilson worked, he made sure to bombard their whole next week with every prank he could think of - yes, none of them involved Wilson directly, but who do you think the ducklings and Dr Cuddy went to for advice, or to vent or to threaten actual murder? Yes indeed. And perhaps the new doctor hired for oncology shouldn't have been such a hypochondriac that it only took House three snoozes to get him out of the way for the rest of the week, giving Wilson plenty of extra work to do too.
All in all, Wilson was extremely busy until just about the last night before his plane was supposed to be leaving, and with how his last few days had been, an already paid and non-refundable holiday might have just started looking a little better for him. At least House hoped.
Wilson came knocking with Chinese and beer, and an expression that conveyed about that sentiment anyway, and a shorthand for how House’s nonexistent apology was graciously accepted.
"I don't want to talk about anything but boobs and basketball tonight," House announced anyway, just to be certain.
"Fine," Wilson mumbled, but immediately followed up with, "I've just had a week straight from hell. I don't mind a bit of quiet."
So they sat in front of the TV and ate and drank, and Wilson did not try to pretend that he wasn't smiling at House's sexist comments about the players' racks.
It felt warm and comfortable, and House realized a little too late that maybe it wasn't quite normal to fall asleep that quickly. By the time the suspicious alarm sounded in his mind, he was already swallowed up by the darkness.
When he came to, Wilson was sitting next to him in a taxi, explaining to the driver that no, his friend was not drunk, just capable of falling asleep everywhere as he was usually working the night shift.
"See? He's half awake. If I poke him hard enough I can wake him up for you, but I thought I'll be nice and let him catch some sleep until we get to the airport. We have a long journey ahead of us."
The taxi driver seemed convinced, and House had to admit, he was impressed with Wilson managing to drug him again. That being said, there was no way he was getting on that plane with him. The flight time alone would bring the worst sort of leg pain with it, not to mention the cold on the other side of the world.
He could text an SOS to Chase if he was sneaky enough. Except - damn. Wilson had taken his phone.
He tried to slur some threats at Wilson’s smug face. But the pull of whatever he was dosed with had him slip back to dark again and the next time he wakes they are already on the plane.