Haaai All! I'm in charge now! And I promise to take verrry good care of Wilson... Just not in the way he wants. This week, were going to play a game I hope you all will enjoy! Now, we're going to use the honor system here, as you can cheat the game very easily to get the result you want, but where's the fun in that? I'm going to list 60 various
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“Hold still, you big baby,” House grumbled, grabbing Wilson's chin when the man flinched away. Digging his fingers into his friend's jaw to hold him steady, he ran a swab over the long, thin wound that bisected a bushy eyebrow and curved perilously close to the lacrimal gland above Wilson's right eye.
“My apologies,” Wilson said somewhat breathlessly, his eyes stinging from the alcohol fumes. House felt a private relief when the involuntary tears welling up in the wounded eye ran clear, with no sign of bloody discharge. “It's just hard to be calm when some jackass is jabbing his fingers into the gaping wound in my face.”
House proved him a liar when he snorted and dropped the swab, releasing Wilson's chin to hold the wound closed with a light, professional touch. “Don't exaggerate. This is barely a dehisce. A yawn at the most.”
“Thank you, Dr. Thesaurus,” he said wryly, while his shaking hands clenched unseen in his lap. As House frowned hard at the offending injury and began to apply a neat row of steri-strips, Wilson grinned with calculated ease, careful not to move a muscle north of his upper lip. “Next time, I'll ask the guy with the switchblade to show a little more enthusiasm.”
“Next time, just give him the damn wallet,” came the ready response; flat and acidic. “If you get yourself killed, I'll have to start filching Cuddy's lunch instead. And despite what that magnificent ass of hers implies, the woman lives on nothing but salad.”
A rebuff sprang readily to his lips, but a certain tightness around House's eyes made the instinctive flippancy die away. At long last, the churning in his gut settled, and Wilson felt steady once again as he wrapped a hand around House's wrist, two fingers pressing reassuringly against his friend's pulse-point before dropping away. It was an apology without words, and when House grabbed a cherry sucker from a nearby jar and chucked it at his head a moment later, Wilson knew it'd been accepted.
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[OT: lovely icon as well!]
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