Fic: Bros Before Hos: Two Heterosexual Life Partners in Love
Title: Bros Before Hos: Two Heterosexual Life Partners in Love
Author: viciouswishes
Beta: tx_cronopio
Fandom: House
Pairing: House/Stacey, House/Wilson, and Julie/Wilson
Rating: PG13
Setting: Post-"Need to Know"
Words: 1334
Summary: House shares the unpredictability of the universe with Wilson over hockey, bitching, strippers, and beer.
1. They Diagnose
House hated when this happened; at the same time, it gave him hope that there was still some unpredictability in the universe. Cuddy had won their bet and House ended up with two extra clinic hours.
Thirty minutes were spent watching the end of a hockey game. His patient was satisfied with a doctor's note to get him out of class.
"You needed a second opinion?" Wilson asked as he entered the room.
House frowned at the call the referee made. "How can violence in hockey be considered a penalty?" Personally, he'd always found the games more interesting when one player punched another. As long as no one needed a doctor, and more specifically, no one needed him.
Wilson sighed and looked over at the patient. "And you are?"
"Bob McGee." The guy smiled. He held a prescription in his hand. "I have foot fungus."
"It must be hard in the life of Dr. House when the patient tells you what he has," Wilson said. His green tie hung askew and he looked more tired than yesterday. The cowlick in his hair suggested that he'd been sleeping at his desk again.
"Very hard." House took a few potato chips from his bag and then offered it to Wilson. "You should try it sometime."
Wilson gave his usual complaint about having actual work to do with actual dying patients somewhere else in the hospital, and House informed him that his patient would still be dying after the game. He didn't say anything else as Wilson sat down.
2. They Bitch About Their Ex-Girlfriends and Wives
They stood on the roof together, even though House swore he wouldn't come up here after Stacey left the second time.
"I believe that's the signal that the work day is officially over," Wilson said, pointing to the flood of doctors and other hospital workers walking out the doors.
"They're so tiny." House thought about calculating the velocity of a penny dropping from this height and just how bad it might injure someone. Not that he had a certain someone in mind. But it was good to know just what kind of damage he could do. "Could spit on them."
"Are you five?" Wilson's tie had come off and the first few buttons of his white shirt were undone. "Why I ever thought I could have a mature, adult conversation with you, I'll never know."
House frowned. "You spend too much time with Cameron?" Something was definitely broiling under the surface. He'd need to pick at it more.
"Even she's not that delusional."
"Fair enough." House pivoted on his cane. "But since Cameron is my problem, I'm going to guess that not everything is peachy keen with the Mrs."
"I thought Stacey was your problem." Wilson was clearly avoiding something.
House shrugged. "Stacey. Cameron. The first girl I kissed in 7th grade. Cuddy. What do they all have in common?"
"Only the truly delusional think you've gotten anywhere with any one of them." Before House could retort, Wilson added, "Emotionally."
House snorted. He was used to Wilson projecting, and at least he hadn't said anything about House being miserable, yet. But they needed to get out of this hospital and get drunk as soon as possible. "Oh, Dr. Wilson, those boyish good looks and charm just melt my panties. How about a drink?"
3. They Get Drunk and Tip Strippers
The Adonis stayed open later on weeknights than most of the bars between House's place and the hospital. Plus, there were plenty of tits and asses even if every beer ordered, no matter how expensive, tasted like PBR. House thought the strip bar had character, and he liked the illusion it gave him of anonymity.
Wilson thought it smelled like urine, and maybe it did. But how different was that than the hospital. Urine was sterile. It was perfect. Especially to see Wilson's frown, the neon light of the Budweiser sign reflecting off his cheeks.
They sat in the corner, nearly in the dark, which in House's mind kind of defeated the purpose of coming to a strip bar. But they were here to make Wilson happy.
House flagged down the waitress and her ample breasts, ordering a pitcher and fries.
"You know, we're no longer frat boys," Wilson said. He eyed the stage as a brunette wearing a gold thong rubbed herself against a pole. "Expanding waistlines, actual people dying if we fail under stress."
"But those were the days." House remembered why he liked this place when their order promptly showed up. A little more classy when he didn't have to stand around on his bad leg, waiting for some idiot to decide just how many shots it took before his uptight wife would consider a lap dance not cheating. "Brothers, beer, drunken freshman girls, and fart jokes. Telling the dean that you just didn't know how his car ended up the roof of the science building."
"Were you even in a frat?"
"Well, no. But I still know nothing about a certain explosion in a water fountain, which was purely in the name of science." House snagged a fry from the basket. "But that's always what I thought was going on."
"Not far from the truth." Wilson still seemed detached. His beer only half-way gone. No doubt, Wilson was thinking of his first wife, Sara, the artist he'd met as an undergrad. The one that Wilson claimed used to arm wrestle him for dish duty and drew his sleeping form when she had insomnia. The one he'd cheated on with a nurse during his first real internship.
"I can hear you thinking. It's distracting me from that hot woman's ass."
"Somehow I don't think that even you, the Great Dr. House, can hear my thoughts," Wilson said.
"So loud that I couldn't enjoy my beer." House took a long drink. A familiar and comfortable bitterness on his tongue, one that always tasted better after the third or fourth swallow. He placed the glass on table and fished out cash from his wallet. "How about a lap dance?
"From you?" Wilson quirked an eyebrow and leaned forward. He'd refilled his beer. "I'm touched."
"Yes. We cripples just do it better. We're handi-capable. No, you idiot, with the attractive women wearing what looks to be bits of the American flag."
4. They Pass Out
House swore he and Wilson didn't drink that much, but the bouncer called them a cab anyway. It had started raining around the time Wilson started giggling, and they were soaked before House handed the cabbie the appropriate amount of cash.
Wilson stood there like a moron, a drunk moron, tilting his head up toward the sky. "Lightening."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious." House fumbled for the keys in his pocket. He wasn't that drunk and clearly, becoming more and more sober by the minute. Why did he have so many keys again?
When House tried his fifth key, he cursed at them. "I think that's the one that unlocks Cuddy's office," Wilson said.
"How'd you know about that?" House shot Wilson an accusatory look. No one was supposed to know that he'd borrowed a certain janitor's keys after Stacey left. Cuddy might be locking up important files that he needed, after all.
Wilson smiled and shrugged. "Lucky guess." With his hair plastered to his forehead, he appeared younger than he had since he'd announced his engagement to Julie.
"Finally," House muttered, unlocking the door. He had started to shiver from the rain. "I don't have the couch made up," House said as they stood in his living room with their shoes tracking wet over the floors.
The cheeky grin was still on Wilson's face. "Don't worry, I don't kick." He stumbled around the corner, grabbing onto the wall for support and trying to rid himself of his shoes. "Can I borrow a t-shirt?"
House sighed and rolled his eyes. But he was still buzzed enough not to care if Wilson tainted the pillow that still smelled like Stacey's perfume. "You'd better not hog the sheets."
Author: viciouswishes
Beta: tx_cronopio
Fandom: House
Pairing: House/Stacey, House/Wilson, and Julie/Wilson
Rating: PG13
Setting: Post-"Need to Know"
Words: 1334
Summary: House shares the unpredictability of the universe with Wilson over hockey, bitching, strippers, and beer.
1. They Diagnose
House hated when this happened; at the same time, it gave him hope that there was still some unpredictability in the universe. Cuddy had won their bet and House ended up with two extra clinic hours.
Thirty minutes were spent watching the end of a hockey game. His patient was satisfied with a doctor's note to get him out of class.
"You needed a second opinion?" Wilson asked as he entered the room.
House frowned at the call the referee made. "How can violence in hockey be considered a penalty?" Personally, he'd always found the games more interesting when one player punched another. As long as no one needed a doctor, and more specifically, no one needed him.
Wilson sighed and looked over at the patient. "And you are?"
"Bob McGee." The guy smiled. He held a prescription in his hand. "I have foot fungus."
"It must be hard in the life of Dr. House when the patient tells you what he has," Wilson said. His green tie hung askew and he looked more tired than yesterday. The cowlick in his hair suggested that he'd been sleeping at his desk again.
"Very hard." House took a few potato chips from his bag and then offered it to Wilson. "You should try it sometime."
Wilson gave his usual complaint about having actual work to do with actual dying patients somewhere else in the hospital, and House informed him that his patient would still be dying after the game. He didn't say anything else as Wilson sat down.
2. They Bitch About Their Ex-Girlfriends and Wives
They stood on the roof together, even though House swore he wouldn't come up here after Stacey left the second time.
"I believe that's the signal that the work day is officially over," Wilson said, pointing to the flood of doctors and other hospital workers walking out the doors.
"They're so tiny." House thought about calculating the velocity of a penny dropping from this height and just how bad it might injure someone. Not that he had a certain someone in mind. But it was good to know just what kind of damage he could do. "Could spit on them."
"Are you five?" Wilson's tie had come off and the first few buttons of his white shirt were undone. "Why I ever thought I could have a mature, adult conversation with you, I'll never know."
House frowned. "You spend too much time with Cameron?" Something was definitely broiling under the surface. He'd need to pick at it more.
"Even she's not that delusional."
"Fair enough." House pivoted on his cane. "But since Cameron is my problem, I'm going to guess that not everything is peachy keen with the Mrs."
"I thought Stacey was your problem." Wilson was clearly avoiding something.
House shrugged. "Stacey. Cameron. The first girl I kissed in 7th grade. Cuddy. What do they all have in common?"
"Only the truly delusional think you've gotten anywhere with any one of them." Before House could retort, Wilson added, "Emotionally."
House snorted. He was used to Wilson projecting, and at least he hadn't said anything about House being miserable, yet. But they needed to get out of this hospital and get drunk as soon as possible. "Oh, Dr. Wilson, those boyish good looks and charm just melt my panties. How about a drink?"
3. They Get Drunk and Tip Strippers
The Adonis stayed open later on weeknights than most of the bars between House's place and the hospital. Plus, there were plenty of tits and asses even if every beer ordered, no matter how expensive, tasted like PBR. House thought the strip bar had character, and he liked the illusion it gave him of anonymity.
Wilson thought it smelled like urine, and maybe it did. But how different was that than the hospital. Urine was sterile. It was perfect. Especially to see Wilson's frown, the neon light of the Budweiser sign reflecting off his cheeks.
They sat in the corner, nearly in the dark, which in House's mind kind of defeated the purpose of coming to a strip bar. But they were here to make Wilson happy.
House flagged down the waitress and her ample breasts, ordering a pitcher and fries.
"You know, we're no longer frat boys," Wilson said. He eyed the stage as a brunette wearing a gold thong rubbed herself against a pole. "Expanding waistlines, actual people dying if we fail under stress."
"But those were the days." House remembered why he liked this place when their order promptly showed up. A little more classy when he didn't have to stand around on his bad leg, waiting for some idiot to decide just how many shots it took before his uptight wife would consider a lap dance not cheating. "Brothers, beer, drunken freshman girls, and fart jokes. Telling the dean that you just didn't know how his car ended up the roof of the science building."
"Were you even in a frat?"
"Well, no. But I still know nothing about a certain explosion in a water fountain, which was purely in the name of science." House snagged a fry from the basket. "But that's always what I thought was going on."
"Not far from the truth." Wilson still seemed detached. His beer only half-way gone. No doubt, Wilson was thinking of his first wife, Sara, the artist he'd met as an undergrad. The one that Wilson claimed used to arm wrestle him for dish duty and drew his sleeping form when she had insomnia. The one he'd cheated on with a nurse during his first real internship.
"I can hear you thinking. It's distracting me from that hot woman's ass."
"Somehow I don't think that even you, the Great Dr. House, can hear my thoughts," Wilson said.
"So loud that I couldn't enjoy my beer." House took a long drink. A familiar and comfortable bitterness on his tongue, one that always tasted better after the third or fourth swallow. He placed the glass on table and fished out cash from his wallet. "How about a lap dance?
"From you?" Wilson quirked an eyebrow and leaned forward. He'd refilled his beer. "I'm touched."
"Yes. We cripples just do it better. We're handi-capable. No, you idiot, with the attractive women wearing what looks to be bits of the American flag."
4. They Pass Out
House swore he and Wilson didn't drink that much, but the bouncer called them a cab anyway. It had started raining around the time Wilson started giggling, and they were soaked before House handed the cabbie the appropriate amount of cash.
Wilson stood there like a moron, a drunk moron, tilting his head up toward the sky. "Lightening."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious." House fumbled for the keys in his pocket. He wasn't that drunk and clearly, becoming more and more sober by the minute. Why did he have so many keys again?
When House tried his fifth key, he cursed at them. "I think that's the one that unlocks Cuddy's office," Wilson said.
"How'd you know about that?" House shot Wilson an accusatory look. No one was supposed to know that he'd borrowed a certain janitor's keys after Stacey left. Cuddy might be locking up important files that he needed, after all.
Wilson smiled and shrugged. "Lucky guess." With his hair plastered to his forehead, he appeared younger than he had since he'd announced his engagement to Julie.
"Finally," House muttered, unlocking the door. He had started to shiver from the rain. "I don't have the couch made up," House said as they stood in his living room with their shoes tracking wet over the floors.
The cheeky grin was still on Wilson's face. "Don't worry, I don't kick." He stumbled around the corner, grabbing onto the wall for support and trying to rid himself of his shoes. "Can I borrow a t-shirt?"
House sighed and rolled his eyes. But he was still buzzed enough not to care if Wilson tainted the pillow that still smelled like Stacey's perfume. "You'd better not hog the sheets."