damigella: (foosball)
[personal profile] damigella
Summary: Someone rings House's doorbell the evening after 8.03. Spoilers for the ep.
Word count: 460.
Rating: gen.


"Show me the warrant or I won't let you in. I know my rights."

"House. It's me." Both Wilson and the shopping bags were drenched with rain. Many, large shopping bags.

"What's that? Your fridge broke down?"

"Remy called and told me why you eat all your meals at the hospital. Should have thought of it myself."

Wilson hung his raincoat and started putting away the groceries. Methodically, of course: first he emptied the bag with the freezer stuff, then the two bags that filled the fridge.

As he started pulling out pantry items from a fourth bag, House stopped him, forcing back a pound of high-quality Italian spaghetti.

"I don't need your charity: bring the nonperishable stuff to your own place. I am allowed to go to the Safeways at the corner, or I could phone for takeout. It's my choice to eat at the cafeteria."

"Yes, because it's so easy to shop with a damaged leg and no car. With the pittance you're paid even takeout would be expensive. Anyway, you can view this as a repayment."

"What for? Killing your patient? Didn't like her after all?"

Wilson stood up slowly, rubbed the back of his neck. Stared at the floor for a while.

"For saving me and PPTH from doing something very wrong. We have protocols for open-ended kidney donations, and I ignored them."

"You might have been right, and my patient could have been mentally sound."

"In which case Nephrology would have found another person who needed a new kidney to live. There's no lack of those, unfortunately." 

Wilson sighed. "It's like last week: you helped me when my supposed caring clouded my understanding. I pay my debts, or at least I try to."

He stood in front of House, his feet slightly apart, his hands on his hips, and he suddenly looked like the Wilson of ten, fifteen years ago: he had changed haircut and lost some weight while House was in jail. He had also aged a lot, though: he was gray at the temples and there were plenty of new lines on his face. House wondered how many of those lines he was personally responsible for. 

"Can I put away the groceries now? And send over my cleaning lady tomorrow?"

House nodded, slowly. "If you stay for dinner, and promise to make me laugh."

Wilson smiled. A small, tentative, tired smile. "I can drink a beer or two with you and stay the night, too. Your couch must have missed me. Here, stick the lo mein in the microwave while I finish unpacking."

While he set the table for two House stole a look at Wilson, who efficiently making order and throwing away expired stuff.

He found himself smiling, and didn't quite know why.
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damigella

November 2011

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