Friends Stick Together

The crouching was killing his leg, but House sweated it out with the mental promise of a few extra vicodin when he finished. He leaned against the desk, carefully trying to keep his head low and out of view, and counted the grains in the wood to keep his mind off the stabbing sensations. Breaking into a string of curses would give the game away.

A huffing sigh, and the sound of the door closing, but House stayed put. He didn't trust Cuddy not to try the old 'pretend to leave but stay in the room' trick. The sound of her high heels clicking down the hallway was a nice touch, but still he kept to his spot. So help him he would outsmart her in this game of wits if he had to stay down all day, because the alternative was actually seeing his patient, the whiny over bloated hypochondriac tennis player who actually had something wrong with him for once and was now gloating-

His knee trembled and gave out, sending him keeling over with a groan. Rubbing the muscle to ease some of the frantic tension, he took a quick glance around the desk. He was alone after all. One point to the masterminding fiend.

He eased back into his chair with a grimace, hand instinctively fumbling for his pill bottle. The light weight of it set off his mental warnings, and a glance confirmed : it was empty. And darn it, it was Wilson's day off, wasn't it. House grumbled as he hoisted himself up and hobbled his way to the door, gave a quick glance out, then paced down the hall towards his friend's office. Blast that man for not being around to top him off at whim.

How dare he force House to go steal the oncologist's prescription pad and forge his signatures.

It was just unethical.

But then what was more unethical.

Wilson sleeping with his patients or sleeping in his office on his day off because yet another soon to be ex-wife had kicked him out of his own home; for sleeping with his patients.

Either way, there Wilson was, leaning over what was suppose to be a hand washing sink only, for sterile reasons, brushing his teeth, staring at his overworked and tired reflection in the mirror. There was clearly deep dark circles under his eyes from where he'd had difficulty falling asleep on his sofa.

The last shower he had managed to sneak it hadn't done much at all for him, and that morning he was a mixture of what could only be described as too much cologne and not enough soap.

The lovely hair he had once spent hours straightening before leaving his house, because he needed to look presentable, was fluffed on one side, where he had finally fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, the rest of it flattened to his head from the last time he had managed to brush it out.

The usually lovely shirts he would wear under his lab coat were starting to stain and smell, but he as going to be damned before he went to the local dry cleaners again. The old lady who ran the store knew when he had been kicked out, and he was fed up of the accusing looks he would get from her. So Wilson couldn't hold down a relationship, he had trouble in general from stopping himself sleeping with patients, and now he was sleeping in his office when he could catch a few moments alone, that didn't mean that the old lady needed to judge him.

Rubbing his forehead, teeth thoroughly scrubbed to whiteness, Wilson tried to flatten down his hair with his fingers, hoping that he could put down the messed look to a new style he had been trying out. Although it was hard enough trying to explain to Cuddy why he was in on his day off. Wilson was sure that she secretly knew, she was just keeping up appearances to keep him there without too much shame.

Today Wilson might even venture down to the rehab part of the hospital, do a little exercise so that he had an excuse to shower again.

Ambling his careful way down the hall in paced, sweeping cane lengths, House tried to calculate how long it would take him to swipe a prescription pad, forge a dosage, get back to the pharmacy, sweet talk and/or badger the attendant into handing over the goods, and for the pills to take effect.

Too long.

And his buzz was already well faded, souring the world to a grimier hue. He stopped halfway to vent some frustration. Glancing around, he eyed up a set of patients waiting in the lounge, summed up the symptoms, then pointed with his cane to catch her attention.

"He caught it from the maid," he announced, "And yes I know it's a male maid, y'all should probably get some couples counselling about that don'tcha think? Not that it's going to work, mind you, but there's always desperate hope for the lonely and rejected." Much better, the pain was a dull background noise, and the woman's irate ramblings as he nonchalantly left them behind made it all the sweeter. He let himself into Wilson's office and and rummaged through the desk, idly tossing aside various case folders and personal belongings.

Then he slammed the drawer shut and knocked a picture frame off the desk bitterly. The bastard had moved his pads again. Hiding them from nefarious drug seekers, no doubt. House peered around the room, contemplating where a needy, infelicitous do-gooder hypocrite would think was a particularly clever hiding spot. But as his eyes scanned he was distracted by subtle changes in the office.

Patient chair lined up alongside the doctor's, some sort of blanket rolled up and stuffed in the bottom of the bookshelf, a gym bag in the corner. He leaned down and sniffed the leather chair. No scents of sex, but hints of Wilson's morning breath. Curious

That was the sight that Wilson stepped into, House sniffing his leather chair. A very strange sight considering he was sure he only popped out for a couple of minutes, and House hadn't been there when he had left. Arching an eyebrow, his cheeks flushed from the cold air of outside, having just been on his balcony taking in the views of the busy street below, Wilson paused in his door way before stepping the rest of the way inside, letting the glass door slide shut behind him.

Although it was fairly bright outside it was still windy, being outside had messed up his hair even more.

"Just what are you doing?" Wilson asked, becoming suspicious as he folded his arms over his chest. Although he was used to House being irritable and generally unpleasant, and used to walking into his office and finding House snooping around, he wasn't used to walking into House sniffing his things.

Most definitely not his chair.

That just seemed a bit...

"Checking for gnomes," House answered the question reflexively, and rifled through the bookshelf for good measure. No easily spotted pads there. "Heard there's an infestation of them down in paediatrics, they're waging war against the roaches. Little tiny bloodied helmets everywhere, it's a tragedy." He used the excuse to give the room a last thorough scan, but no immediately apparent hiding spots popped out at him.

Shaking his head slightly, Wilson stepped forwards, grabbing a clip board from where it had fallen to the floor, flicking through the pages before placing it back on his desk, giving House a warning look.

These unscheduled visits usually only meant one thing, and that was House had been taking more than his recommended dosage of Vicodin and had, yet again, run out. Honestly, Wilson knew that his friend House was in pain, but if he just went to the therapist he could be off his drug addiction, and he wouldn't be in so much pain because it was only mental... Still, no matter how many times he tried to convince him, it didn't work. "I'm not going to give you any more, you've already had enough to last you a month, this week alone." Why else would House be visiting him?

Not to see if he was okay. That was for sure.

Sidling up to Wilson, House loomed over him, squinting down in challenge. "I don't have any more pills now, though. I just finished a game of hide and seek with Cuddy - if you know what I mean - and I'm bone dry." He waved the vacant bottle right in the man's face as demonstration. "See? Cupboard's bare. You wouldn't subject my patients to a sober doctor, would you? Prescription, gimme." He made impatient hand gestures with an open palm.

But then picked up another hint of something, and leaned in to sniff at the oncologists hair. A change in the ratios, less shampoo more deodorant. And the other scents associated with the man's home were fainter, if not absent. "You've done something with your hair," he accused. "Or haven't, rather. Trying for a new grunge look? You're a decade or two late."

Wilson ignored the bottle being waved before his face, instead fixing a steady look on House himself. Really, for a fully grown man, a specialist doctor at that, House really acted like a child. Perhaps that was part of his grumpy charm? Wilson quickly brushed that off, letting his eyes roll in a sarcastic manner instead, reaching out for the empty bottle and plucking it from House's hand.

Years of knowing the man had done him well, but it was only recently he had decided that the best way to keep House from forging his medication was to always carry his prescription book with him.

"Please House, you expect me to believe that you don't have a secret stash away somewhere should I grow common sense over night and not give you more Vicodin? Let's face it, the only time your patients will be subjected to a sober doctor is either before, or after they see you." Another thing Wilson was good at, being a bitch. But then, it was only really either to House, or to Cuddy about House, something about his 'friend' just rubbed him up the wrong way sometimes.

That would more often then not be just after Wilson was yet again kicked out.

Oh the predictability.

Still, his little quip didn't stop him from pulling out his prescription book from the inside of his lab coat, walking over to his desk to sit down in the leather and start to write out just what House wanted.

Pity?

Most likely.

"Please House" Wilson had muttered, a hand raising to try and flatten down his hair once again. "I doubt you have ever tried anything other than the grunge look, and you seem to pull it off" But was that an insult, or a half witted compliment? Wilson wouldn't be lying if he said he wasn't too sure himself, sleeping on a sofa in the middle of your own office playing with ones mind from time to time.

House glowered, considering his options. Wilson was trying for the interference approach again, refusing him meds. He did this every once in awhile when his conscience paned, until House harassed him enough to make it too difficult for him to keep up. House was already lining up ideas in his head to get around this new obstacle. Ask Cuddy? Leave, then come back and ransack the office? Steal someone else's pad? None of these addressed him being cut off though. Maybe he should follow the suggestion, live off his stash until he got Wilson cowed and willing again.

He was a bit flummoxed to see the pad emerge so quickly, scattering all his newly created plans of meddling to the wind. Certainly not objecting, he still glanced the oncologist over sceptically. Wilson bowing this fast didn't bode well. Something was up. "I just have a classic appearance, appropriate in any season," he said to cover his scrutiny. Tired maybe, frazzled. Hair mussed, clothes slightly rumpled. Holding his neck awkwardly as if he might have a slight crick in it. Blanket in the shelf.

He tapped his cane thoughtfully as it came together. He judged it had probably been a couple days now, maybe longer. No effort on Wilson's to tell him; maybe he assumed House would figure it out. There was a slight twinge of annoyance at the other possibilities, which House ignored. He waited until the prescription had a signature and snatched it off the pad right under Wilson's pen, before asking, "So, was it one of your patients again? This many marriages, you'd think you'd have learned to sneak around better by now."

"You'd also thing my wives would have learnt not to marry me by now, let alone leave me with potential cheating material." Wilson responded bitterly, lifting his eyes to stare at House. For a guy that rarely had one night stands (as far as Wilson knew) he sure did know a lot about relationships. Either way Wilson had been expecting as such in his latest marriage, from the wedding night onwards really.

Any woman that withholds sex from him for more than a month at a time clearly don't want to be with him anyway. Not like she wasn't cheating behind his back either. The damn pool boy of all people, and to think, they didn't even have a pool, just how long had she expected to get away with that one?

Then again his hatred towards females was growing everyday, by the end of the year he wouldn't be surprised if he ended up like House. Looking but not touching as he worked with pretty members of staff. How the man had coped so far was beyond him (although he'd heard a rumour from Cuddy's office that all of that Vicodin had 'impaired' House in certain areas of the bedroom). "But for your information, it wasn't a patient this time... it was his sister" Leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples with his fingers, Wilson let out a loud sigh.

Oh yes, very unethical.

"Women are stupid," House declared with a nod, as if that answered everything. They had to be, to see Wilson as just his nice, pretty, sensitive façade and not notice the blaring warning signs overhead. He listened to their needs, for crying out loud, if they didn't find that suspicious then they deserved the consequences. "But hey, not a patient this time, that's an improvement! Baby steps. Maybe someday you'll be committing infidelity that doesn't endanger your career at all!"

He leg whined for pills, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up; it only came around every few years, after all. He leaned against the desk to take some of the strain off. "I assume the divorce is not firmly on the table yet, or you probably would be looking for an apartment or at least a hotel."

Sleeping in the office was just silly.

Wilson 'punishing' himself, surely, wallowing in his self pity like he thought he was supposed to. "You stay here much longer, it's gonna take on your distinctive musk. Eau d'oncologist."

"Women are necessary" Wilson retorted, looking up to House with an 'what-the-hell-kind-of-thing-to-say-is-that-are-you-gay' look. Before that moment people would have wondered if such a look existed, and if it didn't before that very moment... it does now. Although that look was quickly wiped off his face, replaced with a somewhat unimpressed look.

From the way House was talking about his little... adventures, it was like Wilson took part in them every other day.

Now, Wilson wasn't a bad man, but sometimes he would let his desires overcome his ethics, and that was when problems in his marriage would arise, so to speak.

"Funnily enough House, divorce is incredibly firmly on the table, unfortunately for me it seems that my soon to be ex-wife has links to the hotel industry, and as such has decided to make my life a living hell, ensuring that any rooms available would be extremely over priced." That women was a genius, and the devil in disguise at the same time. The only reason Wilson had fallen for her had been her other … assets. Turns out he's a man of carnal pleasure. Leaning back in his chair, Wilson considered his friend for a moment.

Usually, when things like this happened, he would spend a little while in his office, maybe move to House's place until he became unwelcome, and then he was back in the hotels looking for fresh meat, but he really didn't feel up to it this time. Not just the looking for fresh meat part either, the whole staying with House thing was starting to get to him.

Over the years he had realised that spending too much time with House was a bad idea, it would bring out irrational mood swings, and he would loose so much weight (just from the fact that House would steal his meals). Should he chance asking to stay with House? After all, his office couldn't get much more unethical anyway. "I suppose I had best prescribe some more drugs for your secret stash"

"Lies, there is no secret stash. I bet you believe in El Dorado and free cable, too," House retorted. Technically there were several stashes, not just one - he'd studied the hoarding arts of the squirrel - but there was no way he was giving Wilson any clues as to their locations. The man might decide to raid them during one of his white knight mood swings. It was a real hassle sometimes, having a friend who thought they were a decent human being.

He followed Wilson out, inwardly pleased that he'd received an amused reaction rather than an annoyed one. It was out of character for what was supposed to be the moody-with-guilt phase of a James Wilson breakup, but maybe that was a good sign. At least it meant House wouldn't have to diffuse him like a ticking time bomb. That always left a mess.

Once free of the office he took the lead, overcoming his friend with his sweeping gait, his impatience finally getting to him. He slapped the prescription down on the pharmacy counter soon as he reached it. "Garcon! I'll have the vicodin special, no onions."

Standing next to House as he waited for the somewhat bored prescription woman hand over the medication, Wilson glanced to the reflective silver on the other side of the desk, it wasn't the closest to a mirror that he had seen for the past few days, after all he had a mirror in his office, but this reflective surface seemed to make his appearance look even more ruffled and unkempt. House hadn't been lying when he said grunge look, but it was only now that Wilson was able to take in the full image of himself.

The mirror in his office wasn't that big after all.

Letting out a slight groan at his look, Wilson bowed his head slightly, still keeping eye contact with himself in the metal as his fingers brushed through his hair, able to finally flatten the back of his hair and see the mess. Goodness, just what his patients had been thinking the past couple of days he didn't know, but it wasn't a very professional look. That was all that Wilson had left, his looks. Even those seemed to be failing him at the moment.

"Rough night?" The overweight and under paid woman behind the desk asked Wilson, a knowing smirk on her fat face, something that Wilson would have loved to wipe off with a firm hit, but he didn't hit women, well, he did, but only if they hit him first.

Alls fair in love and war.

"Indeed" Wilson snapped back, giving the woman an unimpressed look. Finally the bottle was handed back, full this time, and Wilson let out a breath, feeling like he was on the run from Cuddy with House. The sooner they left this place, the sooner Wilson could have a shower in peace, even if he would end up smelling like House.

The new bottle didn't even touch the counter top, House snatched it up so fast, and popped a couple back with a well rehearsed dry swallow. Just knowing they'd take effect soon was already lowering his stress levels. He pocketed the bottle and prescription, and tossed his empty to the eye-rolling pharmacist with a wink. Give him the stink eye much as she might, Jenny filled bottles so quickly that he always got the impulse to tip her.

He turned around to Wilson's primping, and readied some witty remarks, but the bloated bint beat him to it. Glowering, he sized her up critically. Other people teasing Wilson didn't sit right with him; he was nothing if not territorial. ""Oh my god, you should've seen her!" he told the woman enthusiastically. "Gorgeous bosom, long flowing hair. Wilson ping-ponged that shiny toy like a champ! Her sister tried to get with me, but I turned her down." He glanced the woman up and down. "I don't go for fat chicks."

Mood vastly improved, he snagged Wilson's shoulder and nudged him insistently in the right direction, then dropped into his own rocking stride. That was a good idea, actually, he mused. A bit of bar hopping, a bit of drunk Wilson picking up tail with his pitiful puppy face, might be just the thing to distract him from future-ex. House added it to the to-do list. Alcohol first, though, Wilson was always easier to manipulate when soused. "We're taking your car, right? Mine's a bit low on gas. I swear my neighbour is pilfering from the tank."