moose_mcmoose | Fic: Fox News' Accurate Weather Report

Title: Fox News' Accurate Weather Report
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1089
Disclaimer: Not mine. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans.
Summary: Windswept!House, windswept!Wilson, sick!Wilson, Sangria and one hell of an aggressive door. Written for the "Camp Sick!Wilson Random Items Challenge."
My items were sangria, a backyard patio and the tail end of a hurricane hitting New Jersey.
(This is was HARD.)

"Well as much as love the feeling of gale force winds ripping through my hair, I really think we should make a run for it."

"In my case, I think you mean an aggressive limp."

Wilson clasped a hand onto the shuddering fence behind him, squinting into the middle distance where the door to the apartment block was waving wildly back and forth. "Either way, we can't stay here."

"Why not? Embrace it. We are at one with nature Wilson." House bellowed as a swirl of foliage passed his face.

"If embracing it means dying in it then I'm gonna pass on that."

"My god, you've got morbid in your middle age." House sat absent-mindedly on a wooden chair, slowly sipping the contents from the glass in his hand. "It's just air."

"Air that can kill you."

"A minor detail." House waved a hand. "Just sit down and drink your Sangria. I made this from scratch. I don't want it wasted just because you got your jock strap in a twist about getting some plants blown in your face."

"I could have been blinded, choked....anything."

"Well God forbid you get some sap in your eye."

Wilson looked anxiously towards the horizon. "I'm serious House. I think, for once, Fox's Weather Report was right." He hailed a finger towards the dark, sinister mass of cloud gathering behind a distant row of houses. "Can you see that?"

House craned his neck. "It's just some rain and Fox's Weather Report is done by a bunch of halfwit morons with binoculars. They promised us snow last week and we ended up having a barbecue." And a damn nice barbecue it was too House mused. "I'm surprised Glenn Beck hasn't been on blaming the hurricane on a bunch of Democrats blowing hot air."

Wilson chuckled. "Still...it's better to be safe than sorry," he uttered as he picked his glass from the table.

"Listen, the back end of the hurricane is gonna be hitting Delaware. Are we in Delaware?"

"Well we're not far!"

"We're far enough."

"Well I'm going in. That cloud of doom over there is freaking me out." Wilson swiped his glass from the table and wandered to the steps leading from the patio. "And I'll look out for you swirling around the sky."

House rolled his eyes before draining the last of his Diet Coke. "Stop being a damn girl."

"I'm not being a girl, I just would like to live until I'm at least fifty."

"I'm staying."

"Oh come on. We'll go inside. I'll put The French Connection on, I'll pass out because I over did the Sangria, you'll draw a moustache on my face and a penis on my forehead and all will be right the world."

House gaped. "You make that sound seriously tempting. Can I use permanent marker?"

Wilson shrugged. "It would probably get me the day off work. I doubt Cuddy would let me do my round in the kid's ward with a phallus on my face."

"Is that a deal?"

"Now I've put the idea in your head, would it make any difference if I said no?"

"Probably not."

Wilson tilted his head. "I could live with that."

"Then what are we waiting for?" House stormed from his chair and hobbled to catch Wilson, who had began pacing slowly towards the apartment door that was still swinging in the wind.

The prevailing eastily wind wasn't helping either of them, whipping across the grassy area with ferocious speed, sending House's cane spiralling every time he moved it off the ground, and Wilson's jacket billowing eastwards, which in turn was dragging him off course.

Eventually, Wilson managed to plant himself onto the wall, his fair half covered with windswept clumps of hair. "You okay there!"

House smiled. "Just peachy!"

"I'll hold the door!" Wilson slid inside the block and pressed the door open with his arm before planting his foot at the base to keep the whole thing steady. "Jeez, this is heavy!"

"I'm going as fast as I can! Cripple over here you know!"

"I'm not complaining!"

"Weird! I must have mistook the sound of your whining for complaining."

"I could lock you out you know?"

"You wouldn't."

Wilson shrugged, his predictable nature losing him the argument as per usual. He managed to keep the door ajar, but only just, and judging by the straining he felt in his legs, he wasn't going to keep it open for much longer. So when House got close enough to reach, he dragged the bedraggled looking man straight in the stairwell with a heave of his arm.

"There's no need to throw me in." House brushed the debris from his pants.

"Would you rather I let you get wedged in the door?"

"I would rather have stayed outside. But you and your Boy Scout health and safety had to all pee all over that."

Wilson thumped the door back open. "Fine! Go back out."

"Well it doesn't matter now." House folded his arms and turned away.

Wilson growled before moving his foot away from the base of the door. "You can be a real pain in the--" Before the twisted term of endearment could escape Wilson's lips, there was an awful crunch followed by a heavy thud.

House span around to find his friend ass down on the floor, his head gently lolling back and forth like a toddler whose just wandered into a table. "What the hell?....Oh..." He reached down and placed his hand over Wilson's bloody and flowing nose. "Tip your head forward."

Wilson spluttered as a trickle of blood ran down the back of his mouth and stuck in his throat.

"Don't spray on me." House wiped his bloodied hand on his jacket and placed it back over Wilson's nose. "Have you got a tissue?"

"Um..." He coughed again, fizzing blood onto his jeans.

"Just nod you idiot."

Wilson carefully shook his head.

"Great. Well we'll have to get you into the apartment. My hand isn't that absorbent." House wrapped his arm under Wilson's arm and around his back in an attempt to get the dazed man on his feet. "Come on."

"I guess..." Wilson muttered, an ugly nasal quality seeped into his voice, "you won't need to draw that dick on my head any more."

"Why not?"

Wilson was on his feet now, his trail being shakily navigated for him as he struggled to keep his balance. "I can't go into work like this."

"Like this is gonna stop me."

"You're an ass."

"I know."