moose_mcmoose | Careless Hands

Title: Careless Hands
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: House/Wilson,
Disclaimer: They aint none o'mine. I own bugger all.
Summary: Wilson should really look where he puts his hand. Written for the Camp Sick!Wilson Fourth of July Challenge The prompts I used were - apple pie, barbecue, burns.

"It looks like a waffle."

"Is that a technical term?"

"No. The technical term would be a 'first degree burn caused by a clumsy moron who manages to trip over his own foot and hand plant into the barbecue' but I thought I'd shorten that down for you."

"Well thank you for your kind concern." Wilson cringed as the cool water slid over the sensitive flesh on the palm of his hand. "I didn't expect it to be that hot. I only started it five minutes ago."

"Who would expect heat from a barbecue? You'd have to be cra-"

"Your sarcasm isn't as soothing as you think it is."

"And your idiocy isn't as endearing as you think it is."

"Now you're just kicking a man while he's down." Wilson waggled his tender fingers, inhaling a breath through gritted teeth. "Can you get the first aid kit? There should be one in the cupboard beneath the sink."

House leant over and plunged a hand into the darkness of the cupboard. Squinting hard, he pulled a green bag from the depths. "Why do you have three first aid kits? Are you expecting a barrage of ailments that can be cured with Aspirin and gauze?"

"Five. I have two in the bathroom."

House creased his brows. "Why?"

"No harm in being prepared."

"There's being prepared. Then there's just being weird." House thumbed through the bag's contents, pulling out the required items.

"Says the man with his own personal pharmacy."

House tossed the bag onto the counter top, dropping the gauze and slip of bandage next to it. "Hey, don't hate the man, hate the system. It's not my fault that I have a prescription to get high. Although, you'll probably need something for that. It's gonna sting like hell."

"I think I arrived at hell a few moments ago." Wilson turned the tap, increasing the flow of water to cool his skin. From the corner of his eye he spotted House, with several pink strips of something over his face. This is why he never let House near his first aid kits. "Will you stop fucking with the band aids? I need those."

"Oh relax. You don't need them now."

"I...I-" Wilson growled in defeat. "Just pass some anti-septic."

House duly prodded a small tube across the granite worktop.

"Well can you open it? I'm a little stuck here."

"God. You burn yourself and suddenly it's 'House do this', 'House do that.'" Petulantly, House twisted the cap and handed into Wilson's working hand.

Wilson swiped it from his grasp, gently removing his hand from the cooling water and applying a little to the delicate skin around his fingers and palm.

"Wilson?"

"What?"

"Have you learned anything from today?"

"Sure I have."

"Go on."

"I've learned that you're still an ass."

"And..."

"That your barbecue heats up a lot quicker than most normal barbecues."

"Anything else?"

"That I have an unhealthy obsession with pie. I already knew that."

House tossed two Ibruprofen between his hands. "Just a little unhealthy. I've never seen a man run so fast when the word 'pie' was uttered. Or fall."

Wilson shrugged.

"Seriously, if you channelled that kind of energy into your work, you might actually turn out to be a good Oncologist."

"You really flatter me sometimes, you know that."

"I do try."

Wilson eyed up his now bandaged right hand, and shoved the first aid kit back into the cupboard, before taking a seat on the sofa and plunging his feet onto the coffee table. House followed close behind, with an over dramatic thud announcing his arrival onto the sofa. Both men folded their arms and the air became silent.

"So..." Wilson rubbed his nose and sniffed, disguising the gentle rumble from his stomach. "Do... we....um... have any of that pie somewhere?"

House could only smile.