Title: Ways and Means
Rating: PG-15/T
Characters/Pairings: House/Cameron, Wilson (so far; likely, many more)
Summary: From working, to drinking. From saving lives, to dating. From betting, to falling into bed with his co-workers. House's life really isn't dull for a moment, is it?
Disclaimer: Not mine, borrowing. Will put them back (relatively) unharmed.
Author's Note: Okay /bites nails/. The second thing I've attempted in the House fandom. Ever! Set... somewhere in late season one, because that's all I've seen ROFL. Be nice! (:
Excerpt: Wilson smirks, fiddling with the discs still on his desk. "What I want to know is how you knew what I was talking about without me really saying anything."

Prologue

"Y'know. You could just..."

House glances up to find Wilson gazing at him intently, the rest of the sentence left hanging in the air. Sunlight filters in through the semi-closed blinds, casting long shadows around the small office, and the air is stale with must.

He flexes his eyebrows and looks to the column between them again, not interested in why he knows what Wilson is talking about despite neither of them saying anything for a good five minutes.

"Yeah," he replies through a sarcastic laugh, leaning forward and dropping a black disc into the 'Connect 4' holder. This is the fifth round they've played, with House winning spectacularly four-to-one so far. He can't help but feel a little bit smug about that.

"Why not?" counters Wilson, frowning at the game he can't seem to win.

House reclines back into the plastic seat, shifting a little at the discomfort. "You need better chairs," he complains instead of answering. With a patient a few floors below whose blood won't clot, and his team rushing around following orders trying to find out why, this is hardly a conversation he wants to be having.

Wilson pops a red disc into place, then reaches of over for his sandwich. "She's hot," he continues through a mouthful of bread and cheese.

"Think so?" asks House, staring at his remaining pieces of plastic and wishing he hadn't bothered coming here for lunch.

Wilson nods as he swallows.

"Fine." House slides another disc into a column and looks bluntly at his friend. "You do her, then."

Wilson almost chokes, and House can't help the whisper of a smile that briefly crosses his lips. When he looks up next it's into an intrigued, interested gaze, and he quickly drops his eyes to his shoes.

"You're unbelievable."

"Yup. Gonna take your go?"

Sighing, Wilson selects a plastic piece and drops it into the column at the end of the board, and House can't help but think he's not really playing any more.

"You obviously like her," Wilson comments, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"I don't like anyone," House retorts matter-of-factly, spotting an opening in the game.

"You like me," Wilson points out, "and this screwed up excuse for a friendship."

"No," corrects House, and his eyes almost sparkle, "you just annoy me the least."

"Great, thanks."

There's silence again as the two drop a few more pieces into the vertical board. The clock ticking on the wall becomes intrusive to House's thoughts, and he tries to block out questions forming in his mind with every second. Tick. Tick. As the silence drags on, House becomes acutely aware that Wilson is looking at him in the way always makes him feel uncomfortable. He tries to ignore him, but the hairs on the back of his neck start tingling: he doesn't like being watched.

"What?" he almost accuses defensively.

Wilson smirks, fiddling with the discs still on his desk. "What I want to know is how you knew what I was talking about without me really saying anything."

"I'm psychic," House scoffs, pulling a face. "Take your go so I can win already, lunch shift is almost over."

Wilson leans forward conspiratorially and House can't shake the feeling that he is more than a little cornered.

"Twenty bucks says she wouldn't go on a second date with you."

House very nearly laughs. Sitting up, he stares at his friend who is-but-isn't, part in shock, part in humor.

"You're... actually serious," he realizes out loud, and he admits he's a little surprised.

Wilson nods again, drops another piece into place.

Chuckling jeeringly, he counters the move. "She totally would."

"Ask her, then. Prove me wrong."

"No." House raises his eyebrows and his gaze. "That would be taking advantage of my position, both as her boss and... y'know. The rest."

Wilson eyes him slyly and House begins to wish he'd come prepared for this conversation.

"Fifty," Wilson dares.

He watches as Wilson fills one of the column with another red piece, glancing quickly at his watch. Show time. "Deal. Though, anyone would think you want me to be miserable."

Reaching for his cane, he clambers to his feet and grabs his jacket from the back of the chair.

"It's for your own good," Wilson insists, laughing.

House shrugs on his jacket. "Fifty bucks," he clarifies, pointing. "Plus expenses."

"That wasn't the deal."

"It is now." He begins to limp over to the door, but stops before he reaches it by Wilson's protestations.

"Hey, wait – you aren't going to finish the game?"

House sighs exaggeratedly. With one disc left, he turns and slips it into one of the remaining holes.

"I win," he mocks. "See you later."

He leaves Wilson frowning over the lost game and hobbles off down the corridor to find his team, cane echoing loudly on the linoleum floor.