Because it's the last day of camp, and deadlines always make my muse come out to play. A ficlet and my second-ever (I think) manip. In both, I used apple pie (Group 1), fireworks (Group 2), and burns (Group 3).
Only Wilson, House thought, as he watched his friend sputter. Only Wilson could bitch about all the normal Fourth-of-July things being too dangerous, and then go and burn himself on a Goddamned apple pie. To be fair, they were at McDonalds in the first place because Wilson had decided it was the safest place to take House for dinner: far away from the illegal fireworks he knew perfectly well House had hidden under his bed, and someplace House enjoyed enough not to grouch too much about being brought there. Except he still doesn't know half the fun is watching him watch me eat. Why Wilson had decided that the summer was a good time for a diet, House didn't know and didn't care. It just meant more torture material for him. But Wilson hadn't been able to resist sneaking a bite of House's pie, and even though he'd tried--it wasn't ever his intention to hurt Wilson too badly--his mouth was too full of hamburger to warn him away in time. The near-boiling filling had coated Wilson's tongue and splashed on his hand, leading to where they were now: with Wilson manfully trying not to scream in pain, and House trying equally hard not to laugh aloud. But even as he schooled his featured into a mask of pure concern, he couldn't help mentally shaking his head. Only Wilson.
no subject
Only Wilson, House thought, as he watched his friend sputter. Only Wilson could bitch about all the normal Fourth-of-July things being too dangerous, and then go and burn himself on a Goddamned apple pie. To be fair, they were at McDonalds in the first place because Wilson had decided it was the safest place to take House for dinner: far away from the illegal fireworks he knew perfectly well House had hidden under his bed, and someplace House enjoyed enough not to grouch too much about being brought there. Except he still doesn't know half the fun is watching him watch me eat. Why Wilson had decided that the summer was a good time for a diet, House didn't know and didn't care. It just meant more torture material for him. But Wilson hadn't been able to resist sneaking a bite of House's pie, and even though he'd tried--it wasn't ever his intention to hurt Wilson too badly--his mouth was too full of hamburger to warn him away in time. The near-boiling filling had coated Wilson's tongue and splashed on his hand, leading to where they were now: with Wilson manfully trying not to scream in pain, and House trying equally hard not to laugh aloud. But even as he schooled his featured into a mask of pure concern, he couldn't help mentally shaking his head. Only Wilson.