Sick!Wilson Anonymous

untitled, unbetaed, rated G, and that's about as many words as this microfic has.

When Wilson came into work on Monday he was wearing a dusty, beaten up old fez, and had a giant plush hairy spider dangling from his lapel by a long elastic string.  It jiggled and bounced as he walked.  There was a small beanie baby chipmunk stuffed into his belt.  There was a wrist brace on his left wrist.  He wore a pair of old sneakers on which someone had inked brightly blooming flowers.  By the time Cuddy click-clacked her way across the lobby to confront him, his face was beet red.

"House?" she asked.

Wilson grimaced.  "I took him to the state fair Saturday.  They have these booths with darts.  You throw them and win things.  I--they had this big fluffy blue dolphin.  I thought it would go great in the pediatric oncology playroom.  You know, new toys are always the most fun for the kids.  I'm great at darts. So--"

"You made a bet with him, didn't you?"

"It was a sure thing!"

She shook her head.  "Why do you do this to yourself?"  She narrowed her eyes and peered at him.  "What happened to your wrist?"

Wilson's face turned a brighter shade of crimson.  "I--may have strained it throwing the darts.  The game did take a long time."

She grinned.  "I'm almost afraid to ask, but ...what's going on with the shirt?"   Standing this close, she'd have to have been blind not to notice that it was too large and, even disguised under Wilson's jacket, hung strangely.

Wilson leaned towards her and said quietly, "Padded bra."

At her expression Wilson added, "Yeah.  If anyone wants me I'll just be in the morgue.  All day."

Her laughter followed him down the stairs.  Once he was alone, uncomfortably ensconced in the always chilly morgue and using an autopsy table for a desk, he allowed himself to smile.  The last laugh would be his.  They hadn't seen House yet.


End.

Brynnamorgan has done a wonderful illustration of House and Wilson here