Wilson cast a dubious eye over the bedroom one last time. Something was definitely different. House was edgy, and Wilson had the distinct feeling that he was trying to hide something from him. He'd never find out what if he let House know that he was suspicious, though. Given time enough, House would destroy all the evidence, or possibly Wilson, to stop him from finding out. Wilson raised his hands defensively and made a show of allowing House to herd him out of the bedroom.
He rolled his eyes at House's joke as he started back down the hall. "Yes, because you trust Cuddy implicitly with hands-on medicine," he said, trying to cover as he peered around House's living room, looking for some other sign of what House wasn't telling him. "I wouldn't ask her if you want to keep your treatment option intact."
House wouldn't be fooled, though, if Wilson didn't ask a few questions. "Seriously, House. Is it...something that's not just your leg?" Wilson cast his mind over the last couple of weeks, trying to remember if House had been acting differently. They hadn't done much recently, but it wasn't like they were connected at the hip. Still, Wilson had seen less of House in the last little while than he usually did. And of course there was House's stunt with the transfusion, but risking his life for a diagnosis--or just on a whim--couldn't exactly be called out of the ordinary. Diagnostics hadn't been any busier than normal. House's pain--despite this morning's treatment--hadn't been different. And yet...House seemed agitated. Wilson headed for the door, as if House had really chased him away. Glancing down, he raised his eyebrows at the leather briefcase sitting in the entryway. It was definitely not House's style--professional, almost ostentatious. "Don't tell me you're giving up the backpack," Wilson said, watching House's face and covering his interest with a mild look.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-03-01 06:25 am (UTC)He rolled his eyes at House's joke as he started back down the hall. "Yes, because you trust Cuddy implicitly with hands-on medicine," he said, trying to cover as he peered around House's living room, looking for some other sign of what House wasn't telling him. "I wouldn't ask her if you want to keep your treatment option intact."
House wouldn't be fooled, though, if Wilson didn't ask a few questions. "Seriously, House. Is it...something that's not just your leg?" Wilson cast his mind over the last couple of weeks, trying to remember if House had been acting differently. They hadn't done much recently, but it wasn't like they were connected at the hip. Still, Wilson had seen less of House in the last little while than he usually did. And of course there was House's stunt with the transfusion, but risking his life for a diagnosis--or just on a whim--couldn't exactly be called out of the ordinary. Diagnostics hadn't been any busier than normal. House's pain--despite this morning's treatment--hadn't been different. And yet...House seemed agitated. Wilson headed for the door, as if House had really chased him away. Glancing down, he raised his eyebrows at the leather briefcase sitting in the entryway. It was definitely not House's style--professional, almost ostentatious. "Don't tell me you're giving up the backpack," Wilson said, watching House's face and covering his interest with a mild look.