Part II: The Next Day

Rating: PG for a few random curse words, none of which involve the letter "F"

Pairing: Wilson/Cameron

Written by: Willie/Laura

Note: Willie challenged Laura to write this story after an e-mail conversation on the HouseMD YahooGroup. A new group member listed Cameron/Wilson as her favorite pairing on the show. Pam replied, "that would be fun. Wonder who'd get bored first (besides the audience of course (probably wouldn't be a lot of drama there))." Then I replied "LOL! Oh, I dunno... Give them both the flu, and watch them try to out-care each other. ;) "I suggested a scenario of Cameron and Wilson crawl-racing to the kitchen to see who could be the first to warm up some soup and put the kettle on for tea for the other, then the two of them needing to ralph, but arguing over who would hold what out of the way for whom (Wilson: "Here, let me hold your hair back so it doesn't get in the way." Cameron: "No! I need to hold your tie so it doesn't get in the way!") Laura came up with an even better scene, and I double-dog dared her to write it up. Thank goodness, she did—and it's hysterical! For some twisted reason, though, I really wanted House to comment on it. Hence, the MST.

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After tucking Cameron safely into his bed with a big, soft teddy bear and the TV's remote control, Wilson sniffled his way into Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. He hated to leave his lovely, needy Cameron for even one minute, but he had an appointment with an adorably bald cancer kid and her parents at 2:30, and he just couldn't let them down. After checking his voice mail, he made his way to the office of his friend, Dr. Gregory House. House was, not surprisingly, watching television.

"House."

House, looking up, replied, "Rudolph! What a red nose you have!"

"Flu."

House grabbed a tissue and held it over his mouth as an impromptu Barrier. "Same one Cameron has?"

Wilson coughed. "Yep."

"Why are you here? Can't you and Cameron keep your germs to yourselves?"

"Got a cancer kid and her parents coming in this afternoon."

"So you're going to give the flu to a kid who's already immuno-suppressed from chemo?"

"I'm gonna wear a mask, of course. A-choo!"

"Dammit, Wilson!" He picked up a can of Lysol and sprayed it in Wilson's general direction. "Before you make me sick, too, what do you want?"

"I was wondering if you can tape up my ribs for me. I think a few of them are broken."

"I knew that swing in your bedroom was a bad idea…"

"House! Cameron and I are both too sick right now to make sweet, yet hot, monkey love. We haven't touched the swing in at least 48 hours."

"How'd you break your ribs, then?"

"It's a long story…"

Cameron had seen her fair share of inflatable items in her life, but the inflatable Jesus was more than she could handle. Not that she was religious. Her disbelief in God surprised people who saw her goody-two-shoes exterior and overlooked the hot molten lava interior.

"Hot molten lava?"

"Oh, yeah. My sweet darling sizzles…"

"I think I'm gonna be sick…"

No, it wasn't religion. It was the principle of the thing. An inflatable Jesus. Well, at least it wasn't Christ on the cross; no, it was the manger scene with an inflatable baby Jesus.

"Hey, look, it's Jesus! Go tell the Ro…"

"Shut it, and tape me up." He removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, which Cameron had lovingly ironed for him just two days ago.

An inflatable baby Jesus she wouldn't have seen had she not been on her way to her boyfriend's house. She should have been at home in bed. She had the flu, a miserable entire-body-consuming flu, but James needed cared for and God (if he, she, or it existed) damn it, she was going to care for him if it killed her!

"I should be so lucky."

Wilson blew his nose, loudly.

"Actually, I could've been, if I'd only played my cards right…"

Wilson fumed and sniffled.

Ah, James. Sweet James. Cameron sneezed. "I wonder if they make inflatable menorahs," she pondered as she pulled into his driveway.

"I'm surprised you haven't given each other diabetes yet. You're just dripping with sugary goodness."

"Honey, actually."

"What?"

"Uh, never mind."

"What are you doing here?" a drippy-nosed Wilson asked as she came in through the front door.

"Nice to see you, too, honey," she responded. "I knew you were sick. I came over to take care of you. Why is your coat on?"

"Well, I was on my way to come over to take care of you!" Wilson responded. He then sunk into a coughing fit that Cameron felt oddly resembled Carol of the Bells.

"Does she think your snoring resembles Beethoven's Fifth, by any chance?"

"Keep it up and I'll sneeze on you."

"Oh, sweetie," she said, running over to him. "You should get in bed!"

"No! You should get in bed!" Wilson responded.

"Here, have some tissues," Cameron deflected, pulling out a box.

"No, thanks, I have my own. You can use them if you'd like."

"Oh. My. God."

"Could you pay attention to my ribs, here?"

"Sorry…"

"Mine are Puffs."

"Mine are Kleenex," Wilson volleyed.

"Plus lotion."

"Aloe and E."

"Three ply."

Wilson examined his box. "Damn, two."

"Ha! Bring out the white board!"

"White board?!" House exclaimed.

"Uh-oh. Um, can we fast-forward, please?"

"No way! This just got interesting."

Grudgingly, Wilson dragged out the whiteboard, also known as the "In-Home Out-Care Scoreboard."

House doubled over, laughing.

Wilson sighed and hung his head as a droplet fell from the end of his nose onto his pristinely pressed trousers.

"Add a point to my name," Cameron instructed. "Wait a minute! Where'd you get that point from?" she asked, thrusting out a finger at the scoreboard which now read "Wilson – 25, Cameron – 24."

"I gave myself a point for coming to see you."

"But I came to see you first!" Cameron argued.

"But I didn't know that when I was leaving to come see you."

"But I still need my point for the tissues AND a point for coming to see you, so I have 26 and you have 24."

Wilson, pouting, scratched out the 24 and wrote 26, muttering, "That's one plus two plus one plus one."

House, still laughing, replied, "P-p-poor p-pouting J-j-jimmy!

"What? Jimmy? Are you okay?" Cameron walked over to where he was standing.

"I should've taken the red pill."

"I should remember to take an extra Vicodin or three before you relate one of your Wilsie-Cameron twoo wuv stories…"

"Poor baby, you have a fever," Cameron caressed Wilson's forehead.

"Oh, but darling, so do you!" Wilson exclaimed, his own clammy hand reaching for Cameron's forehead.

Two sets of eyes spotted a bottle of Tylenol on the coffee table in the distance… the eyes met… then returned to the bottle.

"And the race is on!!"

Wilson shook his head and moaned softly. "Am I ever living this down?"

"In your dreams, Jimmy boy! I can't wait to tell Chase and Foreman…"

"Where are they?"

"Breaking into Cuddy's house again."

"Why this time?"

"There was a package from Victoria's Secret in her mail yesterday and I was bored today. They're finding out what she ordered."

"Oh. Let me know if it's lacy and fragile—I'll order the same thing for my lovely, fragile Allison."

House limped over to his desk and threw two Vicodin down his throat.

A mess of sweater-vests and ties erupted in a flurry of clothing-activity as they each raced for the bottle.

House wiped tears from his eyes, still laughing. "…mess of sweater-vests and ties…" Priceless!

"It's mine! You need it more than me!" Cameron shouted, elbowing Wilson out of the way. "And now you really need it for that broken rib!"

"Well, I knew she was somehow responsible for the rib…"

"She's gentle and good. She didn't mean it."

"Of course not. Neither one of you would intentionally hurt a gnat. And gnats are asking for it…"

"But sweetheart, you must be the best you can be so that floppy-haired Englishman won't one-up you."

House doubled over again, nearly falling this time with laughter. "I've taught you well, Wilson!"

"You take it. My ribs will heal!" Wilson responded as he grabbed Cameron by the ponytail, yanking her away from the white pills. "Ha!" he exclaimed triumphantly as his fingers, entwined with strands of hair, grasped the bottle.

House, through spurts of laughter, replied, "Oooh, she likes to have her hair pulled!

If I knew that, I might've taken her for a test drive after dinner that night."

Wilson continued fuming as he blew his nose.

His gaze turned upward as Cameron dangled a packet in front of him. "But I have TheraFlu."

"Curses!" Wilson threw himself down on the couch, knowing defeat.

"Curses?" House asked.

"I have a few curses in mind for you if you make another crack about taking my poor, wounded baby for a test drive."

House poked Wilson in his taped ribs.

"OW! Cut that out!"

"That's okay, babe. You'll get your points back in no time." Cameron sat down beside him, running her fingers through her newly thinned hair. "By the way, there's something I want to ask you."

"Will you pull the rest of my hair out the next time I'm in the swing?"

Wilson, still fuming as he threw his wet tissue toward House's head as he responded, "My darling had luxurious, shiny tresses to begin with. She still looks vulnerably luscious."

Wilson turned to look at her, brows furrowed. "Sure. Go ahead."

"Have you ever heard of an inflatable Jesus?"

"Huh?"

"Damned if I know…"

"Wilson?"

"Yes."

"You know, she liked me first…"

"Yeah. I know…"

"Think I could take her for a ride in the swing sometime?"

Wilson sneezed in House's face.