“I suppose it would be useless to point out that I offered to make those instead of going to the movies, not after.”

“Yup,” House answered. He wondered if it would be necessary to remind Wilson that he’d been mean to him. He settled for glancing meaningfully at the closet.

Wilson got the message. “Okay, okay. Mushroom things, coming right up. Do you have any more demands?”

House rubbed his chin. “I could go for a sticky bun,” he admitted.

Wilson sighed. “Do you have any baking powder?”

House shrugged and dialed. He called Cameron’s apartment, but it was Chase who answered. “Chase, you sly dingo! Having a dirty weekend at Cameron’s?”

“We’re doing research,” Chase answered stiffly.

“Is that what the kids are calling it?” He continued without waiting for an answer. “Why did you fill up my machine with journal articles?”

“Is that House?” Cameron said in the background. “Let me talk.” She seized the phone. “Hi, House. How are you doing?”

“Great.”

“He wants to know about the articles,” Chase said.

“We thought maybe some of the recorded cases of the Syndrome of Delusional Companions were actually cases like yours,” she explained.

“So what if they are?” The articles certainly wouldn’t say anything about how the stuffed animal-ified person had been changed back--or even if they had at all.

“We thought it might be useful,” Cameron said, deflated.

“Well, let me know if you find anything that actually is useful.”

House thought he heard Chase say, “Mean Teddy,” in the background as he hung up.

#

After getting out the butter and cream cheese to soften, Wilson finely diced some onions and mushrooms and put them into a skillet to sauté. He didn’t really mind cooking for House, even if he was being obnoxious. Cooking was relaxing for him, and he liked knowing that House would have something good to eat--even if he wasn’t going to be the slightest bit appreciative.

And he still felt pretty bad about throwing House in the closet. Even though events at the movie theater had demonstrated that he was right not to want to go.

When House finished his phone call, he’d turned on the TV. Now, Wilson heard it click off. House flopped off the couch with an “Oops.” A moment later, he came toddling into the kitchen. “Hi, Wilson.”

“Hi,” Wilson answered.

House pulled open the refrigerator with several grunts. “I can’t reach the beer,” he pointed out.

Wilson got one for him, and uncapped it for good measure.

House held it in both paws and took a long drink.

“I still wonder why it doesn’t drip out your feet,” Wilson said.

House shrugged. “It would be a big waste if it did.” He gestured at the island with his beer bottle. “Up!”

Wilson toweled off his hands and started to lift House onto the counter.

“Wait! My beer!”

He lowered House within reach of his beer. “Happy?” he asked as he sat both House and his drink on the counter.

House scrunched up his face. “You know, I kinda am.”

#

 On to Chapter 19