“What can you possibly have against stethoscopes?” Wilson asked, leaning on House’s desk.

“Same thing I have against lab coats,” started House, not looking up from his Game Boy, “they make my delicate skin itch.”

Wislon snorted. “You’re just afraid if someone can identify you as a doctor, they might ask you to actually treat them.”

“Hey, high score!” House crowed.

Wilson sighed.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” House asked sweetly. “If it was about whether you could buy me lunch at the new deli, then why yes, darling, I’ll love that.” He batted his eyes.

“Bastard.”

“Does that mean Chinese again?”

Wilson threw up his hands. “Fine! But we are not taking the motorcycle.”