House fic: Passed Over

[triedunture]

Title: Passed Over
Pair: H/W
Rating: G
Words: 570
Summary: College-aged House and Wilson, just a silly AU

<><><>

Wilson slumped into the canvas camping chair, listening to the telltale creak of the left strut; the damn thing was going to snap any day now. Wilson could sympathize.

“Our profession is messed up beyond all reason,” he groaned into his cupped hands.

Sprawled on the stolen, pock-marked couch, House passed over a bottle of beer without taking his eyes from the TV. The Price is Right was still on. House didn’t have to TA a class until three o’clock on Tuesdays. He wasn’t moving. But he was comforting, in his own way.

“You didn’t get the internship?” he asked. Under his breath, he cursed as an old woman guessed the price of a Jeep to be far too much.

“No.” Wilson twisted off the bottle cap and took a swig, grimacing. The beer had been out since the night before: warm beer for breakfast. A House specialty. “Patterson got it.”

“Patterson?” Now House did tear his gaze away from the spinning wheel, wide-eyed. “That idiot beat out you? He can barely string two complete sentences together.”

“Helping, you’re not,” Wilson sighed. “I guess his uncle knows a guy who knows…you know.” He gestured vaguely.

“That’s total bullshit,” House spat. “That position was made for you. It had tons of hard work, no credit, long hours, little pay. It practically had ‘James Wilson’ written all over.”

“I can’t even get a crap job.” Wilson couldn’t stop the bubble of hysterical laughter that welled up from his chest. “How am I supposed to get a residency in a year?”

“You’ll get something, don’t worry. Your grades are ridiculously good,” House drawled as his eyes drifted back to Bob Barker.

“No, my grades are fantastic. And yet, and yet, I can’t even sell myself as a lowly intern.” Wilson took another slug of room-temperature beer. “I can’t get an internship without more experience,” he whined, mimicking the voice of his interviewer. “But I can’t get experience without a job! It’s a vicious cycle.”

“Yeah,” House mumbled. He’d already left the conversation, mentally speaking.

“And you!” the younger med student growled. “You don’t even try! You, you waltz through life, letting it all work out for you.” His hands flailed helplessly in the air. “This TA job just fell into your lap.”

“Actually, the professor’s niece did. After she passed out. I diagnosed her late-onset diabetes, remember?”

“And your last internship in the lab. That was totally out of the blue; you didn’t even apply for it!”

“Well, technically, nobody applied for it.” House lifted his eyebrows in an expression of total innocence. “And as I’ve stated before, I have no idea how all those applications got thrown down the incinerator chute.”

“Meanwhile,” Wilson continued, ignoring House’s practiced defense, “I work my ass off in class all day, study every night, suck up to all the professors and what do I get? Not a goddamn thing.”

“You’ve got me as a roommate,” House managed to say through a yawn. “Isn’t that enough?” He raised his lukewarm beer in a salute.

Wilson eyed him with a calculating glare and tapped his bottle against just the right spot on the very bottom of House’s. The foam in House’s green bottle bubbled up over his knuckles. House yelped and stood suddenly, trying to wipe the beer off his pants.

Wilson took another sip and shrugged. “It has its moments,” he said with a smile.



fin.