"Occam's Razor states that the theory that makes the fewest assumptions is the superior theory," Wilson said from the door of House's office.

House momentarily paused mid-rubber ball toss before beginning again.  "So, the theory that proposes that fifteen patients exhibiting signs of arachnid poisoning at one hospital are unrelated is the superior theory?"  His inflection was anything but accommodating.

He does have a point, Wilson thought and stuck his hands in his suit pockets. "When you put it like that..."

"Occam's Razor is dull."  He tossed his beloved diversion into a desk drawer.

Wilson quirked his eyebrows. "So is yours. When exactly was the last time your face met a blade?" He wandered over to House to give his overgrown stubble an experimental rub.  "If I hadn't actually seen you clean-shaven once upon a time, I would presume never.  You look like a caveman, House, clean yourself up."

House shoved his hand away and grabbed his cane, preparing to stand.  "You sound like a woman, Wilson. Get some testosterone." He staggered a few feet toward the door as his old friend watched. "Your next wife--or, should I say husband--will thank you for it."

“Oh, Greg. I didn’t know you were so serious about us.” Wilson clasped his hands together and fluttered his eyelashes, mockingly.  “Whatever will I wear to the wedding?”

“Better wear white. I’d hate for mom to find out what a little slut she raised.”

Wilson smiled. “Only for you, House.” House snorted, but Wilson thought he spied a semi-pleased smirk on his face. He filed that bit of information away for torment on another day. His friend began to limp away and he had to have the last word. “Off to see the Wizard?”

“Off to save his emerald ass.”

Wilson would have wished him the best of luck on his journey had his attention not been stolen by a sudden suspect motion out of the corner of his eye. Skittering across the top of House’s glass desk was something resembling a spider of concerning physiognomy—and it was heading toward his hand. If he were more insecure about his rippling masculinity, he would have calmly taken three steps back and alerted House to the intruder. Instead, he shrieked and lunged for the door. He wasn’t sure but he thought this kind jumped.

Occam’s Razor my ass!

He wasn’t sticking around to find out.