Summer Time
Title: Summer Time
Author: Dee Laundry
Characters: House, Wilson, Wilson's kids, Cameron
Rating: PG
Words: 3295
Summary: Some things you just shouldn't forget when planning a trip.
Notes: This is a prequel to Unicorn Hunter but you don't have to have read that. All you need to know is that Wilson is raising two-year-old twins (and doesn't have cancer). Their mother is Cameron, but she's not the primary parent. Written for the From This Point On challenge for Camp Sick!Wilson. Un-betaed, but thank you to Nightdog for reading an early fragment.
“Leptospirosis,” House said, and Wilson laughed at him.
“Transmitted only in water sources where animals congregate.”
“Dolphins are animals.”
Wilson nodded and went back to his paperwork. “Excellent insight, Dr. House, but they don’t spread leptospirosis, which you well know.”
“Fine.”
House had been pouting on Wilson’s office couch for the past seven minutes, expounding on the dangers that would befall the kids or him if they dared to take their planned trip to Orlando, and Wilson was estimating, based on the depth of House’s frown, another eleven minutes of whining. Which would work out fine, as Wilson’s next patient was due in twelve.
“Parasites,” was House’s next volley. “Cryptosporidium laughs at chlorine.”
“I think it’d also laugh at your attempts to dissuade me from taking my kids to the water park.”
“Giardia, Shigella, norovirus, E. coli. Shits and sniffles. You really want to put two-year-olds, and more importantly, yourself through that?”
Wilson laughed again. “Absolutely not. Which is why we will all be showering thoroughly before and after going in the water. Robin’s already picked out which loofah he wants to take to the park with us.”
“Which loofah? You’re not bringing all ten?”
“Four. He only has four. And yes, we’re bringing them all to Orlando, but only one to Aquatica.”
“He’s a sensitive little kid,” House continued, and Wilson was instantly on alert for a quip about Robin’s gender. He was determined to nip any commentary on that from House in the bud. Robin was a sweetheart of a boy, generous and loving, but sensitive to perceived emotional pressure. He needed -- and was going to get -- protection to make sure he could grow in the way that was best for him. (And Wilson’s father could shut his damn mouth if he ever wanted to see his grandchildren again.)
It was a relief when House’s train of thought went down another track. “Are you sure he won’t get dermatitis from chlorine? They crank it up in those public pools.”
“Hasn’t developed it at swim lessons; unlikely he’ll get it at Aquatica.” Wilson reached into the stack of patient files Sandy had left for him, looking for Mr. Yu’s. Dermatitis might explain the itching he’d reported to the resident, and if that was the case, an adjustment to medication would be premature.
“Electrocution due to faulty wiring,” House threw out. “And with water as conductor, it happens fast. There was one case where --”
Wilson didn’t even bother to look up from the file. “And no case where it happened at a water park during the hours it was open to the public.”
House grunted; a few seconds later something the size of a paper clip hit Wilson in the temple. He sighed, but gave House the desired glance.
House levered himself up on the couch, planted himself in front of Wilson’s desk, and intoned, “Drowning is the leading cause of injury death among kids under five.”
“With kids who don’t know how to swim or are left unattended,” Wilson pointed out. “Robin and Chris have been taking swimming lessons for six months; they’ll have life jackets on; and I will be with them every second. They will have fun; I will have fun; it’s going to be a great first trip for me to take them on.”
“No matter what you say, I don’t agree with you on this.” House was glaring at him, blue eyes intense, as if the power of his gaze alone would be enough to make Wilson change his mind.
“We’ve disagreed before,” Wilson said, mildly.
“And you’ve been wrong every time!” House said, frustration plain in his tone.
“Not every time, House.” He tried to hold himself steady against the renewed glare. It was difficult.
“This isn’t some minor thing, you idiot! This is on a whole different level. This . . . This changes things.”
“Aha! Now the real motivation comes out. You’ve always hated change.” Wilson spoke lightly, but regretted the words as soon as he’d said them when he saw the flash of pain in the other man’s eyes.
“Screw it,” House said. “You won’t listen to me, you obviously won’t listen to your own common sense. Fine. From this point on, you can leave me out of it.” He turned and limped away.
Wilson sighed, watching him go. House didn’t mean it; he was upset and lashing out at the nearest available victim. Wilson rubbed at the back of his neck, looking down at the sheaf of papers he held in his other hand.
He wasn’t seeing them, though; he was trying to puzzle through why House was upset and what he’d meant by the upcoming trip changing things. It was new, sure, being Wilson’s first plane trip with the twins. And it was the first time Sandy would be watching Chris and Robin, during the hour or so when Wilson was giving his lecture. He supposed that maybe that could change things between himself and Sandy, given that babysitting was definitely not in her job description, but she’d offered happily. (“Between proofreading five drafts and listening to you practice, I could recite that speech in my sleep by now,” was her exact quote.)
But even if it would change things with Sandy -- which it shouldn’t, but Wilson would follow up to make sure -- that wouldn’t be something that would upset House enough to have him work this hard to bother Wilson into not going.
A knock on Wilson’s office door broke his concentration. Ms. Washington was here; she needed his focus now.
***
It had taken Wilson over twenty minutes to get Robin and Chris’s traveling carseats into Cameron’s car (and why she didn’t have the seats he had bought her over six months ago already installed was a question he was going to leave for another day), and then another ten minutes to get the kids seated and buckled, luggage stowed in the trunk, and Chris re-buckled (oh, thank you very much, Uncle Greg, for showing her how to get free from the seat), but finally he was sitting in the passenger seat, enjoying a moment of relative peace being chauffeured to the airport.
“House is going to meet you there, then?” Cameron asked, and Wilson grunted as he switched Cameron’s radio away from the local college station -- you never knew how many curse words there were in tunes until you had two-year-olds who could and would repeat every word they heard.
“When we get back?” Where was the classical station? It was Pre-set Three in Wilson’s car, and he’d forgotten the actual channel number. “No, I still need you to pick us up. If that’s OK with you; I mean, we could get a cab but it’s a long trip and…” Damn, he’d gone around twice and no classical. Maybe she’d have a kids’ CD in -- Lady Gaga! Alert! He snapped the knob to the left, but not in time to prevent Robin from starting in.
“P-p-p-poker face, p-p-poker face!”
“Mum mum mum mum!” sang Chris. “Daddy, put it back on!”
“No,” Wilson insisted.
Cameron grinned, the traitor. “They love Lady Gaga. Put it back on.”
Wilson twisted to give her his full-faced expression of shock and disapproval. “You let them listen to that music? I thought they just picked it up from, from the mall or something.”
“Yes, I let them listen to it; it’s fun.” Cameron smoothly braked for a yellow light, but even that show of safety didn’t assuage Wilson. Cameron shook her head at him. “The fact that they play it at the mall should show you how innocuous it is.”
“That song, and most of her songs as far as I can tell, are about s-e-x. K-i-n-k-y s-e-x! They don’t need to be hearing that.”
Cameron laughed. “Most of her songs are about accepting yourself and being who you are. That’s a message they need to hear.”
Wilson thought he heard a murmur of, “And so does their father,” but he was too busy fending off the wails from the backseat: “Gaga! Gaga! Please, Daddy, please; Mommy lets us.”
“Just this once, in Mommy’s car,” Wilson replied. “We are not listening to it anywhere else.”
“Yay!” his little divas cried in unison. Wilson couldn’t help smiling at their grins as he turned the music back on, adjusting it to a reasonable level.
Cameron was smirking. “House’ll have stuff on his iPod and phone that are considerably racier; you’d better steal those from him early if you want to protect Robin and Chris from hearing anything.”
“House uses headphones and doesn’t like to share,” Wilson pointed out, before being struck by the implication in Cameron’s comment. “Did House tell you he’s coming with us to Orlando? Because he isn’t.”
“But I thought,” Cameron began, and then abruptly shut her mouth. “Never mind. If you’re having a fight, it’s none of my business.”
“We’re not having a fight; why would you think that?”
“It’s the second week in June.”
“And... I usually have a fight with House in the second week in June?”
“You usually hang around with House the second week in June.”
“Before Chris and Robin were born, I usually hung around with House just about every week.”
Wilson missed whatever response Cameron had intended for that, because Chris chose that moment to ask, “Daddy, can I have M-M-Ms?”
“M and Ms, honey.”
“M and Ms.”
“What’s the polite word?”
“Please.”
“The whole sentence, all together.”
“Daddy, can I have M and Ms, please?”
“It’s the morning time. We don’t eat candy in the morning time.”
Cameron shook her head. “You’re a barrel of laughs. No wonder House isn’t going on the trip with you.”
“But Daddy,” Chris insisted, “we eat candy in the morning on Christmas. And Easter.”
“What is it with Christianity and morning sugar binges?” Wilson sighed. He turned toward his intransigent daughter. “Those are special holidays you spend with Mommy.”
“We’re with Mommy now,” Robin pointed out, his voice and face both filled with hope.
Wilson raised his eyes to the ceiling.
“You do want them to have a fun vacation,” Cameron whispered.
He was outnumbered, outplayed, and the truth was that he felt like having a few M&Ms himself. “Just this once,” he warned as he leaned toward the carry-on at his feet.
The cheers around him mingled pleasantly with the pop beat coming from the stereo.
***
Wilson found that a conference goes by fast when you have twin two-year-olds as a convenient reason for skipping any part you don’t critically have to attend. And when it turned out that the only critical parts were the lecture he was giving and meal periods ending before eight p.m., he somehow felt not a lick of guilt.
Sandy assured him the professional development opportunities of three days of seminars more than compensated for a few hours caring for Chris and Robin; the kids were thrilled with the butterfly gardens and the daily ladybug release; the concierge at the Ritz worked magic to get them a reservation for a cabana in the most prime location at the water park.
And so it was that on Thursday morning, as he climbed out of the back of a Ritz-provided Town Car, took their well-stocked day-at-the-water-park bag from the driver, and escorted his gleeful, beautiful children into Aquatica, Wilson was feeling quite content. Not even the cabana-area attendant’s warning of “I’ve already settled your partner inside, sir” put a dent in his serenity.
“Uncle Greg!” Robin squealed, and bounced the remaining steps over to House’s side. “You camed too!”
“I did indeed.” House bothered to look up from his tabloid rag but didn’t bother to move his feet off the second lounger, so Wilson had to fumble to get the bag thrown over House’s legs to the lounge chair behind him while somehow not knocking down Chris, who had planted her cute little flowered flip-flops firmly in the cabana’s doorway.
“Uncle Greg,” she said, managing to convey quite clearly that those two words were a command.
House looked her way as Wilson sighed and sidled around the edges of the cabana to get to the mini-fridge and the promised cold drinks within. Eight bottled waters (always provided), the four juice boxes he had requested to be added… and four Smirnoff Ices, which he had definitely not requested. Ah, well, at least it wasn’t liquor.
“You,” Chris continued, “can not play with Daddy today. It is our day with Daddy.”
“Is that so?” House asked, one eyebrow raised, with an expression running across his face that Wilson couldn’t quite understand.
Chris nodded firmly. “You can play with Robin,” she conceded, as she clambered over House’s legs to get to the floaties poking out of the top of their bag.
“While I do enjoy Robin’s company - ” House finally moved his feet out of the way, and Wilson finally had a chance to sit and take the cap off the water bottle. “Watersports aren’t really my thing.” That expression Wilson could read just fine; he instantaneously decided no reaction was the best reaction when it came to innuendo around the children.
“So,” House concluded, “you three can go on with your playing; I’ll stay here and guard the tent.”
“It’s a cabana,” Wilson pointed out as he gently pulled Chris closer to adjust the floatie on her right arm to its proper position (rather than caught halfway on her elbow).
A little grunt was all the reply he got; looking up, he saw that House had buried his nose in the tabloid again.
Leaving House to contemplate the sad vagaries of Jennifer Aniston’s love life, Wilson decided the lazy river would be his first stop with Chris and Robin.
***
All went swimmingly (or, more accurately, safely life-vested floatingly) throughout the morning. House, as he’d told Chris he would, stayed in the cabana, and the kids had been delighted to learn they could see him from the right-hand wave pool.
“Uncle Greg!” Robin blasted halfway into Wilson’s left ear when the discovery was made. “Look at us! We’re swimming!”
Chris regally (thankfully) refrained from yelling, but when House raised a hand in their direction, she enthusiastically waved to him. Then the water began to rise again, and Wilson drew his children closer so the three of them could soar up the next swell.
The only argument came just before lunch, after returning to the cabana for a rest, when Robin insisted on being taken to the restroom.
“Use your diaper,” Chris sighed at him from her lounger as Wilson re-applied sunblock to her back and neck. “It’s for pee-pee.”
“It’s yucky,” Robin protested, hands on his skinny hips. “I want the potty and washing my hands.”
“You’ll need to wait until I’ve finished with the sunblock,” Wilson warned him.
House stretched and sat up. “I can take him. Need to knock the dew off my own lily anyway. That is, if I wouldn’t be imposing. You know, on your family day of super cool fun.”
There was that attitude again, the one that House had been sporting in the weeks before Wilson had left for Orlando. Wilson was mystified. “What is up your butt?”
Chris kicked up her feet and giggled. “Daddy said ‘butt!’” House gave her a high-five before striding out of the cabana with Robin in tow.
Whatever. Wilson nudged Chris out of the chair and toward the side of the cabana. “Honey, go stand out there where there’s a little more room, so I can get the back of your legs.”
He thought she might have been saying something in protest - although she was standing out where he’d indicated - but it was overrun by a ping, a whoop, and a loud creak from over Wilson’s head.
He looked up directly into a childhood phobia of his: the ceiling fan was falling straight toward him. He threw his left arm up and then everything went black.
***
“Told you you shouldn’t go on this trip,” were House’s first words.
Wilson licked very dry lips and then croaked out, “You said kids would get sick, not that fan would attack me.”
“You’re suing them, right? I told the park manager we’re going to take Shamu for everything he’s got.”
“Shamu is other park.”
“Same parent company, duh.”
“Where the kids?”
House peered into Wilson’s face. “You got clobbered on the noggin, had your writing-hand wrist fractured, gashed your cheek, split your lip, ripped your ear, lost consciousness for four hours, and your first thought is finding your kids?”
“Already know you’re here. Where’re they?”
House gave him another long look, then nodded toward the curtain surrounding his hospital bed. “Hospital daycare’s letting them nap there. Took me forever to get them to let you go. Considered drugging them.”
“You didn’t.” Good God, adults were one thing, but little guys -
“No, I didn’t.” A smile went all the way to House’s eyes. “They’re tough kids.”
“Take after their Uncle Greg.” A sudden thought occurred. “Chris isn’t hurt?”
“Not a scratch. There’s a park attendant with a very sore shin, though, for not moving fast enough to help her father.”
“Robin?”
“Tried to crawl into my shirt in the shuttle following the ambulance but he’s calm now.”
“You?”
“Me? My fingers are a little prune-y from the five and a half minutes Robin had me washing my hands for in the bathroom, but other than that, A-OK.” House shrugged. “What would be wrong with me?”
Wilson felt maybe the kamikaze ceiling fan wasn’t all bad, because it seemed it’d knocked a realization into his conscious mind: the second week in June was House’s not-thinking-about-birthdays-and-holidays week. And for the past several years, it’d been, without Wilson really thinking about it, Wilson’s having-fun-with-House-so-as-not-to-think-about-etc. week. Even the past two years, with the babies around, there’d been ways to have laughs: old movies, and music, and video games, and making silly faces to watch Robin and Chris giggle. Wobbly toddler obstacle course and baby diaper dancing and Wilson was a total dunce for not having realized sooner why House hadn’t wanted them to go.
Of course, House was also a dunce for not just saying, “I’ll miss you guys too much if you go that week.”
Not that he ever would say exactly those words, but still. Just because House understood his own oblique hints and machinations didn’t mean everyone else could.
“When’s your flight back? Don’t know if I can get bags, carseats, twins, and myself on the plane with this.” Wilson nodded toward his splinted wrist.
House raised his cane. “And you think a guy with only one and a half legs is going to make a difference?”
Oh. Maybe he could fly Sandy back down to help him, or one of the workers from the twins’ daycare -
“Quit worrying,” House continued. “Your car’s here.”
“What?”
“Your ugly, boxy, boringly safe car is here, and I sob-storied a bellman at your hotel into packing up your crap for you and sticking it in your trunk.”
“How did it get here? Wait, I never asked how you got here. Did you drive it all that way? It’s so long; didn’t it hurt?”
“Auto tune.” House went into a warbling rendition of Cher’s “Believe” until Wilson’s glare finally shut him up. “I mean, auto train. Drove to Virginia, stuck your car in the back of the train, and rode the rest of the way to Orlando. You should try it. By which I mean I used your credit card to book us a four-person cabin for tomorrow night’s train.”
Wilson smiled. “Did you use my card to buy your train ticket down too?”
“What do you take me for?” House protested. “Of course I did.”
Author: Dee Laundry
Characters: House, Wilson, Wilson's kids, Cameron
Rating: PG
Words: 3295
Summary: Some things you just shouldn't forget when planning a trip.
Notes: This is a prequel to Unicorn Hunter but you don't have to have read that. All you need to know is that Wilson is raising two-year-old twins (and doesn't have cancer). Their mother is Cameron, but she's not the primary parent. Written for the From This Point On challenge for Camp Sick!Wilson. Un-betaed, but thank you to Nightdog for reading an early fragment.
“Leptospirosis,” House said, and Wilson laughed at him.
“Transmitted only in water sources where animals congregate.”
“Dolphins are animals.”
Wilson nodded and went back to his paperwork. “Excellent insight, Dr. House, but they don’t spread leptospirosis, which you well know.”
“Fine.”
House had been pouting on Wilson’s office couch for the past seven minutes, expounding on the dangers that would befall the kids or him if they dared to take their planned trip to Orlando, and Wilson was estimating, based on the depth of House’s frown, another eleven minutes of whining. Which would work out fine, as Wilson’s next patient was due in twelve.
“Parasites,” was House’s next volley. “Cryptosporidium laughs at chlorine.”
“I think it’d also laugh at your attempts to dissuade me from taking my kids to the water park.”
“Giardia, Shigella, norovirus, E. coli. Shits and sniffles. You really want to put two-year-olds, and more importantly, yourself through that?”
Wilson laughed again. “Absolutely not. Which is why we will all be showering thoroughly before and after going in the water. Robin’s already picked out which loofah he wants to take to the park with us.”
“Which loofah? You’re not bringing all ten?”
“Four. He only has four. And yes, we’re bringing them all to Orlando, but only one to Aquatica.”
“He’s a sensitive little kid,” House continued, and Wilson was instantly on alert for a quip about Robin’s gender. He was determined to nip any commentary on that from House in the bud. Robin was a sweetheart of a boy, generous and loving, but sensitive to perceived emotional pressure. He needed -- and was going to get -- protection to make sure he could grow in the way that was best for him. (And Wilson’s father could shut his damn mouth if he ever wanted to see his grandchildren again.)
It was a relief when House’s train of thought went down another track. “Are you sure he won’t get dermatitis from chlorine? They crank it up in those public pools.”
“Hasn’t developed it at swim lessons; unlikely he’ll get it at Aquatica.” Wilson reached into the stack of patient files Sandy had left for him, looking for Mr. Yu’s. Dermatitis might explain the itching he’d reported to the resident, and if that was the case, an adjustment to medication would be premature.
“Electrocution due to faulty wiring,” House threw out. “And with water as conductor, it happens fast. There was one case where --”
Wilson didn’t even bother to look up from the file. “And no case where it happened at a water park during the hours it was open to the public.”
House grunted; a few seconds later something the size of a paper clip hit Wilson in the temple. He sighed, but gave House the desired glance.
House levered himself up on the couch, planted himself in front of Wilson’s desk, and intoned, “Drowning is the leading cause of injury death among kids under five.”
“With kids who don’t know how to swim or are left unattended,” Wilson pointed out. “Robin and Chris have been taking swimming lessons for six months; they’ll have life jackets on; and I will be with them every second. They will have fun; I will have fun; it’s going to be a great first trip for me to take them on.”
“No matter what you say, I don’t agree with you on this.” House was glaring at him, blue eyes intense, as if the power of his gaze alone would be enough to make Wilson change his mind.
“We’ve disagreed before,” Wilson said, mildly.
“And you’ve been wrong every time!” House said, frustration plain in his tone.
“Not every time, House.” He tried to hold himself steady against the renewed glare. It was difficult.
“This isn’t some minor thing, you idiot! This is on a whole different level. This . . . This changes things.”
“Aha! Now the real motivation comes out. You’ve always hated change.” Wilson spoke lightly, but regretted the words as soon as he’d said them when he saw the flash of pain in the other man’s eyes.
“Screw it,” House said. “You won’t listen to me, you obviously won’t listen to your own common sense. Fine. From this point on, you can leave me out of it.” He turned and limped away.
Wilson sighed, watching him go. House didn’t mean it; he was upset and lashing out at the nearest available victim. Wilson rubbed at the back of his neck, looking down at the sheaf of papers he held in his other hand.
He wasn’t seeing them, though; he was trying to puzzle through why House was upset and what he’d meant by the upcoming trip changing things. It was new, sure, being Wilson’s first plane trip with the twins. And it was the first time Sandy would be watching Chris and Robin, during the hour or so when Wilson was giving his lecture. He supposed that maybe that could change things between himself and Sandy, given that babysitting was definitely not in her job description, but she’d offered happily. (“Between proofreading five drafts and listening to you practice, I could recite that speech in my sleep by now,” was her exact quote.)
But even if it would change things with Sandy -- which it shouldn’t, but Wilson would follow up to make sure -- that wouldn’t be something that would upset House enough to have him work this hard to bother Wilson into not going.
A knock on Wilson’s office door broke his concentration. Ms. Washington was here; she needed his focus now.
***
It had taken Wilson over twenty minutes to get Robin and Chris’s traveling carseats into Cameron’s car (and why she didn’t have the seats he had bought her over six months ago already installed was a question he was going to leave for another day), and then another ten minutes to get the kids seated and buckled, luggage stowed in the trunk, and Chris re-buckled (oh, thank you very much, Uncle Greg, for showing her how to get free from the seat), but finally he was sitting in the passenger seat, enjoying a moment of relative peace being chauffeured to the airport.
“House is going to meet you there, then?” Cameron asked, and Wilson grunted as he switched Cameron’s radio away from the local college station -- you never knew how many curse words there were in tunes until you had two-year-olds who could and would repeat every word they heard.
“When we get back?” Where was the classical station? It was Pre-set Three in Wilson’s car, and he’d forgotten the actual channel number. “No, I still need you to pick us up. If that’s OK with you; I mean, we could get a cab but it’s a long trip and…” Damn, he’d gone around twice and no classical. Maybe she’d have a kids’ CD in -- Lady Gaga! Alert! He snapped the knob to the left, but not in time to prevent Robin from starting in.
“P-p-p-poker face, p-p-poker face!”
“Mum mum mum mum!” sang Chris. “Daddy, put it back on!”
“No,” Wilson insisted.
Cameron grinned, the traitor. “They love Lady Gaga. Put it back on.”
Wilson twisted to give her his full-faced expression of shock and disapproval. “You let them listen to that music? I thought they just picked it up from, from the mall or something.”
“Yes, I let them listen to it; it’s fun.” Cameron smoothly braked for a yellow light, but even that show of safety didn’t assuage Wilson. Cameron shook her head at him. “The fact that they play it at the mall should show you how innocuous it is.”
“That song, and most of her songs as far as I can tell, are about s-e-x. K-i-n-k-y s-e-x! They don’t need to be hearing that.”
Cameron laughed. “Most of her songs are about accepting yourself and being who you are. That’s a message they need to hear.”
Wilson thought he heard a murmur of, “And so does their father,” but he was too busy fending off the wails from the backseat: “Gaga! Gaga! Please, Daddy, please; Mommy lets us.”
“Just this once, in Mommy’s car,” Wilson replied. “We are not listening to it anywhere else.”
“Yay!” his little divas cried in unison. Wilson couldn’t help smiling at their grins as he turned the music back on, adjusting it to a reasonable level.
Cameron was smirking. “House’ll have stuff on his iPod and phone that are considerably racier; you’d better steal those from him early if you want to protect Robin and Chris from hearing anything.”
“House uses headphones and doesn’t like to share,” Wilson pointed out, before being struck by the implication in Cameron’s comment. “Did House tell you he’s coming with us to Orlando? Because he isn’t.”
“But I thought,” Cameron began, and then abruptly shut her mouth. “Never mind. If you’re having a fight, it’s none of my business.”
“We’re not having a fight; why would you think that?”
“It’s the second week in June.”
“And... I usually have a fight with House in the second week in June?”
“You usually hang around with House the second week in June.”
“Before Chris and Robin were born, I usually hung around with House just about every week.”
Wilson missed whatever response Cameron had intended for that, because Chris chose that moment to ask, “Daddy, can I have M-M-Ms?”
“M and Ms, honey.”
“M and Ms.”
“What’s the polite word?”
“Please.”
“The whole sentence, all together.”
“Daddy, can I have M and Ms, please?”
“It’s the morning time. We don’t eat candy in the morning time.”
Cameron shook her head. “You’re a barrel of laughs. No wonder House isn’t going on the trip with you.”
“But Daddy,” Chris insisted, “we eat candy in the morning on Christmas. And Easter.”
“What is it with Christianity and morning sugar binges?” Wilson sighed. He turned toward his intransigent daughter. “Those are special holidays you spend with Mommy.”
“We’re with Mommy now,” Robin pointed out, his voice and face both filled with hope.
Wilson raised his eyes to the ceiling.
“You do want them to have a fun vacation,” Cameron whispered.
He was outnumbered, outplayed, and the truth was that he felt like having a few M&Ms himself. “Just this once,” he warned as he leaned toward the carry-on at his feet.
The cheers around him mingled pleasantly with the pop beat coming from the stereo.
***
Wilson found that a conference goes by fast when you have twin two-year-olds as a convenient reason for skipping any part you don’t critically have to attend. And when it turned out that the only critical parts were the lecture he was giving and meal periods ending before eight p.m., he somehow felt not a lick of guilt.
Sandy assured him the professional development opportunities of three days of seminars more than compensated for a few hours caring for Chris and Robin; the kids were thrilled with the butterfly gardens and the daily ladybug release; the concierge at the Ritz worked magic to get them a reservation for a cabana in the most prime location at the water park.
And so it was that on Thursday morning, as he climbed out of the back of a Ritz-provided Town Car, took their well-stocked day-at-the-water-park bag from the driver, and escorted his gleeful, beautiful children into Aquatica, Wilson was feeling quite content. Not even the cabana-area attendant’s warning of “I’ve already settled your partner inside, sir” put a dent in his serenity.
“Uncle Greg!” Robin squealed, and bounced the remaining steps over to House’s side. “You camed too!”
“I did indeed.” House bothered to look up from his tabloid rag but didn’t bother to move his feet off the second lounger, so Wilson had to fumble to get the bag thrown over House’s legs to the lounge chair behind him while somehow not knocking down Chris, who had planted her cute little flowered flip-flops firmly in the cabana’s doorway.
“Uncle Greg,” she said, managing to convey quite clearly that those two words were a command.
House looked her way as Wilson sighed and sidled around the edges of the cabana to get to the mini-fridge and the promised cold drinks within. Eight bottled waters (always provided), the four juice boxes he had requested to be added… and four Smirnoff Ices, which he had definitely not requested. Ah, well, at least it wasn’t liquor.
“You,” Chris continued, “can not play with Daddy today. It is our day with Daddy.”
“Is that so?” House asked, one eyebrow raised, with an expression running across his face that Wilson couldn’t quite understand.
Chris nodded firmly. “You can play with Robin,” she conceded, as she clambered over House’s legs to get to the floaties poking out of the top of their bag.
“While I do enjoy Robin’s company - ” House finally moved his feet out of the way, and Wilson finally had a chance to sit and take the cap off the water bottle. “Watersports aren’t really my thing.” That expression Wilson could read just fine; he instantaneously decided no reaction was the best reaction when it came to innuendo around the children.
“So,” House concluded, “you three can go on with your playing; I’ll stay here and guard the tent.”
“It’s a cabana,” Wilson pointed out as he gently pulled Chris closer to adjust the floatie on her right arm to its proper position (rather than caught halfway on her elbow).
A little grunt was all the reply he got; looking up, he saw that House had buried his nose in the tabloid again.
Leaving House to contemplate the sad vagaries of Jennifer Aniston’s love life, Wilson decided the lazy river would be his first stop with Chris and Robin.
***
All went swimmingly (or, more accurately, safely life-vested floatingly) throughout the morning. House, as he’d told Chris he would, stayed in the cabana, and the kids had been delighted to learn they could see him from the right-hand wave pool.
“Uncle Greg!” Robin blasted halfway into Wilson’s left ear when the discovery was made. “Look at us! We’re swimming!”
Chris regally (thankfully) refrained from yelling, but when House raised a hand in their direction, she enthusiastically waved to him. Then the water began to rise again, and Wilson drew his children closer so the three of them could soar up the next swell.
The only argument came just before lunch, after returning to the cabana for a rest, when Robin insisted on being taken to the restroom.
“Use your diaper,” Chris sighed at him from her lounger as Wilson re-applied sunblock to her back and neck. “It’s for pee-pee.”
“It’s yucky,” Robin protested, hands on his skinny hips. “I want the potty and washing my hands.”
“You’ll need to wait until I’ve finished with the sunblock,” Wilson warned him.
House stretched and sat up. “I can take him. Need to knock the dew off my own lily anyway. That is, if I wouldn’t be imposing. You know, on your family day of super cool fun.”
There was that attitude again, the one that House had been sporting in the weeks before Wilson had left for Orlando. Wilson was mystified. “What is up your butt?”
Chris kicked up her feet and giggled. “Daddy said ‘butt!’” House gave her a high-five before striding out of the cabana with Robin in tow.
Whatever. Wilson nudged Chris out of the chair and toward the side of the cabana. “Honey, go stand out there where there’s a little more room, so I can get the back of your legs.”
He thought she might have been saying something in protest - although she was standing out where he’d indicated - but it was overrun by a ping, a whoop, and a loud creak from over Wilson’s head.
He looked up directly into a childhood phobia of his: the ceiling fan was falling straight toward him. He threw his left arm up and then everything went black.
***
“Told you you shouldn’t go on this trip,” were House’s first words.
Wilson licked very dry lips and then croaked out, “You said kids would get sick, not that fan would attack me.”
“You’re suing them, right? I told the park manager we’re going to take Shamu for everything he’s got.”
“Shamu is other park.”
“Same parent company, duh.”
“Where the kids?”
House peered into Wilson’s face. “You got clobbered on the noggin, had your writing-hand wrist fractured, gashed your cheek, split your lip, ripped your ear, lost consciousness for four hours, and your first thought is finding your kids?”
“Already know you’re here. Where’re they?”
House gave him another long look, then nodded toward the curtain surrounding his hospital bed. “Hospital daycare’s letting them nap there. Took me forever to get them to let you go. Considered drugging them.”
“You didn’t.” Good God, adults were one thing, but little guys -
“No, I didn’t.” A smile went all the way to House’s eyes. “They’re tough kids.”
“Take after their Uncle Greg.” A sudden thought occurred. “Chris isn’t hurt?”
“Not a scratch. There’s a park attendant with a very sore shin, though, for not moving fast enough to help her father.”
“Robin?”
“Tried to crawl into my shirt in the shuttle following the ambulance but he’s calm now.”
“You?”
“Me? My fingers are a little prune-y from the five and a half minutes Robin had me washing my hands for in the bathroom, but other than that, A-OK.” House shrugged. “What would be wrong with me?”
Wilson felt maybe the kamikaze ceiling fan wasn’t all bad, because it seemed it’d knocked a realization into his conscious mind: the second week in June was House’s not-thinking-about-birthdays-and-holidays week. And for the past several years, it’d been, without Wilson really thinking about it, Wilson’s having-fun-with-House-so-as-not-to-think-about-etc. week. Even the past two years, with the babies around, there’d been ways to have laughs: old movies, and music, and video games, and making silly faces to watch Robin and Chris giggle. Wobbly toddler obstacle course and baby diaper dancing and Wilson was a total dunce for not having realized sooner why House hadn’t wanted them to go.
Of course, House was also a dunce for not just saying, “I’ll miss you guys too much if you go that week.”
Not that he ever would say exactly those words, but still. Just because House understood his own oblique hints and machinations didn’t mean everyone else could.
“When’s your flight back? Don’t know if I can get bags, carseats, twins, and myself on the plane with this.” Wilson nodded toward his splinted wrist.
House raised his cane. “And you think a guy with only one and a half legs is going to make a difference?”
Oh. Maybe he could fly Sandy back down to help him, or one of the workers from the twins’ daycare -
“Quit worrying,” House continued. “Your car’s here.”
“What?”
“Your ugly, boxy, boringly safe car is here, and I sob-storied a bellman at your hotel into packing up your crap for you and sticking it in your trunk.”
“How did it get here? Wait, I never asked how you got here. Did you drive it all that way? It’s so long; didn’t it hurt?”
“Auto tune.” House went into a warbling rendition of Cher’s “Believe” until Wilson’s glare finally shut him up. “I mean, auto train. Drove to Virginia, stuck your car in the back of the train, and rode the rest of the way to Orlando. You should try it. By which I mean I used your credit card to book us a four-person cabin for tomorrow night’s train.”
Wilson smiled. “Did you use my card to buy your train ticket down too?”
“What do you take me for?” House protested. “Of course I did.”