...Oh, God, he should have known that he would have to be dealing with this sooner or later.
He knew that voice. Of course he knew that voice - he'd spent more than a dozen years hiding his lunches from that voice, to no avail. He'd just also been dreading the moment when he'd have to hear that voice shouting some variant of 'oh, my sweet Jesus, you cheating whore' across the tent, ever since these crazed surprise marriage things had gone down. Just because House was, well, House. And that was just... the way they did things.
Best not act nervous. House would jump all over that. Wilson set down the random magazines he'd been sorting - why, he couldn't say, it was just something to do, and Sylar wasn't around right now. "It's great to see you too, by the way, Greg, it's been a while," he shot back, eyebrows furrowing a bit towards the other man. He almost added some pun about how were the wife and kids back home? and... that would probably just have ended very, very ugly.
Wilson was being calm about this. Of course Wilson would be calm, it took a lot to get him worked up, these days. Prolonged exposure to House was probably for the reason for that. Also, he was the one who was at fault here, so he'd hardly be panicking about it.
"And who's fault is that?" House shot back, seething. "I don't think it's mine, unless I just got married as well. Unlikely, since I'm not addicted to cheating on people like it's going out of style."
On a whim, House jabbed out his cane and knocked over the small stack of magazines that Wilson had been sorting. Hah. That would teach him. Also, it was pretty damn satisfying.
Oh, fantastic. This is just what he wanted. Just what he expected from House, naturally, but, God. Wilson threw up his hands, helplessly, ignoring the disarray of magazines as if it didn't bother him. If he just picked them up again, House would knock them over again and it would be... an ugly process. He just settled with letting his eye twitch, for the time being. It was easier that way, it really was.
"Let's start in on that, then, huh?" he sniped in return rolling his eyes. "Let's pretend, for a minute," and he grabbed at the air, as if he could strangle it to relieve some stress, "that everybody in this tent city right now wasn't forced to get married. Let's pretend the world revolves around you for a minute and, yes, I just got married because I wanted to piss you off."
"Okay, let's pretend!" House snarked, taking a rather large amount of satisfaction in Wilson's clear annoyance at the knocked over magazine. Wilson was so anal about organizing things; it was a cheap and easy way to get him very quickly irritated. And House wanted him off-balance, it would lead to a straight answer.
House feigned a 'off in dreamland' face, pretending to pretend. After a few moments, he scowled heavily. "I tried," he said sarcastically. "And all I came up with was the world of a man who does like to piss me off, and has been known to cheat the moment some needy floozy gets all pathetic and," House pitched his voice, mockingly whiny, "'Oh, Dr. Wilson, please help me'. You can't help yourself, can you?"
"Yeah, I love pissing you off," Wilson scoffed with a roll of his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and shooting House that look that clearly asked, 'are you fucking nuts?'. "It's my favorite thing in the world, having you dick around for days and bitch and complain, when you're mad at me. Maybe I should do it more often, because I just love it, so damn much. That's what I did here. Just to watch you fume. Looks like I got what I wanted."
House was still going, and this was... going to get very ugly very fast if they kept going the way that they were right now. Especially if he was throwing Sylar in the 'needy floozy' category. Because, Jesus, did he have another thing coming. Wilson just held up two hands, in that kind of universal signal for 'okay, hang on a minute', eyes widening a bit at House, in a warning sort of manner. "This is just so not the place for this. God."
Great, Wilson was being bitchy. While House had aimed to get him off-balance, it was annoying when it wasn't leading to answers. All Wilson was doing was snapping at him.
"Why not here? Is your husband coming to come home soon?" House sneered, throwing a mockingly fearful look over his shoulder at the doorway.
This was getting confusing, and not at all what House had wanted to hear. Wilson wasn't denying anything, therefore he'd actually gotten married. Because he'd wanted to. Because there was someone that he loved and wanted to spend his life with. It was clearly Goodbye House, because Wilson hadn't even said anything to him since this had happened. Not only had he been chucked out of the relationship, apparently he'd been chucked out as a friend, too.
House went silent in favor of staring at Wilson, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. Trying to come up with an answer that wasn't the one he didn't want to hear. "If you wanted out, you could have just said so," he announced, eyes narrowed. "I could have taken it."
( ... )
"Oh, my God! House!" Wilson suddenly burst out, looking to the other man with wide eyes and clenching his hands. Frustration. So much frustration. Was that what he thought this was? Seriously? Was Wilson so much a prick that he would rather up and marry the most random person they could find in favor of letting House know that he didn't want to be with him anymore? Because that was what it sounded like was being insinuated here, and Wilson was getting decidedly pissy with the current argument going on right now.
He scrubbed his face with a hand, letting out a groan of frustration. "I didn't want out. I don't even know this guy." He sighed, hands on his hips in his usual SuperWilson sort of pose, frown tugging at his mouth. "This Sylar guy, I hadn't even met him. The stupid... Sorting Hat goes and does this fake, mass... wedding thing, and, you know, here I am. It's not like I just went out and picked somebody, God. Thanks for the faith, by the way, it's overwhelming."
"'Faith' is an interesting word to use when you've cheated on your wives and probably other girlfriends," House scowled. But at least Wilson had finally explained something, instead of just bitching back at him.
House still didn't know what to believe about this 'fake marriage' thing, though. It seemed a little too convenient to be true. (Also, the idea of Wilson going and getting married in spite of him fit quite nicely into House's more masochistic side. It would give him a great excuse to be miserable and hate his life more.)
"I'm supposed to believe that," he replied sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "That you got married to this Rolex guy by accident. You, the guy who has been in three marriages - well, four, now - because you couldn't resist being needed. It's pathological with you," House snarled, jabbing his cane at Wilson.
Okay, there was no denying that. Wilson was... how could this be worded? A manwhore? House had no reason to trust him. He knew about every last affair and everything else that Wilson didn't even seem to need to word aloud, at times. House just... knew. "And, you know, been with you... how long?" he prompted in return. "I haven't cheated, House."
Apparently, that wasn't going to be enough to convince the guy, considering the way that cane was pointing in his general direction. Wilson's face slipped into one of pissed off disbelief, as his teeth clenched and his jaw squared and, if her were a less reserved person, he would probably be punching the other party in this room, right about now.
"Yes, you're supposed to believe it," he snapped back, eyes widening a bit. "Because if you're going on that theory, oh-ho. No. You and I both know that-that," he waved a hand vaguely at House, frowning, "why the hell would I-I marry someone... to get out of a relationship? If you're going on pathology, you're wrong, House. You're just wrong."
"About six months." House looked down at his watch, cocking his head and pretending to study it intensely. "Right about that time, I judge, that you get the 'six month itch' and start finding someone new." Not that Wilson always cheated after six months; House had studied this with interest. The time to seemed to vary, but six months seemed like a decent time.
Judging by how pissed off Wilson was looking right about now, House was becoming quickly convinced that he was actually telling the truth about the random, unforeseen marriage circumstance. Wilson would probably the type to get incredibly guilty and apologetic if confronted with his own cheating, House thought. At least that was reassuring
( ... )
Wilson actually paled a little, in light of House's newest comment. There were a few moments of blinking, opening and shutting his mouth like a guppy. Six months. He had that pegged down? Did he really pay that much attention to Wilson's dating habits that he knew about the precise moment Wilson would, logically, cheat on somebody. "You... monitor me?" he asked, a bit stupidly, looking vastly dumbfounded. "I'm not a lab rat, you know. Things changeOh, here they went. The bulleting questions portion. The part where House had found out the truth, and to cover up his accusation, he started needling with all the questions he could think of, just to draw out the embarrassment. Wilson actually laughed, a slightly hysterical one as he ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head, mumbling something vague under his breath about House being completely unbelievable
( ... )
Of course House monitored Wilson. He really didn't have anything better to do with his days, except for medical cases. And when the medicine got boring, or the patient actually got better, the next best thing was Wilson. Sometimes Wilson's life was even more interesting than the current patient. "Don't be a moron, I have better things to do than monitor you," House scoffed.
And House was going to kill this Sylar idiot if he and Wilson had actually had sex. But it didn't seem likely, so the question was more amusing than paranoia inducing. "Yup," he answered casually, poking at a lamp with a disgusted scowl. After he finished, he glanced over at Wilson, feigning wide-eyed warning. "If he is better than me, I might just have to go make my way up the clock tower."
Like Wilson didn't know him better. House's scoffing automatically garnered him an eye roll. "Right. All those soap operas and video games, they get in the way." He'd known House long enough to know that a favorite hobby of his was people-watching - which, if someone had known him for more than five minutes, if they weren't mentally retarded, they could pretty much gather that it was one of House's most-used past times - but it was some kind of strange naivety in his mind that hadn't thought of the idea that House would be watching him so closely as he did with his ducklings. Or, you know, Cuddy. Trash baskets, anyone
( ... )
House had just been about to open his mouth and deliver a fantastically witty reply to Wilson, when Sylar stepped in and cut off the remark completely. Raising his eyebrows sharply, clearly amused, House studied Sylar in fascination. "You must be the marriage du jour, Mr. Cartier," he smirked. Odd, though, that Wilson actually looked nervous when Sylar entered. Either he really didn't want House and Sylar to meet, or there was something else going on
( ... )
Why Wilson was nervous, he probably couldn't have explained if he tried. Maybe because, when Sylar walked in, Wilson was half-expecting House to just launch himself forward right there, lay a punch right into Sylar's jaw. And Wilson had seen some of what Sylar could do. That wouldn't end well. Maybe it was just this situation in general, and he wasn't sure it was how this was going to go down. ...Maybe it was because, you know, his impromptu husband had showed up, riddled with forks, the other day, barely batting an eye about it. God only knew what else he was capable of.
And, ow, what the hell? Why was... House... Oh, hell no. Wilson's eyebrows automatically slanted downward, in a knowing sort of expression. Abusive spouses, when a person was acting nervous around their husband or wife, making up excuses, whatever, first place to sneak a check for bruises was usually wrists. Wilson knew perfectly well that Sylar definitely had, ah... some anger issues that he probably had to work through. But not that House could know that already
( ... )
House had come to one conclusion; Sylar and Wilson had Very Strange Objects in their kitchen. He couldn't even fathom what some of them were supposed to do. And then there were the objects that House knew about, but never figured were actually real, like a garlic crusher. A tool specifically for crushing garlic.
Clearly this was a tent were anal people lived.
"That is so polite," House remarked to Sylar, not stopping in his quest to examine every object in the kitchen. "Wilson, isn't that polite? Got yourself a good one here!"
A pot abruptly went flying over House's shoulder after a disgusted look at the inside. "You two really need to clean better, I think I saw mold," he announced. "I'm guessing you were too busy. The question, is, too busy doing what?"
No, seriously. He wanted to know why Wilson hadn't contacted him.
He knew that voice. Of course he knew that voice - he'd spent more than a dozen years hiding his lunches from that voice, to no avail. He'd just also been dreading the moment when he'd have to hear that voice shouting some variant of 'oh, my sweet Jesus, you cheating whore' across the tent, ever since these crazed surprise marriage things had gone down. Just because House was, well, House. And that was just... the way they did things.
Best not act nervous. House would jump all over that. Wilson set down the random magazines he'd been sorting - why, he couldn't say, it was just something to do, and Sylar wasn't around right now. "It's great to see you too, by the way, Greg, it's been a while," he shot back, eyebrows furrowing a bit towards the other man. He almost added some pun about how were the wife and kids back home? and... that would probably just have ended very, very ugly.
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"And who's fault is that?" House shot back, seething. "I don't think it's mine, unless I just got married as well. Unlikely, since I'm not addicted to cheating on people like it's going out of style."
On a whim, House jabbed out his cane and knocked over the small stack of magazines that Wilson had been sorting. Hah. That would teach him. Also, it was pretty damn satisfying.
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"Let's start in on that, then, huh?" he sniped in return rolling his eyes. "Let's pretend, for a minute," and he grabbed at the air, as if he could strangle it to relieve some stress, "that everybody in this tent city right now wasn't forced to get married. Let's pretend the world revolves around you for a minute and, yes, I just got married because I wanted to piss you off."
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House feigned a 'off in dreamland' face, pretending to pretend. After a few moments, he scowled heavily. "I tried," he said sarcastically. "And all I came up with was the world of a man who does like to piss me off, and has been known to cheat the moment some needy floozy gets all pathetic and," House pitched his voice, mockingly whiny, "'Oh, Dr. Wilson, please help me'. You can't help yourself, can you?"
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House was still going, and this was... going to get very ugly very fast if they kept going the way that they were right now. Especially if he was throwing Sylar in the 'needy floozy' category. Because, Jesus, did he have another thing coming. Wilson just held up two hands, in that kind of universal signal for 'okay, hang on a minute', eyes widening a bit at House, in a warning sort of manner. "This is just so not the place for this. God."
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"Why not here? Is your husband coming to come home soon?" House sneered, throwing a mockingly fearful look over his shoulder at the doorway.
This was getting confusing, and not at all what House had wanted to hear. Wilson wasn't denying anything, therefore he'd actually gotten married. Because he'd wanted to. Because there was someone that he loved and wanted to spend his life with. It was clearly Goodbye House, because Wilson hadn't even said anything to him since this had happened. Not only had he been chucked out of the relationship, apparently he'd been chucked out as a friend, too.
House went silent in favor of staring at Wilson, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. Trying to come up with an answer that wasn't the one he didn't want to hear. "If you wanted out, you could have just said so," he announced, eyes narrowed. "I could have taken it." ( ... )
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He scrubbed his face with a hand, letting out a groan of frustration. "I didn't want out. I don't even know this guy." He sighed, hands on his hips in his usual SuperWilson sort of pose, frown tugging at his mouth. "This Sylar guy, I hadn't even met him. The stupid... Sorting Hat goes and does this fake, mass... wedding thing, and, you know, here I am. It's not like I just went out and picked somebody, God. Thanks for the faith, by the way, it's overwhelming."
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House still didn't know what to believe about this 'fake marriage' thing, though. It seemed a little too convenient to be true. (Also, the idea of Wilson going and getting married in spite of him fit quite nicely into House's more masochistic side. It would give him a great excuse to be miserable and hate his life more.)
"I'm supposed to believe that," he replied sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "That you got married to this Rolex guy by accident. You, the guy who has been in three marriages - well, four, now - because you couldn't resist being needed. It's pathological with you," House snarled, jabbing his cane at Wilson.
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Apparently, that wasn't going to be enough to convince the guy, considering the way that cane was pointing in his general direction. Wilson's face slipped into one of pissed off disbelief, as his teeth clenched and his jaw squared and, if her were a less reserved person, he would probably be punching the other party in this room, right about now.
"Yes, you're supposed to believe it," he snapped back, eyes widening a bit. "Because if you're going on that theory, oh-ho. No. You and I both know that-that," he waved a hand vaguely at House, frowning, "why the hell would I-I marry someone... to get out of a relationship? If you're going on pathology, you're wrong, House. You're just wrong."
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Judging by how pissed off Wilson was looking right about now, House was becoming quickly convinced that he was actually telling the truth about the random, unforeseen marriage circumstance. Wilson would probably the type to get incredibly guilty and apologetic if confronted with his own cheating, House thought. At least that was reassuring ( ... )
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And House was going to kill this Sylar idiot if he and Wilson had actually had sex. But it didn't seem likely, so the question was more amusing than paranoia inducing. "Yup," he answered casually, poking at a lamp with a disgusted scowl. After he finished, he glanced over at Wilson, feigning wide-eyed warning. "If he is better than me, I might just have to go make my way up the clock tower."
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And, ow, what the hell? Why was... House... Oh, hell no. Wilson's eyebrows automatically slanted downward, in a knowing sort of expression. Abusive spouses, when a person was acting nervous around their husband or wife, making up excuses, whatever, first place to sneak a check for bruises was usually wrists. Wilson knew perfectly well that Sylar definitely had, ah... some anger issues that he probably had to work through. But not that House could know that already ( ... )
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Clearly this was a tent were anal people lived.
"That is so polite," House remarked to Sylar, not stopping in his quest to examine every object in the kitchen. "Wilson, isn't that polite? Got yourself a good one here!"
A pot abruptly went flying over House's shoulder after a disgusted look at the inside. "You two really need to clean better, I think I saw mold," he announced. "I'm guessing you were too busy. The question, is, too busy doing what?"
No, seriously. He wanted to know why Wilson hadn't contacted him.
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