For queenzulu: House/Foreman
Rated: PG-13
Word Count: 1,212
“House,” said Eric Foreman in that placating way he had, “let’s get married.” The recipient of this…suggestion, Dr. Gregory House, gave his lover-colleague-subordinate…sometimes dominant…a bemused look.
“What?”
“I’m serious,” claimed Foreman. “I mean, think about it. We’ve known each other four and a half years, sleeping together for almost eight months. Why not make it official?” House snorted.
“I don’t do marriage. Never even married Stacy, and I lived with her for five years, and she gave a better blow job than you,” he half-lied. Foreman rolled his eyes, used to the insults and knowing House didn’t really mean them. (Usually.)
“I like Stacy. She’s the kind of woman I’d pick for you. But she’s still a woman.”
“Hey, I am a non-discriminatory fucker. The fact that I’m currently fucking you does not mean that I’ve lost interest in vaginas.”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” said Foreman slowly, trying carefully to articulate himself. “I mean…Stacy’s a beautiful woman, same race, same age, same education level, same income level. It would be completely socially acceptable to marry Stacy. Now, a younger black man who works for you? That would break all the rules.” He grinned. “Sounds like fun, no?”
*
The wedding was scheduled for January 25, because no one gets married in January. Foreman refused to wear a dress, which delayed things a bit until he agreed to a white suit with ascot.
“You’re always dark enough that white works,” House observed. Foreman only chuckled. He was about to marry a racist, atheistic, mean-man. Dad would be so proud.
“So is Cuddy going to be your maid of honor?” asked Foreman politely. House stared.
“You’re the chick in this wedding. Wilson’s my best man.” He paused. “But yeah, Cuddy’s a good choice. Let’s just make one thing clear: Cameron is not your maid of honor.”
Cuddy didn’t exactly relish the idea of being the maid of honor at the House/Foreman nuptials.
“Oh, hell, no,” were her exact words.
“Jews don’t believe in hell,” Foreman observed. She shook her head.
“You’re getting more and more like him every day.”
Finally she conceded, on the terms that Foreman let her choose her own dress and that if married House didn’t fulfill his clinic duties or fill out his paperwork, his husband would take full responsibility-and/or do them himself.
Wilson posed fewer problems, as he owed House for three turns as best man. Plus, he already owned a tux, and watching House pay for an open bar would be simply amusing.
Cameron was shocked, devastated-and, at the same time, glad to see a happy marriage. Chase thought it was a joke, but a nice joke and worthy of congratulations. Kutner tried to throw a shower. Taub offered best wishes and then went back to work. Thirteen seemed to find the whole thing amusing, but she didn’t say anything, so no one could really know for sure.
January 25 was getting closer and closer.
*
“You have to invite your parents.”
“No, I don’t.”
“No, I don’t.”
“House. At least your mom,” said Wilson earnestly, shaking his head at Foreman. Religious family, mom with Alzheimer’s-it was probably a lost cause. House gave him a look of death.
“Oh, yeah, I’m going to invite my married mother and not her husband-my father. Do you have mush for brains? Go carry the rings, practice a toast, and nail the maid of honor, like a good best man.”
“You slept with the maids of honor at my weddings?” House rolled his eyes.
“Yes to Tricia’s sister, yes to Julie’s cousin, and no to Bonnie’s best friend.” He sighed regretfully. “I was in a ‘monogamous committed relationship.’” Wilson shook his head.
“Were they any good?”
“Yes to Tricia’s sister, no to Julie’s cousin, and yessss! to Bonnie’s best friend.”
“I thought you said you didn’t sleep with her?”
“Thought about her in the shower the next morning.”
*
“Why the hell are we doing this? It’s freezing!”
“We’re doing it because you wanted to. And actually, it’s minus five, Celsius, so it’s below freezing.”
“I never said I wanted to have a ridiculously cold…”
“This isn’t fucking Bermuda. It’s Montreal in January; what did you expect?”
“Remind me again why we’re getting married eight hours away from home?”
“Because two men can get married in Canada, dumbass, and they can’t in New Jersey.” Foreman sighed.
“What about Massachusetts?”
“Just as far, and I think you have to live there or something. Come on. We’re gonna get married; we’re gonna do it right. It’s not like there are a lot of people we wanted to come.”
Wilson and Cuddy arrived in time to save the fight from breaking out.
“Can’t see the bride for twenty-four hours before the ceremony,” rattled off Wilson, to the bemused stares of the three who’d never before been grooms.
“Come on,” coaxed Cuddy. “Let’s go take one of those buggy rides through the historic part of the city and relax.” Foreman grumbled.
“I don’t want to go outside.” She rolled her eyes.
“Couldn’t get married over the jazz festival?” she called to House in exasperation.
“Couldn’t find a dude who could take a little cold,” he whined back.
*
House had wanted to marry at the cathedral-or at least to apply and see the look of horror on the priest’s face. Foreman and the faithful attendants steered him away from that one, as well as from the top-of-the-mountain idea which was possibly even worse.
City hall worked well enough, and truth be told, House and Foreman both looked great in their contrasting suits and matching smug smiles. Cuddy was beautiful in a pink cocktail dress-cut to complement the groom’s favorite of her physical features-with thigh-high nylons and dyed-to-match stilettos. Wilson was staring at her as though more than eager to fulfill his best-man duties.
“I now pronounce you Dr. and Dr. Gregory House,” offered the justice. The couple stared at each other in horror.
“Relax,” said Wilson calmly. “Couples don’t legally change their names in Quebec; you’re safe.” Cuddy stared. House stared. Foreman shook his head.
“I, uh, fell in love with a Quebecoise when I was in med school,” Wilson offered sheepishly. “Almost married her.”
“Four ex-Mrs. Wilsons?” crowed House.
“I told you; they don’t change their names,” Wilson reminded him. “It’s still only three Mrs. Wilsons, plus Catherine Danton. And I didn’t marry her, anyway.”
“What, did she die?” asked House sarcastically. Wilson flushed.
“No. She’s gay.”
*
House and Foreman disappeared to their hotel room as soon as “the cake was cut.” (In actuality, there were four cupcakes passed around.) Wilson offered to walk Cuddy back to hers. Within minutes, she was naked except for her shoes and stockings. The man had a gift.
*
The return to Princeton was a somewhat awkward car ride. Foreman flushed every time he remembered he’d have to tell his parents he’d run off to Canada to marry a man. Wilson flushed every time he remembered that House was having sex with Foreman. Cuddy flushed every time she remembered how eagerly she’d swallowed Wilson’s penis the night before. (That memory actually assuaged Wilson’s flush by sending blood in the opposite direction.)
House didn’t flush; he just popped his Vicodin and drove.