Hello, Godot (PG)
Posted to hw_fest and house_wilson
Title: Hello, Godot
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Prompt: 65. “House plans a surprise wedding at PPTH. The only one not in on it is the soon-to-be-blushing bride, Wilson.”
Notes: Set in a Tritter-free, far less angsty House!world, in late May 2007. Written for hw_fest. Thanks again and again and again to daisylily for the beta. And thanks to nightdog_barks for Cuddy's final word.
Wilson opened his eyes to another normal day. Same ceiling. Same bed. Same lightly snoring scruffy twerp next to him.
He’d woken up three minutes before the alarm, as usual. He thought about turning the alarm off but decided, screw it, House didn’t need to sleep in every single day.
A moment later, he was in the shower. He washed his hair but hesitated before applying the soap. Some days when he left the alarm on, he got a shower buddy, which generally led to rather interesting activities that afterwards required another application of soap. But today no one joined him. Pity.
When he walked out in his towel, the bedroom was empty and the alarm clock still sat on his nightstand. That was fortunate. The clocks generally had a life span of about three weeks before being dashed against the wall; Wilson had taken to stocking extras in the broom closet.
He checked his schedule again as he got dressed. Eight o’clock patient appointment, and he really needed to run through the results with Dr. Jin again before then. He’d have to grab coffee in the office.
“House?”
Wilson found him in the kitchen, hunched possessively over a plate. “You made pancakes?”
“Grabbed these from the freezer.”
“Then what’s the frying pan doing on the stove?” Wilson poured a small glass of orange juice, and then drained it in one swallow.
“I got hungry in the middle of the night and made a grilled cheese. That counts as yesterday, so it’s yours to wash.”
“Days are sundown to sundown. It’s yours to wash.” He put his juice glass in the sink before turning back toward House. “And since you’re actually up at a decent hour, please try to get to work on time.”
Stilling his fork for a moment, House rolled his eyes upward and heaved a dramatic sigh. “You’re such a nag. When did you become my wife?”
“Yeah,” Wilson replied flatly. The wife jokes were so not his favorite. “I have an eight a.m. appointment; I can’t drive you.”
“I take it back; you’re obviously auditioning for Mom. Wait, come here.”
Wilson had been halfway out of the kitchen, but he stopped and turned back. “I have to go.”
“There’s something on your tie.”
“No, there isn’t.” Wilson stared as House reached out, dabbed at his tie, and managed to leave a three-inch streak of maple syrup. “But now there is.”
“I’ll get you another one.” House was still terrible at tying ties, but he’d become expert in getting them off in record time. He took off down the hall with the sticky blue and brown striped tie fluttering behind him like a banner.
Wilson sighed at this interruption, and then stole three bites of House’s pancakes. He was swallowing the evidence when the man walked back in.
“Here.” House threw a new tie over Wilson’s shoulder - this one a rich solid burgundy with a faint check pattern.
“This is kind of dressy for a regular day at work.”
“I dunno; I just grabbed one.” House was back in his seat; the fork was picking up speed.
“I have to go.” Wilson finished knotting the tie, and then looked at House expectantly.
“Don’t let me stop you.” House half-waved, but his focus was on the pancakes and the morning paper.
The lack of goodbye kiss was normal, too, but even after all these months, it still irked Wilson a little.
***
The drive in was typical; the consult with Dr. Jin was typical; the eight a.m. appointment was, unfortunately for the patient, typical. The weakness of the cafeteria’s coffee was just about the only irregularity for most of his morning.
About nine-thirty he found himself with a few minutes on his hands and decided to check if they had better coffee in Diagnostics. Cameron was the only person around, and he said hello as he filled a mug.
“Bonjour,” Cameron replied, as she looked up from the book she’d been reading. “I decided to learn French while we’re between patients. Comment ça va?”
“Francais?” he replied easily. “Ma bitte est tres heureuse! Est-ce que tu as envie de faire des galipettes?”
Laughing, Cameron begged, “Slow down! I’ve only had one lesson.”
“That’s good, actually.” Wilson took a sip of his coffee and smiled. “I learned those phrases from House, and you’re better off not knowing. But, seriously, I did pick up some reasonably polite French when I was at McGill, so if you’d like to practice, let me know.”
“Thanks. When I get a little bit further along, I’ll take you up on that.” She turned back to her book.
He was about to leave when something odd caught his eye. “Cameron, what is that on your desk?”
She followed his gaze to the little statuettes perched around her desk, and smiled broadly. “They’re from the movie Chicken Run. Aren’t they sweet? This is Ginger and Rocky, and here’s Mac.” She thrust the ugliest figure toward him, and Wilson felt compelled to take it, just to be polite.
“This thing looks maniacal.”
“Well, Mac doesn’t have the best teeth, sure. But I think she’s cute.” Cameron took the figure back and actually stroked its head before replacing it on the desk.
Wilson gave Cameron a smile and the ugly-toothed chicken a wary glance before making his way back to his office.
His next patient, Mr. Smith, arrived at ten. They had spent fifteen minutes discussing the latest test results and treatment options when they were disturbed by an odd buzzing noise outside the office window.
Wilson opened the blinds to get a better look and was startled by the thing flying past. “What in the world?”
“It looks like a pig,” Mr. Smith commented.
“That it does,” he replied.
“Hey, there’s another one. It landed on your balcony.”
When he opened the balcony door, the buzzing suddenly increased and the pig took off, screaming up into the air and then diving over the edge of the balcony wall.
Mr. Smith had come out and was laughing a good deep laugh. Wilson was still perplexed. He looked over the edge of the balcony and saw Foreman and Chase below, holding remote control boxes.
Chase waved up at them; Foreman was concentrating on getting his pig to loop the loop.
***
Walking into the Clinic for his shift (strangely timed today, eleven to two), he ran into Cuddy. She was wearing a nice suit, nice blouse with decent but not prudish neckline, nice accessories and…large red devil horns protruding from her head.
He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Why are you wearing devil horns?”
“I lost a bet with House. I really have to stop betting against him.” She gave him the usual I hold you partially responsible look, but this time, really, Wilson had no clue. “I’m only wearing them until two, and then they’re coming off.”
“Seems fair.” He held open her office door for her, and then happened to look inside.
“Cuddy, what happened to your office?”
She followed his gaze and then stopped dead in her tracks. “It appears to have frozen over.” Every surface seemed to be covered in ice: the floor, the chairs, the couch, the table, and especially Cuddy’s large desk.
“Also part of the bet?” he asked hopefully.
“No. But I still suspect House.”
Glancing between the office and Cuddy, Wilson was surprised at the lack of furious buildup. “You’re awfully calm.”
“I’m busy plotting my revenge.” With that, she turned on her heel and went out to the nurses’ station to use that phone. Wilson took the chance to grab his first patient and get out of sight in an exam room.
***
Fourteen colds, twelve stitches, three STDs, one broken arm, two allergic reactions, and two sprained ankles (and a sandwich gratefully accepted from Cameron) later, Wilson was finally finished with his Clinic hours. He lifted a hand in farewell to his last patient, handed her file to the nurse in charge, and turned around to leave, only to face a heart-stopping sight: all three of his ex-wives sitting together in the Clinic waiting room.
He was extraordinarily grateful that he hadn’t been holding something breakable because it surely would have shattered on the floor. He blinked twice, hoping to clear his vision, but no, they were all still there - Jenny, Joanie, and Julie chatting away as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Jenny, his first wife, furthest removed in time and therefore least furious with him, noticed him first. She nudged the other two, and they all looked up at once. The chorus of “Hi, Jimmy!” was startlingly loud and garnered looks from both patients and nurses.
“Um, hello,” he managed. “Did you need something?” He felt in his pocket for his cell phone; his divorce attorney was speed dial number thirteen.
Joanie gave the other two a glance and then looked back at Wilson. “We were asked to, uh, contribute something to make the hospital a better place.”
Julie’s laugh at that sounded somewhat vicious; Jenny shushed her.
“You’re volunteering?” He was confused, and really, really wanted to be any place but here.
“Sort of,” Jenny replied, and ushered the other two women out the door of the Clinic.
“Bye, Jimmy!” The farewell in unison was just as creepy as the greeting had been.
He was contemplating going back into an exam room and hiding out until the storm had passed, when he saw his parents at the front desk to the hospital. He rushed out to intercept them.
“Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?”
They greeted him with big smiles. “We just stopped by to say hello.” His mother hugged him; his father slugged his arm manfully.
“You never do that.”
“A mother can’t visit her son? Watch the worry lines, Jimmy; you’ll get wrinkles.” His mom ran her hand soothingly over his forehead. It was sweet, if not exactly appropriate for a department head in the lobby of the hospital.
Wilson opened his mouth to ask another question, when yet another surprising set of people walked into the hospital. He took two steps over to greet them.
“Mr. and Mrs. House, hello.”
The smile Blythe gave him was a mirror to his mother’s. It was eerie, actually. “James, so nice to see you,” she said.
“These are Greg’s parents?” his mom asked, and so he made the introductions.
After those pleasantries had trailed off, he managed to squeeze in the question still topmost in his mind. “What are you all doing here?”
John opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by House’s arrival, which was loud and boisterous, even for him.
“All right, everybody! Let’s get out of the lobby, so we don’t annoy the sick people. Some of them might even have insurance and be able to pay us!”
The moms smiled indulgently, Wilson’s dad shook his head, and John scowled. Wilson was suddenly taken aback by another anomaly.
“House, you’re wearing a tie.” It was a nice one, too; it showed off his eyes.
House blew him off with a quick, “I got a party to go to later; you’re invited too.” He turned to his father, who had opened his mouth again to speak, and cut him off. “Hey, Dad, come on upstairs with me and look at this model airplane a patient gave me. She said it was an F-111 Aardvark, but I think it’s a Thunderchief.”
John shook his head but followed close behind his son. “You never can tell your fighter planes apart, Greg.” Blythe waved, and all three headed for the elevators.
Wilson stood and just breathed for a moment. He was getting the bends from his day diving so quickly from typical to bizarre.
“Come on, Jimmy.” His dad put his arm around him and nudged him into walking. “I think your mother would like a soda.”
“I would?” his mom asked. “Oh, yes, I would. Something refreshing with a lot of ice.”
Walking between his parents, Wilson suddenly felt twelve years old again. He managed to put aside the strangeness and make small talk all the way to the cafeteria. When they got there, it seemed a little empty, but it was just past two o’clock. Probably a lull between lunch and dinner.
They selected their sodas without too much trouble (he could have done without the lecture on sugar consumption, but oh well) and walked right up to the cashier. After making change for his twenty, the cashier asked, “Dr. Wilson, are you going up to the fourth floor?”
“Yes. Why?”
The cashier handed over a Styrofoam carton. “Dr. Cameron asked for this. Could you take it to her?”
Wilson was about to agree, when Cameron herself came running through the door. “Do you have what I ordered?” she asked breathlessly.
“Here.” Wilson handed her the carton. She looked at him with wide eyes, and then down at the carton.
“Did you open it?”
Perplexed, he shook his head. “No.”
She peeked in one corner of the container, breathed a sigh, and hurried out the door without another word.
Wilson shrugged at his parents and then asked the cashier, “Do you know what that was about?”
The cashier shrugged as well. “As far as I know, that was just some white rice. Don’t know why it’d be a secret.”
“Jimmy, let’s go to your office,” his mother called, and Wilson once again let himself be led away. He didn’t say a word until they were waiting for the elevators.
“Too many strange things have happened today, Mom. I think this may be a sign that the end of the world is near.”
As they boarded the elevator, his dad’s hand squeezed his shoulder. His mom responded warmly, “There are many mysteries in this world, sweetheart. Some are for the Creator alone to know; some we can come to understand if we open our eyes and use our hearts and minds.”
The elevator pinged when they reached the fourth floor.
“And,” his mom continued, “today is about beginning, not ending.”
He stepped off the elevator and into another world. Music began to play: “Something to Talk About,” the song he and House had laughingly claimed as their own on their first “date.”
The hallway was filled with people. His department, some of his patients, his brother and his family, his ex-wives, House’s parents, House’s team, nurses from throughout the hospital, Cuddy without devil horns - all of them looking his way, waiting for something, it seemed.
He turned a little to his right and House was there, smiling at him.
“What is this?” Wilson’s mom slipped his lab coat off him. She folded it and held it over her arm, and then tucked her other arm around his dad.
House came closer and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “You are unbelievably adorable when you’re oblivious.”
Stepping back a half step, he pulled a small box out of his pocket. Inside were two simple but beautiful gold rings. “James Evan Wilson, will you marry me?”
The world fell away in that moment. All Wilson could hear was the sound of his own heart; all he could feel was the air moving in and out of his lungs; all he could see was the face of the man he had loved for so long without realizing he might also be in love with him.
“You really want to be the fourth Mrs. James Wilson?”
“No, I want you to be the one and only Mrs. Greg House.”
“I’m not changing my name.”
“Wouldn’t want you to. I’m attached to Wilson.”
Everything came back then. He heard the music and saw all the people around them, still looking at him, still waiting.
He took the box from House and looked down at the rings. They were perfect.
“You did all this for an engagement party?”
“I was hoping we’d just have the shortest engagement in history and go ahead and get married now.” House was smoothing down his own tie. Blythe was behind him, picking lint off his jacket.
“How can we?” replied Wilson.
“I know you’re busy, but you should at least skim the newspaper. Governor signed the law. Boy-on-boy action is now legal.”
Reflexively, Wilson rolled his eyes. “Not what I meant. We have to register, get a marriage license.”
House chuckled. “You sign anything your assistant puts in front of you. The registration form was in a big stack last week.”
“You have to apply in person.”
“I happen to know a pretty good lawyer who found a loophole for that.”
“Stacy is here?” Wilson craned his neck around to look.
“Over there.” House pointed behind himself, down the hall. “It’s tearing her heart out, losing me to you.”
“Right. You know you’re insane.”
House raised his hand high in the air and snapped his fingers, and the music changed. It launched into the chorus of a Billy Joel song: “You may be right, I may be crazy, but it just may be a lunatic you’re looking for.”
Wilson could see in House’s eyes that he was threatening to sing along, the way he always did to this song, and the capitulation came as swiftly as ever. The fact that it was the answer he’d planned to give all along was merely the icing on the cake.
“All right, yes, yes, yes, I’ll marry you.” He laughed as House grabbed him around the waist and pulled him closer. “Let me agree before you do anything else to drive me nuts.”
After a most excellent kiss, which drew applause from those watching, House replied, “Oh. That’s too bad. I’m pretty sure letting me drive you nuts is one of the vows.”
They were married by the hospital chaplain, in the shortest ceremony Wilson had ever seen, let alone participated in. (“Goes quick when you knock the God parts out,” House commented much later.) Wilson’s brother and Cuddy - “The best man,” House proclaimed loudly, to everyone’s chagrin - were their official witnesses, and both their mothers cried. They walked back up the “aisle” to the elevator to Christina Aguilera’s “Ain’t No Other Man,” and it was all nutty, and crazy, and wonderful.
The kiss in the elevator was substantially hotter than the engagement kiss or the kiss at the end of the ceremony. As it ended, Wilson looked up to see a privacy screen had been set up in the lobby in front of the elevator, and Foreman and Chase were standing guard. He and House laughed all the way to their car.
***
The reception was in a private room at their favorite restaurant. Even with the several minutes they stole alone in the car, they still managed to get there first so Wilson could greet everyone as they came in. There were hugs and handshakes, as House watched from a comfortable chair in the corner of the room.
His dad asked about getting the marriage blessed in the temple, and his mom asked about grandchildren, and Wilson hugged them both tightly without committing to anything.
House’s team laughingly told him the saga of the rice, the kicker of which was that the cafeteria (their last resort) had given it to them cooked. “We thought about throwing it anyway,” Chase said, “but didn’t want it to stick and mess up your hair.” Wilson laughed as if it wouldn’t have mattered, but gave Chase an extra pat on the back for his thoughtfulness.
Blythe invited him to call her Mom, and John invited him to call him Sir, and both were just fine with Wilson.
Finally everyone was there and seated, with drinks and appetizers liberally distributed. Wilson was settled against House’s side, with House’s arm around his shoulders. He looked at the ring on his finger, and the ring on House’s, and couldn’t help but smile contentedly. “Wuss,” House whispered to him.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Me too,” said House, and smiled.
Cuddy stood up at that moment and rang a spoon against her glass to gain everyone’s attention.
“It’s customary to hear a speech from the best man - and thank you so much for that appellation, House, even though I am, as I keep reminding you, a woman. Anyway, the best man’s speech typically contains embarrassing anecdotes about the groom and helpful advice about handling the groom for the, um, other groom.” Light laughter trilled around the room.
“This posed a difficult task for me, as House appears to be completely beyond embarrassment and Wilson has the most knowledge and experience of any of us on how to properly handle House. What was left for me to say?
“But as I waited for Maintenance to clean my office out today - that was supposed to be fake ice, House, not real ice - I had plenty of time to think. And I realized I do have both advice for Wilson and a tale with which I can embarrass House.”
House called out, “You swore you’d never tell about that night in Exam Room Two!” but Cuddy ignored him completely.
“Advice first. Wilson, it’s pretty simple: keep doing what you’re doing. Consider a support group or counseling for your own sanity, but for House’s sake, what you’re doing now seems to be the best thing. I’ve never seen him more well-balanced - as far as House can be - or happier.” Cuddy took a sip of water and gave House a devious look before continuing.
“Which leads us to the anecdote. It was an ordinary day, about seven months ago. House came to my office, bullied his way past my assistant, and planted himself in front of my desk.
“He’s had some bizarre opening lines before, but this one totally threw me for a loop. ‘The Supreme Court of New Jersey has determined the state legislature has to legalize gay marriage.’
“I wasn’t sure what to say, so I replied, ‘Are you trying to make a lesbian joke? Because I don’t see the relevance to me.’
“House mumbled, ‘Not implying relevance to you,’ and I noticed he wouldn’t meet my eye. That’s a clear tell for House that he’s hitting up against uncomfortable truths: inability to look you in the eye.” Cuddy glanced over at House, and once again he was not looking her in the eye.
She continued, “I was intrigued, to say the least, but I played it cool, just replying. ‘Well?’
“And what followed was the most shocking thing that has ever come out of Greg House’s mouth.” She paused for effect, and definitely held everyone’s interest.
“It was a schmoopy, goopy, Hallmark card declaration of love for Wilson.”
House’s cheeks were flaming red. “Liar!”
“Seven months ago?” Wilson turned to House in amazement. “We started seeing each other six months ago today.”
“Why I picked this date.”
“Which is astonishingly sweet, but… seven months ago! That means you told Cuddy you were interested before you told me.”
All eyes in the room were now trained on Wilson and House. Cuddy was smirking, two seconds away from outright laughter.
“Well…” House was suddenly finding the floor quite interesting. “It’s -”
Wilson abruptly flung his arms around House and hugged him hard. “What a perfect wedding gift,” he declared. “Leverage.”
House groaned, and Cuddy’s smirk deepened. She was generous, and left out the end of their conversation:
And your affections are returned?
Yes. I’m pretty sure. He blow dries his hair, for Christ’s sake.
You’re planning to get married to him, and you don’t even know if he loves you?
Of course he loves me! Why would he stick around otherwise?
Well, there’s love and then there’s love. Just because he puts up with you doesn’t mean he’s willing to play hide the sausage.
You have such a lovely way with words, Cuddy. I’ll bet you he does.
So if you get him to admit he’s in love with you, what do you want?
You help me plan the wedding. And you wear devil horns in the hospital for a day.
Why?
Because you’re evil. If you were to win, which you won’t, I’ll give you an extra twenty hours in the Clinic.
Deal.
“So, as I was saying, House’s declaration of love -” Cuddy continued.
“You’re lying!” House bellowed again.
Cuddy kept her cool. “I thought that accusation might be leveled. Fortunately, I have proof. For legal reasons, I tape all conversations with House. Here he is.”
House stared at the hand-held tape recorder with shock and horror. The speakers worked well for such a small device, and House’s voice rang out throughout the room.
“Did you ever have something you see every day, and then one day it’s like someone opened a curtain, because you suddenly see it in a new light? That’s Wilson. He’s always been there for me, always given me what I needed, and suddenly I need more. I need to make him happy, to hold him, to feel him against me, to feel that he’s part of me. He wormed his way into my heart, that little bastard, and now I want him there always. I have to make him mine, because I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
By the end, Wilson was laughing, hanging onto House, holding him down as he struggled to get up from his seat. “You are dead, Cuddy. Dead.”
Cuddy’s smile was evil satisfaction although her eyes held pure warmth as she lowered the tape recorder and raised her glass.
“Please join me in wishing the newlyweds great happiness. L’chaim!”
Notes
French phrases taken from this website: http://www.geocities.com/badpopsicle6/frenchslang.html
The three songs played at the engagement/wedding are such great House/Wilson songs - perfect lyrics for them. I'm not the only one who thinks so - two have H/W fanvids already. The lyrics and links to vids are here
Title: Hello, Godot
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Prompt: 65. “House plans a surprise wedding at PPTH. The only one not in on it is the soon-to-be-blushing bride, Wilson.”
Notes: Set in a Tritter-free, far less angsty House!world, in late May 2007. Written for hw_fest. Thanks again and again and again to daisylily for the beta. And thanks to nightdog_barks for Cuddy's final word.
Wilson opened his eyes to another normal day. Same ceiling. Same bed. Same lightly snoring scruffy twerp next to him.
He’d woken up three minutes before the alarm, as usual. He thought about turning the alarm off but decided, screw it, House didn’t need to sleep in every single day.
A moment later, he was in the shower. He washed his hair but hesitated before applying the soap. Some days when he left the alarm on, he got a shower buddy, which generally led to rather interesting activities that afterwards required another application of soap. But today no one joined him. Pity.
When he walked out in his towel, the bedroom was empty and the alarm clock still sat on his nightstand. That was fortunate. The clocks generally had a life span of about three weeks before being dashed against the wall; Wilson had taken to stocking extras in the broom closet.
He checked his schedule again as he got dressed. Eight o’clock patient appointment, and he really needed to run through the results with Dr. Jin again before then. He’d have to grab coffee in the office.
“House?”
Wilson found him in the kitchen, hunched possessively over a plate. “You made pancakes?”
“Grabbed these from the freezer.”
“Then what’s the frying pan doing on the stove?” Wilson poured a small glass of orange juice, and then drained it in one swallow.
“I got hungry in the middle of the night and made a grilled cheese. That counts as yesterday, so it’s yours to wash.”
“Days are sundown to sundown. It’s yours to wash.” He put his juice glass in the sink before turning back toward House. “And since you’re actually up at a decent hour, please try to get to work on time.”
Stilling his fork for a moment, House rolled his eyes upward and heaved a dramatic sigh. “You’re such a nag. When did you become my wife?”
“Yeah,” Wilson replied flatly. The wife jokes were so not his favorite. “I have an eight a.m. appointment; I can’t drive you.”
“I take it back; you’re obviously auditioning for Mom. Wait, come here.”
Wilson had been halfway out of the kitchen, but he stopped and turned back. “I have to go.”
“There’s something on your tie.”
“No, there isn’t.” Wilson stared as House reached out, dabbed at his tie, and managed to leave a three-inch streak of maple syrup. “But now there is.”
“I’ll get you another one.” House was still terrible at tying ties, but he’d become expert in getting them off in record time. He took off down the hall with the sticky blue and brown striped tie fluttering behind him like a banner.
Wilson sighed at this interruption, and then stole three bites of House’s pancakes. He was swallowing the evidence when the man walked back in.
“Here.” House threw a new tie over Wilson’s shoulder - this one a rich solid burgundy with a faint check pattern.
“This is kind of dressy for a regular day at work.”
“I dunno; I just grabbed one.” House was back in his seat; the fork was picking up speed.
“I have to go.” Wilson finished knotting the tie, and then looked at House expectantly.
“Don’t let me stop you.” House half-waved, but his focus was on the pancakes and the morning paper.
The lack of goodbye kiss was normal, too, but even after all these months, it still irked Wilson a little.
***
The drive in was typical; the consult with Dr. Jin was typical; the eight a.m. appointment was, unfortunately for the patient, typical. The weakness of the cafeteria’s coffee was just about the only irregularity for most of his morning.
About nine-thirty he found himself with a few minutes on his hands and decided to check if they had better coffee in Diagnostics. Cameron was the only person around, and he said hello as he filled a mug.
“Bonjour,” Cameron replied, as she looked up from the book she’d been reading. “I decided to learn French while we’re between patients. Comment ça va?”
“Francais?” he replied easily. “Ma bitte est tres heureuse! Est-ce que tu as envie de faire des galipettes?”
Laughing, Cameron begged, “Slow down! I’ve only had one lesson.”
“That’s good, actually.” Wilson took a sip of his coffee and smiled. “I learned those phrases from House, and you’re better off not knowing. But, seriously, I did pick up some reasonably polite French when I was at McGill, so if you’d like to practice, let me know.”
“Thanks. When I get a little bit further along, I’ll take you up on that.” She turned back to her book.
He was about to leave when something odd caught his eye. “Cameron, what is that on your desk?”
She followed his gaze to the little statuettes perched around her desk, and smiled broadly. “They’re from the movie Chicken Run. Aren’t they sweet? This is Ginger and Rocky, and here’s Mac.” She thrust the ugliest figure toward him, and Wilson felt compelled to take it, just to be polite.
“This thing looks maniacal.”
“Well, Mac doesn’t have the best teeth, sure. But I think she’s cute.” Cameron took the figure back and actually stroked its head before replacing it on the desk.
Wilson gave Cameron a smile and the ugly-toothed chicken a wary glance before making his way back to his office.
His next patient, Mr. Smith, arrived at ten. They had spent fifteen minutes discussing the latest test results and treatment options when they were disturbed by an odd buzzing noise outside the office window.
Wilson opened the blinds to get a better look and was startled by the thing flying past. “What in the world?”
“It looks like a pig,” Mr. Smith commented.
“That it does,” he replied.
“Hey, there’s another one. It landed on your balcony.”
When he opened the balcony door, the buzzing suddenly increased and the pig took off, screaming up into the air and then diving over the edge of the balcony wall.
Mr. Smith had come out and was laughing a good deep laugh. Wilson was still perplexed. He looked over the edge of the balcony and saw Foreman and Chase below, holding remote control boxes.
Chase waved up at them; Foreman was concentrating on getting his pig to loop the loop.
***
Walking into the Clinic for his shift (strangely timed today, eleven to two), he ran into Cuddy. She was wearing a nice suit, nice blouse with decent but not prudish neckline, nice accessories and…large red devil horns protruding from her head.
He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Why are you wearing devil horns?”
“I lost a bet with House. I really have to stop betting against him.” She gave him the usual I hold you partially responsible look, but this time, really, Wilson had no clue. “I’m only wearing them until two, and then they’re coming off.”
“Seems fair.” He held open her office door for her, and then happened to look inside.
“Cuddy, what happened to your office?”
She followed his gaze and then stopped dead in her tracks. “It appears to have frozen over.” Every surface seemed to be covered in ice: the floor, the chairs, the couch, the table, and especially Cuddy’s large desk.
“Also part of the bet?” he asked hopefully.
“No. But I still suspect House.”
Glancing between the office and Cuddy, Wilson was surprised at the lack of furious buildup. “You’re awfully calm.”
“I’m busy plotting my revenge.” With that, she turned on her heel and went out to the nurses’ station to use that phone. Wilson took the chance to grab his first patient and get out of sight in an exam room.
***
Fourteen colds, twelve stitches, three STDs, one broken arm, two allergic reactions, and two sprained ankles (and a sandwich gratefully accepted from Cameron) later, Wilson was finally finished with his Clinic hours. He lifted a hand in farewell to his last patient, handed her file to the nurse in charge, and turned around to leave, only to face a heart-stopping sight: all three of his ex-wives sitting together in the Clinic waiting room.
He was extraordinarily grateful that he hadn’t been holding something breakable because it surely would have shattered on the floor. He blinked twice, hoping to clear his vision, but no, they were all still there - Jenny, Joanie, and Julie chatting away as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Jenny, his first wife, furthest removed in time and therefore least furious with him, noticed him first. She nudged the other two, and they all looked up at once. The chorus of “Hi, Jimmy!” was startlingly loud and garnered looks from both patients and nurses.
“Um, hello,” he managed. “Did you need something?” He felt in his pocket for his cell phone; his divorce attorney was speed dial number thirteen.
Joanie gave the other two a glance and then looked back at Wilson. “We were asked to, uh, contribute something to make the hospital a better place.”
Julie’s laugh at that sounded somewhat vicious; Jenny shushed her.
“You’re volunteering?” He was confused, and really, really wanted to be any place but here.
“Sort of,” Jenny replied, and ushered the other two women out the door of the Clinic.
“Bye, Jimmy!” The farewell in unison was just as creepy as the greeting had been.
He was contemplating going back into an exam room and hiding out until the storm had passed, when he saw his parents at the front desk to the hospital. He rushed out to intercept them.
“Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?”
They greeted him with big smiles. “We just stopped by to say hello.” His mother hugged him; his father slugged his arm manfully.
“You never do that.”
“A mother can’t visit her son? Watch the worry lines, Jimmy; you’ll get wrinkles.” His mom ran her hand soothingly over his forehead. It was sweet, if not exactly appropriate for a department head in the lobby of the hospital.
Wilson opened his mouth to ask another question, when yet another surprising set of people walked into the hospital. He took two steps over to greet them.
“Mr. and Mrs. House, hello.”
The smile Blythe gave him was a mirror to his mother’s. It was eerie, actually. “James, so nice to see you,” she said.
“These are Greg’s parents?” his mom asked, and so he made the introductions.
After those pleasantries had trailed off, he managed to squeeze in the question still topmost in his mind. “What are you all doing here?”
John opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by House’s arrival, which was loud and boisterous, even for him.
“All right, everybody! Let’s get out of the lobby, so we don’t annoy the sick people. Some of them might even have insurance and be able to pay us!”
The moms smiled indulgently, Wilson’s dad shook his head, and John scowled. Wilson was suddenly taken aback by another anomaly.
“House, you’re wearing a tie.” It was a nice one, too; it showed off his eyes.
House blew him off with a quick, “I got a party to go to later; you’re invited too.” He turned to his father, who had opened his mouth again to speak, and cut him off. “Hey, Dad, come on upstairs with me and look at this model airplane a patient gave me. She said it was an F-111 Aardvark, but I think it’s a Thunderchief.”
John shook his head but followed close behind his son. “You never can tell your fighter planes apart, Greg.” Blythe waved, and all three headed for the elevators.
Wilson stood and just breathed for a moment. He was getting the bends from his day diving so quickly from typical to bizarre.
“Come on, Jimmy.” His dad put his arm around him and nudged him into walking. “I think your mother would like a soda.”
“I would?” his mom asked. “Oh, yes, I would. Something refreshing with a lot of ice.”
Walking between his parents, Wilson suddenly felt twelve years old again. He managed to put aside the strangeness and make small talk all the way to the cafeteria. When they got there, it seemed a little empty, but it was just past two o’clock. Probably a lull between lunch and dinner.
They selected their sodas without too much trouble (he could have done without the lecture on sugar consumption, but oh well) and walked right up to the cashier. After making change for his twenty, the cashier asked, “Dr. Wilson, are you going up to the fourth floor?”
“Yes. Why?”
The cashier handed over a Styrofoam carton. “Dr. Cameron asked for this. Could you take it to her?”
Wilson was about to agree, when Cameron herself came running through the door. “Do you have what I ordered?” she asked breathlessly.
“Here.” Wilson handed her the carton. She looked at him with wide eyes, and then down at the carton.
“Did you open it?”
Perplexed, he shook his head. “No.”
She peeked in one corner of the container, breathed a sigh, and hurried out the door without another word.
Wilson shrugged at his parents and then asked the cashier, “Do you know what that was about?”
The cashier shrugged as well. “As far as I know, that was just some white rice. Don’t know why it’d be a secret.”
“Jimmy, let’s go to your office,” his mother called, and Wilson once again let himself be led away. He didn’t say a word until they were waiting for the elevators.
“Too many strange things have happened today, Mom. I think this may be a sign that the end of the world is near.”
As they boarded the elevator, his dad’s hand squeezed his shoulder. His mom responded warmly, “There are many mysteries in this world, sweetheart. Some are for the Creator alone to know; some we can come to understand if we open our eyes and use our hearts and minds.”
The elevator pinged when they reached the fourth floor.
“And,” his mom continued, “today is about beginning, not ending.”
He stepped off the elevator and into another world. Music began to play: “Something to Talk About,” the song he and House had laughingly claimed as their own on their first “date.”
The hallway was filled with people. His department, some of his patients, his brother and his family, his ex-wives, House’s parents, House’s team, nurses from throughout the hospital, Cuddy without devil horns - all of them looking his way, waiting for something, it seemed.
He turned a little to his right and House was there, smiling at him.
“What is this?” Wilson’s mom slipped his lab coat off him. She folded it and held it over her arm, and then tucked her other arm around his dad.
House came closer and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “You are unbelievably adorable when you’re oblivious.”
Stepping back a half step, he pulled a small box out of his pocket. Inside were two simple but beautiful gold rings. “James Evan Wilson, will you marry me?”
The world fell away in that moment. All Wilson could hear was the sound of his own heart; all he could feel was the air moving in and out of his lungs; all he could see was the face of the man he had loved for so long without realizing he might also be in love with him.
“You really want to be the fourth Mrs. James Wilson?”
“No, I want you to be the one and only Mrs. Greg House.”
“I’m not changing my name.”
“Wouldn’t want you to. I’m attached to Wilson.”
Everything came back then. He heard the music and saw all the people around them, still looking at him, still waiting.
He took the box from House and looked down at the rings. They were perfect.
“You did all this for an engagement party?”
“I was hoping we’d just have the shortest engagement in history and go ahead and get married now.” House was smoothing down his own tie. Blythe was behind him, picking lint off his jacket.
“How can we?” replied Wilson.
“I know you’re busy, but you should at least skim the newspaper. Governor signed the law. Boy-on-boy action is now legal.”
Reflexively, Wilson rolled his eyes. “Not what I meant. We have to register, get a marriage license.”
House chuckled. “You sign anything your assistant puts in front of you. The registration form was in a big stack last week.”
“You have to apply in person.”
“I happen to know a pretty good lawyer who found a loophole for that.”
“Stacy is here?” Wilson craned his neck around to look.
“Over there.” House pointed behind himself, down the hall. “It’s tearing her heart out, losing me to you.”
“Right. You know you’re insane.”
House raised his hand high in the air and snapped his fingers, and the music changed. It launched into the chorus of a Billy Joel song: “You may be right, I may be crazy, but it just may be a lunatic you’re looking for.”
Wilson could see in House’s eyes that he was threatening to sing along, the way he always did to this song, and the capitulation came as swiftly as ever. The fact that it was the answer he’d planned to give all along was merely the icing on the cake.
“All right, yes, yes, yes, I’ll marry you.” He laughed as House grabbed him around the waist and pulled him closer. “Let me agree before you do anything else to drive me nuts.”
After a most excellent kiss, which drew applause from those watching, House replied, “Oh. That’s too bad. I’m pretty sure letting me drive you nuts is one of the vows.”
They were married by the hospital chaplain, in the shortest ceremony Wilson had ever seen, let alone participated in. (“Goes quick when you knock the God parts out,” House commented much later.) Wilson’s brother and Cuddy - “The best man,” House proclaimed loudly, to everyone’s chagrin - were their official witnesses, and both their mothers cried. They walked back up the “aisle” to the elevator to Christina Aguilera’s “Ain’t No Other Man,” and it was all nutty, and crazy, and wonderful.
The kiss in the elevator was substantially hotter than the engagement kiss or the kiss at the end of the ceremony. As it ended, Wilson looked up to see a privacy screen had been set up in the lobby in front of the elevator, and Foreman and Chase were standing guard. He and House laughed all the way to their car.
***
The reception was in a private room at their favorite restaurant. Even with the several minutes they stole alone in the car, they still managed to get there first so Wilson could greet everyone as they came in. There were hugs and handshakes, as House watched from a comfortable chair in the corner of the room.
His dad asked about getting the marriage blessed in the temple, and his mom asked about grandchildren, and Wilson hugged them both tightly without committing to anything.
House’s team laughingly told him the saga of the rice, the kicker of which was that the cafeteria (their last resort) had given it to them cooked. “We thought about throwing it anyway,” Chase said, “but didn’t want it to stick and mess up your hair.” Wilson laughed as if it wouldn’t have mattered, but gave Chase an extra pat on the back for his thoughtfulness.
Blythe invited him to call her Mom, and John invited him to call him Sir, and both were just fine with Wilson.
Finally everyone was there and seated, with drinks and appetizers liberally distributed. Wilson was settled against House’s side, with House’s arm around his shoulders. He looked at the ring on his finger, and the ring on House’s, and couldn’t help but smile contentedly. “Wuss,” House whispered to him.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Me too,” said House, and smiled.
Cuddy stood up at that moment and rang a spoon against her glass to gain everyone’s attention.
“It’s customary to hear a speech from the best man - and thank you so much for that appellation, House, even though I am, as I keep reminding you, a woman. Anyway, the best man’s speech typically contains embarrassing anecdotes about the groom and helpful advice about handling the groom for the, um, other groom.” Light laughter trilled around the room.
“This posed a difficult task for me, as House appears to be completely beyond embarrassment and Wilson has the most knowledge and experience of any of us on how to properly handle House. What was left for me to say?
“But as I waited for Maintenance to clean my office out today - that was supposed to be fake ice, House, not real ice - I had plenty of time to think. And I realized I do have both advice for Wilson and a tale with which I can embarrass House.”
House called out, “You swore you’d never tell about that night in Exam Room Two!” but Cuddy ignored him completely.
“Advice first. Wilson, it’s pretty simple: keep doing what you’re doing. Consider a support group or counseling for your own sanity, but for House’s sake, what you’re doing now seems to be the best thing. I’ve never seen him more well-balanced - as far as House can be - or happier.” Cuddy took a sip of water and gave House a devious look before continuing.
“Which leads us to the anecdote. It was an ordinary day, about seven months ago. House came to my office, bullied his way past my assistant, and planted himself in front of my desk.
“He’s had some bizarre opening lines before, but this one totally threw me for a loop. ‘The Supreme Court of New Jersey has determined the state legislature has to legalize gay marriage.’
“I wasn’t sure what to say, so I replied, ‘Are you trying to make a lesbian joke? Because I don’t see the relevance to me.’
“House mumbled, ‘Not implying relevance to you,’ and I noticed he wouldn’t meet my eye. That’s a clear tell for House that he’s hitting up against uncomfortable truths: inability to look you in the eye.” Cuddy glanced over at House, and once again he was not looking her in the eye.
She continued, “I was intrigued, to say the least, but I played it cool, just replying. ‘Well?’
“And what followed was the most shocking thing that has ever come out of Greg House’s mouth.” She paused for effect, and definitely held everyone’s interest.
“It was a schmoopy, goopy, Hallmark card declaration of love for Wilson.”
House’s cheeks were flaming red. “Liar!”
“Seven months ago?” Wilson turned to House in amazement. “We started seeing each other six months ago today.”
“Why I picked this date.”
“Which is astonishingly sweet, but… seven months ago! That means you told Cuddy you were interested before you told me.”
All eyes in the room were now trained on Wilson and House. Cuddy was smirking, two seconds away from outright laughter.
“Well…” House was suddenly finding the floor quite interesting. “It’s -”
Wilson abruptly flung his arms around House and hugged him hard. “What a perfect wedding gift,” he declared. “Leverage.”
House groaned, and Cuddy’s smirk deepened. She was generous, and left out the end of their conversation:
And your affections are returned?
Yes. I’m pretty sure. He blow dries his hair, for Christ’s sake.
You’re planning to get married to him, and you don’t even know if he loves you?
Of course he loves me! Why would he stick around otherwise?
Well, there’s love and then there’s love. Just because he puts up with you doesn’t mean he’s willing to play hide the sausage.
You have such a lovely way with words, Cuddy. I’ll bet you he does.
So if you get him to admit he’s in love with you, what do you want?
You help me plan the wedding. And you wear devil horns in the hospital for a day.
Why?
Because you’re evil. If you were to win, which you won’t, I’ll give you an extra twenty hours in the Clinic.
Deal.
“So, as I was saying, House’s declaration of love -” Cuddy continued.
“You’re lying!” House bellowed again.
Cuddy kept her cool. “I thought that accusation might be leveled. Fortunately, I have proof. For legal reasons, I tape all conversations with House. Here he is.”
House stared at the hand-held tape recorder with shock and horror. The speakers worked well for such a small device, and House’s voice rang out throughout the room.
“Did you ever have something you see every day, and then one day it’s like someone opened a curtain, because you suddenly see it in a new light? That’s Wilson. He’s always been there for me, always given me what I needed, and suddenly I need more. I need to make him happy, to hold him, to feel him against me, to feel that he’s part of me. He wormed his way into my heart, that little bastard, and now I want him there always. I have to make him mine, because I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
By the end, Wilson was laughing, hanging onto House, holding him down as he struggled to get up from his seat. “You are dead, Cuddy. Dead.”
Cuddy’s smile was evil satisfaction although her eyes held pure warmth as she lowered the tape recorder and raised her glass.
“Please join me in wishing the newlyweds great happiness. L’chaim!”
Notes
French phrases taken from this website: http://www.geocities.com/badpopsicle6/frenchslang.html
The three songs played at the engagement/wedding are such great House/Wilson songs - perfect lyrics for them. I'm not the only one who thinks so - two have H/W fanvids already. The lyrics and links to vids are here