Unexpected (House/Wilson) PG
Title: Unexpected
Fandom: House
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG for language
Note: A House/Wilson Valentine for phinnia who prompted with House/Wilson, unexpected. And look, I'm sticking to the prompt/title theme. :) Ironically enough, this went an unexpected direction. The Moonstruck is a real resturant I found listed under New Jersey's 10 most romantic returants. I hope you like it phin!
Summary: It's House and Wilson's first Valentines. House isn't happy with Wilson's plans. Come on; let’s get this farce over with
Unexpected
The only excuse House had for not calling in sick to avoid the whole Valentine’s fiasco was that he was preoccupied by the strange dream clinging to the edges of his consciousness as he woke up. He and Wilson had been playing foosball with miniature Kutner and Taubs against miniature 13s and Foremans. Cuddy was being trailed around the hospital by Cameron and Chase, who were calling her grandma and demanding she take them for ice cream. He had no idea where that came from, but idly wondered if he could convince them to do it. Or maybe Kutners and Taub, it would be worth suggesting just to see how far back in his head Foreman could roll his eyes.
So it wasn’t until he was actually walking through the front doors of the hospital that he remembered what day it was, and by then it was too late to go home - he’d been spotted by Cameron and had his exit cutoff. Retreating to his office turned out to be the better part of valor if he wanted to avoid a lecture on the proper way to treat Wilson on their first holiday together. House told her that he had put on red boxers so Wilson could enjoy the festive wrapping on his present later. She looked a little ill after that, but let him escape.
He dodged hearts, cupids and Kutner with a box a Valentines before arriving in his office to begin his day. He had big plans, including hiding from Cuddy, insulting his staff, avoiding clinic, and trying to talk Wilson into blowing him in a supply closet - pretty much the same as every other day.
Eventually, boredom and hunger drove House across the balcony to Wilson’s office in search of physical and mental sustenance. But of course Wilson wasn’t there. Wilson was never around when he needed him, stupid work ethic. That man really needed to rethink his priorities.
For awhile, House entertained himself by arranging all the little stuffed things on Wilson’s shelves into lewd positions, but eventually he was reduced to searching the desk for something new and exciting. He shuffled through the disturbingly neat drawers, shoving aside paperclips, prescription pads, an extra tie, and a stack of Valentines filled out in childish hand before pausing over a brochure to the Moonstruck Restaurant and Cocktail Lounge in Asbury Park.
It didn’t look like half-forgotten junk mail. The creases were worn and corners turned down as if they had been turned and examined often. He opened the pamphlet and took in the happy looking couples and the romantic setting and felt a knot of tension form in his chest. Unwilling to quite believe what his heart was trying to tell him, House skipped the rest of the desk and went right to the box Wilson thought was securely hidden behind his medical texts. Inside was a receipt for two dozen red roses and small heart-shaped box of chocolates.
Wilson was cheating on him. He took the news better than he would have expected. It was Wilson after all; this wasn’t an entirely unexpected development. Except, well, he’d really thought that all Wilson’s cheating was just his subconscious looking for something else, looking for him. And he knew that wasn’t just his ego talking. According to his highly confidential files, Wilson’s therapist agreed. And Wilson wasn’t showing any signs of infidelity - he was no more or less attentive to House, sexually or otherwise, than he’d ever been. That left another, infinitely more appalling, possibility - maybe all of this was for him.
One last look through the debris of his search as he methodically replaced everything revealed the key piece of evidence, a Valentine card decorated with two men holding hands on a sunset beach, leaning in for a kiss. House stared at in horror, thoughts refusing to settle, before his fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and he fled the scene like a man with the devil on his heels.
Back at home, safely ensconced on his piano bench, House washed a Vicodin down with some rum he’d pilfered from the staff Christmas party. Without a thought, his fingers picked out their own melody while his brain worked on the problem of Wilson’s sappy plan, and his own reaction to it. As the notes worked their magic and soothed away his concerns, House came to a decision of his own.
**
“Hi, Honey. I’m home,” Wilson called jovially as he walked through the door, all wide smiles and laughing brown eyes.
House generously ignored the lame greeting and turned Wilson back toward the door. “Come on; let’s get this farce over with.”
Wilson shrugged out from under House’s grip and turned back to face him, the look on his face one of amused confusion. His eyebrows drew dangerously together, and his cocked head asked the question before Wilson could even articulate it. “Huh?”
“I know you have some dopey romantic evening planned; let’s get on with it. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can come home, and you can start making it up to me on your knees.”
Wilson still wasn’t moving, or at least, not toward the door. Probably because walking was difficult when one was bent over laughing. “She got you! I don’t believe it. Damn, now I owe Cuddy eight more hours of clinic time; I never thought you’d fall for some planted papers in my office.”
Not for nothing was House called a genius; he figured it out before Wilson had even finished speaking. “Cuddy?” House echoed dully. “She set me up, made it look like you had a big romantic plan for our first Valentines.”
“And you fell for it, my friend,” Wilson said smilingly. He patted House’s left shoulder consolingly.
House opened his mouth to say something cuttingly sarcastic and was surprised when a cold, “That jealous bitch,” came out of his mouth in a vicious hiss. Wilson looked as shocked as House felt.
“It’s just a joke, House, not even a harmful one,” Wilson reminded him, infuriatingly calm and concerned in the face of House’s venom.
“Her sense of humor sucks,” House snapped, quickly turning his head to hide whatever his eyes were showing from Wilson’s increasingly curious gaze.
“Why are you taking this so hard? It was a prank. You thought it was hilarious when I sabotaged your cane, but a brochure and a couple faked receipts and you’re ready to declare war? What am I missing?”
Wilson stared at him. House pretended to be uninterested, but Wilson rarely bought that act, he knew House was interested in nearly everything. Wilson had on his puzzle solving expression, the one that almost always led to some new discovery about the inner workings of one Gregory House. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Wilson’s revelation face and braced himself.
“You,” Wilson paused, obviously so overcome with disbelief of his newest discovery that he almost couldn’t continue, “you want the hearts and flowers bullshit!” House snorted derisively, but Wilson plowed on with his theory anyway. “You just want me to initiate it so you can have the added pleasure of ridiculing me for it.”
“You caught me,” House pretended to concede with a dramatic sigh, “I’m really a twelve year old girl trapped in a ridiculously handsome man’s body.”
“Admit it; you were looking forward to Moonstruck and the flowers and Barry White singing softly in the background while we made love on a bed of rose petals.” How Wilson could say shit that cheesy and still sound like a smug bastard was mystery House would probably never solve, but it was sexy as hell.
He had the uncomfortable feeling that his continued silence would be taken as assent, but a proper retort was taking its own sweet time coming. He settled for, “I want a divorce.”
Wilson smirked at him, an expression he’d clearly picked up from spending too much time with Cuddy, and folded his arms over his chest before offering, “How about a rain check for next weekend? Tonight you’ll have to settle for a half eaten box of chocolates, a home cooked meal, and hot sex on floral print sheets instead. Would you like a candlelit bubble bath too?”
House rolled his eyes. “Smart ass.”
Wilson grinned even wider before his expression softened and his arms opened to engulf House. House’s arms returned the embrace automatically. “You want romance; I’ll give you romance.” Wilson’s voice dropped to a rough whisper, and he leaned in to murmur the words directly into House’s ear. “Ich liebe dich. Te amo. Je t’aime. Ti voglio bene. Ani ohev otkhah. Happy Valentine’s Day, House.”
“Idiot,” House muttered as he allowed the other man to pull him into a kiss. And if Wilson could hear the affection in the word, that was okay. It was Valentine’s after all.
**
Ti voglio bene - Italian
Je t’aime - French
Te amo - Spanish
Ich liebe dich - German
Ani ohev otkhah - Hebrew
**
ETA - Now with a sequel.
The complete list of my House fic can be found here.
Fandom: House
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG for language
Note: A House/Wilson Valentine for phinnia who prompted with House/Wilson, unexpected. And look, I'm sticking to the prompt/title theme. :) Ironically enough, this went an unexpected direction. The Moonstruck is a real resturant I found listed under New Jersey's 10 most romantic returants. I hope you like it phin!
Summary: It's House and Wilson's first Valentines. House isn't happy with Wilson's plans. Come on; let’s get this farce over with
Unexpected
The only excuse House had for not calling in sick to avoid the whole Valentine’s fiasco was that he was preoccupied by the strange dream clinging to the edges of his consciousness as he woke up. He and Wilson had been playing foosball with miniature Kutner and Taubs against miniature 13s and Foremans. Cuddy was being trailed around the hospital by Cameron and Chase, who were calling her grandma and demanding she take them for ice cream. He had no idea where that came from, but idly wondered if he could convince them to do it. Or maybe Kutners and Taub, it would be worth suggesting just to see how far back in his head Foreman could roll his eyes.
So it wasn’t until he was actually walking through the front doors of the hospital that he remembered what day it was, and by then it was too late to go home - he’d been spotted by Cameron and had his exit cutoff. Retreating to his office turned out to be the better part of valor if he wanted to avoid a lecture on the proper way to treat Wilson on their first holiday together. House told her that he had put on red boxers so Wilson could enjoy the festive wrapping on his present later. She looked a little ill after that, but let him escape.
He dodged hearts, cupids and Kutner with a box a Valentines before arriving in his office to begin his day. He had big plans, including hiding from Cuddy, insulting his staff, avoiding clinic, and trying to talk Wilson into blowing him in a supply closet - pretty much the same as every other day.
Eventually, boredom and hunger drove House across the balcony to Wilson’s office in search of physical and mental sustenance. But of course Wilson wasn’t there. Wilson was never around when he needed him, stupid work ethic. That man really needed to rethink his priorities.
For awhile, House entertained himself by arranging all the little stuffed things on Wilson’s shelves into lewd positions, but eventually he was reduced to searching the desk for something new and exciting. He shuffled through the disturbingly neat drawers, shoving aside paperclips, prescription pads, an extra tie, and a stack of Valentines filled out in childish hand before pausing over a brochure to the Moonstruck Restaurant and Cocktail Lounge in Asbury Park.
It didn’t look like half-forgotten junk mail. The creases were worn and corners turned down as if they had been turned and examined often. He opened the pamphlet and took in the happy looking couples and the romantic setting and felt a knot of tension form in his chest. Unwilling to quite believe what his heart was trying to tell him, House skipped the rest of the desk and went right to the box Wilson thought was securely hidden behind his medical texts. Inside was a receipt for two dozen red roses and small heart-shaped box of chocolates.
Wilson was cheating on him. He took the news better than he would have expected. It was Wilson after all; this wasn’t an entirely unexpected development. Except, well, he’d really thought that all Wilson’s cheating was just his subconscious looking for something else, looking for him. And he knew that wasn’t just his ego talking. According to his highly confidential files, Wilson’s therapist agreed. And Wilson wasn’t showing any signs of infidelity - he was no more or less attentive to House, sexually or otherwise, than he’d ever been. That left another, infinitely more appalling, possibility - maybe all of this was for him.
One last look through the debris of his search as he methodically replaced everything revealed the key piece of evidence, a Valentine card decorated with two men holding hands on a sunset beach, leaning in for a kiss. House stared at in horror, thoughts refusing to settle, before his fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and he fled the scene like a man with the devil on his heels.
Back at home, safely ensconced on his piano bench, House washed a Vicodin down with some rum he’d pilfered from the staff Christmas party. Without a thought, his fingers picked out their own melody while his brain worked on the problem of Wilson’s sappy plan, and his own reaction to it. As the notes worked their magic and soothed away his concerns, House came to a decision of his own.
**
“Hi, Honey. I’m home,” Wilson called jovially as he walked through the door, all wide smiles and laughing brown eyes.
House generously ignored the lame greeting and turned Wilson back toward the door. “Come on; let’s get this farce over with.”
Wilson shrugged out from under House’s grip and turned back to face him, the look on his face one of amused confusion. His eyebrows drew dangerously together, and his cocked head asked the question before Wilson could even articulate it. “Huh?”
“I know you have some dopey romantic evening planned; let’s get on with it. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can come home, and you can start making it up to me on your knees.”
Wilson still wasn’t moving, or at least, not toward the door. Probably because walking was difficult when one was bent over laughing. “She got you! I don’t believe it. Damn, now I owe Cuddy eight more hours of clinic time; I never thought you’d fall for some planted papers in my office.”
Not for nothing was House called a genius; he figured it out before Wilson had even finished speaking. “Cuddy?” House echoed dully. “She set me up, made it look like you had a big romantic plan for our first Valentines.”
“And you fell for it, my friend,” Wilson said smilingly. He patted House’s left shoulder consolingly.
House opened his mouth to say something cuttingly sarcastic and was surprised when a cold, “That jealous bitch,” came out of his mouth in a vicious hiss. Wilson looked as shocked as House felt.
“It’s just a joke, House, not even a harmful one,” Wilson reminded him, infuriatingly calm and concerned in the face of House’s venom.
“Her sense of humor sucks,” House snapped, quickly turning his head to hide whatever his eyes were showing from Wilson’s increasingly curious gaze.
“Why are you taking this so hard? It was a prank. You thought it was hilarious when I sabotaged your cane, but a brochure and a couple faked receipts and you’re ready to declare war? What am I missing?”
Wilson stared at him. House pretended to be uninterested, but Wilson rarely bought that act, he knew House was interested in nearly everything. Wilson had on his puzzle solving expression, the one that almost always led to some new discovery about the inner workings of one Gregory House. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Wilson’s revelation face and braced himself.
“You,” Wilson paused, obviously so overcome with disbelief of his newest discovery that he almost couldn’t continue, “you want the hearts and flowers bullshit!” House snorted derisively, but Wilson plowed on with his theory anyway. “You just want me to initiate it so you can have the added pleasure of ridiculing me for it.”
“You caught me,” House pretended to concede with a dramatic sigh, “I’m really a twelve year old girl trapped in a ridiculously handsome man’s body.”
“Admit it; you were looking forward to Moonstruck and the flowers and Barry White singing softly in the background while we made love on a bed of rose petals.” How Wilson could say shit that cheesy and still sound like a smug bastard was mystery House would probably never solve, but it was sexy as hell.
He had the uncomfortable feeling that his continued silence would be taken as assent, but a proper retort was taking its own sweet time coming. He settled for, “I want a divorce.”
Wilson smirked at him, an expression he’d clearly picked up from spending too much time with Cuddy, and folded his arms over his chest before offering, “How about a rain check for next weekend? Tonight you’ll have to settle for a half eaten box of chocolates, a home cooked meal, and hot sex on floral print sheets instead. Would you like a candlelit bubble bath too?”
House rolled his eyes. “Smart ass.”
Wilson grinned even wider before his expression softened and his arms opened to engulf House. House’s arms returned the embrace automatically. “You want romance; I’ll give you romance.” Wilson’s voice dropped to a rough whisper, and he leaned in to murmur the words directly into House’s ear. “Ich liebe dich. Te amo. Je t’aime. Ti voglio bene. Ani ohev otkhah. Happy Valentine’s Day, House.”
“Idiot,” House muttered as he allowed the other man to pull him into a kiss. And if Wilson could hear the affection in the word, that was okay. It was Valentine’s after all.
**
Ti voglio bene - Italian
Je t’aime - French
Te amo - Spanish
Ich liebe dich - German
Ani ohev otkhah - Hebrew
**
ETA - Now with a sequel.
The complete list of my House fic can be found here.