Domestic (PG-13)
posted to house_wilson and housefic
Title: Domestic
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Guess who’s coming to dinner! For three days straight!
Notes: Set in the happy land known as the Mono-verse (sequel to That Time Cameron Had Mono). Dedicated to simple__man, who is simply marvelous. Thanks to daisylily for the beta.
Cameron looked up from the conference table to see House whipping into his office, moving startlingly fast. He yanked the corridor-side blinds closed before she could rise from her seat. The conference-room side blinds slapped closed as she poked her head in his office door.
“Are you hiding from Cuddy again?” she asked.
“No,” he replied and yanked her arm to pull her fully into his office. “Not Cuddy. Now shh.”
She landed next to his desk; House was facing her, away from the corridor. In a heated tone barely above a whisper he said, “Please tell me you have something urgent that requires my attention in the lab, or the patient’s room, or the deli down the street - anywhere, anywhere that isn’t here?”
She opened her mouth to reply when the door from the corridor opened.
“House?” Wilson called.
House’s face in that moment was a marvel to behold. His eyes squeezed tight and his jaw clenched in a frenzy of frustration, but he seemed to be using all his will to keep his shoulders relaxed. Then in a flash, it was gone; his features schooled into an expression of patient concern. A true marvel.
“Yes?” House replied, turning toward the door.
Wilson was… bouncing. Cameron had done a child psych rotation with an ADD/ADHD specialist. Kids yet to be diagnosed with hyperactivity disorder were calmer than Wilson was in that moment.
“The list for the store, I can’t find it. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes, Wilson,” House replied, in the calming, soothing voice the mothers of some of those children had perfected. “You gave it to me for safekeeping. I’ve got it in my pocket.”
Wilson took two steps into the room and thrust out his hand. “Well, give it back, because I should just have it with me.”
Taking a huge breath, House replied, “No.” He let out the air in a steady stream, and in Cameron’s mind, she could see the blood pressure dial pushing up, up, up. “You made me promise not to give it back, so I’m going to keep it. You know what? I scanned it in, and emailed it to you. Why don’t you go print out a copy for yourself?”
House smiled, and Cameron had to hold herself back from gasping in shock. That smile was ghastly. Wilson didn’t seem to notice, though; he just nodded and left abruptly.
Cameron was moving around House to return to the conference room when he grabbed her arm. “Urgent! That’ll buy me twenty minutes max,” he hissed. “There has to be something; get me out of here.”
“Um,” Cameron replied. House’s grip was too strong; her arm was starting to hurt. She cast about for any excuse that would meet his needs. Inspiration struck and she sighed. “You never did my annual performance review.”
“This year?”
“Ever. And hospital policy is that in-person reviews should be done in a neutral setting, away from the typical work environment.”
“Which means we have to leave the hospital. You are brilliant! I would kiss you, but you probably still have that crush on me, and let’s face it, as fantastic as the sex would be - it is me, after all - there’d probably be some awkwardness at work afterward, and of course Chase would be jealous that I didn’t pick him first -”
“Do you want to talk, or do you want to vacate the premises?”
“Excellent point.” He let go of her arm - she rubbed it surreptitiously - and stalked out of the office.
As she followed him down the hall, she heard Wilson calling from behind them, “House?”
“Gotta go!” House yelled over his shoulder. “Cameron’s threatening to report me to Cuddy if I don’t do her performance review now.”
They had to wait for the elevator, which allowed Wilson to catch up. “Can it wait?” he asked. “I have some things -”
“Oh, sorry,” House replied, as he leaned on the elevator button. “Cuddy says if I get one more complaint, she’ll make me work this weekend. We don’t want that, do we?”
Wilson shook his head tightly. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet again, his hands thrust into the pockets of his lab coat.
As the elevator door opened, House coasted in, dragging Cameron behind him. “I’m sure you can handle it, Wilson. See you later.”
“Bye,” Cameron managed to squeak out before the doors closed.
She turned to House then and fixed him with a glare. “What is going on?”
“Shh,” House replied. “Wilson might’ve taken the stairs. He might be waiting there on the first floor when the elevator arrives.”
When the door opened, House pushed Cameron ahead of him - human shield? she wondered. She leaned out of the elevator and, seeing no sign of Wilson, reported, “Coast is clear.”
House let out a breath and then strode out of the elevator, heading for the front doors. Cameron stopped and waited for him to notice she wasn’t following. He made it six steps.
“Come on,” he commanded. “This is your get-out-of-work-free card.”
“Unlike you, I feel that work is something to be embraced and enjoyed, not avoided.”
“I’ll make sure to write that down on your review. Come on.”
It wasn’t until they were out of eyeshot of the hospital that House began to relax. He refused to talk to Cameron at all until they were sitting at a small café, five blocks away, with their orders in front of them. House had coffee; Cameron had coffee and peach pie.
She noticed his appraisal of her choice and couldn’t help responding defensively, “Yes, I do eat.”
“You like pie,” he replied, and managed to make it sound dirty.
Cameron pushed down a blush and picked up her fork, cutting into the flaky crust. “Why do you do that? You’ve been with Wilson for months now - why do you still say lewd things to me?”
“If you find something lewd about a simple observation on your eating habits, I think that’s more your problem than mine.” House took a sip of coffee and gave her the probing look that she both despised and found alluring. One of these days she’d learn not to take the bait.
“So,” she began, after swallowing her first bite of pie. “What’s up with Wilson?”
“None of your business,” House replied, suddenly finding the fake grain of the table fascinating.
She ate another bite of pie and smirked. “If you’re going to use me for air cover, I deserve to know what kind of bombs are being thrown.”
“I thought you hated sports metaphors.”
“That’s a war metaphor.” She shook her head at his skeptical look. “Whatever. You pulled me out of the hospital; now tell me what’s up.”
During the next few moments of silence, Cameron polished off most of her pie. She didn’t have Wilson’s extensive understanding of all things House, but she was far enough along in her studies to know when waiting would make the difference.
House finally seemed to realize she was not going to let this go. He finished off his coffee and signaled for a refill. When the waitress had left, he curled his hands around the cup and said quietly, “Wilson’s parents are coming to town this weekend.”
“Mm hm,” Cameron replied as she tapped her fork against her lip pensively. “And?” She chanced a look at him, and then realized he’d be more likely to continue if he didn’t have to meet her eyes.
After another sip of coffee, House’s words came out in a rush. “And they’re staying with us for the first time, and it’s turned Wilson into an insane mess.”
He sipped his coffee again and slumped, defeated. “This is only Thursday. They don’t get here until Saturday; they don’t leave until Tuesday.”
Cameron smiled. “You’re nervous about hosting your in-laws? Well, in-laws-ish. That can be nerve-wracking. My husband’s parents were -”
The bang of House’s fist against the table startled Cameron.
“Not it at all,” he said with scorn. He confiscated her plate and ate the rest of her pie. “I left my wallet in the office; pay the waitress and let’s go. There’s a record store around the corner where we can waste another hour or so.”
He pushed out of his chair and stalked out of the café without another word. Cameron shook her head as she dug into her pocket for money. She obviously needed more time in study hall.
****
By Friday morning, House was ready to explode. Temporary insanity, he kept reminding himself, but the mantra was not delivering any zen.
He sought refuge in the Lair of the Horror-Master, also known as Cuddy’s office.
“I’ve been terrible this week,” was his opening gambit.
“Par for the course,” Cuddy replied nonchalantly. She had her heels propped on her desk, and House was momentarily distracted by her calves. Gorgeous gams, as his grandfather used to say.
Blinking, he looked back to Cuddy’s face. She was reading a report, seemingly paying no attention to him, but he pressed on.
“You really should make me work this weekend.”
“Uh huh.” Cuddy flipped a page.
“It’s the only way I’ll learn.”
Cuddy laid the report on her desk and drew her legs back and down. House pouted a little as her legs disappeared under the desk.
“And what do I get, Br’er Rabbit, for throwing you in this here briar patch?” Cuddy drawled.
“The satisfaction of knowing you’ve taught me a lesson?” It sounded weak even to his own ears. He paced to the back corner of the room to give himself a little distance.
Under Cuddy’s even look, he was starting to feel fidgety. He had just opened his mouth to offer a further argument for detaining him at the hospital over the weekend when a knock resounded on the door.
House couldn’t see who it was from his vantage point, but Cuddy proffered a welcoming wave. Wilson strode in, making a beeline for Cuddy’s desk.
House pushed himself back against the wall and began making frantic cutting gestures across his neck. Please, he begged silently. Please, Cuddy, don’t let him know I’m here.
Cuddy’s smile was professional as she faced Wilson, but House knew the evil that lurked beneath.
“Dr. Wilson, a pleasure. What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to remind you that I’m taking Monday and Tuesday off because my parents will be here. I’ve got everything arranged with my staff, but if you need me, you have my cell.” Wilson was trying to hold himself in check, but his hands were twitching and House could see the foot scuffling that at any moment would become a full-fledged leg jiggle. He searched for something that would block him from view when Wilson left the office. Cuddy not being partial to six-foot-plus screens, there was nothing. He leaned onto his cane and concentrated with all his might on making himself invisible.
Cuddy replied pleasantly, professionally, “Thank you for reminding me, but we’ve got everything set in the scheduling system, and you do have an excellent staff, so I’m sure there won’t be any problem.” She came around the desk and took Wilson by the hands, gently turning him towards her as they walked, making him less likely to look in House’s direction.
House’s jaw clenched; he was going to owe her so big.
Cuddy and Wilson were at the door now. “Have a nice time with your family,” she said, and with the skill built from long experience, discreetly propelled him out of her office.
House waited for a count of three, and then let out the breath he’d been holding.
“You owe me,” Cuddy reminded him as she walked back to her desk.
“OK,” House conceded, “but now you see what I’m up against. Joe and Evelyn Wilson are fine - nice people, even - but their son is going to drive me insane.”
Cuddy sat and picked up the report again. “He seemed perfectly fine to me.”
Pacing, House scoffed, “Yeah. Right. And how many times has he told you he’s taking those days off?”
“He emailed me per hospital policy, then re-confirmed as a conscientious employee would.”
House pinned her down with a look; now it was Cuddy’s turn to squirm. She chewed some of the lipstick off her lower lip before responding, “Five times.”
“See?”
“You’re a grown man. You made your bed; now lie in it. I’m not bringing you in this weekend.” Cuddy picked up the report again.
“But -”
“That’s final, House. No briar patch for you.” She pointed toward the door. “Have a nice time with the Wilsons.”
The scowl on House’s face as he came out of Cuddy’s office was one that had made many a nurse cower, but Brenda just snorted quietly and turned away. Wilson seemed to miss it entirely when he pounced on House just outside the Clinic doors.
“Come on,” Wilson snapped, grabbing House’s upper arm. His right upper arm, which was in the process of attempting to place his cane securely on the ground.
Mid-step, House was caught completely off-guard, and only had time to blurt out, “Arm; cane; leg,” before his balance failed him. He dropped inelegantly and took Wilson down with him; they ended up in a heap in the middle of the lobby floor. Not a good heap, either, not the kind that occasionally was featured in House’s daydreams. This heap was awkward, painful, and embarrassing for both of them. (The good kind was only embarrassing for Wilson, and produced a much prettier blush.)
Wilson grunted as House accidentally elbowed him in the gut trying to sit up. House did it again, just on principle, and managed to get his butt underneath himself. “Watch it,” Wilson grumbled, and House broke.
“Watch it? Watch it?” Frustration boiling over, he struggled to keep his voice out of the soprano register. “In over a decade, you’ve never so much as stepped on my shoe. Now you take me down in the middle of the lobby, and I’m the one who needs to watch it? Have you completely lost your mind?”
Wilson’s eyes widened, and he flushed guiltily as he rose. Still glaring at him, House allowed a passing med student to help him up and then shooed her away.
The tension between them stretched tautly until Wilson quickly passed a hand over his eyes. “I have been, er, over-anxious lately, haven’t I?”
Oh yes, indeedy, House replied through his look, and Wilson hung his head.
“I’m going to get Garcia to cover for me and take the rest of the day off,” he said quietly.
“An excellent idea.”
Still not able to look House in the eye, Wilson rubbed his neck. “I’ll finish getting everything ready for tomorrow so tonight we can just relax.”
“Another excellent idea.” Wilson finally getting a clue made House feel generous, so he didn’t kick him when he walked past.
***
The house smelled strongly of lemon cleaner and Wilson was far too subdued for a Friday night, but otherwise, the evening passed pleasantly. They were getting ready for bed when House noticed it.
“You repainted our bathroom?”
“Just a few touchups,” Wilson replied, putting the floss away in the medicine cabinet.
House snorted and retreated to the bedroom. “Wilson, your parents are not coming in our bathroom. One, they’ll have the run of the three other bathrooms in this house, and two, they’re not allowed. I don’t care if they know our preferred lube brand, but I wouldn’t want your mom to have a heart attack if she happened to find Gus-Gus.”
Wilson strolled out of the bathroom naked, distracting House completely. After a few pleasantly occupied minutes, Wilson confessed, “I put Gus-Gus away. And Archibald. And all the porn. And most of the lube.”
“Not Gus-Gus,” House groaned, although he didn’t stop what he was doing. “You’re getting paranoid.”
Wilson hummed, and the tremor blew through both men. “You don’t know my mother.”
“If she’d snoop in our bathroom, what makes you think she won’t look wherever you put the stuff away?” House’s toes curled.
“Because I took everything to our storage unit.” It was oh, so interesting that Wilson used the word unit because - “Which is climate-controlled, so have no fear. We don’t need them anyway.”
“Bite your tongue. Or better yet, mine.” House groaned again. “You are so lucky you’re good at that.”
“Aren’t I, just?”
***
Having been bribed with pancakes, House managed to stay out of Wilson’s way the next morning. Not that he wouldn’t have anyway, given that subdued but sexy Wilson had left the building and twittery, jumpy Wilson had returned with gale force.
“You’re going to rub the finish completely off that table if you don’t stop,” he finally snapped. When Wilson opened his mouth to reply, House had a flash. Just like a chessmaster, he could see all the remaining moves of the game - the attacks, the feints, the defenses - pieces lost and pieces taken. Checkmate in seven moves, but oh, they’d get bruised and bloodied along the way.
It was extremely fortunate that the doorbell rang just at that moment.
“Mom! Dad!” Hugs and handshakes, suitcases stacked in the hall, and then all four of them were cozily seated in the living room. It would have been vomit-inducing in the utter suburbanity of it all if Wilson hadn’t looked so damned happy.
“Mom, tell me about the new …” and House didn’t hear a word after that. He tried to plaster on a smile, but the effort made his mouth ache worse than it had after the marathon blowjob dare - which he’d won, damn it, no matter what Wilson’s sly grin had tried to imply - so he focused on not frowning, instead. Close enough.
Ten minutes later - maybe, time had lost all meaning - he noticed Joe was having similar difficulties staying tuned in to the gabfest between Wilson and Evelyn. He caught his eye and gestured toward the other room. “We just got a high-definition TV; want to see?”
“Sure,” Joe replied, so House showed him into the family room.
Easing himself into one of the recliners, Joe commented, “Nice place you have.”
House shrugged as he retrieved the three remotes from their hiding place. “It’s all right. Not the location I would’ve preferred, but we lucked out finding something this big that’s all one level.” Sailing ships were moving across the screen; with the high-definition House could practically smell the salt air.
“We’re thinking about building new, maybe.”
“Hm,” Joe replied, and they lapsed into silence.
Wilson bounded in with Evelyn right behind him, murmuring something about him needing a haircut. “Dad, I’m going to show Mom around the house. Do you want to come?”
Joe sighed in a very Wilson-ian way and began hauling himself out of the chair. “Sure.”
“House?”
“I live here; I don’t need a tour.”
That got him a glare that was threatening to become a full-on hands-on-hips lecture through gestures. “Fine,” House grumbled and hoisted himself up.
Wilson yammered and twittered; Evelyn alternately cooed and critiqued; Joe and House kept their mouths shut. The tour ended in the kitchen, where Evelyn sniffed at Wilson’s beloved cookware. Joe wisely fled, but House, who had unthinkingly stood between Wilson and his mother, was trapped for a few moments.
Finally sneaking free, House came out of the kitchen and moved toward Joe, who was back in the recliner, watching TV.
“Women,” House sighed, nodding toward the kitchen, from which Wilson and Evelyn’s voices could still be heard.
Joe gave him the briefest of glances before staring back at the TV. “That’s my son you’re talking about.”
Sitting on the couch, House replied, “Hm,” and focused his attention on the television as well.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Wilson and Evelyn burst out of the kitchen, a cacophonous babble. They stopped right between the couch and the recliner, just close enough to block the sound coming from the TV. House and Joe sighed, almost in unison.
“Well, you don’t have to take my word for it,” Evelyn was saying. “You should ask Greg; it’s his place, too.”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “Mom, he’s not going to know. He never has an opinion on things like this.”
House sat up a bit straighter. “I always have an opinion,” he replied, almost affronted.
Wilson turned his exasperation on House. “I’m getting us new guest bath towels. What color should they be?”
House slumped back on the couch and returned his eyes to the TV. “No opinion.” He caught another eyeroll in his peripheral vision but decided to let it go.
“We’ll ask your father,” said Evelyn. “Joe, you saw the bathroom attached to the guest room. Would sage green or seafoam coordinate better?”
Joe didn’t even look up. “I’m with Greg here. No opinion on that.”
“Honestly!” Evelyn replied.
“Sage green is a perfectly nice color,” said Wilson.
“Well, it’s nice, but a bit dingy - you can never tell if the towel’s really clean or not.”
“Mom.”
House looked up, hoping to forestall any further discussion, or at the very least, any discussion that would occur right near the TV. “Hey, Wilson, you kept the paint swatch thing after we painted that bathroom, right?” Wilson nodded, and House continued, “So why don’t you take it with you to the store and use it to pick out the towel color there? Hm? Wouldn’t that be the easiest?”
“That’s a good idea, Greg.” Evelyn patted him on the shoulder, and then, blessedly, began to move out of the family room. “Jimmy, we can look at getting you some new guest room sheets, too.”
“Those sheets are fine, Mom. There’s no reason for us to get new ones when the old ones are perfectly good.” It was interesting to House to hear that familiar exasperation directed at someone other than himself.
“Well,” Evelyn said, as she headed out the door, “they’re fine, no problem for us at all, but your next guests…”
Evelyn’s voice faded as the front door shut behind them.
“Women,” Joe sighed.
They sat in silence for a moment, until House said casually, “He’s not normally that bad, though.”
“You’re lucky. Evelyn’s like that pretty much all the time.”
They kept their eyes on the TV.
“She’s a tiger in bed, though.”
House looked at Joe. “I don’t think you want me to respond in kind.”
“No, I don’t.”
Joe looked at House and nodded. They both turned their attention back to the TV, each with a bit of a smile on his face.
***
House endured the rest of the day quite gracefully, he thought. Evelyn and Wilson did most of the talking, but Joe got in a few amusing comments, showing clearly where Wilson had acquired his sense of humor.
When the late evening chatter about the old hometown got to be too much, House used his leg as an excuse and fled to their bedroom. Wilson hadn’t believed his excuse - that much was clear from his look - but he’d permitted the escape. An hour or so later, Wilson came in and headed straight for the bathroom.
House looked up from his book as Wilson emerged. He was wearing, for the first time that House could recall, a long robe cinched securely at the waist. As Wilson stepped up next to the bed and removed the robe, laying it carefully over the nearby chair, House began to frown.
“What are you wearing?”
Wilson looked down at himself and then back up at House. “Pajamas.”
Sweet master of the obvious, House mentally cursed. “Flannel pajamas in September. Brand-new flannel pajamas with the top tucked in. The button-down, collared top. Are you planning on wearing a tie to bed?”
Still standing next to the bed, Wilson shrugged defensively. “So I bought new pajamas, so what?”
House leaned over, tugged at the side of Wilson’s waistband, and peered in. “And underwear. Boxer-briefs? Really?”
Wilson yanked his pajamas out of House’s fingers and pushed him back to his own side of the bed before climbing under the covers. “It’s all appropriate sleepwear.”
“Appropriate. I see. Do you want a chastity belt too? Or were you just hoping the geriatric grandpa act would thoroughly turn me off?”
House raised an eyebrow; Wilson grimaced and rolled over away from him. “Good night.”
“I hate to tell you, but you’ve seriously miscalculated.” Scooting closer, House snaked one hand down the back of Wilson’s pajamas and one hand down the front, noticing how pleasantly soft the flannel was. “Nerdy is a totally hot look for you.”
A flinch, and a turn, and suddenly House was pinned to the bed, his wrists to either side of his head in Wilson’s painful grip.
“Stop it,” Wilson gritted. “Not now.”
House looked Wilson over, but couldn’t find a hint of humor. “What is this? Your parents are fine with us. Your mother planned the commitment ceremony, for Christ’s sake.”
Wilson let go of House’s wrists and slowly pulled back. “Doesn’t mean they want things shoved in their faces.” He returned to his side, curled up slightly and facing away from House.
One more poke to try to prompt some amusement. “Their faces are not where I enjoy shoving things.”
“Go to sleep, House.”
Mission unsuccessful, House stared at the ceiling for quite a while before sleep overtook him.
***
The other half of the bed was empty when House woke up. After his morning Vicodin, he pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt and followed his nose to the kitchen. Wilson, fully dressed in khakis and a golf shirt, was standing at the stove, cooking home fries; House snuck a kiss to the back of his neck before he could protest.
“Shower,” Wilson ordered, pointing his spatula.
House was too busy pouring himself a cup of coffee. “I’m presentable. Completely covered and everything.”
“You’ve drifted beyond charming scruffy, all the way into homeless scruffy. Go shower and get dressed; my parents will be in here any minute.”
House grumbled but headed back to the bedroom, sipping his coffee on the way.
“And you could shave!” Wilson called after him. Yeah, right.
When he returned to the kitchen, Wilson handed over a Spanish omelet, home fries, and biscuits, and House dug in eagerly. The conversation flowed around him, but he caught the tail end of a story about Wilson at age eight trying to smuggle frogs into the house. He laughed and tried to give Wilson an affectionate pinch but was rebuffed, as Wilson smoothly changed topics of conversation.
After two more casual attempts to touch Wilson were deflected, House started to feel cranky. No sex with the parents around was juvenile, but no physical contact at all was just ridiculous.
Somehow House ended up doing the breakfast dishes, as Wilson and his parents were in the other room mapping out the sightseeing they had planned for the day. Joe wandered back in as House was almost finished.
Joe nodded and began drying a dish. “Something wrong?” he asked casually.
“No.” House scrubbed the frying pan with slightly more vigor than was called for.
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
Joe nodded again and moved on to the next dish, staring into its shine rather than looking at House. “You know, funny thing about Jimmy. He’s had his share of girlfriends, more than his share of wives -” House and Joe both snorted.
“And they all liked him a lot, it seemed, but you wouldn’t really know it when his mom and I were around. Didn’t kiss or hold hands - barely even so much as a friendly hand on a shoulder or knee.”
“Yeah?” Perceptive bunch, the Wilsons were.
“I’m not saying Jimmy’s a mama’s boy, because he’s not. But I think he and Evelyn are both caught up in pretending that he’s still a virgin. No idea why, or how they’re keeping that up - four ceremonies under his belt is a big clue - but there you have it.”
Holding the dry dish out, Joe looked around searchingly; House pointed to the cabinet where the plates were kept. After putting the dish away, Joe finally looked House in the eye. His gaze was serious, and House braced himself for a probing question.
“Think we can talk them into letting us come back in time to catch some football?”
***
Wilson fluttered and fussed his way through escorting his parents around New York, but somehow - the fresh air or the tall buildings or just the sense of movement - House found it vaguely endearing instead of irritating.
Evelyn’s patter evened out as well. The Wilsons had apparently made this same round of sights back in the late 1970s, and Evelyn had more than a few interesting anecdotes from that trip to share. Wilson brought out the full repertoire of exasperated gestures for the more embarrassing stories. Joe chuckled at everything, and squeezed his wife’s shoulders with affection.
They did manage to make it back in time for some late afternoon football. The game was already in progress as House turned on the television; he watched in amusement as the two Wilson men snapped their attention to the screen. Mesmerized, they sank blindly onto the couch in tandem. House sat in the recliner and enjoyed the show both on-screen and off.
Evelyn valiantly took the third seat on the couch, but House could tell this activity was one she had long since given up any hope of fully appreciating. As Joe and Wilson conversed in grunts and shorthand (oh - that call - well, he’s a scrambler - brother was too - next draft - yuh), Evelyn’s eyes began to wander and her leg began to jiggle in an amusingly familiar way.
Standing up, she announced, “Think I’ll see what I can pull together for dinner.”
Wilson waved vaguely at her, his eyes still glued to the game. “Mom, I’ve got something planned. I’m going to start it during halftime - Argh! How could he drop that pass?”
Evelyn slipped away in the consultation and commiseration over that boneheaded play. House lost track of her entirely - it was a very good game - until her voice floated out from the kitchen. “Where are your spices?”
“Mom!” Wilson yelled, and House could hear the adolescent underneath. As the channel transitioned to a commercial, Wilson headed quickly out of the room. “Seriously, just sit and relax …”
Joe nodded for House’s attention. “Noticed you have a piano out in the living room,” he said. “Evelyn loves to play; bet she’d appreciate someone listening.”
Surprised, House asked, “You want to turn off the game?”
Joe Wilson in no way, shape, or manner resembled House’s father, but the disapproving scowl he gave House at that moment was eerily familiar. “Haven’t had a minute with my boy this visit. It’s your turn, Greg.”
“You’re throwing me to the wolves?”
Joe grunted, having correctly read the surrender on House’s face. “She doesn’t talk when she’s playing.”
Ten minutes later, House was tucked into the most comfortable chair in the living room, letting the soothing strains of competently played Chopin wash over him. In between pieces, Evelyn told funny stories about piano students she’d had over the years - House could have sworn he’d met some of them in the Clinic.
He thought about asking her to try Debussy’s Le Triomphe de Bacchus with him, but settled on Cole Porter tunes instead: In the Still of the Night, From This Moment On, Do I Love You. They both held back from singing the lyrics, but their fingers told the tale, counterpointed by the bursts of whoops and wails that broke through from the other room.
They smiled at each other when they were done, and Evelyn briefly squeezed his hands. When he turned toward the doorway, Wilson was there, smiling at him.
***
Monday morning with all four of them in the kitchen at a ridiculously early hour had a “first day of school” feel about it. House almost whined that he shouldn’t have to go if Jimmy didn’t, but he couldn’t quite handle the incest vibe of that metaphor, so he dropped the whole thing and got his butt out the door.
Cuddy reflexively bitched him out for being late until he thrust his watch in her face, documenting his arrival as a full three and a half minutes early. “And I see you survived without the briar patch,” Cuddy commented as he headed for the elevators.
“I did indeed, Br’er Foxy.” He threw a last longing look toward her cleavage as the doors closed.
***
Everyone was tucked away somewhere when he came home. House enjoyed the silence for a moment before heading off to find Wilson.
Unsurprisingly, he was in the kitchen. He looked to be puttering, although by this point House knew better than to call it that to his face. It was an excellent sign, though, of a return to normalcy, along with the easy smile Wilson gave him as he walked in the room.
After the relief sank in, House of course felt compelled to poke.
“So, if all’s hunky dory now, why exactly did you turn into a closeted Felix Unger the past few days?”
The hands-on-hips exasperation was the final confirmation that everything was back as it should be. “One,” Wilson began, “because it always makes me nervous to have my parents see my relationships up close. Two, because I do most of the ‘domestic’ things this time around - don’t argue; you know it’s true - so living up to my mother’s expectations in that arena is an added pressure. Three, because you’re, well, you.”
“Your parents have always liked me.”
“They’ve only been around you in small doses. In larger quantities, you’re… an acquired taste.”
House smiled and grabbed Wilson around the waist, pulling him close. “A taste that you’ve acquired, right?”
Wilson smiled back and slipped his arms around House. “Oh, most definitely.”
They both leaned in for the kiss, which was a slow and delicious meeting of lips.
Wilson sighed a little; he needed this so badly. He was just starting to run his tongue along House’s lower lip, ready to deepen the kiss, when they were interrupted.
”Jimmy, I was thinking we could -” His mom cut herself off with a squawk.
Wilson broke the kiss with regret and steeled himself before turning toward the doorway. House tried to pull away, but damn it, there was nothing to be guilty about. This was their kitchen, and it was just a kiss. Wilson kept his left arm around House’s waist and tugged him back closer so they were hip to hip.
“Yes, Mom?” he asked as pleasantly as he could.
“I…” his mother began again but trailed away. She seemed to be staring at Wilson’s ear. House had put his right arm around Wilson’s shoulders and was playing idly with the hair just behind his ear.
His dad chose that moment to step into the kitchen. He took in the sight of House and Wilson standing together, and then turned toward his wife. “Evelyn, I think it’s time we go to dinner.”
Evelyn blinked and seemed to recover herself. “I was just going to ask Jimmy and Greg where they might like to go.”
“No,” Joe replied, taking her hand. “I think it should just be the two of us. We need a little time alone, don’t you think?”
“But…” She quickly glanced at Wilson and House, and trailed away again.
There was a definite twinkle in Joe’s eyes as he looked over at House and nodded slightly. “Evelyn, I’m sure the boys will be just fine without us. They’ll find something to occupy themselves, and I want to take my wife out on the town. Jimmy already told me about a nice steakhouse that’s not too far from here.”
As the door shut behind Wilson’s parents, House’s hand was already inside Wilson’s boxers.
“We’ve got time,” Wilson gasped, and blew out a long breath to steady himself. “They don’t eat that fast.”
“Gotta catch up for the time we missed,” House explained, and twisted his hand just so. “So I’m thinking we need to fit in at least two rounds.”
“Shut up,” Wilson replied, and moved to make it happen.
They were thirty minutes or so into the movie when Joe and Evelyn returned. House felt fortunate that the plot wasn’t terribly hard to follow; with the warm bundle of contented Wilson in his lap, he kept drifting off.
Wilson looked up at his parents and asked, “How was dinner?”
Evelyn’s eyes widened as she took in the two of them on the couch together, but she recovered quickly. “Excellent. That is a nice restaurant. You liked it, didn’t you, Joe?”
“Sure did,” he replied, dropping into the recliner. The heroine of the movie had exchanged her laptop for a handgun that she was currently trying to conceal in her rather skimpy outfit.
“You know, it’s been a long day,” said Evelyn, stretching. “And we have the drive home tomorrow, so I think I’ll turn in.”
“Are you OK, Mom?” Wilson asked. “Do you have a headache? I can get you something.”
“Sweetheart, I’m just ready for bed. I don’t have a headache. Definitely not.”
Wilson had turned back toward the television, but House caught the very pointed look she directed at Joe.
“OK, good night,” Wilson called.
“Good night,” Evelyn replied, her eyes still on Joe as she left the room. Joe glanced from her to House to the hall down which she disappeared.
House suddenly remembered that the guest room shared a wall with the master bedroom. “Wilson, how much longer is this movie?” he asked.
“Another hour, I think. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
Joe’s eyes sparkled. He stood and yawned. “Think I’ll turn in with Evelyn. Good night, boys.”
“Good night, Dad.”
Joe squeezed each of them on the shoulder once in passing. House caught his eye and growled, and Joe left the room laughing.
“What was that?” Wilson asked, stretching back to look House in the eye.
“Just watch the movie,” House replied, and proceeded to make it very difficult for Wilson to do so.
Title: Domestic
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Guess who’s coming to dinner! For three days straight!
Notes: Set in the happy land known as the Mono-verse (sequel to That Time Cameron Had Mono). Dedicated to simple__man, who is simply marvelous. Thanks to daisylily for the beta.
Cameron looked up from the conference table to see House whipping into his office, moving startlingly fast. He yanked the corridor-side blinds closed before she could rise from her seat. The conference-room side blinds slapped closed as she poked her head in his office door.
“Are you hiding from Cuddy again?” she asked.
“No,” he replied and yanked her arm to pull her fully into his office. “Not Cuddy. Now shh.”
She landed next to his desk; House was facing her, away from the corridor. In a heated tone barely above a whisper he said, “Please tell me you have something urgent that requires my attention in the lab, or the patient’s room, or the deli down the street - anywhere, anywhere that isn’t here?”
She opened her mouth to reply when the door from the corridor opened.
“House?” Wilson called.
House’s face in that moment was a marvel to behold. His eyes squeezed tight and his jaw clenched in a frenzy of frustration, but he seemed to be using all his will to keep his shoulders relaxed. Then in a flash, it was gone; his features schooled into an expression of patient concern. A true marvel.
“Yes?” House replied, turning toward the door.
Wilson was… bouncing. Cameron had done a child psych rotation with an ADD/ADHD specialist. Kids yet to be diagnosed with hyperactivity disorder were calmer than Wilson was in that moment.
“The list for the store, I can’t find it. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes, Wilson,” House replied, in the calming, soothing voice the mothers of some of those children had perfected. “You gave it to me for safekeeping. I’ve got it in my pocket.”
Wilson took two steps into the room and thrust out his hand. “Well, give it back, because I should just have it with me.”
Taking a huge breath, House replied, “No.” He let out the air in a steady stream, and in Cameron’s mind, she could see the blood pressure dial pushing up, up, up. “You made me promise not to give it back, so I’m going to keep it. You know what? I scanned it in, and emailed it to you. Why don’t you go print out a copy for yourself?”
House smiled, and Cameron had to hold herself back from gasping in shock. That smile was ghastly. Wilson didn’t seem to notice, though; he just nodded and left abruptly.
Cameron was moving around House to return to the conference room when he grabbed her arm. “Urgent! That’ll buy me twenty minutes max,” he hissed. “There has to be something; get me out of here.”
“Um,” Cameron replied. House’s grip was too strong; her arm was starting to hurt. She cast about for any excuse that would meet his needs. Inspiration struck and she sighed. “You never did my annual performance review.”
“This year?”
“Ever. And hospital policy is that in-person reviews should be done in a neutral setting, away from the typical work environment.”
“Which means we have to leave the hospital. You are brilliant! I would kiss you, but you probably still have that crush on me, and let’s face it, as fantastic as the sex would be - it is me, after all - there’d probably be some awkwardness at work afterward, and of course Chase would be jealous that I didn’t pick him first -”
“Do you want to talk, or do you want to vacate the premises?”
“Excellent point.” He let go of her arm - she rubbed it surreptitiously - and stalked out of the office.
As she followed him down the hall, she heard Wilson calling from behind them, “House?”
“Gotta go!” House yelled over his shoulder. “Cameron’s threatening to report me to Cuddy if I don’t do her performance review now.”
They had to wait for the elevator, which allowed Wilson to catch up. “Can it wait?” he asked. “I have some things -”
“Oh, sorry,” House replied, as he leaned on the elevator button. “Cuddy says if I get one more complaint, she’ll make me work this weekend. We don’t want that, do we?”
Wilson shook his head tightly. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet again, his hands thrust into the pockets of his lab coat.
As the elevator door opened, House coasted in, dragging Cameron behind him. “I’m sure you can handle it, Wilson. See you later.”
“Bye,” Cameron managed to squeak out before the doors closed.
She turned to House then and fixed him with a glare. “What is going on?”
“Shh,” House replied. “Wilson might’ve taken the stairs. He might be waiting there on the first floor when the elevator arrives.”
When the door opened, House pushed Cameron ahead of him - human shield? she wondered. She leaned out of the elevator and, seeing no sign of Wilson, reported, “Coast is clear.”
House let out a breath and then strode out of the elevator, heading for the front doors. Cameron stopped and waited for him to notice she wasn’t following. He made it six steps.
“Come on,” he commanded. “This is your get-out-of-work-free card.”
“Unlike you, I feel that work is something to be embraced and enjoyed, not avoided.”
“I’ll make sure to write that down on your review. Come on.”
It wasn’t until they were out of eyeshot of the hospital that House began to relax. He refused to talk to Cameron at all until they were sitting at a small café, five blocks away, with their orders in front of them. House had coffee; Cameron had coffee and peach pie.
She noticed his appraisal of her choice and couldn’t help responding defensively, “Yes, I do eat.”
“You like pie,” he replied, and managed to make it sound dirty.
Cameron pushed down a blush and picked up her fork, cutting into the flaky crust. “Why do you do that? You’ve been with Wilson for months now - why do you still say lewd things to me?”
“If you find something lewd about a simple observation on your eating habits, I think that’s more your problem than mine.” House took a sip of coffee and gave her the probing look that she both despised and found alluring. One of these days she’d learn not to take the bait.
“So,” she began, after swallowing her first bite of pie. “What’s up with Wilson?”
“None of your business,” House replied, suddenly finding the fake grain of the table fascinating.
She ate another bite of pie and smirked. “If you’re going to use me for air cover, I deserve to know what kind of bombs are being thrown.”
“I thought you hated sports metaphors.”
“That’s a war metaphor.” She shook her head at his skeptical look. “Whatever. You pulled me out of the hospital; now tell me what’s up.”
During the next few moments of silence, Cameron polished off most of her pie. She didn’t have Wilson’s extensive understanding of all things House, but she was far enough along in her studies to know when waiting would make the difference.
House finally seemed to realize she was not going to let this go. He finished off his coffee and signaled for a refill. When the waitress had left, he curled his hands around the cup and said quietly, “Wilson’s parents are coming to town this weekend.”
“Mm hm,” Cameron replied as she tapped her fork against her lip pensively. “And?” She chanced a look at him, and then realized he’d be more likely to continue if he didn’t have to meet her eyes.
After another sip of coffee, House’s words came out in a rush. “And they’re staying with us for the first time, and it’s turned Wilson into an insane mess.”
He sipped his coffee again and slumped, defeated. “This is only Thursday. They don’t get here until Saturday; they don’t leave until Tuesday.”
Cameron smiled. “You’re nervous about hosting your in-laws? Well, in-laws-ish. That can be nerve-wracking. My husband’s parents were -”
The bang of House’s fist against the table startled Cameron.
“Not it at all,” he said with scorn. He confiscated her plate and ate the rest of her pie. “I left my wallet in the office; pay the waitress and let’s go. There’s a record store around the corner where we can waste another hour or so.”
He pushed out of his chair and stalked out of the café without another word. Cameron shook her head as she dug into her pocket for money. She obviously needed more time in study hall.
****
By Friday morning, House was ready to explode. Temporary insanity, he kept reminding himself, but the mantra was not delivering any zen.
He sought refuge in the Lair of the Horror-Master, also known as Cuddy’s office.
“I’ve been terrible this week,” was his opening gambit.
“Par for the course,” Cuddy replied nonchalantly. She had her heels propped on her desk, and House was momentarily distracted by her calves. Gorgeous gams, as his grandfather used to say.
Blinking, he looked back to Cuddy’s face. She was reading a report, seemingly paying no attention to him, but he pressed on.
“You really should make me work this weekend.”
“Uh huh.” Cuddy flipped a page.
“It’s the only way I’ll learn.”
Cuddy laid the report on her desk and drew her legs back and down. House pouted a little as her legs disappeared under the desk.
“And what do I get, Br’er Rabbit, for throwing you in this here briar patch?” Cuddy drawled.
“The satisfaction of knowing you’ve taught me a lesson?” It sounded weak even to his own ears. He paced to the back corner of the room to give himself a little distance.
Under Cuddy’s even look, he was starting to feel fidgety. He had just opened his mouth to offer a further argument for detaining him at the hospital over the weekend when a knock resounded on the door.
House couldn’t see who it was from his vantage point, but Cuddy proffered a welcoming wave. Wilson strode in, making a beeline for Cuddy’s desk.
House pushed himself back against the wall and began making frantic cutting gestures across his neck. Please, he begged silently. Please, Cuddy, don’t let him know I’m here.
Cuddy’s smile was professional as she faced Wilson, but House knew the evil that lurked beneath.
“Dr. Wilson, a pleasure. What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to remind you that I’m taking Monday and Tuesday off because my parents will be here. I’ve got everything arranged with my staff, but if you need me, you have my cell.” Wilson was trying to hold himself in check, but his hands were twitching and House could see the foot scuffling that at any moment would become a full-fledged leg jiggle. He searched for something that would block him from view when Wilson left the office. Cuddy not being partial to six-foot-plus screens, there was nothing. He leaned onto his cane and concentrated with all his might on making himself invisible.
Cuddy replied pleasantly, professionally, “Thank you for reminding me, but we’ve got everything set in the scheduling system, and you do have an excellent staff, so I’m sure there won’t be any problem.” She came around the desk and took Wilson by the hands, gently turning him towards her as they walked, making him less likely to look in House’s direction.
House’s jaw clenched; he was going to owe her so big.
Cuddy and Wilson were at the door now. “Have a nice time with your family,” she said, and with the skill built from long experience, discreetly propelled him out of her office.
House waited for a count of three, and then let out the breath he’d been holding.
“You owe me,” Cuddy reminded him as she walked back to her desk.
“OK,” House conceded, “but now you see what I’m up against. Joe and Evelyn Wilson are fine - nice people, even - but their son is going to drive me insane.”
Cuddy sat and picked up the report again. “He seemed perfectly fine to me.”
Pacing, House scoffed, “Yeah. Right. And how many times has he told you he’s taking those days off?”
“He emailed me per hospital policy, then re-confirmed as a conscientious employee would.”
House pinned her down with a look; now it was Cuddy’s turn to squirm. She chewed some of the lipstick off her lower lip before responding, “Five times.”
“See?”
“You’re a grown man. You made your bed; now lie in it. I’m not bringing you in this weekend.” Cuddy picked up the report again.
“But -”
“That’s final, House. No briar patch for you.” She pointed toward the door. “Have a nice time with the Wilsons.”
The scowl on House’s face as he came out of Cuddy’s office was one that had made many a nurse cower, but Brenda just snorted quietly and turned away. Wilson seemed to miss it entirely when he pounced on House just outside the Clinic doors.
“Come on,” Wilson snapped, grabbing House’s upper arm. His right upper arm, which was in the process of attempting to place his cane securely on the ground.
Mid-step, House was caught completely off-guard, and only had time to blurt out, “Arm; cane; leg,” before his balance failed him. He dropped inelegantly and took Wilson down with him; they ended up in a heap in the middle of the lobby floor. Not a good heap, either, not the kind that occasionally was featured in House’s daydreams. This heap was awkward, painful, and embarrassing for both of them. (The good kind was only embarrassing for Wilson, and produced a much prettier blush.)
Wilson grunted as House accidentally elbowed him in the gut trying to sit up. House did it again, just on principle, and managed to get his butt underneath himself. “Watch it,” Wilson grumbled, and House broke.
“Watch it? Watch it?” Frustration boiling over, he struggled to keep his voice out of the soprano register. “In over a decade, you’ve never so much as stepped on my shoe. Now you take me down in the middle of the lobby, and I’m the one who needs to watch it? Have you completely lost your mind?”
Wilson’s eyes widened, and he flushed guiltily as he rose. Still glaring at him, House allowed a passing med student to help him up and then shooed her away.
The tension between them stretched tautly until Wilson quickly passed a hand over his eyes. “I have been, er, over-anxious lately, haven’t I?”
Oh yes, indeedy, House replied through his look, and Wilson hung his head.
“I’m going to get Garcia to cover for me and take the rest of the day off,” he said quietly.
“An excellent idea.”
Still not able to look House in the eye, Wilson rubbed his neck. “I’ll finish getting everything ready for tomorrow so tonight we can just relax.”
“Another excellent idea.” Wilson finally getting a clue made House feel generous, so he didn’t kick him when he walked past.
***
The house smelled strongly of lemon cleaner and Wilson was far too subdued for a Friday night, but otherwise, the evening passed pleasantly. They were getting ready for bed when House noticed it.
“You repainted our bathroom?”
“Just a few touchups,” Wilson replied, putting the floss away in the medicine cabinet.
House snorted and retreated to the bedroom. “Wilson, your parents are not coming in our bathroom. One, they’ll have the run of the three other bathrooms in this house, and two, they’re not allowed. I don’t care if they know our preferred lube brand, but I wouldn’t want your mom to have a heart attack if she happened to find Gus-Gus.”
Wilson strolled out of the bathroom naked, distracting House completely. After a few pleasantly occupied minutes, Wilson confessed, “I put Gus-Gus away. And Archibald. And all the porn. And most of the lube.”
“Not Gus-Gus,” House groaned, although he didn’t stop what he was doing. “You’re getting paranoid.”
Wilson hummed, and the tremor blew through both men. “You don’t know my mother.”
“If she’d snoop in our bathroom, what makes you think she won’t look wherever you put the stuff away?” House’s toes curled.
“Because I took everything to our storage unit.” It was oh, so interesting that Wilson used the word unit because - “Which is climate-controlled, so have no fear. We don’t need them anyway.”
“Bite your tongue. Or better yet, mine.” House groaned again. “You are so lucky you’re good at that.”
“Aren’t I, just?”
***
Having been bribed with pancakes, House managed to stay out of Wilson’s way the next morning. Not that he wouldn’t have anyway, given that subdued but sexy Wilson had left the building and twittery, jumpy Wilson had returned with gale force.
“You’re going to rub the finish completely off that table if you don’t stop,” he finally snapped. When Wilson opened his mouth to reply, House had a flash. Just like a chessmaster, he could see all the remaining moves of the game - the attacks, the feints, the defenses - pieces lost and pieces taken. Checkmate in seven moves, but oh, they’d get bruised and bloodied along the way.
It was extremely fortunate that the doorbell rang just at that moment.
“Mom! Dad!” Hugs and handshakes, suitcases stacked in the hall, and then all four of them were cozily seated in the living room. It would have been vomit-inducing in the utter suburbanity of it all if Wilson hadn’t looked so damned happy.
“Mom, tell me about the new …” and House didn’t hear a word after that. He tried to plaster on a smile, but the effort made his mouth ache worse than it had after the marathon blowjob dare - which he’d won, damn it, no matter what Wilson’s sly grin had tried to imply - so he focused on not frowning, instead. Close enough.
Ten minutes later - maybe, time had lost all meaning - he noticed Joe was having similar difficulties staying tuned in to the gabfest between Wilson and Evelyn. He caught his eye and gestured toward the other room. “We just got a high-definition TV; want to see?”
“Sure,” Joe replied, so House showed him into the family room.
Easing himself into one of the recliners, Joe commented, “Nice place you have.”
House shrugged as he retrieved the three remotes from their hiding place. “It’s all right. Not the location I would’ve preferred, but we lucked out finding something this big that’s all one level.” Sailing ships were moving across the screen; with the high-definition House could practically smell the salt air.
“We’re thinking about building new, maybe.”
“Hm,” Joe replied, and they lapsed into silence.
Wilson bounded in with Evelyn right behind him, murmuring something about him needing a haircut. “Dad, I’m going to show Mom around the house. Do you want to come?”
Joe sighed in a very Wilson-ian way and began hauling himself out of the chair. “Sure.”
“House?”
“I live here; I don’t need a tour.”
That got him a glare that was threatening to become a full-on hands-on-hips lecture through gestures. “Fine,” House grumbled and hoisted himself up.
Wilson yammered and twittered; Evelyn alternately cooed and critiqued; Joe and House kept their mouths shut. The tour ended in the kitchen, where Evelyn sniffed at Wilson’s beloved cookware. Joe wisely fled, but House, who had unthinkingly stood between Wilson and his mother, was trapped for a few moments.
Finally sneaking free, House came out of the kitchen and moved toward Joe, who was back in the recliner, watching TV.
“Women,” House sighed, nodding toward the kitchen, from which Wilson and Evelyn’s voices could still be heard.
Joe gave him the briefest of glances before staring back at the TV. “That’s my son you’re talking about.”
Sitting on the couch, House replied, “Hm,” and focused his attention on the television as well.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Wilson and Evelyn burst out of the kitchen, a cacophonous babble. They stopped right between the couch and the recliner, just close enough to block the sound coming from the TV. House and Joe sighed, almost in unison.
“Well, you don’t have to take my word for it,” Evelyn was saying. “You should ask Greg; it’s his place, too.”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “Mom, he’s not going to know. He never has an opinion on things like this.”
House sat up a bit straighter. “I always have an opinion,” he replied, almost affronted.
Wilson turned his exasperation on House. “I’m getting us new guest bath towels. What color should they be?”
House slumped back on the couch and returned his eyes to the TV. “No opinion.” He caught another eyeroll in his peripheral vision but decided to let it go.
“We’ll ask your father,” said Evelyn. “Joe, you saw the bathroom attached to the guest room. Would sage green or seafoam coordinate better?”
Joe didn’t even look up. “I’m with Greg here. No opinion on that.”
“Honestly!” Evelyn replied.
“Sage green is a perfectly nice color,” said Wilson.
“Well, it’s nice, but a bit dingy - you can never tell if the towel’s really clean or not.”
“Mom.”
House looked up, hoping to forestall any further discussion, or at the very least, any discussion that would occur right near the TV. “Hey, Wilson, you kept the paint swatch thing after we painted that bathroom, right?” Wilson nodded, and House continued, “So why don’t you take it with you to the store and use it to pick out the towel color there? Hm? Wouldn’t that be the easiest?”
“That’s a good idea, Greg.” Evelyn patted him on the shoulder, and then, blessedly, began to move out of the family room. “Jimmy, we can look at getting you some new guest room sheets, too.”
“Those sheets are fine, Mom. There’s no reason for us to get new ones when the old ones are perfectly good.” It was interesting to House to hear that familiar exasperation directed at someone other than himself.
“Well,” Evelyn said, as she headed out the door, “they’re fine, no problem for us at all, but your next guests…”
Evelyn’s voice faded as the front door shut behind them.
“Women,” Joe sighed.
They sat in silence for a moment, until House said casually, “He’s not normally that bad, though.”
“You’re lucky. Evelyn’s like that pretty much all the time.”
They kept their eyes on the TV.
“She’s a tiger in bed, though.”
House looked at Joe. “I don’t think you want me to respond in kind.”
“No, I don’t.”
Joe looked at House and nodded. They both turned their attention back to the TV, each with a bit of a smile on his face.
***
House endured the rest of the day quite gracefully, he thought. Evelyn and Wilson did most of the talking, but Joe got in a few amusing comments, showing clearly where Wilson had acquired his sense of humor.
When the late evening chatter about the old hometown got to be too much, House used his leg as an excuse and fled to their bedroom. Wilson hadn’t believed his excuse - that much was clear from his look - but he’d permitted the escape. An hour or so later, Wilson came in and headed straight for the bathroom.
House looked up from his book as Wilson emerged. He was wearing, for the first time that House could recall, a long robe cinched securely at the waist. As Wilson stepped up next to the bed and removed the robe, laying it carefully over the nearby chair, House began to frown.
“What are you wearing?”
Wilson looked down at himself and then back up at House. “Pajamas.”
Sweet master of the obvious, House mentally cursed. “Flannel pajamas in September. Brand-new flannel pajamas with the top tucked in. The button-down, collared top. Are you planning on wearing a tie to bed?”
Still standing next to the bed, Wilson shrugged defensively. “So I bought new pajamas, so what?”
House leaned over, tugged at the side of Wilson’s waistband, and peered in. “And underwear. Boxer-briefs? Really?”
Wilson yanked his pajamas out of House’s fingers and pushed him back to his own side of the bed before climbing under the covers. “It’s all appropriate sleepwear.”
“Appropriate. I see. Do you want a chastity belt too? Or were you just hoping the geriatric grandpa act would thoroughly turn me off?”
House raised an eyebrow; Wilson grimaced and rolled over away from him. “Good night.”
“I hate to tell you, but you’ve seriously miscalculated.” Scooting closer, House snaked one hand down the back of Wilson’s pajamas and one hand down the front, noticing how pleasantly soft the flannel was. “Nerdy is a totally hot look for you.”
A flinch, and a turn, and suddenly House was pinned to the bed, his wrists to either side of his head in Wilson’s painful grip.
“Stop it,” Wilson gritted. “Not now.”
House looked Wilson over, but couldn’t find a hint of humor. “What is this? Your parents are fine with us. Your mother planned the commitment ceremony, for Christ’s sake.”
Wilson let go of House’s wrists and slowly pulled back. “Doesn’t mean they want things shoved in their faces.” He returned to his side, curled up slightly and facing away from House.
One more poke to try to prompt some amusement. “Their faces are not where I enjoy shoving things.”
“Go to sleep, House.”
Mission unsuccessful, House stared at the ceiling for quite a while before sleep overtook him.
***
The other half of the bed was empty when House woke up. After his morning Vicodin, he pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt and followed his nose to the kitchen. Wilson, fully dressed in khakis and a golf shirt, was standing at the stove, cooking home fries; House snuck a kiss to the back of his neck before he could protest.
“Shower,” Wilson ordered, pointing his spatula.
House was too busy pouring himself a cup of coffee. “I’m presentable. Completely covered and everything.”
“You’ve drifted beyond charming scruffy, all the way into homeless scruffy. Go shower and get dressed; my parents will be in here any minute.”
House grumbled but headed back to the bedroom, sipping his coffee on the way.
“And you could shave!” Wilson called after him. Yeah, right.
When he returned to the kitchen, Wilson handed over a Spanish omelet, home fries, and biscuits, and House dug in eagerly. The conversation flowed around him, but he caught the tail end of a story about Wilson at age eight trying to smuggle frogs into the house. He laughed and tried to give Wilson an affectionate pinch but was rebuffed, as Wilson smoothly changed topics of conversation.
After two more casual attempts to touch Wilson were deflected, House started to feel cranky. No sex with the parents around was juvenile, but no physical contact at all was just ridiculous.
Somehow House ended up doing the breakfast dishes, as Wilson and his parents were in the other room mapping out the sightseeing they had planned for the day. Joe wandered back in as House was almost finished.
Joe nodded and began drying a dish. “Something wrong?” he asked casually.
“No.” House scrubbed the frying pan with slightly more vigor than was called for.
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
Joe nodded again and moved on to the next dish, staring into its shine rather than looking at House. “You know, funny thing about Jimmy. He’s had his share of girlfriends, more than his share of wives -” House and Joe both snorted.
“And they all liked him a lot, it seemed, but you wouldn’t really know it when his mom and I were around. Didn’t kiss or hold hands - barely even so much as a friendly hand on a shoulder or knee.”
“Yeah?” Perceptive bunch, the Wilsons were.
“I’m not saying Jimmy’s a mama’s boy, because he’s not. But I think he and Evelyn are both caught up in pretending that he’s still a virgin. No idea why, or how they’re keeping that up - four ceremonies under his belt is a big clue - but there you have it.”
Holding the dry dish out, Joe looked around searchingly; House pointed to the cabinet where the plates were kept. After putting the dish away, Joe finally looked House in the eye. His gaze was serious, and House braced himself for a probing question.
“Think we can talk them into letting us come back in time to catch some football?”
***
Wilson fluttered and fussed his way through escorting his parents around New York, but somehow - the fresh air or the tall buildings or just the sense of movement - House found it vaguely endearing instead of irritating.
Evelyn’s patter evened out as well. The Wilsons had apparently made this same round of sights back in the late 1970s, and Evelyn had more than a few interesting anecdotes from that trip to share. Wilson brought out the full repertoire of exasperated gestures for the more embarrassing stories. Joe chuckled at everything, and squeezed his wife’s shoulders with affection.
They did manage to make it back in time for some late afternoon football. The game was already in progress as House turned on the television; he watched in amusement as the two Wilson men snapped their attention to the screen. Mesmerized, they sank blindly onto the couch in tandem. House sat in the recliner and enjoyed the show both on-screen and off.
Evelyn valiantly took the third seat on the couch, but House could tell this activity was one she had long since given up any hope of fully appreciating. As Joe and Wilson conversed in grunts and shorthand (oh - that call - well, he’s a scrambler - brother was too - next draft - yuh), Evelyn’s eyes began to wander and her leg began to jiggle in an amusingly familiar way.
Standing up, she announced, “Think I’ll see what I can pull together for dinner.”
Wilson waved vaguely at her, his eyes still glued to the game. “Mom, I’ve got something planned. I’m going to start it during halftime - Argh! How could he drop that pass?”
Evelyn slipped away in the consultation and commiseration over that boneheaded play. House lost track of her entirely - it was a very good game - until her voice floated out from the kitchen. “Where are your spices?”
“Mom!” Wilson yelled, and House could hear the adolescent underneath. As the channel transitioned to a commercial, Wilson headed quickly out of the room. “Seriously, just sit and relax …”
Joe nodded for House’s attention. “Noticed you have a piano out in the living room,” he said. “Evelyn loves to play; bet she’d appreciate someone listening.”
Surprised, House asked, “You want to turn off the game?”
Joe Wilson in no way, shape, or manner resembled House’s father, but the disapproving scowl he gave House at that moment was eerily familiar. “Haven’t had a minute with my boy this visit. It’s your turn, Greg.”
“You’re throwing me to the wolves?”
Joe grunted, having correctly read the surrender on House’s face. “She doesn’t talk when she’s playing.”
Ten minutes later, House was tucked into the most comfortable chair in the living room, letting the soothing strains of competently played Chopin wash over him. In between pieces, Evelyn told funny stories about piano students she’d had over the years - House could have sworn he’d met some of them in the Clinic.
He thought about asking her to try Debussy’s Le Triomphe de Bacchus with him, but settled on Cole Porter tunes instead: In the Still of the Night, From This Moment On, Do I Love You. They both held back from singing the lyrics, but their fingers told the tale, counterpointed by the bursts of whoops and wails that broke through from the other room.
They smiled at each other when they were done, and Evelyn briefly squeezed his hands. When he turned toward the doorway, Wilson was there, smiling at him.
***
Monday morning with all four of them in the kitchen at a ridiculously early hour had a “first day of school” feel about it. House almost whined that he shouldn’t have to go if Jimmy didn’t, but he couldn’t quite handle the incest vibe of that metaphor, so he dropped the whole thing and got his butt out the door.
Cuddy reflexively bitched him out for being late until he thrust his watch in her face, documenting his arrival as a full three and a half minutes early. “And I see you survived without the briar patch,” Cuddy commented as he headed for the elevators.
“I did indeed, Br’er Foxy.” He threw a last longing look toward her cleavage as the doors closed.
***
Everyone was tucked away somewhere when he came home. House enjoyed the silence for a moment before heading off to find Wilson.
Unsurprisingly, he was in the kitchen. He looked to be puttering, although by this point House knew better than to call it that to his face. It was an excellent sign, though, of a return to normalcy, along with the easy smile Wilson gave him as he walked in the room.
After the relief sank in, House of course felt compelled to poke.
“So, if all’s hunky dory now, why exactly did you turn into a closeted Felix Unger the past few days?”
The hands-on-hips exasperation was the final confirmation that everything was back as it should be. “One,” Wilson began, “because it always makes me nervous to have my parents see my relationships up close. Two, because I do most of the ‘domestic’ things this time around - don’t argue; you know it’s true - so living up to my mother’s expectations in that arena is an added pressure. Three, because you’re, well, you.”
“Your parents have always liked me.”
“They’ve only been around you in small doses. In larger quantities, you’re… an acquired taste.”
House smiled and grabbed Wilson around the waist, pulling him close. “A taste that you’ve acquired, right?”
Wilson smiled back and slipped his arms around House. “Oh, most definitely.”
They both leaned in for the kiss, which was a slow and delicious meeting of lips.
Wilson sighed a little; he needed this so badly. He was just starting to run his tongue along House’s lower lip, ready to deepen the kiss, when they were interrupted.
”Jimmy, I was thinking we could -” His mom cut herself off with a squawk.
Wilson broke the kiss with regret and steeled himself before turning toward the doorway. House tried to pull away, but damn it, there was nothing to be guilty about. This was their kitchen, and it was just a kiss. Wilson kept his left arm around House’s waist and tugged him back closer so they were hip to hip.
“Yes, Mom?” he asked as pleasantly as he could.
“I…” his mother began again but trailed away. She seemed to be staring at Wilson’s ear. House had put his right arm around Wilson’s shoulders and was playing idly with the hair just behind his ear.
His dad chose that moment to step into the kitchen. He took in the sight of House and Wilson standing together, and then turned toward his wife. “Evelyn, I think it’s time we go to dinner.”
Evelyn blinked and seemed to recover herself. “I was just going to ask Jimmy and Greg where they might like to go.”
“No,” Joe replied, taking her hand. “I think it should just be the two of us. We need a little time alone, don’t you think?”
“But…” She quickly glanced at Wilson and House, and trailed away again.
There was a definite twinkle in Joe’s eyes as he looked over at House and nodded slightly. “Evelyn, I’m sure the boys will be just fine without us. They’ll find something to occupy themselves, and I want to take my wife out on the town. Jimmy already told me about a nice steakhouse that’s not too far from here.”
As the door shut behind Wilson’s parents, House’s hand was already inside Wilson’s boxers.
“We’ve got time,” Wilson gasped, and blew out a long breath to steady himself. “They don’t eat that fast.”
“Gotta catch up for the time we missed,” House explained, and twisted his hand just so. “So I’m thinking we need to fit in at least two rounds.”
“Shut up,” Wilson replied, and moved to make it happen.
They were thirty minutes or so into the movie when Joe and Evelyn returned. House felt fortunate that the plot wasn’t terribly hard to follow; with the warm bundle of contented Wilson in his lap, he kept drifting off.
Wilson looked up at his parents and asked, “How was dinner?”
Evelyn’s eyes widened as she took in the two of them on the couch together, but she recovered quickly. “Excellent. That is a nice restaurant. You liked it, didn’t you, Joe?”
“Sure did,” he replied, dropping into the recliner. The heroine of the movie had exchanged her laptop for a handgun that she was currently trying to conceal in her rather skimpy outfit.
“You know, it’s been a long day,” said Evelyn, stretching. “And we have the drive home tomorrow, so I think I’ll turn in.”
“Are you OK, Mom?” Wilson asked. “Do you have a headache? I can get you something.”
“Sweetheart, I’m just ready for bed. I don’t have a headache. Definitely not.”
Wilson had turned back toward the television, but House caught the very pointed look she directed at Joe.
“OK, good night,” Wilson called.
“Good night,” Evelyn replied, her eyes still on Joe as she left the room. Joe glanced from her to House to the hall down which she disappeared.
House suddenly remembered that the guest room shared a wall with the master bedroom. “Wilson, how much longer is this movie?” he asked.
“Another hour, I think. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
Joe’s eyes sparkled. He stood and yawned. “Think I’ll turn in with Evelyn. Good night, boys.”
“Good night, Dad.”
Joe squeezed each of them on the shoulder once in passing. House caught his eye and growled, and Joe left the room laughing.
“What was that?” Wilson asked, stretching back to look House in the eye.
“Just watch the movie,” House replied, and proceeded to make it very difficult for Wilson to do so.