Fiction: Monsters: Atlantic City and Elsewhere
This is the beginning of the sequel to Here's My Heart. Written in celebration of RSL's birthday.
Title: Monsters: Atlantic City and Elsewhere (1a/1)
Author: longstrt
Pairing: the gorgeous James Wilson and his scruffy friend
Rating: Pre-slash now; slash in part 1b
Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these guys, but David Shore does
Note: This is a sequel to Here’s My Heart.
Summary: James Wilson has to go to Chicago; House drives.
What started out as a dismal day grew worse. Greg House stood, looking out the glass walls at the rear of his office. The balcony which Wilson and he had previously shared looked even worse than he felt.
He had been having headaches for the past couple of weeks. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. His one big headache had returned from Chicago a few weeks ago; all the other headaches had been miniature in comparison.
James Wilson was an enigma wrapped up in a mystery . . . or something like that. House thought of Churchill’s words so many years before about Stalin and the Soviets and smiled a dark smile. **Churchill, you didn’t know James Wilson; he would confound . . . even them.**
Wilson was no longer next door; he was no longer Head of Oncology, and House wasn’t even sure if the man was still his friend. **Pushed too far this time, didn’t I?**
Wilson was now on another floor, in a separate wing. He was doing research on a new project, working with Jeff Driscoll from Chicago. That was what was wrong: Chicago and Jeff Driscoll, both were so far away from Princeton, and Wilson was talking about returning there “in the near future”.
House had seen very little of Wilson, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know what was going on. Since the day that Wilson had walked in so dramatically, thus saving House from slugging Crenshaw, House had seen very little of his friend. Not that House hadn’t tried, but Wilson always seemed to be somewhere else. It didn’t take long for Greg House to figure out that the Oncologist was avoiding him.
It was at that moment that House decided that he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself and chase after the man. Greg House didn’t need Wilson or anyone. **Boy, that Wilson - - what a stubborn guy!**
Unfortunately, Lisa Cuddy saw it the other way and made it her duty to keep House as informed as possible about Wilson’s activities. She was a shrewd woman and was quite able to read the unhappiness and misery in both men. James Wilson needed to be needed, and Greg House was the neediest person she knew. The two men were perfect for each other and now . . . now the two men were barely speaking to each other.
Lisa Cuddy knew that if she lost James Wilson, eventually, to his shared work with Jeff Driscoll; she would lose House too. He would function, but would isolate himself even more. His barriers were already pretty formidable, and only James Wilson could breach them. Therefore, something had to be done, and what she was about to tell House . . . surreptitiously, of course . . . made it paramount that it be done right away.
Cuddy stopped at the entrance to House’s office. He was not watching TV, listening to music, or looking at the computer; he was standing staring out at the rain that hit the glass walls. Since his run-in with Crenshaw, the man had withdrawn more into his shell. Crenshaw had asked for a new office, but that hadn’t happened yet. It was time for Cuddy to intervene.
Opening the door, she said, “House.”
Cuddy could tell that he was leaning more heavily on his cane, but he said nothing.
“House.”
“What? Can’t you see I’m working?”
Smiling silently she continued, “What are you working on? I didn’t know that you had a new patient.”
Turning, House made one of his weird faces at her and stuck out his tongue, like the child he often reminded her of. “I don’t always tell you all of my secrets.”
Mumbling under her breath so quietly that House couldn’t hear, she whispered, “You don’t tell me any.” Looking up, however, she spoke out loud and said. “I’m going to need you to do more clinic hours. You need to cover Wilson’s hours since he’ll be going to Chicago soon.”
Expecting a reaction, Lisa Cuddy got it. “Well, tell Wilson to get Jeff Driscoll to do his hours. I’m busy.” With those words, House stalked out of the office, but he didn’t go far. He just went up - - to another floor and another wing. Stalking into Wilson’s smaller office, House looked for the “most irritating” man in the universe.
“WILSON!” Get your butt out here and stop avoiding me.”
There was no movement for a moment then the younger man came out from a smaller room, wiping his hands; his belt buckle still unfastened. “Well gee, forgive me for having to go crap!”
House stopped slightly stunned, but felt better that Wilson was still willing to keep up some of the banter that had so intrigued him.
“Cuddy just told me that I have to take your clinic hours; they’re yours not mine - - what a shirker!”
“Don’t try to make me feel guilty. You’ll just put them off on one of the ducklings and you’ll sit in your office and be miserable.”
Blue eyes stared at the figure, standing before him. He had known James Wilson for 20 years, since he had entered Med School as the 18 year old prodigy. Now he barely knew the man, and it was all House’s fault. He didn’t care that Wilson swung both ways. So what if he had married three times and had slept with Jeff Driscoll. House’s blue eyes squinted as he remembered that awesome weekend in Atlantic City when he had had sex with Wilson.
“I can’t take your clinic hours ‘cause I’m driving you to the airport.”
For a moment delight entered the brown eyes then suspicion replaced the previous emotion. “What - do - you - mean, you’re driving me to the airport?”
“What? You can’t understand my accent now, after avoiding me for weeks?”
Wilson chose to avoid the implications of that last statement and chose to jump on the more important declaration. “I do not need you to drive me; I can drive my own car and leave it in long-term parking.”
“Oh sure, that sucker is like a magnet for car-jackers and you’re going to leave it there for all to see and lust after?”
“Well. . . “
**Great, I got him on the ropes now.**
Suddenly, the handsome head shook a negative sign, “No, House, you have to do clinic work; I’ll find some other way to handle it.”
“Okay, but I won’t be doing the clinic stuff, ‘cause I’m off on a short vacation . . . so there.” With that he turned and limped out, sticking his tongue out once more.
Greg House made great time down to Cuddy’s office. Bursting in on what looked like an important meeting, he blurted out, “I need time off. A week will do.”
No longer embarrassed by anything Greg House did, Cuddy rolled with the punches, coming up with, “You’ve got three days.”
“Great.” House smiled beatifically, beginning to exit; then he turned, “Oh wait a minute, I’m not exactly sure if I want it to begin right away. Wilson asked me to drive him to the airport so I have to find out . . .”
Cuddy smiled a smile that reached new heights in smugness and said, “He’s leaving tomorrow. Now get out of here.”
Behind the backs of the two men in Cuddy’s office, House winked then said as he exited, “Thanks and it’s not true that I’m sleeping with her.”
Lisa Cuddy tried to smile to her guests as if this was normal, but it took a moment or two to recover the serenity of the previous moments.
HWHWHWHWHWHW
James Wilson was packed and ready to go. He hadn’t seen House again, but he figured that the man knew he was leaving today. He was disturbed by his rift with House, but House had handled it very well - - just ignore Wilson and avoid the issue.
Going down to his car, he realized that his ignition one was not on his set of keys. Frowning, he wondered how that could have happened. He hadn’t driven his car yesterday because he had left it at the garage to be checked before the drive to Newark.
His garage man had dropped the car off and . . . what had he done with the ignition key?
Approaching the car, Wilson realized that there was someone already in the car. He would recognize that silhouette anywhere. House! And he was in the driver’s seat!
“House, what are you doing here?”
“Have you forgotten? You asked me to drive you to Newark?’
“I did not. In fact, I told you specifically NOT to drive me.”
“Get in! Get in! You’ll miss your flight.”
So mystified about what was going on, Wilson forgot to object. House opened the trunk so that Wilson could stow away his suitcases. Within minutes, the car and the two men were on their way to the airport.
Conversation was almost non-existent although Wilson desperately wanted to question House about his key and how he had gotten it. The only thing that House would say, however, was that Wilson looked exhausted and why didn’t he close his eyes and relax.
Wilson tried to mumble something about what House would do once he reached the airport, but the motion of the car was mesmerizing. The last thing that James Wilson remembered was seeing the interstate access sign for I-95.
The traffic was heavy, but House had driven Wilson’s car numerous time, including when he had driven Wilson and son of coma guy down to Atlantic City for a hoagie. The miles passed rapidly and within a short time, House was ready to access the ramp which would take him onto the Atlantic City Expressway.
Unfortunately, it was at that point that James Wilson woke up. Groggily he rubbed his eyes, not exactly sure where he was, but he knew by the clock that it was taking longer to get to Newark than necessary. Looking around at the sights flying by, James Wilson knew that he had been had.
“House, this is the way to Atlantic City!”
“Well, you said that you wanted to get to the airport!”
“Yeah, but not the one at Atlantic City!”
“Oh sure, kick the cripple when he’s doing you a favor.”
**I guess I can call Jeff from here and fly out.** “Yeah, but I had a flight out from Newark, now I’ll have to find another one.”
“Don’t worry; the Great Cheater will wait for you. He has to; you do his thinking for him. Just call him from the hotel and let him know that you’ll be late.”
About to respond, Wilson opened his eyes wider and flapped his mouth, trying to ignore the insult to his co-researcher. “What do you mean - - hotel?”
“Well, duh - - it’s getting late. Even you should figure that out. It’s 40 miles to Newark and over twice that to Atlantic City. I got us a room for the night.”
“A room? What do you mean a room?”
“Did Driscoll give you a lobotomy while you were sacked out with him? I got us a suite at that new place, Borgota. It’s got 2002 rooms and lots of places to lose our money. Won’t that be fun?”
“House, I did not bring that much money with me. You are paying for this.”
“Of course, you didn’t think I would stick my best buddy with this, did you?”
Finally, pulling up at the front of the casino/hotel, the two men left the Lexus in the hands of the valet. Entering, Wilson felt dwarfed by the massive lobby. House looked right at home and at his scruffy best.
“Go and try to call Driscoll while I sign us in.”
Wilson nodded, taking out his cell phone. Although he reached Driscoll’s secretary, Driscoll was not available. Leaving a message, Wilson headed towards House who was on his way to the elevators with their luggage following.
Within second they were at the door to their room. It turned out to be a suite with two large bedrooms. Wilson walked in and automatically headed towards the suite with greenish décor. He wanted to call and see if he could make flight connections for tomorrow, but he noticed his cell phone was down for some reason. It had been fine, moments before.
Looking around the bedroom and the rest of the suite, Wilson was impressed with House’s choice in hotels. **I can’t believe he’s paying for all this.” He looked for House to borrow his cell phone and saw him coming out of Wilson’s bedroom.
Before Wilson could say a word, House bellowed out, “Hey, yours is bigger than mine!”
Wilson stood there stunned, almost like the time that he had thought House was proposing that the two of them go to the Poconos. Finally, he found his voice and squeaked out, “I beg your pardon?”
“Your wall TV, you idiot. That sucker must be, at least, 60 inches. Mine can’t be more than a 52 - - that’s not fair!” These last words were uttered in a childish voice that made Wilson want to laugh.
“I’m so sorry, little boy. Only the grown-ups get to watch the big TV’s. You’ll just have to make do.”
“But, I’m paying for this. I want my TV!” House turned as if to go back into the bedroom to grab the offending device off the wall, but Wilson called out,
“House, I need your cell phone. Something’s wrong with mine.”
House whipped around to look at his friend, vague suspicion lingering in the deep blue eyes. “Who do you want to call? You don’t know anybody here.”
“I don’t want to call anybody here. I need to call the airport and book a flight for tomorrow. I also need to call Driscoll again and tell him what room we’re in if he wants to get in contact with me.”
“Aw come on, Jimmy. We’re on vacation. Forget research. Forget Driscoll for one night.”
Wilson thought a moment, realizing that he might not see House for several weeks. It wouldn’t hurt to spend one night in his company. He had missed House and this might restore a bit of their previous relationship.
“All right, but I do need to call the airport and book a flight.”
House nodded, all acquiescence and charm. “Great, I’ll call the airport and book your flight. You get cleaned up and then we’ll go have dinner at one of those famous restaurants around here.”
Wilson was tired and his brain was certainly not working up to par. He merely nodded and headed towards the bathroom. It popped into his mind, however, that House was not going to be able to secure his reservation without his credit card. Yelling through the thick wooden door, he yelled, “House!”
After a moment, a muffled voice answered, “If you want me to come in and wash your back, you’ll have to pay me.”
Wilson grimaced but held back a retort. “House, you’ll need my credit card to make the reservation; it’s in my billfold.”
Wilson was unable to hear the reply but it sounded like a muffled “Okay.”
Several minutes late, a well-dressed James Wilson left the bedroom, looking for his friend. He had checked for his credit card so he assumed that House must have found it.
Spotting his friend who was exiting his own bedroom, Wilson stopped, admiring House’s attempt to look slightly less scruffy by wearing a less wrinkled jacket and a tie.
“Hope you don’t mind; when I got your credit card; I borrowed a tie. The rules say, “No Tie; no House”.
Wilson laughed as the two men made their way down to choose from the wide variety of fine dining restaurants located on the property. They finally decided on the Old Homestead Steakhouse. House couldn’t resist the 36 oz. signature dish, the Gotham Rib Steak while Wilson chose the Potato Encrusted Chilean Sea Bass. With side dishes, dessert and wines, it proved to be quite an expensive evening.
As the two men walked back to their suite, House said magnanimously, “Thanks for paying for that, Jimmy. That was quite a feast.”
Feeling content, Wilson murmured, “No problem, I’m kind of tired; I’m going to try and call Driscoll one more time and then go to bed.”
“Don’t you want to go to the casino?”
“No thanks, I think I’ve gambled enough today.” Heading towards his own bedroom, Wilson turned and asked sheepishly, “Could I borrow your cell phone again?”
House started to reach for his phone then looked as if he had had an epiphany. “Have you checked your batteries? Maybe they’ve gone down?”
Wilson shook his head, “Couldn’t be that; I charged up before I left Princeton.” Pulling out his phone, however, he pressed the power button which immediately confirmed that his batteries were low and needed re-charging. “I have got to get a new phone.”
House handed over his phone while Wilson began to charge his. “It was obvious that there was no answer when Wilson placed the call. He left a brief message, communicating the phone number at the hotel and hung up.
“That’s strange. I specifically told his secretary that I needed to talk to him.”
“Maybe, there was a message left with the desk.”
Wilson called down, but nothing was waiting for him. Sighing, Wilson turned to House. “I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, by the way, what time is my flight for tomorrow?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you; they were all booked up at this late date. You have a flight at 10:00 am the next day.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask.”
Biting his tongue, suspicion began to enter the younger man’s mind. “House, did you do that deliberately?”
Looking faintly confused, House replied in a hurt tone, “Now would I do that? Besides, if I had wanted to delay your flight, I would have made it for three or four days from now, not the day after tomorrow.”
The skin between Wilson’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “Why would you make my flight connection for three or four days from now?”
House slanted his head slightly, much like his rat, Steve McQueen, had done so long ago. “Because of the license.”
Now Wilson was really confused. “What license are you talking about? You don’t need a license to book a flight on a plane in New Jersey.”
Now House looked at him like he was a total moron, “No, but you do if you’re going to get married.”
End of part 1a
Title: Monsters: Atlantic City and Elsewhere (1a/1)
Author: longstrt
Pairing: the gorgeous James Wilson and his scruffy friend
Rating: Pre-slash now; slash in part 1b
Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these guys, but David Shore does
Note: This is a sequel to Here’s My Heart.
Summary: James Wilson has to go to Chicago; House drives.
What started out as a dismal day grew worse. Greg House stood, looking out the glass walls at the rear of his office. The balcony which Wilson and he had previously shared looked even worse than he felt.
He had been having headaches for the past couple of weeks. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. His one big headache had returned from Chicago a few weeks ago; all the other headaches had been miniature in comparison.
James Wilson was an enigma wrapped up in a mystery . . . or something like that. House thought of Churchill’s words so many years before about Stalin and the Soviets and smiled a dark smile. **Churchill, you didn’t know James Wilson; he would confound . . . even them.**
Wilson was no longer next door; he was no longer Head of Oncology, and House wasn’t even sure if the man was still his friend. **Pushed too far this time, didn’t I?**
Wilson was now on another floor, in a separate wing. He was doing research on a new project, working with Jeff Driscoll from Chicago. That was what was wrong: Chicago and Jeff Driscoll, both were so far away from Princeton, and Wilson was talking about returning there “in the near future”.
House had seen very little of Wilson, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know what was going on. Since the day that Wilson had walked in so dramatically, thus saving House from slugging Crenshaw, House had seen very little of his friend. Not that House hadn’t tried, but Wilson always seemed to be somewhere else. It didn’t take long for Greg House to figure out that the Oncologist was avoiding him.
It was at that moment that House decided that he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself and chase after the man. Greg House didn’t need Wilson or anyone. **Boy, that Wilson - - what a stubborn guy!**
Unfortunately, Lisa Cuddy saw it the other way and made it her duty to keep House as informed as possible about Wilson’s activities. She was a shrewd woman and was quite able to read the unhappiness and misery in both men. James Wilson needed to be needed, and Greg House was the neediest person she knew. The two men were perfect for each other and now . . . now the two men were barely speaking to each other.
Lisa Cuddy knew that if she lost James Wilson, eventually, to his shared work with Jeff Driscoll; she would lose House too. He would function, but would isolate himself even more. His barriers were already pretty formidable, and only James Wilson could breach them. Therefore, something had to be done, and what she was about to tell House . . . surreptitiously, of course . . . made it paramount that it be done right away.
Cuddy stopped at the entrance to House’s office. He was not watching TV, listening to music, or looking at the computer; he was standing staring out at the rain that hit the glass walls. Since his run-in with Crenshaw, the man had withdrawn more into his shell. Crenshaw had asked for a new office, but that hadn’t happened yet. It was time for Cuddy to intervene.
Opening the door, she said, “House.”
Cuddy could tell that he was leaning more heavily on his cane, but he said nothing.
“House.”
“What? Can’t you see I’m working?”
Smiling silently she continued, “What are you working on? I didn’t know that you had a new patient.”
Turning, House made one of his weird faces at her and stuck out his tongue, like the child he often reminded her of. “I don’t always tell you all of my secrets.”
Mumbling under her breath so quietly that House couldn’t hear, she whispered, “You don’t tell me any.” Looking up, however, she spoke out loud and said. “I’m going to need you to do more clinic hours. You need to cover Wilson’s hours since he’ll be going to Chicago soon.”
Expecting a reaction, Lisa Cuddy got it. “Well, tell Wilson to get Jeff Driscoll to do his hours. I’m busy.” With those words, House stalked out of the office, but he didn’t go far. He just went up - - to another floor and another wing. Stalking into Wilson’s smaller office, House looked for the “most irritating” man in the universe.
“WILSON!” Get your butt out here and stop avoiding me.”
There was no movement for a moment then the younger man came out from a smaller room, wiping his hands; his belt buckle still unfastened. “Well gee, forgive me for having to go crap!”
House stopped slightly stunned, but felt better that Wilson was still willing to keep up some of the banter that had so intrigued him.
“Cuddy just told me that I have to take your clinic hours; they’re yours not mine - - what a shirker!”
“Don’t try to make me feel guilty. You’ll just put them off on one of the ducklings and you’ll sit in your office and be miserable.”
Blue eyes stared at the figure, standing before him. He had known James Wilson for 20 years, since he had entered Med School as the 18 year old prodigy. Now he barely knew the man, and it was all House’s fault. He didn’t care that Wilson swung both ways. So what if he had married three times and had slept with Jeff Driscoll. House’s blue eyes squinted as he remembered that awesome weekend in Atlantic City when he had had sex with Wilson.
“I can’t take your clinic hours ‘cause I’m driving you to the airport.”
For a moment delight entered the brown eyes then suspicion replaced the previous emotion. “What - do - you - mean, you’re driving me to the airport?”
“What? You can’t understand my accent now, after avoiding me for weeks?”
Wilson chose to avoid the implications of that last statement and chose to jump on the more important declaration. “I do not need you to drive me; I can drive my own car and leave it in long-term parking.”
“Oh sure, that sucker is like a magnet for car-jackers and you’re going to leave it there for all to see and lust after?”
“Well. . . “
**Great, I got him on the ropes now.**
Suddenly, the handsome head shook a negative sign, “No, House, you have to do clinic work; I’ll find some other way to handle it.”
“Okay, but I won’t be doing the clinic stuff, ‘cause I’m off on a short vacation . . . so there.” With that he turned and limped out, sticking his tongue out once more.
Greg House made great time down to Cuddy’s office. Bursting in on what looked like an important meeting, he blurted out, “I need time off. A week will do.”
No longer embarrassed by anything Greg House did, Cuddy rolled with the punches, coming up with, “You’ve got three days.”
“Great.” House smiled beatifically, beginning to exit; then he turned, “Oh wait a minute, I’m not exactly sure if I want it to begin right away. Wilson asked me to drive him to the airport so I have to find out . . .”
Cuddy smiled a smile that reached new heights in smugness and said, “He’s leaving tomorrow. Now get out of here.”
Behind the backs of the two men in Cuddy’s office, House winked then said as he exited, “Thanks and it’s not true that I’m sleeping with her.”
Lisa Cuddy tried to smile to her guests as if this was normal, but it took a moment or two to recover the serenity of the previous moments.
HWHWHWHWHWHW
James Wilson was packed and ready to go. He hadn’t seen House again, but he figured that the man knew he was leaving today. He was disturbed by his rift with House, but House had handled it very well - - just ignore Wilson and avoid the issue.
Going down to his car, he realized that his ignition one was not on his set of keys. Frowning, he wondered how that could have happened. He hadn’t driven his car yesterday because he had left it at the garage to be checked before the drive to Newark.
His garage man had dropped the car off and . . . what had he done with the ignition key?
Approaching the car, Wilson realized that there was someone already in the car. He would recognize that silhouette anywhere. House! And he was in the driver’s seat!
“House, what are you doing here?”
“Have you forgotten? You asked me to drive you to Newark?’
“I did not. In fact, I told you specifically NOT to drive me.”
“Get in! Get in! You’ll miss your flight.”
So mystified about what was going on, Wilson forgot to object. House opened the trunk so that Wilson could stow away his suitcases. Within minutes, the car and the two men were on their way to the airport.
Conversation was almost non-existent although Wilson desperately wanted to question House about his key and how he had gotten it. The only thing that House would say, however, was that Wilson looked exhausted and why didn’t he close his eyes and relax.
Wilson tried to mumble something about what House would do once he reached the airport, but the motion of the car was mesmerizing. The last thing that James Wilson remembered was seeing the interstate access sign for I-95.
The traffic was heavy, but House had driven Wilson’s car numerous time, including when he had driven Wilson and son of coma guy down to Atlantic City for a hoagie. The miles passed rapidly and within a short time, House was ready to access the ramp which would take him onto the Atlantic City Expressway.
Unfortunately, it was at that point that James Wilson woke up. Groggily he rubbed his eyes, not exactly sure where he was, but he knew by the clock that it was taking longer to get to Newark than necessary. Looking around at the sights flying by, James Wilson knew that he had been had.
“House, this is the way to Atlantic City!”
“Well, you said that you wanted to get to the airport!”
“Yeah, but not the one at Atlantic City!”
“Oh sure, kick the cripple when he’s doing you a favor.”
**I guess I can call Jeff from here and fly out.** “Yeah, but I had a flight out from Newark, now I’ll have to find another one.”
“Don’t worry; the Great Cheater will wait for you. He has to; you do his thinking for him. Just call him from the hotel and let him know that you’ll be late.”
About to respond, Wilson opened his eyes wider and flapped his mouth, trying to ignore the insult to his co-researcher. “What do you mean - - hotel?”
“Well, duh - - it’s getting late. Even you should figure that out. It’s 40 miles to Newark and over twice that to Atlantic City. I got us a room for the night.”
“A room? What do you mean a room?”
“Did Driscoll give you a lobotomy while you were sacked out with him? I got us a suite at that new place, Borgota. It’s got 2002 rooms and lots of places to lose our money. Won’t that be fun?”
“House, I did not bring that much money with me. You are paying for this.”
“Of course, you didn’t think I would stick my best buddy with this, did you?”
Finally, pulling up at the front of the casino/hotel, the two men left the Lexus in the hands of the valet. Entering, Wilson felt dwarfed by the massive lobby. House looked right at home and at his scruffy best.
“Go and try to call Driscoll while I sign us in.”
Wilson nodded, taking out his cell phone. Although he reached Driscoll’s secretary, Driscoll was not available. Leaving a message, Wilson headed towards House who was on his way to the elevators with their luggage following.
Within second they were at the door to their room. It turned out to be a suite with two large bedrooms. Wilson walked in and automatically headed towards the suite with greenish décor. He wanted to call and see if he could make flight connections for tomorrow, but he noticed his cell phone was down for some reason. It had been fine, moments before.
Looking around the bedroom and the rest of the suite, Wilson was impressed with House’s choice in hotels. **I can’t believe he’s paying for all this.” He looked for House to borrow his cell phone and saw him coming out of Wilson’s bedroom.
Before Wilson could say a word, House bellowed out, “Hey, yours is bigger than mine!”
Wilson stood there stunned, almost like the time that he had thought House was proposing that the two of them go to the Poconos. Finally, he found his voice and squeaked out, “I beg your pardon?”
“Your wall TV, you idiot. That sucker must be, at least, 60 inches. Mine can’t be more than a 52 - - that’s not fair!” These last words were uttered in a childish voice that made Wilson want to laugh.
“I’m so sorry, little boy. Only the grown-ups get to watch the big TV’s. You’ll just have to make do.”
“But, I’m paying for this. I want my TV!” House turned as if to go back into the bedroom to grab the offending device off the wall, but Wilson called out,
“House, I need your cell phone. Something’s wrong with mine.”
House whipped around to look at his friend, vague suspicion lingering in the deep blue eyes. “Who do you want to call? You don’t know anybody here.”
“I don’t want to call anybody here. I need to call the airport and book a flight for tomorrow. I also need to call Driscoll again and tell him what room we’re in if he wants to get in contact with me.”
“Aw come on, Jimmy. We’re on vacation. Forget research. Forget Driscoll for one night.”
Wilson thought a moment, realizing that he might not see House for several weeks. It wouldn’t hurt to spend one night in his company. He had missed House and this might restore a bit of their previous relationship.
“All right, but I do need to call the airport and book a flight.”
House nodded, all acquiescence and charm. “Great, I’ll call the airport and book your flight. You get cleaned up and then we’ll go have dinner at one of those famous restaurants around here.”
Wilson was tired and his brain was certainly not working up to par. He merely nodded and headed towards the bathroom. It popped into his mind, however, that House was not going to be able to secure his reservation without his credit card. Yelling through the thick wooden door, he yelled, “House!”
After a moment, a muffled voice answered, “If you want me to come in and wash your back, you’ll have to pay me.”
Wilson grimaced but held back a retort. “House, you’ll need my credit card to make the reservation; it’s in my billfold.”
Wilson was unable to hear the reply but it sounded like a muffled “Okay.”
Several minutes late, a well-dressed James Wilson left the bedroom, looking for his friend. He had checked for his credit card so he assumed that House must have found it.
Spotting his friend who was exiting his own bedroom, Wilson stopped, admiring House’s attempt to look slightly less scruffy by wearing a less wrinkled jacket and a tie.
“Hope you don’t mind; when I got your credit card; I borrowed a tie. The rules say, “No Tie; no House”.
Wilson laughed as the two men made their way down to choose from the wide variety of fine dining restaurants located on the property. They finally decided on the Old Homestead Steakhouse. House couldn’t resist the 36 oz. signature dish, the Gotham Rib Steak while Wilson chose the Potato Encrusted Chilean Sea Bass. With side dishes, dessert and wines, it proved to be quite an expensive evening.
As the two men walked back to their suite, House said magnanimously, “Thanks for paying for that, Jimmy. That was quite a feast.”
Feeling content, Wilson murmured, “No problem, I’m kind of tired; I’m going to try and call Driscoll one more time and then go to bed.”
“Don’t you want to go to the casino?”
“No thanks, I think I’ve gambled enough today.” Heading towards his own bedroom, Wilson turned and asked sheepishly, “Could I borrow your cell phone again?”
House started to reach for his phone then looked as if he had had an epiphany. “Have you checked your batteries? Maybe they’ve gone down?”
Wilson shook his head, “Couldn’t be that; I charged up before I left Princeton.” Pulling out his phone, however, he pressed the power button which immediately confirmed that his batteries were low and needed re-charging. “I have got to get a new phone.”
House handed over his phone while Wilson began to charge his. “It was obvious that there was no answer when Wilson placed the call. He left a brief message, communicating the phone number at the hotel and hung up.
“That’s strange. I specifically told his secretary that I needed to talk to him.”
“Maybe, there was a message left with the desk.”
Wilson called down, but nothing was waiting for him. Sighing, Wilson turned to House. “I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, by the way, what time is my flight for tomorrow?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you; they were all booked up at this late date. You have a flight at 10:00 am the next day.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask.”
Biting his tongue, suspicion began to enter the younger man’s mind. “House, did you do that deliberately?”
Looking faintly confused, House replied in a hurt tone, “Now would I do that? Besides, if I had wanted to delay your flight, I would have made it for three or four days from now, not the day after tomorrow.”
The skin between Wilson’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “Why would you make my flight connection for three or four days from now?”
House slanted his head slightly, much like his rat, Steve McQueen, had done so long ago. “Because of the license.”
Now Wilson was really confused. “What license are you talking about? You don’t need a license to book a flight on a plane in New Jersey.”
Now House looked at him like he was a total moron, “No, but you do if you’re going to get married.”
End of part 1a