Fiction: Monsters: Atlantic City and Elsewhere
This completes the story arc.
Title: Monsters: Atlantic City and Elsewhere (1b/1)
Author: longstrt
Pairing: Drs. Wilson and House
Rating: slash
Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters, but David Shore does.
Note: This concludes the story.
Summary: House and Wilson enjoy their suite.
Additional Note: Happy Birthday to Robert Sean Leonard.
**HOUSE IS GETTING MARRIED?**
James Wilson stood in the luxurious sitting room between the suite’s two bedrooms. His amazement was without parallel. House’s words about needing a license to get married, kept running through his mind. He was sure that he must look like a frightened deer in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, but his mind wouldn’t function.
**HOUSE IS GETTING MARRIED?**
Across the room, Greg House was very pleased with the reaction he was getting from his long time friend. It couldn’t have been better if he had prepped himself for hours. For a moment, House was afraid that his friend was going into catatonic shock, but being the diagnostician that he was, he knew that it was merely Jimmy’s . . . er, natural tendency to be overwhelmed.
Finally, thoughts returned to James Wilson’s grey matter so that he could begin to form a question. “You’re getting . . .”
The question never was asked, however, because Wilson’s cell phone took that moment to ring. Looking at his watch, Wilson noticed that it really wasn’t that late, but he also felt like he had entered a time warp since House had made his little “announcement.”
Although Wilson was prepared to ignore the call, when he discovered that it was from Lisa Cuddy, he sighed and answered the phone. He did not fail to register the fact that House had moved closer so that he could readily hear the conversation.
Wilson turned his back and immediately became embroiled in what seemed to be a very upsetting conversation.
Greg House wasn’t a genius for nothing. When he heard small excerpts from Wilson’s side of the conversation, he knew things weren’t going well.
“I asked him to call.”
“Well, that’s what I was going to bring out.”
“Why can’t he wait?”
and even more conclusive:
“Why does he want Crenshaw?”
all fed into the data machine that was Gregory House. **Oh boy, this is getting good!**
Finally, Wilson closed his phone, his shoulders slumped in dejection. Looking up, the brown eyes mirrored the confusion that Wilson felt. Licking his lips and pinching the bridge of his nose, Wilson finally whispered, “Driscoll called Cuddy. He needs some of my research and he says that he can’t wait. Cuddy called to ask if she could get into my office to find the stuff.”
House frowned, “What was that about Crenshaw?”
Wilson looked even more dumbfounded. “Cuddy told Jeff that I was flying out the day after tomorrow, but he said that he couldn’t wait and could Crenshaw bring the required documents out ASAP.”
Wilson dropped his head to his chest, not looking at House who let a brief flicker of glee enter his blue eyes, before restoring his bored look. Then Wilson uttered the words that threatened to shatter all of his plans.
“House, get packed; I’m driving back to Princeton tonight so that I can get a plane out of Newark. Wilson suddenly turned around again, demanding, “Did you want to stay here? I’m sure you can find some way to get back to Princeton.”
House’s eyes widened in dismay, but he thought fast. “That’s ridiculous, Jimmy. You’ve got a flight out of Atlantic City on Monday. Just fax the stuff that Driscoll needs to Crenshaw, and he can take them onto Chicago. I don’t know why you even have to go all that way, but isn’t that more sensible?”
For a moment, Wilson said nothing, but it did make sense. He could use the in-room fax system and have the materials to Crenshaw within minutes. That would save him a long drive back to Princeton. Nodding once, he turned towards his room, trying to organize in his mind what he needed to send to Crenshaw.
Several hours later, Wilson had all the documents sent. He had contacted the other oncologist, who told him that he was going out on an early morning flight. Another call to Driscoll’s home phone was a total failure. Vague suspicions were beginning to harden into concrete concerns for Wilson.
By the time this was all accomplished, it was in the early hours of the morning. Wilson suddenly remembered House’s announcement, so he decided to see if House was still up so that they could talk.
Instead he found the door closed. Wilson knew that House often suffered from insomnia so if his friend was actually getting some sleep, he didn’t want to disturb him. Tomorrow would be soon enough. If James Wilson had x-ray vision, he could have seen the small smile on House’s face as the younger man turned towards his own bedroom.
The next day, Sunday, Wilson was up . . . early; House was not. The younger man shook his head as he thought about what House had said. **Obviously, the jerk is trying to avoid me.** Wilson phoned down to Room Service for some breakfast. His order rapidly changed from simple fare to an elaborate and eclectic array of choices when he remembered that this all was going on House’s credit card. After all House had forced him to come here, hadn’t he?
Just about the time breakfast arrived, so did House. He wandered out of his bedroom, looking just showered, scruffy, and if the truth were told - - totally edible. For a moment Wilson wished that he had put House on his breakfast order and not all the other “goodies”, but House was getting married so that put an end to those thoughts.
“It’s about time, breakfast arrived; where’s the coffee?”
Wilson signed for the meal then promptly went over to pour out coffee for the two of them. House looked like he was in pain and had not slept too well. His bloodshot eyes told the oncologist more than any of House’s words.
“Rough night?”
“Yeah, some idiot kept playing a conga drum!”
Wilson looked at his friend as if he had lost his mind (what was different about that?). “Did you have someone in your room that I don’t know about?”
Rubbing his forehead and neck, it became readily apparent that House’s whole body must be aching - - the long drive and other activities had done little to help House’s body relax.
“There’s a great hot tub in my bedroom, if you want to soak. I thought I’d eat something then go down and play the slots or something. You’re welcome to use anything in there.”
The implications of that innocent statement filled Greg House’s lascivious mind, but he held his tongue. “Thanks, I might do that. How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
Wilson looked faintly puzzled. Shrugging his shoulders he said, “Well, since I hadn’t planned to gamble, I don’t have that much cash . . . AND”, continuing before House could break in, “I don’t intend on going to an ATM, just to get more money. I still want to get to Chicago, financially sound.”
House laughed, “Yeah, this comes from the man who is personally paying alimony which is almost equivalent to the national debt.”
Wilson gave him a look like, let’s drop it. “Okay, okay. I’ll be gone for an hour or so. Where do you want to go for dinner?”
Now House looked smug and disingenuous. “Why go out? We can eat in; I’ve got something special for us to do.”
Faintly apprehensive, remembering their earlier conversation, Wilson inquired guardedly, “What kind of something?”
Smiling House proudly announced, “I managed to get hold of the DVD collection, ‘Monster Machines: Make and Break the World’. I thought we could watch some of that today.”
Wilson’s eyes began to blink in amazement. He had been hunting for that collection for months. He had wanted to give it to House for Christmas but couldn’t find it. He knew that it cost several hundred dollars, but well . . . it would make House happy. Now it was here in this suite and ready to be seen at their leisure.
“How did you get that? It must have cost you a bundle.”
House shrugged as if the cost were nothing. “Don’t be silly, Jimmy. This is our vacation . . . well, sort of. Why not go for it?”
“But I thought you were here ‘cause I needed a ride. How did you . . . ?”
“Please . . . so many questions. Do you want to see them or not?”
“Of course, when should I be back?”
House nodded and smiled, unconsciously rubbing his right leg. “I’m going to take you up on your offer to use the hot tub. Come back in two hours, and we’ll begin the extravaganza. Be sure to bring some beer and snacks with you when you return . . . you know out of your winnings.”
House smiled, making Wilson forget to ask his question about House’s plan for marriage.
Happily dreaming of the unrestrained pleasure of being with House and the Monster Machines, Wilson ran down the stairs to the casino.
Two hours later he re-entered their suite. Hearing nothing, fear crept through his body as he envisioned House slipping as he entered the in-ground hot tub. Walking carefully into his bedroom, he called out “House?” and felt relief flood through him as he saw the slender man still basking in the heat of the tub.
“Back already?”
Nodding, slightly shy at seeing the obvious nakedness of his friend, Wilson replied, “Yeah, it’s been two hours; I’ve got the beer and stuff. I can come back later.”
“Nah, I think I’ve turned into a prune. Hand me my robe, will ya?”
It was obvious that House had some difficulty getting out, but there were supports available. Quickly putting on one of the elaborate hotel robes, House’s face did look faintly drawn and flushed.
Wanting to ask about House’s leg, Wilson decided not to. House was always so touchy about his leg.
House could tell that Wilson was looking at him. Of course, his friend had seen the ugliness of his leg, but not many times. Silently he sighed as he remembered that time in Atlantic City, shortly before the infarction, when they had had sex and his body had been . . . perfect
The silence became so painful that Wilson felt he had to break it. “You ready to watch the Monsters?”
Seeing House nod, Wilson said, “I’ll go get the beer; you feed the machine.”
Quietly and somewhat strangely, House replied, “Let me go get some clothes on first.”
Finally, Wilson understood. “House, your robe is fine. Just load the machine and I’ll be back.”
House nodded and headed for the video device.
For the next five hours The Monster Machines destroyed each other and the world. The two men enjoyed every minute, including sitting next to each other, propped up on the huge king-size bed. The beer was gone and so were the snacks. The only discouraging words that had been heard all day was a friendly dispute about the tactics of The World Slayer when it had taken a bite out of The Slut of the Solar System.
Wilson reverently put the collection away. He was tired but in a pleasant way. Dinner was on its way up from Room Service and House was in his own room, changing clothes. It had been a great day, but Wilson had to be at the airport early the next day so he thought about going to bed soon. But . . . and it was a very large but, he had to talk to House about this license and his marriage. What was going on?
The food arrived. Wilson decided to put off the discussion until after dinner. He knew that once House told him about his plans to marry . . . someone, that the two men would no longer feel the contentment that had pervaded their recent hours.
After the waiter removed the dishes, Wilson opened his mouth to begin the conversation that could end his happiness, but House beat him to it.
“How much did you win today?”
Looking faintly sheepish, Wilson dropped his chin to his chest. House studied his friend, “Didn’t win anything; lost your shirt, did ya?”
A faint smile crossed the handsome smile as he looked up at his friend, “No, as a matter of fact, I won about a thousand.”
House looked impressed. “Well, at least, we know that your win on Carnival Night wasn’t just a fluke. Of course, for most of the night you were playing against Cuddy and everybody knows she’s easy.”
Wilson looked at his friend but said nothing. “You’ve laid out a lot of money for this weekend, and now you’ve got to drive my car back tomorrow; I’ll re-imburse you for some of your costs.”
“No, no, this is my treat. After all you’ll be gone for several weeks, and I just wanted to do something special.”
Time seemed to stand still as the two men stared at each other. It was time to ask about House’s marriage, but somehow Wilson couldn’t make himself do it, and then the moment was lost. His cell phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, Wilson knew that than just the moment might be lost: it was Jeff Driscoll.
Excusing himself, Wilson took the call into his bedroom. Greg House stood in the sitting room, watching his friend depart. The expression on his face spoke volumes - - almost as if he knew exactly what Driscoll was saying at that moment.
After an hour, Wilson had still not come out of his bedroom. House had never been a shrinking violet, but this time, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to face Wilson. It hadn’t been easy avoiding Wilson’s obvious questions about his statement about marriage. Perhaps, it was better to leave the man alone.
Just as House was about ready to go to his bedroom, Wilson slowly opened his bedroom door. His face was pale. He looked like he had been shot out of cannon or lost his best friend. That thought scared House more than anything. The thought crossed his mind that Wilson had figured it out.
“I . . . I’ve cancelled my flight for tomorrow. Driscoll (House noted the last name) says that there’s no need for me to fly out to Chicago. He can continue with the work. He’ll let me know if I’m needed.”
The last words were said with such hurt that House felt the agony from across the room.
Turning to go back into his bedroom, Wilson murmured, “I’ll be ready to drive back to Princeton by 9:00 am.”
The door closed. House pounded his cane into the four inch pile of the Berber carpeting. His face became a mask; then he whirled around, heading into his bedroom, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
It was a very long night - - for both men. Wilson was up early, but still not as early as House who had made several phone calls in the past few hours. As Wilson dragged himself and his luggage into the sitting room, he noticed that House’s bedroom door was closed. Heading over to knock on the door, his cell phone rang once again.
This time it was Lisa Cuddy. Wilson basically listened to the woman’s words without responding. Finally, he whispered, “We’ll be back in a few hours.”
As Wilson closed his phone, Greg House limped out of his room, his face masking his concern. He raised his eyebrows as if questioning what had occurred.
Wilson felt as if he had been run over by one of the monster machines; he just wanted to get out of there, but he felt he owed an explanation to House.
“That was Cuddy, Sam Crenshaw won’t be returning to PPTH; he’s taken a job with Jeff Driscoll. He’s resigned as Head of Oncology and from the hospital.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. Every time I consulted with him, he was a moron.”
Wilson stood staring at his friend, squinting as if he was trying to bring House into focus. Finally, he asked, “Did you have anything to do with this?”
“With what?”
“Crenshaw leaving; Driscoll dropping me.”
House tried to laugh it off, but he failed miserably. “I did not. I called Cuddy and told her to watch Crenshaw ‘cause I didn’t trust him, but that’s all.”
Wilson knew that there was more to it, but he was too tired to argue for the moment. Greg House was getting married; he had lost his research opportunity, and he was no longer Head of Oncology. It struck Wilson as strange which calamity came first in his mind. Shrugging his shoulders, Wilson asked, “Are you coming with me, or are you meeting someone here?”
House’s face grimaced; he looked even more tired than usual. “No, I’ve changed my mind . . . for the moment; let’s get out of here.”
Wilson set waiting for House in his Lexus. The bags had already been stowed. The check out had already been arranged so he didn’t know why there was a hold-up. Finally, House appeared and the two men began their journey back to Princeton.
They took turns driving; the silence was deafening so they turned to music. As it blasted out, neither man could really have told what they were thinking. Not even the monster machines could compensate for the betrayal the monsters of Chicago and Princeton had wrought.
Arriving back in Princeton, Wilson dropped House by his apartment; then went to take up domicile in another hotel.
HWHWHWHWHW
As all things do, time passed and James Wilson took up the reins of the Department of Oncology again. His friendship with Gregory House was still there, but Wilson kept waiting for the powder keg to explode as House announced his impending marriage.
The powder keg did explode one evening about a month after their return from Atlantic City. Wilson was late getting to the hotel; it was budget time and Cuddy was demanding a great deal of verification for his department’s request. After dragging himself into his rooms, he poured a drink while looking at his mail. One of the envelopes was his credit card statement. Wilson had expected this since he had charged a meal while they were in Atlantic City and several things since.
Wilson looked at the statement for several seconds, acting as if it were in Greek. It didn’t make sense. The statement said that he had charges for the last month amounting to over two thousand dollars! His legs felt weak; his world began to turn black. Shaking his head, he managed to get to the bed and collapsed there.
About ready to pick up the phone and call the company to complain about the mistake, the sure knowledge came to mind about who had caused the problem. The only way that he could express this knowledge, however, was to bellow:
“HOUSE!”
Sure that he knew what his friend had done; Wilson immediately grabbed the statement and headed out the door to confront that spawn of Satan who had inflicted these ungodly charges on him.
Later, James Wilson could not remember how he had driven to House’s apartment, but he vividly remembered pounding on the door and demanding to be let in.
House seemed to be expecting him as he shouted out, “Come in, Jimmy!”
**Jimmy? I’m going to show him a new use for that cane!**
Bursting in Wilson stood in front of House, who was lounging on his sofa. “What’s the matter, Jimmy? You look upset.”
Wilson’s eyes widened as he tried to restore control to his thoughts and actions. After all, if he killed the man, he wouldn’t get his money back. “What were you thinking of? You told me that you were paying for the hotel in Atlantic City. You even charged the Monster Machines collection to my card. You’re an idiot. I want my money back.”
House didn’t look the least disturbed. “Take it easy, Jimmy. Sit down and relax; you’ve had a busy day.”
“Are you nuts? You’ve just put well-over two thousand dollars on my card and you say relax?”
“Sure, you can afford it. After all, you’re not paying alimony to two of your wives, or is it three now and I haven’t asked you to bail me out lately, so you must have money.”
Wilson sat there looking at the floor and thinking about that for a moment; then moved to the attack again. “But I didn’t want to go to Atlantic City; you kidnapped me and then you make me pay for it.”
House’s eyes filled with affection. “Relax, Jimmy. It’s not that bad.”
For a moment Wilson hesitated as he saw the strange look in House’s eyes. “What do you mean, it’s not that bad. You can afford to pay for the charges.”
House moved closer to the younger man, “Well, of course, I can, but I’m saving my money.”
A bell rang in Wilson’s head, “What are you saving your money for?”
“For a honeymoon, of course.”
Wilson sat there blinking and blinking. The hurt was so deep that he could barely breathe - - NOW, he wanted to talk about marriage. Finally, Wilson found the words, “You want me to pay for my own kidnapping so that you can save money to go on a honeymoon?”
“That’s about it. I thought you’d be pleased.”
Wilson stood up ready to lunge for the door but was stopped by an iron hand that wrapped around his wrist. Wilson looked down at the man still seated on the sofa. “Let go of me.”
House sighed, using his cane to stand up. Using his hand-hold on the younger man, House began to pull him.
Wilson tried to break free and have a conversation at the same time. “What are you doing?”
House turned, his eyes sending some message that Wilson couldn’t read. “Let’s go to bed.”
Wilson stopped with a jerk, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh come on, you’re dead tired. We can talk about this later.”
Wilson acknowledged his exhaustion but wasn’t about to sleep on that sofa again. “Okay so I’m tired, but remember we tried that when I was staying here. I’m not sleeping on that sofa.”
House released Wilson’s wrist as he turned to look into the man’s eyes with his most licentious gaze. “Well, really, Jamie; I am going to be a married man.”
House stared at the red blush on his friend. **He blushes so beautifully.**
“Come on; we’ll get a few hours rest and then talk.”
Suddenly, Wilson realized what House had called him. In an emotional voice, Wilson whispered, “I don’t want you to ever call me that again.”
House leaned more heavily on his cane, looking more confused, “Not call you what?”
Wilson felt like there was an orange caught in his throat, but he managed to whisper, “Jamie.”
Now, House understood. “Why not?”
“You . . . you called me that when we were in Atlantic City . . . ten years ago.”
“I know, but why don’t you want me to call you that now?”
“It reminds me of what we did; I was drunk, and so I’d like you to stop it.”
House stared at his friend, trying to read Wilson’s thoughts. **In for a penny.**
You mean when we made love?”
Wilson’s eyes opened wide. He had never expected to hear those words from House. “We didn’t make love; we were drunk . . .WE HAD SEX.”
House smiled so adorably that Wilson felt his heart speed up like that time House had slipped him some amphetamines. They continued to stare at each other and then the world turned upside down.
“Jamie, I wasn’t drunk . . . I wasn’t drunk at all.”
Wilson’s mouth kept opening and closing like a guppy trying to grab food in the water. His mind whirled; his eyes lost focus, and his willpower was gone. He quickly found himself being led into the bedroom. His legs functioned, but his brain didn’t.
Within what seemed like seconds, both men were naked and in bed. Greg House pulled his gorgeous friend to his body and began to lavish kisses around his lips, neck and chest.
It felt so good that Wilson let him. After all, House was a doctor, he could tell himself that this was an exam.
Wilson’s groin began to join in the response, however, and this ensemble finally brought a little bit of coherence to the oncologist’s other head. “What are you doing, House?”
House frowned, although he was obviously enjoying himself. “Don’t you know; gee, I know I learned all about this stuff in Med School.”
Wilson tried to pull himself away but was kept in House’s arms. “Stop it, House. You’re going to get married. I know I’ve committed adultery before, but I’m not going to fool around with you.”
“Good, ‘cause I don’t want to fool around. I intend to make you an honest man.”
Now it was Wilson’s turn to frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”
House’s eyebrows flashed up and down as his scruffy face took on an even more lascivious leer. “I told you that I was saving up for a honeymoon. Well, who do you think it was with, you moron?”
“Huh?”
“Gee, that was insightful. Look in the drawer next to the bed.”
It wasn’t difficult to turn in the bed while being wrapped in the arms of Octopus Man, but James Wilson managed to do it. He found a slip of paper which he read quickly. It was a license to register for a Civil Union in the state of New Jersey. Wilson had known about the recently passed law, but he didn’t think House did . . . politics wasn’t his great interest.
Looking back at House, Wilson asked shyly, “You want to do this?”
For a moment, House looked extremely insecure, but his eyes twinkled as he said, “I’ve been waiting twenty years for you to be free from those wives of yours, I figure I better get in now, before you fall for someone else.”
Wilson studied his friend’s anxious face for the truth then replied, “There is no one else, House. Never has been.”
House pulled Wilson into his arms and gave him a kiss that took his breath away. Pulling free, House asked, “Let’s go get the license tomorrow. We have to wait three days for the registration. I think we can find something to do in the meantime.”
“You mean . . . like work?”
House gave him, one of his ‘you got me’ looks, but drew the man back into his arms, “Nah, Cuddy’s given us some time off so we can do this right. After all when I pay for a honeymoon, I go all out.”
“How did you get Cuddy to do that?”
“I’ve never told you everything I know about her, have I?”
“YOU blackmailed her?”
“Nah, I just promised her that if I could marry you; I’d promise to be a good boy.”
“She wouldn’t believe that.” Wilson suddenly turned to look directly at the beloved face in the darkened room. “YOU TOLD CUDDY?”
“Sure, why not. I had to when she asked me why I was so desperate to keep you at the hospital.”
House seemed to realize what he had just said might not have been a good idea. Figuring that kisses would distract his lover, House began the onslaught. Wilson took all of them and more. Exhaustion hit both men almost simultaneously. As the two men were sliding into oblivion, House heard the younger man whisper, “This isn’t finished yet, House.”
Making one more effort, Wilson rose up to gently plant a kiss on his lover’s nose. “Here’s my heart, House.”
THE END
Title: Monsters: Atlantic City and Elsewhere (1b/1)
Author: longstrt
Pairing: Drs. Wilson and House
Rating: slash
Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters, but David Shore does.
Note: This concludes the story.
Summary: House and Wilson enjoy their suite.
Additional Note: Happy Birthday to Robert Sean Leonard.
**HOUSE IS GETTING MARRIED?**
James Wilson stood in the luxurious sitting room between the suite’s two bedrooms. His amazement was without parallel. House’s words about needing a license to get married, kept running through his mind. He was sure that he must look like a frightened deer in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, but his mind wouldn’t function.
**HOUSE IS GETTING MARRIED?**
Across the room, Greg House was very pleased with the reaction he was getting from his long time friend. It couldn’t have been better if he had prepped himself for hours. For a moment, House was afraid that his friend was going into catatonic shock, but being the diagnostician that he was, he knew that it was merely Jimmy’s . . . er, natural tendency to be overwhelmed.
Finally, thoughts returned to James Wilson’s grey matter so that he could begin to form a question. “You’re getting . . .”
The question never was asked, however, because Wilson’s cell phone took that moment to ring. Looking at his watch, Wilson noticed that it really wasn’t that late, but he also felt like he had entered a time warp since House had made his little “announcement.”
Although Wilson was prepared to ignore the call, when he discovered that it was from Lisa Cuddy, he sighed and answered the phone. He did not fail to register the fact that House had moved closer so that he could readily hear the conversation.
Wilson turned his back and immediately became embroiled in what seemed to be a very upsetting conversation.
Greg House wasn’t a genius for nothing. When he heard small excerpts from Wilson’s side of the conversation, he knew things weren’t going well.
“I asked him to call.”
“Well, that’s what I was going to bring out.”
“Why can’t he wait?”
and even more conclusive:
“Why does he want Crenshaw?”
all fed into the data machine that was Gregory House. **Oh boy, this is getting good!**
Finally, Wilson closed his phone, his shoulders slumped in dejection. Looking up, the brown eyes mirrored the confusion that Wilson felt. Licking his lips and pinching the bridge of his nose, Wilson finally whispered, “Driscoll called Cuddy. He needs some of my research and he says that he can’t wait. Cuddy called to ask if she could get into my office to find the stuff.”
House frowned, “What was that about Crenshaw?”
Wilson looked even more dumbfounded. “Cuddy told Jeff that I was flying out the day after tomorrow, but he said that he couldn’t wait and could Crenshaw bring the required documents out ASAP.”
Wilson dropped his head to his chest, not looking at House who let a brief flicker of glee enter his blue eyes, before restoring his bored look. Then Wilson uttered the words that threatened to shatter all of his plans.
“House, get packed; I’m driving back to Princeton tonight so that I can get a plane out of Newark. Wilson suddenly turned around again, demanding, “Did you want to stay here? I’m sure you can find some way to get back to Princeton.”
House’s eyes widened in dismay, but he thought fast. “That’s ridiculous, Jimmy. You’ve got a flight out of Atlantic City on Monday. Just fax the stuff that Driscoll needs to Crenshaw, and he can take them onto Chicago. I don’t know why you even have to go all that way, but isn’t that more sensible?”
For a moment, Wilson said nothing, but it did make sense. He could use the in-room fax system and have the materials to Crenshaw within minutes. That would save him a long drive back to Princeton. Nodding once, he turned towards his room, trying to organize in his mind what he needed to send to Crenshaw.
Several hours later, Wilson had all the documents sent. He had contacted the other oncologist, who told him that he was going out on an early morning flight. Another call to Driscoll’s home phone was a total failure. Vague suspicions were beginning to harden into concrete concerns for Wilson.
By the time this was all accomplished, it was in the early hours of the morning. Wilson suddenly remembered House’s announcement, so he decided to see if House was still up so that they could talk.
Instead he found the door closed. Wilson knew that House often suffered from insomnia so if his friend was actually getting some sleep, he didn’t want to disturb him. Tomorrow would be soon enough. If James Wilson had x-ray vision, he could have seen the small smile on House’s face as the younger man turned towards his own bedroom.
The next day, Sunday, Wilson was up . . . early; House was not. The younger man shook his head as he thought about what House had said. **Obviously, the jerk is trying to avoid me.** Wilson phoned down to Room Service for some breakfast. His order rapidly changed from simple fare to an elaborate and eclectic array of choices when he remembered that this all was going on House’s credit card. After all House had forced him to come here, hadn’t he?
Just about the time breakfast arrived, so did House. He wandered out of his bedroom, looking just showered, scruffy, and if the truth were told - - totally edible. For a moment Wilson wished that he had put House on his breakfast order and not all the other “goodies”, but House was getting married so that put an end to those thoughts.
“It’s about time, breakfast arrived; where’s the coffee?”
Wilson signed for the meal then promptly went over to pour out coffee for the two of them. House looked like he was in pain and had not slept too well. His bloodshot eyes told the oncologist more than any of House’s words.
“Rough night?”
“Yeah, some idiot kept playing a conga drum!”
Wilson looked at his friend as if he had lost his mind (what was different about that?). “Did you have someone in your room that I don’t know about?”
Rubbing his forehead and neck, it became readily apparent that House’s whole body must be aching - - the long drive and other activities had done little to help House’s body relax.
“There’s a great hot tub in my bedroom, if you want to soak. I thought I’d eat something then go down and play the slots or something. You’re welcome to use anything in there.”
The implications of that innocent statement filled Greg House’s lascivious mind, but he held his tongue. “Thanks, I might do that. How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
Wilson looked faintly puzzled. Shrugging his shoulders he said, “Well, since I hadn’t planned to gamble, I don’t have that much cash . . . AND”, continuing before House could break in, “I don’t intend on going to an ATM, just to get more money. I still want to get to Chicago, financially sound.”
House laughed, “Yeah, this comes from the man who is personally paying alimony which is almost equivalent to the national debt.”
Wilson gave him a look like, let’s drop it. “Okay, okay. I’ll be gone for an hour or so. Where do you want to go for dinner?”
Now House looked smug and disingenuous. “Why go out? We can eat in; I’ve got something special for us to do.”
Faintly apprehensive, remembering their earlier conversation, Wilson inquired guardedly, “What kind of something?”
Smiling House proudly announced, “I managed to get hold of the DVD collection, ‘Monster Machines: Make and Break the World’. I thought we could watch some of that today.”
Wilson’s eyes began to blink in amazement. He had been hunting for that collection for months. He had wanted to give it to House for Christmas but couldn’t find it. He knew that it cost several hundred dollars, but well . . . it would make House happy. Now it was here in this suite and ready to be seen at their leisure.
“How did you get that? It must have cost you a bundle.”
House shrugged as if the cost were nothing. “Don’t be silly, Jimmy. This is our vacation . . . well, sort of. Why not go for it?”
“But I thought you were here ‘cause I needed a ride. How did you . . . ?”
“Please . . . so many questions. Do you want to see them or not?”
“Of course, when should I be back?”
House nodded and smiled, unconsciously rubbing his right leg. “I’m going to take you up on your offer to use the hot tub. Come back in two hours, and we’ll begin the extravaganza. Be sure to bring some beer and snacks with you when you return . . . you know out of your winnings.”
House smiled, making Wilson forget to ask his question about House’s plan for marriage.
Happily dreaming of the unrestrained pleasure of being with House and the Monster Machines, Wilson ran down the stairs to the casino.
Two hours later he re-entered their suite. Hearing nothing, fear crept through his body as he envisioned House slipping as he entered the in-ground hot tub. Walking carefully into his bedroom, he called out “House?” and felt relief flood through him as he saw the slender man still basking in the heat of the tub.
“Back already?”
Nodding, slightly shy at seeing the obvious nakedness of his friend, Wilson replied, “Yeah, it’s been two hours; I’ve got the beer and stuff. I can come back later.”
“Nah, I think I’ve turned into a prune. Hand me my robe, will ya?”
It was obvious that House had some difficulty getting out, but there were supports available. Quickly putting on one of the elaborate hotel robes, House’s face did look faintly drawn and flushed.
Wanting to ask about House’s leg, Wilson decided not to. House was always so touchy about his leg.
House could tell that Wilson was looking at him. Of course, his friend had seen the ugliness of his leg, but not many times. Silently he sighed as he remembered that time in Atlantic City, shortly before the infarction, when they had had sex and his body had been . . . perfect
The silence became so painful that Wilson felt he had to break it. “You ready to watch the Monsters?”
Seeing House nod, Wilson said, “I’ll go get the beer; you feed the machine.”
Quietly and somewhat strangely, House replied, “Let me go get some clothes on first.”
Finally, Wilson understood. “House, your robe is fine. Just load the machine and I’ll be back.”
House nodded and headed for the video device.
For the next five hours The Monster Machines destroyed each other and the world. The two men enjoyed every minute, including sitting next to each other, propped up on the huge king-size bed. The beer was gone and so were the snacks. The only discouraging words that had been heard all day was a friendly dispute about the tactics of The World Slayer when it had taken a bite out of The Slut of the Solar System.
Wilson reverently put the collection away. He was tired but in a pleasant way. Dinner was on its way up from Room Service and House was in his own room, changing clothes. It had been a great day, but Wilson had to be at the airport early the next day so he thought about going to bed soon. But . . . and it was a very large but, he had to talk to House about this license and his marriage. What was going on?
The food arrived. Wilson decided to put off the discussion until after dinner. He knew that once House told him about his plans to marry . . . someone, that the two men would no longer feel the contentment that had pervaded their recent hours.
After the waiter removed the dishes, Wilson opened his mouth to begin the conversation that could end his happiness, but House beat him to it.
“How much did you win today?”
Looking faintly sheepish, Wilson dropped his chin to his chest. House studied his friend, “Didn’t win anything; lost your shirt, did ya?”
A faint smile crossed the handsome smile as he looked up at his friend, “No, as a matter of fact, I won about a thousand.”
House looked impressed. “Well, at least, we know that your win on Carnival Night wasn’t just a fluke. Of course, for most of the night you were playing against Cuddy and everybody knows she’s easy.”
Wilson looked at his friend but said nothing. “You’ve laid out a lot of money for this weekend, and now you’ve got to drive my car back tomorrow; I’ll re-imburse you for some of your costs.”
“No, no, this is my treat. After all you’ll be gone for several weeks, and I just wanted to do something special.”
Time seemed to stand still as the two men stared at each other. It was time to ask about House’s marriage, but somehow Wilson couldn’t make himself do it, and then the moment was lost. His cell phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, Wilson knew that than just the moment might be lost: it was Jeff Driscoll.
Excusing himself, Wilson took the call into his bedroom. Greg House stood in the sitting room, watching his friend depart. The expression on his face spoke volumes - - almost as if he knew exactly what Driscoll was saying at that moment.
After an hour, Wilson had still not come out of his bedroom. House had never been a shrinking violet, but this time, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to face Wilson. It hadn’t been easy avoiding Wilson’s obvious questions about his statement about marriage. Perhaps, it was better to leave the man alone.
Just as House was about ready to go to his bedroom, Wilson slowly opened his bedroom door. His face was pale. He looked like he had been shot out of cannon or lost his best friend. That thought scared House more than anything. The thought crossed his mind that Wilson had figured it out.
“I . . . I’ve cancelled my flight for tomorrow. Driscoll (House noted the last name) says that there’s no need for me to fly out to Chicago. He can continue with the work. He’ll let me know if I’m needed.”
The last words were said with such hurt that House felt the agony from across the room.
Turning to go back into his bedroom, Wilson murmured, “I’ll be ready to drive back to Princeton by 9:00 am.”
The door closed. House pounded his cane into the four inch pile of the Berber carpeting. His face became a mask; then he whirled around, heading into his bedroom, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
It was a very long night - - for both men. Wilson was up early, but still not as early as House who had made several phone calls in the past few hours. As Wilson dragged himself and his luggage into the sitting room, he noticed that House’s bedroom door was closed. Heading over to knock on the door, his cell phone rang once again.
This time it was Lisa Cuddy. Wilson basically listened to the woman’s words without responding. Finally, he whispered, “We’ll be back in a few hours.”
As Wilson closed his phone, Greg House limped out of his room, his face masking his concern. He raised his eyebrows as if questioning what had occurred.
Wilson felt as if he had been run over by one of the monster machines; he just wanted to get out of there, but he felt he owed an explanation to House.
“That was Cuddy, Sam Crenshaw won’t be returning to PPTH; he’s taken a job with Jeff Driscoll. He’s resigned as Head of Oncology and from the hospital.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. Every time I consulted with him, he was a moron.”
Wilson stood staring at his friend, squinting as if he was trying to bring House into focus. Finally, he asked, “Did you have anything to do with this?”
“With what?”
“Crenshaw leaving; Driscoll dropping me.”
House tried to laugh it off, but he failed miserably. “I did not. I called Cuddy and told her to watch Crenshaw ‘cause I didn’t trust him, but that’s all.”
Wilson knew that there was more to it, but he was too tired to argue for the moment. Greg House was getting married; he had lost his research opportunity, and he was no longer Head of Oncology. It struck Wilson as strange which calamity came first in his mind. Shrugging his shoulders, Wilson asked, “Are you coming with me, or are you meeting someone here?”
House’s face grimaced; he looked even more tired than usual. “No, I’ve changed my mind . . . for the moment; let’s get out of here.”
Wilson set waiting for House in his Lexus. The bags had already been stowed. The check out had already been arranged so he didn’t know why there was a hold-up. Finally, House appeared and the two men began their journey back to Princeton.
They took turns driving; the silence was deafening so they turned to music. As it blasted out, neither man could really have told what they were thinking. Not even the monster machines could compensate for the betrayal the monsters of Chicago and Princeton had wrought.
Arriving back in Princeton, Wilson dropped House by his apartment; then went to take up domicile in another hotel.
HWHWHWHWHW
As all things do, time passed and James Wilson took up the reins of the Department of Oncology again. His friendship with Gregory House was still there, but Wilson kept waiting for the powder keg to explode as House announced his impending marriage.
The powder keg did explode one evening about a month after their return from Atlantic City. Wilson was late getting to the hotel; it was budget time and Cuddy was demanding a great deal of verification for his department’s request. After dragging himself into his rooms, he poured a drink while looking at his mail. One of the envelopes was his credit card statement. Wilson had expected this since he had charged a meal while they were in Atlantic City and several things since.
Wilson looked at the statement for several seconds, acting as if it were in Greek. It didn’t make sense. The statement said that he had charges for the last month amounting to over two thousand dollars! His legs felt weak; his world began to turn black. Shaking his head, he managed to get to the bed and collapsed there.
About ready to pick up the phone and call the company to complain about the mistake, the sure knowledge came to mind about who had caused the problem. The only way that he could express this knowledge, however, was to bellow:
“HOUSE!”
Sure that he knew what his friend had done; Wilson immediately grabbed the statement and headed out the door to confront that spawn of Satan who had inflicted these ungodly charges on him.
Later, James Wilson could not remember how he had driven to House’s apartment, but he vividly remembered pounding on the door and demanding to be let in.
House seemed to be expecting him as he shouted out, “Come in, Jimmy!”
**Jimmy? I’m going to show him a new use for that cane!**
Bursting in Wilson stood in front of House, who was lounging on his sofa. “What’s the matter, Jimmy? You look upset.”
Wilson’s eyes widened as he tried to restore control to his thoughts and actions. After all, if he killed the man, he wouldn’t get his money back. “What were you thinking of? You told me that you were paying for the hotel in Atlantic City. You even charged the Monster Machines collection to my card. You’re an idiot. I want my money back.”
House didn’t look the least disturbed. “Take it easy, Jimmy. Sit down and relax; you’ve had a busy day.”
“Are you nuts? You’ve just put well-over two thousand dollars on my card and you say relax?”
“Sure, you can afford it. After all, you’re not paying alimony to two of your wives, or is it three now and I haven’t asked you to bail me out lately, so you must have money.”
Wilson sat there looking at the floor and thinking about that for a moment; then moved to the attack again. “But I didn’t want to go to Atlantic City; you kidnapped me and then you make me pay for it.”
House’s eyes filled with affection. “Relax, Jimmy. It’s not that bad.”
For a moment Wilson hesitated as he saw the strange look in House’s eyes. “What do you mean, it’s not that bad. You can afford to pay for the charges.”
House moved closer to the younger man, “Well, of course, I can, but I’m saving my money.”
A bell rang in Wilson’s head, “What are you saving your money for?”
“For a honeymoon, of course.”
Wilson sat there blinking and blinking. The hurt was so deep that he could barely breathe - - NOW, he wanted to talk about marriage. Finally, Wilson found the words, “You want me to pay for my own kidnapping so that you can save money to go on a honeymoon?”
“That’s about it. I thought you’d be pleased.”
Wilson stood up ready to lunge for the door but was stopped by an iron hand that wrapped around his wrist. Wilson looked down at the man still seated on the sofa. “Let go of me.”
House sighed, using his cane to stand up. Using his hand-hold on the younger man, House began to pull him.
Wilson tried to break free and have a conversation at the same time. “What are you doing?”
House turned, his eyes sending some message that Wilson couldn’t read. “Let’s go to bed.”
Wilson stopped with a jerk, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh come on, you’re dead tired. We can talk about this later.”
Wilson acknowledged his exhaustion but wasn’t about to sleep on that sofa again. “Okay so I’m tired, but remember we tried that when I was staying here. I’m not sleeping on that sofa.”
House released Wilson’s wrist as he turned to look into the man’s eyes with his most licentious gaze. “Well, really, Jamie; I am going to be a married man.”
House stared at the red blush on his friend. **He blushes so beautifully.**
“Come on; we’ll get a few hours rest and then talk.”
Suddenly, Wilson realized what House had called him. In an emotional voice, Wilson whispered, “I don’t want you to ever call me that again.”
House leaned more heavily on his cane, looking more confused, “Not call you what?”
Wilson felt like there was an orange caught in his throat, but he managed to whisper, “Jamie.”
Now, House understood. “Why not?”
“You . . . you called me that when we were in Atlantic City . . . ten years ago.”
“I know, but why don’t you want me to call you that now?”
“It reminds me of what we did; I was drunk, and so I’d like you to stop it.”
House stared at his friend, trying to read Wilson’s thoughts. **In for a penny.**
You mean when we made love?”
Wilson’s eyes opened wide. He had never expected to hear those words from House. “We didn’t make love; we were drunk . . .WE HAD SEX.”
House smiled so adorably that Wilson felt his heart speed up like that time House had slipped him some amphetamines. They continued to stare at each other and then the world turned upside down.
“Jamie, I wasn’t drunk . . . I wasn’t drunk at all.”
Wilson’s mouth kept opening and closing like a guppy trying to grab food in the water. His mind whirled; his eyes lost focus, and his willpower was gone. He quickly found himself being led into the bedroom. His legs functioned, but his brain didn’t.
Within what seemed like seconds, both men were naked and in bed. Greg House pulled his gorgeous friend to his body and began to lavish kisses around his lips, neck and chest.
It felt so good that Wilson let him. After all, House was a doctor, he could tell himself that this was an exam.
Wilson’s groin began to join in the response, however, and this ensemble finally brought a little bit of coherence to the oncologist’s other head. “What are you doing, House?”
House frowned, although he was obviously enjoying himself. “Don’t you know; gee, I know I learned all about this stuff in Med School.”
Wilson tried to pull himself away but was kept in House’s arms. “Stop it, House. You’re going to get married. I know I’ve committed adultery before, but I’m not going to fool around with you.”
“Good, ‘cause I don’t want to fool around. I intend to make you an honest man.”
Now it was Wilson’s turn to frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”
House’s eyebrows flashed up and down as his scruffy face took on an even more lascivious leer. “I told you that I was saving up for a honeymoon. Well, who do you think it was with, you moron?”
“Huh?”
“Gee, that was insightful. Look in the drawer next to the bed.”
It wasn’t difficult to turn in the bed while being wrapped in the arms of Octopus Man, but James Wilson managed to do it. He found a slip of paper which he read quickly. It was a license to register for a Civil Union in the state of New Jersey. Wilson had known about the recently passed law, but he didn’t think House did . . . politics wasn’t his great interest.
Looking back at House, Wilson asked shyly, “You want to do this?”
For a moment, House looked extremely insecure, but his eyes twinkled as he said, “I’ve been waiting twenty years for you to be free from those wives of yours, I figure I better get in now, before you fall for someone else.”
Wilson studied his friend’s anxious face for the truth then replied, “There is no one else, House. Never has been.”
House pulled Wilson into his arms and gave him a kiss that took his breath away. Pulling free, House asked, “Let’s go get the license tomorrow. We have to wait three days for the registration. I think we can find something to do in the meantime.”
“You mean . . . like work?”
House gave him, one of his ‘you got me’ looks, but drew the man back into his arms, “Nah, Cuddy’s given us some time off so we can do this right. After all when I pay for a honeymoon, I go all out.”
“How did you get Cuddy to do that?”
“I’ve never told you everything I know about her, have I?”
“YOU blackmailed her?”
“Nah, I just promised her that if I could marry you; I’d promise to be a good boy.”
“She wouldn’t believe that.” Wilson suddenly turned to look directly at the beloved face in the darkened room. “YOU TOLD CUDDY?”
“Sure, why not. I had to when she asked me why I was so desperate to keep you at the hospital.”
House seemed to realize what he had just said might not have been a good idea. Figuring that kisses would distract his lover, House began the onslaught. Wilson took all of them and more. Exhaustion hit both men almost simultaneously. As the two men were sliding into oblivion, House heard the younger man whisper, “This isn’t finished yet, House.”
Making one more effort, Wilson rose up to gently plant a kiss on his lover’s nose. “Here’s my heart, House.”
THE END