Fiction: James Wilson Got Married (2/2)
This completes the story. Hope you enjoy it.
Part 1 can be found here: http://community.livejournal.com/house_wilson/3072052.html#cutid1
Title: James Wilson Got Married (Part 2)
Author: longrtrt
Pairing: HW
Rating: PG for slash
Summary: Completion of part 2
“It’s simple; when people are getting married they sometimes sleep together!”
Stunned, Wilson stood there, not knowing what to do next. Should he follow the idiot who threw out that remark or what? Flopping down on the superhumongous bed, Wilson’s face continued to express all his doubts and feelings.
He had known Greg House since the medical convention, and he loved him since that time, but it would never work out. He had been intimate with Driscoll and found men to his liking, but he had needed to be “normal” . . . whatever that was, so he had settled for this crazy friendship, but he had divorced and remarried twice more, hoping to find an answer to the itch that could never be satisfied.
Amber had come close, but she still wasn’t House . . . and now the man had hinted at marriage. Throwing himself back on the bed, Wilson laid there, waiting for the bewhiskered man to return. Knowing House, it would be as if it had never happened.
Hours later, Wilson sat, munching a steak and potatoes. Why should he starve himself as if pining away for House to return? Finally, there was a noise at the door, as House limped in, looking apprehensive but brazen as well. The blue eyes, seeing the steak and potatoes, headed right for the plate, but Wilson stopped him. Lifting another plate cover with even more food, Wilson offered it to his friend.
For the next few minutes, the only sound was food being eaten, but finally Wilson decided that it was time to attack. “Were you serious about what you said, before you left?”
“What’d I say?”
Wilson’s handsome scrunched up in disgust. “YOU know very well what you said; about . . . people sleeping together when they were getting married.”
“Oh that.”
“Yes, that. What did you mean?”
House’s scruffy face took on a look of monumental disbelief. “Oh come on, Jimmy. Just because you put each of your wives up on a pedestal and worshipped them before bedding them doesn’t mean that everybody does.”
The scorn radiated across the table, but Wilson held his ground. This was too important to just let pass by. “Are you saying that you weren’t suggesting that we sleep together in that big bed and then get married?”
House’s chin dropped to his chest for a moment then he rose up so that his blue eyes penetrated into Wilson’s gaze. “Do you want to get married?”
For a moment Wilson hesitated then took a deep sigh and replied, “If you’re asking if I want to marry you; I’m not sure, but I do know that you just can’t drive to a place and get married - - - not in New Jersey. You have to get the license in the jurisdiction where you live and then you have to wait three days.”
Silence.
Silence.
“Oh.”
“Why did you ask me, anyhow?”
“How come you’re such an authority on New Jersey Civil Union laws?”
Without thinking, Wilson quickly replied, “Looked it up, of course.”
“Why, were you going to see if they could work for you and Jeffey Boy?”
Wilson’s eyebrows scrunched up as he tried to understand the reference; then a light hit and he stood quickly. “You really are a moron. I’m going to Boston to teach for four weeks, nothing else.”
Greg House had never been abashed in his life, but even he could hear the truth spewing out from Wilson’s enraged mouth. “Okay, sorry, but you seemed so anxious to run off to Boston that I figured that you were going to relive those glorious moments of twenty years ago for old times sake.”
Wilson’s mouth dropped open; he felt faintly light-headed as he realized the implication of those words. “How . . . how did you know about that?”
“Oh come on now, do you think that I’ve just started using private detectives?”
“But we didn’t even know each other, before you bailed me out.”
House’s face took on the look of assessing a moron, but held back his sarcasm. “I noticed you and Jeffey making googoo eyes at each other at the convention. I figured this might be interesting so I had you followed, and then when you threw that bottle through the window, I knew you weren’t one of the stiffs at the convention. And as they say, the rest is history.”
James Wilson felt like there was a rift in the universe, and he was being sucked into it. Collapsing on the far side of the bed, he held his head in his hands and moaned his disbelief. Finally, finding his voice out of his dry throat, he whispered, “You found me interesting because I was having it on with a man and then I threw a bottle through a window?”
House nodded but added, “Not so much the guy, but the bottle was a nice touch; didn’t think a guy with those balls should rot in the Big House so I paid the bail.”
The deep brown eyes lifted, sadness and despair gently reflected in his next words, “That’s our friendship in a nutshell, isn’t it? My aunt’s wedding was just an excuse to you - - - a little sex, some fun and games, the word marriage, and then on Monday we go back to the usual routine.”
Once again Wilson stood up but it was evident that he was exhausted and heartsick. “Good night, House.”
House frowned at the reaction; Wilson had always come out punching when his friend ragged him . . . well, except for the Amber thing. Why was he acting like this now?
“Where you going?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not staying here.”
“I’m not paying for another room.”
The glare that Wilson threw at his friend would have frozen the Arctic as he slammed the door to the room.
Saturday was a miserable day and not just because of the weather. House kept expecting to see his friend, but there were no signs of Wilson. He knew the man wouldn’t take off without him, but where would he go? For that matter, why had House behaved so stupidly towards the one person who was important to him?
Wandering around, his leg began to throb; even more importantly, he could feel one of his migraines coming on. **Great, my leg hurts, my head hurts, and Jimmy’s not speaking to me. What a lousy idea this turned into.**
Wilson eased into the room, trying to avoid House’s daunting sarcasm, but all he found was his friend slumped in a large comfortable chair that came with the room. The room was dimmed and, quite frankly, House looked wretched. Wilson was about to say something when House rose up and raced for the bathroom.
For the next several minutes, House wrestled over the toilet with nausea and pain. Finally, collapsing back on the floor, his body drenched in sweat and misery, he heard the bathroom door open. Wilson’s dark silhouette stood against the light of the bedroom. “That’s what drinking will do for you, especially with Vicodin. I’m sure you remember that merry Christmas.”
Wilson turned to leave as House gasped out, “Migraine, you moron. Some diagnostician you are.”
Wilson turned, wrinkled his nose at the not yet flushed toilet, stepping forward to mumble, “Great, just great. What have you taken for it?”
“You got any LSD?”
Wilson’s faced hardened for a moment; then seeing the obvious misery that his friend was in, he set to work. Within less than 15 minutes, House had been wiped clean, the bathroom had been deodorized, and the whimpering man had been put into bed with only a dim light showing.
Wilson sat in the chair, just a few feet away from the bed, and watched. What a glorious trip this had been. Free time with House . . . wow! Finding out his friend had spied on him, had lured him here to Atlantic City under false pretenses, and then gotten sick, were just a few of the highlights. How lucky! Boston was looking better and better.
“I think I’ll go do some gambling, and let you die in peace.”
Almost to the door, Wilson heard the words that stopped his heart. “Remember the last time I had a migraine like this?”
“You mean the one you induced yourself in order to show Weber’s drug was a fake? I really wouldn’t bring that up, if I were you . . . No pun intended.”
House raised his head a miniscule amount so that his watering blue eyes could be seen. “Not THAT migraine, you moron. The one at the medical convention . . . the one where you gave me the WILSON SPECIAL!”
Wilson reviewed the images of that treatment as they ran around in his head. It was that treatment that forever spun himself into the web of Greg House’s life.
“I don’t remember that.”
“Liar.” Once again a blue eye and its hovering eyebrow arced above the pillow, staring straight at the younger man.
Wilson dropped his head then mumbled, “Yeah, well maybe I do remember it, but it’s not going to happen here.”
“Aw mom, I’m in pain!” whined the slender patient.
Wilson smiled slightly then shook his head. No wonder he had loved the man for so long. “Okay, okay, one WILSON SPECIAL, but that’s it. We go to my mom’s tomorrow, stay for a few hours, and then return to Princeton.”
“Thanks, mommy”, the voice once again whined.
James Wilson began removing his clothes, and while Greg House didn’t appear to be paying attention, he most definitely was. Climbing into the bed, Wilson moved over and gently pulled the taller man into his arms, gently adjusting him so that House’s face was up against Wilson’s groin. The oncologist began to massage every muscle in the aching body, letting his own musk entice his sick friend.
“Hmmm, God you smell good.”
“Thanks so much. Now shut up and relax.”
Within minutes the WILSON SPECIAL began to take effect, and within a few more minutes, Greg House had sunk into the deepest sleep he had had since Amber’s death.
What seemed like minutes later, House opened his blue eyes and stared at the man across the room. It was a fairly bright day, but the effects of the migraine had seemed to have worn off. Staring quietly at the younger man, House was afraid to speak up for fear of breaking the contentment, but soon Wilson could feel the continued stare.
“Well, it’s about time. It’s about noon; it’s check-out time soon and we better get on the road. The weather looks like snow.”
House crawled out of bed and within half an hour the two men were on the road. Pleasantville soon appeared on the horizon and yet the two men had not spoken about their recent differences or . . . anything else. It was almost as if they had silently agreed to not discuss what was so obviously occupying both minds.
Naomi Samuelson was a favorite of both men. She was the elder sister of Wilson’s mother, Miriam. Both women had taken a liking to the gruff-natured isolationist that was Greg House. They were pleased that the House and Wilson had become friends. They were also aware of the rough spot that the friendship had just overcome with regards to Amber. Therefore, when the two men arrived, they were welcomed with sincere feelings but a rather laid back demonstration of those feelings.
Within a few minutes of the ceremony, however, both men had settled in. Surprisingly, House was playing the piano, due to the arthritic hands of Uncle Saul which had suddenly appeared at just the right moment. James was talking in the kitchen with his mother and aunt.
“James, dear; Naomi and I are so glad that Gregory came with you. We haven’t seen much of you, and, of course, you always come to Naomi’s weddings.”
Wilson smiled, a bit of mischievous twinkle in his eye, “Hmmm yes, one would think that Naomi keeps getting married just so that she can see me.”
The women laughed, Naomi always willing to accept a joke about herself. “Oh, Jamie, my love (she was the only one who could get away with that, except House), my new husband is a real hunk, so I will probably keep this one for awhile.”
Remembering the face of the 70+ year old man, Wilson wasn’t sure about the hunk bit, but he, Zach, certainly seemed to be good for the woman standing in front of him. She had been widowed at least four times and divorced several more. Sighing, Wilson walked over and gave both women a hug. Looking towards the room from which piano music could be heard, Wilson said hesitantly, “We’ll have to be going pretty soon. The weather doesn’t look too good, and I still have some packing to do.”
Miriam Wilson put her arm around Wilson’s, “Darling, how are you doing now? Massachusetts is such a long way off. What does Gregory think of all this?”
“Well, you know him . . . he hasn’t said much, but I think he’s okay with it.” **I wonder if slugging Driscoll constitutes being okay with it?**
Both women wisely held their counsel since the look on Wilson face spoke volumes. Nevertheless, Miriam Wilson still had an observation that she needed to convey to her son, but not in front of her sister.
“Naomi, dear, I think Zach wants to talk to you.” Since Naomi already knew what was coming, she hastily agreed and left the room.
Hesitating slightly, Miriam Wilson wiped her face, looking all of her 66 years, but she straightened herself and began, “James, you know that I have loved all my sons,” here she hesitated remembering the son who had walked away a decade before, then cleared her throat and continued, “I know that your friendship with Gregory has not been easy. A mother knows these things, but I want you to know that as much as Gregory has hurt you, you have hurt him more.”
Miriam Wilson stopped there as if she feared that she had gone too far. The look on her son’s face was filled with astonishment as if this was an entirely new thought to him. Starting to respond, a noise from the living room could suddenly be heard as the piano crashed and banged as if to demand order. Rushing into the large room, Wilson and his mother found the “newlyweds” saying their farewell.
Soon after the two doctors got into the car and headed on their way. Miriam Wilson’s words still banging away in his head. **What have I ever done that would hurt House more than he’s hurt me?**
Hours later the two men arrived in Princeton. Wilson dropped House off at 221, scarcely giving a word of farewell; his thoughts totally pre-occupied with the words that had shaken him to the core.
Monday morning found Wilson still working on the files and medical updates that were needed before he could leave for Boston. The weather was looking even worse for later in the week, but he wanted to be prepared.
Hours later, Wilson sat back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. Preparation was no longer on the front burner. Jeff Driscoll had called to let him know that a major Nor’easter was predicted for much of the New England area as well as the Atlantic Coast. Rather than ask doctors to travel in such weather, the symposium was being delayed for another week. Wilson was not dismayed to hear the news; he really didn’t want to battle the crowds at the airport, only to find out his flight was cancelled. Nevertheless, he felt a faint tremor of foreboding as he heard that the rest of his week had miraculously opened up.
Assuring himself that this feeling of apprehension was nothing, Wilson tried to return to work, but the advent of Gregory House spelled the end to that effort.
“Heard you aren’t going to go to Boston until next week?”
“Hmmm, news travels fast around here. What, did your private detective tell you?”
“Nah, Cuddy told me that I didn’t have to cover your clinic hours next week - - not that I would have anyway.”
“Well, thank you so much for not covering my hours.”
House gave him one of those smug looks that he hated so much, but it was the folder that House held that attracted his stare. Telling himself to ignore it, Wilson waited, feeling much like the victims who waited in the tumbrel, before being lead to Madame Guillotine.
“Got something for you.”
“Oh?” **Better not commit to too much.**
House pulled out a piece of paper, turned it so that it could be read, and placed it on Wilson’s blotter. Wilson’s mouth dropped open as he read the title:
New Jersey Department of Health and Senior Services
APPLICATION FOR LICENSE
Astonished brown eyes looked up into affectionate blue eyes,
“Will you marry me?”
Wilson’s eyes opened wider than physically possible. He struggled for air; he struggled for something to say. Fighting to gain time, he examined the license carefully. The left side was already filled out, in House’s illegible scrawl. **So he’s applicant A, is he?**
Continuing to stare at the document which almost seared his hands, Wilson noticed something that would give him an opening. “Uh, how come it says that ‘our future mailing address after the ceremony’ is 221B? Why can’t we live at my place?”
As Wilson asked the question, he could see House’s demeanor change. Trying to hide his anxiety, House now let a slight amount of relaxation enter his eyes. “Well, you’re already well acquainted with my sofa so I thought that would be better. Besides, I’ve had my place longer so I got more crap, so more to move.”
Wilson nodded in agreement with the latter part of the statement, but the first part bothered him. “What’s with this sofa idea?”
“Well, I can’t have a migraine every night of my married life, can I?”
Wilson smiled. “Are you saying that I can’t sleep with you unless we’re doing the Wilson Special?”
House’s tension relaxed another centimetre as he realized that Wilson was teasing him . . . albeit very gently. “Nah, you’ve got other uses.”
Wilson snorted, “Gee, thanks!”
“Where can we find a witness?”
“I’m sure Cuddy would be willing. Show her what she’s missing.”
“Yeah, but which one do you think she’ll miss?”
Remembering his fears when Wilson was “dating” Cuddy, House shook his head mutely.
Wilson saw the slightly haunted look enter his friend’s eyes again. What was wrong this time?
“House, you know I have to leave for Boston next week; that doesn’t leave us much time. Why do you want to do this now?”
House turned as if to leave Wilson’s office, but stopped while mumbling something.
“What was that?”
“I SAID I got tired of waiting around for you to be available so I figured I’d better get my two cents in now.”
Thinking of all the divorces that he was going to have to list under domestic status on the application, Wilson nodded. Then a thought flashed through his mind . . . House had, perhaps inadvertently, revealed the true nature of the hurt that he had endured at Wilson’s hands. James Wilson, boy wonder in oncology and failure at marriage, had forced Greg House to be his best man and watch Wilson go off into wedded bliss - - twice! Wilson had never, not for one moment, considered how House felt before and after his marriages to Bonnie and Julie. He had used House as a crutch when the marriages began to collapse. He had even run to House after Julie had confessed her affair.
Now, Wilson knew what his mother meant. For the last twenty years, he had been looking for someone who could fill House’s place in his life and there was House . . . irascible, irritating, and obnoxious, waiting to be noticed.
Wilson knew that his voice was not steady and that House didn’t like mushy, but something had to be done. Now was the time to start. “You’ve got the date of the ceremony as this Thursday. That’s very little time; I’d better fill out my half of the form and get it turned in today, but you and our witness will have to go too.”
House merely nodded as if he were afraid to break the moment. He watched Wilson writing then moved toward the door, but stopped when Wilson spoke up,
“How are you feeling, House?”
For a moment the scruffy face was filled with confusion then it cleared with an intoxicating smile. “You better get that form turned in pretty quick because I feel a migraine coming on for later tonight. I’ll talk to Cuddy; pick you up about 4:00.”
Wilson winked at his “intended”. “Great, then we can pick up some food and make a night of it.” Hesitating slightly, Wilson continued, “We do need to make some plans.”
“Plans, what are you talking about?”
The old feeling of panic filled Wilson’s chest as he sputtered out, “Well, uh, you know that I’m going to Boston next week so we won’t have much time for . . . uh, well you know.”
House seemed completely oblivious, but gradually a lurid smile covered his face as his eyebrows jumped up and down. “No problem, I’m going with you. Can’t let my partner run around loose in Boston without me.”
“How did you manage that?”
“Cashed in all my Cuddy blackmail chips.”
James Wilson was so stunned that he wasn’t able to utter a word. He watched as if in slow motion his future partner closed the door. Shaking himself he finished the form, checked his watch, and got ready to deliver the most important document of his life.
As James Wilson left his office to find his soon-to-be-partner, he reflected briefly upon his three previous marriages. They had all been disasters. Wilson thought that he had been looking for normality, but what he had really been looking for . . . was Greg House.
A feeling of reassurance fell over the man as he promised himself that this time when James Wilson got married, it would be for the last time.
The End
Part 1 can be found here: http://community.livejournal.com/house_wilson/3072052.html#cutid1
Title: James Wilson Got Married (Part 2)
Author: longrtrt
Pairing: HW
Rating: PG for slash
Summary: Completion of part 2
“It’s simple; when people are getting married they sometimes sleep together!”
Stunned, Wilson stood there, not knowing what to do next. Should he follow the idiot who threw out that remark or what? Flopping down on the superhumongous bed, Wilson’s face continued to express all his doubts and feelings.
He had known Greg House since the medical convention, and he loved him since that time, but it would never work out. He had been intimate with Driscoll and found men to his liking, but he had needed to be “normal” . . . whatever that was, so he had settled for this crazy friendship, but he had divorced and remarried twice more, hoping to find an answer to the itch that could never be satisfied.
Amber had come close, but she still wasn’t House . . . and now the man had hinted at marriage. Throwing himself back on the bed, Wilson laid there, waiting for the bewhiskered man to return. Knowing House, it would be as if it had never happened.
Hours later, Wilson sat, munching a steak and potatoes. Why should he starve himself as if pining away for House to return? Finally, there was a noise at the door, as House limped in, looking apprehensive but brazen as well. The blue eyes, seeing the steak and potatoes, headed right for the plate, but Wilson stopped him. Lifting another plate cover with even more food, Wilson offered it to his friend.
For the next few minutes, the only sound was food being eaten, but finally Wilson decided that it was time to attack. “Were you serious about what you said, before you left?”
“What’d I say?”
Wilson’s handsome scrunched up in disgust. “YOU know very well what you said; about . . . people sleeping together when they were getting married.”
“Oh that.”
“Yes, that. What did you mean?”
House’s scruffy face took on a look of monumental disbelief. “Oh come on, Jimmy. Just because you put each of your wives up on a pedestal and worshipped them before bedding them doesn’t mean that everybody does.”
The scorn radiated across the table, but Wilson held his ground. This was too important to just let pass by. “Are you saying that you weren’t suggesting that we sleep together in that big bed and then get married?”
House’s chin dropped to his chest for a moment then he rose up so that his blue eyes penetrated into Wilson’s gaze. “Do you want to get married?”
For a moment Wilson hesitated then took a deep sigh and replied, “If you’re asking if I want to marry you; I’m not sure, but I do know that you just can’t drive to a place and get married - - - not in New Jersey. You have to get the license in the jurisdiction where you live and then you have to wait three days.”
Silence.
Silence.
“Oh.”
“Why did you ask me, anyhow?”
“How come you’re such an authority on New Jersey Civil Union laws?”
Without thinking, Wilson quickly replied, “Looked it up, of course.”
“Why, were you going to see if they could work for you and Jeffey Boy?”
Wilson’s eyebrows scrunched up as he tried to understand the reference; then a light hit and he stood quickly. “You really are a moron. I’m going to Boston to teach for four weeks, nothing else.”
Greg House had never been abashed in his life, but even he could hear the truth spewing out from Wilson’s enraged mouth. “Okay, sorry, but you seemed so anxious to run off to Boston that I figured that you were going to relive those glorious moments of twenty years ago for old times sake.”
Wilson’s mouth dropped open; he felt faintly light-headed as he realized the implication of those words. “How . . . how did you know about that?”
“Oh come on now, do you think that I’ve just started using private detectives?”
“But we didn’t even know each other, before you bailed me out.”
House’s face took on the look of assessing a moron, but held back his sarcasm. “I noticed you and Jeffey making googoo eyes at each other at the convention. I figured this might be interesting so I had you followed, and then when you threw that bottle through the window, I knew you weren’t one of the stiffs at the convention. And as they say, the rest is history.”
James Wilson felt like there was a rift in the universe, and he was being sucked into it. Collapsing on the far side of the bed, he held his head in his hands and moaned his disbelief. Finally, finding his voice out of his dry throat, he whispered, “You found me interesting because I was having it on with a man and then I threw a bottle through a window?”
House nodded but added, “Not so much the guy, but the bottle was a nice touch; didn’t think a guy with those balls should rot in the Big House so I paid the bail.”
The deep brown eyes lifted, sadness and despair gently reflected in his next words, “That’s our friendship in a nutshell, isn’t it? My aunt’s wedding was just an excuse to you - - - a little sex, some fun and games, the word marriage, and then on Monday we go back to the usual routine.”
Once again Wilson stood up but it was evident that he was exhausted and heartsick. “Good night, House.”
House frowned at the reaction; Wilson had always come out punching when his friend ragged him . . . well, except for the Amber thing. Why was he acting like this now?
“Where you going?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not staying here.”
“I’m not paying for another room.”
The glare that Wilson threw at his friend would have frozen the Arctic as he slammed the door to the room.
Saturday was a miserable day and not just because of the weather. House kept expecting to see his friend, but there were no signs of Wilson. He knew the man wouldn’t take off without him, but where would he go? For that matter, why had House behaved so stupidly towards the one person who was important to him?
Wandering around, his leg began to throb; even more importantly, he could feel one of his migraines coming on. **Great, my leg hurts, my head hurts, and Jimmy’s not speaking to me. What a lousy idea this turned into.**
Wilson eased into the room, trying to avoid House’s daunting sarcasm, but all he found was his friend slumped in a large comfortable chair that came with the room. The room was dimmed and, quite frankly, House looked wretched. Wilson was about to say something when House rose up and raced for the bathroom.
For the next several minutes, House wrestled over the toilet with nausea and pain. Finally, collapsing back on the floor, his body drenched in sweat and misery, he heard the bathroom door open. Wilson’s dark silhouette stood against the light of the bedroom. “That’s what drinking will do for you, especially with Vicodin. I’m sure you remember that merry Christmas.”
Wilson turned to leave as House gasped out, “Migraine, you moron. Some diagnostician you are.”
Wilson turned, wrinkled his nose at the not yet flushed toilet, stepping forward to mumble, “Great, just great. What have you taken for it?”
“You got any LSD?”
Wilson’s faced hardened for a moment; then seeing the obvious misery that his friend was in, he set to work. Within less than 15 minutes, House had been wiped clean, the bathroom had been deodorized, and the whimpering man had been put into bed with only a dim light showing.
Wilson sat in the chair, just a few feet away from the bed, and watched. What a glorious trip this had been. Free time with House . . . wow! Finding out his friend had spied on him, had lured him here to Atlantic City under false pretenses, and then gotten sick, were just a few of the highlights. How lucky! Boston was looking better and better.
“I think I’ll go do some gambling, and let you die in peace.”
Almost to the door, Wilson heard the words that stopped his heart. “Remember the last time I had a migraine like this?”
“You mean the one you induced yourself in order to show Weber’s drug was a fake? I really wouldn’t bring that up, if I were you . . . No pun intended.”
House raised his head a miniscule amount so that his watering blue eyes could be seen. “Not THAT migraine, you moron. The one at the medical convention . . . the one where you gave me the WILSON SPECIAL!”
Wilson reviewed the images of that treatment as they ran around in his head. It was that treatment that forever spun himself into the web of Greg House’s life.
“I don’t remember that.”
“Liar.” Once again a blue eye and its hovering eyebrow arced above the pillow, staring straight at the younger man.
Wilson dropped his head then mumbled, “Yeah, well maybe I do remember it, but it’s not going to happen here.”
“Aw mom, I’m in pain!” whined the slender patient.
Wilson smiled slightly then shook his head. No wonder he had loved the man for so long. “Okay, okay, one WILSON SPECIAL, but that’s it. We go to my mom’s tomorrow, stay for a few hours, and then return to Princeton.”
“Thanks, mommy”, the voice once again whined.
James Wilson began removing his clothes, and while Greg House didn’t appear to be paying attention, he most definitely was. Climbing into the bed, Wilson moved over and gently pulled the taller man into his arms, gently adjusting him so that House’s face was up against Wilson’s groin. The oncologist began to massage every muscle in the aching body, letting his own musk entice his sick friend.
“Hmmm, God you smell good.”
“Thanks so much. Now shut up and relax.”
Within minutes the WILSON SPECIAL began to take effect, and within a few more minutes, Greg House had sunk into the deepest sleep he had had since Amber’s death.
What seemed like minutes later, House opened his blue eyes and stared at the man across the room. It was a fairly bright day, but the effects of the migraine had seemed to have worn off. Staring quietly at the younger man, House was afraid to speak up for fear of breaking the contentment, but soon Wilson could feel the continued stare.
“Well, it’s about time. It’s about noon; it’s check-out time soon and we better get on the road. The weather looks like snow.”
House crawled out of bed and within half an hour the two men were on the road. Pleasantville soon appeared on the horizon and yet the two men had not spoken about their recent differences or . . . anything else. It was almost as if they had silently agreed to not discuss what was so obviously occupying both minds.
Naomi Samuelson was a favorite of both men. She was the elder sister of Wilson’s mother, Miriam. Both women had taken a liking to the gruff-natured isolationist that was Greg House. They were pleased that the House and Wilson had become friends. They were also aware of the rough spot that the friendship had just overcome with regards to Amber. Therefore, when the two men arrived, they were welcomed with sincere feelings but a rather laid back demonstration of those feelings.
Within a few minutes of the ceremony, however, both men had settled in. Surprisingly, House was playing the piano, due to the arthritic hands of Uncle Saul which had suddenly appeared at just the right moment. James was talking in the kitchen with his mother and aunt.
“James, dear; Naomi and I are so glad that Gregory came with you. We haven’t seen much of you, and, of course, you always come to Naomi’s weddings.”
Wilson smiled, a bit of mischievous twinkle in his eye, “Hmmm yes, one would think that Naomi keeps getting married just so that she can see me.”
The women laughed, Naomi always willing to accept a joke about herself. “Oh, Jamie, my love (she was the only one who could get away with that, except House), my new husband is a real hunk, so I will probably keep this one for awhile.”
Remembering the face of the 70+ year old man, Wilson wasn’t sure about the hunk bit, but he, Zach, certainly seemed to be good for the woman standing in front of him. She had been widowed at least four times and divorced several more. Sighing, Wilson walked over and gave both women a hug. Looking towards the room from which piano music could be heard, Wilson said hesitantly, “We’ll have to be going pretty soon. The weather doesn’t look too good, and I still have some packing to do.”
Miriam Wilson put her arm around Wilson’s, “Darling, how are you doing now? Massachusetts is such a long way off. What does Gregory think of all this?”
“Well, you know him . . . he hasn’t said much, but I think he’s okay with it.” **I wonder if slugging Driscoll constitutes being okay with it?**
Both women wisely held their counsel since the look on Wilson face spoke volumes. Nevertheless, Miriam Wilson still had an observation that she needed to convey to her son, but not in front of her sister.
“Naomi, dear, I think Zach wants to talk to you.” Since Naomi already knew what was coming, she hastily agreed and left the room.
Hesitating slightly, Miriam Wilson wiped her face, looking all of her 66 years, but she straightened herself and began, “James, you know that I have loved all my sons,” here she hesitated remembering the son who had walked away a decade before, then cleared her throat and continued, “I know that your friendship with Gregory has not been easy. A mother knows these things, but I want you to know that as much as Gregory has hurt you, you have hurt him more.”
Miriam Wilson stopped there as if she feared that she had gone too far. The look on her son’s face was filled with astonishment as if this was an entirely new thought to him. Starting to respond, a noise from the living room could suddenly be heard as the piano crashed and banged as if to demand order. Rushing into the large room, Wilson and his mother found the “newlyweds” saying their farewell.
Soon after the two doctors got into the car and headed on their way. Miriam Wilson’s words still banging away in his head. **What have I ever done that would hurt House more than he’s hurt me?**
Hours later the two men arrived in Princeton. Wilson dropped House off at 221, scarcely giving a word of farewell; his thoughts totally pre-occupied with the words that had shaken him to the core.
Monday morning found Wilson still working on the files and medical updates that were needed before he could leave for Boston. The weather was looking even worse for later in the week, but he wanted to be prepared.
Hours later, Wilson sat back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. Preparation was no longer on the front burner. Jeff Driscoll had called to let him know that a major Nor’easter was predicted for much of the New England area as well as the Atlantic Coast. Rather than ask doctors to travel in such weather, the symposium was being delayed for another week. Wilson was not dismayed to hear the news; he really didn’t want to battle the crowds at the airport, only to find out his flight was cancelled. Nevertheless, he felt a faint tremor of foreboding as he heard that the rest of his week had miraculously opened up.
Assuring himself that this feeling of apprehension was nothing, Wilson tried to return to work, but the advent of Gregory House spelled the end to that effort.
“Heard you aren’t going to go to Boston until next week?”
“Hmmm, news travels fast around here. What, did your private detective tell you?”
“Nah, Cuddy told me that I didn’t have to cover your clinic hours next week - - not that I would have anyway.”
“Well, thank you so much for not covering my hours.”
House gave him one of those smug looks that he hated so much, but it was the folder that House held that attracted his stare. Telling himself to ignore it, Wilson waited, feeling much like the victims who waited in the tumbrel, before being lead to Madame Guillotine.
“Got something for you.”
“Oh?” **Better not commit to too much.**
House pulled out a piece of paper, turned it so that it could be read, and placed it on Wilson’s blotter. Wilson’s mouth dropped open as he read the title:
New Jersey Department of Health and Senior Services
APPLICATION FOR LICENSE
Astonished brown eyes looked up into affectionate blue eyes,
“Will you marry me?”
Wilson’s eyes opened wider than physically possible. He struggled for air; he struggled for something to say. Fighting to gain time, he examined the license carefully. The left side was already filled out, in House’s illegible scrawl. **So he’s applicant A, is he?**
Continuing to stare at the document which almost seared his hands, Wilson noticed something that would give him an opening. “Uh, how come it says that ‘our future mailing address after the ceremony’ is 221B? Why can’t we live at my place?”
As Wilson asked the question, he could see House’s demeanor change. Trying to hide his anxiety, House now let a slight amount of relaxation enter his eyes. “Well, you’re already well acquainted with my sofa so I thought that would be better. Besides, I’ve had my place longer so I got more crap, so more to move.”
Wilson nodded in agreement with the latter part of the statement, but the first part bothered him. “What’s with this sofa idea?”
“Well, I can’t have a migraine every night of my married life, can I?”
Wilson smiled. “Are you saying that I can’t sleep with you unless we’re doing the Wilson Special?”
House’s tension relaxed another centimetre as he realized that Wilson was teasing him . . . albeit very gently. “Nah, you’ve got other uses.”
Wilson snorted, “Gee, thanks!”
“Where can we find a witness?”
“I’m sure Cuddy would be willing. Show her what she’s missing.”
“Yeah, but which one do you think she’ll miss?”
Remembering his fears when Wilson was “dating” Cuddy, House shook his head mutely.
Wilson saw the slightly haunted look enter his friend’s eyes again. What was wrong this time?
“House, you know I have to leave for Boston next week; that doesn’t leave us much time. Why do you want to do this now?”
House turned as if to leave Wilson’s office, but stopped while mumbling something.
“What was that?”
“I SAID I got tired of waiting around for you to be available so I figured I’d better get my two cents in now.”
Thinking of all the divorces that he was going to have to list under domestic status on the application, Wilson nodded. Then a thought flashed through his mind . . . House had, perhaps inadvertently, revealed the true nature of the hurt that he had endured at Wilson’s hands. James Wilson, boy wonder in oncology and failure at marriage, had forced Greg House to be his best man and watch Wilson go off into wedded bliss - - twice! Wilson had never, not for one moment, considered how House felt before and after his marriages to Bonnie and Julie. He had used House as a crutch when the marriages began to collapse. He had even run to House after Julie had confessed her affair.
Now, Wilson knew what his mother meant. For the last twenty years, he had been looking for someone who could fill House’s place in his life and there was House . . . irascible, irritating, and obnoxious, waiting to be noticed.
Wilson knew that his voice was not steady and that House didn’t like mushy, but something had to be done. Now was the time to start. “You’ve got the date of the ceremony as this Thursday. That’s very little time; I’d better fill out my half of the form and get it turned in today, but you and our witness will have to go too.”
House merely nodded as if he were afraid to break the moment. He watched Wilson writing then moved toward the door, but stopped when Wilson spoke up,
“How are you feeling, House?”
For a moment the scruffy face was filled with confusion then it cleared with an intoxicating smile. “You better get that form turned in pretty quick because I feel a migraine coming on for later tonight. I’ll talk to Cuddy; pick you up about 4:00.”
Wilson winked at his “intended”. “Great, then we can pick up some food and make a night of it.” Hesitating slightly, Wilson continued, “We do need to make some plans.”
“Plans, what are you talking about?”
The old feeling of panic filled Wilson’s chest as he sputtered out, “Well, uh, you know that I’m going to Boston next week so we won’t have much time for . . . uh, well you know.”
House seemed completely oblivious, but gradually a lurid smile covered his face as his eyebrows jumped up and down. “No problem, I’m going with you. Can’t let my partner run around loose in Boston without me.”
“How did you manage that?”
“Cashed in all my Cuddy blackmail chips.”
James Wilson was so stunned that he wasn’t able to utter a word. He watched as if in slow motion his future partner closed the door. Shaking himself he finished the form, checked his watch, and got ready to deliver the most important document of his life.
As James Wilson left his office to find his soon-to-be-partner, he reflected briefly upon his three previous marriages. They had all been disasters. Wilson thought that he had been looking for normality, but what he had really been looking for . . . was Greg House.
A feeling of reassurance fell over the man as he promised himself that this time when James Wilson got married, it would be for the last time.
The End