Fic: House vs. God's Country - Ch. 4/4
Title: House vs. God's Country
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2,800, this part
Summary: House and Wilson take off for their Amish honeymoon. What could possibly go wrong? Sequel to All You Have To Bring
A/N: Written for the fandomaid benefit for the Philippines.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
A/N: Housekeeping note: After yarroway reminded me that I wrote Conversion Disorder :p, I looked back and realized I have eight fics that basically work as a “How House and Wilson got together” series. Because I enjoy organization, I arranged them into a collection that I’ll call Domestic Bliss (should be read in a vaguely sarcastic tone) until I think of something better. (I changed the dates on a couple fics so they'd line up in a logical order.)
“You gonna eat that?” House nodded toward the enormous soft pretzel on Wilson’s paper plate.
They were sitting at a picnic table near the farmhouse, where a litter of aggressively adorable Amish children had been armed with pretzels and lemonade when they’d returned from an in-depth demonstration of cow milking.
“Have at it,” Wilson said sullenly.
House grabbed the plate and plopped it on his own. “Ah, the simple, humble farmers, unleashing their children to squeeze some extra cash from the tourists.”
“Yep,” Wilson looked toward the dirt road leading to the farm. Another carriage was arriving, this one dragged by two horses and big enough to haul a small group of sightseeing suckers.
“The SUV of buggies,” House observed.
“Yep.” Wilson tapped his lemonade cup lightly.
House eyed him. “You planning our annulment?”
Wilson shook his head. “Don’t put this on me, House.” There was no venom, or much of anything, in his voice.
“I’m not. Just making chit-chat.”
Wilson kept his eyes on his lemonade and smiled wryly. “This is all a joke to you. All you’ve done is ridicule, since the moment I asked you to marry me.”
“That’s what I do,” House pronounced. It was a lame defense, but it was all he had.
Wilson held up a hand. “I’m aware. It’s how you deal with change-pretend it’s meaningless until you can’t anymore.”
House would’ve argued if he had a way. Instead, he put his elbows on the table and leaned in. “I assume you knew that when you cooked up this marriage idea.”
Wilson nodded. “It’s my fault.”
The straight-up admission was unexpected, but House kept his face impassive.
Wilson looked at him from under his lashes. “Less than two years ago, we were friends. Then we were”-he made a complicated gesture that must have been Wilsonian for fuck buddies-“and then I talked you into the civil union. It’s a lot of change for anyone. For you, it’s…” He raised his eyebrows in lieu of words.
Yeah, House had to agree. It is.
“OK,” he said tentatively. “So I’ve hit the freak-out stage. Hardly surprising.”
“I guess not,” Wilson conceded.
House had no idea what to make of that response. “So…We’re OK?”
Wilson exhaled a soft laugh. “Uh, no. We’re both-” He stopped short, looking past House. “Ugh, here comes Abe.”
“Gentlemen! You about ready to move on?”
House turned just as their pleasant, God-fearing guide arrived by his side. “I’m still eating my pretzel,” he said petulantly.
Abe chuckled. “OK, then. I’ll just get the buggy ready, and you can meet me by-”
He was cut off by a ring tone. From the cell phone he was now pulling from his pocket, House registered a bit slowly.
“Morning! This is Abe.”
House felt his mouth drop open. “You have an iPhone?”
Abe gave him a “just a sec” gesture, before telling the caller they’d have to talk later and signing off.
“You have an iPhone?” House repeated.
Abe’s posture stiffened. “Well, I have to-to run a business.” He sounded defensive despite the still-friendly tone. “How do you think you booked this tour, sir?”
House honestly hadn’t given it any consideration, since he had done nothing of the sort. “I dunno,” he said dismissively. “I guess I assumed the Intercourse operator patched us through to the phone in your outhouse.”
Abe looked at Wilson, as if beseeching the nice one. “We are allowed to use technology in some instances-when it’s for the greater good.”
“When it’ll help you make a buck,” House supplied.
“House,” Wilson said wearily.
“What? I paid good money to be transported to a place that’s free of the evils of the modern world.”
Abe held up both hands, fingers splayed Wilson-style. “Sometimes we have to use technology to make a living. Most of us aren’t like my cousin. We can’t compete as farmers anymore.”
Wilson made a sympathetic tsk sound. “That’s too bad.”
“Why?” House countered. “Because he gets to sit in a buggy, yapping on his celly, instead of slaving on a farm from pre-dawn till dusk?”
Wilson frowned, then turned his attention to Abe. “So you, like, went to Walmart and bought it?”
“Target. The parking lot at Walmart is too crazy for the horses.”
House just stared, while Wilson uttered a thoughtful hmm. “But how do you charge it?”
“We have a diesel generator at the stables for electricity.”
House swung his legs over the bench he was sitting on, and pushed to his feet; he preferred to stand while haranguing. “Don’t you feel just a little hypocritical? Preaching about the simple old ways, while shopping for the best data plan?”
Abe nodded. “I understand your point, sir. Believe me, we’ve struggled with these questions for years now. If our families could make a living working quietly on our farms, we would.”
“But isn’t that what your whole Amish jam is?” House pressed. “Living apart from the rest of the world, taking care of yourselves. Being fashion rebels with your suspenders and questionable facial hair.”
Abe sighed. “Well, we do hold on to the old ways as much as possible.”
“Obviously,” Wilson concurred, looking at House pointedly. “We are being carted around in a horse-drawn buggy.”
“And we’re careful about which changes we allow,” Abe said, picking up steam. “We think hard about it. We pray and ask for guidance. Then we try to pick the pieces of the outside world that will make our lives better, and leave the rest.”
House rolled his eyes. “That’s a great fantasy, but that’s not how change works. You can’t know how anything will turn out. What if we find out the EMF whack jobs were right, and cell phones cause brain cancer?”
Abe gave him an odd look, so he sought a better what if? “OK. How about this? What if this is the change that finally breaks it all?”
Now Wilson was giving him the look, too, but he forged on. “What if, in ten years, when all the Amish kids have moved to Cali to start issuing IPOs, you look back and realize your cell phone set off a chain of events that ruined life as you know it?”
Abe studied him for a few seconds, then looked out toward the fields where his cousin’s cows were grazing. “Well,” he said. “I suppose we’ll have to live with it.”
“Exactly,” House muttered, leaning into his cane.
Abe turned to him with a small smile. “But that’s OK,” he assured serenely. “I’m not afraid. I trust.”
House blinked. Oh. Right. “You trust that you’re taken care of,” he recalled.
“Yes, sir.”
House stole a side-glance at Wilson, who’d become intent on his lemonade again, then looked back at Abe. “Must be nice,” he said, and he was fairly sure he meant it.
Abe’s smile widened. “It is, sir.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll get the buggy ready.”
*******
House groaned as he flopped onto the bed. It was only early afternoon, but it had already been a long, hard day of Amish, and he was feeling it.
“You should have another soak while I pick up lunch,” Wilson said quietly, as he fished a sweatshirt from the dresser. It had grown cloudy and cooler by the time they’d gotten back, and naturally Wilson was prepared for such an event.
House raised his head from the pillow. “Later. Come over here.”
“I have to get the food before you become hypoglycemic and the whole inn is put at risk.” Wilson pulled the sweatshirt on, emerging with a mop of static-y hair.
House swallowed the witty critique on the tip of his tongue. “Just c’mere. Please.”
Wilson froze, clearly thrown by the politeness. He regarded House warily at first, like the drama queen he was. But after an appropriate display, he padded over to the bed and stretched out-albeit as far from House as possible, looking steadfastly at the ceiling.
House shifted onto his left side to face him. “I’ve decided to pretend I’m Amish.”
When his announcement failed to achieve the impact he’d anticipated, he went on. “I mean, without the God stuff. Or the buggy. Or the jacked up beard.”
“So you’re telling me you’re buying a straw hat?”
“No,” House said testily. What was Wilson’s problem? “I’m gonna try to just…trust.”
Wilson looked at him, but House couldn’t read his expression. “Trust what?”
Leave it to Wilson to ask that. House sighed. “That I’ll get over whatever I need to get over.” He hoped that was good enough.
Wilson looked skyward again, and House tried not to get annoyed. Wilson knew, better than anyone, that this was not his forte-but the bitch was obviously determined to get something more out of him.
House cleared his throat. “Can you pretend you’re Amish, too?”
Wilson made a squinty face at the ceiling. “Meaning?”
“You know. Smile and feed me soft pretzels. Or actually, just the pretzel part. The smiling would be creepy.”
Wilson crossed his arms, which was kind of comical in his current position. “Just so I’m clear. You want me to hang tight while you decide if marriage is your thing? And keep you properly fed, of course.”
“That’s right,” House affirmed. “And you know, it’s not gonna hurt you to practice some patience.” At Wilson’s disbelieving look, he added, “You proposed five minutes after you heard it was legal.”
Wilson pursed his lips, but couldn’t seem to work up a rebuttal.
House narrowed his eyes, sensing a small opening to barrel through. “What is with you and marriage, anyway?”
Wilson exhaled in his long-suffering manner. “God, not this. I-I just like being married. OK?”
“You like getting married,” House corrected. “You’re terrible at actually staying married.”
Even as that last word slipped from his mouth, House was already struck by his own idiocy.
And there it is.
He almost smiled, in that way that a breakthrough always inspired. It was so obvious, he marveled at how he’d failed to see it clearly before.
Well, it could’ve been all the denial and refusal to take any moment of the past week seriously. Naturally, he’d devoted time to mocking Wilson’s train-wreck marriages, but he hadn’t realized-or at least admitted-that the whole sordid history actually bothered him.
For Wilson, marriage had always been the crucial step in dooming the relationship.
“That’s what this is all about?” Wilson demanded, pushing up to sit. “You think I’m gonna cheat?” He wasn’t even trying to hide the hurt in his eyes.
“No,” House said without hesitation. He didn’t think it was anything as specific as that.
He’d just basically been slowly descending into a hazy sense of dread ever since Wilson proposed. And if he were honest, he couldn’t pin it all on Wilson’s marital record, either. He’d taken this particular descent before, after all.
But that was all too pathetic to say out loud. So he simply repeated, more firmly: “No.”
Wilson stared at him for a few long seconds, but his face gradually relaxed. “So…You’re just afraid it’ll all end somehow, because that’s the way it’s always been?”
House didn’t answer, mainly because that statement made him sound superstitious-and he objected to the word “afraid.” But yeah, it was a fairly accurate assessment, and if he didn’t say anything, Wilson would know what he meant.
Wilson studied him a moment longer before lying down again and folding his hands on his belly. The ensuing silence was so drawn out, House wondered if he should try to say more words-though that hadn’t been helping so far.
Luckily, Wilson broke the impasse with a quiet sigh. “Me, too.”
That was definitely not what House expected to hear. “Huh?”
Wilson closed his eyes, possibly so he’d forget who he was walking to. “I’m-I guess I’m afraid of a lot of things.”
“I know,” House couldn’t resist agreeing. “Spiders, escalators, dolphins, the clown from Poltergeist-”
“The possibility that your liver will fail, or you’ll go off the road on that death trap you ride. Or hey, maybe you’ll do something that lands you in jail for years this time.”
“OK,” House cut him off, but without the usual bite. He could acknowledge that Wilson had a point-silently, in his own head.
“I get it,” Wilson insisted. “I understand being scared of what could happen. But you”-He paused to pinch the bridge of his nose-“You don’t know if you want to be married, because you’re afraid it’ll end. So you’re considering a pre-emptive breakup. Am I understanding correctly?”
It all seemed a little stupid the way Wilson laid it out. But that didn’t make it untrue.
“That’s roughly it,” House allowed.
Wilson shook his head. “That…sounds just like you, actually.”
House didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed at the resigned tone. “I am consistent,” he said mildly.
The corner of Wilson’s mouth twitched, just barely, and House took that as a green light to push a little. “You’re no better than I am, you know. The DSM-V should have included a category for compulsive marrying.”
Wilson closed his eyes again.
“I mean, you meet the criteria for addiction,” House reasoned. “You keep coming back to marriage despite grievous harm to yourself and others. You suffer withdrawal symptoms when marriage is taken away from you-”
Wilson’s eyes flew open. “OK,” he addressed the ceiling sharply. “Here it is. I like the feeling of being married. Marriage is official. It’s-and you can malign me as much as you want-it’s comforting.”
House opened his mouth, to take Wilson up on his offer, but he realized he didn’t really have the will this time. Instead, he found himself asking an honest question.
“So you wanted all of this because you feel more comfortable being married?”
Wilson looked at him. “I didn’t ask you out of habit.”
House wasn’t so sure-ingrained behavioral patterns, and all that-but he held his tongue.
“You know,” Wilson said irritably, “you’re making it really hard for me to remember why, but I do want to be married to you, specifically.” He propped himself up on his forearms. “And if our relationship hasn’t imploded after all these years, why are you worried it will now?”
House shrugged a shoulder. He suspected it had something to do with his long history of seeing every good thing he touched turn to shit. But he decided to keep that to himself.
Wilson sighed. “You even said it to Abe. You can never know how anything will end. So my marriages don’t matter, your disaster with Cuddy doesn’t matter. This is different.”
He looked House in the eyes, obviously waiting for a response.
“I’m aware,” House said evenly.
Wilson sighed again, sounding more spent than angry this time, then fell back onto his pillow.
“I’ve always wanted you to be happy, House,” he murmured. “I’ve just never figured out how to get you there.”
House gazed at Wilson’s profile, watching as he rubbed his eyes then let his hand drop to the mattress. He’d never intended for his happiness to become Wilson’s burden; it had just kind of landed on his shoulders through their perfect storm of dysfunction.
“Well,” House said slowly, “that’s not actually your job.”
Wilson looked at him, uncertain. But on that count, House knew he was right. He wasn’t sure where happiness came from-though a fucked-up Amish gene seemed to work-but it was pretty clear you either felt it or you didn’t. No force necessary.
And what a relief, House realized. He didn’t need to pretend he was Amish. He didn’t need to trust that the world was a good place, or people were kind, or that he’d die a happy man. He just needed to stop assuming that everything eventually sucks.
He could do that.
OK, he could try.
House took a deep breath. “So. It’s fair to say the first twenty-four hours of this marriage have been very, very Amish.”
Wilson made a non-committal sound.
“That’s something of an anomaly,” House continued. “If the next twenty-four hours were to improve, that might set my mind in a better direction.”
His proposal was greeted by silence, and House was about to try again when Wilson maneuvered onto his side, subtly moving closer as he did. “You think?”
“The odds are good.”
Wilson chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “Well, check-out is at noon tomorrow. We could stay an extra day instead.”
House frowned. “See, that would be adding more Amish.”
Wilson rolled his eyes, but there was a familiar little spark in his demeanor now. “We could do what I originally had planned for today. Y’know, before you ruined everything.”
House gave him the Yes? face.
“A quiet drive through the country in the morning, followed by a Pennsylvania Dutch, cholesterol- and starch-laden lunch. After that, we come back here for an en suite couple’s massage. And after that…I thought we could just stay in and figure something out.”
Wilson smiled in that coy way he had, and House swallowed. “That sounds worth a shot,” he conceded.
Wilson nodded, his smile softening. “OK. Should I go talk to the front desk?”
House nodded in return, but then reached out and began running his fingertips along Wilson’s arm. “In a minute.”
Wilson just looked at him, blinking slowly. Gentle touches were not the norm for them, so he probably didn’t know how to react. House wasn’t even sure why he was doing it; maybe because part of him felt like he should apologize for the past week, but he wasn’t quite sorry. So he was doing this instead.
He closed his eyes, and kept trailing his fingers over the same path. If he were Wilson, he’d probably say it was comforting.
But he wasn’t Wilson, and he didn’t feel the need to name it right now anyway. It was simpler just to breathe and keep going.
-End
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2,800, this part
Summary: House and Wilson take off for their Amish honeymoon. What could possibly go wrong? Sequel to All You Have To Bring
A/N: Written for the fandomaid benefit for the Philippines.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
A/N: Housekeeping note: After yarroway reminded me that I wrote Conversion Disorder :p, I looked back and realized I have eight fics that basically work as a “How House and Wilson got together” series. Because I enjoy organization, I arranged them into a collection that I’ll call Domestic Bliss (should be read in a vaguely sarcastic tone) until I think of something better. (I changed the dates on a couple fics so they'd line up in a logical order.)
“You gonna eat that?” House nodded toward the enormous soft pretzel on Wilson’s paper plate.
They were sitting at a picnic table near the farmhouse, where a litter of aggressively adorable Amish children had been armed with pretzels and lemonade when they’d returned from an in-depth demonstration of cow milking.
“Have at it,” Wilson said sullenly.
House grabbed the plate and plopped it on his own. “Ah, the simple, humble farmers, unleashing their children to squeeze some extra cash from the tourists.”
“Yep,” Wilson looked toward the dirt road leading to the farm. Another carriage was arriving, this one dragged by two horses and big enough to haul a small group of sightseeing suckers.
“The SUV of buggies,” House observed.
“Yep.” Wilson tapped his lemonade cup lightly.
House eyed him. “You planning our annulment?”
Wilson shook his head. “Don’t put this on me, House.” There was no venom, or much of anything, in his voice.
“I’m not. Just making chit-chat.”
Wilson kept his eyes on his lemonade and smiled wryly. “This is all a joke to you. All you’ve done is ridicule, since the moment I asked you to marry me.”
“That’s what I do,” House pronounced. It was a lame defense, but it was all he had.
Wilson held up a hand. “I’m aware. It’s how you deal with change-pretend it’s meaningless until you can’t anymore.”
House would’ve argued if he had a way. Instead, he put his elbows on the table and leaned in. “I assume you knew that when you cooked up this marriage idea.”
Wilson nodded. “It’s my fault.”
The straight-up admission was unexpected, but House kept his face impassive.
Wilson looked at him from under his lashes. “Less than two years ago, we were friends. Then we were”-he made a complicated gesture that must have been Wilsonian for fuck buddies-“and then I talked you into the civil union. It’s a lot of change for anyone. For you, it’s…” He raised his eyebrows in lieu of words.
Yeah, House had to agree. It is.
“OK,” he said tentatively. “So I’ve hit the freak-out stage. Hardly surprising.”
“I guess not,” Wilson conceded.
House had no idea what to make of that response. “So…We’re OK?”
Wilson exhaled a soft laugh. “Uh, no. We’re both-” He stopped short, looking past House. “Ugh, here comes Abe.”
“Gentlemen! You about ready to move on?”
House turned just as their pleasant, God-fearing guide arrived by his side. “I’m still eating my pretzel,” he said petulantly.
Abe chuckled. “OK, then. I’ll just get the buggy ready, and you can meet me by-”
He was cut off by a ring tone. From the cell phone he was now pulling from his pocket, House registered a bit slowly.
“Morning! This is Abe.”
House felt his mouth drop open. “You have an iPhone?”
Abe gave him a “just a sec” gesture, before telling the caller they’d have to talk later and signing off.
“You have an iPhone?” House repeated.
Abe’s posture stiffened. “Well, I have to-to run a business.” He sounded defensive despite the still-friendly tone. “How do you think you booked this tour, sir?”
House honestly hadn’t given it any consideration, since he had done nothing of the sort. “I dunno,” he said dismissively. “I guess I assumed the Intercourse operator patched us through to the phone in your outhouse.”
Abe looked at Wilson, as if beseeching the nice one. “We are allowed to use technology in some instances-when it’s for the greater good.”
“When it’ll help you make a buck,” House supplied.
“House,” Wilson said wearily.
“What? I paid good money to be transported to a place that’s free of the evils of the modern world.”
Abe held up both hands, fingers splayed Wilson-style. “Sometimes we have to use technology to make a living. Most of us aren’t like my cousin. We can’t compete as farmers anymore.”
Wilson made a sympathetic tsk sound. “That’s too bad.”
“Why?” House countered. “Because he gets to sit in a buggy, yapping on his celly, instead of slaving on a farm from pre-dawn till dusk?”
Wilson frowned, then turned his attention to Abe. “So you, like, went to Walmart and bought it?”
“Target. The parking lot at Walmart is too crazy for the horses.”
House just stared, while Wilson uttered a thoughtful hmm. “But how do you charge it?”
“We have a diesel generator at the stables for electricity.”
House swung his legs over the bench he was sitting on, and pushed to his feet; he preferred to stand while haranguing. “Don’t you feel just a little hypocritical? Preaching about the simple old ways, while shopping for the best data plan?”
Abe nodded. “I understand your point, sir. Believe me, we’ve struggled with these questions for years now. If our families could make a living working quietly on our farms, we would.”
“But isn’t that what your whole Amish jam is?” House pressed. “Living apart from the rest of the world, taking care of yourselves. Being fashion rebels with your suspenders and questionable facial hair.”
Abe sighed. “Well, we do hold on to the old ways as much as possible.”
“Obviously,” Wilson concurred, looking at House pointedly. “We are being carted around in a horse-drawn buggy.”
“And we’re careful about which changes we allow,” Abe said, picking up steam. “We think hard about it. We pray and ask for guidance. Then we try to pick the pieces of the outside world that will make our lives better, and leave the rest.”
House rolled his eyes. “That’s a great fantasy, but that’s not how change works. You can’t know how anything will turn out. What if we find out the EMF whack jobs were right, and cell phones cause brain cancer?”
Abe gave him an odd look, so he sought a better what if? “OK. How about this? What if this is the change that finally breaks it all?”
Now Wilson was giving him the look, too, but he forged on. “What if, in ten years, when all the Amish kids have moved to Cali to start issuing IPOs, you look back and realize your cell phone set off a chain of events that ruined life as you know it?”
Abe studied him for a few seconds, then looked out toward the fields where his cousin’s cows were grazing. “Well,” he said. “I suppose we’ll have to live with it.”
“Exactly,” House muttered, leaning into his cane.
Abe turned to him with a small smile. “But that’s OK,” he assured serenely. “I’m not afraid. I trust.”
House blinked. Oh. Right. “You trust that you’re taken care of,” he recalled.
“Yes, sir.”
House stole a side-glance at Wilson, who’d become intent on his lemonade again, then looked back at Abe. “Must be nice,” he said, and he was fairly sure he meant it.
Abe’s smile widened. “It is, sir.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll get the buggy ready.”
*******
House groaned as he flopped onto the bed. It was only early afternoon, but it had already been a long, hard day of Amish, and he was feeling it.
“You should have another soak while I pick up lunch,” Wilson said quietly, as he fished a sweatshirt from the dresser. It had grown cloudy and cooler by the time they’d gotten back, and naturally Wilson was prepared for such an event.
House raised his head from the pillow. “Later. Come over here.”
“I have to get the food before you become hypoglycemic and the whole inn is put at risk.” Wilson pulled the sweatshirt on, emerging with a mop of static-y hair.
House swallowed the witty critique on the tip of his tongue. “Just c’mere. Please.”
Wilson froze, clearly thrown by the politeness. He regarded House warily at first, like the drama queen he was. But after an appropriate display, he padded over to the bed and stretched out-albeit as far from House as possible, looking steadfastly at the ceiling.
House shifted onto his left side to face him. “I’ve decided to pretend I’m Amish.”
When his announcement failed to achieve the impact he’d anticipated, he went on. “I mean, without the God stuff. Or the buggy. Or the jacked up beard.”
“So you’re telling me you’re buying a straw hat?”
“No,” House said testily. What was Wilson’s problem? “I’m gonna try to just…trust.”
Wilson looked at him, but House couldn’t read his expression. “Trust what?”
Leave it to Wilson to ask that. House sighed. “That I’ll get over whatever I need to get over.” He hoped that was good enough.
Wilson looked skyward again, and House tried not to get annoyed. Wilson knew, better than anyone, that this was not his forte-but the bitch was obviously determined to get something more out of him.
House cleared his throat. “Can you pretend you’re Amish, too?”
Wilson made a squinty face at the ceiling. “Meaning?”
“You know. Smile and feed me soft pretzels. Or actually, just the pretzel part. The smiling would be creepy.”
Wilson crossed his arms, which was kind of comical in his current position. “Just so I’m clear. You want me to hang tight while you decide if marriage is your thing? And keep you properly fed, of course.”
“That’s right,” House affirmed. “And you know, it’s not gonna hurt you to practice some patience.” At Wilson’s disbelieving look, he added, “You proposed five minutes after you heard it was legal.”
Wilson pursed his lips, but couldn’t seem to work up a rebuttal.
House narrowed his eyes, sensing a small opening to barrel through. “What is with you and marriage, anyway?”
Wilson exhaled in his long-suffering manner. “God, not this. I-I just like being married. OK?”
“You like getting married,” House corrected. “You’re terrible at actually staying married.”
Even as that last word slipped from his mouth, House was already struck by his own idiocy.
And there it is.
He almost smiled, in that way that a breakthrough always inspired. It was so obvious, he marveled at how he’d failed to see it clearly before.
Well, it could’ve been all the denial and refusal to take any moment of the past week seriously. Naturally, he’d devoted time to mocking Wilson’s train-wreck marriages, but he hadn’t realized-or at least admitted-that the whole sordid history actually bothered him.
For Wilson, marriage had always been the crucial step in dooming the relationship.
“That’s what this is all about?” Wilson demanded, pushing up to sit. “You think I’m gonna cheat?” He wasn’t even trying to hide the hurt in his eyes.
“No,” House said without hesitation. He didn’t think it was anything as specific as that.
He’d just basically been slowly descending into a hazy sense of dread ever since Wilson proposed. And if he were honest, he couldn’t pin it all on Wilson’s marital record, either. He’d taken this particular descent before, after all.
But that was all too pathetic to say out loud. So he simply repeated, more firmly: “No.”
Wilson stared at him for a few long seconds, but his face gradually relaxed. “So…You’re just afraid it’ll all end somehow, because that’s the way it’s always been?”
House didn’t answer, mainly because that statement made him sound superstitious-and he objected to the word “afraid.” But yeah, it was a fairly accurate assessment, and if he didn’t say anything, Wilson would know what he meant.
Wilson studied him a moment longer before lying down again and folding his hands on his belly. The ensuing silence was so drawn out, House wondered if he should try to say more words-though that hadn’t been helping so far.
Luckily, Wilson broke the impasse with a quiet sigh. “Me, too.”
That was definitely not what House expected to hear. “Huh?”
Wilson closed his eyes, possibly so he’d forget who he was walking to. “I’m-I guess I’m afraid of a lot of things.”
“I know,” House couldn’t resist agreeing. “Spiders, escalators, dolphins, the clown from Poltergeist-”
“The possibility that your liver will fail, or you’ll go off the road on that death trap you ride. Or hey, maybe you’ll do something that lands you in jail for years this time.”
“OK,” House cut him off, but without the usual bite. He could acknowledge that Wilson had a point-silently, in his own head.
“I get it,” Wilson insisted. “I understand being scared of what could happen. But you”-He paused to pinch the bridge of his nose-“You don’t know if you want to be married, because you’re afraid it’ll end. So you’re considering a pre-emptive breakup. Am I understanding correctly?”
It all seemed a little stupid the way Wilson laid it out. But that didn’t make it untrue.
“That’s roughly it,” House allowed.
Wilson shook his head. “That…sounds just like you, actually.”
House didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed at the resigned tone. “I am consistent,” he said mildly.
The corner of Wilson’s mouth twitched, just barely, and House took that as a green light to push a little. “You’re no better than I am, you know. The DSM-V should have included a category for compulsive marrying.”
Wilson closed his eyes again.
“I mean, you meet the criteria for addiction,” House reasoned. “You keep coming back to marriage despite grievous harm to yourself and others. You suffer withdrawal symptoms when marriage is taken away from you-”
Wilson’s eyes flew open. “OK,” he addressed the ceiling sharply. “Here it is. I like the feeling of being married. Marriage is official. It’s-and you can malign me as much as you want-it’s comforting.”
House opened his mouth, to take Wilson up on his offer, but he realized he didn’t really have the will this time. Instead, he found himself asking an honest question.
“So you wanted all of this because you feel more comfortable being married?”
Wilson looked at him. “I didn’t ask you out of habit.”
House wasn’t so sure-ingrained behavioral patterns, and all that-but he held his tongue.
“You know,” Wilson said irritably, “you’re making it really hard for me to remember why, but I do want to be married to you, specifically.” He propped himself up on his forearms. “And if our relationship hasn’t imploded after all these years, why are you worried it will now?”
House shrugged a shoulder. He suspected it had something to do with his long history of seeing every good thing he touched turn to shit. But he decided to keep that to himself.
Wilson sighed. “You even said it to Abe. You can never know how anything will end. So my marriages don’t matter, your disaster with Cuddy doesn’t matter. This is different.”
He looked House in the eyes, obviously waiting for a response.
“I’m aware,” House said evenly.
Wilson sighed again, sounding more spent than angry this time, then fell back onto his pillow.
“I’ve always wanted you to be happy, House,” he murmured. “I’ve just never figured out how to get you there.”
House gazed at Wilson’s profile, watching as he rubbed his eyes then let his hand drop to the mattress. He’d never intended for his happiness to become Wilson’s burden; it had just kind of landed on his shoulders through their perfect storm of dysfunction.
“Well,” House said slowly, “that’s not actually your job.”
Wilson looked at him, uncertain. But on that count, House knew he was right. He wasn’t sure where happiness came from-though a fucked-up Amish gene seemed to work-but it was pretty clear you either felt it or you didn’t. No force necessary.
And what a relief, House realized. He didn’t need to pretend he was Amish. He didn’t need to trust that the world was a good place, or people were kind, or that he’d die a happy man. He just needed to stop assuming that everything eventually sucks.
He could do that.
OK, he could try.
House took a deep breath. “So. It’s fair to say the first twenty-four hours of this marriage have been very, very Amish.”
Wilson made a non-committal sound.
“That’s something of an anomaly,” House continued. “If the next twenty-four hours were to improve, that might set my mind in a better direction.”
His proposal was greeted by silence, and House was about to try again when Wilson maneuvered onto his side, subtly moving closer as he did. “You think?”
“The odds are good.”
Wilson chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “Well, check-out is at noon tomorrow. We could stay an extra day instead.”
House frowned. “See, that would be adding more Amish.”
Wilson rolled his eyes, but there was a familiar little spark in his demeanor now. “We could do what I originally had planned for today. Y’know, before you ruined everything.”
House gave him the Yes? face.
“A quiet drive through the country in the morning, followed by a Pennsylvania Dutch, cholesterol- and starch-laden lunch. After that, we come back here for an en suite couple’s massage. And after that…I thought we could just stay in and figure something out.”
Wilson smiled in that coy way he had, and House swallowed. “That sounds worth a shot,” he conceded.
Wilson nodded, his smile softening. “OK. Should I go talk to the front desk?”
House nodded in return, but then reached out and began running his fingertips along Wilson’s arm. “In a minute.”
Wilson just looked at him, blinking slowly. Gentle touches were not the norm for them, so he probably didn’t know how to react. House wasn’t even sure why he was doing it; maybe because part of him felt like he should apologize for the past week, but he wasn’t quite sorry. So he was doing this instead.
He closed his eyes, and kept trailing his fingers over the same path. If he were Wilson, he’d probably say it was comforting.
But he wasn’t Wilson, and he didn’t feel the need to name it right now anyway. It was simpler just to breathe and keep going.
-End