Work Text:
The restaurant around them utters a collective gasp. Wilson looks up from his chicken and there’s House, down on one knee with the same cheap ring he’s had for ten years. He’s been proposed to more times than he can count, every time House wants free dessert or champagne or once, memorably, a giant turkey leg and literal flagon of beer. Wilson knows the drill.
“Wilson. James. Jimmy. Will you marry me?”
“Alright, House, get on with it,” he grumbles, not altogether angrily. Louder, for the benefit of the onlookers, he says, “Yes, Greg. I’ll marry you.”
The restaurant erupts into applause, but House doesn’t get up. Wilson extends a hand, figuring House’s leg is just bothering him, but House doesn’t take it. He stays there kneeling on the floor and he says to Wilson, “Listen to me, you idiot. I’m proposing marriage to you.”
“I can see that. Once you’ve done something three or four times, you start to get a feel for what it looks like.”
“I’m not—” House finally gets up, sits back down in his chair. “He said yes!” he calls, turning on the false charm for a moment, before scowling at Wilson once again. “I’m asking you to marry me.”
“The cake is already on the way, you can drop the act.”
“Not an act.”
Wilson blanches. “What, do you… actually want to get married?”
“No one else has ever... put up with me for this long.” House exhales, like talking costs more air than normal. “I’m never going to turn into the man Cuddy wants, you’re never going to stop at the fourth Mrs Wilson.”
“So, what, you want a marriage of convenience? Is this to get the tax refund?”
“Not just convenience,” House says, and Wilson holds his breath and waits for him to finish. It’s like watching House with the tip of a diagnosis on his tongue, clearly accessing some great thought that he isn’t yet able to put into words.
“Spousal privilege? Are you planning on getting charged with drug possession again?” He’s only half joking. House doesn’t answer, and it occurs to Wilson that he’s never let the act go on for this long before.
“Oh, don’t make me say it,” House finally says. “You know how I feel.”
Wilson shakes his head. Does he know? This is the longest relationship of his life. And House can drive him crazy, insult him and steal his french fries, but Wilson still sits with him at lunch. Committing to being around House forever is not what’s giving him pause—that’s somewhat of a foregone conclusion. It’s that, there’s a difference between signing a document declaring as much to the state and actually being married. It’s rich for Wilson of all people to think this, but marriage should mean something. More than living together and sharing a cable subscription. He doesn’t want House to be doing this just because it’s the next logical step.
“I don’t believe you,” Wilson says. House starts to answer, but Wilson holds up his hand. This is important. “I don’t believe this isn’t for some ulterior motive.” That’s true, but it’s not what he really needs to say. Wilson takes a deep breath. “I don’t think I believe you actually have any kind of feelings for me.” It’s only as he says it that Wilson realizes he wants to believe. He wants House to explain this in a way that makes sense.
“Oh, I have feelings.” House leers. And then he looks Wilson in the eyes, steady for a moment before getting ready to make another joke, and that’s how he knows it’s real. That maybe House isn’t the type of person to ever say it, but it’s there. “Besides, I left my not-engagement ring in my other pants.”
Wilson laughs, and he’s already as good as said yes. It was a foregone conclusion since he sat down at this table; House knew that. But that doesn’t mean Wilson has to make it easy for him. “I don’t believe you,” he says again, tilting his head to the side, a challenge in his eyes.
“What do I have to do, kiss you?”
And, well. If you’d asked Wilson his type, he wouldn’t say bearded, abrasive middle-aged men, but House is right across the table from him, as game as he’s ever looked.
“Yeah,” Wilson says, dumbfounded at his absolute understanding. And House does.
Later, Wilson asks, “Why tonight?”
“Ah. I did have an ulterior motive. I can’t stand that yellow tie.”
“And as my fiancé, you would be able to whack it?”
“That’s not the only thing I’d like to whack,” House answers, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously, and Wilson thinks, yeah. That sounds about right.