Chapter Text
As the smell of barbecued chicken and sizzling burgers wafted over from where Lucas and House were arguing over the tongs, Cuddy’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you two. But… how?”
Wilson’s response came in the form of a shrug that was just as bewildered. He crossed his legs in the lounge chair to prepare himself. “Trust me. I’m just as lost as you.”
~~~
It had never been a secret between the two of them that Wilson wasn’t exactly 100% heterosexual. Once, years ago, before Stacy or the infarction, he had even harboured an awkward crush on House that both of them were all too painfully aware of. Wilson’s failed attempts to repress his feelings had reminded him of being in seventh-grade and blushing every time he spoke to Mr. King, the English teacher. House had done his part in tamping down the crush by ramping up his verbal abuse, burping loudly during movie sessions, and launching into in-depth analyses of his poops every time he returned from the washroom. Eventually, the crush passed naturally and they both breathed sighs of relief when Wilson found himself checking out the hot, new ENT specialist.
So it came as a definite surprise that day, almost a decade later, when House marched up to him and mashed their mouths together. They were at the medical conference where Wilson had planned to commit career suicide and confess to medically-assisted death, and the two of them had just headed back into the hotel room. House disappeared into the washroom and Wilson tried not to worry about his reaction to seeing Cuddy and Lucas happily playing with Rachel. As it turned out, that wasn’t what he needed to be worried about.
The door of the washroom smashed open, startling Wilson who dropped the granola bar he had been passively nibbling at. Wilson turned around to complain at House, only to find the older man standing inches away. Before Wilson could even draw his eyebrows into a question, House gripped the sides of his head and started kissing him. It was aggressive and the room felt way too warm all of a sudden, but Wilson couldn’t protest because it was House. And when the man in question pulled away and sheepishly asked if they could take things slow, Wilson could only look up at him with a flushed face and wide eyes and say yes, yes, yes because he had waited for the better part of two decades already so what was a bit more?
Three weeks into their relationship and Wilson was confused. Absolutely nothing had changed. Wilson had moved in with House and had tried everything to get the man to initiate any form of romance whatsoever. He’d arrange elaborate dates that House would complain through until they’d end the night watching daytime television as usual. Any form of intimate touch was batted away with a frown and a look of disgust that House would barely manage to hide. The only thing that elicited any sort of reaction, however minor, was his cooking. Any time Wilson made House a meal, he’d be rewarded with a peck and an awkward pat on the head. It went to show how much he was craving attention that he began making him three meals a day.
Wilson could only draw one possible conclusion. House was regretting this.
Wilson had meant to confront him about his theory, seek some form of resolution, when House suggested that the two of them go over to Cuddy and Lucas’ place for a barbecue. His voice was strained and he couldn’t meet Wilson’s eyes, but he did call it a double date and that was, for now, enough. They could save the talks for later.
~~~
But of course, Wilson didn’t tell Cuddy all of that. He couldn’t, not when she was already thinking House wasn’t a reliable partner. Besides, even the abridged version had her shocked.
“Wow,” she breathed, tightening her cardigan around her chest. “Sounds… complicated.”
Wilson barked out a humourless laugh. “You can say that again.”
Cuddy threw him a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry. House wouldn’t risk your friendship unless he was certain he had feelings for you. You’re one of the only good things he's got.”
An uncertain smile thanks her for the reassurance.
While the two of them are talking, House is nervously glancing their way from the grill, where he’s holding the basting brush hostage from Lucas.
Cuddy points it out to Wilson with a knowing smirk. “See? He’s worried you’re bitching about him. That shows that House cares what you think, and he doesn’t care about what anyone thinks.”
That comforts him a bit, enough to change the subject to enquire after her relationship. “So what’s going on with you and Lucas? He’s been competing with House for the alpha male title all day.”
This was true. When they arrived, Lucas and House had fought over the Grillmaster apron, fiercely debated the best grilling technique, and raced to assemble the folding chairs and patio umbrella that Cuddy and Wilson were now enjoying. Even now, they could hear Lucas loudly proclaiming, “The grill is my canvas!”
Cuddy rolled her eyes fondly. “We went to go pick Rachel up from daycare a couple of days ago, and she was playing jump-rope with her friends in the yard. The school mascot is this little pitbull, like “Go-o-o-o-o Pitbulls!” or whatever. He rushed the kids, tail wagging along, probably to play with the rope. And, well…”
Wilson’s eyes were sparkling in amusement. “Lucas got scared?”
Cuddy snorted. “Screamed like a little girl.”
The two of them laughed heartily and Cuddy took another sip of her Palm Bay. “Anyways, ever since, he’s been trying to prove to me that he can be a great dad and husband, as if I even care! The important part was that he was there.”
Suddenly, a cold wind swept in from the east. Cuddy shivered and tucked her hands into her armpits. Wilson’s strategy was to cross his arms in an attempt to trap as much body heat as possible. Lucas noticed first and his eyes lit up as he spotted an opportunity. He abandoned his futile attempts to grab the basting brush from House and sprinted into the house, jumping over Rachel’s toys and dodging branches. He emerged triumphantly, carrying his prize for Cuddy and the world to see - a blanket.
Cuddy was trying to hide her smile as she thanked him. House, meanwhile, was watching the scene bitterly. Lucas had gained massive Alpha Male™ points for his heroic dash. Never to be beaten, House limps over with his own token, which he throws at Wilson. “You’re cold, right? Here.”
“House, this is the winter tarp for the grill,” Wilson says, unfolding the massive black cover.
House sighs dramatically. “So high-maintenance. Suck it up.”
He ruffles Wilson’s hair and glances at Cuddy analytically before limping back to the grill, speeding up in alarm as he sees that Lucas has snuck back, having now commandeered the grill. “Hey, dimwit! Stay away from the 'canvas'!”
Cuddy and Wilson share a look of amusement.
She takes the blanket Lucas got her and lays it over both of them. They lounge there for a few minutes in a content silence. After a while, he lolls his head towards her, one thought bothering him. “Lucas, I understand. But what is House trying to prove?”
She squeezes his hand and looks at him with pity. “You moron. He’s trying to show you he cares.”
As much as he wanted to believe it, it didn’t make sense. Try as he might, House’s actions just weren’t lining up. The timing, the nervous glances, the pissing contest with Lucas…
Suddenly, a horrifying thought hit him. He got up wordlessly, with a small gesture to Cuddy that he hoped communicated that he was heading to the washroom. He stumbled there, the few beers he had suddenly leaving him completely and sickeningly sober. Wilson stood in front of the mirror, his hands gripping the sides of the sink as he tried to convince himself it wasn’t true. He started shaking, in anger, frustration, sadness, and some other incommunicable emotion as he realized the likelihood of his theory.
House wasn’t trying to prove anything to him.
He was trying to prove something to Cuddy.