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As soon as House gets home from work, he plasters himself along Wilson’s side on the bed, landing slobbery kisses onto Wilson’s face and neck.
Wilson sinks down from his upright position against the headboard underneath House’s attentions, letting the medical journal he’d been reading slip out of his hands. He looks down at the head of scruffy hair currently working on a hickey.
“If you keep doing that, Cuddy’ll have no choice but to fire me for pulling brown-face.” He can’t help but gasp as House switches to a particularly vulnerable spot.
House smirks at his reaction. “See? Cultural appropriation is fun!”
“What’s gotten into you today?” Not that he was upset.
“You’ve forgotten our one-month anniversary?” House sniffles, a warm nose pressing against the underside of Wilson’s jaw.
Wilson checks the date on his watch above House’s head before letting his hand drop onto the nape of House’s neck, scratching lightly at his scalp. “It’s only been three weeks, our one month won’t be until a week from-”
“Not one month since our first, admittedly spectacular, night together. I mean one month since I got my head out of my ass and realized it could be up yours instead,” he winks exaggeratedly.
“One, eww.” Wilson puts his hands out in a swiping motion as if to clear the image out of the air, before turning suggestive. “And two... how would you like to mark the occasion?”
“Well,” House shrugs. “After all that time, wallowing in my unrequited love…” He renews his efforts against Wilson’s neck, drawing out a moan with his tongue.
“House, you lasted maybe a week before you confessed your undying love to me.”
House starts tugging at his shirt. “The longest week of my life. I earned this.”
~~~
Afterwards, House and Wilson lay exhausted together, Wilson’s head drifting to settle onto House’s shoulder.
Wilson exhales in awe, staring up at the ceiling. “Okay, so if one week of unrequited love gets you that, what can I cash in my decade for?”
House makes a noise of distress. “While I’d love to show you, I hope you’re not planning to cash anything in now because even I can’t-”
“Noooo,” Wilson laughs breathlessly, shifting to run his fingers through House’s sparse chest hair soothingly. “I’m not talking about sexual favours.”
House cranes his neck up to see his face, and Wilson huffs as hand drawing circles into his shoulder stops. “You actually have something in mind?”
“Kinda?”
“Alright, hit me.”
“I think… I’d be okay with telling other people. About us. If you are.”
House tilts Wilson’s chin up to meet his eyes. “Seriously?” he asks, looking hopeful.
“Mm. So I take it you’re down?” Reassured by House’s apparent excitement, he settles his head back down and smiles as the arm snakes its way inconspicuously around him again.
House muses. “You’ve made an honest man out of me, Jimmy. I can call the hit off the nurses who’ve hit on you now.”
Wilson nods solemnly. “Wouldn’t want any blood on your hands.”
“They’re far too talented for that.”
“Mmhmm. Prefer when they’re coated in something else, myself.”
House gently eases Wilson off of him so that he can lean over and catch his mouth in an urgent kiss. Before the night can escalate any further, Wilson wants to make sure they’re on the same page about their plan of action. “You tell the fellows, I tell Cuddy and Lucas?”
A mischievous smile plays at House’s lips. “Maybe you should leave telling Lucas to me.”
Wilson wants to ask, but that mischievous smile looks far too attractive on House for any coherent thought to win over the far more important matters to attend to.
~~~
House dials Lucas, frowning when he hears Rachel warbling “Be Our Guest” from Beauty and the Beast in the background. “I think she’s missing a few of the lines.”
“If I correct her, she’ll start the movie all over again and I am not sitting through another rendition of Gaston.”
“You’re playing Gaston?”
“No, she is. I’m the one singing her praises.”
House snorts. “That girl’s going places.”
“Yes, the ER for trying to eat four dozen eggs. Cuddy’s going to kill me. Might as well do a friend a favour in the meanwhile. What’s up?”
“It’s about Wilson.”
“You want me to tail him again? What now?!”
“Why do you automatically assume I’m calling you just because you’re a P.I.? Although I am. Wilson’s went and found himself some hussy and I need you to figure out who it is.”
“Wilson’s dating again?”
“Yup.”
“And you care why? ”
House snivels. “It’s like we’re not even friends anymore!”
Lucas sighs, sensing an inevitable conclusion. “Fine, I’ll try figuring it out. But you have to promise to keep Cuddy busy at the hospital until I clean up these egg shells, yeah?”
“How convenient. I know just the thing.”
~~~
House slams the doors of Cuddy’s office open with his cane, marching in to announce: “Wilson’s going to come out to you on Friday.”
She looks up from her desktop computer, bewildered. “Come out as what? I already know he’s bisexual.”
“Well, just in case, I’ve found you some resources to help you handle the situation.”
She levels an unimpressed look at the rainbow-coloured brochures being shoved in her face. “House, why do I need a Do’s and Don’ts list to help me reassure an employee that I’m okay with a fact I’ve known for years now?”
“I know how insensitive you can be sometimes. I’ve even prepared a script, complete with responses to each and every potential conversation opener Wilson might go with.”
She flips the massive binder House had tossed onto her desk open to a random page and raises an eyebrow. “In what world is Wilson coming out to me by voguing into my room and yelling ‘Yas, Kween’?”
“Ah, scenario 58, that’s one of my favourites. More likely than you’d think.”
She flips the page again and snorts. “This one’s even weirder. ‘Cuddy, I’m in a gay relationship with House’ ?”
House coughs. “That one’s also… more likely than you’d think.”
Cuddy looks up, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she recognizes the sincerity on House’s face. “How likely are we talking here?”
House grimaces. “Like… a hundred percent?”
She leans back in her chair, surveying him. “He’s not the only one coming out to me, is he?”
“No. No, he’s not.”
“Holy shit! House, if you’re toying with Wilson’s emotions again, I will-” Her threat is interrupted.
“Whoa, that’s not your line, you’re going off-book here.”
She looks down at the script. “If you think I’m going to respond to this with ‘I have fully processed this in mere moments and love and accept you with no further questions’ , you are very wrong.”
“Okay, but here’s the thing. If you don’t, Wilson may or may not get all insecure and internalized-homophobia-y again and I’ll end up having to comfort him instead of having sex with him, a far more preferable activity.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re serious about this.”
“Yup.”
“Huh. Huh.”
He’s about to hightail it out of there and let her wallow in her shock when Cuddy’s voice freezes him. “Nope. Sit your ass back down. You don’t want me to make this a big deal with Wilson? Then you’re going to be the one to answer my questions.”
House turns reluctantly and plops into the armchair across from her desk. “Well, when two men love each other very, very much-”
She rolls her eyes at him, but amusement rolls off her in waves. “Nuh-uh. Start again.”
And they do.
~~~
House is sitting in an empty clinic room, having stuck a chair under the door to keep people from entering, when Dancing Queen by Abba begins to ring out from his sweatpant pockets. He answers enthusiastically. “Wilson! ‘Sup?”
“House, would you like to explain to me why Lucas has been tailing me all day today?”
“He’s been what?” House acts surprised.
“I was chatting with some woman in the ice cream aisle at the grocery store and he started snapping pictures from around the corner. What’s going on?”
“The real question is, did you buy Ben and Jerry’s?”
“Do you think I’m cheating on you? Is that why you sent him?”
“What? No!”
“Because I’m not, House. I love you.”
House’s eyes widen in alarm at the endearment. “I know that, trust me. You should save your breath-”
“I love every part of you. I love the expanse of your chest, like an endless desert with only the oasis of your beautiful, blue eyes to bring me salvation. House, when I look at you, I see a bigger, better, brighter world.” He can barely get the words out through the threat of impending laughter, but it’s the unforgivably substantial level of sincerity buried underneath the amusement that bothers House so much.
House pulled the phone away from his ear so that Wilson, that bastard, couldn’t hear him stammer in response. The oncologist had gotten into amusing himself by aggressively complimenting House with cliches, and the tactic was so new that House hadn’t constructed a sufficient defense yet. “I’m going to hang up on you now.” House hisses.
Wilson laughs, a booming guffaw that House can’t help but smile at, despite the fact that it was at his expense. “Yes, I got you Ben and Jerry’s. Dropped the bags off at home, but I won’t be getting off until seven. Can you start dinner?”
House grumbles. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Set an extra plate at the table. I can’t keep pretending I don’t see Lucas’ snooping. If I catch him peeking in through our window, I’m inviting him in.”
~~~
Lucas sits uncomfortably in House’s apartment across the table from the two friends, trying not to look sheepish. They’re sat at House’s new dinner table, and Lucas briefly wonders when and why he’d gotten one of those before he remembers his professional priorities. He surreptitiously mouths, “Sorry” at House for getting caught, but the diagnostician doesn’t look all too bothered by this development.
Still, this might be a great opportunity to ask some questions, considering he’d turned up little to no incriminating evidence after two whole days of tailing Wilson.
“So,” he attempts to act casual, addressing the cardigan-wearing oncologist. “Have you been dating anyone recently?”
Wilson’s face wrinkles in confusion and he shares a glance with House, rolling his eyes at the answer he must have read there. “Nope. Still single, apparently.”
“Is that so…?” Lucas nods, letting a silence fall. Classic interrogation technique. Wilson would be filling in the silence soon, confessing all.
Except he doesn’t. Instead, his face begins to turn beet-red, and there’s a thud underneath the dinner table. Wilson widens his eyes at House, a warning in his eyes, along with something else.
Lucas looks curiously at House, who appears focused, even smug.
Wilson turns to Lucas, sounding strained. “The dinner rolls should be out of the oven soon.” He starts to groan, but covers it up with a cough. “You don’t have any allergies?”
“Can’t have shellfish, but that’s basically it. You okay? You look a bit… flushed.”
House snorts. Wilson pulls his seat back and rearranges himself, nodding furiously. “I’m fine!”
House drops his napkin underneath the table. “Whoops!” he says. “Better go get that.” He starts to duck down slowly, eyes fixed on the other doctor there.
Wilson stands abruptly. “A-A-And I’d better get the rolls! I think I heard the timer go off.”
Lucas vaguely hears a disappointed murmur from House, but he’s unable to make out the exact words because he’s too busy watching Wilson walk stiffly away.
Now that they’re alone at the table, Lucas figures it’s about time to report in to his client. “Are you sure he’s dating someone? I haven’t seen any evidence of a romantic entanglement.”
House’s tone is carefully neutral. “I’m sure he’s dating someone, yeah.”
Lucas leans back in his chair, hand on his chin. Who could it possibly be?
Suddenly, they hear a shout from the kitchen, and chills run down Lucas’ spine as he identifies the sheer pain in the voice. House’s face tightens, and he’s up and headed to the source of the noise before Lucas can even set down his fork. If asked earlier, he would have sworn House couldn’t possibly move that quickly, especially not when he’d left his cane against the table in his hurry. Lucas follows, bringing the walking aid along.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, as he moves into the kitchen. He’s shocked to see House holding Wilson’s palm under running water with his right hand, the left arm curled tightly around the oncologist’s waist. House turns upon hearing Lucas.
“This moron decided to use his skin as an oven mitt.”
Wilson looks embarrassed with all the attention. “I had an oven mitt, the rolls just started to fall and I instinctively reached out to stabilize it with my other hand when-”
House’s hand squeezes at Wilson’s hipbone. “Alright, big boy, calm down. No one’s blaming you.”
Wilson protests. “You were just-!”
House chuckles, ignoring the grumbling oncologist. “Lucas, go get the first-aid kit from the closet.”
Lucas finds said first-aid kit, stepping over fallen dinner rolls on his way back. After passing over the essential cargo and finding himself to be not-so-essential, he looks down thoughtfully, grabbing one of the rolls off the floor. They looked clean-ish. And damn, if they didn’t taste good too. Would be a waste to let them languish away on the floor.
He leans back against the kitchen counter, chewing on a roll and watching the two curiously. Lucas never would have predicted that House would treat his friends so… tenderly. Must be all the years they spent together, he concludes.
For some reason, watching these two interact made him miss Cuddy desperately. Dinner seems to be called off after House diagnoses the burns as second-degree anyways, so he quickly excuses himself to head home to hold his girlfriend (and hopefully, soon-to-be fiance).
He tries not to dwell too much on the parallel he’d subconsciously drawn between his own relationship and House and Wilson’s friendship, though. It would be a cardinal mistake to draw a conclusion without all the facts.
Then again. That doesn’t mean he can’t speculate. Or collect new facts to support his speculations.
This might be the time to use the new equipment he’d bought.
~~~
Wilson knocks tentatively on Cuddy’s office door. She looks up, her face registering excitement as she recognizes her head oncologist. Her face lights up in a smile. “Wilson!”
He smiles nervously in return. “Hi. Can we talk?”
“Of course!” She braces herself to act surprised when he told her the news. It was a skill she had to hone in preparation for Lucas’ proposal, and she was eager for the practice.
He doesn’t sit down, choosing instead to stand near the armchair, shuffling his feet. “I have something to tell you.”
She tries to give him an encouraging nod when suddenly, Lucas bursts through the door, dragging an indifferent House behind him by the arm.
He points a finger accusingly at Wilson. “I’ve figured it out!”
Wilson raises an eyebrow and looks between House and Lucas, unsure of how to react. “Figured what out?”
“You’re dating House!’ He trumpets.
Cuddy rolls her eyes at her boyfriend. “As if this is news to anyone here.”
Both Wilson and Lucas turn to her. “You knew?!” they both yell.
Lucas continues breathlessly. “I have been investigating this case for three days because of House, and you knew all this time?”
Wilson turns to House. “You hired him to figure out who I’m dating? You ass.”
House is struggling to hold in his amusement. He turns to Lucas. “How’d you even figure it out, anyways?”
Lucas puffs up his chest in pride, crossing his arms. “What kind of P.I. doesn’t leave a bug on his target?”
House imitates his tone. “What kind of P.I. doesn’t notice the action going on underneath the table?”
“Wait, you bugged me?!”
“Wait, you were getting it on at dinner?! I only heard what came after!”
“You heard that?”
“It’s not like I wanted to!”
And then all three of them are yelling over each other.
Cuddy has her head in her hands amidst all this chaos and she slams her paperweight to get their attention. “Would everyone just quiet down?” she bellows, in her best boss voice.
They all fall silent, turning towards her. House is still suppressing a laugh, Lucas looks traumatized, and Wilson is trying to act angry despite the fact that he’s beginning to recognize the hilarity of this situation. She surveys them all and sighs, rubbing her temples. She felt like a principal surrounded by misbehaving pupils.
“Listen. You two dating may bring about more headaches and cause me a whole lot of trouble, but as far as I can see, it’s a good thing. We should be celebrating, not biting each other’s heads off.”
Wilson shrugs in weary agreement. “Honestly? This conversation has already gone ten times better than I expected.”
Lucas deflates. He rubs his neck before begrudgingly extending an olive branch to House. “Babe, do you still have that Kavalan whiskey? I think we should mark this ‘occasion’ with a drink.”
Cuddy reaches for her bottom drawer and House’s eyes practically sparkle at the sight of the bottle. He sighs as if being put-on, like he hadn’t just master-minded this entire fiasco. “I suppose I could go for a glass or two.”
Wilson rolls his eyes. “Great. Now we’re validating his behaviour.” Cuddy laughed and Lucas started collecting four glasses for each of them from the office mini-bar.
Finally, the four of them had the double date they’d always wanted.
~~~
The rest of the hospital? Well, they find out the fun way.
Wilson’s pacing himself during the Run for Hope when he spots House at the first checkpoint. He’s carrying a sign that says, “If a marathon was easy, it would be called your mom.” Wilson rolls his eyes, blows him a kiss, and keeps going. That gets the other spectating nurses and doctors from PPTH raising their eyebrows, but no one says a thing.
At the second checkpoint, Wilson’s legs are burning and his heart feels like it’s going to pump out of his chest, but House’s sign still manages to make him laugh. “Worst Parade Ever”, it reads. Wilson pauses to let House hand him a new water bottle and pat him on the ass to send him off on his way, telling him to hurry it up because it was freezing out and he wanted a beer. That little move gets the PPTH crowd whispering.
At the third and final checkpoint, when Wilson feels like dying and he’s about to give up, House isn’t holding any sign at all. Instead, he’s screaming at the top of his lungs, spittle flying, a tone he saves for hockey championships in pubs. “Goddamnit, Wilson, run! If you don’t finish now, you’re not finishing later!”
Wilson manages to choke out a “gee, thanks” before letting House shove some energy gels in his mouth and spray him with Gatorade that only partially lands past his lips. Now the PPTH crowd is really talking, and one nurse points out the fact that the word Hope has been crossed out on Wilson’s race bib and replaced with House, written in jagged black sharpie.
When Wilson crosses the Run for Hope finish line in just under three hours, House is waiting for him. Wilson still doesn’t know if the crowd’s uproar was a response to his run time or to the fact that House grabbed him and dipped him into a kiss.
“If my leg still worked, I’d have run it in thirty minutes, you know?” House shouts into Wilson’s ear above the hubbub, his words a contrast to the proud grin on his face.
Wilson’s jiggly legs give out, leaving him practically collapsed into House’s arms, clinging onto his shoulders and burying his sweaty face into House’s neck. There were eyes on them, but he didn’t care.
He’d just run a marathon, after all.