Chapter Text
The hospital lobby bustled with people when House and Wilson entered. It was the annual PPTH Gala. Anxiety marked House's face as he wanted to tiptoe out, but the AFOs he wore kept preventing him. House wished the ground would swallow him up. However, Wilson held his hand, preventing House from bolting.
House knew that, in the grand scheme of things, he wasn’t very good with people. Since being diagnosed with ASD a month and a half ago, he had been trying to be very intentional about what he did. He had wanted to try new things, like going to a crowded event, and this was his first big attempt.
House had been to lots of crowded events before. He and Wilson had been to concerts, sporting events, and conferences together. However, they hadn't attended a big party like this since college graduation. "Come on, Greg," Wilson encouraged, looking at him. “You and Jensen had practiced this.”
At the mention of his psychiatrist's name, House relaxed fractionally. Over the three months he had been seeing Dr. Jensen, the psychiatrist had taught House about socializing. Dr. Jensen had coached House to be able to socialize and better utilize his skills.
House took a deep breath. "When they ask, 'How do you do?' just say, 'I'm good,'" House told himself. But to Wilson, he simply said, "Come on. Let's do this.”
The gathered crowd was huge, maybe three hundred people. House held his crutches tightly as he walked to his team who sat in the corner, all three of them. The noise was grating on his nerves to the point where he wanted to cry. He wore earplugs, but he longed for his ear defenders at home. "House, you're here?" Cameron said, looking at him in surprise.
"Wilson, bargain for some sex," House said in jest. They both knew that this gala was sort of an assignment from his psychiatrist. House had informed the team that he was on the autism spectrum and seeing a psychiatrist regularly. "Where are the boys?”
"Foreman is getting drinks, and Robbie is just in the bathroom."
"Why are you not socializing?" House asked Cameron.
Cameron sighed. "I just don't like to," House raised a brow. "Not everyone wants to mingle with people. Neurotypical or otherwise.”
"So the three of you just mingle among yourselves?" House asked, looking at her.
"Yes, that's correct," she said.
Foreman entered, carrying drinks. He looked at House. "I'm surprised you came."
"My husband said if I behave, I'll get sex," House joked to Foreman, who laughed.
Cuddy saw him next, wearing a blue dress that accentuated her grey eyes. "House, let me introduce you to some of our benefactors.”
The two younger doctors looked at him and Cuddy as House joined her. With Cuddy by his side, House made his way through the crowded hall. "Where's James?" he asked Cuddy.
"House, Wilson is right there," she said, pointing to his husband, who was smoothly mingling with people. "Wilson is so good at this," House thought.
"This is Mr. Reed," Cuddy said, introducing House to the man. "He's the donor that provided us with the MRI," she informed House. "Mr. Reed, this is Dr. House, Head of Diagnostic Medicine."
Reed eyed House's crutches and decided not to shake his hand, which left House both grateful and annoyed. There was an awkward silence as House and Reed didn't move. At this point, House felt the urge to bolt and go home to his sensory swing. Wilson had gotten him the swing as an early birthday present, and the thought of its comforting embrace was tempting. However, he had promised Jensen and himself that he would be able to handle a three-hour social event.
Then Cuddy pulled him out of the man’s eye line. Another benefactor. House sighed inwardly, sensing potential trouble. Cuddy began, “Mr. Archer, this is Dr. House, the head of diagnostic medicine. And Dr. House, this is Mr. Archer, he owns the Princeton School For Autism.”
Archer gave House a once-over, eyeing him suspiciously. House almost cowered under the intensity of his scrutinizing gaze. However, he squared his shoulders and met the man's eyes head-on.
Wilson approached them. "Greg?" he said, looking at House worriedly. "I need a consult," Wilson added. ‘Consult’ was their safe word.
"Okay," House replied. Without making eye contact with Archer, he said, "Gotta go. Duty calls."
"Greg, are you okay?" Wilson asked, his voice tinged with concern, as they moved out of earshot of Cuddy and Archer.
House glanced around nervously, his eyes darting to avoid meeting Wilson's gaze. “Yes, I’m fine,” he replied, though the tightness in his voice betrayed his unease.
"Are you saying that because you don't have the words for how you feel or because you actually feel fine?" Wilson asked.
“I’m fine for now,” House said. "Is our deal still on, even if I never finish the three hours?”
“Yes," said Wilson.
The two of them left, side by side. On the way to their car, Wilson asked, “Greg, what’s up with the man? I saw you earlier and you were uncomfortable.”
House didn’t answer for a long moment, frowning and beginning to rock in his seat. After fifteen minutes of silence, he finally spoke. "He was the owner of an autism school."
Wilson thought, Why is that a consideration? But as House kissed him, he began kissing back, and the man was quickly forgotten.