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House was not invited to the gala.
This would normally be good news as there's almost nothing that House hates more than a gala. Bunch of rich people swanning about more interested in being seen than being interesting and Cuddy expecting him to be on his best behavior. He'd much rather be sitting in his apartment in his underwear watching monster trucks and plucking mindlessly at his guitar.
But this wasn't just any gala. This was a Wayne gala. And Wilson had an invite.
So House was going.
"I know you're planning something" Wilson hissed as he kept pace with House's lopsided gait as they approached the front door. "You never want to come with me to these. You have ulterior motives and I can smell them."
"If you were so sure, why'd you let me tag along?" House asked, smirking shittily.
Wilson shrugged, pulling on his cuff guiltily. "Sometimes these galas are boring."
"Every time these galas are boring," House corrected. "But a Wayne gala has something I can make interesting."
"Namely?"
"Bruce Wayne."
Wilson snorted. "You hate Bruce Wayne."
"I hate Brucie Wayne," House corrected again.
Wilson rolled his eyes. "It's like you're trying to tell me something but doing it in the most irritating way possible."
"I'm not telling you anything. I want you to be surprised," House winked at him, knocking the bottom of his cane into Wilson's ankle. "Just planting seeds for you to get irritated at thinking back on later."
Wilson kicked his cane in response and they were still kicking at each other when they reached the door to Wayne manor.
"Good evening, gentlemen," greeted the butler at the entryway in a posh British accent. "May I see your invitation?"
Wilson cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed that the older man had seen them behaving so childishly. He proffered his invite with a "James Wilson. Plus one."
The butler looked it over before nodding and handing it back. "Very well, just through here to the ballroom, please."
"Thank you," Wilson said, nodding at the butler respectfully.
"Yeah, thanks Alfie!" House grinned.
The butler's lips twitched as he gestured them through. Wilson turned to House incredulously.
"Alfie?"
"Alfred Pennyworth," House explained. "Wayne family butler. Surely you know that."
"I don't know why I would know that but even if I did, you can't just go giving nicknames to people you don't know."
"Really?" House frowned. "But that sounds so in character for me."
Wilson grabbed his House's elbow, leaning in very closely. "If this is part of you plan just please please don't embarrass you."
House rolled his eyes. "Jimmy, you know I'm going to embarrass you."
Wilson sighed, squeezing his elbow again. "Fine but just don't get us kicked out."
House grinned, nudging Wilson with his shoulder. Wilson smiled back.
As soon as they were inside, House made a b-line for the first waiter he saw.
"Hi, Gregory House, as you can see I am disabled." he lifted his cane, as proof. "And therefore have limited mobility. I am going to park myself…" He scanned the ballroom, his eyes coming on a little alcove with a cushioned bench. "Over there and if you could just make sure the waiters know where I am. I need to take my medications with food you see and alcohol helps numb the muscle pain."
The waiter's eyebrow scrunched but you can tell they'd worked these parties before because they didn't ask any follow up questions. "Of course, Mr. House."
"Doctor."
"Doctor House, excuse me." The waiter ducked their head in apology. "Why don't I get you started with something at the bar. Can we make you something special?"
"Finest scotch if you've got," House grinned. "And first pick of whatever little finger food is gonna come out on a silver tray."
"Of course, sir," the waiter ducked their head again. "I'll put the word out. Do you need assistance getting to your seat?"
"Nah, my service dog's got me," House told him, jerking his head toward Wilson who he knew without looking was standing behind him massaging his temple with one hand.
The waiter looked behind him and their lips twitched before nodding. "Very good, sir."
House nodded back, turning and ambling toward the alcove he'd pointed out. It was empty for now – most of the guests being more concerned at this point in the party with mingling and being seen – but House suspected that as the gala wore on, socialites would flock to these private corners. Good thing House planned to be long gone by then.
House lowered himself onto the bench seat with a sigh, extending his leg out to let the muscle relax.
"You don't have any medication," was the first objection Wilson had apparently to what he'd told the waiter."
"You need to take ibuprofen with food," House objected. "And anyway, food is medication for the soul."
Wilson snorted, shaking his head. "Am I to assume that if I leave you here while I go make the rounds, you won't do anything exciting until I get back?"
"I can't go anywhere – this is where they're bringing my food."
"House."
"If I get bored, I'll find you first."
Wilson sighed, raising his hand in allowance. "I guess that's the best I can ask for."
House hummed. "Go do boring things with boring people, you're blocking my view."
Wilson rolled his eyes, stepping into House's space for just a moment, reaching up to cup his jaw and run a thumb over his cheekbone. Before stepping away. "Let me know if you need anything."
"Yes, mom."
House hummed again to himself as he watched Wilson walk away. He wore suits every day but this suit actually showed his body. And it was a good body.
House knows he has a bit of time before Bruce Wayne shows up – famously always late to even his own parties – so he settles in to people watch.
It is incredibly dull. Rich people want to pretend they're interesting with their luxuries and high profile relationships but, truly, they just have better press. All the money in the world can't buy personality.
At least if the Wayne children were here, he could dare them to create mayhem in some way. He heard one of them liked to swing on chandeliers. He'd kill for something like that right now.
He'd made his way through the entire hors d'oeuvre selection twice and was nursing his second scotch when Wayne finally made his entrance.
He was in full Brucie fashion – making his excuses, flirting with the matrons, talking up the charity they were all here to support (Cancer research, hence Wilson) – and House rolled his eyes. He was debating doing the ambush in the middle of Wayne's grand splash but then–
Then Wayne's persona slipped for just a fraction of a second. His shoulders released, his feet squared, his eyebrow twitched.
And he was looking at one of the reporters.
Reporters were cornered off on the opposite side of the ballroom to House, set to observe until speeches were made, and then allowed to mingle with guests if they're able to find someone to interview. They were all less-expensively dressed, less vapidly shrewd, and vacantly performative, but they were even more hungry for gossip and viciously curious.
But the reported Wayne had locked in on didn't seem to have that hunger or viciousness. He was tall, if slumped, with glasses and a poorly fitted suit. But there was something in the dimple in his cheek as he smiled back at Wayne…
And that was interesting.
He flagged down a waiter to go chase down Wilson.
"You can't just send wait staff to run on your little errands," Wilson reprimanded him, collapsing on the bench beside him."
"Sure I can – by the time we leave you're gonna tip them super well."
Wilson raised an eyebrow. "Oh, am I?"
"Yeah, man, it's the American way."
Wilson furrowed his brow. "Are you being weird on purpose?"
"Aren't I always?" House smirked, elbowing Wilson and pointing him toward the press pen. "Look. You see that handsome reporter?"
"Which one?"
"Do not pretend you don't know which one I'm talking about."
Wilson sighed. "Tall? Curly hair? Cool tie?"
"It's a hideous tie of course you like it," House grumbled. "Yeah, him. Can you go learn about him real quick for me?"
"You just want me to walk up–"
"And tell them you're one of the doctors invited and you'll answer his questions, yeah. And then if you could just get his name and paper."
Wilson sighed. "Does this have anything to do with you making the gala interesting?"
"No. Maybe. It's new but potentially related."
Wilson took a deep breath but said "Fine. I was done talking to socialites anyway."
"Attaboy," House grinned, smacking him on the ass as he went.
House watched Wayne as he waited for his partner to report back.
It was a commendable performance. Give 'em the old razzle dazzle and all that. Give them something to look at and they'll think that's all there is to see.
It was trite and completely derivative but it's not like Wayne would take any of House's suggestions on what to do differently.
"Clark Kent, the Daily Planet," Wilson presented, dutifully. "Typical corn-fed beefcake – midwestern accent and got bashful when I complimented his tie."
"Adorable," House commented. "Any good at reporting?"
"He had prepared questions, listened when I spoke, remembered my name when we shook hands and I walked away." Wilson shrugged. "You could pull up an article."
"I didn't ask if he was good at writing, I asked if he was good at reporting. That's more investigation than storytime."
Wilson hummed, stretching his legs out next to House's and settling his folded hands on his stomach as he leaned back. "He was comfortably inquisitive and sharp."
House hummed back. "Is it time for speeches yet?"
"Now that Wayne's here, it should be happening any minute. He doesn't usually like to–"
The lights dimmed, cutting Wilson off, as Bruce Wayne himself stood at the head of the room with a microphone.
House didn't bother listening to his speech – obviously as a doctor and as someone hitched on the James Wilson gravy train, he was invested in the funding of cancer research but he didn't particularly care what any rich person had to say about it, let alone Brucie Wayne.
But with the speech done that meant it was time to release the press. And, sure enough, after the first few brownnosers sidelined Wayne to congratulate him on his speech or offer to lick his shoes or whatever, Wayne seemed to naturally fall directly into the path of some such beefcake reported.
"That's our cue," House said, clapping Wilson's thigh and shoving himself to his feet.
Wilson snorted a bit as if he was being startled awake before scrambling to his feet and following House. "What? Is it happening?"
"It's happening."
"Good. Wait, what's actually happening?"
House ignored him, his path clear towards Wayne and Kent.
"No. House." Wilson hisses. "What do you want with Mr. Wayne? You promised we wouldn't get kicked out."
"Did I promise?"
"House."
"Wayne! It's been a while."
Wayne didn't flinch but he did go very still in a way that House knew he would have flinched. If not for all his training.
"Ah, Dr. House," Wayne covered, smoothly turning toward them. House could feel Wilson freeze in shock behind him. "I wasn't aware you were coming! Your name wasn't on the guestlist."
"Nope," House said, hooking his cane around Wilson's arm and pulling him forward. "But his was."
Wilson just gaped, looking between House and Wayne.
The reporter cleared his throat. "This is James Wilson, Mr Wayne. I interviewed him earlier this evening."
Wayne's eye twitched. House could see the connections being made in that eye twitch. House grinned.
Wayne pulls his face back together and claps Wilson's hand in a handshake. "Dr. Wilson, of course! So nice to meet you. Oh, but Dr. House, we should take this conversation somewhere more comfortable for you. Have you seen our seating accommodations?"
"Oh, yeah, we just came from one," Wilson told him, stuttering a bit over his words. "But he's fine, he can stand for a–"
"Oh, nonsense, let's head back over there! Wouldn't want you to lose your seat." Wayne laughed, guiding them all toward the alcove. "At this point in the evening, I know these lovely ladies are itching to get off their heels and these benches become slim pickings! Let's not push him too much."
Wilson looked back at House, searching for their play, and House just winked at him. Wilson looked confused, but allowed himself and House to be ushered back to their seats.
Wayne let out another laugh as they all sat down. House noticed that he and Wilson had been herded toward the muffle as Kent and Wayne's bulk obstructed the view of the rest of the party.
"Oh, House," Wayne said arily, and then, through a tight smile, voice low. "What do you know and what do you want?"
"What?" Wilson asked.
"Don't worry," House said, ignoring Wilson. "I'm not gonna sick ICE on your pet journalist."
"What?" Kent asked.
"So you Trojan Horsed my gala for kicks and just happened upon Audrey 2?"
"Mostly, yeah," House laughed, amused by that pull. "You weren't very subtle about your plant and I have eyes. But I have a pet, too."
Wayne's eyes flashed to Wilson and then he turned back to House. "No."
"Oh, come on."
"Why now?"
House looked over at Wilson who was looking back at him, extremely confused.
House sighed. "It's in my contract."
Wayne's eyes widened slightly and House widened his eyes back.
Wayne held it for a moment before letting out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Clark, could you?"
"Oh," Kent said, seemingly surprised to be called on. "Sure, let me just–"
And then he did Something. And House knew it was okay to speak candidly.
"Wilson, I'd like to introduce you to the World's Finest."
Kent jerked his head back like House had hit him. "Dude."
"House," Wayne admonished, still pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You said I could!" House whined.
"Is that what happened?" Kent asked.
"Can someone tell me anything of what's happening?" Wilson interjected.
Wayne sighed, turning to face Kent instead of Wilson. "Clark, this is Dr. Gregory House. He and I briefly attended med school together."
"What?!" Wilson asked, whipping toward House.
"Med school like–" Kent asked, meaningfully.
"Like before I started my training, yes," Wayne confirmed.
"Training?" Wilson asked.
Kent's eyes cut to Wilson and back to Wayne. "Why are you–?
"House already knows," Wayne crossed his arms, pouting. "About me. And now he knows about you."
"Wait, what? What makes you think that?"
"Because he sent me over to talk to you," Wilson answered for him, seemingly happy to have at least one of the answers. "If House came with me and I talked to you and we both approached you when you were together, that's House signalling that he knows that you're important."
"And because he knows about me, if you're important, he guessed you'd be important."
"I didn't guess," House interjected. "I deduced."
"Yes, thank you Sherlock," Wayne sighed.
Understanding bloomed on Kent's face. "And you knew he knew because he said he wouldn't call ICE on me."
"Right," Wayne said, apologetically.
"Well, yeah, House would never do that," Wilson said, still playing catch up. "Are you an immigrant?"
"Close!" House chirped.
Wayne glared at him but House just gestured for Kent to continue.
Which he did. "I'm an alien."
Wilson's eyes widened and he quickly tracked the conversation back.
"Audrey 2," he mumbled. "World's Finest…"
The three of them watched Wilson putting it together. They saw when the penny dropped.
"Superman?" He breathed. "And… with the training,.. you're–"
"Yeah," Wayne said and then let his voice drop. "I'm Batman."
Wilson reached over to grip House's hand. House patted it indulgently.
"So what did you do, by the way?" House asked as he let Wilson process everything. "To make it safe to talk I mean?"
"Hm? Oh," Kent said, pushing his glasses up. "I've got perception distortion. If I move fast enough, I can disrupt the electrons in the air to blur picture and muffle sound. The flash taught me how to do it."
"And you're doing it right now?" House asked. Kent nodded. "It doesn't even look like you're moving."
"Well, yeah," Kent said, chuckling slightly. "It's really fast."
"Why do you know Batman?" Wilson blurted out, thankfully no louder than how they'd already been talking.
"He said already: we went to med school together," House said.
"Yeah, sure, so you know Bruce Wayne but why do you know Batman."
"I kept tabs on him," both House and Wayne said at the same time. They glared at each other.
"He disappeared mysteriously from the program, was heard to be traveling around Asia, and then showed back up with a completely different personality. And there was a bat shaped vigilante on the scene," House deduced, eyes still locked on Wayne. "And then Batman gets a sidekick the same time Wayne gets a ward? Come on."
"Partner," Wayne corrected, still glaring at House. "Robin is my partner and you know that."
Wilson cleared his throat. "And you, Mr. Wayne?"
Wayne snorted. "Enough doctors in Gotham go rogue I try to head them off if I can," he answered. "When I heard Gregory House was settling in New Jersey, I had to keep him out of the costume store."
Wilson hummed a little too understandingly. House dug his elbow into his ribs.
Wilson grunted and rubbed at the spot but didn't let it distract him. "So why tell me?"
House let his eyes go mildly pleading.
Wayne, deductive in his own right, thankfully understood and pivoted.
"I don't think House planned to when you brought him here. Probably just wanted to tease that we knew each other. But then we saw Clark," Wayne raised an eyebrow. "You're a bit of a Superman fan, aren't you?"
Wilson flushed red and buried his face in his hands.
House elbowed him again, lighter this time. "Told you I would embarrass you."
Kent let out a low and comforting chuckle. "No need to be embarrassed, James," Kent said, seeming to settle into Superman in that moment. "I'm a fan of yours as well. I've read some of your papers on early detection in pediatric patients."
Wilson's eyes lit up. "Oh? Please don't judge too harshly, that was still early in my career, and there's actually–"
House watched Wilson interact with Superman, fondly. And when he looked over at Wayne, he was looking just as fondly at his pet.
"Did he piss all over your furniture when you brought him home from the pound?" House asked, quietly, so as not to disrupt the flow.
Wayne chuckled. "Still a stray for now. But he let me put tags on him."
House hummed in a congratulatory way. Wayne grunted back.
House wondered if anyone else in Wayne's life figured it out. How to talk to him. He wasn't very verbose but if you gave him a metaphor he'd run with it. Give him a reference and he'd tell you anything you wanted. He didn't talk like this on his own but he was happy to play with House in this space.
House also wondered if this was why Wayne put up with him. They didn't see each other much, but when they did, Wayne had permission to express himself in the most confusing way possible and still be understood.
And House would happily be that for him. If for no other reason than it was nice to have someone to play tennis with.
"Any luck on that contract?" Wayne asked.
House grunted, patting the ring box in his pocket. "Just waiting on the notary."
Wayne hummed. "Will I be a witness?"
"I can put you on the list but I'm sure we'd both prefer if you just sent cash."
Wayne smiled. "I can do both."
House laughed. "Fine. But you have to play nice with Quinzel and Crane."
Wayne sighed, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose again. "You promised me."
"Oh please," House rolled his eyes. "I'm not going rogue. And from what I hear, Quinn is more on your side of the aisle these days."
"But Crane–"
"Was a respected doctor who went through childhood trauma," House interrupted. "Let he among us who hadn't–"
"You promised me."
"And I'm keeping that promise!" House assured him. "I can imagine nothing more boring than getting foiled by your ass every other week."
Wayne narrowed his eyes. "Not even if something happened to him?" he asked, cocking his head to a still enthusiastic Wilson. "You haven't met Mr. Freeze but he's a doctor too."
"I'm familiar," House rolled his eyes. "And you don't have to worry about that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." House raised his drink, looking directly in Wayne's eye. "Because if anything were to happen to Wilson, I'm lacing my whiskey with cyanide."
Wayne blinked. But then he nodded. And House was grateful at least that he didn't try to reason with him on that.
They couldn't hog the host of the evening all night so Wayne did have to excuse himself and make his rounds but Kent stuck around for a bit. He also had to excuse himself to finish getting notes for his article but he gave Wilson his phone number which House thought was just so typical of him.
"Don't go falling in love with Superman," House warned, throwing his arm around Wilson's shoulder as they made their way out. "I don't know if you caught that, but his boyfriend can fight."
Wilson snorted. "Yeah, I have heard that about him," he said, wrapping his arm around House's waist. House let himself give Wilson a bit of his weight, as a treat. "What about you? Would you fight Superman for my virtue?"
"No," House said, emphatically. "But I'd happily watch."
Wilson laughed softly, shaking his head. House leaned his temple against Wilson's.
"I don't think we have to worry about that," Wilson said, patting House on the stomach with his other hand. "But it's nice he gave me his number. Means we'll probably see him again."
House felt the ring in his pocket. "Oh I'd say we'll definitely see them again."
Wilson looked up at him, suspiciously. "Not because you're turning evil, right?"
"Why does everyone think I'm turning evil?" House whined.
"I'm sure not everyone," Wilson grinned. "Just the people who've met you."
House made mocking sounds at him as he leaned down to kiss him.
He was still waiting for that moment – the notary, as he'd said to Wayne – but he felt better about the question now. With no secrets and nothing to hide.
And hopefully the next big party he'll have to go to will be his wedding reception.
And then he'll never go to another gala again.