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Wilson hadn't even taken off his coat when the knock came on his door. He’d been staring into space in a lonely daze, feeling sorry for himself and his lack of a relationship. His lack of love… The only person who really loved him was House, and they were both straight… ish… At least Wilson was willing to admit to some curiosity. House, of course, would probably be willing to try anything once. He groaned as he sat up, his back giving him a small twinge that would likely get worse as he neared middle-age.
"Who's there?" he called, getting to his feet and rubbing his lower back.
"Room service!" the cheery voice that was far too happy to belong to his best friend called through the wood. Wilson sighed. House was completely obsessed with him and his dating life. Probably coming over to make sure he wasn’t with Wendy, he thought.
"Oh, good, you're still dressed," House declared, peeking into the room over Wilson's shoulder. "Not much of a place you got here," he commented.
"I'm sorry the accommodations aren't up to your usual standards," Wilson grumbled. “They were all out of stained linens and prostitutes.“
"No worries," House said, the cheerfulness back in his voice. It made Wilson extremely suspicious.
"What's going on?" he finally asked after House snooped in the closet, bathroom, dresser, suitcase, and mini-bar. "Hey! That stuff's expensive!" he exclaimed, reaching for and missing the small bottle in House's hand.
"It's a sad state of affairs when all you have to drink is cheap hotel vodka," House said, swallowing the shot. “It’s not even a brand name! Pack a bag. We're getting out of here."
"Where are we going?" Wilson asked once they were in his car heading towards the freeway. He'd found that going along with House's crazy schemes often got him more information about what was going on in his friend's life than asking or trying to talk. Besides, it was finally the weekend, House had saved both his patients, even if their lives were destroyed in the process, and neither he nor House had work for a few days. Sometimes, House's spur of the moment road trips were fun. Like that horrible camping trip when the bear ate their food... It ended up fun in the end, and they'd laughed more that weekend than he could ever remember laughing before. Even if he’d missed his chance at assuaging his curiosity.
"You'll see," House responded, reaching over to turn on the radio to a loud rock station. Wilson immediately changed it to something softer, but House slapped his hand and turned it to a Classical station. "Driver gets to decide," House intoned.
"Yeah, remind me again why you’re driving my car?" Wilson wondered.
"Because you won't get on my bike," House answered, glancing over to see if Wilson was content with the Chopin.
"Yes, but you have a car of your own," Wilson reminded him.
"It's more fun driving yours. This way, I'll be sure to have a way home, because there's no way you'd leave a cripple behind to walk all those many miles back to Princeton."
"Obviously, you've never heard of these things called taxis?" Wilson asked sarcastically. "They drive people places for a modest fee and anyone can —“
"Boring," House declared, switching back to the original station.
"No! No, go back to the piano!" Wilson yelled, rushing forward at the same time House slammed on the breaks, making the seatbelt pull painfully against his waist and neck. "What are you doing?" he demanded.
"Thought I missed the exit," House explained with a look of faux innocence that Wilson saw through without the need for a dictionary of his friend's expressions. Just screwing with him, then. House, back to normal.
"The last exit was ten miles ago, and the next one is in seven miles."
"Oh! Silly me," House said, banging his forehead with the palm of his hand. He turned the radio back to Chopin.
Wilson regarded him carefully for a moment. "You still haven't told me where we're going."
“Big romantic weekend in the Poconos," House answered, repeating something he’d said earlier in the day, his eyes sparkling as he winked.
"Fine! Don't tell me. I'll find out when we get there." Wilson crossed his arms over his chest and settled back for a good sulk. He could rival House when he put his mind to it, and today seemed like a good idea, after all the ribbing he received this week about dating a nurse he’d barely spoken to.
House turned his attention back to the road, seemingly content to let Wilson wallow in his misery.
.
.
.
The restaurant was expensive, Wilson noted, and for once House had decided to wear a tie to get in, rather than making a scene and calling out the host for not accommodating his disability. Why his leg impacted his ability to tie a tie mystified Wilson, but he knew House could find a way to make it convincing if he wanted to. Or at least be annoying enough that they’d give in.
The food tasted excellent. The wine was smooth and mellow and ten years old. The decadent desert made Wilson's toes curl in his shoes and he took a moment to think about the last time he had really good sex. Before Julie, a quickie with a waitress on her dinner break…
The strangest thing about the whole night, though, was House. He smiled. He joked. He tried to act charming. He didn’t deliberately spill things or make towers out of the dinnerware or trip random passers-by. He even offered a bite of his dinner to Wilson and asked for a bite of Wilson’s instead of just taking it. Wilson didn't trust the behavior one bit, so when House took the check from the waiter and put his own credit card in the pocket of the black folder, Wilson couldn't hold back anymore.
"What's wrong with you?" he hissed as soon as the waiter left. "What's going on? Are there hidden cameras? Are you starting some elaborate prank on me?”
House, who had seemed relaxed throughout most of the meal, frowned. "I take you to a nice restaurant and you think something's wrong?" His voice sounded almost hurt. With anyone else, Wilson would be rushing to apologize, but this was House. House didn't do hurt. He didn't do nice, and he didn't do charming.
"When in fifteen years have you ever done anything like this?" Wilson countered. "Usually you steal my credit card to pay for all your food."
House shrugged and looked almost abashed. "Yeah, about that... Maybe I wanted to give something back after all this time."
Wilson narrowed his eyes.
"For God's sake, James, can't you recognize a date?" House demanded, getting to his feet. "You've been on the other end more than enough," he snarled. He snatched the folder from the returning waiter, scribbled his name on the check and started limping from the restaurant.
"A date?" Wilson said softly to himself, feeling all the breath leave his body in one swoosh. House couldn’t mean a date. Not a real date. They weren’t dating. They weren’t gay. Why would House take him on a date?
He tossed some cash on the table to cover the tip, as House had been too upset to bother, and rushed after his friend. "House!" he called, jogging to catch up with him in the hotel lobby. "House, I didn't —“
"Go home, James," House said, not stopping as he moved toward the elevators. His voice had become brittle and bitter, any contentment or amusement long gone. ”I’ll take a cab, like you suggested."
Wilson scurried after him, slipping into the elevator even though House tried to close it before he got in. "If I'd known it was a date..." He trailed off, not sure what he was going to say.
"I told you it was a date!" House shouted. "How else can you interpret 'big romantic weekend?' I picked you up, I wore a tie, I paid for dinner and the room. What more do you want from me? A neon sign that says 'House wants to do you?' God!"
Wilson stood in the hall watching House walk away, even more stunned than he'd been in the lobby. House looked back over his shoulder.
"Room 603, if you're coming," he said, tossing a keycard in Wilson's general direction before disappearing into the room.
Slowly, feeling as if he needed to take care with every step, Wilson shuffled over to the keycard. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. It was a normal hotel keycard. Nothing to distinguish it from thousands of others like it.
House wants to do me? he thought, feeling a pain in his chest. House took me out on a romantic date, and I had no idea that's what was happening? He shook his head and growled to himself. How could I be so stupid?
He thought again of that camping trip, and how they’d almost had to share a sleeping bag, and how nervous he’d been, considering the idea, how relieved and disappointed he’d been when the second one hadn’t been ruined by the bear. House was smart and funny and an asshole and a misanthrope, but when he turned his full, undivided attention on you… It was like nothing else. It wasn’t sexual, though Wilson had to admit there was a part of him that was curious — had always been curious — about what House was really like with a lover. It was more like the feeling he thought he’d have if he were the sun, with the planets orbiting around him, only House was the planet, bouncing Wilson’s own light and heat back at him in brilliant color. No, House was the Sun… pulling Wilson in, shining his brilliance on him, making him be smarter, faster to follow his ideas, more of an equal…
He just managed to catch House without his usual masks when he entered the room, getting a microsecond’s glimpse of sadness, resignation, hurt and loneliness before his expression morphed through surprise and hope to studied indifference. Wilson noticed their bags, one on each of the beds. Each of the two beds. He froze again.
“Two beds?” he managed to ask, feeling a lump in his throat. He tried to swallow. “How does that say ‘big, romantic weekend?’ Or am I missing something in House-speak?”
House tapped his cane on the floor, staring at it with deep concentration. “Either the romantic part doesn’t work and we each have a bed, or it does and we have one for sex and one for sleep,” he mumbled softly.
“You thought it out that far? That it might work and might not?”
“Flirting with you for ten years yielded absolutely no results, so I had to be ready for rejection,” House admitted. “For a spur of the moment plan based on a throwaway comment, I thought it wasn’t total shit.” He looked up to meet Wilson’s eyes. There was a vulnerability to his expression that made Wilson want to rush over there and hug him, kiss him, comfort him — except that’s not what they did.
Maybe they should start?
“A bed for sex and a bed for sleep, huh?” Wilson repeated, bemused.
“Well, I’m not sleeping in the wet patch, and I figure for our first date, I’d make sure you didn’t have to, either.”
“So romantic,” Wilson murmured.
“Don’t expect it to last,” House responded immediately.
“No, I’ve known you long enough. You’ll do something to piss me off by morning, at the latest.”
“Got to keep it interesting,” House declared with false bravado.
Wilson stepped forward, hesitantly, as if he were approaching that bear from long ago. He raised a hand as he got closer, letting the tips of his fingers feel House’s stubbled cheek. “Greg,” he whispered.
House reached up and took his hand, bringing it over so he could kiss Wilson’s knuckles. Wilson shivered at the tenderness of the gesture. The old-fashioned eroticism that worked perfectly with who House was. He remembered that House had bought a corsage for Cameron on their abortive date and wondered if he’d have flowers in his office on Monday morning. He’d like to have flowers in his office, he realized. Proof that someone cared. Proof that House cared. House gave a small tug and Wilson moved even closer, feeling hypnotized. He found himself standing between House’s legs, his hand still in House’s. They stared at each other for a long time.
“Have you ever —?” Wilson blurted.
“Of course not!” House exclaimed. “It’s because you’re you,” he added is a softer tone.
“Same for me,” Wilson said. “I’m me and you’re you,” Wilson echoed. “The sun and the moon…”
“Total eclipse of the heart,” House sang. “Baby,” he added as an afterthought.
Wilson snickered, then started laughing. House smiled hesitantly. Wilson tangled his fingers with House’s and bent to kiss him.
.
.
.
Monday came far too quickly for Wilson’s liking. He woke sore, in House’s bed, exhausted and happy and feeling every one of his 38 years. He wondered how House had the stamina for what they’d done that weekend, with nine years more of life and a bum leg on top of it. He sat up and looked down at his friend — his lover — still amazed at what House had managed for them. He’d paid for everything. The entire weekend. And when he’d said ‘big romantic weekend,’ he hadn’t been exaggerating.
After the late dinner on Friday night and several hours of lovemaking, they’d spent Saturday at the jazz festival, wandering the shops, and talking. They didn’t talk about anything different than they usually talked about, except for the occasional question about likes and dislikes people ask each other when they’re starting a romantic relationship. Things he and House had never had a reason to ask each other. It felt surprisingly comfortable.
Fortunately, they didn’t run into Foreman and Wendy, though House told him later that he’d heard a rumor that they’d decided not to go for some reason, thus saving them all the embarrassment of what to do when finding your colleague/boss out on a date with someone unexpected.
Then House had taken his hand as they entered a small locally-owned restaurant for dinner and Wilson felt something in himself relax. He’d never thought of House as someone who was into public displays of affection. He hadn’t been with Stacy, nor with any of his previous girlfriends. Wilson hadn’t been, either, disliking such things most of the time, not even holding his wives’ hands, but holding House’s… it felt good.
They’d made love again that night, learning even more about each other and their bodies. House opened up, telling Wilson about his sexual past, his desires and fantasies. Wilson couldn’t do anything but respond in kind. They’d kissed again, and started touching, and by the time they fell asleep, Wilson had gasped House’s first name as he came for the second time that night.
Sunday involved more jazz, a scenic drive, and a stop to the supermarket where Wilson bought enough groceries to fill House’s kitchen. He cooked dinner, laughing as House regaled him with stories of practical jokes he’d played during med school to keep from being too bored. They ate, watched TV, then made out for an hour before moving to the bedroom.
He shook his head, smiling affectionately at House while he considered whether or not to wake him.
“Don’t you dare try to wake me,” House mumbled.
“You want to go in to work together?”
House opened a single eye and regarded Wilson carefully. “I want you to shut up so I can sleep. I don’t go in as early as you and you know it.”
Wilson reached out and ran his palm over House’s shoulders. House wriggled under the touch, finding a more comfortable position. He sighed happily.
“We should at least talk about work, though,” Wilson said.
“Nothing changes at work,” House answered. “I might take you on romantic weekend getaways on our personal time, but at work I’m still the same asshole everyone knows.”
“Don’t want to ruin your image?” Wilson teased.
“You think I trust anyone there with something as personal as this?”
“No, that’s not the kind of thing you’d share, is it? It’s like you said the other day, though. A big romantic weekend could change everything. I think that includes you.”
“Do you have any idea how insufferable they’d be if they knew we’re dating?”
“We’re dating?”
“Aren’t we?”
“I — uh — I suppose we are,” Wilson said carefully. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to call it that.”
“I do.”
“Ok. We’re dating.”
“And you’re my boyfriend,” House added. He rolled to his back and opened both eyes, searching Wilson’s face. He frowned slightly.
“Greg, you’re the only person in my life who actually loves me,” Wilson said, cutting him off before he could say anything. “I thought that even before this weekend. I think — I think you might be the one.”
House pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing at his thigh. He let go of it and caressed Wilson’s cheek. His eyes softened the way they’d been doing more and more often that weekend, a small, genuine smile on his face. “I know you’re the one,” he said softly. “You’ve been the one for a very long time.”
“I —“
House pulled Wilson forward into a deep, gentle kiss.
“Move back in with me,” House suggested when they broke apart. “Sleep here with me, every night.”
Wilson blinked, startled. He ran his fingers through his hair and licked his lips nervously.
“I —“ He felt his chest tighten. “I don’t know if we should jump into that so quickly. I mean, neither of us are good at this kind of thing.”
“Go to work,” House barked, anger trying to hide his hurt, rolling onto his side so he didn’t have to look at Wilson. Wilson stared at him for a moment.
“I just don’t want to make a mistake with this,” he said.
“So, don’t. Leave me alone.”
House pulled a pillow over his head and Wilson decided it wasn’t worth fighting. He got up to shower.
.
.
.
There was a huge bouquet of roses waiting on Wilson’s desk when he made it to work. He managed to pluck the card from amidst the flowers without scraping himself on thorns and opened it.
Thanks for a wonderful weekend.
Wilson smiled, rubbing his thumb over the printed letters.
“Someone got some love this weekend,” Foreman said from his doorway. Wilson whirled in place, shoving the card in his pocket. “You seen House?”
“Uh, no. No, I haven’t seen him. Not in a while,” Wilson hedged.
“Huh. He’s not in any of his usual hiding spots, and we have a new patient.”
“I’ll see if I can find him,” Wilson said. Foreman nodded and left after eyeing the flowers again. Wilson picked up his cell phone and dialed.
“I overreacted,” House said in place of a greeting, and Wilson heard the unspoken apology.
“Me, too,” Wilson said, thinking of how he’d slammed dishes around in the kitchen before he left in a deliberate attempt to keep House awake. He ran his fingers through his hair and sat on his sofa. “It’s just — This is too important to rush,” he continued. “We’ve both rushed into things with other people, and I’d hate to see this turn into anything like that.”
“I’m already crippled, so you can’t do that to me,” House pointed out.
“It was horrible living with you last time,” Wilson responded.
“I was trying to flirt with you, you idiot!”
“How was making me pee on your couch flirting? And, what, were you going to dip my pigtails in an ink jar next?” Wilson asked, smiling despite himself.
“I’ve been calling you a woman for years.”
“And when you call Cuddy a man in the next breath, it loses any validity.”
House paused, but didn’t speak.
“Thank you for the flowers.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And for the weekend. No one’s ever treated me like that before.”
“Gotta make the first date count if I wanted to get laid,” House declared. They both laughed.
“Let me take you out tonight,” Wilson suggested.
“I’m not wearing a tie,” House grumbled.
“Burgers and a movie. It’s Monday, and the theater will be empty, so we can —“
“Give each other hand jobs?”
“I was gonna say make out…”
“Spoil all my fun,” House muttered, though Wilson heard the smile underneath.
“Actually, Foreman was in here a minute ago telling me you have a patient.”
“Already?”
“I guess so. He was checking out the flowers.”
“Let them speculate. I bet you $100 they’ll never guess they were from me.”
“I’ll take that bet. They might decide it was you pranking me.”
“Damn it, didn’t think of that.”
“You, not thinking of every angle of a bet before placing it?” Wilson teased. “What’s gotten into you?”
“My mind was distracted by thinking of the great sex I had this weekend,” House answered sincerely and without missing a beat.
“Great sex, huh?”
“Don’t get a big head. You seemed to think I was pretty good, too.”
“Oh, you were,” Wilson said with a satisfied sigh. “Can’t wait for later.”
“Good thing later is now,” House said, bursting into the room. He shut the door, closed his phone, dropped it in his pocket and straddled Wilson’s lap, kissing him soundly. Wilson kissed him back, wrapping his arms around him. “First rule: Never leave my place without a goodbye kiss, even if we’re fighting,” House informed him. He bent to suck on Wilson's Adam’s apple. Wilson gave a hiccuppy moan. “Second rule: you tell me about your little lunches with nurses or whoever beforehand.”
“Why didn’t we talk about this before?” Wilson wondered, pulling back.
“Too busy with sex.”
“Ah, right.”
“Rule three: you fuck around, we’re done. No discussion.”
“Rule four: no boyfriend jokes at work,” Wilson added. “I’m your boyfriend, and that’s fine, but no making fun of it. And no saying you have a girlfriend or pretending I’m your girlfriend, or talking about a girlfriend when you’re really talking about me.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Can I uphold the fallacy that I still see hookers?” House asked. “I mean, I won’t see them because I’m with you, but…”
Wilson shrugged. “Sure, but don’t talk about them and mean me.”
“I get it,” House said. “Our relationship is off limits.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m still ragging on you about your ex-wives.”
“Ok, I guess.”
“And as your best friend, I’m pointing out when you’re being an idiot.”
“I never thought to try to change that,” Wilson said with a sigh. He leaned his forehead on House’s shoulder. “Can we leave the rest of this for later?”
“Your little baldies in need of Dr. Wilson’s expert care?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
House stood awkwardly, using Wilson to balance before he grabbed his cane. He gave Wilson a tender kiss. “See you around, James,” he murmured.
Wilson smiled. “Yeah.”
House opened the door to find all three of his fellows across the hall, staring at Wilson’s office, obviously engaged in a debate about whether to disturb them or not.
“What were you doing in there?” Foreman demanded. “I told Wilson you had a patient an hour ago!”
“Did you see the flowers on his desk?” House countered in his ‘dumb surfer’ accent. “Boyfriend in there got some major play! I had to find out who she was, since Foreman’s dipping his chocolate in the vanilla this week.”
Wilson put his head in his hands and groaned. Of course. If House didn’t comment on the flowers, especially after his obsessive behavior the week before, his fellows would notice something was up. They’d have to modify that rule. How could they do it without outing themselves before they were ready? He felt his mind whirling away with anxiety.
“Wilson!” House barked. Wilson looked up. “As I’m obviously smarter than you, I’ll figure it out.”
“Uh…”
House grinned in that manic way he did to deflect away from his feelings, though Wilson thought he could see the effort it cost for the first time in a while. “I’ll bring a list tonight and go over the logic using small words you’ll be sure to understand.”
Wilson nodded. House was trying to reassure him. At work. About their relationship. Without outing them.
“Is this the Twilight Zone, or are you really choosing to leave me with a little dignity?” Wilson heard himself ask.
“As if I would ever do something like that,” House responded. “Your fly’s down,” he added, winking and leaving for his own office, his fellows jumping to follow after casting curious looks at Wilson’s crotch. House had, indeed, lowered his fly without him noticing when they’d been kissing earlier, probably in preparation for a scene just like this. Well, that’s what he got from dating House, he supposed. Embarrassment and humiliation.
But he also got flowers, he reminded himself, zipping up. He got flowers and kisses and House’s version of looking after him. He smiled to himself. He could get used to that.