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It all started the way most things do, with Cuddy demanding something from House.
Normal things. The kinds of things department head doctors are supposed to do for Deans of Medicine. She needed bodies to help her at the next charity auction. And turns out, when you make Cuddy choose you over 100 million dollars, even years later, she expected you to be the best man at the entire event. House refused to participate in schmoozing stupid people, especially stupid rich people on principle. He, secondarily, refused to do what he is supposed to do, as is the dynamic between the both of them.
And maybe if he had just said yes for once, Cuddy would’ve decided on a reasonable sort of event that he could’ve gotten by on drunk and stupid himself. And maybe in that way, she wouldn’t have to have come up with some crazy insane idea that she went to Wilson with first to soften the blow. The proverbial blow that has gotten them into this situation.
Cuddy decided a bachelor and bachelorette auction would be a good idea. If he had said yes, looking back on it, he imagines that he would’ve told her to do a sensible auction like med student art or mural rights or something, anything, else. It’s a fun way for staff to schmooze donors anyway, so people tell him, and you might just get a free meal out of it. Of course, she needs more than just volunteers, because no one in their right mind except for desperate, slutty, lonely, and or self-centered people would willingly do such a thing. House and Wilson don’t really fit the bill for “volunteering”, so they are both demanded to go, like some sort of joint punishment. So somehow, she was going to make it mandatory for them, one way or the other. Deny Wilson whatever shiny new thing he needs for oncology, give House’s cases to Chase of all people, whatever. What he didn’t expect was Wilson to tell her that his totally real brand-new partner was too jealous to let him do such a thing. And what he also didn’t expect was for Cuddy to take him seriously when he said he can’t because he finally started dating Wilson. Because that means, she’s put some things together that were never meant to go together. It means it was believable House and Wilson were inevitably on that track enough she noticed.
“No, uh, I couldn’t. My partner is far too jealous to let me do something like that.”
“Oh, I’d just love to but I’m dating Wilson. Yeah, cat’s out of the bag. Big gay dating. You’ve heard of it right? Back when you were three fingers deep in medical school.”
Her smile had widened. She said, “Oh my god. Of course. When Wilson outbid Lucas and I on that condo, and said his new partner was too jealous for something like this. Of course it was you he was doing it all for.”
A minute of amusement turned into, “But you two still have to go. I want to show you two off at the auction anyway.”
Doomed to show themselves off in public. Nothing could go wrong.
At least there’s room for drunk and stupid.
---
“Why did you have to tell her you were dating me?” Wilson asks him, for the tenth time today, fifth in the last hour. He’s getting desperate, it seems.
House tries not to feel hurt by the indignance. He has long understood the picture that is James Wilson. James Wilson is always going to hang himself through the bars of his white picket fence enclosure, with his legs knee deep in the closet. He will always want for that picturesque life where he’s a good man with a good wife and that he’s happy and normal too.
Even if Wilson did figure it out and date a man, he would still choose the kind that fits his self-flagellated version of an identity. He will be that kind of son that one writes home about, even as he juggles his way to the sixth divorce, one more woman and two boring men. That’s his prediction at least. And then he’ll just have to choose loneliness because Wilson is far too stubborn to get real about his identity, and he’d rather accept that New Jersey will one day be sworn away from his charms.
But not House, that was never his style. Pining hopelessly is in the job description. He has loved Wilson since he saw that fence burn to pieces mid-bar fight, after Billy Joel played too many times, in some touristy corner of New Orleans. He will always love him.
House finally answers, “Why did you have to make your answer sound just like me? If you had said something to the effect of, I don’t know, my bald cancer kid is dying she would’ve thought I was joking.”
“House.”
“Oh, is it just that distasteful to have be gay? To be gay with me?” He fans himself, like the drama of it all is coming with him to Sunday church.
Wilson’s face changes then. Determination. Set jaw. Twitching upper lip. He smirks then, “I could so be gay with you. I could make Cuddy think you don’t deserve me in a heartbeat,”
“She already thinks I don’t deserve you.” He says with a faint caution. Interesting.
Wilson grabs his waist and his brain short circuits. “Yeah. She does, doesn’t she? Or maybe you didn’t think you’d get this far. That you’d have to let yourself be wooed by James Wilson publicly. If you’re dating me, you’d be spoiled. You’d imagine my mouth all over you just like Bonnie told you in painstaking detail. You’d dance on command at that fucking dinner.”
House huffs. Of course, this would be a competition. Who can best the other in the ancient rights of fake dating? House bats his lashes, “You’re saying I couldn’t date you publicly without screaming? Stacy didn’t break my heart that badly.”
“Yes, she did.”
“You don’t even know how to treat a man right. You barely treat women right.”
Wilson grins, laughing as he turns away for a moment. “You don’t know what kinds of things I got up to before I was married.”
“You closeted minx.” He limps forward reaching for the cane by their brand-new couch, “You whore.”
Wilson holds out his hand, “Do we have a bet?”
“Terms. Conditions. Rewards?”
Wilson counts one by one on his left hand, thumb first, “One, we must operate as a couple at work. That involves our normal amount of time together plus extra. PDA is encouraged and mandatory. Flirting in front of others when we are around each other. Only can get out of it for true medical reasons. Though, if there’s anything that makes us genuinely uncomfortable…we should discuss that in private or have a code. I don’t want you to hate me after all this.”
“Two,” House adds, “Whoever gets disgusted or cracks first, loses.”
“Of course. And three, I’m thinking of a mix of someone paying for an expensive fancy restaurant meal in person and they cover the other’s clinic duty for a month without a single complaint or fake consult. Real consults on the table.” Wilson says meeting him nose to nose.
Bets with Wilson are always exhilarating, though the fact this makes him want to let the feelings out and kiss him right here and right now makes him feel like he will lose regardless. Instead of letting the cotton fill his mouth he asks, “You sure you’ve dated men?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, baby.”
It’s on. “Timeline? Due date?”
“The auction is at the end of the month, and Cuddy is mandating we parade our department head love around. So, till then. We will see who survives. Then we go back to normal.” Wilson says easily, like he has no emotional stake in it. And he probably doesn’t.
Even if it weren’t for Amber, there’s no way Wilson really would date a man like him. He may be more comfortable with sexuality than House predicted an hour ago, but that doesn’t mean he suddenly isn’t James Wilson. He couldn’t even buy furniture for this condo, other than that stupid organ. Just like he bought the mattress Amber liked at first, because he was too afraid to displease her. He will always choose the safest, most boring route in love.
“And, if we break before the auction,” House adds, “The loser has to do the bachelor thing too.”
“Deal!”
---
House believes the best way to win a bet is to overwhelm him immediately. It’s why Wilson anticipates this by answering twelve times harder. House holds his hand into work; Wilson wraps an arm around his waist. House kisses his cheek by the nurses’ station, Wilson whispers dirty things into his ear in front of Brenda. House seems able to feign a pretty convincing flush and squeezes his ass. They both almost lose. He can tell House is getting frustrated, and Wilson amounts it to the fact that his saccharine persona annoys him greatly.
However, they realize slowing down is the only way House’s team and Cuddy are going to believe that this isn’t a joke. So, three days in, they both go to a more casual pace. Though, currently, House is dragging him into a supply closet as Cuddy walks by.
House smirks, “So, how should we pretend to be all flustered from making out? Or are you willing to go that far for the bet?”
His throat dries up. It’s not that he didn’t think PDA would go this far. Of course, he knew that House would go there and a kiss may have to happen. But, no one’s looking now. They could both agree to fake it. Something about the adrenaline of it all and the way House looks at him fills him with a strange calling that he has to prove himself. To House. It doesn’t meet the terms of the bet. No one’s watching and no one will. They long heard Cuddy’s shoes run off, probably thinking about whatever is going on here is less than PG.
“Nervous?” House asks, softer than Wilson expects.
Is this the way he talked to Stacy before their first kiss? Knowing her, she made the first move. He grabs his waist and in the dazed look that passes his friend’s face, he kisses him. Tongue and teeth. No buildup. House matches its ferocity in eager reciprocation, but not in dominance. In fact, it’s almost like he let’s Wilson take the pace. Doesn’t fit House at all. House who can’t bend to any authority, let alone follow their pace or rules. And it doesn’t suit House to be charitable for Wilson’s pleasure, not that he finds it that pleasurable. Though really, it is extremely hot. He is far too selfish to let this sort of thing happen.
When he pulls back to breathe, House leans back and pants. “Fuck, wow. No wonder they let you cheat on them.”
“Way to play it up,” He muses.
“You ready to lose?”
“No,” He pulls House back in for another. Just to prove his point. Nothing more.
When they leave the storage closet, House makes a show of an extra limp and wobbly nature, almost looney toons. Thirteen meets him halfway towards his office without batting an eye, and they’re running to the patient’s room. Dying, he assumes. When he turns to go Cuddy grabs his forearm, “We should, uh, talk.”
She sits him gently in his office, “So, you two really are…dating.”
He nods, “Yes.”
“It seems more House’s idea than yours to get distracted like that at work.” She chastises.
He scratches his neck, strangely blustered. “Well, you know me…enabler.”
She accepts it. Too easily. Are they really doing that good of a job? Even weirder, is it really that believable Wilson would go for House? For men? It makes his stomach churn with what will his parents say, what will this do to their friendship, why does he like this so much?
As confident as he pretended to be going into the bet, he wasn’t ready at all.
He has not thought about men like this in a long time. He barely tries to think about House like that, because it just isn’t worth the exploration for a thousand reasons. For the same reasons Cuddy can’t date House, when he tried to pursue her. For the same reasons he tries to get a perfect marriage every single time. And it wouldn’t be right to do that to Amber. And it would be terrifying, dating the man he almost killed for her.
She rubs his shoulder, “Don’t look so mortified. I’m happy it wasn’t one of House’s jokes he roped you into. Though, I’m sure he was glad to weaponize it to get out of the auction. Next, he’ll be using you as an excuse for clinic duty.”
“You’re alright with it?” He asks, trying to feign concern about dating a coworker.
She purses her lips, “What House and I had…was temporary. Fun. Wonderful. But temporary. I like Lucas. And even if we don’t work out, I like House just the way we are.”
That isn’t what he meant, but it seems that’s what she took out of it. She kisses his temple gently, “We support you here. I wouldn’t let anyone harm you two for being gay. Okay? So, stop kissing in the closets just to see if I’ll freak out.”
He feels himself say, “Well, then I’ll be sure we’ll kiss in the closets for just fun then.”
She rolls her eyes and opens her office door, “There’s that chronic enabler in you. Don’t know how you two didn’t start dating sooner.”
The acceptance of it all doesn’t sate him. It’s too much that they’re getting away with it. He must win so they can just go back to normal.
---
It is bad. House worries he just might lose. Because Wilson’s started to pull out what dating might be like. Sex and danger are his game, not vulnerabilities. But he should’ve expected this. Wilson’s spiteful and cruel when he wants to be, and it suits him to do so for the game.
A week later, after the beginning of the bet, House’s patient dies. Wilson makes a show comforting him in front of his team instead of behind closed doors. And of course, his worry and care are real. Wilson didn’t up and disappear just because they’ve had to tongue each other for stakes. But he didn’t have to rub the back of his palm, nor bring hot chocolate like he’s trying to speedrun the legalization of gay marriage in New Jersey. It feels twisted, just the sick kind of manipulation Wilson would use to get him to break. Because he could easily get disgusted by the action, and the way it makes him feel incredibly safe.
Instead, he just says nothing. Accepting care isn’t failing the bet. It’s pondering the next steps. He has got to get bolder.
The one thing Wilson hates, according to Cuddy, is being embarrassed in front of patients or those expecting a reputation of Wilson. He can do that. He can so go there.
Later that day, he calls for a consult for a patient with a weird looking mole and swollen axillary nodes in the clinic. Genuine enough request for the oncologist, because he really does need that looked at. It’ll serve to be a good time to go in for the kill, just like Wilson did.
Wilson approaches the patient eager to take a look, but House stops him with his cane raised high. “Ah, ah, ah.”
“I think your patient already said ahh, probably fifteen minutes ago.” Wilson purses his lips, confused.
House snaps his fingers and points right to Wilson’s chest. He makes a show of ogling his masculine breasts right in front of the patient. He says, “Hubba hubba! Didn’t know consulting male doctors could wear shirts that tight to work!”
Seven layers of anger roll through Wilson from his shoulders to the tense gut, to his eyes. He ends it with a tight smile, “Don’t mind my boyfriend, Mr. Sanchez, he just really loves to push my buttons when he can.”
The patient deflates, a little in awe. He says, “How long? You’d think recent. That’s just how my wife and I were.”
“15 years.” Wilson beams, “Just took us a little long to…do all the things straight couples do in the open.”
House is floored. When Wilson’s expression looks grave House adds, “You have cancer. This brilliant doctor’s going to biopsy those pretty little nodes.”
Though, he can’t run after dropping that bomb. That would be losing. He stays there, just basking in the awkwardness of delivering such bad news poorly. Wilson drags him out by the collar.
He shouts right in public, “Are you serious? You can’t let this effect how we treat patients.”
This, this to them, bet or not. And usually, House finds it riveting. Though the earlier sting makes this twelve times worse. House sneers, “You sure let it affect us earlier when my patient died.”
“Oh, the horror that Gregory House lets himself be comforted.”
It feels too personal a response. Really, House complaining about earlier should be him losing him the bet. But maybe this is a part of the game. It’s a couple’s spat, maybe it doesn’t matter what he says right now. Though, it feels too confirmatory, that this would never work. That somehow, they’re already crossing a line they can’t go back from.
The first time he snapped at Stacy after the leg, he knew he was doomed. The moment Cuddy chose someone sensible like Lucas, he knew he was doomed. He isn’t the type of guy you date and take home. Not anymore. Maybe, not ever. No one can try without it wrenching a hook through both their hearts and fishing them down to hell.
“I’ve spoken to patients in worse ways than that. And he really probably does have cancer, even a baby could’ve diagnosed that.” He says. Defending his choice of words is the easiest thing to do here.
Wilson throws his hands up, “Of course. Of course you don’t care. The man has cancer and he’s just another tool in the game.”
“What game?” He challenges.
Wilson bites his lip, “The game…that is…you trying to uh, get me flustered at work.”
“So, it is working? Just to confirm. For the audience, can you confirm?”
The room sighs a breath of relief. It has that sick effect of showing their arguments don’t change just because they’re supposedly dating. They still make big deals out of nothing, they still enjoy a good bickering, at least that is how it seems to be perceived. People are relieved that nothing has changed between them even though everything has, allegedly. It’s going to make the fake break-up even messier for the both of them because it’ll come with years of questions.
Questions like how did you ruin a relationship with the one guy who could put up with you? How could you have broken his heart, he’s too patient! No one would suspect it was Wilson’s fault. And no one suspects that both of them are actually mad at each other, even though Wilson’s coded warning told him just how disgusted he felt by that entire thing, even if no one publicly realizes.
They both switch back to work mode. Wilson says, “I will get a biopsy.”
“And I’ll be waiting.”
---
It turns out that the patient doesn’t have metastatic melanoma. But instead, an autoimmune disease. Mr. Sanchez becomes House’s next patient. And the game is still afoot, as House keeps saying. Just to annoy him no doubt.
Did House really think his care was fake? It wasn’t, but he supposes he did ham it up for the audience. But in a weird way, he really liked doing that. He’s never had a partner he wanted to comfort that much publicly. To spoil emotionally for others to see, to feel jealous of. To feel like third party observers to their little bubble. In fact, he was usually ambivalent when things happened to his wives in public. He’d hold her hand, but he wouldn’t really be paying enough attention half the time to whatever happened. Far too distracted by work, or how tired he was, or what performance he had to put on for her art gallery or whatever event it was. Or maybe, House just didn’t like having to play the accepting love thing. Vulnerabilities are usually his line, even platonically.
House’s team bleeds out of the room, whispering to each other, no doubt about the public argument they had just moments ago. He waits at the door for House, wondering what they’ll both do next. It is late, enough that they could go home to the condo without Cuddy yelling at them for slacking. House suggests they do, and he follows easily. Quiet though, processing his anger from earlier.
Strangely enough, there’s tension at home unrelated to the argument. Since the start of the bet, they haven’t usually been home together for long periods of time. They both work weird enough hours to begin with, especially lately, that usually one person is asleep before the other can come home and confront the days’ worth of flirting and PDA to the other. The argument only compounds that feeling and so Wilson dodges accountability by sitting on the couch and turning on the L-word.
Even stranger, House shuffles right under his arm that rests on the back of the couch. He jolts and House merely lines their thighs together.
“Look,” House mumbles, “Sorry. Okay?”
“Sorry??” He shrieks.
“Yeah. I would ogle your manly breasts again, but you’re right. Can’t let this affect the patients.” He says so succinctly, so sweetly, that Wilson could’ve imagined someone replacing him in the middle of the night with someone else. Maybe Cuddy, trying to save his soul.
Wilson swallows, “There’s no…no one’s…you don’t have to do that.”
House leans back and plops his sock covered feet over his lap. “I don’t have to do that either, but a cripple’s got to make do.”
It’s awkward. The tension only grows as they sit there, domestic and quiet. When he finds himself rubbing House’s ankles absently, he discovers two things.
One, he is so ridiculously in love with Gregory House. Oh my god.
Two, this game is going to ruin them because House is not the type of man to let emotions get in the way of a bet like this. He’ll eat at Wilson’s heart for breakfast and chew it out. At least it’ll make the fake breakup believable. No one would doubt House giving up on real love, considering how guarded and shitty he can be with the topic.
As if reading his thoughts, House asks, “Look. Is this…going too far?”
“No.” He answers. Determined to win. Fear of losing. They already made out in the closet, it’s a little too late for analyzing the route that will inevitably ruin them both just a little. It’ll be a shared burden at least, of the what ifs and they should’ve tried it right first before making a farce of it.
The look that meets his is…awestruck? Wilson nearly shouts, “You’re apologizing. To me! For doing something stupid to me in front of a patient! Are you sure it’s not going too far?”
The hesitation is palpable. House looks at him, really looks. Apprehension, an emotion he rarely sees in House. Maybe, amid the times a patient is unsavable, like the other day. Maybe when he’s backed against the wall and forced to be emotionally vulnerable with someone. Maybe when his parents come. Maybe right now, in this weird game, all to avoid a charity bachelor’s auction.
House swallows, “I won’t lose.”
“Nor will I.” He says back, strangely off kilter. He wonders what House was really thinking behind that bravado.
He is certain that neither of them sleeps that night.
---
The novelty of The Dating wears off quickly. There is less and less incentive to act crazy. Everyone believes they’re dating and that their crazy is no different than a normal Tuesday. He overhears Nurse Brenda say, “Thought it would be worse, but they practically were already dating.”
The rumor mill and her have told House that people rationalized it easily. Wilson could never keep a woman down, House was always openly queer, and they have always been sewn together by the liver like one toxic cesspool sharing an addiction.
Only Wilson, and maybe Cuddy, can put up with someone as tormented as Gregory House. So, it makes perfect sense. So, it then raises the question of why they both keep one-up flirting with each other and worse, kissing. Lots of kissing. Distractable kissing. The kind of kissing right outside of patient rooms, the nurse desk at clinic, and even by Cuddy’s office. The can’t keep their hands off each other kind.
And even, a little more than that. Just yesterday, House showed Wilson just how good he can be on his knees on a good pain day. Supply closet, left of exam room three. Close enough to the nurse’s station to prove their point. The point of winning the bet, which somehow got lost with post-hookup kissing until Wilson’s pager forced him to run out without any shame to how messed up he looked. Thirteen merely stared. Then, she joked how much a shame it is that gay marriage isn’t legal in New Jersey yet.
Otherwise, it’s just weird now. It was already gay, but now it’s personal. Now they’ve gone to third base. He keeps telling himself it’s to survive winning the dance at the charity event, which is fast approaching now. Though, if he could do this every day, for the rest of their days, he would. He’d sell his soul if he could, for this. Not even the pleasure he clearly gave to Wilson. Just the fact that they gently kissed afterwards. Just the feeling that it could be real.
That is if the Devil were real. He’d befriend the Devil if he could.
“Speaking of the Devil,” He snarks, ogling Cuddy openly.
She turns with a faux annoyance. “House. I hear cheating isn’t well received in a committed relationship, just in case you’ve forgotten what they’re like between the time of Stacy and Wilson.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll get over it. Plus, I’m 85% certain he checks you out too.” He chirps.
She huffs, “You two pervs ready for tonight?”
“Why? Expecting something of us?” A check in, for the importance of the game. If she still expects them to show up to be paraded around for rich eyes.
Her face is too confused. Too analytical. This hasn’t been a game for her, not since the first day he made up this lie. She no longer needs proof of them.
She asks, “You two fighting?”
“What?”
“Yeah…you are. That explains why Wilson’s been nervous all day.” She says, like it’s the weather. Like everyone and their mother can sense Wilson’s nerves.
“Or it could be the blowie. Brenda seemed a bit upset by that.”
Of course he’s anxious, he’s forced to pretend he can accept he’s out of the closet for House and that it was the best, definite best, oral sex he’s ever had. Unless…
House gapes, “He’s planning something.”
“Or you’ve upset him. I think that’s far more likely.” She says, “And don’t tell me about your bedroom activities. At work, no less!”
What could he be planning? “Help me woo him at the auction.”
She softens, expected. She murmurs, “Alright. But only because…I want this to last. For the both of you.”
Somehow, they avoid each other. But that’s just fine, because with Cuddy’s help he has a surefire plan at the auction. It’s such a romantic and gay plan, that Wilson is sure to refuse and finally slip up. The kind of failure that everyone will witness too, that life ruining kind of thing. It might just be too far, because even Cameron thought it was cute, so adorable that she thinks Wilson’s love has changed his heart. She wouldn’t know what real love looks like, seeing as this is House on we’re not actually dating mode. Real dating would make him ten times worse. Small victories that Stacy quit PPTH long ago and has no commentary on this matter.
The auction is gorgeous. Women and men both line up on the stage to show themselves off right at the beginning. Money goes into jars for each suitable single. Chase is the only man he recognizes on that stage, and he wastes no time making a whore comment when Cuddy isn’t listening. There are other goodies too ranging from paintings, names on buildings, etcetera. All those kinds of things rich people go crazy for. House purposefully adds money to Chase’s jar, in the envelope of some 95-year-old woman named Theresa.
Wilson enters later, by which time the plan will commence. The jazz pianist has only begun warming up, and Cuddy has his next song as a slow one. House swallows heavily at the attractive tux Wilson wears tonight. It is not to say Wilson never looks good for these kinds of events. But he never tries hard enough to be fashionable with it.
For once though, the tux is fitted well. Tailored. The kind of style that suits Wilson’s curves, masculine neck, and sharp jawline. House holds out his free hand, and he swears Wilson checks him out too. That, or he has just gotten used to pretending for the crowds.
“Come on, dance?” He says a little too loud, attracting the attention of guests.
Wilson matches his gaze with fire. “Of course, love.”
He clenches his jaw and Cuddy cues the pianist.
He practiced this with her earlier in her office. It would’ve been arousing if he had not been all cylinders on Wilson for the past while. This bet threatens to ruin him, more than Wilson just outright rejecting him. Because it means Wilson was willing to play the part enough to kiss him, have sex with him too, when no one was looking, and still concluded no, that was merely just for fun.
Wilson’s hand is splayed low on his spine, and he easily leads them. He never takes his eyes off him. He doesn’t act surprised or confused either. The plan feels like it is slipping completely away from him.
He recalls Wilson’s weddings. He never made so much eye contact, nor maintained such confidence. It was too rehearsed, even though his parents and family believed surely that Julie would’ve been the final one. This is eager, this is more than just acting. It’s hot, possessive, and it is as if they are the only two people in this room. He slides in time with his cane and he can barely recognize the music behind them.
Wilson’s breath is hot against his lips as he murmurs, “I cannot wait anymore.”
He gets on one knee and the lights flash behind his irises. If he weren’t so mortified, he would focus on just how interesting James Wilson is in this moment. The crowd gasps as Wilson opens the velvet blue box to what looks like a well thought out ring. Silver band with small diamonds, and a large blue diamond in the center.
“Gay marriage was just legalized in Connecticut, and I thought…. we’d go up and get it done. We haven’t been dating that long on paper, but we practically have since the day we met in New Orleans. I cannot fathom not having this future with you. Let me make you the first Mr. Wilson.” Wilson says, dead serious. Chilling in how sincere it is.
“Will you marry me, Greg?”
He briefly meets Cuddy’s eyes, she’s crying. Happy, he figures. No one is shocked enough. No one thinks this is fake anymore. They are in this depth, no pit of hell, that by the end of the month, he is riding the precipice of a marriage proposal instead of making Wilson feel awkward dancing with him. If he says no now, he loses the game. And maybe, just maybe, without his knowledge it turned real. Maybe it’s worth the chance of keeping Wilson forever. Maybe it is a test to say yes, just like letting Stacy decide to leave Mark was her test. Just like Cuddy’s everyone seems to know where this is going, was hers.
“Yes.” He says without any of the bravado and confidence of the great diagnostician.
His heart plummets when Wilson’s expression cracks like the pillars in the ballroom, and he rushes to put on the ring. Their eyes no longer meet. The hug is far too tense to be relief. House immediately demands some air before Cuddy, Cameron, and worse, can confront him. It’s probably believable enough, considering House hates to be doted over when he’s overwhelmed by emotions. He definitely doesn’t want to answer stupid questions to rich people about this.
It wasn’t a test.
He makes his way outside and sighs into the Fall chill. Leaning against the building, he raises his finger up to admire the ring. It isn’t necessarily a cheap silver band, like he suspected. These must be real diamonds, if he had to guess. It must cost a fortune. Lab grown or not, it’s enough rocks to be on the higher end. Wilson must have spent real money on this. In a split second, it fills House with hope. That maybe, Wilson’s decided to take the game far enough to admit his feelings for real. Maybe his surprise, really was that. Surprise. And not disgust that House was willing to accept marriage just to save face. Or worse, disgust that House really was delusional enough to think somehow things got real.
House asks, when he hears the classic off kilter gait of Wilson, “Did you mean it?”
“Mean-“ His eyes widen, “No! Frankly, I’m surprised you said yes. To marriage. You’d do anything to win, wouldn’t you? I guess you really did want to get out of the auction. We both won, I guess.”
His throat burns and he throws the ring against Wilson’s chest. He ignores any shouting, any argument. He marches right to his motorcycle and revs loudly, like a defensive growl before an attack. Wilson keeps his distance. Coward. Prey. Stupid fucking idiot. And he drives to their shared condo first, so he can lock himself in the bedroom.
He receives a ton of calls, most of which are from Cuddy, likely because Wilson ran back in there like a sad puppy dog whose owner left him home for the first time. A couple from Thirteen. One Cameron. Strangely, four from Taub. He doesn’t want marriage advice from an even lamer and straighter cheater. None from Wilson.
Once Cuddy calls a fifteenth time he answers and barks, “I need the day off tomorrow.”
“Uh,” She pauses, “Okay. Sure.”
“Tell Wilson to shove that ring up his ass.”
She’s quiet again, “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing worth marrying over.” And then, he hangs up and puts his ringer on silent. Pager on, just in case a new case comes in.
---
The moment he thought to say no, he had already regretted it. Frankly, the moment he thought to escalate to marriage proposal, he had regretted it. The moment House’s face didn’t slip into relief after asking if it was real, and that somehow he really wanted it to have turned real, well…at that point he wanted to throw up and die and be publicly flayed for auction.
James Wilson was born a coward. He couldn’t tell the girls he actually liked that he really liked them. He couldn’t tell the women he didn’t care for that he wanted a divorce. And he’s yet to tell any man that he finds them beautiful. James Wilson is likely bisexual, but he never practiced for this. He barely contains a good record for dating to begin with, let alone with a new sexuality born from it.
Not that practice would help. Being friends with House sets one up for a lot of unexplored adventures. A Speed dose to diagnose anti-depressants, him hallucinating your dead ex-girlfriend, bailing a messy drunk stranger out of jail in New Orleans just because they’re interesting, and pretending to date for a month just to avoid a bachelor’s auction for charity.
But, somewhere along the game, maybe when House asked him if it was going too far, he realized that he loved him. He truly loved him. Because he surely wanted to answer that question with it hadn’t gone far enough, and then probably he would’ve thrown him over his shoulder and ravished him that evening. Metaphorically. He was never suave enough of a lover that he could do such feats, and he imagines that House is the type of lover to make it hard to manage that. Not because of the leg, of course. Because of the Housean bullshit, where he’d have mocked Wilson and squirmed just to prove that Wilson would’ve dropped him. Then they’d have kissed on the floor, or something. He really thought a lot about it that night.
But, James Wilson is still closeted. Still a quitter. He said he didn’t mean the marriage proposal, because he didn’t think House’s acceptance was real. To admit to him he lost the game by actually catching feelings he probably had since they met. He does only what he can do best at this moment and consults an expert on House.
He calls Foreman. Foreman is the only one on House’s team that A, really knows him at this point, B, is objective enough to give him a solid analysis without mocking him or pitying him, and C, won’t repeat this to anyone because he would find getting involved deeply annoying.
“Dr. Wilson? It’s 9PM. You need a consult?” Foreman asks, all business. Formal tone, slight irritation at the hour.
“You busy?”
“No,” He sighs, “Just…a quiet evening. House didn’t come in today, so there’s no case.”
He hums, “So, uh, could I get your advice on House actually?”
“Let me guess…he backed out of the proposal or something?” Foreman hums, knowing.
Wrong conclusion, though not a bad assessment. Wilson bites his lip, “What if…me and House hadn’t actually been dating. And the proposal was fake.”
He chuckles, “Dr. Wilson, I am aware you are some levels of crazy, but I didn’t think you’d be crazy enough that I’d have to reconcile that you were the one breaking his heart and not the other way around. The dating was fake?”
“Yeah…we made a bet, to avoid the, uh, auction.”
He sighs, “Well, House isn’t that good of an actor. Not to us. He seemed happier as of late. So, I guess you’re the idiot for not seeing his feelings were real.”
“Guess so…” Maybe the blowjob should’ve been a sign.
“Are yours real?” He challenges, almost protectively. It doesn’t quite fit his impression of Foreman and House’s relationship. It’s almost sweet.
“Yeah. I’m just the coward who told him the marriage proposal was fake.” He sighs.
Foreman says, “Look. I don’t care about the drama. I care that it’s going to affect my job, considering House will be up our asses about it. So, you either admit it to him or nip this charade in the bud for real so he can get over it, and fast.”
“Pragmatic of you. You sure you don’t care about his happiness?”
Foreman hangs up. And Wilson immediately walks down the hallway towards the bedrooms.
He doesn’t bother knocking, not when House is in this kind of mood. He uses the master key to unlock House’s bedroom. A fist is awaiting him when he enters, which he somehow manages to dodge. He winces when the fist collides with the doorframe, and House curses underneath his breath.
“I lied.” Wilson says as he grabs the hand. Bruised for sure, though he isn’t reacting enough for those bones to be broken.
“About?” He squirms.
Wilson fights for grip and winds up pressing him against the door. He says, “The proposal was real. My feelings are real.”
“Game’s over Jimbo! If we break up tomorrow, no one cares.” He flings his hand out of reach.
Wilson grabs his jaw and kisses him. House pushes him back, just enough to speak. “Please.”
“Please what?”
He hesitates, eyes wary, “Don’t play with me.”
Wilson thumbs the edge of his scruff, “I’m not. I was a big, closeted idiot who was worried I was the only one who caught feelings during the game.”
“I caught feelings the moment you got arrested in the 90s. Do you have any idea how hot you look in handcuffs?” House murmurs, strangely soft.
He kisses him again, and House exudes that softness more, letting him lead. Trusting him. Lips parting enough to let his tongue go right in. Legs separating for a knee between them. His hands flat and gentle against his chest. Wilson lets go to peck under his eye, right along his cheek.
“Me too. I just was too stupid to realize it.” He admits.
“When did you realize?”
“When you asked if it was going too far.”
House smirks, “And you wanted to beg for it to go further. Except, I’m still pissed at you and I want to go to bed angry.”
“Yeah?” He laughs, lips widening.
“But you can spoon me, I guess. You must be good for something. I deserve to be angry and have my cake -your ass by the way- too” He shrugs, limping to bed.
Wilson loosens his collar and removes his shirt and tie. He kicks off his slacks as he eagerly slips in next to him. “You do have a better mattress.”
“I have better taste.”
Wilson wraps his arm right over his belly and tugs him close. It is a lot different than a woman. It is a lot different than the one man he accidentally spooned while drunk at a frat party. It’s House. The bullet scar is obvious under his fingers. He is unkempt and hairy, no waxing, shaving, nor trimming of body hair. He smells good, like the best kind of lemon hand sanitizer and some sandalwood soap. And he apparently loves being held because he melts right into his arm like he won’t ever be leaving.
“I love you.” Wilson attempts.
House’s ears turn pink, “I…yeah. Me too. Idiot. You just can’t resist marrying people.”
“So, we’re really engaged?” He chuckles, nervous and hopeful. It wouldn’t even be the fastest he married someone, if you count the 15 years of pining.
House hums, “Guess so. I expect to be spoiled on my wedding night. If your dick isn’t big enough, we may have to divorce. Though, I suppose it was hard to tell before. My gag reflex is absent at best.”
Wilson squeaks, “Uh, um…I mean, I’ve gotten alright reviews.”
House turns to peck his lips. For a man that can’t handle change, who apparently is a misanthrope who doesn’t believe in true love, soulmates, or anything like that, he really is something. House pecks his lips again, “Stop overthinking it.”
“You’re freaking me out.”
“Good. Means I won the game. I finally freaked you out.” House cackles, “You owe me clinic duty AND a free meal! The universe really is patterned to have you bend to my every whim!”
He would panic that this was some elaborate joke all along, but they have no audience. The game is also over. And House merely laces their fingers before closing his eyes. At least his life isn’t boring, and maybe that’s the Gregory House promise. Life with him will never be boring. He can’t even be bothered to be upset of having to pay his meals, as per usual, and to cover clinic duty, as per usual. Nothing else matters but this moment.
---
One year later:
“Ah, Dr. Wilson’s here for the consult.”
The woman looks up nervous and eager at James Wilson. House stands and squeezes Wilson’s ass. Wilson feigns embarrassment, and mild irritation leaks through. He says, “Hm, patient still has a fat ass. Excellent.”
“House.”
“I need a consult.” He whines.
Wilson rolls his eyes and steps past him to grab the chart. He skims it, “You wrote that she has a cold.”
He smirks, “Yeah, the consult was to see if your ass is still…there. It is!”
“Can I go now?” The woman scoffs, clearly offended by their display. She’ll likely take her annoyance all the way to Cuddy, which will cause an argument which will likely delay the rest of his clinic duty. All is according to plan. And, if he plays his cards right, Wilson will kiss him in the empty examination room first.
“Uh duh!” He shrieks, and she storms out.
Wilson pinches his nose, “What did I say about this affecting patient care?”
“Oh, silly me, I thought that was one of those rules we made up when this used to be a game. Remember that?” He spins on his heel and places his hands on Wilson’s waist.
Wilson relents and leans into his orbit, because the case truly wasn’t anything serious. Wilson pecks his lips, “Missed me that much from morning till now?”
“You’d be surprised how desperate a girl can get in an hour.”
“House!” Cuddy slams the door open in record time, no longer reactive to their PDA, “Why did this patient just tell me you two were, uh, doing whatever it is you shouldn’t be doing in front of patients.”
“Oh, because I wanted to tell you the wedding is in two weeks and you need to officiate.” House says.
Wilson gapes, “You didn’t tell her?”
Cuddy closes the door. Slams it really. Wilson rubs his face, no, destroys it really. Even his level of hair product can’t undo that amount of damage.
House smirks, “Killed three birds with one stone. She’ll officiate. She’ll forget about the patient we offended. And she’ll be too distracted to keep track of how much clinic I’m doing today.”
Wilson shakes his head, “Wait, but our wedding is in two months not two weeks.”
“Semantics.”
“So four birds,” Wilson says as they walk out, swaying together, “The fourth being pulling Cuddy’s leg, just for fun.”
He smirks, “You’re finally understanding me, and all it took was marrying the right person.”
Wilson grabs his waist then, to stop him. His eyes are deathly serious. He says, “Fuck it. Let’s elope today.”
The joy that fills him is unmeasurable. Not by any way of normal human physiology. It sits there right where his ring rests, and the way it wears down the wooden handle of his cane. The way a joke went too far and landed them right into what seems like the kind of future worth living for.
He turns to Brenda, “Tell Cuddy she needs to officiate in 2 hours. I misspoke.”
“You’re sure she’s already ordained?” Wilson muses.
And then they wear down the people around them by bickering towards the parking lot, all the way to the courthouse.