A/N: This fic has been in the works for about three weeks now and I've finally thought of a way to end it. I hope you enjoy it; I put in lots of hard work. I'd like to see what your opinions are on the fruits of my labor, so I'd really love reviews. They keep me writing. OH! The time frame of this fic… I really don't know where it'd fit. So, let's say…early season 3, before Tritter. Also, I apologize for the title; I'm no good at coming up with them. :(
DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I don't own House, M.D. or any of the amazing characters in the show.
Dr. Gregory House walked into the conference room to surprised looks from his ducklings. Well, more surprised than usual. They always seemed to only have half a clue what was going on, but this was ridiculous. Chase just stared mutely, Cameron's eyes widened, and Foreman raised an eyebrow. "You're wearing a suit?"
He was, in fact, wearing a brand new grey suit that morning, so the answer to that question was obvious. "Well, duh!" he answered, limping over to the seat at the head of the table. "My track suit is at the cleaners. Now, how's the case coming?"
"We still haven't gotten anywhere with it. And what's with the suit?" Chase looked expectantly at his boss.
"Well, did you do the MRI like I asked?"
"He has pins in his leg, House. If you read the folder you'd know that." That was Foreman. "And why are you wearing a suit?"
"So take them out. He's paralyzed; is he really going to re-break his leg? Get me my MRI." He grabbed his cane and stood up.
"You're avoiding the question," Cameron joined the others in following House to the elevator. "Why did you decide to buy a suit all of a sudden? Did you make a bet with someone?"
"I've made plenty of bets this week, but none of them involve clothing preferences. Well, actually, no, but that bet about Cuddy's shirt is already won."
"But that doesn't explain your suit," Chase put in.
As he stopped by the elevator House turned to face his team. "Why don't you do what I pay you for instead of bombarding me with personal questions? Go get the pins out, and get an MRI," he said firmly as the elevator doors opened. He stepped in quickly and pushed the close doors button, cutting off Cameron's "But!"
"You," he barked, pointing his cane at a startled Wilson, into whose office he had just entered. "Get up."
"What? House, this is my office, if you didn't notice. You can't just-" By this time Wilson had indeed gotten out of his swivel chair, and the other doctor swooped in to take this now-vacated seat.
"Of course this is your office. And apparently I can 'just'," he said smugly.
Wilson's eyes darkened and he knew he had been had. But that didn't stop him from questioning, "House, what is this about? Wait…do mine eyes deceive me, or is that a suit you're wearing?"
"My God, is everyone in this hospital an idiot today?" The diagnostician rolled his eyes.
"There's a difference between being an idiot and caring about people, House."
"Not in my book," he said darkly.
"House, I hope you have a reason to be in here. Did you run out of people to annoy in your own department?"
"They wouldn't play with me, Jimmy." House pouted. "Besides, I needed to check your chair."
"My chair? How is checking my chair important enough to warrant you spilling coffee all over my desk?" the oncologist yelled.
Looking down, House noticed that when he swung his feet over to rest them on Wilson's desk he had indeed knocked his mostly full cup of coffee over, spilling the hot liquid all over Wilson's files. Regrettable, but there was nothing he could do now. "Because your chair is, what, three times more comfortable than mine? I never thought Cuddy would play favorites like this. But now I have something to hold over her head." The way he spoke anyone other than Wilson would have thought he was sincere, but they had known each other for so long that the oncologist heard the carefully veiled signs that he was lying.
With that point made, House got up only a little awkwardly and made for the door. His friend intercepted him. "You're avoiding the question. Why are you wearing a suit…and a new one at that?"
"Can't a person decide to spice up his wardrobe without you calling in Scotland Yard, Mr. Paranoia?"
James was not to be dissuaded. "I don't need Scotland Yard, House. I've known you for too long. You have a date tonight, don't you? Or did you do this specifically to frustrate people while they attempt to figure out why you're suddenly so interested in looking professional?"
House just shrugged in a non-committal way and pushed past Wilson into the hallway. He got halfway down the hall before turning and shouting back, "I'm leaving at 5:30 if you're coming."
That remark would have meant nothing to Wilson had he not returned to his desk to find a ticket to that night's baseball game sitting on the only dry spot amidst the sopping files, which was right where House had put his hand to push himself up. Wilson shook his head in disbelief. "What are you up to, House?" he whispered to himself.
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The oncologist hadn't actually made up his mind yet when 5:20 came around. He hadn't seen House the whole day, except for the coffee incident that morning. If Wilson didn't know better he could have sworn House was avoiding him. But he did know better…he thought. You never could tell with House.
He was startled to notice that while in the midst of these thoughts he had grabbed his coat and hit the elevator call button. He hadn't realized how automatically he ended his day, but took it as a sign that he should take House up on his offer. Besides, they hadn't done anything together for at least a week.
When Wilson arrived in the parking lot he found House just starting the ignition of his nice red Corvette. He hurried to the passenger side door and yanked it open.
The driver turned his ice-blue eyes on Wilson. "About time. I said I was leaving at 5:30, and it's now 5:32. Five thirty two, now we're late. I hope you're happy." House chastised, pulling out of his space.
The younger doctor just smiled. "You can't be serious. I'm two minutes late. That's not even considered late."
"It is when I left my ticket at the apartment and need to stop by there to get it." House said as he turned on the radio. It was a song James actually knew, so he began to sing along under his breath. His companion's eyebrows instantly shot up. "Please don't sing. You're ruining the song."
"I am not. I'm very in tune,"
"A moose might think so, but please do all of us humans a favor and knock it off."
"Fine, be that way," Wilson muttered childishly. He never could seem to come up with a comeback when House was involved.
"Fine, be that way," House mocked, turning a corner and the radio up at the same time.
After a few silent minutes, the oncologist decided to make conversation. "So, how was your day?"
House snorted and raised an eyebrow. "What, are we married now? My day was crappy as usual, honey." He finished sickeningly sweet.
"No, House, we're not married. We're just friends, and friends generally care about what's happening in each other's lives."
"I'd like to think we were past that," House griped. His tone changed to dread as he added, "And now I suppose you're going to tell me how your day went, and I'm going to pretend to pay attention, right?"
"It's a start, I guess. My day was basically boring. I filled out my paperwork, handed in my report to Cuddy-"
"Such a goodie-goodie, Jimmy. You sicken me."
"Ignoring that… and then I got to tell one of my patients she was finally in remission." After a long pause, "I'm done, House."
"Wonderful. Now that annoying buzzing won't distract me from the music."
"Nice, House. You didn't have to tell me you weren't listening."
"I know I didn't have to, but annoying you is just so much fun."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Suit yourself," House said as he shut off the engine. "I'm getting my ticket," and he limped off into his condo.
Wilson sat in the car for ten minutes, growing worried for his friend. Eventually he gave in and stepped out of the car, pausing for a moment in case House decided to emerge from his home. But he didn't, so the brown-haired doctor walked up the steps to stand in front of House's door.
He knocked softly before entering. To his great surprise, House was sitting on his leather sofa drinking a beer. His feet were propped up comfortably on his coffee table.
Wilson ran a hand through his hair. House was unbearable sometimes. "What happened to being late?"
He didn't even glance up. "I decided not to go."
"What? Wasn't the purchase of two tickets a waste of the money that you pretend to work so hard to get?"
"It would have been if those were real tickets. As it is, I actually made quite a chunk of change," he said, brandishing a wad of bills.
There were going to be a lot of very disgruntled fans at the game tonight. Wilson just hoped his friend hadn't sold any of those fake tickets at the hospital where people knew who he was and where to find him. "What about the extreme inconvenience you put me through?"
"Oh, I'm sorry I interrupted your boring dinner with your death-glare-giving wife." House said sarcastically.
The oncologist decided not to comment on the statement, no matter how true it may have been. He tried again, though only half-heartedly. "What about giving me false hope? I was looking forward to watching the game."
"You're in luck! Grab a seat, it's just started." House took another swig of beer.
Wilson sighed resignedly and sat down on the sofa next to the older doctor. No sooner had he sat down than a beer was shoved in his face. "What's baseball without beer?"
James shrugged and popped open his bottle.
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"Come on! He was obviously out!" Wilson yelled at the umpire.
"Easy there, Jimmy." House was amused. His friend was hilarious when he got drunk.
"But he was out!" The oncologist's words were slurred and he blinked too much.
"Yes, he was, but the ref's blind. What can you do?" House shrugged and took another sip of beer. His alcohol tolerance was better than Wilson's and so he felt only a little buzzed.
"You're mean," Wilson pouted, trying to take a drink but only succeeding in spilling it down his shirt.
"And you're drunk, but you don't see me pointing it out."
"I'm not drunk."
"You're right, you're not drunk; you're totally wasted. How could I mess that up?" House gave his patented 'I'm-right-and-you're-an-idiot' look.
Wilson glared drunkenly and turned his attention back to the game. House smirked, reached over, and grabbed Wilson's beer out of his hands. "Hey, I wasn't finished yet!" the oncologist whined.
"I'm a doctor, and I say you are." House then proceeded to finish what was left of the beverage in one big gulp.
"House, come on. It's only the-" he squinted at the TV set. "-fifth inning."
"It's the ninth inning," the diagnostician asserted, amused.
"Really? Wow, I must really be drunk, then." Wilson smiled goofily.
"No, really? I couldn't tell."
"Funny," said Wilson, who attempted to stand up. He swayed on the spot before immediately returning his butt to the sofa cushion. He started to fall over and over-corrected, leaning on House's shoulder for support.
After Wilson relaxed back onto the sofa, House turned in his seat, ignoring his leg's protests, to stare fixedly at his friend. "So, Jimmy, I'm going to ask you a question, and then you'll answer me, okay?"
"I didn't study."
House sighed. Perhaps he should have done this before Wilson had his fourth beer. He didn't know how well this would work. "Look, try to concentrate for a minute, okay?" House spoke as he would to a child. "Did you ever wonder why none of your marriages have worked out?"
Wilson had, in fact, pondered this very question hundreds of times. He had actually come to a conclusion about it, but he wasn't very happy with that conclusion. It took him a while to answer. "Yeah, I guess."
House pressed on. "And why do you think they don't work?"
"Maybe because I always cheat?" Wilson mumbled.
"It seems like that's why they fail, but I don't think it is." House's tone had changed. He actually sounded like he cared, like the answer mattered to him. He didn't sound like House at all. "You know what I think? I think they don't work out because you're secretly in love with someone else."
"And who would that be?" Wilson's voice held no trace of drunkenness now, nor did the brown eyes that watched House intently.
"Wait, wait. You were faking being drunk?" House was actually shocked.
Amused, Wilson quipped, "I didn't think that you'd be that surprised. After all, everybody lies, right?"
"The only variable is why," muttered House. "And why would you lie? What could you have hoped to gain?"
"Oho, the great Dr. Greg House is actually stumped!" Wilson's voice was gleeful.
House looked up sharply, reading Wilson's face. "As lies go, that was a very big one, required a lot of work. But why would you go through the trouble?"
"I figured something was up when you actually did something nice for me for once. That and the suit were so out-of-character that I just had to know why. I figured it was obviously important, and you only tell me things that you consider important when I'm drunk."
"Am I that predictable?" House said contemptuously.
"No," Wilson said seriously. "No one else figured it out, did they?"
House didn't seem to have any comeback to that, and the men sat in silence for a long while. Suddenly, House cried, "Damn you, Wilson!" and grabbed the man's shirt, pulling him into a kiss.
It was over as quickly as it had begun, and Wilson blinked. "Well, that was…unexpected." As an afterthought, he added quietly, "but enjoyable."
House grinned triumphantly. "I was right. You are in love with me!"
"For quite a while now," the brown-haired doctor admitted. "Anyway, what is with the suit?" House didn't answer, and James shook his head incredulously. "You did that for me?"
"When you say it that way it sounds so mushy."
"Well, it's not. I'm flattered."
"Ah, there it is!" When his exclamation was met with a blank stare from Wilson, he continued, "I wore the suit for me. To flatter you so you'd do what I want."
Raising his eyebrows, the oncologist asked, "Oh? And what is it that you want?"
House leaned over and kissed his friend again. "The same thing you do."
And with that he got up and headed for the bedroom, pulling his friend after him.
There you are. It's not as bad as I first thought (I hope). Please leave a review and tell me if I'm right…or wrong even; I'm not picky.