The House/Wilson Honeymoon

Check-In Girl arrived back at her desk from her coffee break to find a tall gaunt man leaning on the counter. He was wearing sunglasses and a brightly colored T-shirt, and looked like he hadn't shaved in a week. Two passports and two plane tickets lay next to his hand. She glanced at the one on top and read the name: Dr. Gregory House.

"Good afternoon, Dr. House," she said cheerfully, putting on her professional welcoming smile. "And where are you off to today?"

He flashed a brilliant white grin at her. "On my honeymoon," he said, with some pride.

"Congratulations!" she said, thinking he certainly wasn't the average honeymooner. Honeymoon couples were usually younger, for a start. 'Course, he might just be lying to try and wrangle an upgrade--but she could see on his ticket he was already traveling business class. She also noticed it said wheelchair assistance. Two reasons to give him a break, then.

"I'll make a note: complimentary champagne all the way for the newlyweds. And where is your lovely wife?"

House's toothy grin became an enormous smirk as he replied, "He's right here."

And a man with floppy hair and big brown eyes popped up next to House from behind the counter.

"Hi," he said to her, and then turned to address House. "House, next time we fly anywhere we are packing your cane before we leave home and not at the damn airport. I only just managed to get it in your case." He dropped a large suitcase on the conveyer belt.

"Hi," she replied weakly, knowing shock and surprise had broken through her professional smile, and that House had seen it. She picked up the second plane ticket and looked at the name.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Wilson. Um--" She wasn't quite sure how to go on. Was this honeymoon thing a joke? Dr. House having her on, and now she should laugh? Or was it real? God, you just couldn't tell these days.

House read her confusion, and answered it by looping an arm around Dr. Wilson's shoulders.

"We got married last week. I have the civil union certificate right here." He reached into his inside jacket pocket with his other hand and plucked out a clean white envelope. "Wanna see?"

Afterwards Check-In Girl wished she'd waved it away. But at the time she found herself grasping for certainty; she took the envelope and looked inside. She removed a neatly folded certificate and read it. Goddamn, it was true. Civil union in the state of New Jersey, Gregory House and James Wilson, dated the previous Saturday week. She blushed at herself for having doubted--what would her gay friends say when she told them?

House was watching her with hugely amused eyes: Wilson was looking at House with a faint air of exasperation, mixed with clear affection. She watched Wilson reach up and touch House's hand resting on his shoulder. Wilson was cute. Actually, they were cute together.

She realized to her horror that she was gawking at them, and hastened to pull herself together. She moved into professional mode, smoothly processing their check-in, and having a wheelchair fetched for House. With his cane now packed away, it appeared that only the counter was propping him up.

Check-In Girl watched Wilson wheel House away, and then she had a message sent on to the cabin crew. Honeymoon couple aboard, in seats A1 and A2, complimentary champagne to be supplied. She omitted any mention of gender.

House leaned back into his business-class seat, closed his eyes and said, "You know what we should've done? Booked economy class and sweet-talked ourselves an upgrade for the honeymoon thing. We could've saved a fortune."

"Not a risk worth taking," Wilson opined, glancing at House's leg.

"I know going on honeymoon isn't a novelty for you, but it's the first time for me," House protested. "This is the only time I'm ever going on honeymoon and I'm damn well going to milk it for all it's worth."

Wilson snorted and settled more comfortably into his own chair. "House, I know you and Stacy pretended you were on your honeymoon that time you went to San Francisco, and bagged an upgrade."

He paused, belatedly noticing what House had said; This is the only time I'm ever going on honeymoon. Touched, he added lightly, "Last time I'm ever going on honeymoon, too."

A flight attendant appeared with a bottle of champagne, reading a note. She glanced at them and then at their seat numbers.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," she said. "I think one of you may be in the wrong seat."

House opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her, his blue eyes flashing with indignation. Sensing a blast of umbrage on the way, Wilson jumped in hastily. "No, we're in the right seats. We're--um--together."

She recovered quickly, apologized, and left them with the champagne. Wilson clinked glasses with House, who was still frowning.

"C'mon, House. And be nice to the flight attendants."

"Just because you've never traveled on a plane without hitting on a flight attendant before," House grumbled. "Guess being marked out as a newlywed will cramp your style a bit."

Wilson knew there wasn't anything behind this. He reached out and squeezed House's hand on the chair arm between them.

Wilson paid off the cab and walked into the hotel just in time to see the receptionist hand House a large key and hear her say, "...honeymoon suite. Best views in the hotel. Four-poster bed and a double bath. Complimentary champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries. And breakfast in bed."

"I love chocolate-covered strawberries," House said enthusiastically.

"Your wife'll love our health spa club, too," the receptionist carried on brightly. "Massages, manicures, facials..."

House glanced around and saw Wilson approaching. "Well... he does use toenail polish."

"And you curl your hair," Wilson riposted, and smiled sweetly at the receptionist, whose face had frozen. "What's left of it, that is. Hi. I'm James Wilson."

"My better half," House said, and pulled Wilson towards him for a huge kiss on the lips.

Wilson was faintly embarrassed but went along with it. By the time House released him (probably not more than a few seconds later, though it felt longer) the receptionist had recovered her poise and started to twitter about the hotel's other amenities.

"And there's lots to do in the surrounding area, too..."

"Don't think we'll have much time for that sort of thing. We are newlyweds, after all," House said, beaming. "Guess we'll be spending most of our time in bed."

Wilson dug House in the ribs, but couldn't help but smile.

"Especially because of course we've been following the advice of our political leaders," House went on. "We've known each other more than twenty years, but believing fully that abstinence makes the heart grow fonder, we've been waiting until we could get married until we f--OW!"

"Thank-you so much," Wilson said to the receptionist, as he hauled House off towards the elevator.

Wilson was standing at the wide balcony doors, admiring the tremendous sea view and the delicate spray of orchids on the window shelf, when House walked through from the bedroom and said, "I want my money back."

"Speck of dust on the iPod speakers?" Wilson asked. "Thread count on the Egyptian-cotton sheets not high enough?" He turned and popped a chocolate-covered strawberry into House's mouth.

"The previous occupant of this suite must've had some sort of terrible skin disease," House said, munching strawberry. "There's bits sloughed off all over the bed, and a very strange smell."

House was obviously kidding, but Wilson couldn't fathom what he might be talking about. Curious, Wilson went into the bedroom and roared with laughter.

"House, those are rose petals."

They were scattered across the bedcover in a broad arc. Wilson sat down on the bed and picked up a handful. Delicate red, white and pink petals floated through his fingers.

"And here was I about to perform a differential diagnosis on them." House sat next to him and proffered a chocolate-covered strawberry. Wilson took it, put the tapered end in his mouth and sucked at the chocolate.

House watched, his blue eyes darkening. "I think you could be sucking on better things than strawberries."

Room Service Guy stopped the trolley outside the honeymoon suite and glanced at the order sheet. Dr. House and Dr. Wilson. These modern couples, keeping their names. Mind you, the two of them both doctors, probably established in professional careers, no surprise really if they wanted to keep their professional names. Pizza was an unusual choice of first night dinner--honeymooners usually went for the oysters, in his experience--but then it was late. More of a late night snack than a dinner by now.

He knocked, and a minute later a man wearing a hotel-issue fluffy white bathrobe opened the door. He had bare feet, mussed-up hair and glazed brown eyes. Room Service Guy would have bet anything that he'd just had sex. These newlyweds, honestly, they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

Room Service Guy pushed the trolley into the room and the disheveled man signed the slip; James Wilson.

Room Service Guy took the slip, pointed towards an envelope marked Dr. House sitting on the trolley next to the food, and said, "There's a phone message for your wife, too."

Dr. Wilson looked at him, and a smile curved up the side of his mouth.

"I'll make sure he gets it," Dr. Wilson said, and ushered the stunned Room Service Guy out of the room.