Notes: If you've never read Eric Carle's "The Very Hungry Caterpillar", you must have napped your way through pre-school. That aside, just ignore the "On Sunday" stuff, it's is just a mechanism borrowed from that book to show time passing.
On Sunday…
Wilson had no intention of changing House. None. He knew from experience that it was hopeless cause – a crusade for fools, and he was no fool. Not that he wasn't above lecturing House. Indeed it was a bit of a pastime for him, something that made him feel like at the very least he was expressing his opinions, even if they weren't being heard, never mind acted upon. But if he had had any inclination to change House at all, his therapist's parting words to him on the day he admitted his feeling towards his friend would have ended any illusions he might have possessed – "Fine James, do what needs to done, say what needs to be said, but know that you have to want House as he is, not as you want him to be. Trying to change someone is the death of any relationship."
Wilson knew he was right. He had a lot of experience with trying to change people, not the least himself. After all it had taken him nearly forty years of living and 7 years of therapy to finally accept that he would never be completely heterosexual. It had taken him three failed marriages and one intense relationship with Amber for him to realize that his partners would never be House. And it had taken 20 years of lost causes and failed drug trials for him to accept that despite House's nickname for him, he was no Boy Wonder, ridding the world of cancer; an excellent doctor certainly, a useful sidekick to Princeton's eccentric genius perhaps, but there was nothing particularly wondrous in what he did. It was time to accept things as they were, and not as he wished them to be. It was with this frame of mind that he had initially approached House with the proposition that they take their friendship to the next level. And it was on those terms that House had accepted.
On Monday …
House looked up from the couch to see Wilson glaring at him and brandishing what suspiciously looked liked their cable bill. Well, Wilson's cable bill anyway. He was also blocking the TV.
"Um…you're blocking "Girls Gone Bonkers".
"As of tomorrow I'm blocking a lot more than that." Wilson responded testily. "This bill says you added three premium porn channels – on top of the two that come already with our cable package – at an extra cost of $49.99 each monthly…"
"Nope. Wrong. I got us the Gold Package, a mere extra $129.99 for all three new channels and two freebie pay-per-view extras." House grinned widely as if that settled the entire cable bill issue. He shifted slightly to try to see the TV from around Wilson's stubborn frame.
"Oh well, sure, a great deal no doubt," Wilson continued, his voice filled with dry sarcasm, "except that according to this bill you also paid for nineteen extra pay per views this month at $19.99 each."
"Well, actually you paid for them," House corrected.
Wilson rubbed his neck and appeared to be counting to ten. House did all he could to suppress a smirk. "House," Wilson practically growled, "this month's bill is outrageous. No one needs this much porn. Not even you."
"If you didn't work so late this past month I could have made do with half the pay per views." House defended himself.
"As of tomorrow you are making do with nothing. I am canceling the Gold Package and finding out how to put a child lock on the pay per views."
"But it's the start of Asian Month!" House protested.
"I don't care. Why do you need this much porn anyway? I know I have put in a lot of hours this month, but it's not like we don't have sex. We're at it almost every other night for Pete's sake," Wilson stopped himself before he added that this was many more times a week than with any of his wives.
"Yeah…well…it's not Pete's libido that's in question. It's….," House's voice trailed off and he looked suddenly uncertain.
"It's….what?" demanded Wilson, his irritation growing rather than subsiding at this change in demeanor.
"The sex is great. It's just…vanilla. The porn appeals to my exotic ice cream flavor side." He tried for what he hoped was a boyish grin.
Wilson shifted his weight between his feet for a moment or two. He hadn't given that any thought. His wives had certainly never asked for anything more, and he had thought that…well…that gay sex was in itself, if not exotic, then at least something other than vanilla. Wasn't it?
"If you had wanted something more, then you should have said something. It doesn't have to be vanilla. We could…we could…," he was at a loss for a good metaphorically comeback. "…try something more…chocolate?"
House sat up on the couch. "Want me to ask Foreman to join us?"
Wilson knew House was kidding, but he couldn't help his hastily shouted, "No!" in time to avoid House laughing at him.
"Okay, then how about our own Asian Girls Night? I bet I could get us a couple of Asian hookers for half the price of that bill in your hands. We could record the thing and watch whenever we like."
"No hookers. And for that matter no girls of any kind. But if you want we can try something new, and I'll even agree to film it."
House nodded enthusiastically and maneuvered himself off the couch. "Great, you set up the camera you used with Amber and I'll get the …things." He limped off towards the bedroom.
Wilson stood there with his mouth open. How the hell did House know about the porn video he had made with Amber? And what things? He decided to forgo the former – for the moment anyway – and shouted after House, "What kind of things?"
The only response he could make out was a chuckle.
It took Wilson a good month and a lot of cajoling to move from strawberry to cookies and cream. A good three months more to rocky road and perhaps six months more to macadamia nut mango. Twelve months later they had a private stash of very entertaining videos for House's viewing pleasure whenever Wilson needed to work late, as well as an iron clad promise from Cuddy to destroy whatever was in the green box labeled "ice cream" on the event of their simultaneous deaths.
But it took a full 18 months for it to occur to Wilson that he might have been had about the cable bill.
On Tuesday ...
When Wilson began finding purple lollipops in his white lab coat pockets, he knew exactly who was putting them there. House had always been a fan of the red kind, ostensibly cherry (though with lollipops you couldn't really be sure) and used them in an effort to suppress the urge to say things that would get him fired. It had been one of Stacy's best suggestions.
But House had remained unaware of Wilson's flavor preference until one morning, as House had rifled through the pediatric oncology lollipop container, Wilson had innocently observed that he always liked the purple ones. House had laughed at him.
"Not surprised, they are the gay flavored ones after all."
"The gay flavored ones!?" Wilson has sputtered in protest. "They're…grape. Sort of."
"Yeah, but everyone knows that purple is the color of gay. Aren't you on the mailing list yet?"
"There is no gay color, House."
House scoffed, "Tell that to Tinky Winky."
"Well, I happen to like purple lollipops. I always have."
"That's because you've always been gay. You should have chosen a manly color as a boy, like I did." House popped the red sucker out of his mouth and smiled at it, rolling the stick between his fingers and looking very smug.
"Uh, huh. Manly advice from the man who just converted our "Bing Cherry" porn video onto DVD last night."
House popped the lolly back into his mouth and made long lascivious sucking sounds while grinning around the pop's stick. He looked awfully pleased with himself.
After that day Wilson could count on finding a purple sucker in his coat pocket at least once a week, and on really difficult days, sometimes twice in one rotation. He never asked House where they came from or how he got them into his pocket without his noticing. But even on his worst days, they never failed to make him feel at least a little bit better.
On Wednesday …
Wilson had loved ties ever since he had been allowed to pick out his first real one for his bar mitzvah. It was not the clip on polyester kind, but instead was made of real silk, and it hung around his neck loosely while his father patiently explained over and over the different ways to knot it. It had been the tie, even more so than the bar mitzvah itself, that had made him feel like a man that day. And it had been the same ever since. While most men disliked the constricting piece of material around their neck, to Wilson it had always been a type of armor. When his boyish features had made professors and employers doubt his abilities, the perfectly knotted tie had reassured them of his maturity. When he delivered bad news to his patients, the muted patterns gave their searching eyes something to focus on so that they could process the information without having to look directly at the messenger. When he had sat across the dinner table from angry wives or across the desks from divorce lawyers, he had stroked his fingers over the ends of his tie, gathering strength and comfort from the smooth silk between his fingers, just as he had from his childhood security blanket a very long time ago. Ties were to James Wilson a lot more than a just a piece of silk.
House, on the other hand, hated ties. Wilson knew that his friend considered them not far removed from a noose. He had heard variations of House's tie rant more than once, and he smiled at the memory of the last one. In his mind he could still hear House billowing angrily, "Can't even buy a damn windbreaker without a quick release hood drawstring these days! But we purposely demand that grown men tie a rope around their necks that could get caught anywhere, on anything. Do you have any idea, Wilson, how many men die from ties choking them every year? It's practically an epidemic!"
Wilson smiled to himself as he made his way to the hospital lawyer's office. The recollection was easing his worried mind and providing a tiny respite of amusement to an otherwise awful day. He tried to picture House, wearing his crinkled red tie as he had delivered that particular diatribe loudly in the acoustically friendly hospital main lobby. Cuddy never again asked House to wear a tie to a department head meeting – even when major donors were set to attend.
But right now Wilson would have liked to have had even that wrinkled red noose in his possession. He was being sued by the family of one of his deceased patients for unnecessary tests, and the two sides – Princeton Plainsboro and the family – were looking to settle. Both sets of lawyers were waiting for him and he had to hurry. But unfortunately for him he had no tie at all wrapped reassuringly around his collar, and no chance of getting one on this short notice.
The beautiful Italian blue silk that he had put on that morning had been vomited on by a patient. He had intended to run home during lunch, but several difficult cases had prevented that, and his spare set of clothes didn't include a tie. So instead he had buttoned his lab coat as high as he could and straightened his collar, but it wasn't making any difference to his confidence level. As he hurried around the last corner, he found House sitting on a bench in the hallway, running his fingers up and down the length of a thin, lightly striped blue-green tie.
"Better hurry," House said, rising to his feet and extending his arms to Wilson in a beckoning manner. "Don't want to be late for the Inquisition".
Wilson opened his mouth to say something but House titled Wilson's chin upward and his shirt collar soon followed. He wound the soft material around Wilson's neck and to the younger man's surprise, knotted it quickly and neatly. He turned the collar down, brushed some invisible lint off the tie and smiled at his handiwork.
"Where'd you get that?" Wilson asked once he found his voice.
"Chase."
"Chase had an extra tie?" Wilson inquired, suddenly suspicious.
"Not exactly. But I think it looks better on you, anyway."
Wilson looked down at the tie. It was a nice one. A little on the thin side for his taste, but the colors matched his gray suit, and it made him feel…well, stronger somehow. He knew logically he shouldn't be nervous. Lots of doctors were sued, and he hadn't done anything wrong; he had followed protocol to the letter. It was likely the hospital was settling simply because it was cheaper than risking a jury trial. But Wilson was one of those rare doctors who were hardly ever sued, and hadn't been able to brush it off as House would have.
"You gonna stand here and admire yourself all day or are you going to get in there and give some of the hospital's money away?" asked House, head cocked slightly to the left, eyes amused.
Wilson looked back up at House and smiled. "Thanks for bringing the tie. And tell Chase I said "thank you" for lending it to me."
House patted Wilson's borrowed tie with a flourish and then turned and limped down the hall, muttering something about the word "lending", while Wilson pushed the door to the office open, taking his seat with an air of confidence.
On Thursday….
"Buy it."
"It's $1200."
"So? You can afford it."
"House, it's too much money to spend on a watch."
"You want it. Every single time we've been on this street you've dragged me to this window and stared at this watch. Either buy it, or forget about it."
"It reminds me of my grandfather's watch."
"Then buy it!"
"It's $1200!"
"Oh for Pete's sake…"
"I would love to House. I…I..just can't see myself spending that kind of money on a watch which will probably be vomited on within the first day.
"Then stop drinking so much."
"I meant by a patient."
"It's probably liquid resistant."
"I'd like to buy it, I just can't. It's too expensive."
"Suit yourself."
At that House hobbled off in the direction of their condo, leaving Wilson standing staring longingly at the jewelry store window like a kid outside a toy store.
A day later House entered into the apartment, ditched his coat, flopped onto the couch practically on top of Wilson, and took out a medical guide from his backpack with an overly exaggerated flourish. As he brought the journal up to his face he practically thrust his arm in front of Wilson's eyes, assuring that the younger man would catch a glimpse of the intended target. There was the watch Wilson had been coveting, on House's wrist. Wilson grabbed House's arm and took a closer look at the timepiece.
"That's my watch!"
"Actually, it's my watch. And do you mind – important doctor-y kinda article here."
"How did you get the watch?"
"I stole it."
"Really?"
"No, you nit-wit. I walked into the store, gave them a piece of plastic, and bought it. Just – I might add – like anyone who wanted the watch could have done."
"How do you know that I wasn't going to buy it?"
"Because if you were going to, you would have done it already. And it was too good of a deal to let someone else snatch it up."
"You think $1200 is a good deal?"
"It's got white gold inlay on the face and a calves' leather watch strap. It's shock proof and water resistant, it has a scratch resistant face and dial, and there's a back lit night feature with an LED light. It also comes with a 25 year warranty on the mechanism. That's less than $50 a year, which is a pretty sweet deal in my book."
Wilson grunted in forlorn approval. He had known all that from the dozen times he had gone in the store and spoken to the jeweler.
"And," House added, " it has sentimental value."
"How!?"
"It reminds me of the watch my best friend's grandfather used to have."
At that last comment Wilson pushed House's arm away and stood up, making his way past the couch and into the nearby kitchen. He helped himself to a beer and tried to remember exactly why he considered House such a good friend when the man was always pulling stunts like this. It was bad enough he bought the watch, but rubbing it in like this was just plain mean.
Wilson returned to the living room and stood in front of the couch. House pretended to be reading the medical journal – upside down. This whole thing was clearly a big joke to him.
"Fine, House. Enjoy the watch, knowing you bought it out from beneath your so-called best friend."
"I didn't buy it 'out from under you'. You weren't going to buy it all."
"Actually I probably was. I'm just not as impulsive as you. I was trying to talk myself into it."
"I don't believe that."
"It's true. It took me 6 months to decide to buy the Volvo."
"Too bad that didn't take you forever."
Wilson rubbed the bridge of his nose. Some days he really hated House.
"Believe whatever you want, but it's true - I would have bought it eventually." He turned to walk away when he suddenly had a thought. He turned back towards the couch. "Would you … sell it to me?"
"How much?"
"What do mean 'how much'? $1200! That's how much it cost you."
"But I had to put in the time and trouble to get it. And besides, I have it and you want it. Supply and demand. The invisible hand. The law of the jungle, or whatever economists call it these days."
Wilson sighed. Loudly. "$1300. An extra hundred for your time and trouble."
House made exaggerated facial movements to indicate he was thinking about the offer. "Nah. I kinda like the watch. It looks good on me, don't you think?"
Wilson swallowed to stop himself from saying something he would regret. After another moment he tried again. "$1400."
"The white gold goes really well with my complexion."
"$1500!"
"Did I mention it lights up with a push on the dial? A really, really cool slime green color."
"Last offer, House - $1600!"
"Sorry. Sentimental value, you know."
Wilson nodded and started to walk away. He stopped after a few feet. "$2000?" he offered quietly, hoping to hit a number that House couldn't turn down.
When he got no response he turned around to find that House had gotten to his feet and was unbuckling the watch strap. He plopped the timepiece into Wilson's open hand as he hobbled by. Wilson put the watch on his wrist and a warm feeling spread throughout his body. It really did look amazingly like his grandfather's watch, though he doubted that one had a nightlight mechanism in it.
"Is a check alright, or do you require cash?" he called to the kitchen where House was now pouring himself a beer.
"I think the credit card company will take either."
"Huh?"
"It will show up on your Visa statement next month. I used your credit card to buy the watch. Though if I were you I would just send them the original $1200 and not $2000. The credit card companies are greedy enough as it is."
"You bought the watch with my credit card?"
"Well, technically, you bought the watch."
Wilson cocked his head to the side as he often needed to do when thinking about what House had just said, or was trying to say. He glanced down at the wristwatch and rubbed the dial with his right thumb. The crystal was smooth under his touch.
"Do you want a check for your extra $800? Time and trouble?"
"You can take it off my tab."
Wilson just grinned.
On Friday…
The noise in the indoor stadium was deafening. Monster trucks plowed into one another in the smash up derby portion of the evening, while all around Wilson the audience cheered, jeered and roared its opinion of the proceedings. House shouted right alongside them, his soda nearly upending in Wilson's lap at least twice in the last minute, spilled popcorn littering the ground under House's feet, and a look of rapturous joy alighting his face.
Wilson smiled at the sight. He liked monster trucks, though not as much as House did. Wilson doubted that even most five year old boys liked monster trucks more than House did. But what he did like was seeing House this happy; free of leg pain for the moment, filled with innocent delight, and unencumbered by the constant questions that dogged his brain during quieter hours.
One truck somehow wound up stuck on the roof of another and the lower vehicle made a circuit around the track to the thunderous approval of the crowd. Wilson was just about to shout a sarcastic comment about the trucks' sexuality into House's ear when he saw his companion's facial expression shift. House knitted his brow and looked down towards his belt, his eyes focusing on his pager. Quickly, and without even a glance in Wilson's direction, House made his way through the crowd and out a stadium door to an inner corridor.
It took Wilson a few minutes to push his way through the crowd and join his friend who was already on the phone. After a moment House snapped the cell phone shut and looked up.
"What's up?"
"Patient has a new symptom. A really cools one, involving body fluids. Though sadly for the patient, not coming from the correct orifice."
"Okay, come on, I'll drive you in."
"Nope."
"We only took one car and we're too far for a cab."
"True, but we're not leaving."
"But…your patient?"
"Foreman and Thirteen are at the hospital. Taub and Chase are on their way in."
"They have a diagnosis?"
"Nope. But they will."
"And…you think they can do this themselves?"
House pretended to think for a moment. "Well, they did learn from the best."
Wilson looked strangely at House. It was odd to see him turn down a puzzle like this, and trust his team to handle it without him.
"You sure?"
House held up two hands, palms up, as if balancing a scale. "Hmmm…monsters trucks…patient…." He made the monster truck hand go much lower. "Monster trucks win!" he announced happily as he turned his back on Wilson and headed towards the stadium door.
Wilson smiled. Only House could make the rare compliment of showing faith in his team seem like pure selfishness.
House paused before going in, and turned back to Wilson. "I can hear you psychoanalyzing me from here. Knock it off of I won't share my cotton candy with you."
Wilson made his way towards House. "You never share your cotton candy with me anyway."
"Yeah, but this time I won't share for a reason." House countered brightly.
Wilson chuckled as they made their way back into the noise and mayhem of the stadium.
On Saturday …
Wilson gingerly held the anniversary card he had found that morning on the kitchen island between his fingers. He carefully flipped it over, examining it closely, waiting for it to self destruct in a fanfare of glitter or perhaps burst into flames. But it did nothing of the sort. Rather it just sat there, a few sincere words of gratitude and love in House's own handwriting staring him in the face. Wilson wondered how on earth it had ever come to this. His best friend, his partner, his companion in life, had finally managed to change, and he had somehow barely noticed it until now.
Wilson sat down heavily on the couch and thought back to the intervening years. He recalled House getting out of Mayfield, his attempts to build a healthier relationship with Cuddy, his reduction in alcohol use, the alternative pain therapies and all the other positive steps he had taken. Sure, there was still the god awful diet of french fries and peanut butter, the awful taste in TV viewing, and the worrisome motorcycle, but House was House after all, and Wilson wouldn't want that part of him to go away. He sunk back into the cushions and smiled as he thought of how far the two of them had come in these last few years, and how easy and comfortable things had become of late. It was in the little things that the real changes could be measured. The little things that Wilson had been missing up until now. But no more - from now on Wilson resolved to take better notice.
He was deep in this warm reverie when the door to the apartment opened and House walked in, throwing a white paper sack towards Wilson. The younger man quickly emerged from his thoughts just in time to catch it and look inside. He smiled as he happily fished out a powdered jelly donut and bit in. From the sugar and jelly stains up and down House's leather jacket it was obvious he had already had his fill.
"Thanks," Wilson mumbled around his mouthful of high octane sugar.
"You're welcome. Consider it your anniversary present."
"You remembered what day it was. I'm surprised."
"And you clearly forgot. I looked everywhere for my gift."
"Since when do you celebrate something as romantic as an anniversary?"
"Since I realized that it was a gift getting opportunity that I have been missing out on. You owe me three now."
"Then you owe me two."
"There are two more donuts in the bag."
"How thoughtful."
House grinned and made his way to the kitchen. Wilson got up and followed him. He put his hand on House's shoulder as the older man poured out two glasses of milk.
"You never would have bought a card a few years ago. A donut maybe, but never a card."
"Sorry if you don't like it, but I wrote all over it so I can't return it."
"House, that's not what I meant and you know it."
"Then what are you whining on about? I bought a card. So what?"
"You've changed."
"Everyone changes, Wilson. If we didn't we'd all be bawling newborns."
"You always say that people don't change."
"But I also say that everybody lies. So how do you know that when I say that people don't change, I'm not lying?"
Wilson shook his head to clear the sense of confusion talking to House almost always created. "House, I'm not complaining, I like the changes. I'm just sorry if I've been too busy or wrapped up in myself to notice."
"Yeah, well, time to get your focus back onto where it should be – me."
"Of course. I'll get right on it – starting with that smudge of jelly that's on your cheek."
Wilson wrapped his arms around House's neck and used his tongue to lick off a bit of grape jelly that clung to House's stubble. House returned the favor, sucking every bit of grape jelly off of Wilson's lips with his own. The two men stayed like that for a long while, reveling in the warmth of a connection that went far deeper than just the physical.
"So, no present again for me this year?" House finally murmured between kisses.
"Oh, I don't know about that," Wilson mumbled with a grin into House's ear.
Then he led his limping butterfly back down the corridor to their shared bedroom.
The End