Disclaimer: I don't own House and never, ever will. It's quite sad, I know, but I've come to terms with it.
The line, "You have a good third husband…" is lovingly borrowed from a Sondheim masterpiece entitled Company. I don't own that either, but if I did, I would have kept the latest revival on Broadway until the actors absolutely needed to retire due to old age.
Oh, yes. There are two curse words. It could be worse. Trust me. Us Long Islanders are inherently vulgar and crude.
Gregory House and the latest Mrs. James Wilson were perched together on the outside balcony of a small, but tasteful event hall somewhere on the upper east side of Manhattan. Julie's wedding dress was too tight, as she insisted upon wearing a satin number that was one size too small. (She could've sworn it fit only one month ago.) She needed air – the ballroom was far too stuffy, she claimed. She had sauntered out to the nearest balcony, only to find that it already been occupied by her husband's best, and sometimes, it seemed, only friend. He stared into his scotch glass looking somewhat defeated. She narrowed her eyes at him and snatched his drink, gulping the last of it down.
"Hey," he yelled, his voice unsteady. "That's mine!"
"Yeah, well, it's time to share, Dr. House," Julie snapped, placing the glass on the cold and clean concrete.
"I'm already sharing Jim with you, why do you need to take my liqueur, too," he asked petulantly.
Julie rolled her eyes and gazed into the dimly lit ballroom. She immediately spotted James, who was happily dancing with his six year old niece. He twirled her around, laughing heartily and swaying unevenly. He never was a good dancer. That didn't matter to Julie – not at all. She watched him smile and marveled at his lips. They were such a magnificent creation – and now they were hers. She knew that for the rest of her life (for as long as they both shall live), she would have the extreme pleasure of touching those lips whenever she liked. She looked down and smiled sweetly to herself, unable to hide her affection for her new husband. Affection, she knew, was something she never did very well. It was why her previous two marriages had failed miserably. She was absent; cold, prude and apathetic. She had loved each man ardently (honestly, she did), but somehow could never manage to say or show it. No, that's not how she worked. She frowned, realizing that perhaps a third marriage was all one big mistake.
"No," she said softly. "No, this is right. This is different." She looked at James once more and nodded.
"Pardon," House asked. He had been observing Julie. He watched her demeanor change from stiff and wooden to relaxed and soft. She wore a wide smile, full of something he had never seen it wear before: love. It was irksome, he thought, to see Julie's smile full of anything other than arrogance, contempt and secrets. He knew the subject of her love, and the thought was not one he cared for all too much.
"I was just talking to myself. I apologize." Her eyes grew numb, her expression passionless. It was a noticeable difference. House could do that to her – to any person, she thought.
"Look, Julie," House began unsurely. He was beginning to feel a buzz, most likely caused by the large amount of alcohol he had consumed since the morning had dawned. "Julie, look. I know you don't like me, and I sure as fuck don't like you. And we know that. And Jimmy knows that. And I'll betcha bottom dollar Jimmy's ex-wives know it, too. Baby Jes-"
"Get to the point, House," she snapped. He was so impossible. She couldn't understand how, and more importantly why James put up with him.
"Hey! Don't be all…all…you-ish," he slurred. Yeah, he was definitely playing the part of the drunken best friend. "I was just trying to say that me and you…you and I…you and me…we should try and get along 'round good ole Jimmy. I mean, he's got dying patients and all. He at least deserves to have us act mushy all together or something like that."
Julie looked at her current companion curiously. He almost looked concerned. Caring. It was…different. "Are you actually showing concern for James?"
House rolled is eyes. "Ya know, contr'ry to what that small brain of yours thinks, I do care about Jimmy. He's the only person in this godforsaken world I've got." House's nostrils flared and his blue eyes were bright and passionate. Despite his drunken state and slurred words, he felt completely lucid.
Julie saw something in his eyes that matched her own: love. She crossed her arms and inspected House. His normally arrogant and superior posture seemed to be broken, his hair was disheveled (though it wasn't much different than usual) and his beard had more growth than usual. Throw in the chestnut cane with all kinds of scratches and indents on it, and he looked positively pathetic. And despite the passion in his eyes when he spoke, she could see an underlying sadness mixed with what looked to be the remnants of complete and utter heartbreak. "Oh, my god," she laughed. "This is rich! No wonder why you've turned to alcohol tonight." Her laugh grew louder – a little bit shocked, a little bit amused, a little bit bitter.
House cocked his head. "What're talking about?" His mind was beginning to feel a bit fuzzy, and the lights and music from the reception were making his head pound.
"Nothing," Julie said airily. "I was musing aloud, like I always do." She stretched her arms and stared off into the cool, dark night. She shifted her glance slightly to look at House. She smirked to herself, knowing full well how right she really was.
House had nodded knowingly, turning his attention to a certain dancing groom. He hated that word; 'groom.' It seemed so vulgar, so unnecessary. Why Jim had chosen to get married in the first place was something House couldn't fathom. Why did he need marriage? Living the life of a swinging single is perfectly respectable – and occasionally fun. And why did his good friend Jimmy always seem to find pretentious twits? Girls that would never mature into women, who still depended on a man (Daddy in particular), and wanted nothing more than to say that they're married to "God." Married to a doctor who has the ability to save suffering cancers patients from an untimely death. He shook his head.
He hated James Wilson, M.D sometimes. And, as he watched him jump around like a fool, eyes blazing with life, love and passion, he loved him all the same. Julie was one hell of a lucky bitch. And he'd never let her forget it. He sighed heavily and tapped his cane on the ground, forcing Julie to turn around and look at him. She raised her eyebrows questioningly.
"You have a good third husband, Julie," House said pointedly. He stared her down judgmentally, sneered, picked his scotch glass up and made his way into the reception hall, never taking his eyes away from his friend…his happily married friend.
Make of this what you will. Slash, pre-slash, a short story about a guy losing his best friend to the dark depths of matrimony...for a third time. I had no romantic intentions, it just came out that way, I think.