A/N: How many times can I rewrite the same fic? Obviously at least three. Enjoy it, although if you've read incarnations one and two, this is the same thing with different names.
It's Wilson's first marriage, and he's trying to look as cheerful as he can as he sits by the bar, downing scotch after scotch after scotch. It's the same scene that will be replayed over and over again in the course of their friendship. He sits alone at the bar, whoever he's taken as his date long since ignored. No, he's spending his time drinking, and waiting for the first moment that he can leave.
He thinks of how good his friend looks in a fancy tux and tails, cravat and cummerbund matching the bridesmaids dresses, and smiles as Wilson plucks at his cuffs, clearly uncomfortable with this level of formality. To be honest, House wasn't fond of his own tux either. He knew he looked good, and Wilson looked better, but neither of them were comfortable with this level of dress. He liked his ragged old t-shirts, dressed up only by a half-buttoned shirt and sport coat, and Wilson was comfortable in a shirt and tie, and not much more.
And everyone else was there, all happy, smiling faces, and love. He couldn't ever picture himself looking this happy. He supposed he'd likely wind up married one day, that he'd find the right woman, and things would be good, and he'd look as happy as Wilson did in his fancy tux, never more than two steps away from his new wife.
No, he merely downed as many scotches as he could, smilied for the requisite pictures of the groomsmen, and got out of there as soon as he could, because it was all too much for him to bear.
And then it was Wilson's second marriage, and he'd looked better then. He had someone that he loved and could be happy. Truth be told, he'd even gone to look at rings, but he couldn't make himself buy one, because as much as he loved Stacy, she wasn't the one. No, the problem was that the one would never look his way twice. But he was there, because it was JamesandBonnieandStacyandGreg, a fearsome foursome that everyone else thought would be perfect together for the rest of their lives. Double dates, and cozy dinners, and nights at the bar with all of them leaving in rousing choruses of some drunken song or another.
Even with Stacy there, they'd still left early, under the guise of all the lovey dovey crap making them nauseas.
It was the third wedding that he finally snapped. He was again at the bar, whiskey in hand, ignoring the rest of the happy people. Wilson was there again, plucking at the cuffs of his tux, and he sat there, waiting for the first moment that he could leave. He looked over at Cuddy, ignoring the way she looked like she was enjoying herself-they'd only gone together because neither of them had dates, not because there were any real feelings there beyond a mutual sexual tension.
Wilson's brother, the one still in the picture, came over, and plucked Cuddy away for a dance, claiming that the best man got his pick of all the ladies present, leaving House alone at the table, and Wilson promptly joined him. "You look like you're at a funeral." Wilson commented, and he merely snorted into his drink before swilling it down. Wilson was already well on the way to tipsy, what with all the champagne, and celebratory drinks. "It's no way for a groomsman to behave. Would you like me to find someone here who's dying to give you something to do?"
He merely smirked, before shaking his head. "I'm not bored." Blue eyes met soft brown ones, and he frowned, before looking away. It wouldn't be prudent to be doing this-he was getting remarried again, and there was nothing that House could do to stop it.
"Then what is it, you look like you're about to shoot someone, namely yourself." House chuckled, but it was a humorless laugh.
"It's nothing, really." Wilson knew House well enough that 'nothing' never meant 'nothing.' "I'm fine." At the same time, it was his wedding, and Wilson wasn't going to press.
"Then smile, if only for the video, or else everyone will remember you as the awful, miserable bastard that you are." Wilson was grinning, and House felt his own lips quirk upwards into the faintest hint of a smile, even if it was a completely fake one.
His eyes scanned the crowd, and landed on Julie, and he hated himself, because he couldn't manage to summon up the ability to hate her. She was loveable. She was funny, and sweet, and caring and needy, and everything that Wilson needed. She was, in a word, perfect for his friend, and he wasn't going to step in and ruin things.
"You're not going to tell me what's going on, are you?" Wilson's question snaps him back to attention.
"No, I'm not. No point in upsetting you on your wedding day. If you really want to know I'll tell you when you get back from-wherever you're going this time."
"Malibu." Wilson comments, and House merely shrugs, not really caring. "Wait til I'm good and drunk, and then tell me, if it's that bad. That way I won't remember. Right now, I'm lucky to remember the date."
"The twelfth. Of August." House supplies, and Wilson nods, smiling at him, grabbing his own whiskey and downing it quickly.
Cuddy was returning, and Wilson got up to go play the required duties of groom. House finished his drink, and a second, and a third, ignoring Cuddy's comment that he was going to drain Mercer County dry of every type of whiskey they had. He had tried to steer Wilson away from this place, it wasn't really all that nice, but Julie had been insistent that they have their reception at Angeloni's. He merely glared at his boss, and finished off another before hobbling out to the lobby.
Knowing that Cuddy was still in there was the only thing stopping him from leaving, because he knew it would gain him extra clinic hours if he was the first one to leave. No, he merely sat on the couch in the lobby, loosening his tie, needing to breathe. He didn't even know how long he'd been there when Wilson came out to join him, staggering slightly. His friend had always been a lightweight. "I'm good and drunk now House, spill."
Instead, House merely got up and walked outside, standing against the railing as he produced a pack of cigarettes, ignoring Wilson's protests. "Look, the chicken dance is coming up, and I'm not leaving here until you tell me what's wrong. So unless you want to incur the wrath of my nieces, I suggest you tell me what the hell's crawled up your ass and died."
"It's nothing." It was a blatant lie is what it was, but he wasn't going to ruin his best friend's wedding.
"Well then stop making me wonder, and tell me, because not knowing is ruining my wedding. Tell me, or I'll pry it out of you." He stared at the stars for a long minute, not wanting to say anything, not having anything to say. He could feel Wilson dangerously close to him, their shoulders touching as they stared out over the parking lot. "Well?"
He could feel Wilson staring at him, and he took a deep breath, before bending his head and capturing soft lips with his own. It felt so damn right, and that was what scared him. What he hadn't expected was for Wilson to kiss back, one arm wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. This was supposed to feel wrong, but it didn't. It never could.
He pulled away as impulsively as he started it, and looked hard at Wilson. "Go back to your wedding, Julie's probably wondering where you ran off to. Go, be happy." Wilson didn't say anything, but merely followed the order. House stayed out there as the first notes of the chicken dance floated out to him, and he watched the cigarette burn down to the filter, before heading back in, ignoring Cuddy's prodding of how he could miss everyone else making fools of themselves. No, he just ordered another scotch, and sat there, waiting for the first moment he could leave.