Chapter 6 Friday to Saturday afternoon

The last lecture was finished and everybody was relaxing at the wine bar. House went on the balcony to call Cuddy.

"Hi, sweetheart."

"I missed you, too. Especially Patty and Selma."

"The lectures went very well, but I spent Wednesday at the hotel. I was feeling under the weather and took the occasion to fix a few last minute details in Lecture 4."

"No, I don't think he was too bored, but I'll thank him from you."

"Yes, I'll let him drive tomorrow. I'll be with you around dinner time."

When House went back to the wine bar, Wilson was nowhere to be seen. He didn't worry too much, and started walking around the room, saying goodbye to the many people who had been kind to him. He normally wouldn't have done that, but he knew that Cuddy would have been pissed if he hadn't. That's what he told himself at first; then he chuckled and admitted to himself that, between the week of nightly sex with Wilson and the prospect of a very warm welcome from Cuddy, he was really in a good mood and being friendly to people he didn't care about came almost natural.

Wilson came up to him about half an hour later, said he had a headache and asked whether they could go. Even in the dim light of the bar he looked very pale, so House agreed to go as soon as they could politely disengage themselves.

When they closed the door to their bedroom forty minutes later, the harsher light revealed to House that Wilson was not only pale but looked like he was in physical pain.

"Do you need a painkiller?"

"No, I… I already took one. I'm feeling better." He forced a smile. "We can… play Scrabble if you want."

"Come on, Wilson, I know you're a people pleaser, but I can do without one evening! You're obviously sick and need to take care of yourself. Don't worry, Cuddy will be more than happy to play Scrabble with me tomorrow evening."

At this, Wilson looked even more sick than before. House convinced him to get one more painkiller and a sleeping pill and was relieved to hear him quietly snoring half an hour later. He figured out something at the party must have triggered one of his friend's rare but debilitating migraines.

The next morning when they woke up Wilson seemed fine and didn't even mention the previous evening's problems. They had breakfast, packed and (at House's suggestion) played one last round of Scrabble before they had to vacate the room. They left the hotel around eleven, and around one House started grumbling that he wanted his lunch. Wilson left the interstate, ignored his suggestions (including a Burger King and a Steakhouse) and drove through smaller and narrower streets until they arrived at an isolated house, whose ground floor was occupied by a small restaurant which claimed to be French.

"Hi. I have reserved a table for two."

"Welcome, Mr. Wilson, we were expecting you."

The place was simple but clean; the waiter led them to a table set for two. The dark wood was covered by a tablecloth with a white and red square pattern.

"Will you explain to me what we're doing here? We'll be at least an hour late, if not two!"

"The service tends to be a bit slow here, so I ordered for us ahead. And the food is fantastic." Wilson pointed to a nearby chair with a pillow. "Put your leg up, it will help ease the strain of sitting in the car. We still have a long drive ahead."

House was ready to start grumbling when the bottle of Cote du Rhone and the appetizers arrived.

Ninety minutes later, a very happy House sipped his coffee and smiled. "The food was really great. Unbelievable, in such a middle-of-nowhere place."

"It actually has one star on the Michelin Guide."

House was suspicious. "So how come there's only us?"

Wilson smiled, a little crow's foot showing at the corners of his eyes like every time he felt he had fooled his friend. "It's usually closed for lunch. But they're willing to make exceptions."