House showed up at Room 3302 well before 6 and knocked on the door. When there was no answer after a few seconds, House began systematically pounding on the door. He thought he might have heard movement in the room, but otherwise it was quiet.
The muffled rhythmic pounding on the door beat in time to the pounding that had returned in Wilson's head. At some point he thought he heard someone calling his name, but couldn't be bothered to check. "Go 'way," he called, pulling a pillow over his head and burying himself deeper into the covers.
House put his ear to the door, listening closely for renewed signs of movement. He heard a faint and muffled, "Go 'way," from somewhere inside, followed by more silence. House waited, toeing the carpet and weighing his options. He had a pretty good sense that Wilson was probably hidden under the covers of his bed and not in much of a mood to go out, but having decided that Wilson needed to quit feeling sorry for himself, House took matters into his own hands.
Surreptitiously looking up and down the hallway to make sure he wouldn't be seen, House popped the lock on the door with a credit card and walked into the room. Sure enough, there was a Wilson-sized lump in the middle of the bed. House wandered over and yanked the covers back while Wilson tried in vain to keep the pillow over his head.
Rolling onto his back, Wilson glared with bleary eyes at House. "What the fuck?!"
House looked down at him. "It's 6 o'clock. Get up. I'm hungry."
Wilson groaned as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His head was still pounding, but House's mention of being hungry caused his own stomach to grumble audibly. House wandered over to the window and gazed out over the river while Wilson set about pulling fresh clothes out of his suitcase. He dressed casually, in a lightweight green polo and jeans, glad to finally be wearing a shirt that wasn't a size too small. 15 minutes later they were headed out the door.
As they rode the elevator down to the lobby, a thought occurred to Wilson. "How the hell did you get into my room?"
House looked over at him and shrugged. "I popped the lock."
Wilson looked back, incredulous. "Are you always in the habit of breaking into places whenever you feel like it?"
House thought about it for a moment. "Yeah. Pretty much. Comes in handy."
Wilson had no response to that. The elevator doors opened, and they walked across the lobby out into the early evening foot traffic. The sun hung low in the sky, but the air was still thick and humid. Being Saturday, tourists outnumbered the locals. They were easy to spot, with their garish clothing and varying states of drunkenness.
House and Wilson wove their way around the tourists on their way to the diner. Leaving the growing crowds behind as they slid through the door, Wilson finally took the opportunity to get a good look around inside as Aimee pointed them toward the same booth they'd sat at earlier in the day. He had to admit it was quite a find. Busy but not crowded, Wilson could see why House had made it a point to eat there. The smells coming from the kitchen were almost enough to make him drool.
Picking up a worn and faded menu, Wilson looked over at House. "So what's good?"
House didn't hesitate. "Everything."
Aimee made her way over to their table, order pad in hand. "Hey, Doc. Heard you might be back tonight. What can I get you boys?"
House decided to try the jambalaya after Aimee told him that the recipe Bobby used had been in the family for 3 generations. Wilson asked Aimee for suggestions, and after listening to several decided on the seafood gumbo. Aimee left to put in their order, returning with two glasses of iced tea.
"Headed over to Bill's tonight?" She asked, setting the glasses on the table.
House looked up at her and grinned wickedly. "You've been talking to Lisette about me? What's Bobby gonna think?"
Aimee turned 3 shades of embarrassed as she walked away, laughing.
Wilson watched the interaction between Aimee and House and tried to square it with the stories he'd heard about the man. He decided that for whatever reason, House was in a good mood. Surely it couldn't last.
When the food arrived, it was all Wilson could do to keep from blindly shoveling spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. The gumbo looked and smelled incredible. He poked around the bowl, taking in all the different textures of the ingredients. House watched Wilson's reaction from across the table as he took his first bite and noted that it was very similar to his own first reaction to Bobby's cooking. Satisfied, House began to tuck into his own meal.
By the time Aimee returned a few minutes later with french bread, both men were practically finished with their food. She chuckled at the sight of the doc's friend, his face lightly flushed from the spices as he drank from the glass of tea.
Aimee couldn't resist. "First experience with Cajun food?"
Wilson finished the dark and unsweetened tea before answering. "Yes. It was amazing. Thank you."
Aimee nodded and glanced over at House, who was wiping the last bit of rice and sauce from his bowl with the crusty bread. "Y'all always eat this fast, Doc?"
"I do when the food's this good. Tell Bobby he'd better keep that recipe in a safe."
"He does. Y'all interested in dessert?"
"Got any more of that pie?"
Aimee laughed. "For you, Doc? Always." She turned to Wilson expectantly. Before he had a chance to open his mouth, House spoke for him. Wilson glared across the table.
"He'll have the same. And coffee. Lots of coffee."