Yep, it's a REALLY long chapter. I hope it's entertaining though…
Chapter 35
As the time for her date approached, Romoly was putting the final touches on her wardrobe. She'd chosen a peach-colored cotton-blend shift dress that stopped mid-thigh. The scoop neckline plunged enough to show a bit of cleavage and the elastic short sleeves accented her toned arms. A delicate simple gold chain, small gold hoops and a pair of tan ballet flats rounded out the simple but elegant ensemble. She was trying to keep everything understated; she didn't want Wilson getting the wrong idea.
At 8:00 on the nose the door heralded Wilson's arrival. Sighing quietly and quickly composing herself, she took one last look in the living room mirror then went to open the door, plastering a smile on her face. She did realize she wasn't nearly as excited about dressing for this date as she was dressing for the fundraiser. This date felt forced, almost as if she were trying to make something happen she already knew wouldn't happen.
She ignored the fact that she was really mad because she wasn't dressing for House.
Pushing all distracting thoughts from her mind, she focused on the visitor that suddenly appeared with the opening of the door. Wilson looked fabulous in a nicely-pressed, and obviously expensive, chocolate-brown suit, plain tan silk tie and starched white shirt. The suit was the perfect color of brown, almost as if it had been dyed to match his hair. His shoes and face were shiny and he was holding a bouquet of pink roses this time. She gasped when she saw both Wilson and the roses.
"Oh James, these are GORGEOUS! Thank you so much!" Romoly exclaimed, taking the flowers he'd pushed toward her and buried her face in their softness. "Pink roses are my favorites but white daisies and lavender are my other favorites. I really do love blooms."
"Lavender? Really? That's great. My mom loved lavender when I was growing up." Wilson stopped and took a moment to survey the scene in front of him: she was holding the flowers against that amazing dress of hers. She really looked wonderful and Wilson felt so much pride just to have made her that happy.
"James, can you give me two minutes? I need to put these into a vase then we can go."
He nodded. "Sure." He followed her further inside, impressed with how she decorated. House was right: she certainly wasn't a needlepointer and she didn't seem to own up to any part of that stupid stereotype of his.
She soon reappeared carrying the vase and set it on the coffee table with a happy sigh. "There we are." She turned back, her smile brilliant at his thoughtfulness. Her eyes clouded with a sudden thought. "What?" James asked.
Romoly was hesitant to ask but knew she should. "James, did Greg see you when you got here?"
Wilson shrugged. "I didn't see him. Anyway, what does it matter? He's not your boyfriend, fiancée or husband. You're a grown woman; you can make your own decisions. He's just going to have to deal with it."
Romoly knew Wilson was right; she was just nervous for some reason. "Let me grab my wrap and we'll be off." She grabbed the wrap from that hideous coat rack/tree thing but he took it from her, wrapping it around her shoulders before she could say anything. "Here, allow me." Romoly blushed as she then watched him take her hand, place it on his elbow, and led her from the apartment. This was treatment she was used to; Clif always did things like that.
She really could picture herself getting used to it again.
And now she was looking forward to dinner…if only she could stop thinking about what this might be doing to her neighbor…
HOUSEMD…HOUSEMD…HOUSEMD…
Once they were seated in the Italian restaurant and wine was ordered, Romoly picked up her menu. She didn't get three entrees through the menu before she felt eyes on her. Looking up apprehensively, she found Wilson watching her instead of reading his menu. She was beginning to get nervous. "What?"
"Nothing. Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"
Romoly was now fidgeting. She wasn't sure why she was suddenly this uncomfortable; she was never this uncomfortable with House. It wasn't like she feared Wilson would do something; it was more like she felt she was betraying House. She instantly knew this was a bad idea. "Twice, on the way over." Romoly felt she needed to distract him back to the meal. "Have you been here before?"
Wilson nodded. "It's one of my favorite restaurants. In fact, you…"
"Excuse me, sir?" Both looked up from their conversation to see a waiter standing in front of them holding a tray with a wine bucket, a white towel wrapped around the cold bucket, a bottle of what looked to be Dom Perignon Rosé, and two glasses. "Here's the champagne you ordered."
Romoly looked from the waiter to the pink champagne to Wilson, who was completely dumbfounded. Wilson then shook his head and exclaimed, "But we didn't order this! Take it back!"
The waiter shook his head and began removing the foil from the bottle's neck. "I'm sorry, sir, but it says here you get the bottle. And the ticket never lies. Besides…" POP! The cork sprang from the bottle top and pink fuzzy fluid jumped out, drenching the floor with the expensive champagne. "…the bottle's open. It's too late now." The waiter poured two glasses and handed the first flute of pink bubbly to Romoly with a smile.
"But that's $350 a bottle!" Wilson continued protesting. The waiter rolled his eyes and started lifting the flute to Wilson…then threw the champagne in his face! Wilson sputtered as he struggled to catch his breath. Before anyone could say anything, the waiter had left the champagne on the table and high-tailed it out of there.
"Oh James!" Romoly shrieked, shocked at the impertinence…and the strange turn of events…shown by the waiter. She grabbed her linen napkin and gave it to him. "Are you ok?"
"I don't know…I'm drowning in bubbles!" He joked, despite the situation. This caused Romoly to suddenly start laughing. Coughing up more bubbles, Wilson muttered gruffly, "Thanks so much. You're show of support is overwhelming."
"I'm… I'm… I'm sorry!" Romoly was laughing so hard she couldn't breathe. By now the couple had drawn an audience, all of them whispering about the man covered in pink bubbles and the woman laughing beside him. It was quite comical: women with glasses of wine stopped mid-lift; men with forks stopped in mid-air; prim, rich wives with disgusted snarls on their faces as their husbands gazed longingly at the scene, remembering those days that were long gone, the days before their wives had become money-spending harpies.
"Ok, ok; I get it. I'm a riot. Let's just order, ok? And now we've got expensive champagne. We might as well enjoy it." Romoly was still laughing, slapping the table as she attempted to catch her breath. "Romoly, honey, you're making a scene."
"I… can't… help… it… it's… so… funny!" Romoly gasped, holding her stomach with a sigh. Finally calming, she lifted her flute and took a sip of the expensively dangerous weapon. It really was good; should be for $350 a bottle.
"It's not that funny…" Wilson grumbled under his breath as he wet his napkin with his water to remove the stickiness from his face.
A few moments later, another waiter arrived with an apologetic look on his face. "I'm so sorry; I don't know what came over Ted. We've dealt with him. Please, allow us to make it up to you."
"Don't charge us for the champagne; it was never ours to begin with," Wilson grumbled, not even looking at the waiter.
"Absolutely, sir." The waiter mumbled. "Do you know what you want?"
Romoly looked up from her menu and smiled at the waiter who instantly smiled brighter. "Excuse me, what are today's specials?"
He was too busy staring at her to understand what she asked. Shaking his head as if finally realizing where he was, he coughed and asked, "What?" She smiled wider and repeated what she asked. "Oh, well, our soup of the evening is tomato, fennel and basil. We have a rack of lamb with raspberry brandy sauce, served with asparagus and mashed potatoes. And our seafood of the evening is shrimp sautéed with red pepper, white wine and a touch of cream served over angel hair pasta. Both dishes are amazing."
Romoly looked at Wilson who smiled and nodded. Looking back at the waiter, she smiled again and said, "I'll take the shrimp. Can I get a house salad with creamy Italian dressing on the side?"
The waiter looked shocked, if only for a split second; he recovered and asked, "House salad, did you say?" Romoly threw him a look of 'Are you ok?' as she nodded. He coughed then scribbled on his pad. "Sure." He looked at Wilson who was curious about the whole interchange. "And you sir?"
"Just a moment: why did you look shocked when she said HOUSE salad? Is something going on?"
The waiter looked genuinely shocked at Wilson's inquiry. "Of course not! Why would you assume that? No, that was the first time I've had anyone order the house salad with the shrimp; most people have been ordering the Caesar with that dish. It just took me off guard." Wilson looked reluctantly convinced. "Now, do you know what you want?"
"I'll take the rack of lamb and a house salad to go with that."
"Excellent choice; the house salad is much better with that dish than the Caesar. I'll bring your salads out momentarily." With a final lingering smile on Romoly, he walked away to put in their orders.
"What was that all about?" Romoly asked. "That's got to be one of the weirdest conversations I've ever witnessed. I mean, who questions salad choices?"
"You do when one of them is named after your insane best friend." Wilson sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry Romoly. I think I'm just paranoid that House is gonna show up at anytime."
Romoly had the same fear. "Maybe he's hiding around the corners, lurking like the Boogie-man."
Wilson smiled then laughed with relief. "Perhaps. I'm sorry. This night has just turned out weird."
Romoly shrugged with relief though she still had the nagging thought that House was somehow involved. "Did you tell him we were going out tonight?"
Wilson shook his head. "You called after he left the hospital and I hadn't talked to him. He doesn't know we're on a date. Besides, I'm not about to tell him any of my plans."
She relaxed some but the tenseness was still there. "What if he saw us through the peephole?"
Wilson stiffened. "House would need quite a bit of notice in order to pull off anything major. He just doesn't have the time. We're safe; don't worry about it."
HOUSEMD…HOUSEMD…HOUSEMD…
Wilson and Romoly talked amicably, sipped champagne and ate their salads as they waited for their orders to arrive. The longer they talked the more they both realized they were much better friends than anything more, despite any physical attraction on Wilson's part. They were very comfortable with each other but neither felt what was needed to go any further than that. And certainly not what Romoly felt for House.
As they were talking, Romoly still had the eerie feeling something wasn't right. Something was bound to happen; it just had to. That expression, "It was quiet. Too quiet." certainly applied in this case. Their pink champagne shower was just a bit too suspicious as well. "James," Romoly began as she poured another glass. Given her high tolerance for liquor (which was exceptional given how rarely she indulged) and the lower alcohol content of champagne as compared to other alcoholic drinks, Romoly felt no effect. "I still don't feel right about this. I still have the feeling something's going to happen." Romoly looked around as if wondering what was around the corner. "It's quiet…"
"…too quiet? Yeah I agree." But Wilson's body language didn't imply that he was all that frightened. In fact it seemed he couldn't hold his liquor like she could. He shrugged. "But I doubt if anything will happen."
"How can you be so optimistic?"
Wilson sighed. "Because it's who I am. I've been married three times; I've had countless relationships and I'm still friends with The Killer Whale. What does that make me?"
Romoly chuckled a bit. "Either optimistic or certifiably loony."
He chuckled as well. "The older I get, the more I lean to the latter. This…" Wilson lightly pounded the table with the tip of his right index finger. "…is something House nor I have encountered during our friendship. We've never let a woman come in between us." Romoly looked down, embarrassed. Wilson realized his blunder and backpedaled. "Oh, no! I never meant it like that. I just meant that I've never asked out a woman that House seemed interested in or vice versa."
"Is Greg really interested in me?" Romoly wanted to hear someone close to House say it. "What did he say?"
Wilson shook his head. "He didn't have to say anything but I know. I see it whenever…" but Wilson was interrupted by a faint sizzling sound and the aroma of approaching delicacies.
"Ok, here we are," The waiter who took their order (I think his name is Jeremy, Romoly thought) arrived with another waiter in tow to help with their orders. When Jeremy set the sizzling shrimp in front of Romoly, she noticed three gigantic, fully-bloomed pink rosebuds on her plate. Confused, she looked up at the waiter. "Excuse me? Does this dish normally come with roses on the side?"
Jeremy leaned down to look at her plate. "Yep. Why? Is that a problem?"
"Nooo…" she slowly drew out the word. "…it's just weird, that's all." She instantly thought about all the roses she'd encountered that day: the pink roses Wilson gave her; the pink champagne; and now these pink roses on her plate. Is something really going on? And what do the roses mean? Are they supposed to be symbolic for something?
"How's it weird? We use roses in our cooking all the time." Jeremy turned to the other waiter, who was holding Wilson's plate. "And for you, sir: the rack of lamb."
The waiter set it on the table in front of Wilson and, when Wilson looked at it, he shrieked, "WHAT IS THAT?" as he pointed to his plate. Everyone leaned over for a better look and Romoly gasped loudly.
Jeremy rolled his eyes. "NOW what are you complaining about, sir?"
Wilson shut his eyes with disgust as he pointed to the plate. "This lamb still has its ears, tail and wool!" And he was absolutely right: sitting in approximately the correct locations, anatomically speaking, were the singed remains of once-white, curly wool that covered the sides of the delectable-looking meat; ear-shaped, blackened flesh at the top with few specks of cream-colored wool covering the underside of each ear; and a gray, thin, charred-wool tail hanging from the side. It certainly wasn't a pretty sight, one that would've sent PETA running for their heart medication.
Jeremy looked at the plate again and tilted his head. "Well, by jove he does, doesn't he? Aww… ain't he cute?" Jeremy looked at Wilson, then back at the meat. "He must be one of our organic lambs." Jeremy nodded. "Yep, we serve them just like they're served on the farm: el natural. It's really too bad; you missed the lamb that was still "bahing" the other night." Jeremy looked away as if he fondly remembered the event. Both Wilson and Romoly, neither willing quite yet to look at the meat, stared at Jeremy in horror. "The lamb was quite talented; it actually knew all the notes to the theme song of 'Miami Vice'."
Romoly didn't believe, for a moment, what was happening. She had that feeling, that back of the neck sensation, one gets when they know things aren't kosher but it's too weird to explain. That's just what it was: weird. The whole thing was too weird to believe. Shaking her head with disbelief, she took one last look at the lamb. Spying something odd on the plate (and it must've been REALLY odd, given what she was looking at), she looked up at Wilson who'd begun arguing with Jeremy and was paying no attention to her. Romoly turned back to the plate and slowly moved her hand until she grabbed what she'd seen. It was a folded piece of paper!
Romoly had to smile as she turned away from Wilson and unfolded the paper, which read:
Mary had a little lamb named Bert,
It's fleece was white as snow;
And everywhere that Mary went,
People just assumed he was her beau.
She didn't say yes, she didn't say no
When people asked her who he was;
She just led him around with her,
As he shook his butt a fuzz.
Until one day, she ran into Larry,
Her ex-boyfriend come a visitin' from Austin.
He saw red and grabbed her Bertie
And the result was a good roastin'.
Just remember this, the next time you
Try to steal another man's pretty lamb.
You could end up just like Bert:
A playa's main course served with yams.
Romoly choked; she was speechless. With the culprit so obviously being House, he'd clearly wrote this for Wilson about her. Her heart started beating faster as she suddenly thought of all the trouble he went to pull this together. For the first time, she saw House showing an emotion, not a feeling, whether he knew it or not. He probably thought he was pulling a prank, giving no matter to what the time or expensive really meant to Romoly. Though still confused but very curious, Romoly looked back at the dish. The confusion suddenly became very clear as she began laughing as what was really going on finally sunk in: she'd caught sight of another slip of paper, this one hidden underneath an "ear". It was a tag that read "Made in China".
Judging from her easy detection of the papers, Romoly knew the culprit wanted the prank to be easily discovered. And she then knew who did it. She had to admit, though: the lamb body parts looked real, the poem was very clever (she was most proud about that one) and the cooked meat did look delectable.
Wilson stared at her in horror. "Why are you laughing? This isn't funny at all!"
She fought to contain her laughter but every time she saw the lamb's ears the 'Miami Vice' theme ran through her head and her laughter just spilled out. "I'm sorry…James. I'm laughing… because… because…" she coughed because she was choking on her words. "…because this is the WORST date I've ever been on." She was hiccupping.
Wilson threw up his hands. "Take this back. Just bring me desert."
Jeremy looked at Wilson uncertainly. "Are you sure? He looks delicious."
Wilson stood up from his chair. "Absolutely! This is DISGRACEFUL. I've never been treated so…so…terribly in a restaurant in my entire life. This…" he pointed to the dish and looked down. That's when he saw the 'Made in China' tag.
Catching him at just the right moment, Romoly, coughing and sputtering, handed the paper to him. "This…um…this was underneath, um, Bertie." Romoly tried to keep her laughter at bay by containing it behind her hands. All she really did was give herself more hiccups in the process. Upon reading the poem Romoly handed him, Wilson shook his head, closed his eyes, and said, "Oh God."
"And that's what he moaned after our first date." House's gruff voice came from behind Romoly and her breath caught. Looking up, she saw House watch her as he passed, his suddenly hungry eyes devouring her in her dress. This made her heart beat faster, even though she was still laughing behind her hands.
He regarded her seriously for a moment. "Yeah, he took us here on our first date as well. He takes all his first dates here. I remember it well: he had the Tortelloni Fiorentina and I had the Spaghetti Bolognese. And the sex afterwards was amazing. I've never had it better, from anyone." Romoly choked at this, fighting to hold back the laughter beginning to intensify. House grinned at her. "Oh, didn't you know? Dr. Wilson here" he loudly declared, pointing to James who'd fallen back into his chair while shooting death-stares at House, "and I were LOVERS." House screamed that last word.
House grinned like the mischievous 5-year-old he was and looked around at the entire restaurant. Not a soul was breathing, much less eating. When the lamb first came out, some had started standing up to leave, believing that the cooked meat still had its body parts. Who wanted to eat at a place like that? But once word got around the lamb wasn't real they began to calm down. They then wondered what really was going on. Eying the table, with the pink champagne-stained linen tablecloth, the 'el natural' lamb and Romoly's rosy shrimp, House's look turned smug. He was quite proud of himself.
"SHUT. UP. HOUSE." Wilson hissed each word. He was baffled about how House knew they were even going out tonight. But he hated to admit it: House had him pegged about the restaurant. He'd told House enough about the restaurant that it would be stupid for House NOT to have known he'd choose this particular restaurant. This didn't keep Wilson from being scared out of his skin though; he had no idea what House would do next. "Why are you here? Why are you doing this?" Wilson hissed.
"Jimmy, baby. I wasn't about to let you make the worst mistake of your life. We are meant to be together! You flip back and forth between me and other men, then me and other women. Why can't you realize that WE are meant to be?" House moved closer and when he put his hand on Wilson's shoulder, Wilson froze with fright.
"I want you back, my Jimmy Willy. Pete misses you." House looked at the other diners who watched wordlessly. They looked happy that their dinners were no longer boring and that they didn't have to talk about how little Bobby got in trouble at school once again. Watching other people's problems were a lot better.
Romoly, still having the hardest time not laughing up her lung, managed to ask between coughs, "Who's Pete?"
House turned his gleaming eyes to her; he was very glad, and very surprised, that she was enjoying this.
"Pete's our pet rock."
Romoly snorted. She couldn't hold back any longer as she grabbed her side and leaned over to the side of her chair, the gales of laughter falling to the floor. It had to have been the champagne; most women would get angry about being embarrassed in front of everyone.
Wilson, who'd quickly moved away from House, stood up and looked him in the eye. "Are you spouting off your mouth because you're pissed off that Romoly and I went out? Did you go to all this trouble just to prove a point? Tell me: what's going on?" Romoly's gales of laughter greatly lessened as she sat up, holding her sides. She wanted to hear this.
HOUSEMD…HOUSEMD…HOUSEMD…
House's smile faded as he looked from Wilson to Romoly and back again. "Because it's fun."
"But why our first date? Couldn't you have done something at work or in the cafeteria at the hospital? And why did it have to involve Romoly?"
"If it was just fun then why did you use expensive champagne? Why not the cheap stuff?" Romoly asked, taking deep breaths to slow her breathing. The tide had turned; the situation was now a serious one. House looked around, each patron on the edge of their seats. They were as caught up in the drama as the central players were.
House opened his mouth to say something when they heard the booming voice of the manager: "Ok, joke's over. You're disrupting the restaurant and I'm going to have to ask you to leave." To the manager's surprise the entire restaurant groaned; they wanted to hear House's response. House was glad the manager interrupted. Just how was House supposed to get out of admitting that he wanted Romoly to have the best? How would THAT go over? He did have the image of selfish jerk to protect.
"Awww, come on! Just let them stay! We want to know why he ruined their date!" a man shouted in the back.
"Are you really gay?" A woman asked from two tables away.
"NO!" Wilson defensively yelled.
"YES!" House sarcastically yelled back.
The woman rolled her eyes. "Well, are you or aren't you?"
"No they aren't. Don't believe a word this guy just said." Romoly pointed to House who simply stuck his tongue out. She stood up after she found the strength from her laughing jag. Looking at House, Romoly said, "Apologize to your best friend and then tell me why you went to so much expense and effort to ruin the date." House opened his mouth to complain but she raised her eyebrow in a very 'don't you DARE defy me' stance.
"Fine." He turned to Wilson, whose own eyebrow was flying high. House mumbled something but no one could understand it.
"What did you say?" Wilson loudly asked.
"I'm sorry." House looked at Romoly. "Is that good enough?"
"That'll do. I know you don't really mean it but to have you say it will have to be enough." Romoly said as she moved closer to him. House became transfixed by the way her body moved under the dress and his fingers itched like they always did to move along the soft curves of her body. How he missed her; he wanted her so badly… "Now tell me why you did this." House didn't say a word as he continued watching her.
She opened her mouth to say something else when another patron asked, "Are you blind? He loves you. Can't you see that?"
Romoly studied him further but knew it was best not to call him on that one. She wanted him to be the first to admit whatever he felt, not to downplay, counteract or correct what someone else had said. It certainly wasn't going to happen there.
The manager was REALLY mad by then. "Excuse me? Are you done? It's time for you to find the door and use it. I want you people out of here, now."
Romoly was caught between the two men, with Wilson glaring at House; House watching Romoly; and Romoly watching the space between them. Wilson finally broke the silence with, "My date is not over yet." He grabbed his suit coat and her wrap. "We are going to finish this date, no matter what you may think. If you don't like it, get yourself a hooker." Only House heard Romoly's breath hitch at this; she did NOT want him getting a hooker.
And this tiny sound did more for House than anything else could have at that moment. He wasn't going to let her finish that date; she was going home with him. Grabbing her hand, House pulled Romoly to him. In a gruff but loud and firm voice, House stated, "You aren't going with him. You're coming home with me."
The crowd gasped, everyone leaning forward for a better view and clearer sound. It truly was like the crowd leaning forward during a suspenseful portion of the movie.
Romoly, though absolutely and completely willing to go with him, wasn't leaving without putting up a fight. Yanking her hand from his grasp, she stared at a shocked House. "And why should I leave with you?"
House looked at her as if she were insane. "Well, why wouldn't you want to?" And he left it at that.
"Excuse me; you're going to have to clarify. What's that supposed to mean?"
House rolled his eyes arrogantly. "I'm the very best you could do; I'm the best around. Besides, I know you were coming anyway. Are you coming or do I have to drag you?"
"NO!" The enthralled crowd gasped as Romoly's eyes began flashing. She absolutely did not like to be told what to do. She'd had enough of that with Clif and had told herself she wasn't going to let it happen again. "I'm in the middle of a date with a very hot guy. You can't just tell me what I am thinking or what I was going to do. You're not a mind reader. You don't always get your way." Romoly turned to her date. "Let's go. I know this little coffeehouse that's open after midnight. Why they're serving coffee that late I'll never know." Wilson nodded, holding up the wrap for her but grinning like a Cheshire cat. Romoly nodded thanks as he covered her shoulders.
Taking a few steps to the exit, amidst the enthralled patrons, Romoly heard House's breathing quicken before he bellowed, "BUT YOU SLEPT WITH ME!" Ripples of chatter went through the restaurant. The plot had just thickened, thereby making things a lot more interesting for the patrons.
House's voice changed to sarcasm. "Or had you forgotten? Don't you think that meant something?"
Romoly and Wilson stopped walking in mid-stride. The anger began boiling up again; how DARE he go and shout something so personal about her to a group of strangers?
With her back still to House, Romoly said, "It didn't mean anything to you; it was only physical. At least that's what you said." She turned back around and stood up tall and straight, her battle stance one of protective defiance. "It's what you wanted. In fact you told me it was what you wanted. Now you're outraged because I won't go home with you."
"But you OWE ME!" He hissed, limping closer to her, anger flashing in his bright blues. The crowd gasped and leaned further forward. A faint "NO! DON'T HURT HER!" could be heard in the background.
"I owe you NOTHING." She spat back. For once Romoly felt genuine, unadulterated rage. "YOU seduced me; YOU pursued me; YOU broke into my apartment and snooped around for things that weren't of your concern; YOU can't stop acting like a child. If anything YOU owe the both of US," and she pointed to Wilson and herself, "a great deal."
House narrowed his eyes. "It pisses me off you'd spread outrageous lies about he, here, in front of an audience."
"YOU'RE pissed off?" Wilson stepped closer to House with a courage everyone was surprised to see. "I'm sick and tired of all these crappy pranks and messes and situations you're continuously putting me in because you're a child who can't channel his emotions properly. I get it: it's healthy to be jealous when your best friend starts dating the girl you like. That's fine. It's UNHEALTHY to play a prank on them. If you like her, tell her. But not right now…" he stepped back to Romoly and took her elbow. "We're on a date and so help me if you screw things up…"
No matter what House usually said or did to Wilson, he'd always known how far to push it before breaking and never took it to that point. This night was an exception; House had simply let his emotions, for once, overtake him. While it was good because he really should do it more, it was too bad he couldn't have used that power for good instead of the evil he really used it for. "You'll do what? Bang her then leave her crying when you nail another cancer patient? Abandon her at home as you spend all your time at the hospital? Trade her up for a different model when she gets too old?"
Wilson, seeing red, punched House right in the jaw, sending the bigger man down with a heavy THUD. A cheer went through the restaurant crowd as Wilson turned back to Romoly. "Shall we go?" The stunned Romoly could do nothing but nod and, leaving House holding his jaw, Wilson walked, Romoly taking a concerned look behind. He saw her watching him, almost pleading with her not to go with Wilson but Romoly turned away. House needed this; he needed to be disciplined. Yet that didn't stop the fluttering in her stomach as she'd watched the result of the two men battling over her. She had to admit it was thrilling.
But what do they do about House?
The couple left House just lying on the floor, in the midst of the dinner crowd, all eyes watching the door. House knew he'd handled the situation completely wrong. Sighing and getting up, he turned to everyone. They were staring at him like he was evil or something. Before he could open his mouth to comment, a small voice from the back broke through the stillness of the restaurant with a question:
"Since when did this restaurant become a dinner theater? I was here just last week and there was no show." House turned to the voice and saw a tiny, frail woman pointing to him. She looked completely in earnest. "Bravo! Young man, you should be a professional actor; you have a gift. That was truly amazing. It looked so real." The woman turned to her dinner companion, who was staring at the woman in astonishment. "Harriett, did you see that?"
House was stunned: his personal life was put on display and this lady thought it was a play?
"Yes, Ruth, I saw it. But it wasn't a play. Those people were customers."
"Hogwash!" Ruth turned to House. "So when's the next showing? I want to bring everyone from the senior center to see this."
HOUSEMD…HOUSEMD…HOUSEMD…
The rest of the date was absolutely wonderful: Wilson listened to her like no man had listened to her in a long, long time. They learned a lot about each other; themselves…and most of all House.
When the date was over, Wilson walked Romoly to her door. "Thank you for a wonderful time James."
"Before, during or after the lamb?" Wilson asked, chuckling at the awkwardness of the situation.
Romoly chuckled right back. "You know, I'm glad it happened. I don't think we'd have as good of a date afterwards if it hadn't been for Bertie."
Wilson, remembering the poem, pulled it out of his pocket with a laugh. "Yeah, I kept the poem. I have to say, it's very, very good. House just might have the gift of poetry after all."
Romoly laughed full-stop with that, shaking her head and placing her hand in Wilson's, the one that still held the poem. "I don't think so." Wilson chuckled louder. And it was their laughing that brought noises in the apartment next door. Romoly caught the dark shadow moving underneath the door.
House was pacing, listening and watching them. He'd obviously been waiting up.
Romoly decided to have a little fun. Placing both hands on Wilson's shoulders, she leaned up and placed her mouth beside his ear. His breath hitched as her warm breath caressed the sensitive membrane. "Greg is watching. We need to kiss."
Wilson's breath caught all together with this. Moving his mouth to her opposite ear, he whispered, "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. In fact, we need to make out for awhile then, when Greg comes out, tell him that we're going to see each other again. Better yet: let's pretend to start dating steadily and see what he'd do. I can't think of a better way to get back at him than by pretend dating. It will kill him."
While Wilson didn't like the pretend dating part…he wanted a real girlfriend…he would never pass up a chance to turn the tables on House. Nodding slowly, Wilson said, "Ok. Ready?"
"Yep. Let'er rip."
Wilson broke from her, gently took her face with his hands and looked down at her mouth. Caressing her soft cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, he lowered his mouth to hers and gently suckled her bottom lip. At first. Within mere moments the kiss became deeper and she moaned involuntarily, the skill of his mouth and tongue taking her by surprise.
The world around them seemed to be rushing but a loud, gruff almost wailing noise seemed to penetrate through the chaos. Suddenly the couple was broken apart and someone stood between them. When Romoly finally got her bearings and her world became clear again, she saw what the intrusion was.
It was House. And he looked mad. Really, REALLY mad.