He limped behind a shopping cart while Wilson absently tossed in cans of chicken noodle soup. The younger doctor still had the same slack-jawed expression that filled his face an hour earlier when there were no phone calls or e-mails from Julie or a divorce lawyer.
"It's hard to say," Wilson said as canned peaches and pears joined the soup. "On one hand, it could mean they're taking their time plotting and scheming, getting ready to go for the jugular, or..." Wilson paused, letting his unfinished thought hang in the air. The older doctor didn't need to ask what came after 'or'. "It's good that a lawyer didn't call, but it's bad that this is going to drag out longer and longer. I wish she would just make up her mind already."
"Wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which piles up first," House said. An older woman with a cart full of bananas, oatmeal and cat food narrowed her eyes at him. He ignored her and turned into the cereal aisle.
"Nice language, House. Is that what you told Cuddy this morning when you two were talking about me?"
After flinging in a box of Cheerios, House responded, "Lisa was asking about you. I was hardly betraying your confidence."
"And you told Lisa how I got this lovely bruise."
"Of course I did. Do you want me to lie?"
"You wanted me to lie about getting slugged by Evander Holyfield," his friend responded as he scanned the shelves for Frosted Mini Wheats. "What else did you say about me?"
"I said that you loved your wife and didn't want a divorce," answered the doctor.
Wilson found his cereal and stuffed the box into the cart. "You really said that?"
House arched his eyebrows. "Are you asking me to lie again?"
"Cuddy's really brought out the pussycat in you, hasn't she?" The younger man smiled, then winced from the pain of the bruise.
"Pussycat...what?" House bungled as he felt his face turn red.
"Most people probably haven't noticed, but I have." Wilson helped guide the cart to the dairy aisle and threw in milk and yogurt. "The kinder, gentler Gregory House has reared his ugly head, but nobody knows where to look for him. But I know. All have to do is say the name Lisa Cuddy and you practically melt. I can always tell when you're thinking about her. You're not as crabby. You get all doe-eyed. You should see yourself."
"Geez Jimmy, you make it sound like a bad thing." The older doctor mindlessly grabbed a block of sharp cheddar from the shelf.
"It's a good thing, a very good thing. You sure you don't want to get married?"
"That's a question you should be asking Lisa, not me."
"Why is that?" Wilson puzzled.
"Think about it. If Lisa wanted marriage and kids and the whole nine yards, she never would have looked twice at someone like me."
"So your relationship is based on the mutual fact that you two don't want to get married?"
"No," House said, getting annoyed since Wilson already knew how he felt about marriage. Raising his voice, he added, "Our relationship is based on wild, loud, passionate sex every chance we get."
They looked at the people who stopped and stared. A mom with two small kids in her cart backed up and turned around. Wilson pulled the cart into an aisle with no other shoppers.
"What do you find so great about marriage?" House had to ask.
"I fall in love and want to get married. What can I say?" the oncologist answered as he added two six packs of beer to the heaping cart.
"Is that why you've been married three times?"
"I get married because I fall in love. I get divorced because I fall in love too often."
"You said you weren't cheating on Julie," House reminded him.
"I'm not," Wilson frowned. "But she thinks I am, among other things. If this one ends in divorce too, I can at least say that I tried. And as with my other marriages, I have no regrets."
House leaned on the handle of the cart. "That's pretty big talk for someone who was crying like Niagra Falls only twenty-four hours earlier."
"You'd be crying too if you got bonked with an ashtray. I think I have a right to be upset about that. And I still love my wife."
"Ashtrays and all?" House asked.
"Ashtrays, coffee cups and everything else," Wilson answered, smiling weakley.
The doctor smiled back at his friend. "C'mon, Jimmy. Let's go home, have a few drinks, and forget about flying ashtrays." He had Wilson push the now heavy cart to the nearest checkout lane. "I think I should hide your car keys, though."
"Why? I'm not going anywhere."
House turned to the oncologist with mock seriousness. "Sure, you say that now. But then you'll get a few beers in you, bonk me over the head, and drag me to Massachusetts to get married. How will I explain that to Lisa?"