Title: Twenty Years of Stealing My Food: Part 13
Author: hwshipper
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.
Beta: the ever splendid triedunture
A/N: Part of a backstory to take place over twenty years, all the way to canon. Later parts drafted and emerging slowly.
Summary: Wilson and Bonnie struggle with married life; House takes Wilson on a road trip, and they encounter a gray-eyed fair-haired stranger in a bar. (The encounter with the stranger in the bar is told separately in Let Me Take You To A... and its sequel Gay Bar Two).
Excerpt: House sprang to his feet. "Jimmy, we're going on a trip!" he announced. "I've packed a bag for you."
Twenty Years of Stealing My Food: Part 13
"House?" Wilson let himself into House's apartment with hesitation. House was there, flat on his back on the couch, arms splayed and one leg thrown across the back of the couch. The room was lit only by one dim lamp, and some rather melancholy blues was whining from the stereo.
House opened his eyes as Wilson came in, but didn't move. Wilson went over to the couch and perched next to House.
"I just heard, the Ruschs are retiring," Wilson said cautiously.
"Yeah. Andrea announced it to us Infectious Diseases staff this afternoon." House stared at the ceiling. "We knew she had surgery for cancer a long time ago... didn't realize it had recurred."
Wilson nodded somberly. "What will happen to you and her other fellows?"
"One of the senior attendings will take us on." House shuddered briefly. Wilson pinched his nose, worried at this. House had worked hard and progressed quickly through his residency under the patronage of Dr. Andrea Rusch, and had been glad to go on to work a fellowship under her. It seemed unlikely that any successor as Head of Infectious Diseases would be as tolerant to House's idiosyncrasies as she had been.
"Second shitty news in a week," House added.
"Oh?" Wilson hadn't seen much of House the last week or so. Bonnie had gotten involved in the residents' group in their apartment block, and Wilson had found himself taking minutes at their last meeting. He had no intention of doing so again: Bonnie was keen enough for both of them, anyway.
"Raquel got another job."
That sounded like good news: the end of Raquel's year-long contract at the Museum of Fine Arts had been looming for a while now. Wilson waited for more.
"At the Smithsonian," House amplified, and shut his eyes.
"Oh." Wilson remembered the period he and House had spent traveling up and down between New York and Boston, how increasingly difficult it had been. Washington DC would be twice as bad. "Well, long distance relationships can be hard, but--"
"No." House cut him off. "I told her I wasn't going to spend eight hours driving at a time, that it would be a waste of time for her too, and we'd be better off just splitting up now."
This was bad news. Raquel had been a great stabilizing influence on House. Wilson knew perfectly well that without her around, House was more likely to do stupid things, to take risks, and to drag Wilson along for the ride.
"And... she was okay with that?" Wilson queried.
House shrugged. "No. She was pretty upset, actually."
Wilson realized that House was pretty upset, too, and the terse description probably masked a long drawn-out painful, tearful fight. Wilson dredged up one of his very few Spanish phrases. "Lo siento." I'm sorry.
House smiled, just a little bit. His eyes were dark blue pools in the half-light, and he reached out and curved a palm around Wilson's hand. "Speak Spanish to me, Hi-meh."
Wilson smiled back, and shook his head. "That's my limit, I'm afraid." He squeezed House's hand, then reached up to run a finger across House's jaw. House was even more stubbled than usual; Wilson suspected he hadn't tried to shave since Raquel had left. Wilson felt the small hairs prick against his fingertips and send tiny pulses through his body towards his groin.
"Pienso que tú es muy atractivo y quisiera tener sexo contigo," House murmured.
Wilson raised an interrogative bushy eyebrow.
"Wanna fuck?" House coarsely translated in a low, quiet voice, and Wilson dipped his head to kiss House on the mouth. House tasted of coffee and cigars: he kissed back, and Wilson kicked off his shoes and scrambled up onto the couch beside House.
House levered himself up on an elbow, then moved to lie on top of Wilson; Wilson squirmed a little, then twitched as House deftly plucked his fly undone. Wilson felt himself hardening swiftly as House reached inside his pants; then he heard the zip of House's own fly, followed by his own voice exclaiming fuck! out loud, at the feel of cock against cock. House's fully erect one rubbed against him, increasingly slippery as first House and then himself oozed a little pre-come.
Breathing fast, Wilson held onto House's shoulders and buried his face in House's neck, the two of them sweating and gasping and pumping up against each other. A couple of minutes later, House groaned heavily, leaned almost all his weight onto Wilson, and climaxed across Wilson's stomach. They were both almost fully dressed still, and Wilson felt stickiness spill across the front of his shirt. Wilson shut his eyes, jutted his hips upwards and came, spurting hard up against House's T-shirt.
They lay there so long afterwards that they found their clothes had stuck firmly together by the time they tried to pull apart.
"You gonna give that shirt to your wife to wash?" House mumbled, sounding far too amused at the idea
"You can do it with your laundry," Wilson mumbled back.
"Laundry for sexual favors. I should have a price list," House grinned as he pulled his T-shirt off over his head, and then yanked down his jeans. Wilson gazed a little at House's bare chest and muscled thighs, and figured House could charge whatever he wanted.
For most of their first year of marriage, things had actually gone rather well for Wilson and Bonnie. They lived relatively peaceful lives, Wilson excelling in his residency, and House not interfering too much while he had other preoccupations. Bonnie still couldn't find a sales job that suited her, but she gradually developed a circle of friends among Boston dog owners. She started to socialize with people who attended the same dog obedience classes; she went for coffee with people who walked their dogs in the park at the same time she walked Hector.
With the departure of both Raquel and Dr. Andrea Rusch, House became a thorn in Bonnie's side. Chafing under the new leadership at work, and rudderless outside it, he never hesitated to borrow Wilson when he wanted to; to go out, to stay in, without paying any heed as to whether Bonnie minded. Wilson sensed House needed him, and did his best to be there: Bonnie thought House was callous; which of course he was.
One Friday night, Wilson arrived home only to find House sitting inside his apartment waiting for him. They never had got out of the habit of giving each other keys to where they lived. (This was something else that annoyed Bonnie).
"Hey, House," Wilson said, surprised.
House sprang to his feet. "Jimmy, we're going on a trip!" he announced. "I've packed a bag for you."
"Uh--what? A trip?"
"A road trip," House said briskly. "Don't all best friends do this at some point?"
Wilson found himself walking out of the door carrying an overnight bag. He wondered whether to leave a note for Bonnie, and realized that since he had no idea where he was going or when he was coming back--House was being very cryptic--there didn't seem much point. He could call her anytime, he would call when he had something to tell her. Anyway, he would have to be back for work on Monday, so wherever they were going, it wouldn't be for very long.
House was in a strange mood, even for him; Wilson could tell something was wrong, but not what. Clearly House needed to get something out of his system.
They took House's car and drove off southwards, avoiding the freeways and taking a more scenic route, vaguely following the coast but cutting inland too. Late in the evening, they stopped at a motel. Wilson wandered off to call Bonnie, and found himself relieved to get their answering machine. He recalled that she had been going out that evening, some dog owners' group which he was doing his best to stay away from. He left a message; "Hi Bonnie, uh, I'm on a road trip with House. We're somewhere south, checking into a motel. Er--I'll call you tomorrow."
He hung up, feeling stupid, and went to find House, who had checked them into a double room without so much as blinking at the desk clerk. They slept that night like spoons, House with his arm thrown around Wilson, Wilson nestling backwards into House's chest, intimate but without having sex. Wilson thought House needed some time to get through whatever was bothering him.
Next day, Saturday, they drove on, and on, and on. Periodically Wilson suggested they might turn around and circle back, but House either ignored him or changed the subject.
Late in the afternoon, Wilson finally started to get fed up with the situation, put a note of sharpness into his voice, and said, "House, you may be on vacation, but if I'm going to get back to work for Monday morning, then we need to start turning around pretty damn soon. Tonight, really."
Without taking his eyes off the road, House said, "I got fired."
Wilson didn't say anything for a minute. He wasn't surprised--but he was sad. This was nothing new, Wilson knew that House had been kicked out of med school half way through Hopkins, and this was the second time House had been fired as far as he knew. House had a problem with authority, and probably always would. Wilson knew House was a genius, and doubted if any of House's fellow medical professionals would dispute that.
But was that enough? What if House's brilliance wasn't enough to save him, and he became unemployable, fired once too many times--what would he do then?
"I'm sorry," Wilson said eventually.
House shrugged, then added, "Actually, you're the one on vacation."
Wilson frowned. "No I'm not."
"Yes you are. You left your boss a vacation request form yesterday morning asking for a week off. And because you haven't taken a single vacation day in the last year since you went on your honeymoon, he signed it off, no problem."
"House--you what?" Wilson was outraged. And then, as the full realization of what House had said sank in, "But--but I can't take a week off now! I've got stuff to do--I've got shifts--appointments--"
"No you don"t. You also dropped your departmental secretary a memo asking her to rearrange your schedule next week. She was pretty pissed at the short notice, but she did it."
Wilson was left speechless. After a few minutes, he asked, "And did you also call my wife and tell her I'd be away for a week?"
"Naw," House said carelessly. "Figured you should probably do that one in person."
Wilson concentrated on breathing deeply for a moment, while he got past the impulse to grab the steering wheel and turn them right around.
They still hadn't spoken when they stopped at a diner half an hour later. And then Wilson opened his mouth just enough to tersely order a cheeseburger, fries and a beer. House ordered his own burger, then sat back in the booth and said with an air of diagnosis, "You're mad at me."
"Of course I'm fucking mad at you!" Wilson snapped. "You re-arrange my life and I'm not supposed to be mad? If you wanted me to take a week off, why didn't you just ask?"
"You would have said no," House said simply.
This was true. "I might not have," Wilson said fiercely. "And what am I supposed to tell Bonnie?"
House shrugged indifferently.
"House, I know you don't give a damn about her," Wilson said, struggling to keep his voice under control. "But I'd have thought you might give at least a bit of a damn about her reaction to me, as that affects you, after all."
"Don't you try and blame me for your crappy marriage," House said unexpectedly. "You married her for shit reasons and you're starting to realize that now. I bet you're not even gonna call her tonight, you won't dare."
Wilson was left speechless again. Fortunately his cheeseburger arrived at that moment and they were diverted from conversation for a minute.
House was quite right; Wilson didn't want to call Bonnie, and he didn't. Instead he ordered another beer, therefore silently telling House you're driving the rest of this evening. He then headed out to the car immediately after the meal, leaving House to pay the tab, which was something he never did.
House looked irritated when he joined Wilson at the car, and snarled, "You're making me pay for stuff now? I just got fired, remember?"
"Yeah, again." Wilson got in the car and slammed the door. "If you could just button your lip once in while and do your job then maybe this wouldn't happen every other year."
House glared at him, started the car, and slammed out of the parking lot with a squeal of brakes.
They stopped for the night a short while afterwards when they came to a motel. In their double room (Wilson was determinedly letting House deal with the desk clerks) they circled around each other warily before House sat down on the bed with a heavy sigh.
"Fine," he said. "You want to go back, we'll go back."
Wilson was taken aback. "But--aren't we going somewhere?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"It doesn't matter. If you want to go back, we'll go back tomorrow."
Wilson shut his eyes. House, reaching out in this clumsy, unaccustomed way, was enough to break his heart. If Wilson took this offer, so painfully made, he would have won--but House would have lost something, and Wilson didn't want that. Especially when he hadn't even figured out what it was yet.
"No. We'll go on." Wilson opened his eyes and sat down next to House. "Just--for God's sake give me some notice before you do something like this next time."
House reached out and put an arm round Wilson's shoulders, and pulled him close. They kissed deeply, then sank back onto the bed and twisted and squirmed against each other until both of them were spent.
The next day passed in a daze of winding road and sparkling waves, grainy sand and salt water, intimate knowledge of the inside of the car and easy, lazy conversation. Now that Wilson had made the decision to let House do whatever the hell he felt he had to do, he could relax.
Wilson steeled himself to call Bonnie and break the news that he wasn't coming back for work on Monday after all, but would instead be away for a week. Several minutes of incredulous fury later, she hung up on him. He didn't call back.
They passed through New York quickly without stopping, heading into New Jersey. Wilson was always happy to be in New Jersey, his family and and Bonnie's family both lived around the Trenton area. They didn't go in that direction, however, instead sticking to the coastal road.
And then they had a memorable encounter with a gray-eyed fair-haired stranger in a bar.
"Have you ever watched him suck another man's cock while you fuck him?" asked the stranger at the bar. "I tell you, you'd find it the biggest turn-on."
House stared back at the man in the biking leathers, feelings of outrage and jealous fury suddenly mingling and becoming confused with unexpected desire.
No, he hadn't ever watched Wilson suck another man's cock while fucking him; he'd barely even touched Wilson in front of anyone else until they'd arrived at this bar this evening, which had turned out unexpectedly to be a gay bar. And after all these years of only very furtive, subtle physical contact in public, it really wasn't easy to suddenly start being touchy-feely in front of other people, even complete strangers. Wilson had been very hesitant, and House over-compensating by being far more clingy than usual; he hadn't left Wilson's side. Until he'd had to; and then he'd come back to find this man coming on to Wilson, and Wilson, the slut, not brushing him off nearly quickly enough. Not brushing him off at all, in fact.
Wilson was watching him now, and House knew Wilson was similarly shocked by the suggestion, and waiting for House to tell this stranger to fuck off and go hang himself, or possibly just punch the living daylights out of him.
But House could tell that Wilson was really, really, attracted to this man: could see from the exchanged glances, the dipped eyes, the small laughs, the flushed cheeks, the self-conscious running of fingers through hair. And although he could have frogmarched Wilson out right there and then, House sensed that perhaps this was not the best thing to do. Better maybe to give Wilson some space, some room, to find out what the hell this would be like; not to leave him dissatisfied, wondering about what might have been...
Also, House remembered the one-night stand that Wilson had had with the diamond-earring-studded barman after his first divorce; hearing about it, a year afterwards, it had been a turn-on. House had been there in spirit since; imagining watching Wilson fucking the man up the ass in a dark alleyway, all sweat and moonlight and throaty gasps... The idea that something similar could happen now, for real...
"Ground rules," House answered, and Wilson's jaw dropped in astonishment as he listened to House negotiate terms of a threesome.
Forty-eight hours later, back on the road, Wilson dozed intermittently in the passenger seat while wondering if he and House should talk about what had happened with the stranger in the bar. They'd had a night of feverish fucking in the motel, followed unexpectedly by a day at the stranger's beachside house and an evening at his club. Right at the end, House had left Wilson alone with the other man--Chris, Wilson now knew his name--for an hour or so, and Wilson knew he would remember that hour for a long time.
He decided not to bring it up unless House did. They were guys, after all.
At lunchtime, House pulled the car up to a sunny spot at the side of the road opposite a diner, and said abruptly, "I hope you got that kink out of your system, because we're never doing that again."
"Sure," Wilson mumbled.
House drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, and failed to sound casual when he asked, "You going to see him again?"
"No." Wilson was surprised. It hadn't been that kind of encounter. And they were a long way from home, it would be completely impractical. But House was looking at him now, and Wilson felt the need to expand a little more. "He's obviously still completely in love with his ex. I think this was like... therapy for him."
House snorted. "Some therapy! Clearly you're going to be wasted as an oncologist, you should be fucking people for the good of their health instead."
"Ha ha." There was something Wilson wanted to ask House, but couldn't see how without sounding pathetic. He saw this was going to be the only possible chance to ask, so took a deep breath and asked anyway. "I was wondering if you were going to see the guy at the poker table again... the one you were flirting with and bumming cigarettes off of." The guy with the dark hair and winning smile.
"Dan?" House's eyebrows shot up and he looked at Wilson with an expression of incredulity. "Are you fucking kidding me? I barely spoke to him! While you got well and truly fucked by Chris for two days--"
"All right, all right." Wilson held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. It was true: House had barely spoken to Dan, Wilson knew he was being silly. "I'm sorry. Look, let's get some food, okay?"
House nodded, and let it go, and they didn't talk any more about the events of the last two days. Looking back, Wilson decided it was good he'd asked about Dan anyway: he thought it gave House a little reassurance to find out that Wilson could be jealous too.
Late that afternoon Wilson was snoozing in the passenger seat when House swiped him awake. Wilson sat upright with a jerk, just in time to see a sign passing them by: WELCOME TO PRINCETON.
"We're in Princeton!" Wilson said in surprise. They'd stayed pretty much well away from large towns as far as possible since they'd left Boston.
"We're going to Princeton General Hospital," House announced.
This was their mysterious destination? "Why?"
"Because I've got a job interview there tomorrow morning."
Wilson slumped down in the seat, digesting this information and figuring out what it all meant. "You must've arranged this a week ago, right after you were fired."
"Yup. I gave a conference paper here last year and the head of Infectious Diseases said afterwards if I ever wanted a job he'd be happy to employ me. I called him last week."
Which would have taken some guts to do, Wilson knew. "So--why on earth have we been driving here ever since?"
"I wasn't sure if I wanted to go or not," House surprised Wilson with an apparently straight answer. "I needed... some time."
House didn't say anything more, but Wilson clicked intuitively into House's head and thought he understood. This last firing really had shaken House, more so than on previous occasions. He'd had doubts, wondered if he'd ever find a job anywhere he could get along with. He'd got himself an interview off the back of his reputation as a diagnostic whiz--but worried that when they met him at the interview, they would see only a man who had just been fired, would not take orders, would not compromise, and was generally impossible to work with.
So House had run away, and Wilson could only feel relief and gratitude that House had taken him with him along for the ride. And relief also that House hadn't pushed him too far, that Wilson hadn't insisted they go back; because if he had, he doubted House would have ever gotten here.
While House was at his interview the following day, Wilson wandered around town and thought it would be nice to work in Princeton. He was always happy to be back in Jersey. Bonnie would like it too. Wilson already had his next career move plotted out--he had squeezed a recommendation out of Vasilius Rusch for a prestigious double fellowship at UPenn--but he resolved to look into oncology departments in Princeton for after that.
House was offered a job on the spot, and to Wilson's relief, accepted. They celebrated that evening, and crashed at a motel. Next day House drove them back to Boston; it was much quicker on the freeways.
Wilson arrived home to find an empty house. No Bonnie, no Hector. It was obvious that Bonnie had decided to give him a taste of his own medicine; she'd gone away, no note, no phone message, with no indication of where she'd gone or for how long. Wilson deduced from her missing belongings that she hadn't actually left him--not yet, anyway--but she had taken enough clothes to last a week or so. He reflected ruefully that she wouldn't have done this a year ago; she would have been waiting tearfully at home for him, whatever he'd done, however long he'd gone away for. She was much more independent these days, knew more people, had more confidence in what she did.
Two days later Wilson swallowed his pride and started ringing her friends. He quickly found the girlfriend she was staying with, went around, apologized unreservedly, and eventually Bonnie deigned to come home. (He suspected she only caved when she did because Hector had chewed up her girlfriend's apartment).
But even though she forgave him at the time, looking back, Wilson realized that somehow their relationship never quite recovered from the road trip incident. It wasn't just that, but it was the catalyst. It had been demonstrated to Bonnie once and for all that when House wanted him, Wilson would be there. And she never quite trusted that it wouldn't happen again.
House found a nice apartment in Princeton, at 221B Baker Street which was an address that tickled them both, and Wilson risked Bonnie's wrath again to travel down and help House move in. It was the first apartment House had lived in that came totally unfurnished, and he had to buy lots of stuff, from kitchen equipment (most of which Wilson picked out) to a new bed with a comfortable mattress.
From the start, it was all too obvious to Wilson that House was lonely at Princeton General. He didn't know anyone, didn't make friends easily, found it tough carving out a role for himself at the hospital while trying not to get fired again. Wilson lived too far away to visit very often, and when he did, he found it tough to leave House alone at the end of a weekend.
After a few months, House seemed to relax a bit and find things easier: and unexpectedly, Wilson discovered the reason for that one day.
Wilson had just had good news: he'd gotten the fellowship at UPenn, would start there next semester. Bonnie was excited at the prospect of a move to Philadelphia (although not enthusiastic to realize that they would be much nearer to House in Princeton). Delighted at the news and keen to share it, Wilson called House: House sounded genuinely pleased too, and invited Wilson down. It was short notice, but Bonnie was actually busy most of that weekend with the dog-walking group, so Wilson agreed.
He managed to catch an earlier train and arrived at House's apartment much earlier than expected. House was still at work. Wilson let himself in, put the coffee machine on, discovered there was nothing in the fridge, started compiling a mental shopping list, and then noticed the light blinking on House's answering machine.
Thinking perhaps House had left a message for him, Wilson hit play. But an unfamiliar male voice began to speak instead.
"Hey, House, it's Dan. Got your message, I just found it in time before I got in the car to come up. Sorry not to see you this weekend after all, it's been a month or so hasn't it, I was kind of looking forward to it, and you know what Roz is going to say... anyway." There was a brief sigh. "It's cool. Have fun with Wilson. Call me next week."
Wilson stood staring at the machine for several minutes, trying to comprehend what he'd just heard. Dan. It must be the same Dan they'd met at the club on the Jersey coast. So House had somehow stayed in touch with him after all--how the hell? Who on earth was this Roz? And Dan knew about Wilson, of course: but why didn't Wilson know about Dan?
He heard a door slam: House arriving home. And in that split second, Wilson decided not to say anything. Because if seeing Dan was making life bearable for House at Princeton, then it was a Good Thing. Like Raquel had been a Good Thing. And although it tugged on Wilson's heartstrings that House had found some comfort with another guy rather than a girl this time, House had allowed Wilson to have that encounter with Chris, after all. Wilson would let House have this relationship with Dan. It didn't sound ultra-serious, to Wilson; certainly not a threat.
House need never know he'd heard that message: House's answering machine was sufficiently antiquated not to distinguish between new messages and old messages that nobody had deleted.
Wilson squared his shoulders and stepped away from the kitchen counter to greet House.
Wilson and Bonnie stayed together for another year. The relocation to UPenn initially seemed to go well, but Wilson became increasingly absorbed in his new job. Finally he was practicing oncology, he had worked towards this for so long, and now found it really was his vocation; he enjoyed it, he was good at it, found it rewarding in unexpected ways. He worked long hours, throwing himself into patient care, reading up on all the latest treatments.
Meanwhile Bonnie became ever more independent and growing in self-esteem, and the two of them correspondingly grew more and more distant. One day Wilson arrived home to find she had taken Hector and gone back to stay with her parents in Trenton. She took most of their possessions, and the divorce papers arrived soon afterwards. Wilson was sorry, and made an effort to be nice and stay in touch with her. He kept their apartment, although sometimes he wondered why he bothered, as it had so little in it.
It was strange being single again. There was House, of course, whose reaction to the divorce was a largely uninterested thought you'd got divorced months ago, you might as well have done for all the difference it makes... Wilson wasn't entirely sure what was up with House and Dan, but he didn't notice any more telephone messages or other signs House was in a relationship, and figured if something was going on, it wasn't very serious.
Mulling over what to do with the rest of his life, Wilson decided he'd do his utmost to get a job in Princeton himself in a couple of years time when his fellowship ended. Then maybe, just maybe, he and House could have a real relationship. An exclusive one, no wives or girlfriends or boyfriends on the sidelines. Perhaps they could even try living together. And if that worked out, perhaps they could even go public with it all one day... Wilson's mind boggled at that, and he stowed the thought for future consideration.
Unexpectedly though, while Wilson was still at UPenn, something else happened. House went to a Princeton paintball game. Doctors versus Lawyers.
END OF PART 13
TBC. Next part: who House met at the doctors versus lawyers paintball game.