May 30th

"I don't have to come," Wilson said, his voice low and earnest. "I understand if you don't want me to be there."

"I want you do be there." House shrugged into his navy blue blazer and checked his reflection in the hall mirror. Only extreme nerves could inspire such vanity, Wilson thought wryly.

"You look good," Wilson said. He reached out to straighten House's collar and let his hands come to rest on House's chest, which rose and fell faster than normal under his splayed fingers. House leaned in, closing the space between them and kissed Wilson softly. Wilson was always surprised how gentle House could be, tender even. He let his body admit what he could never say aloud. Finally, Wilson broke the kiss to check his watch.

"We've got to go. Their flight gets in at 5:30 and with traffic…"

"I know, I know," House grumbled. "Are you sure we can't just abandon them at the airport?"

"No," Wilson scolded, "They're your parents. Besides, they know where you live."

"I could move," House suggested hopefully.

Wilson grinned and grabbed his car keys, ushering House out the door. In the car, House fidgeted more than usual, fiddling with the radio, the window controls, glove compartment and visor.

"House. Stop," Wilson said the third time House changed the station in the middle of a song he particularly liked.

"This is not going to go well," House said, like some prophet of doom.

"No, probably not," Wilson agreed, amiably enough. "But it's only a weekend. We'll get through it."

"If I don't commit seppuku first."

"Ritual suicide? Come on, you're more of a shotgun in the mouth guy." That earned a smirk. "They like me, House, remember? I'm the son they wished they had."

"No, they liked you- when we watched football and drank beer."

"We still watch football and drink beer."

"Yeah, but now we sleep together afterwards. You were supposed to straighten me out, not seduce me."

"Hey, I was the seducee not the seducer," Wilson protested.

"Like that's going to make a difference," House snorted. "Mom's going to mince around it, trying to reassure me that she still loves me, while attempting to convince me that I still have options and don't have to resort to you. Dad, God, Dad will harangue me for ruining my life and now yours too. He's so fucking dramatic."

"Now we know where you got it from." Wilson slowed down to let a minivan pull out in front of them.

"I am nothing like him," House spat vehemently.

At the next stoplight Wilson reached under the seat, groping for a moment before he secured a small package. He handed to House, who took it dubiously.

"What's this?" House sounded accusatory, as if Wilson had just offered him a used Kleenex instead of a gift wrapped in cream paper and a pink ribbon.

"It's a Mother's Day gift," Wilson explained patiently.

"Why'd you buy me a Mother's Day gift?"

"It's for your mother."

House's eyes narrowed. "Why'd you buy my mother a gift?"

"I didn't," Wilson said shortly. "You did." Comprehension dawned on House's face. "It's a silk scarf. You have impeccable taste."

"She'll know it's not from me," House said sourly.

Wilson nodded once, eyes on the road. "You'll both pretend."

They managed to avoid talking about anything real waiting for the Houses' luggage and on the way to the restaurant Wilson had reservations at. They discussed the plane ride, traffic, House's latest patient, Wilson's latest patient, and the weather- in that order and everybody taking a turn to comment. The trouble didn't start until midway through their entrees when the conversation inevitably turned to romantic prospects.

"I know Greg has managed to scare them all off, but is there anyone new in your life, James?" Blythe inquired, oblivious to the look of panic that flashed momentarily over her son's face. The scarf was a watercolor wash of blues and purples around her neck. It really was very lovely.

"Well, actually, there is. A rather special someone." Wilson set down his wine glass and exchanged a quick look with House.

"Really?" Blythe said, looking delighted. "Is it serious?"

"Very," Wilson assured her.

"And when do we get to meet this lovely young lady?" Blythe leaned forward, her hands clasped in excitement.

"It's me, Mom," House said quietly.

"What?" Blythe said, clearly confused.

Wilson placed a hand over hers. "Greg and I are together."

For a long moment no one spoke, the clink and chatter of the restaurant becoming disproportionately loud.

"Together?" Blythe echoed faintly.

"Yeah, Mom." House stared into the remains of his salmon.

"Oh."

"I know this may come as something of a surprise, but we hope that you'll be happy for us," Wilson forged on, seemingly prepared to drag them all to a happy accord if it killed him.

"Well, shit." House flinched as his father swore loudly. "That's a helluva thing to pull on your mother and me after we've been through. The attitude, the disrespect, the willful ingratitude for all we've done for you, but this takes the cake."

"Dad," House started.

"You could have at least had the decency to not ruin Mother's Day with this. Your mother was looking forward to this."
Blythe placed a tentative hand on her husband's arm. "John, it's not important."

Abruptly House rose; their glasses rattled as he upset the table in his haste to get away. "I have to pee," he said flatly. They watched him make his way through the crowed restaurant, awkwardly negotiating the circuitous route to the bathroom.

The senior House turned his baleful expression on Wilson, but only opened his mouth to shovel porterhouse steak into it.

Blythe poked at her baked potato. "It's just…are you sure you're being responsible?"

Wilson looked at her uncertainly. "Pardon?"

"Greg really cares for you and I know he wouldn't ever say this, but he'd do a lot to please you. Are you sure you aren't taking advantage of him?"

Wilson sputtered a moment. "You think I seduced him." He didn't know why he was surprised that House was right. He pushed away from the table and stood. "Your son can look out for himself, Blythe." He turned and stalked after House.

House had locked himself in the last stall, Converse sneakers and cane visible under the door. Wilson knocked tentatively.

"House. I know you're in there."

"I'm taking a crap, let me do it in peace," came House's gruff voice.

"You are not." Wilson pressed his eye to the sliver of space between door and wall. He could just make out House, seated but dressed, his forehead resting on his cane. "There's a limited amount of time you can believably hide in there."

"I'm willing to test that theory."

Wilson banged on the door a couple times. "Come on, let me in." There was a brief silence, then the snick of the lock being turned. Wilson slipped into the stall and shut the door behind him, locking it again. It was testament to just how shitty House felt that he neglected to make a lascivious comment.

"Have they officially disowned me yet?" House asked tiredly. "If you're only with me to get in on the House family fortune, you might want to reconsider."

"Not to worry, I'm only with you for your body. No, they haven't disowned you. And they won't either. They just need some time to get used to the idea. They'll come around." Wilson said it with more conviction than he felt.

"They'll never come around to the idea of their son being a fag."

"They love you."

"Doubt it." House's voice was bitter.

"I love you."

House looked up at that, meeting Wilson's eyes for the first time since he'd left the table. "Don't doubt that." House held Wilson's gaze for a long moment. Finally he sighed, breaking the mood. "Ready to head back into the trenches?" He asked.

"Yeah, are you?" Wilson said and offered House a hand up. House took the proffered hand, letting Wilson pull him to his feet. With them both standing the confined space was even tighter, and Wilson found himself pressed up against the door.

"Almost," House said and stole a kiss, long and passionate; his hands making a fumbling inventory of Wilson's body. When he finally pulled away, Wilson was left breathless and panting. "Alright- now I'm ready." House unlocked the door and made a surprisingly quick exit. Wilson trailed after him, stopping to rearrange all that House had disheveled.

"Do you want me to hold your hand?" Wilson offered.

"Try, and I'll bludgeon you to death." House raised his cane threateningly. "Though that would probably please my father."

"Alright, but you better make it up to me later," Wilson said playfully.

House's expression softened, "I will."