A/N: I'm obsessed, there's no cure. What do you want me to say? Please review!
Wilson: Don't you ever eat anything besides canned soup and peanut butter?
House: Don't you ever eat anything that doesn't look like it's been rolled onto your plate by a dung beetle?
Dr. Wilson is having a bad day. He's already had to break bad news to two of his patients, and his favorite nurse dumped his coffee on his favorite tie. He takes a deep breath to ensure he's not going to flip out.
"Tell Davis I'll be right back," he fumes.
The walk to his locker is short, so once he retrieves his emergency tie, he walks across the street to Alistair's Deli to pick up a club sandwich. He deserves it, he decides.
The lunch crowd clearly anticipated his craving because once he gets there the line is almost out the door. He sighs heavily (it's just going to be one of those days) but doesn't leave because he's going to need nourishment if he's going to face this horrific day. The man behind him is speaking so he eavesdrops to pass the time.
"What time is your flight?"
There's a pause, and then a woman's voice answers. "Not for a couple more hours." The mother, Wilson decides. "We have some time."
"Did I tell you about my last patient? The one with Whipple's Disease?"
It's the name of the disease that makes Wilson turn around. He knows what he'll see before he sees it.
House doesn't look surprised, and Wilson supposes he isn't either. He's starting to wonder if the cosmos are at work here. The woman standing with him is very petite with golden blonde hair, and a kind smile.
"Wilson," House addresses him. "This is my mom. Mom, this is my stalker."
"You're standing behind me," Wilson replies, offering his hand to Mrs. House. "Call me James."
She nods. "And I'm Blythe." Blythe then. "I'm sorry my husband isn't here. I'm meeting him in North Carolina."
"It's a shame," House mutters sarcastically, so quiet that Wilson is certain that only he hears it, yet the look in Blythe's eyes says that she can guess.
But one of Wilson's traits is the ability to defuse a potentially explosive situation, so he shoots Blythe a gentle smile. "So, you're House's-Greg's- mom? You have my deepest sympathies."
She laughs. "How do you know my son?"
House and Wilson exchange a look, because that's a good question. "Just from… around," Wilson eventually responds.
"You make it sound like you're my dealer," House tells him. He turns to his mom. "We met at a convention a few weeks ago. I bailed him out of jail."
Wilson laughs a little nervously. "I broke something in a hotel. By accident," he adds for good measure.
"Yeah, if you count throwing a beer at an antique mirror an accident."
Off Wilson's dark glare, House throws up his hands. "The woman is a human lie detector, Wilson, what did you want me to do?"
Blythe rests a comforting hand on Wilson's arm. "Ignore my son's terrible manners. Would you please join us for lunch?"
He glances at House, who gives a half shrug of approval. "Just don't eat my cheesecake."
Wilson turns back to Blythe. "I'd love to."
So the three find seats outside, and unpack their lunches. "What did you specialize in," Blythe asks, taking a bite of her salad.
"Oncology." He grins self-deprecatingly. "I've heard it's a little depressing to some people."
"It must be hard."
"It has its challenges."
"And you must be very strong."
Wilson is taken off guard by the assessment and falters. "It's not the exact word I would use," he mumbles. Their eyes meet and he understands House's comment about the lie detector. There's a deep perceptiveness that stirs behind her eyes.
"I didn't mean to upset you," Blythe says quickly.
Wilson clears his throat. "No, you didn't. I'm fine."
"Mom, you're embarrassing him," House chides, but the tiny smile on his lips says that he's amused by the dialogue.
Blythe laughs and exchanges an affectionate look with her son. "I'm sorry, James. I just meant that you have a job I could never do. We were going to walk over to Barnes and Noble. Would you like to come?"
Wilson steals a glance at his watch and inwardly winces. He's already going to be 15 minutes late back as it is. He wonders if Davis would believe that he had to take longer to perform emergency CPR to an Alistair's Deli patron. Probably not. "I really wish I could."
"So, come," demands the younger House. "Davis won't notice. He's got his head so far up his own-"
"House!" admonishes Wilson at the same time that Blythe says, "Greg!"
House doesn't bother to conceal a grin and Wilson wonders if it mirrors his own.
"If he can't come he can't come," adds Blythe.
"I really wish I could," he repeats. He stands and is a little surprised when Blythe stands up too, to envelope him in a warm hug. "It was very nice to meet you," she says as they break apart.
"You too."
"I'm not going to hug you," House says defiantly crosses his arms over his chest. But he does get to his feet. "I'll be right back," he tells his mother. He and Wilson walk to the door.
"You play golf," House questions.
Wilson laughs. "If by 'play' you mean 'miss the ball and dig up grass' then yeah, occasionally."
"Let's play," House states, and it's clear that this isn't a request. "I mean, it's really fun just bumping into you everywhere I go, but really, enough is enough."
Wilson thinks he understands. And as he looks back at the diagnostician and sees the strange curiosity behind the bright blue eyes he knows he does.
"Just give me the time and place."