A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews and adds. You guys light up my pathetic life.
House: What, you're saying I've only got one friend?
Wilson: Uh, and who...?
House: ...Kevin, in Bookkeeping.
Wilson: Okay, well first of all, his name's Carl.
House: I call him Kevin. It's a secret "friendship club" name.
"This," House begins, gesturing broadly to their surroundings, "is borderline insane."
Wilson raises his eyebrows and looks around too. They're standing outside, and to the most casual observer it might appear that they've gone back in time. Countless men walking around in armor, a twenty-something kid in a black cloak playing other people in chess, a weapons vendor every 100 yards. "What's so strange," he asks, but sarcasm slips into his reply because, really, he gets where House is coming from. A large, voluptuous woman wearing a long green gown that drags the ground when she walks, trips and bumps Wilson.
"Renaissance Festival," House grumbles as they navigate around a regularly dressed man eating a turkey leg the size of his arm. "What the hell were you thinking, telling your patient that we would come out here? Have I mentioned that I hate this kind of crap?"
"A few times now. Look, House, what was I supposed to say? 'Gee, Anne, I'm so glad that you're feeling good enough to go back to work, but no way am I going to see your act at the Renaissance Festival. Leukemia remission is not worth all that trouble."
"It's a waste of money."
"She gave me the tickets for free. Stop complaining. All we have to do is watch her… dancing group thing and then we can be on our way."
"You're going to owe me movie choice privileges for a year," House snaps. They reach the stage where Wilson's ex-patient is set to perform ten minutes early and glance around quickly to find something to pass the time. What House catches sight of makes him rethink his hatred for this insanity. "Does that say 'brewery,'" House gasps, drawing closer to get a better look. Wilson trails quietly behind. "You sell alcohol," House asks the gentleman behind the counter. A sign in the front says "We accept Lady Visa and Master Card."
Dear God.
"Aye, yes, good sir," the man returns, his voce thick with a fake Irish accent.
House chooses to overlook the abhorrent language and examines their stock carefully. He doesn't even know where to begin.
"What do you recommend?" Wilson inquires startling House. He realizes that he might have been preoccupied with his joy.
The glorified bartender gives a wide smile, "We do have a special brew that you might be interested to try. Throw a dollar in me tip jar and I'll use me clean hand."
House nudges Wilson sharply, who sighs and slips a five into the jar. Then the bartender slides them two large mugs. "Enjoy," he says.
Cautiously, House raises his mug to his lips. He takes a careful sip, then almost smiles. "I may have been too quick to judge," he admits.
Wilson tastes his as well and blinks in surprise. "Who knew?"
With a simultaneous shrug the pair make their way to seats up front at the "Maid Marion" stage. Seconds later a young girl steps to the microphone that's been preadjusted to her height.
"Don't heckle," Wilson warns.
"Welcome to our Dancing Troupe. We hope you enjoy the show, and we'll be in the back corners with big buckets for when you want to leave tips. When!"
"Shameless," House mutters under his breath. Wilson stares pointedly ahead.
The curtains draw and the dancers step out. Wilson nods at Anne in the back grow. As they move, House turns to his friend and whispers, "This is one of the strangest moments in my life."
"Ditto," Wilson replies. The girls begin throwing rose petals at the crowd, who, for the most part, ooo and ahh appropriately. Wilson, however, struggles for an expression that is not transparently mocking. House, for his part, doesn't try to conceal his disinterest and yawns. Loudly.
"You're going to hell," Wilson hisses under his breath.
"No much thing."
Wilson scoots a little to his right, hoping that if God strikes House with lighting, he won't get caught in the crossfire.
Eventually the performance ends and Wilson and House both get to their feet.
"What did you think," Anne approaches them to ask.
"It was really… inspiring," Wilson finally lies.
The girl smiles at the compliment and looks to House expectantly.
"Bitching," he agrees.
Anne stares in stunned silence and then nervously clears her throat. "Um, well, thanks." And with one last grateful look to her doctor she prances away.
They don't leave though. Now that they have sat through a strange dancing troupe there's nothing left to lose. They wander through the fairgrounds, strolling past a long stream of jewelry stands. They stop to examine handmade silver Lord of the Rings figurines, they browse the candle shop, try on hats at the Mad Hatter. Wilson ducks into a mask store to buy one for his girlfriend.
"Bonnie loves these kinds of things," Wilson comments as he pays and they exit.
House ponders this information carefully. "Let me get this straight. You have a girlfriend who would have actually wanted to attend today's festivities and for some reason you chose to drag me along instead? Are you kidding me?"
Wilson laughs a little anxiously and rubs the back of his neck. "I love Bonnie with all my heart but the mocking of my previous patients is beyond her capabilities. She thinks this kind of stuff is romantic. I think it's, well, have we overused the word 'insane' today?" He looks away then adds, "I just wanted to come with you. Thought if I was going to suffer you should suffer with me."
He expects House to question him more thoroughly, but his friend simply answers a snarky, "Whatever, Jimmy," and steps into an odd store selling Voodoo equipment.
House approaches a doll that somehow manages to look like Bonnie and asks, "Would you think it was weird if I bought this one?"
Wilson narrows his eyes. "Yeah, a little bit."
"Didn't voodoo dolls originate-"
"Don't-" Wilson interrupts off the employee's frown. He hastily changes the subject. "I think I'm going to ask her to marry me."
House spins around. "Excuse me?"
"We're living together, it's time."
House knows in the back of his mind that he should be saying something supportive right about now, as the best friend. "Are you going to ask me to be the best man," is what he settles on.
Wilson studies his friend in silence. "Would you say yes?"
"Yeah. I guess."
He cocks his head to the side and contemplates. "Will you? Be my best man?"
House is taken off guard by the quickening beat of his heart. "Yeah. Whatever. If you want."
"I'd like you to stand up there with me."
"Okay. Let's drop it now."
Wilson grins. "Aww, Greg. Are you crying? Are those tears of happiness that you have one deep and true friend in the world?"
"I'm going to kill you."