016. Beach

Sun, Sand and Surf

House came to halt as they reached the gate and gave Wilson a long look.

"We're going to the Bahamas?" he said with displeasure.

Wilson grinned. "Cuddy said you needed to relax. Where better to do that than the Bahamas?"

House's expression grew stiff and unyielding. "Sand and I aren't really close acquaintances anymore," he growled.

Wilson gave him a patient look. "House, trust me."

House gave him a sour look but started walking again. They sat down near the service desk and waited until they could board the plane. House tapped his cane against the floor in a rhythm that might have been nervous or possibly just irritated. Wilson leaned back in his seat and watched his friend surreptitiously. House hadn't quite been the same since the shooting. He suspected it had more to do with the fact that the ketamine hadn't worked than the actual shooting itself. House had never really taken disappointment that well and as disappointments go this had been one of the biggest.

Wilson had been disappointed as well. The thought that House might be able to wean himself off the Vicodin completely had raised an enormous amount of hope in him. House would still have limped, would still have had to use the cane, there wasn't a treatment out there that could replace muscle tissue, but the lack of constant pain would have been a godsend. But once again, House's luck played him false and the treatment didn't work.

House had been exceptionally vitriolic since he'd been back at work. Cameron had caught the brunt of it but Wilson wasn't sure if that was because of House's disappointment or because of the way she was acting around him. He suspected it had more to do with the latter since Foreman had not caught anywhere near as much flak as Cameron. But it had finally gotten so bad that Cuddy had stormed into his office a week ago and told him in no uncertain terms that he was to take House away from the hospital. She didn't care where, just away. They were to stay away long enough for House to relax a bit or for the staff to stop making plans to lynch him, whichever came first.

The first boarding call drew Wilson out of his thoughts and he looked over to see House scowling at the young women who were cheerfully waiting. He sighed; House hated having to acknowledge his disability in circumstances that weren't to his benefit and that oh-so-public first call for anyone with young children or disabilities to come forward and board first always put him the worst of moods. It was one of the main reasons House rarely flew these days.

He put his hand on House's shoulder and gave it a tiny squeeze.

"Come on," he said quietly. "Before the women with children get here and you're tempted to beat them with your cane."

House gave him a sour look though Wilson did see a quick gleam of humour before the other man stood. Wilson quickly joined him and they made their slow way onto the plane. Wilson had had the forethought to book first class tickets, which allowed for extra legroom and not so incidentally a better class of food. It had cost him a fair bit on such short notice but he considered it money well spent when he got the quick grateful smile from House as they settled into their seats.

He was relieved when House, for the large part, behaved himself on the flight. He'd prepared ahead by packing several medical journals with articles that he was sure would provide ample mockery opportunity and House did have his iPod and Gameboy. When he handed over the journals to the surprised but amused House, Wilson reflected briefly that travelling with House was somewhat akin to travelling with a large, grouchy, occasionally hyperactive child.

It wasn't until the end of the flight that House started getting restless and when he popped a couple of Vicodin with a set expression on his face, Wilson resisted the urge to say anything. Even with the best of seats, House's leg did not travel well.

Finally the pilot announced their final descent and they landed with the barest of bumps. When they arrived at the terminal, Wilson grabbed House's bag along with his own and got a brief glance from his companion. The fact that House didn't grumble, sulk or argue about his action told Wilson louder than words about the amount of pain House was in. They slowly shuffled off the plane and into the terminal, claiming their luggage and held up only briefly in customs and immigration then they were walking out into the terminal where there was a bored looking young man waiting with a sign with Wilson's name on it.

He gave House a nudge and they walked over. The young man led them out to a car and opened the door for them. He then loaded their luggage in the boot and climbed in the driver's seat.

"So are you going to tell me the big secret about where we're going now?" House grumbled, looking out the window as they drove away from the airport.

"There's no secret," Wilson said patiently. "We're going to spend a week in a nice resort where you are going to attempt to relax and probably drive me crazy."

A smile flashed over House's face before he scowled. "I hate sand," he said in a manner that was deliberately provocative.

"You'll like this sand," Wilson replied.

"I didn't pack a bathing suit," House said next, ignoring the fact that he hadn't been swimming since before the infarction.

"I know," Wilson replied, managing to not roll his eyes by dint of sheer willpower. "I packed some for you."

House blinked at that. "You did?" he said, a hint of something uncertain in his voice.

"You'll like them," Wilson replied blandly. "Board shorts. Knee length. Hawaiian pattern. They're very garish."

House tensed then relaxed a little. "I didn't pack a book," he complained though there was a distinct hint of humour in his voice now.

"I packed four," Wilson said with exasperation. "Big, thick ones. Small writing. Convoluted plotlines."

The car pulled into the driveway of what looked like a large, sprawling resort; lots of small huts spread out through lush gardens with a large main building that they were now in front of.

"We're here," the driver said with a broad smile. He looked like he wanted to laugh at them but was too polite to do so while they were within earshot.

They climbed out of the car and the porter came forward to take their luggage. They followed him into the building and up to the desk. House looked around curiously as Wilson sorted out the details then the porter led them out of the building and along a pathway that wound through the gardens, past huts and pools until they reached a hut that faced the beach. The porter took their bags in and Wilson gave him a tip.

House had limped a few steps further on and was staring down at the wooden boardwalk that led from the hut down to the beach. It then stretched for a considerable distance in either direction along the beach and even down into the water. He turned and saw that the hut had both a set of steps and a low switchback ramp leading up the airy veranda. Wilson was standing on the veranda giving him a questioning look and looking rather adorably concerned, something that House wouldn't admit even if he were being tortured.

"You brought a bathing suit for me," he said blandly as he limped up the ramp towards Wilson.

Wilson nodded, trying to hide his nerves.

House didn't say anything more until he was on the veranda and standing directly in front of Wilson.

"You might be right," he said with a small, affectionate smile. "I think I might like this sand."

Wilson smiled and ran his hand down House's right arm, letting it come to rest over House's hand on the cane.

"I planned ahead," he said warmly.

House cocked an eyebrow and gave him an amused, speculative look that implied many things, all of them rather filthy.

"You're such a Boy Scout," he said, leaning in and destroying his lover's response with a kiss.

Wilson hummed and leaned into the kiss, truly relaxing for the first time since he realised he was going to have to somehow drag House on a holiday. He wrapped his free arm around House's waist and deepened the kiss. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily.

"Let's go inside," Wilson suggested with a grin. "You need to relax."

House laughed for the first time since the shooting and waggled his eyebrows in a ridiculously lecherous manner.

"Lead on, Jimmy boy."