The next day was a Saturday. House hadn't slept the night before. Instead, he found himself pondering furiously on exactly where to take Wilson for their date. One thing House despised was long, candlelit dinners in some unnecessarily quiet and stuck up restaurant, but for some reason the suggestion kept creeping back into the front of his mind. Would Wilson enjoy something like that? The topic had never actually come up in casual conversation. Why would it? He knew Wilson liked to take his wives to fancy places. It was really the only kind of place he took them, and the younger man always came to work sickeningly happy the next day. This, House knew, meant that Wilson definitely got some. So, obviously there was something to this fine, romantic dining that House was seriously missing.
When the alarm clock went off at eight that morning, House made his decision. Picking up his bedroom phone, he called to make reservations at the most expensive restaurant within twenty miles he had never taken Stacy (or Cameron) to. The last thing he needed was a constant reminder of either of those disasters. After confirming their time for seven p.m., House slowly got out of bed and prepared himself for what promised to be the one of the longest work days of his life.
"Right. So, looks like we're going with lupus. Start him on steroids and call me in the morning…Scratch that. Call me Monday. You can handle it yourselves 'til then, right?" House questioned his three minions as he slipped his leather jacket, picked up his skateboard, and swung his backpack over his left shoulder while making his way toward the door.
"Wait. What? That's it?" Foreman questioned, looking utterly bewildered. "No argument? No preschool worthy insults? Just, 'Yeah, Cameron's right. It's lupus'?"
"Yep," House agreed, brushing him off and placing his right hand on the door handle.
"Are you feeling all right?" Chase asked, looking as shocked and confused as Foreman.
"Nope. I'm feeling better than all right. I'm elated, ecstatic, excited, exhilarated, enthusiastic, euphoric, and…any other of those existential erotic 'e' expressions," House replied cheekily while opening the door.
"Why?" Cameron inquired, looking a little too interested than House was comfortable with.
"Got a hot date. Can't be late. Don't really wanna screw this one up," he replied quickly, throwing his skateboard to the floor and riding off before anyone could reply. He was about halfway down the hall before she caught up with him.
"House! Wait up!" Cameron shouted as she bolted from the conference room. House rolled his eyes dramatically as he stopped the board, shifted his weight to the back, and twisted to face her.
"Is the patient dying again already? Geez, that's gotta be a record," he said sarcastically as she jogged up next to him.
"You've really got a date?" she questioned somewhat breathlessly as she eyed him like someone just kicked her puppy.
"Yes. One that your pointless questions are currently making me late for. Was there something of relative importance you wanted to ask, or is jealousy just getting the best of poor little Allison?" he snapped, maybe a tad bit harsher than he had originally intended. Cameron flinched slightly but stood her ground.
"I do. Have something important, that is. This…date…actually sounds important to you, so I take it you're going somewhere nice?" Cameron began. House eyed her suspiciously.
"Yeah. So?" Cameron gave a half grin.
"That's not what you're wearing, is it?" she asked, eyeing his favorite Monster Truck Jam tee and newest pair of carpenter style blue jeans.
"Maybe. Why do you care?" he shifted on his board slightly, still keeping a wary eye on her. This time Cameron gave a real smile, more of a smirk really, before standing up straighter, nodding her head toward the elevators, and walking past him almost arrogantly.
"Come on," she called over her shoulder. House turned on his board once again, looked the tiny woman up and down, then followed with a skeptical shrug.
Once in the parking lot, Cameron instructed House to follow her. House himself was at a complete loss as to what the hell was going on but said nothing. Cameron had never acted so…interesting before, and he couldn't resist an anomaly. However, to his surprise, Cameron led him straight to his own apartment, and he vaguely wondered if he should be at all disturbed by the fact that she found it from memory.
"What are we doing here?" House questioned, completely perplexed, as he closed the door behind them. Cameron's dastardly smirk widened.
"Getting ready," she replied obscurely.
"For what?"
"Your date," Cameron answered as if he'd asked the dumbest question on Earth.
"I don't recall inviting you," House said, still not quite getting it.
"I'm not going. I'm getting you ready," Cameron clarified.
"Really?"
"Mmhmm. Where's the closet?" Not knowing what else to do, House wordlessly pointed to the closet door. He would allow his inner fourteen-year-old girl to win once again as she had brought him good luck in the recent past. Cameron immediately turned on her heels to open it.
"I'm impressed," she told him as she eyed the organization within. "I never took you for the housecleaning type."
"I plead the fifth," House responded.
"Okay, first thing's first. Where are you going to dinner?" Cameron got down to business. House scoffed and gave her a look.
"Like I'd tell you so you can stalk my every move, wait until I go to the little girls' room, and slip a cyanide pill in my date's drink. I think not." To House's disappointment, Cameron did not react at all in a Cameron-like fashion.
"Fine. A really nice restaurant would require at least a tie if not a jacket as well…" House gave her another look. "Okay, we'll just go with the tie." House gave a nod of approval. "Good, but we need an outfit first. Oh, these are nice." He said nothing as she pulled out the very same black dress pants he had worn on their excruciatingly brief date. "Right, now. A shirt…Ooh! Definitely this one!" Cameron next pulled out his pale pink, long-sleeved, button up shirt." 'Hmm. Pink. Interesting choice. Maybe I should wear a large neon sign with the words I'm a homosexual! flashing on top of my head.' House thought to himself as she laid the shirt beside the pants on the back of the couch. "And…the black jacket." House gave her yet another look. "Oh, come on. You wear it to work all the time for no reason, but you can't wear it to look good for one lousy date?"
"It doesn't work," he informed her smugly. Cameron's expression switched to confusion.
"What doesn't work?"
"The outfit. It doesn't work," he explained. Cameron gave him a questioning look. "You put the black jacket and the pink shirt together with the black pants when everyone who's anyone knows that I only where the two aforementioned pieces with the brown or blue jeans." Cameron rolled her eyes at his sarcasm.
"Brown pants do not go with a black jacket," she argued.
"Sure they do," House countered.
"Not they don't. Mixing brown and black like that is a big fashion no no."
"My mommy says it looks adorable."
"My eyes say it looks careless."
"You don't have your glasses on."
"Your fashion sense is as inept as a linebacker in the World Series!"
"Nice try, but it still needs work." Cameron gave a heavy sigh.
"So, are you gonna wear the outfit?"
"No." Cameron's shoulders slumped.
"No?"
"I like the brown."
The brown pants do not look right with the black jacket, House!"
"Yes, they do."
"No, they don't!"
"Do too."
"Do not!"
"Do too."
"Do not!"
"Do too times infinity!"
"Gah!" Cameron almost growled. "You're wearing what I got out, House, and that's final!" House smirked, proud of his work in getting her so flustered over the color of his pants. He felt sorry for any future children she may have. Talk about anal.
"Fine. You win," he agreed, not attempting to hide his smugness. Cameron sighed once again.
"Show me your ties," she then instructed, changing the subject as quickly as possible. Thirty seconds later, Cameron stood staring in disbelief at the choices in neckwear that House had provided her.
"Three ties? That's all you own?" she questioned, bewildered exasperation evident in her voice.
"Technically? No," he responded. "I own a total of zero ties. I've just been gradually stealing them from Wilson. I wanna see how many I can collect before he realizes I'm taking them." Cameron rolled her eyes again before grabbing the violet tie from the back of the couch and handing it to him.
"Here. Wear this one," she ordered him. House looked at it incredulously.
"Purple? You don't think the black one would make a bit more sense?" he inquired honestly.
"A little maybe. But violet goes with pink, it helps set off your eyes, and it also happens to be Dr. Wilson's favorite color," she responded with a wink, handing him a pair of black socks and his only pair of dress shoes. House's mouth went unconsciously agape at her words, the shock leaving him speechless. Cameron gave a triumphant smirk and raising of her chin. "Now go get dressed. I want to see the finished product."
At exactly 6:53 p.m., there was a knock at House's door. Desperate for anything to get him away from Cameron's insane mothering, he rushed to answer it. Just as the rapping began once again, he pulled the door open. Wilson had to stop himself from bringing his fist back down and punching House in the face as his knocking was interrupted. House watched him in surprise.
"I thought I was picking you up," he said as Wilson brought his hand back down to his side.
"Yeah, you were suppose to. Twenty minutes ago," the younger man replied, bouncing on his feet a little.
"I could have been stuck in traffic," House suggested, giving him a fake insulted look.
"I live a block away," Wilson countered, not falling for it.
"Whose fault is that?" House retorted, not really knowing what that was supposed to mean.
"Wait, what?" the now thoroughly confused Wilson questioned. House opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Cameron's way too cheerful voice.
"Oh, hello, Dr. Wilson. Don't tell me he's running late! He wouldn't tell me what time he made the reservations for. I think he thinks it's funny," she told him with insincere exasperation in her voice. Wilson did not reply. Instead, he merely stared at her, mouth slightly agape in confusion, before turning back to House.
"Why is Cameron in your apartment?" he inquired in a bewildered tone.
"She's my date doctor slash fashion consultant," House quipped. Wilson still looked perplexed. "Seriously, I have no idea. Either it's that time of the month or she's having a complete emotional breakdown." House shrugged. "Whatever it is, all I've had to do so far is get dressed and shave on my own. She has literally done everything else, so I could really care less. You ready to go?"
"What? Yeah," Wilson snapped himself out of it. "We're late already. We probably won't even have a table when we get there."
"Oh, well. There's always Plan B," House shrugged once more as he turned to grab his jacket.
"What's Plan B?" Wilson asked as he stepped aside to allow House room to exit.
"The backseat, of course," House rolled his eyes sarcastically as he stepped outside next to his friend. House inwardly smiled at the completely blank look this comment startled out of Wilson as he called over his shoulder, "Hey, Cameron! We're leaving! Get out of my house!"
"I'm coming!" came Cameron's irritated reply. House smirked before turning to walk past Wilson and down the steps.
"Is that my tie?" Wilson questioned as he jogged to catch up with him. House's smirk widened, but he didn't turn around.
"Not today!"
At precisely 7:06 p.m., House and Wilson arrived at their destination. House had driven, and Wilson had been certain of their imminent deaths at several different points during the ride. However, they arrived at the restaurant safely and were somewhat pleased to find that their table had, in fact, not been given away. As they sat across from each other, took their menus from the waiter, and began to skim through the various "Italian" meals, House was pleasantly surprised to find that he was inexplicably comfortable. For the first time since he started dating in middle school, he found that he did not feel awkward or uncomfortable sitting across from his date. There were no crushing expectations being pushed on him at every second, no corny earrings or dangerously pointy shoes to compliment; no ludicrously long and boring stories about…something he never paid attention to. Wilson already knew House. House already knew Wilson. It occurred to him then that this whole thing was really only a formality, a nice gesture to enable him to tell his only friend something that he could never really say. Gregory House was not sentimental.
House knew what he would be eating the moment he glanced at the menu. Wilson, however, always took forever to decide. He weighed all his choices as if they would result in life or death, not wanting to chance making another mistake. It was a good quality for a doctor but a crappy quality for everything else. Considering this, House wondered then why Wilson had agreed to such an extreme shift their relationship so readily. The man in question then chose that moment to stir slightly in his chair, his eyes still raking through the words in front of him, and House took this opportunity to admire him properly.
The other man didn't look much different than he did any other day. He was wearing a black suit jacket, a light brown button up shirt that House couldn't recall ever seeing before, a pair of black dress pants (he made a mental note to rub that in Cameron's face the next time he saw her), and," House smirked unconsciously, "his green 'look how pretty I am' tie."
"What are you smirking at?" James' voice startled him out of his thoughts.
"Your clothes," House replied honestly.
"My clothes?" Wilson repeated, earning a look from House.
"Yeah. Brown and black so do not go together." Wilson gave a small chuckle, setting his menu on the table, but didn't reply. "Now what are you smirking about?"
"I'm not smirking," Wilson replied, his grin widening.
"Are too. That is definitely a smirk," House pointed at him, his own smile growing.
"I was just thinking," Wilson began.
"Careful. That can be painful," House warned, rubbing his own head to emphasize.
"Why did you do this?" James inquired, looking serious yet still relaxed. House, on the other hand, suddenly became very tense.
"Do what? Shave?" he feigned ignorance.
"This," Wilson continued. "Twelve years we've known each other, why now? What changed?" House hesitated, looking into James' eyes as he considered his answer carefully.
"I did," he replied simply, remembering a past conversation they had had. "It isn't enough just to feel something. If you love someone and never tell them, there isn't any point. If a person doesn't know how you feel about them, then the emotion has no meaning. It's useless. I want…I need meaning." Wilson kept his eyes locked with House's, searching for something unknown to House himself. After a few moments passed, he seemed to have found it. Wilson nodded in understanding, never breaking eye contact. At that moment, House felt something very strange. It was as if the burdens of the last seven years had suddenly lifted from his shoulders. He had changed once again. Only this time, he knew it would be for the better.
"Good evening, gentlemen," the falsely cheerful waiter interrupted. "Are we ready to order?"