Precisely six days, fifteen hours, and twenty-three minutes after their first date began, House asked Wilson to move back in. He had been considering it since he woke up the previous Sunday to find James' arm still wrapped around his waist and his head still using House's stomach as a pillow. It was at that moment that House had come to the conclusion that this was definitely the way he wanted to wake up every morning maybe for the rest of his life. Maybe. After all, the future is never certain. It was something House knew through extensive personal experience.
They were eating lunch in exam room one with General Hospital playing on the mini TV on the counter in front of them when courage finally smacked House across the face.
"Wanna move back in with me?" he questioned casually.
"No," Wilson responded without looking away from the television screen.
"Why not?" asked the slightly hurt House.
"Because you eat my food, make me do all the chores, stick my hand in warm water while I sleep, and make me wait on the front steps while you masturbate to last month's issue of Cardiovascular Fantasy," Wilson responded before eating a potato chip.
"Oh, come on. Would I do something like that?" House questioned sardonically. Wilson gave him a pointed look. "Okay, I would. But that was before."
"Before what? Dinner? Although I was very impressed that you actually took the bill, I still don't quite believe that it was enough to completely reconstruct your personality."
"Dinner, pssht. I was talking about the half naked cuddling in my bedroom afterward," House responded dryly. "That's enough to make anyone reconsider forcing you to wet yourself."
"Your continuously flawless negotiating skills never cease to amaze," Wilson told him sarcastically as he placed another chip in his mouth.
"You are moving back in with me," House grinned deviously.
"Don't be so smug," Wilson warned.
"Why not? You think it's hot," House's grin widened.
"I never said that," the oncologist defended.
"Yes, you did. Last year. You said my smugness was an 'attractive quality,' if I remember correctly. And I do."
"Attractive. Attractive does not mean 'hot,' House," Wilson continued his defense, still munching his chips and watching the TV. "Besides, I was being sarcastic."
"I don't care if you were being John Malkovich. You still said it," House replied, trying to keep his friend on the defensive.
"Well, whatever," Wilson gave up.
They then sat in silence once again. Wilson reached over and grabbed his Strawberry yogurt from the seat beside him and opened it. House seriously contemplated reaching over and taking it for himself but decided against it when he realized just how much fun he was having watching James lick the sweet smelling fruit slowly off the front then back of the spoon. In fact, he became so enthralled that he did not notice when the soap opera finally ended, nor did he comprehend the development that Wilson had finished his dessert and was now watching him with profound curiosity.
"Are you really serious about this?" the young man's question snapped House out of his trance.
"What?" he responded quickly, knowing he must have looked like a fool. The edges of Wilson's mouth twitched slightly before he continued in the same candor voice.
"Are you serious about wanting me to move back in with you?" James asked as he hopped up to stand in front of his friend.
"Have been every other time I've asked you since you moved out. Can't see why I'd change my mind now," House replied, trying to sound as casual as possible.
"Yes, but that was when we were still sticking to the 'just friends' thing. Now we're dating, and my moving in with you this time would mean an actual commitment," Wilson continued, pretending he hadn't noticed the uneasiness in his friend's voice.
"Are you saying you don't wanna commit to me? Jimmy, I'm hurt!" House found his usual dry, humorous tone once again.
"No, that's not what I'm saying," Wilson defended, perhaps a little too quickly. House noticed and raised his eyebrows. Wilson recovered hastily and ignored him. "What I'm saying is we've only been actually dating for six days. Don't you think this might be going kind of fast?"
"Why? It's not like we just met last week. I know you. You know me. We've technically been 'together' for over a decade. Why is this so complicated to you?" House questioned, getting agitated and almost regretting bringing the topic up in the first place.
"No, the question is, why is this so easy for you?" Wilson's voice seemed to mirror House's own frustration.
"Because I know what I want. I've known for years!" House raised his voice slightly now. "What I don't know is what the great Boy Wonder Wilson wants! And it would seem as if even he doesn't know!"
"And you know exactly what you want?" Wilson avoided House's two last sentences.
"Maybe not exactly, but who does? I've got the basics down. That's all I need for now."
"All right, House. Just what is it that you want?" Wilson questioned, tossing his arms in the air to emphasize his impatience.
"You!" House shouted, loud enough that he was certain several of their soon to be patients would hear very clearly. Wilson looked stunned. He was watching House with that expression that reminded the diagnostician man of a lost puppy.
"Really?" James whispered, more out of disbelief than anything.
"No, I just get my kicks out of screaming random declarations of my true and undying love to anyone with brown eyes and a lab coat. Just wait until Foreman passes by! Boy, will he be embarrassed," House made an attempt at some lame humor as he was at a loss as to what to do next. So, for a moment, nothing happened. House watched James as James watched…apparently something very interesting on the wall behind the other man.
"Okay," Wilson finally replied, pulling his eyes back to meet House's and grinning slightly.
"Okay," House echoed with a matching smirk, wondering what he had just done.
Four hours, thirty-seven minutes, and nineteen seconds after Wilson agreed, House skated into Cuddy's office. She looked up at him, immediately annoyed, but soon switched to confused as she noticed he was wearing his leather jacket and had his helmet and cane (as Wilson had insisted) in his hands.
"Where do you think you're going?" she questioned in her usual 'dealing with House' tone.
"Wow! You must be psychic! I haven't even said anything yet," House responded in feigned shock as he braked in front of her desk.
"I've been reading 'Sherlock Holmes.' You should try it sometime. I think you two would get along famously What with the debilitating drug addiction and rampant anti-socialism –" Cuddy responded dryly. "Now, seriously, where are you going?"
"Wilson and I are taking off for the weekend," he told her.
"You have clinic duty," she refused to let him go.
"No, Chase has clinic duty. I, on the other hand, have absolutely nothing to do."
"Why Chase?"
"He bet me I couldn't solve twelve clinic cases in less than a minute."
"And?"
"He lost," House replied, in a 'that was a stupid question' tone.
"Why are you in such a hurry?" Cuddy asked, expecting an unconvincing answer.
"Wilson's moving back in, and I want him to be settled by eight," House answered, sarcasm nearly gone from his voice. "It's movie night."
"Why is Wilson moving back in? Didn't you drive each other to insanity last time? And I distinctly remember you being extraordinarily sleep deprived due to his unusually loud toenails."
"Yeah, but this time he'll be sleeping in my bed instead of on my couch so I can keep him in line," House smirked. Cuddy's mouth dropped slightly at the seriousness of his comment, and she began to stutter for words. But before she could pull herself together, House reached into his bag and pulled out a Polaroid camera, snapping a picture and grinning triumphantly. "Yes! I knew this thing would come in handy! I am so getting this framed! Thanks, Cuddy, you've been great. I'll see ya around."
With that, House swiveled his board and skated back out. Cuddy simply watched his retreating form, contemplating the level of truth his words may have carried.
"What are those?" Wilson questioned as he exited the elevator to find House waiting on the other side smirking stupidly at two pictures he held in either hand.
"Pictures," House replied, looking up at him with the same devious grin.
"Okay. Pictures of what?" Wilson continued patiently as House tucked his skateboard under his arm, and the two of them began to walk toward the parking lot.
"Oh, nothing!" House grinned again, faking an attempt to hide them as Wilson looked over his shoulder. One picture proudly displayed the utterly shocked face of Princeton-Plainsboro's very own chief of medicine while the other was of House's three ducklings. Chase was sitting by the table in the conference room, his eyes and mouth widely hanging open in what could only be shock, as it appeared that his chair was rapidly falling backward. Foreman was standing with one arm propped up on the empty white board looking skeptical but not surprised. Then Cameron sat on the opposite side of the table as Chase, her head down and turned away from the boys with a knowing smirk on her face.
"Well that explains a lot," Wilson half-whispered.
"Whadda you think?" House questioned, ignoring Wilson's comment. "I'm having them blown up and framed. I think they'll look perfect on the mantle. Or in the bedroom. Yeah…the bedroom…"
"House! What is it with your incessant need to shock everyone?" Wilson ignored him as well. "Do you know what this can do to my career?"
"What, does playing with other boys throw off your test results? What do your patients care who you date if you're doing your job right?" House defended.
"It's not just the patients I'm worried about! It's the patients' families!" Wilson explained. "Believe it or not there are a lot of parents, husbands, wives, brothers, and sisters and such who have a very big problem with this sort of thing!"
"What do you care what they think?" House asked exasperatedly.
"I don't. I care about patients who won't get the level of care they deserve because daddy doesn't think Homo's make good doctors!" Wilson continued unabated.
"Actually, the correct term is 'bisexual.' Unless there's something I should know about those wives of yours," House kept on in his usual manner.
"Not to them, House. You know, when I left my office to come meet you I knew something was up. None of the nurses upstairs would so much as look me in the eye, Chase turned and practically ran the opposite way when he saw me coming –"
"So what? You're too social anyway," House shrugged.
"One of the elderly nurses smacked me!" Wilson finished. House smirked. "This isn't funny, House!"
"Yes, it is," House argued light-heartedly. "And once all your stuff's at my place and we can finally get drunk, you'll think so too."
"You're unbelievable," Wilson sighed.
"Maybe you should notify Mr. Ripley," House replied.
"You know, when I said 'you should use your cane more often', I meant you should use your cane more often not carry it around and do baton tricks everywhere you go," Wilson changed the subject as the conversation seemed to be going nowhere.
"I use it," House defended.
"For what? Beating lackeys and scaring small children?"
"Hey, you said use it. You didn't say what for," House shrugged.
"House," Wilson warned.
"Will you stop worrying so much? You agonize over everything more than anyone I've ever met! You'll make yourself sick if you're not careful." House replied, not wanting to have this conversation.
"Right. I forgot concern was one of the deadly sins," Wilson rolled his eyes again.
"I use the cane when I need it, all right? I may be difficult, but I think I learned my lesson from the other day," House then lightened his tone in a clever attempt to drop the topic. "Although, if I ever need a disingenuous way to get you into my bed…"
"I know what you're doing. It won't work," Wilson successfully suppressed a grin at the way House wiggled his eyebrows at his own implication. "We need to talk about this."
"No, you do. I'm fine with not talking. In fact, I prefer it," House responded as he tossed his skateboard into the box he had attached to the back of his motorcycle and grabbed his helmet.
"You know, I may not be an expert, but I hear tell that most relationships only work if there's a certain level of communication involved," Wilson continued.
"Relationship? Who said anything about that? I only want you for your impeccable knowledge of domestic engineering. Especially those pancakes." Wilson glared in response. "Oh, come on, Wilson! Our 'relationship' has lasted over a decade. Obviously we're doing something right, so there's no reason to change our 'communication techniques' now." James opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by House's helmet being shoved into his stomach. "Put this on."
"Excuse me?" Wilson questioned, taking the helmet so he could breathe again.
"Put it on, please?" House continued impatiently.
"No way. I am not getting on that thing," the oncologist replied firmly, waving one arm toward the motorcycle.
"Oh, yes you are," House told him confidently.
"What makes you so sure?"
"The fact that your keys are sitting on your desk in your office," House smirked. Wilson's eyes widened for a second as he felt around his pockets looking for the keys.
"How'd you know?" he questioned as his search turned up empty.
"You always stick them in your back left pocket when you wear those pants," the diagnostician replied. "They're the only pair you own with back pockets."
"I ca…Wait, how'd you know all of that?" Wilson asked suspiciously.
"What? Did you think the night I asked you out I had just had a sudden epiphany and acted on a whim?" Wilson continued to stare in suspicion, still a little unsure of what House meant. House rolled his eyes. "Come on, you think I only pay attention to your ties?"
"Remind me when I get home to add 'my ass' to the list of My Things House Actually Pays Attention To," Wilson snarked.
"You make a list?" House questioned?
"It's very short," Wilson responded.
"Mmhmm, now let's go," House urged.
"How exactly do you plan on fitting all my stuff onto your bike?"
"Won't have to. We'll take the corvette. It'll all fit in the trunk. Probably in one trip." House retorted.
"Wait, I thought the corvette's been in the shop," Wilson told him, suspicion returning to his voice.
"Nope. I just wanted you to quit asking to drive it," House replied. "Okay, stalling time's over. Put the helmet on," he ordered. Wilson sighed.
"Fine, but if I die, I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your life," he promised.
"I don't believe in ghosts," House told him as he shoved the helmet over his perfectly groomed hair.
"You will if you kill me," the younger man assured him as House put the kickstand up and threw his right leg over the bike.
"Come on," he motioned Wilson over with his head before attaching his cane to its holder. Wilson sighed again before tentatively straddling the motorcycle and sitting behind him. Before he could do anything, House grabbed his arms and drew them around himself so that they rested on the older man's stomach. Wilson couldn't help but grin at the feeling this action created in his own stomach.
"You know you haven't escaped these conversations forever, right?" James questioned, following an inexplicable need to speak.
"I figured as much," House replied, turning the engine on and smiling at the feeling of the other man's arms tightening around him. "Let's go home."
I hope you enjoyed chapter 4! Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers! Chapter 5 coming soon! This is all going somewhere. I swear:)