Seventeen minutes and forty-one seconds after House convinced Wilson to cut the day short, the younger man discovered one of House's most closely guarded secrets.
"You have a spare room?" Wilson questioned needlessly as he stood in the doorway, staring in utter disbelief. When they'd arrived back at the apartment, House handed him a key and told him to open the door on the opposite side of their bedroom – a room that Wilson had always believed to be an extra closet. As a matter of fact, the reason he had always assumed this was that House himself had told him so. In hindsight, he supposed it was a fairly stupid idea to trust House's word on such a thing.
"Yep. You didn't know that?" House asked casually while dumping his things on the floor near the front door.
"Of course I did. I just always slept on your old, hard, lumpy, beer, taco, and now urine stained couch to build up my endurance," Wilson responded sarcastically. House smirked. "Why would you keep this from me?"
"Because my couch is old, hard, lumpy, beer, taco, and pee stained," House responded simply as he made his way over to stand behind him. Wilson gave him a look.
"Of course," James nodded defeatedly. "I nearly forgot how entertaining my pain is."
"Actually, the couch wasn't for entertainment purposes," House corrected. "I just wanted to see how long you'd be willing to sleep on it just so you could stay here with me."
"You were making me suffer through all those nights on that thing simply so you could measure how long it would take for me to get fed up and move out?" Wilson said slowly, trying to work out his friend's twisted logic.
"Nope. I made you suffer through all those long nights simply so I could see how long it would take for you to get fed up and move into my bed," House amended once again. Wilson gave another look, but this time there was amusement in the glare.
"Right. So what exactly did you want me to do? The room looks fine to me," Wilson got back on track.
"It is," House agreed. "Your maid made it up nice and pretty before she found a new job."
"Then why did we come home so early?"
"Because I lied."
"You lied?"
"Yep. Mom's plane should arrive in about twenty minutes. She left a message on my cell phone before she took off," House elaborated. "Turns out it has an answering machine. There were messages you left three years ago on that thing."
"Whoa ho ho, hold on a second!" Wilson stopped the other man's rambling. "Did you just say your mom's coming in today?"
"Yeah, and I need you to go pick her up," House affirmed.
"Why me?" Wilson questioned.
"Cause I have stuff to do, and I don't want you around while I'm doing it," House answered cryptically.
"What stuff?"
"Super secret spy stuff," House responded sarcastically. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
"Fine. Don't tell me," Wilson relented, holding his hand out for the car keys. House placed them in his hand wordlessly. "I'll be back in an hour. I expect you'll be here?"
"Count on it," House agreed as Wilson opened the front door. "Take your time though." He added as the door closed. House waited until he heard the car start and Wilson pull away before grabbing his bike keys and helmet and heading back the way he came.
Thirty-four minutes and sixteen seconds after Wilson left the apartment, he was on his way back home with three suitcases in the trunk, and Blythe House riding shotgun.
"Mrs. House, I can't tell you enough how sorry I am. House told me I had twenty minutes," Wilson repeated for what was probably the twentieth time since he had arrived at the airport to find House's mother standing at the payphone (no doubt calling House's apartment) with three heavy suitcases sitting at her feet and looking extremely concerned. James practically ran over to her, apologizing profusely for his tardiness, picking up the two heaviest bags, and escorting her to the car. Blythe had seemed rather surprised to see Wilson instead of Greg, but she had greeted him warmly and assured him that his lateness was no problem.
"Oh, James, for the last time it's perfectly all right," Mrs. House assured him once more. "I'm use to my son's sense of time by now. Or rather lack there of." Wilson let out a short laugh.
"Yeah, well, I still feel bad about it," he explained.
"Oh, you always have been such a worrier," Blythe smiled. "But I'm use to being late. Between Greg and John, we were lucky to get anywhere less than ten minutes after we were suppose to arrive." She let out a small, sad laugh, and Wilson felt suddenly uncomfortable.
The rest of the ride went on in silence. Mrs. House was quiet for the loss of what to say and Wilson uncomfortable knowing the conversation that awaited at home. In truth, he was beginning to feel bad about this whole thing. Blythe probably had no idea about his and House's true relationship. Why would she? Wilson had stayed with House many times before, and they had given her no reason to suspect that this time was any different.
As they pulled up in front of the apartment, Wilson inwardly noted that House's bike was parked much closer to the door than when he'd left, and James had to pull around and park further up. As he lifted Blythe's bags from the trunk, he tried to imagine exactly what it was that House had blown off his own mother to do.
"House, were here! Come and carry your mothers things!" Wilson called out light-heartedly, not wanting House's mother to think she had inconvenienced him in any way.
"Hang on a second! You've gotta see this!" the other man called from what sounded like the kitchen.
"If it's another skateboard trick you're in trouble. The apartment is not a skate park, remember?" Wilson scolded playfully. Blythe gave a small grin. House gave no verbal answer.
Instead, he chose to run out of the kitchen, leap over the arm of the couch, bounce off the cushions, over the sofa arm, and land flawlessly in front of Blythe and Wilson just inside the doorway.
"What do you think? I'd give that a nine at least!" House exclaimed in his version of excitement. Blythe, who had put a hand over her mouth as she watched the unbelievable display, lowered her hand enough to speak audibly.
"Oh, Greg!" she spoke in a shocked half-whisper.
"Cool, huh?" he questioned rhetorically.
"House, what –" Wilson began slowly.
"It's a brace," House interrupted, pulling up his right pant leg. "The PT guy suggested it. I thought it sounded pretty sweet, so I've been trying it out for the last week or so."
"Wait, let me get this straight. You, the great Gregory 'I'm a maniacal genius and everyone else has chopped ass for brains' House, not only willingly agreed to get a brace for your leg but did so only after the physical therapist, that you told me you had never actually seen, told you to?" Wilson worked out slowly.
"He did not tell me to, he suggested," House corrected. "And why are you so shocked? The only reason I didn't have one before is because it just made the leg hurt worse. No pain no cane, right? Solves all our problems. Plus, I can do this," he took off at top speed to the opposite side of the room, jumped and spun back around, bouncing off the wall with his right foot, then ran back over to them. Before anyone could say another word, Blythe began to laugh. There was no real reason for this specific reaction, and yet she could not contain herself. House turned to her, looking mildly surprised and raising an eyebrow, before smiling broadly.
This was no ordinary smile. There were no lines of pain or worry etched in his features; no sarcasm or smug superiority gleaming in his eyes. There was only happiness. Wilson hadn't remembered how much he had missed this look until that moment. He hadn't seen such an expression on his best friend's face in over six years. Focusing all of his energy on calming the inappropriate feelings that the spectacle provoked, James didn't notice that he was smiling back. However, he was the only one.
"Oh, honey, I'm so proud of you!" Blythe exclaimed as she pulled her son into a loving embrace.
"Thanks, mom," House replied softly, returning the hug automatically.
"You seem so happy," Blythe continued to smile whole-heartedly as she broke the embrace but kept her arms around Greg's waist. Watching the two of them, Wilson knew where House got his smile.
"I'll never be happy, mom, House began while looking into her eyes. He then turned his head toward Wilson, saw the other man's smile, and a new emotion began to sparkle in his electric blue eyes. "But I'm as close as I'll ever be."
Mrs. House studied the expression on her son's face. It was one she knew well but on another man's face. In Greg's eyes she could see John; the same look in those cerulean eyes as he watched her saunter down the stairs toward him, sixteen-years-old, on their first date. She saw John grinning like a fool as she strode down the aisle, a bouquet of yellow roses in her hands. She could see John as he lovely observed her as she sang their baby boy to sleep. And, as she followed Greg's gaze, in James' eyes she saw herself smiling back. It was in this instant that realization struck.
Blythe let out a small gasp, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn't looking for it. However, she knew the boys had heard as James started and turned his head quickly to the left, and Greg's smile faded into a grin as his gaze slowly shifted to the floor. She watched James as he shifted uncomfortably, looking increasingly nervous as the seconds passed. She then turned her focus back to Greg whom, to her surprise, was beginning to look nearly as anxious as James did. For only a moment she mirrored her son's pose, looking down at her feet with her mind racing, before turning to Greg and holding her head high.
"I understand, son," she smiled in the most encouraging way she could manage, still unsure of her own feelings but not wanting Greg to believe she was disappointed in him. "I'm happy for you both."
Both young men looked up at her quickly, obviously not expecting this response.
"You are?" House asked before realizing an even bigger question. "Wait how did you know –?"
"I'm your mother. I just know these things," Blythe replied, still smiling convincingly.
"So you're not angry? Disappointed? Ashamed…?" House continued his questioning as Wilson remained silent.
"You know I could never be ashamed or disappointed in you," Blythe responded almost too quickly, remembering how Greg had been since his infarction. She watched her son endure life in misery, powerless to offer anything more than brief moments of comfort. "And of course I'm not angry," she continued, now looking to Wilson as he continued to let his eyes wander anxiously. But then there was James. James who cut his own honeymoon short to be with Greg through his expected tragedy. James who hadn't given up; who'd stayed by his best friend's side when no one else would. It was James who brightened the light in her only son's eyes and made him smile and laugh when others could not. It was James who'd made that phone call those few weeks ago, fighting with everything he had not to cry and ultimately failing, as he gently broke the news of yet another tragedy that had befallen her beautiful blue-eyed boy.
Finally Wilson looked up, tremulous brown locking with reassuring green. The depth of emotion visible in the young man's eyes had always been a startling sight to behold, but this time it took her breath away. In place of the love and happiness that had been present moments before, Blythe saw fear dominating within the seemingly endless depths, and she was taken aback. For the first time since they had met, she saw that the fear that she had seen in the young oncologist's eyes as he fretted over Greg or even one of his own patients he was now feeling for himself, and it broke her heart somehow, the knowledge that she was the one who put it there. Suddenly the situation began to overwhelm her, and Blythe tried to fix it in the only way she knew. Closing the distance between them, she reached up and pulled Wilson into a motherly hug, lifting herself onto her tiptoes to assure that he could hear her clearly. Wilson returned the embrace instinctively, no stranger to her arms.
"James, honey, you stop all this worrying," she told him softly. "You've always been like a son to me. And John too. It's just official now." She allowed herself a small laugh, hoping to ease some of the tension.
"Thank you," Wilson whispered back. Mrs. House pulled away from him slowly, careful to never allow her cheerful disposition falter.
"Now, who's hungry? I'll make dinner," she offered cheerfully. Wilson opened his mouth to protest, but House beat him to it.
"Oh, no you won't. You forget this isn't Cincinnati. You're now living with one of New Jersey's premier chefs," House explained with a mischievous grin.
"I didn't know you could cook," Blythe told Wilson with a smile. James smiled back, nervous for a new reason now.
"Of course he can! The man blow dries his hair, paints his toenails, and uses strawberry scented shampoo. Domesticity comes second nature," House confirmed for him.
"I do not paint my toenails!" Wilson denied quickly. House gave him a disbelieving look. "It's nail strengthener, okay? It's not polish."
"Yeah," House said in a slow, drawn out way. "That's why it's hot pink."
"That was one time!" James still tried to defend himself but quickly realized what a futile argument it was. "Fine. Your wish is my command." He gave a dramatic bow and started for the kitchen. "Any requests?"
"I was thinking something along the line of Macadamia nut pancakes," House spoke in a contemplative voice.
"It's dinner time," Wilson said as he stuck his head back around the corner.
"Fine. We'll go for pasta," House looked to his mother who nodded in agreement. "But I expect some of the aforementioned nutty goodness bright and early tomorrow morning."
"Oh, why's that?" Wilson questioned as sounds of pots and pans being moved around began to resonate from the room.
"Because you and I are going on the longest run we've had since college." Both Wilson and Blythe smiled to themselves, unnoticed.
"Oh, really? And how long might that be?" James asked, trying to remember where he'd put the tomato sauce.
"Oh, only about seven, eight miles," House replied casually. A loud crash from the kitchen was the only response, and Blythe laughed inwardly to herself. She could definitely get use to days like this.
YAY! Chapter 7 is finally up! I'll try not to take so long with number 8. Since I have not been able to thank you all individually for your kind and helpful reviews, I would like to give a quick shout out to:
RNwannabe, Anita, Rolling Thunder 420, xMaddhatterx, TurboNerd, The Swordsman, Izzfrogger, HouseMD.HuGh LaUrIe, bedlam55, Nina, Kagii, James Wilson, lostinsidesaveme, Saji, and Crowely Black! You have all been so wonderful! I'm only sorry I haven't gotten the chance to thank you individually! Thanks a lot you guys!