A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading, and to NaiveEve for her brilliant beta work.
Disclaimer: House belongs to David Shore and Fox.
-4-
You always were a cheap ass son of a bitch...
His fingers were like courageous Marine pilots, honing in on their target with practiced ease before zooming down, down, down to make the kill. Their target in this case was a bag of hot, fresh pretzel bites. Master Sergeant Thumb and Lieutenant Forefinger closed in, dug deep and snatched two of the soft doughy chunks from Wilson's bag.
Semper fi, do or die.
"House!"
House stuffed them into his face, grinning and scrunching his nose as he chewed, his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk. He swallowed, then took three long sips of his drink.
At Wilson's suggestion, they took a trek to the mall for lunch. After purchasing food from the food court they seated themselves on a bench in the center of the action. House downed a hot dog and was working on an Orange Julius but the whole time his mind was on those pretzels. They were really much too tempting to ignore. Before lunchtime was over, he decided, they would be his.
"You're pathetic," Wilson grumped, rolling down the top of the paper bag and securing it firmly next to his left buttock.
"Gimme." House made a grabbing motion at the bag.
"No, get your own." With lightning speed, Wilson reached in, grabbed a bite and popped it in his mouth.
"Damn, if they had an Olympic event for pretzel snatching you'd be gold medal material."
Hunching protectively over his bounty, Wilson folded the bag closed again. He reminded House of a little old lady hovering over her purse.
"Stingy pretzel dude." House pouted, glared at him and bumped the tip of his cane against the floor. "See where that gets you next time I buy a snack."
"That's an empty threat, seeing as how you never dig deep for anything."
"There's always that golden first time." House let his gaze wander over the neon signs above the storefronts, the window shopping retirees, the girls and guys trying hard to look cool and bad as they leaned against the balcony railing, weary moms pushing sleepy toddlers off to lunch and naptime.
"Why were you so horrible to Cameron yesterday?" Wilson asked.
House exhaled softly and stretched his feet out. "Who said I was horrible to her?"
"Don't give me any of that." Wilson's narrowed his eyes. "By now even the cleaning crew's got the transcript of that little altercation."
The muzak version of "Dancing Queen" was infectious. House hummed along as he studied the shadows shifting across the ceiling.
"I asked you-"
"She had it coming, okay?" he yelled, his gaze whipping toward Wilson. "Always being so whiny and defensive. Claiming she was over me." "Ha!"
"You are unbelievable."
"Do we have to talk about this now?"
"No." Wilson's fingers tapped against the bench in an edgy staccato beat. "No. I guess not."
"Good."
After taking another long slurp of his drink, House announced, "And you know what? The mall sucks."
"What does that have to do with-"
"What other place do you know that so blatantly promotes depravity, avarice and greed." He jabbed his cane at the Hot Topic boutique across the way. "Look at that place. God! It's just chock full of black shrouded goth kids who skulk in corners, scribble poetry on their hands and listen to Joy Division..." Waggling a finger in Wilson's face, he went on. "...not because they like it. But because it pisses off their parents."
"Don't give me any of that pompous crap." Wilson couldn't seem to stifle a smile now. "You love it here. You're just grumpy because the nubile nymphette population has so far been nil."
"You're right. I should file a complaint."
"Don't bother. You'll be married soon."
Yeah.
House gazed down the length of the mall's seemingly infinite second floor, enjoying the movement of the shoppers, how their chatter and the muzak seemed to merge, drift up to the rafters and...vanish as...
...a most welcome image of Myrna interrupted his reverie. She floated above him, her eyes huge in the half light as she scrutinized him, one bra strap hanging carelessly off her shoulder, her hair tickling his chest as she moved down...down...
His grin broadened, slowly, languidly...
...which caused Wilson to gape at him in befuddled wonder.
"My god."
"What?" With a sharp intake of breath, House forced himself back to the present.
"I have never seen you look so...goofy."
He smirked at Wilson's bemusement, reaching over to snag the pretzel bag. "Ha!" House studied the contents of the grease dotted sack, taking great care in selecting his prize.
"You really are in love," Wilson said softly.
"Temporary insanity." Rolling the pretzel nugget between two fingers, he sniggered. "Don't worry. I'll come to my senses in four or five years. Inevitably I'll do something so thoughtless, heedless and evil it will mangle the relationship beyond repair." He tossed back his head and dropped the treat into his mouth. "Then I'll come live with you."
"No thanks."
"Who else is going to remind me to send out those alimony checks?"
Wilson stood. "Come on, we should at least start looking around."
"I don't see why we have to do this."
Setting his hands on his hips, Wilson rolled his eyes. "You need to buy a present for your bride," he said slowly, enunciating each word as if speaking to a child.
"Whatever I buy is going to pale in comparison to what she already has," he said, jabbing his thumbs at his chest. "You can't put a price on this."
Wilson snatched the pretzel bag from House's lap. "Ha!"
"Hey...no fair stealing from a cripple." House stood and lurched alongside Wilson. "She liked you, by the way. Thought you were cute." He arched a brow. "If she keeps on about it, I may just have to kill you in your sleep."
Wilson laughed, before polishing off another pretzel. "Don't worry, she's much too good for me, and way, way out of your league." He sniffed the air. "I still can't figure what she sees in you, unless...yes, it must be that cologne you're wearing."
"Don't dis the scent." House threw Wilson a warning look, while grabbing the pretzel bag out of his hand. "Myrna picked it out."
"Oooh," Wilson cooed. "Myrna picked it out. I never thought I'd see the day again-"
"Shut up."
They took the next right and headed into a Hallmark store. House wandered down the center aisle, shoving the nearly empty pretzel bag into his jacket pocket. He scanned the greeting cards, slowing to a stop in front of one with a cow on it. The cow's mouth was open, its pink tongue lolling, its brown eyes staring. Interesting. Those liquid brown orbs looked like two enormous chocolate drops. He liked them. Giggling like a five year old, he snagged the card and opened it. It mooed at him. Ah! He closed it, waited, opened it again. Moo! Again. Moo!
Inside the card, the legend 'Happy Moo-ving Day' was wrapped in a cartoon bubble over Bossie's head. "Perfect," House shouted, causing a clerk to glance up from her dusting and toss him an acid glare.
He found Wilson at the rear of the store, perusing the delicate crystal and porcelain knick knacks behind a locked glass case. "This...is perfect." He handed Wilson the card.
"What is it?"
"Open it."
The moo sound carried the length of the store, causing the clerk to click her tongue and frown again.
"Fantastic, huh?"
"You're not thinking of giving this to Myrna, are you?"
"No, I'm giving it to Prince Harry when he finally flies the coop," he snarled. "Of course I'm giving it to Myrna." House opened his hand to receive the card. "Nothing but the best for my girl."
Stifling a laugh, Wilson slapped the card into House's palm. Aghast, House stared at his prize before throwing Wilson a pained look. "Careful with that. It's the only one they had."
"I can't imagine why." Wilson waved the clerk over. "Miss, could we get some help here?"
Acid Glare set her duster down and hurried over, her bright white sneakers making little shush, shush sounds against the carpet. "Yes sir."
"My friend here is getting married." Wilson donned his most charming grin and set his hand on House's shoulder. "And he is looking for a present for his bride."
The woman's silver blond hair shimmered beneath the fluorescents. She pressed her hands together, the romance of her task lending a luster to her eyes, a glow to her cheeks. Her pink lips parted in a way that said, 'oh, if only I were thirty years younger'.
House offered her a thin smile while hiding the card behind his back.
"So you are the groom," she sighed happily.
House flipped the card open... pursing his lips in sync with the...
Moooooo!
Acid Glare blinked; her jaw clenched. House could almost see the smoke pouring from her ears as her gaze slid toward Wilson. "You did say this is the groom?"
"I'm afraid so, ma'am. As you can see..." He glowered at House and the venom in his eyes could have poisoned the entire population of Princeton. "...he needs all the help he can get."
"Well, then, let's see what we have." She opened the case and showed them:
A crystal angel embracing a heart.
A Hummel bride and groom.
A porcelain figurine of Eros.
Wilson seemed impressed by the array, oohing over the angel, tilting his head and smiling at the bride and groom, and sighing over Eros.
"House, what do you think?" Wilson asked, nearly breathless.
But House was otherwise engaged, peering inside a small flap of the card, attempting to find the sound chip.
"House."
He snapped his head up. "Let's go."
"You don't like any of these?" Wilson asked.
"No."
Wilson swapped an incredulous look with Acid Glare, but House was already on his way to the cash register to purchase his moo-ving day card.
On their ride back to work, House made Wilson stop at Private Peccadilloes. Located just off the main road, it wasan establishment the size of a one room shack, with black windows and pink day-glo lettering above the door.
Wilson waited in the car while House purchased three penis shaped all day suckers (with cherry flavored testicles), orange creme warming gel, a pack of French Ticklers, and a t-shirt that read Doctors Know How To Stick It Good.
Wilson winced as House returned. "How sticky was the floor in there?"
"It wasn't...that sticky."
"What did you get?"
House smiled and held the bag to his chest in a tender embrace. "Presents for my bride."
--------------------------------------------------------------
"How was lunch?"
Wilson pulled his scrip pad from his middle drawer, then uncapped his pen. "Interesting," he said, beginning to write.
"Did he find her a gift?"
"Gifts. Penis shaped candy, exotic condoms, heated lubricating gel, and a funny ha, ha t-shirt."
"Charming."
"What did you talk about?"
"Nothing. Everything."
Cuddy sighed. "You're going to have to get him shitfaced."
With a slow shake of his head, Wilson put his pen down and raised his eyes to meet hers. He prided himself on his patience but right now it was on mighty slippery ground.
He was writing a Fentanyl scrip for Mr. Glibstern. Gilbert Glibstern was probably, at this very minute, in the passenger seat of his nephew's Lincoln Continental, going on about the raw deal life had handed him. Wilson hoped they were stuck in traffic since, from the looks of things, the Glibstern cancer issue was going to have to wait its turn. Cuddy had an issue of another sort.
"You have to get him absolutely sloshed." Her cleavage was especially...interesting today, pushing up proudly from her lacy black top; three pounds of bologna in a two pound bag is how his mother might have looked at it.
"I didn't have much notice, Lisa. I couldn't plan anything." He tapped the tip of his pen against his appointment book. "I figured I would just take him for a drink, give him the congratulatory, best buddy handshake-"
"You have to do better than that." Her blue eyes flashed her anger.
"What the hell is wrong?"
She pulled up a chair, gripping the armrests as she eased herself onto the seat cushion. She straightened her form fitting skirt, her lips tightening as she hitched the chair closer to the desk.
"House doesn't do marriage."
Wilson snorted. "Well, obviously he does...he is...he will."
"No." She shook a finger at him, arching a brow. "He has an ulterior motive."
"Like what?" He finished scribbling out the scrip and shoved it to one side. "Like maybe Myrna's an illegal alien who wants to stay in this country and offered House three million dollars to marry her?"
"Yeah." Cuddy nodded, saucer eyed, looking like a crazed bobble head doll. "See? You get it."
"No. You know as well as I do, Myrna is not from Paraguay or Brazil or Greece or...wherever. She's worked here long enough-"
"That means nothing!"
"Calm down."
Cuddy glanced at her shoes and folded her hands in her lap before meeting Wilson's eyes again. "Sorry."
"Alright." Wilson rocked back in his chair and folded his arms. "You tell me then. What is so terrible about this?"
"He doesn't even know her."
Wilson tossed her a sly grin. "Oh, he knows her alright."
"Stop being glib. I mean really know her-and not in the biblical sense."
"Why should that matter to you so much?" he asked.
"It's just...not right."
"You know what your problem is?" He leaned forward, smile widening, brows lifting. "He's done something behind your back, completely flummoxing you. You had absolutely no idea what he was up to, and it's killing you. But then..." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "...it's not like that's something new."
"You didn't know about it either," she said softly.
"That's true." The fact that House had hid something this monumental from everyone, in no way amazed Wilson. House was an expert at deceit, at hiding the truth when it suited him, giving it up only when the moment was right. It was House's call in House's world.
"Did you talk with him?"
Wilson sighed. "Yeah, he says he's 'in love'."
"Now I know he's hiding something."
"I...really don't think he is."
Drumming her red lacquered nails against the armrests, she snorted. "And what would make you say that?"
"At lunch he was definitely in...lala land. I know the look. Been there, done that." He shifted some papers from one side of his desk to the other. "Plus, I...went to see Myrna yesterday."
"No...," Cuddy breathed. "You just showed up at her place?"
"Yep. And I have to tell you, she was great, funny and down to earth." He watched Cuddy's frown deepen. "Not what you were waiting to hear, I gather."
She waved at him to continue.
"I think she gets him" He steepled his fingers under his chin. "That could actually be...good."
"So you approve of this?" she asked, incredulous.
"Who am I to disapprove?"
"You're only his best friend."
"When has that ever mattered?" Wilson's smiled a melancholy smile. "If he sets his mind to something, it's going to play out, regardless of what I say."
She eased forward, that black hole of cleavage a mere arm's length away. "Did you know he made Cameron cry yesterday?"
He threw her a dismissive wave. "That's old news."
"From what she said, he was incredibly cruel."
Wilson snickered and ran one hand through his hair. "House says she brought it on herself, wearing her heart on her sleeve all these years." He shrugged. "It was bound to happen. And when House gets the upper hand in something like this, he sure as hell is going to-"
"Stop." She waved her hands at him. "Don't say another word." With a tilt of her head, she tossed him a sardonic grin, and asked, "Are you listening to yourself?"
"What now?"
"Anything he does is okay. It doesn't matter if he makes his employee cry or if he marries a nurse on a whim."
He lifted his hands to protest. "Woah. I don't think it's a wh-"
"You...are not helping the situation by sitting back and making believe everything is simply wonderful."
"Why is this your business?"
"Because it affects everyone here, whether you think so or not." She threw her hands up, tossed her head back, as if beseeching the ceiling for help. "I have known Greg House since college, kept track of him through hospitals hiring him and hospitals firing him. I brought him here when no one else would have him." She paused, set her gaze on Wilson, and let out a shaky breath. "I know him. I know how he is. He has a hard time bouncing back from things." She set one hand gently on the edge of the desk.. "I didn't think he'd ever get over Stacy. You didn't either."
"So you're saying he shouldn't ever take a chance on a relationship again?"
"No. That's not what I'm saying at all."
"It sure sounds like it."
"I'm just saying we have to look out for him before he hurts himself and this woman." She pushed herself out of her seat, smoothing her skirt as she stood. "If this doesn't work out, I'm going to have two exceedingly depressed, despondent medical professionals on my hands. And that I don't need."
"You don't need it?" Wilson stood, his eyes going wide. "This is not about you."
She glowered. "He's already hurt Cameron."
"You know what?" Wilson threw her a crooked grin. "Everyone is going to have to get over it," He shook a finger at her. "Including you. And Cameron."
"We're taking Myrna for dinner and drinks...lots of drinks...tomorrow night." She stared at him hard. "We're doing our part. Why can't you do yours?"
"Doing your part? What is this, a charity drive?"
Her look was an entreaty. "Just take House out. Get Chase and Foreman to go along. Get him drunk enough so that he spills his guts to you. That shouldn't be so difficult."
Wilson pondered this for a moment. "Okay, just suppose I do it."
Her lips curled into a tentative, hopeful grin.
"And what if...what if what House says when he's drunk corresponds with what he says when he's sober?"
Cuddy's face fell. "I doubt that will happen," she murmured.
"Ha! See? You're not so sure."
"Humor me. Just do it."
Wilson exhaled softly and gave a resigned nod. "Fine."
There were voices in the corridor. Someone wheezed then shot out a multitude of diatribes to some unlucky recipient.
"Why, it sounds like Mr. Glibstern has arrived." Gritting his teeth, Wilson pulled a file folder from beneath his paperwork and slapped it down next to the scrip. "The bright spot of my day."
"Good luck," Cuddy said as she turned toward the door. "Oh, and James..."
"Hmm?" He threw open the folder and raised his head.
"Make sure to choose a designated driver."