Yes, yet another late update. But, I promise we're going to get somewhere very soon! Thanks for all of the reviews, too!
Chapter 4: Mugs and Maturity
"Sorry I'm late." House said as he walked into the loft, carrying a bag from the butcher's. Wilson looked up from his Oncology Monthly and rolled his eyes.
"You are many things, House, but sorry is not one of them. What held you up this time? Another plague in the hospital? Or perhaps you convinced Cuddy to give you a quickie before heading off home to her little family."
House scowled at the word family, and then realized what he had done. Hopefully Wilson hadn't noticed, otherwise he would be treated to another thousand lectures. After the long day he had had, that was the last thing he needed.
"Got a patient." the diagnostician muttered, walking into the kitchen.
"And? Usually you go home right at five, if they're not dying. It's half-past nine. If they were dying, you'd still be there."
"Ran into an old friend." House replied cheerfully, opening the fridge. "We won't have time to marinate the steak, by the way. I don't want to eat at midnight. You wanna order in some pizza?"
"Don't blame me; I thought you were coming home at five. It's your fault you refuse to answer your phone And no, I don't really want to order pizza, seeing as we have a fully stocked fridge and pantry." If House wanted to go back to ordering in Chinese every night… well, the six-hundred dollar grocery bill might just have something to say about that.
"Well, think of something quick and filling, I'm starved." Of course. House was always starving. That seemed to be a universal constant. Unless, of course, he was working intently on a case or in withdrawal. Vomiting never seemed to increase one's appetite, funnily enough.
"Is that liquor on your breath?" They would occasionally have a glass together, but Wilson had forbidden House from going to bars without him, fearing the worst, as always.
"I only had a glass, Wilson, and no, it wasn't in my office, listening to Frank Sinatra, moaning about Cuddy."
"Your old friend? Generally when you meet up with someone for the first time in a while, you have more than one glass." House looked down and closed the fridge, then started to rummage around the cupboards.
"Chicken in white wine and shallots with green beans and penne?" he asked, blatantly changing the subject.
There was a large, uncomfortable pause, as House went about preparing the meal, getting out a cutting board, selecting a good knife and going into the pantry for the shallots.
Wilson sighed, after several fruitless attempts at catching his friend's eye.
"He's your patient, isn't he?" Wilson asked finally, as House went into the fridge for the chicken.
"Who, Brad Pitt? I have to tell you, Jimmy, I'm really not digging that beard. It looks like he has a grey octopus growing on his face." House said, as he started slicing the chicken.
"Was he a good friend?" Wilson asked, ignoring the deflection. It was best just to go on as if House had actually answered the question.
"As good as friends get when you're in England with your parents, staying in the army base, sneaking out to party every other night." Ah, another one of House's foreign stays. He did remember hearing something about England, but nothing about friends. Well, come to think of it, he didn't really know much about House's travels, or his childhood, for that matter.
"Sounds like good times. What's his name? What does he do? How long is he in Princeton for?"
"Gordon Wyatt, FBI shrink, until his case is solved. Although he might die, so maybe before then. What kind of salad do you want?"
"Wait, what are his symptoms?" Wilson asked, persisting. Sometimes you just had to keep picking away at the man until he gave up, or left. The first option was generally preferable.
"Nausea, fatigue, headaches, bloody vomit and diarrhea, abdominal pain, fever, anemia. Chase is doing his workup." The chicken went into the sauté pan, hissing as the cold meat hit the hot oil.
"What about kidney and liver function? And for God's sake, House, turn on the damn fan! Remember last time, when you left the risotto in the pan to see the fire down the street and nearly made our own alarm go off?"
"Like I said, Chase is doing the workup. The team's going to phone me if they find anything. And that wasn't my fault, Wilson; you never showed me how to use the fan." He shook the pan, flipping the poultry, before adding the shallots and green beans.
"Right. Shouldn't you be with the patient if he's your friend?"
"Gord told me to go home and get something to eat; I may have complained that I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast on the ride over to the hospital. You know I'll check on him in the morning; besides, he has a couple friends with him now. One of them's a real looker, too, but she's mine, Wilson, don't even think about it."
"I wasn't, actually. How long's that bocconcini been in the fridge for? We should probably use it up, considering what happened the last time we let something putrefy in there."
"Might I remind you that that was your fault, Wilson? Somebody was too weak to get out of his bed to get the goat cheese out of there while I was in surgery with that Irish guy."
"Once again, I apologize for being weak because of the recovery from the liver transplant. And, no, you weren't at the hospital the whole time, so you definitely had the opportunity to get the cheese out of there."
"Tomato, tomahto, Jimmy. Do you want spinach or field greens for the salad?" the older man asked, going into the fridge.
"Field greens."
"Good, because spinach was starting to get old; I don't care what Popeye says. I expect you'll want to meet my mysterious long lost friend to unravel more of the mystery that is Greg House, MD, so let's organize this in a way that works for both of us. Noon sound good for you? We can eat lunch in his room, and hopefully he won't go into cardiac arrest or anything. Always a risk when eating with sick people." He took the greens out, along with a bottle of white.
"Noon is clear for me tomorrow." Wilson admitted. "But what makes you think that I'm dying to meet this guy?"
"Wilson, you want to meet half the people in my life, if only to know one more reason why I'm so screwed up. I'm just making this easier for all of us, so I don't find the two of you cozied up in a supply closet, sharing bread recipes and war stories. I don't think I could take the betrayal." The wine went into the pan, and a huge cloud of steam rose up, causing Wilson to cough as the alcohol entered his airway.
"W-Wait, you're making this sound like we're going to have a…cough, actual adult conversation." he said, sputtering. "Use the high setting on the fan, House! And turn the burner down; you're going to turn the sauce into a black mess!"
"Oh, come on, Wilson, way to spoil everything. I was going to stick to small talk and hope that some great exciting thing would interrupt us before we go to the juicy stuff. And stop backseat cooking, too."
"So there is juicy stuff?" the oncologist asked, ignoring House's comment.
"Yeah, a lot of babes in England, all wanting to hook up with the hot American army brat." House said sarcastically. "Had to beat them off with a stick." He reluctantly turned the heat down, stirring the contents of the pan, before getting the container of leftover pasta out of the fridge.
"I thought you were always the life of the party."
"I was. Didn't fill out 'till I was sixteen, though, and by then I was back in the good ol' US of A. No woman wants to jump a shrimp. I sure could drink, though. And all the cool drugs came out in the seventies. You wanted the bocconcini, right?"
"Yeah. Use the Balsamic dressing." House rolled his eyes. Duh. "So, your friend, is he a nice guy? Or did you attract more of your type?"
"Yeah, he's a decent guy. Ridiculously English, too, though apparently he's been living among the Yankees for quite some time. And seeing as he's a shrink, you can have another member of the Let's Fix House Club. I think that'll bring the numbers up to two, now that Cuddy's lost interest in me."
"Cuddy hasn't lost interest-"
"Please. If she starts acting like she cares about me, I'm going to think she wants to jump me again. Can't have that. Who knows what a steamy affair with yours truly would do to her epic relationship with Lucas. Hence, no interest." He dished the pasta out onto two plates, putting the salad into bowls.
"She cares about you, House. She just has… a funny way of showing it."
"Yes, of course. One of those funny ways just happened to be sentencing me to a six hour round trip to meet the housekeeper."
"She's worried-"
"I know, she's protecting herself, yadda, yadda. Heard it all before, actually. But, funnily enough, we weren't talking about our dear Dean of Medicine. We were talking about Gordon Wyatt, and the meddling you're going to start doing. Go ahead, is all I'm saying. You're going to do it anyway, might as well get it over with."
"Very mature of you."
"Yes, I just ooze maturity these days. You want beer to drink?"
"Sure. I'm not setting the table, by the way. It's your night."
"It's nine-thirty; we're eating at the counter. And it's your night to do the dishes."
"Maybe you should do them, seeing you're not setting the table."
"I made dinner! Does that mean nothing to you?"
"House, all you did was sauté some things and put other things in a bowl. When you spend all day slaving over a roast like I did on Christmas, then you can be exempt for dish duty."
"Not fair, Wilson, my leg was hurting that day. Better present than the records I got from you, if you ask me." House said as he glared at Wilson, gesturing for him to sit down.
"Hey, it's not my fault they were all scratched when I got them in the mail!" He inwardly cringed at the thought of the Christmas Day disaster. He had found House six rare vintage records, in perfect condition, only to find that they wouldn't play when they had tried them out.
"Yeah, but it's your fault for not checking on them before giving them to me. Imagine my disappointment when I got nothing but a bunch of useless black circles on the most wonderful day of the year!" House tried to shove a humungous pile of pasta into his mouth, and was rewarded with most of it dripping down his face. He scowled at the offending food. Sometimes life just didn't want to go right.
"Yeah, that's all you got. Might I remind you that Foreman got you a mug, Chase got you another mug, Taub got you four coasters and Thirteen got you a set of martini glasses?"
"I'm pretty sure they did that just to screw with me, so that doesn't really count." He rolled his eyes at the presents his team had gotten him. Like he would ever ask for such domestic things. Like he would ask for anything at all, actually.
"Your mother got you a nice sweater."
"Which you ended up wearing." Wilson blushed.
"That was just one time! I was cold, and it was the only thing that wasn't in the wash."
"Maybe because you hadn't done laundry all day because you spent the day after Christmas in the Cancer Ward. I stand by what I said. A bunch of useless black circles and a hangover from our binge the night before."
"You mean YOUR binge. I only had-"
"One bottle of Jack, I know. You got like, fifteen million presents! And you even got a card from Cuddy and Lucas!" The oncologist looked down in shame.
"Oh, Wilson, don't look so sad. It wasn't your fault that I was looking for the check that I accidentally threw out in the trash. You shouldn't have put it in the garbage, by the way. Hiding it between your bottles of hair mousse would have been much more effective."
"I'll keep that in mind for next time. They should have given you a card, House; maybe it was meant for both of us."
"No, it said James Wilson very clearly on it. If I were you, I wouldn't have liked it anyway, anatomically incorrect reindeer aside. It's no fun to get something that your friend doesn't. Then you feel kinda weird. Or at least, that's what I'm told."
"House, the pasta's getting cold."
"Right. Eating. Forgot about that. I was just getting so worked up about the season of giving again, thanks to you." He shoved another enormous mouthful in, and was met with more success this time. Wilson rolled his eyes at him, and he stuck his tongue out in return.
"If you want proper presents next year, maybe you should work on being nicer to people."
"I'll pass, thank you. I'm content in my misanthropy."
"I'm sure. This is good, by the way."
"I know; I'm pretty good at cooking, in case my culinary binge a few months ago didn't give you any indication. And I'm still cursing you for making me share the cooking duty, by the way. A man needs to kick back and watch women's wrestling when he gets home after a long day at work."
"Right." Wilson said, clearing up the dishes. "There's a football game, if you're interested?"
"Sure." House replied, and limped over to the living room.
"I can't believe you bought this thing." Wilson said, for what seemed to be the umpteenth time, indicating the garish orange couch they were sitting on.
"It's comfortable, Wilson, live with it." He turned on the TV, and they watched the game, sipping their beers together in contentment.
***
"We should find a better pizza place." Brennan said, as she closed the cardboard box and put it in the garbage in their hotel room. It was, of course, just their luck that there had been one room left, not two, not three, but one, seeing as there was some sort of huge medical conference in Princeton, and all of the hotels near Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital were booked solid. Except for one room. Luckily (or not so luckily, as what Booth would describe as the devil on her shoulder would say), there were two beds, so there was no chance of any awkward bed-sharing. But there would be bathroom sharing. That, she was NOT looking forward to.
"Aww, come on, Bones, it was the only place open near to the Wal-Mart you insisted on visiting. There would have been better options if we had left the hospital before ten-thirty, and gone straight for the food, but no, you had to have your shampoo and your body wash and all of that other girly crap."
"Might I remind you that you also had several things to buy there? Neither of us was prepared for an overnight stay."
"I was." Booth said proudly. "I always have my emergency supply of clothes in the SUV. You never know when you'll get stuck in the middle of nowhere. I just figured you'd appreciate the deodorant I forgot to replace."
"Mmm." she said absentmindedly. Was that what made Booth smell so good? No, it had to be some sort of cologne. The scent was more multi-faceted than any sort of antiperspirant. No, he had to wear one of those nice, masculine ones. Maybe it came in a nice brown bottle, thick and glassy. She would have to figure it out. It wasn't likely that he kept any in his emergency supplies, so she would have to figure it out when they got back. Maybe another bottle would make a nice birthday gift for him. Would that be too much, or too little? It would depend on how much it costs. She would have to ask Angela about that one.
"Uh, Bones? Earth to Bones!" Booth's voice brought her out of her thoughts of cologne, and she felt mildly embarrassed that she had gotten so out of touch with reality over the way he smelled. Wasn't that something those flimsy girls in romances did when they were overly infatuated with their rugged, forbidden lovers?
"I was just trying to think if I knew any good pizza places around here, Booth. I've been to Princeton several times."
"Well, I knew a good place downtown about ten years ago, but I don't know if it's there anymore. Besides, we won't be here for too long, will we?"
"Well, I'll have to go back to the lab to examine the remains, but even if Dr. Wyatt's illness is diagnosed quickly, it'll take time for the treatment to work."
"Yeah, but as soon as we know he's going to be alright…"
"I suppose that's true. Cam wants me back in D.C. as soon as possible, though, so I'll have to leave you here with Dr. Wyatt. Would that be alright with you?"
Yeah, sure, leave him alone in Princeton with a sick friend and a grumpy old cripple, that sounded just fine to him.
"Sounds good, Bones. Now, do you want the bed by the window, or the bed by the door?" Either option could pose a risk. If someone was to enter through the door, Brennan could be safe on the other side of him. But if they went through the window… well, it was a tough call to make.
"I find it hard to sleep while facing the window, and I generally sleep on my left side, so perhaps I should take the bed by the door. That way, I will be facing your body rather than the window." And, she would get a nice view of him sleeping, too. Admiring his toned body was always a nice perk, if only from an anthropological sense.
"I'll take the window bed, then." There was more space between the beds and the door than the beds and the window, so maybe that was a better option. Plus, he liked to sleep on his right side, and that would give him a good view of her sleeping. Not that his infatuation had become so pathetic that he was reduced to obsessively watching her sleep. No, that would be ridiculous. He was an FBI Agent, for God's sake; surely he was better than that?
"Well, I'm going to take a quick shower and get ready for bed, if you don't mind."
Brennan's 'quick' shower turned out to last upwards of a half hour, so Booth busied himself with the pile of files he had waiting for him on the case. The FBI wanted him to familiarize himself with all of the victims, so he had a lot of reading to do. Of course, Brennan had already finished reading everything, taking in every detail about each of the victims. Fortunately, going through all of the information didn't take that long, but unfortunately, his partner still wasn't out of the shower.
"Bones!" he called, knocking on the door. "Bones, what the hell are you doing in there? I need to take a shower too, you know!"
"I'll be right out, Booth, I haven't been in here for that long!" came the answer back, and he couldn't help smiling. It was nice to hear her voice after such a long silence without it… well, okay, a half hour without it, and it was becoming more and more difficult to spend time without her. He had even been planning on inviting her to see a movie with him and Parker on the weekend, before the case had taken over. Now, however he had bigger things to worry about.
"Bones, you're going to use up all the hot water!" he replied, rolling his eyes.
"Booth, it's highly unlikely that my shower would deplete the hotel of its entire hot water supply."
"Just, hurry up, okay? I'm really tired, and I need to get some sleep."
"Of course, Booth, I forgot. I'll be out soon." He noticed how her tone had changed as soon as he had told her he needed to get some rest, and smiled again. It was nice that she cared for him as much as she did. If he could just get her to go that one step further, everything would be perfect.
He wondered how long they would have to stay in Princeton for. If more bodies got discovered, that would probably lengthen their stay ever further. It was hard enough that he couldn't see Parker until he was sure Gordon Gordon was in the clear. He hoped that whatever he had wasn't too serious. But, from his experience, vomiting blood was never a trivial thing.
The four doctors (four!) he had met appeared to be nice enough. One of them was quite pretty, but of course, didn't come anywhere near his Bones. What was everyone calling her, Thirteen? It must have been some sort of inside thing. He liked the short doctor's sense of humour (Dr. Taub, was that it?), even if his large nose was rather distracting. The black doctor, Dr. Foreman, seemed to act like a sort of leader for all of them, even though it was obvious they resented that fact. He was surprised to learn that the Australian doctor was the man that Gordon Gordon had met at the bar, though. He had to admit, however, that Robert Chase did seem miserable about something. Booth had even ended up meeting the Dean of Medicine, who, he had to admit, was pretty hot. He had always had a thing for professionals in tight clothing, but again, none of the women he met ever held a candle to Dr. Temperance Brennan. Besides, he had caught House checking out Cuddy's ass quite wistfully as she left the room. He didn't like to go for other men's women.
"I'm out of the shower, Booth, you can use the bathroom." Brennan telling him that she was out of the shower didn't prepare him for the sight of his partner standing before him, a fluffy towel wrapped around her body, barely going down past the top of her thighs. Yes, his partner had really nice legs. And there was something about a woman standing dressed only in a towel, hair dripping, the scent of her shampoo wafting out of the bathroom, that totally turned him on. So yes, perhaps a cold shower would be necessary.
"Okay, Bones, you go to bed, don't bother waiting for me. You look pretty tired, yourself." He heaved himself off of the bed, grabbing his overnight bag. Yup, the bathroom was pretty perfumed with her shampoo. As he turned the shower on and climbed in, he couldn't help but think of the fact that Brennan had been there, naked, just a few minutes earlier. He turned the temperature down a few degrees lower, scolding himself. He wasn't going to think of his partner like that while she was just a few short feet away from him, and he certainly wasn't going to use her shampoo.
When he came back into the room, some ten minutes later, he was greeted with the sight of his partner sleeping peacefully a few feet away, her hair spread around on the pillow. Before he could resist the temptation, he walked over to her and placed a kiss on her forehead, then climbed into his own bed, and completely missed the smile that had graced her features after he had placed his lips on her smooth, recently moisturized skin. Not so asleep after all. But, after the small gesture of affection, she sure felt peaceful.
Now, I have a bit of a dilemma. I can't decide what my pairing for House is going to be, so if people have any preferences, it would be nice to know them. Thanks for reading!