A/N1: Thanks for the reviews and adds! You guys are the bomb which is why I'm spending the last few minutes before I go into work posting this.
A/N2: I make mention in this chapter of a card game called 'Kings in the Corner.' Not sure if anyone outside of my family has ever even heard of it before, but I figure, House always knows all kinds of random crap, so there's no reason why he shouldn't have picked it up somewhere. Please read and review.
When they landed for their layover, the men made their way across the airport to a McHale's Restaurant and Bar. Neither was hungry, so they ordered drinks instead; then Wilson pulled a deck of cards from his jean pocket.
"What else you got in there," House quipped.
"I have no cash, so poker's out. Kings in the Corner?" The diagnostician shrugged, so Wilson dealt each of them 11 cards, then flipped over four in a cross pattern. House drew a card, then placed a black three on the four of diamonds. "Go."
As his friend picked up a card from the deck, he studied him carefully. The end of his relationship with Sam had come last week, and without preamble. One minute House was at home, listing all her negative qualities to his protesting girlfriend, and the next Wilson was standing at their door, his face a picture of misery. He seemed okay now, but he never had explained the details of the breakup. Any time someone brought it up he would emit a nervous guffaw of laughter, then exit the room. Cuddy had discouraged him from needling his friend until he caved with the explanation, but they were hundreds of miles away now.
"You ever going to tell me what happened with the dear Sammy?"
Predictably Wilson forced a laugh. "Your go."
He picked up the King of Clubs, then placed it in the corner of the cross. "Do you think I'm going to let this drop because we're playing a game? Have you met me?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
House placed the Jack of Hearts down, on the top of the Queen of Spades. He considered pressing harder, but if Wilson did get mad it would make for a long flight to Europe.
"I was surprised you agreed to come so easily," Wilson suddenly commented, causing House to inspect him again. "I thought for sure you'd throw a tantrum like a three-year-old."
"Flattery will get you everywhere."
"You and Cuddy have seemed so close lately."
"You think we can't separate for a week?" He flashed his charming-smile. "You're my best bud, Jimmy."
"If you say so," replied the younger man.
Okay, he had to change the subject quick. Self-pity made him tired. "So I need more information. Where are we staying?"
"Her parents own a villa in Le Marche, which is technically four hours outside Rome. It's where the wedding will be."
"And which day is that?"
"Friday. Rehearsal dinner Thursday."
"What'll we do the other days?"
Wilson looked up and House would have sworn that he saw a flash of something dart across his friend's face, but it was gone so fast that he couldn't place the emotion. "I'm sure we'll think of something."
It seemed impossible, but 17 hours, and one more layover later they practically fell out of the plane they were so happy to be on ground. "Carly's supposed to meet us here," Wilson informed him as they stepped outside, bags in hand. Right away they found the girl parked out front, driving a very small red car. At the sight of Wilson she let out a strangled cheer and leapt out of the front seat. As she pulled her cousin into a tight hug House carefully evaluated the scene. She was short, barely coming up to Wilson's shoulders, with a dirty blond bob and brown eyes to match his best friend. She turned to him now, and offered a hand. "You must be House," she expertly deduced.
Normally House would have blown off her attempt at friendliness, but the plea in Wilson's eyes forced him to take her hand and shake it. "Wilson's a liar," he explained before she got the wrong idea.
"You didn't stop him from becoming a cocoon of depression when Amber died, or you can't play, like, every instrument known to man? Because we have a grand piano."
House grinned. "Actually, I'm the liar."
There was some upheaval about seating arrangements-Carly insisted on sitting in the back, until Wilson reminded her that he really wasn't comfortable driving four hours in a different country. They compromised by Carly and Wilson taking the seats in front, and House stretched out in the back. As they drove the long distance to the villa, House stared out the window at the scenery and quietly listened to chatter about the pair's childhoods.
"You remember when you were six and decided that all Mom's roses were possessed by Satan?"
House glanced questioningly at Wilson who shrugged. "If she didn't want me to think they were all evil, maybe she should have grown some that weren't red."
House nodded. "Not enough light green roses, I say."
The corners of his best friend's lips twitched and House grinned in spite of himself. Making fun of Wilson was familiar territory.
"A few people have already arrived," Carly told Wilson a couple of hours later, as they entered the last leg of the drive. "Lydia got in yesterday."
"Dear God," Wilson moaned. This piqued House's interest and he looked asked stance at him. "My aunt-she's a nightmare."
"Not my mom," Carly elaborated. "Her sister. Step-sister, actually. James is still mad because of her toast at his wedding to Sam." She had said the magic word. Wilson flinched but said nothing else about it. Realizing her mistake, Carly rushed to continue. "Anyway, she's not saying at the villa. She and her kids are at a place in town. She's just visiting. Said she's not leaving until she sees your smiling face."
"Oh great," Wilson answered sarcastically, but he wasn't fooling House. He knew his friend well enough to see his shoulders relax in the presence of his family, his face clear of worry lines. It was strange to see Jimmy at ease.
City roads eventually turned into side roads which turned into dirt roads. The diagnostician assured himself that Wilson probably wouldn't approve of his lesbian cousin taking him into the middle of nowhere and slaughtering him mercilessly. He was suddenly glad he hadn't pursued his Sam-centered line of questioning.
Finally Carly made a left hand turn onto a long driveway, leading up to what House assumed was the villa. It was a three storied, yellow, stone building with dark brown awnings that accented the windows, and archways to mark the entrances. The car came to a (loud, screeching) halt and the three climbed out of the tiny automobile. House found footing with his cane, and impatiently waved away his friend's hands as he attempted to help. "Wilson," he warned.
The oncologist gave a nod of acknowledgement and quickly stepped back. As Wilson pulled out both sets of luggage out of the back, House used the opportunity to absorb the scenery in front of him. He nearly let out a whistle. Miles of countryside and mountains rolled out as far as he could see. It was like something out of a freaking greeting card.
At that moment the door swung open to reveal a woman he assumed to be the other bride-to-be. A woman in her late twenties, medium height with long black hair, paired with somewhat sever eyebrows gave the impression of hardness. When Carly reached her and she held out her arms to embrace her lover, the other girl, Danielle, seemed to soften.
Already he was getting a headache. "You gonna show me to my room," he asked Wilson.
The sound of an older woman's voice swept up to them, from the front of the house. "Danielle! Has James arrived yet?"
His best friend nodded. "Quickly, before Lydia sees me." Surreptitiously they slipped in the back door and up the stairs. "That was Danielle," Wilson panted once they reached the second story. There were four bedrooms on this floor. He stepped around the older man and led the way to the room in the back. Wilson opened the door to House's bedroom.
Slowly he walked inside and felt his eyebrows rise of their own accord. Spacious, decorated with a large queen sized bed against the far wall, a bedside table, and a chest of drawers on the opposite side. But the real center of the room was on the right hand side. Tall, French doors with long flowing curtains opened out to a large balcony, big enough for the table and two chairs set up. "God, Wilson," House muttered.
"I'm going to take a nap," Wilson told him from the doorway.
House hadn't been feeling any fatigue at all, but at those words he closed his eyes, imagining the feel of the bed beneath him. "Me too."
"Want company?" Wilson turned to him; the smirk on his face said he was kidding, but the glint in his eyes said something different. But it must have been a trick of the lighting because closer inspection showed nothing more than friendly banter.
He hadn't realized how long he'd been silent until a genuine smile spread across Wilson's face. "Are you listening to me?"
"No." And with that, he firmly shut the bedroom door.
Wilson did retire to his room, but he didn't lay down-not immediately. Instead, he reached into his bag containing all his bathroom supplies (the only one he'd felt certain that House would stay out of) and retrieved a small back notebook. He flipped to the first blank page and began the list he'd formulated in his head on the plane over. If House had actually slept during the flight he would have penned it then. Alas, his friend had spent the time cajoling Wilson to play an infectious disease version of 20 Questions, Hangman, and I Spy (which had only lasted one round because Wilson wasn't comfortable guessing diseases the other passengers might have-he didn't have enough hand sanitizer to cover his entire body). It wasn't until he'd finished that he gave the thing a title. And it was the title that made him smile.
"The Courtship of Gregory House."
I hate the corny-ness of using the title in the story, but what can you do?