"You got a salad? Out of everything on the menu, you got something you can just make from scratch at home?"
Wilson smiles as he pokes a piece of cucumber with his fork, "You definitely can't get this dressing anywhere local. And you can make all of the food they have here at home."
House begins cutting up a large chunk of steak that's been drenched in some weird mushroom gravy, "Yeah, but at least it costs a lot less than what these meals do."
"Look, if it's money you're worried about - "
"Seriously? Geez, Wilson, I have at least 10 hookers at my place a week. You're the one who's paying anyway."
Wilson sighs. He stabs a cherry tomato, and watches House fill a glass with water from the corner of his eye, "You didn't have to accept my offer, you know."
House puts the bottle down, "Relax. If anything, I'm helping you run your marriage into the ground. Well, as much as it can be. I'm sure you still not talking to her didn't go to waste."
"...Thanks, House."
They're both quiet as they dig into their dishes. Around them, the air's filled with mindless babble from couples and a child's fussing over how her fries aren't salty enough a few tables from their own. House can hear the parents trying to coax her into eating them regardless, and it's making him want to go over there and deal with it himself.
But what stops him is the sound of cutlery being placed down across from him, and he pushes a piece of potato onto his fork along with some lettuce to avoid a question he knows is already brewing at the front of Wilsons mind.
As predicted, when House forces himself to look up, he sees Wilson's trying and failing to word his ask accordingly, and he picks up his glass to push towards him, "We haven't got all night, Wilson."
Wilson's momentarily stunned, but as House takes a sip of water, he somehow manages to get it out, even if he can't look him in the eye right away, "How...do you feel about me?"
Houses hand stills from putting it next to his plate, "Do you want the short answer or the sentimental answer?"
"I mean, I know how you feel about me, but...do you…."
As Wilson makes the attempt to avoid his stare, House instantly gets the message and he finally puts the glass down. A strange feeling grips his chest, and with a start, he registers it as guilt at what he's been doing this entire time.
Has he really just been toying with the guy?
Before House can respond, Wilson opens his mouth with another ask, and his face contorts as if realising something, "Why did you agree to go out with me tonight? You don't actively try to wreck my marriages, that's on me. And playing with my relationships was never a game for you, you were always respectful and - and backed off when I found someone. Sure, you had your say when Sam broke up with me, but you were there to comfort me and you even…" He chokes out a laugh, "You even talked to her about how she treated me and….and….."
Again, he leaves his sentence unfinished, and House is watching him closely as he drinks this all in. A very heavy and (soon) uncomfortable silence just crashes on them both and Wilson can't look at House at all as he silently goes through his ramblings while staring at his dinner.
He can't wait anymore.
House takes a deep breath, and starts speaking in a low voice, "I don't know how I feel about you, Wilson. I thought I knew, but…" He slowly releases it, and Wilson finally meets his eyes, "You're right, I treat everything like it's a game...even your feelings for me, and I know that's wrong and I'm sorry, I…." He glances down and quickly finds himself focusing on his now cold steak, "I think therapists have some crazy ideas about how we use humour to cover up how we really feel when we're scared or confused or we don't want to face the reality of something we know we can't control."
"And...that's how you feel about this? Us having dinner together?"
House swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, and holds Wilsons gaze. His voice is...right now, a bizarre comfort in his thought process, and if he has to be truly honest, it's probably the only thing keeping him grounded in the moment.
But..he still can't help himself.
"Does your wife know where you are? Or did you keep her in the dark about that too?"
Wilsons face goes hard in an instant, and he pushes his plate away violently before standing, "You're a real bastard, House."
House watches him practically storm to the toilets, and for a moment, he sits and just lets the couples conversations wash around him. Soon, he rests his elbows on the table, putting his head in his hands with a muffled groan, "What am I doing?" As he scrubs his hand over his eyes, they immediately land on Wilsons too expensive salad - the lettuce is already growing soggy, and there're only 3 pieces of pepper left - it's almost as sad as House feels. Dropping his hands by his sides, he reaches out for his cane, and roughly pushes himself up to limp to the toilets.
He finds Wilson furiously scrubbing his hands at the furthest sink from the door.
There's a brief relief at still finding him here, but also worry at what exactly he's walked into with Wilson being in such a state that he brought on. Wilson doesn't even acknowledge his presence, just makes sure to get every bubble of soap on each finger crevice. House busies himself looking around, and he has to admit, it's a pretty fancy restroom; the soaps are even shaped like mermaids. Not braless, unfortunately.
Though Wilson's forcing himself to pretend House isn't here, he still limps more into the room, and the end of his cane echoes against the tiled floor. In his own way, he attempts to ease the tension with a throwaway joke,
"Hope the guy who paid you was generous enough to give you a tip. And no I'm not talking about money."
"Get out, House."
He hears the dejection in his voice immediately.
House ignores the stabbing guilt in his body and has his own voice take on an edge, "I can't leave you like this. I...can't leave you hating me."
Wilson turns on him, then, the tap still running, and his eyes are stained red. His face is pained, like he hasn't been able to switch his brain off, and his tie has been tied and re-tied so many times that he's somehow made a knot at the bottom of it, "This isn't about you. This was never about you. I can't believe I let myself just...play along with this. I should've been able to handle this on my own, but I had to come to you for advice, because you're such a good friend. Or that's what you've been telling yourself for years." He wipes a hand down his cheek and it leaves a trail of bubbles on his skin, "The truth is, House, you're just a selfish jerk who can't stand seeing other people happy, because you haven't been happy for years, and if that means trying to tear down my third marriage, then congratulations, you can add that to your short list of accomplishments."
Without a single word, and not caring whether or not Wilson wants him gone, House slowly limps to the sink Wilson's standing near and turns the tap off.
He doesn't turn to face him, but he can see his pathetic figure in the mirror. From this close, he can note how pristine his suit is and how he even put a little gell in his hair. As much as he wants to bowl over laughing at just how much time Wilson put into his appearance for him out of all people. . .he knows now isn't the time.
"You're wrong by the way." House watches Wilson go over to the paper towel dispenser and rip off a couple pieces. Right now, he doesn't have the energy to wonder if he's still ignoring his presence or has had enough of dealing with him tonight. So he continues, not really paying attention to what Wilson will do next, "After my breakup with Stacy…." Wilson shakes his head, a clear cut 'i don't fucking believe this' smile on his face as he balls the towels in his hand, "I was so miserable that I thought I wouldn't find anyone again. But I did."
Wilson visibly tenses up, but still House carries on, "As strange as it sounds, Wilson, we're a couple. We fight a lot, more than friends do. You spend all your time with me when you should've been with your wives, and as much as we can't stand to be around each-other, we still keep coming back. Even my team is starting to suspect something. Probably gossipping about us as we speak."
There's a long pause, and Wilson tosses the paper ball in the trash, but still doesn't turn around. House sighs, "Whatever you need to do to get past this - take a break, cut off the friendship entirely, punch me in the face - just get it over with."
Wilson's silent for a very long minute, and after a few seconds, House takes this as his part to leave him be. The quiet thunk of his cane is the only sound in the room, and as he's about to open the door, he feels a warm hand on his arm.
Strange. He hadn't even heard Wilsons footsteps.
House stills at his touch, but Wilson doesn't do anything more than rest his
hand there, as if the fabric is enough to put him at ease in such a strained moment. A surge of something charges through him at hearing Wilsons breath become short, like he's terrified of what he's just done, and he lets his body relax, to let him know that it's okay to...cross this line. In an instant, he feels Wilson almost deflate behind him, and he lets out a steady breath before turning to face him, Wilsons hand moving up his arm to pause at his shoulder.
His eyes're wet, and there's still a very faint flicker of hatred behind them, but House doesn't focus on that for long - if he's learnt anything from Wilson, it's that sometimes all he needs to do is look at his face to get an idea of what he's really feeling.
And when it clicks, he feels Wilson trail his fingers to the nape of his neck, and bring him into a hard kiss that House practically melts into.
Whatever Wilson needs to get out of his system, he does so in the kiss; in seconds, his other hand's holding his arm, and Houses cane clatters loudly to the floor, his own hands fumbling to get Wilsons jacket off. He smells so strongly of cheap soap that it almost makes House want to push him off, but when he grabs his tie to deepen the kiss, the urge vanishes in a flash.
They move around the bathroom, occasionally bumping into the taps and the edges of sinks, but otherwise neither break away from each-other; Wilsons jacket falls to the ground, and House threads his fingers through his hair as he's backed into the towel dispenser, which elicits a groan from his lips. In an instant, Wilson's moved down to his neck, and he closes his eyes when he feels the skin just below his ear being softly bitten.
Before he can get completely lost, however, something else socks him in the face and he gently tries to get Wilson to stop.
"Wilson…"
At his name, Wilson slows his movements and trails his mouth back up to his jaw, "Yeah?"
House sighs and tilts his head up so Wilson can get the idea, and he instantly backs off in surprise, "What's wrong?"
"I…" House waits for Wilson to take his jacket from the floor and hook it behind his back, "I can't do this. You can't do this to Julie. She has a right to know what's going on." Wilson stares at him, but House just pushes past him. As much as he wants to simply give in, he knows he can't - Wilson needs to play his part too.
He's just picked up his cane when a hand's on his arm again, and he turns to say his name, but before he can get a syllable out, he's suddenly knocked back against a sink with his jaw throbbing in pain.
Wilson's breathing hard, and he's wearing his jacket again. His hand's curled into a fist which unfurls as he watches House compose himself, but he doesn't have time to say anything to him before he's given his own punch that has him falling to the ground. This time House catches his lip, and he has blood slowly dripping onto his chin. He puts his fingertips to his mouth and stares up at House in utter shock, but he's already at the door, panting.
"I know you told Julie you'd be working late. It's the same line you fed to Bonnie when you started seeing her behind her back." House winces as he touches his jaw. "I'm not letting this become a pattern, Wilson. You need to be honest with her if you really want this."
With that, he finally leaves the bathroom and heads outside to hail a taxi back to Baker Street.