Pizza with a pal
Wednesday evening House was at home working on his paper, reference books spread out all over the desk, glass of scotch close to hand. During their second date while exploring his bookcase Cameron had commented that he possessed fewer medical textbooks than might be expected of the best diagnostician in the country. In truth, however, she had simply been looking in the wrong place, for House possessed a significant library, sprawling down the hallway and into his study, catalogued according to subject area. Naturally, the largest sections comprised his own specialisms of nephrology and infectious diseases, but no branch of medicine lacked representation.
House often belittled his chosen discipline, comparing it unfavourably to other pursuits, some intellectual, some not. And while he certainly did have various interests, not least drinking, sex, and television, he always came back to the old reliable. Diagnostics, the journey from identification of symptoms through to their eventual treatment, was too satisfying an endeavour to ignore for long. Medicine defined his being, and if the moment came that solving its puzzles no longer stimulated him, then his mind was already gone, and life was over. It simply was not possible for him to comprehend a situation where science no longer appealed. He saw much in shades of grey, but some things really were black and white.
The knock on the door disrupted his train of thought and he looked up, having completely forgotten that tonight was pizza night. "It's open!", he yelled.
Wilson walked in, balancing pizza boxes and a six-pack of beer. "I got thin crust and meat-free toppings for a change", he called down the corridor.
House exited the sanctuary of his study and ambled through to the living area. "Most mid-life crises involve women and fast cars. But your chosen expression is pizza flavours. That's great, man—no one gets hurt and your bank balance doesn't have a Ferrari-sized hole in it. Down side is your best friend thinks you're a giant wuss. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me".
The other cracked open a beer and handed one over, before both men sank into the sofa in front of the TV. "I just think it would be a good idea if we cut back on our meat consumption; do our bit to save the planet".
House rolled his eyes, and his face fell even more when he threw back the lid and saw that both pizzas were indeed vegetarian. "For God's sake, I thought you were joking. What the hell is this?", he asked, pointing accusingly at the nearest one.
"Red peppers, sweetcorn, mushroom, and olives. And the other is cheese, courgette, and chive; both are specially prepared to be low fat".
House took a swig of beer. "I thought you said we were eating this for the environment. But now you're saying it's for health reasons. You need to get your story straight, bud".
"Why can't it be both?".
He said nothing for a few moments, chewing suspiciously. Wilson had only ever betrayed an interest in losing weight, or indeed in societal talking points like the environment, when a woman was on the scene. House could remember the almost frenzied process of self-improvement stimulated by Samantha's arrival in the oncologist's life. Marriage had followed soon after and divorce a little later still. When it seemed like the matter had been dropped, House asked conversationally: "so, who's the lucky girl?".
"Your momma", Wilson replied instantly. "We were going to confess our relationship to you at Thanksgiving, but since you'll be missing it for the London conference, you may as well know now. I think it may be love".
"Well, you're welcome to try it on. Old Blythe is a real man-eater. I think she'd chew you up and spit you out in no time. I'd like to watch that". As soon as he spoke the words a grimace flashed across his face. "Wait, scratch that".
The other man took a huge bite out of the olive pizza and tried to pretend like he was enjoying it. "Hey, your mom would be lucky to have me. I can be a real charmer when necessary".
"It's more that you'd have to deal with my dad, the former marine pilot. Now that I would like to watch from a ringside seat—they'd be scraping you from the canvas". Again, the mental image was an unpleasant one. "Ugh, never mind. I take that back as well. Can we change the subject? It's hard enough eating this crap as it is".
"You were the one who brought up women. I'm just trying to enjoy my sweetcorn and mushroom pizza in peace".
"Said no one ever", muttered House. The pair lapsed into silence, making hard work of their food. The diagnostician had nothing against vegetables per se, and they had their place as accompaniments to meat, but he couldn't condone a completely vegetarian dish. The concept was unnatural. Like evolution. Or French fries without salt. The only tactic was to take his mind off it. "So", he tried again, "who's the lucky girl?".
Wilson replied quickly once more. "Grandma House. Women with no teeth turn me on".
"Alas, she is no longer with us", returned House calmly, bottle at his lips.
"Sorry", corrected Wilson. "I meant dead chicks turn me on". But like his friend two minutes prior, he couldn't go through with it and shuddered involuntarily. "Scratch that".
"You're too wholesome for necrophilia, man. Just stick to your comfort zone: hot, preferably blonde, damsels in distress…".
The words trailed off as a theory appeared in his brain. He had been too swept up with Cameron to check in on his friend's love life. As far as he knew, Wilson had been single since his chances with Mathilde had fallen through. And she had gone out with Chase afterwards. But now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen she and Chase together for some time, and he knew that the latter actually liked Cameron. Maybe Mathilde had been cast aside recently, a beacon of neediness to James Wilson, fixer of desperate situations. House should've seen it sooner. It was virtually a soap opera storyline, his speciality.
Wilson saw the familiar glazed look that signalled the onset of an epiphany. He sighed and shovelled more pizza onto his plate, pre-empting House: "Fine, you win. I saw Mathilde for coffee a couple of days ago. Look, I know what you're going to say-".
"-you would make very cute children", interjected House with a grin.
"OK, I didn't think you'd say that", he continued. "Really?".
"Yeah. I've told you before: you've got a boyish, fresh-faced charm, and if we add that to Mathilde's Swedish babe-ness, well, it's a pretty potent genetic soup right there".
"That's nice of you to say. D'you think she'd want children with me, then?".
"Not a chance, no".
"Fair", grunted the other, taking a swig of beer.
"Are you going to see her again, James?".
Wilson's eyes narrowed, always on guard when first names were in play. "I don't know, Greg. Why?".
"I'd just like a hint as to whether I need to actually devote some time to figuring this wench out, or whether I can just get by with minimal reconnaissance". House had finally finished his dinner, having taken twice as long as usual. The next time he saw a vegetarian pizza within these walls it was spinning out of the apartment window along with the man who brought it.
Wilson sat back and folded his arms. "The alternative, and hear me out here, is that you don't talk to her at all and just let me get on with it. Radical, I grant, but I think it's an approach we can adopt for once".
"I hardly think that's fair. You and Cuddy have been all up in my grill about Cameron for the past four months. Surely it's time I returned the favour".
Wilson considered this comment for a moment or two. On the one hand, it was always risky having House anywhere near potential or actual girlfriends because he had an uncanny ability to scare them off, wilfully or otherwise. On the other hand, though, Wilson also appreciated that his friend was hardwired to meddle, to pull out his callipers and scanning equipment and have a poke around. Maybe it was wiser to let him get it out of his system sooner rather than later, before things with Mathilde went any further. Plus, she was now far better prepared to deal with his antics, having been informed of House's modus operandi. "Fine. I'd rather you didn't approach her but, if it's necessary, you do what you need to do", he said finally.
"Wow, that was easy. Can I sleep with her, too? I'm on the lookout for threesome partners". House drained his beer and picked up a second from the pack by the couch.
"Good one. There's not a snowball's chance in hell that Cameron's agreed to that".
"Did I ever tell you about a case we had last year where a wife was poisoning her husband with gold?".
The change in subject took Wilson by surprise, but he played along. "Hmm. Yes, I remember—around the time you invited me to stay here and then complained about my morning grooming regimen, ate all my food, and deleted the messages from my realtor".
"Hole in one. You smart; you go far. Anyway, during the patient history we discovered that the wife had organised a threesome for the husband just a few weeks prior. College roommate".
"Huh. Sounds like the perfect marriage", mused Wilson.
"I know, right? Maybe that's why all yours have failed. More threesomes needed. In any case", House continued quickly before Wilson could complain, "the minions came to the same conclusion as you, and during the course of our debate Cameron let slip, and I'm quoting her directly now, 'if you ask me, if two people really trust each other, a threesome once every seven years might actually help a marriage'".
"No way".
House held his hands up. "I'd never lie about such things. You know how seriously I take sex in its many glorious forms". Of course, he was conveniently forgetting to mention that her reaction to the idea a couple of days ago had been decidedly lukewarm. But Wilson didn't need to know that.
"Well, even if that's true, it doesn't mean she'd have one with you. Besides, she specified marriage, and you aren't married".
"Sure, but at least she seems open to the principle. And that's all you can ask for really, isn't it?".
"You're a lucky bastard. Damn, it's annoying".
"What are pals for, eh?".
"Pass me another beer, baldy, so I can drown my sorrows. Whose idea was vegetarian pizza, anyway? God, that was gross. I'd rather be fat".
House laughed at this response, but duly handed over a fresh bottle before picking up the television remote and flicking over to Netflix, quickly locating the series they had been steadily working through most Wednesdays for the past month. Within minutes, both were engrossed, and the dinner debacle soon forgotten.
