deelaundry | Dance With Who Brung You (PG)

Title: Dance With Who Brung You
Characters: House, Wilson, Other Female Character
Rating: PG for language
Words: 1386
Summary: House has found a present for Wilson; for once, Wilson just goes with it.
Notes: How about a story based on DIFFERENT spoilers for 8x20 "Post-Mortem" than have been widely discussed? Something fun. Anyone interested? :)

Wilson pulled up in front of the not-so-high-end row house and stepped out of his car. (A sturdy sedan, built for reliability, silver in color so as to show the least dirt possible. Kyle Calloway was well and truly gone. House didn't miss him, but he did kind of miss the Corvette Grand Sport.)

"I'm here," Wilson called as he looked both ways before crossing the street. "And I don't see any ball gowns, ninety percent off or not, so what are we doing?"

House bit down on his lower lip, trying not to grin. To tell the truth, Wilson'd look better in Mary Ann's home-sewn than Ginger's couture, but it had been a pretty funny text, if he did say so himself.

"Found you something," House said, and hoisted himself up off the step. Took him a few moments to climb the half-flight to the row house's front door, with Wilson two steps behind (both a geisha reference and a dimwit joke popped into House's mind but he was too busy climbing without destroying thigh, hip, or shoulder), but he made it.

"I don't know what --" was Wilson's reply but House had already rung the doorbell. Wilson stayed silent through the sonorous peal, through the seven seconds of waiting, through the creak of the opening door and the cautious "Can I help you?" from the forty-something woman with the long straight nose and full lips of Lara from Dr. Zhivago.

And... Wilson continued to stay silent, so House prodded the conversation along. "Just happened to be in the neighborhood, ma'am," he said cheerily. (Arthur Zussman, JROTC Cadet Colonel and Student Body President. Delores Leander sure as hell hadn't asked House before going with Zussman to the prom.) "And James here wanted to say hi."

"James?" she replied, looking quizzically at House (why? seriously, why?) before turning her attention to Wilson. "James... You look familiar, but I can't..."

Wilson blinked and seemed to find his tongue at last. "Hi, Melanie; it's James Wilson. It's been a long time since high school."

"Wow! James Wilson!" Beaming, Melanie brought a hand up to her cheek. "High school was a long time ago; that's why it didn't click for me at first. Wow! You look good! Filled out a bit, not so skinny." She was perusing his torso at that point and seemed to miss his slight flinch. Looking back up, she took a small step forward; her arms rose awkwardly. "Can I, um, would it be ok if I hugged you?"

"Sure, yeah, ok, hi." Wilson's eyes met House's over Melanie's head as he was drawn into a maladroit social hug. The inelegance was unsurprising -- Wilson was much more fluid in avoiding embraces than, well, embracing them -- but the meaning of Wilson's glance was much less "Hell yeah" and much more "Well um" than House had anticipated. "Grab her ass," House mouthed broadly, only to be rewarded with rolled eyes and Wilson nudging Melanie back toward her door.

"In the neighborhood, huh?" Melanie leaned against her door frame, regarding Wilson fondly. "Is there a reunion I should know about, or..."

"Oh, no no," Wilson replied. "I just was thinking of you. House and I were on a trip -" He nodded in House's direction; House shifted position and tried to channel Arthur Zussman at his all-American charming-est. "This is Greg House, everybody calls him House."

'Everybody calls him House' executed a little wave to keep the crowd happy. "Anyway," Wilson continued (enough stress on both syllables to let House know the persona had been noted), "we were on a trip and Kyle Callaway's name came up."

House couldn't help grinning, thinking of the Wall of Pain picture of "Kyle" adorned with two House-supplied bunny ears; Wilson smirked a little but kept his story going. "Then I told House about the prom, and you, and you know, was just sort of reminiscing about 'the one who got away,' and then House got it into his head he wanted to meet you." Wilson glanced House's way. "I think that's how it went."

When House looked back at Melanie, her face had fallen. It was the "you poor thing, I'm devastated that your puppy is sick" look that Wilson often inspired in women, and meant Operation Nostalgia Screw was proceeding right on schedule. Wilson'd get the boink he needed, and it'd be filled with longing, and caring, and making up for past regrets, all of which was disgusting when it happened to House, but exactly the kind of freaky shit Wilson was into.

"I'm so sorry I went to the prom with Kyle instead of you," Melanie confessed. Wilson's eyes softened into wistful forgiveness, and the Exultancy Parade started up in House's head. "Especially because of your crush."

"So you did know about that," Wilson sighed. "I thought maybe you didn't know."

"Yeah, I knew, and I felt really bad." Looking chagrined, Melanie glanced down and then back up. "You were so nice, and funny, but back then... It just was..."

The pauses were getting on House's nerves, but Melanie finally blurted the rest out. "It was the '80s, you know, not like today, and our high school wasn't ready for a same-sex date at a dance. Besides, Kyle was definitely straight -- grabby-hands jerk -- and you would've gotten hurt. I didn't want that to happen to you."

"Well, uh," said Wilson, sporting the same vacant look he'd had when Hunting-Parasite Guy had called him a closet case. The Exultancy Paraders in House's mind tripped over their own feet and catapulted into elephant dung.

It was rather awesome.

"But times are different now," Melanie continued. "You can be open, and I'm so happy for you." She beamed at House. "Kyle was a jerk; it would've been awful if you'd asked him out, but you have someone great now."

"House-- I--" Wilson paused for a moment, then shook his head. "Yeah, you're right; I do." He smiled House's way, and sheesh, even Zussman-the-Masculinely-Polite wouldn't have put up with this sap-fest, even if Wilson had been a full woman instead of just mostly one. Before House could interject, though, Wilson looked at Melanie again and continued, "Guess it's kind of strange to reminisce about the one who got away with the one who didn't get away, but that's what life partners are for, right?"

House scoffed. "'Life partners.'"

"After twenty years and everything we've been through, you really think it's not apt?" Wilson was not only looking at House again, his entire body was turned House's way, his attention forming an invisible dome with Melanie quite obviously on the outside. Operation Nostalgia Screw had officially screwed the pooch. So, on to proving another point...

"True or not, 'life partner' is an horrifically stupid term."

"Hey." Wilson's scolding finger was in ready-wag position. "If you'd wanted to be called 'husband,' you could've accepted when I proposed to you."

"I hate weddings."

"But you do love bachelor parties," Wilson pointed out.

Melanie laughed, drawing Wilson's attention back (but briefly, House noted). "You certainly sound like you're married. Would you like to come in?"

"No, thanks," Wilson replied politely. "We've got somewhere to be; I really just wanted to say hi."

"Well, then." Melanie nodded. "It was great to see you, James. Nice to meet you, Greg."

House grunted and waited for the door to close. "Somewhere to be?"

Wilson shrugged. "Not any place in particular, but somewhere. Mickey's? You want dinner?" He was two steps down, waiting for House to follow.

"You really had to say 'life partners'? What if I'd wanted to do her later?"

"Seem to recall you have a plan for tricking women who think you're gay into sleeping with you, so it wouldn't be much of a problem."

Three steps left in the flight, two, one, and then they were both standing on solid ground. "You do know that despite the jokes, I'm not going to have sex with you."

"Sure." Wilson opened his car door, sat in the driver's seat and then leaned over to unlock the passenger side door.

"We're not really married."

"Uh huh."

As House buckled his seat belt, Wilson, as usual, minutely re-adjusted the rearview mirrors.

"I don't love you."

A smile spread across Wilson's face. "Everybody lies." And off they went.

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