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Remy stands in front of her previously-boss’s condo, bracing herself. She’s tired, she probably looks awful, and she hopes everything’s going to work out. She takes a deep breath, hoping to god that it’s the idiot’s husband that opens the door, and knocks. She can hear music coming from inside, soft and slow and a little melancholic. Soon enough, someone calls a muffled ‘coming’, although she can’t tell who of the two. She stands and waits, still hoping.
The door opens slowly, which should probably already tell her it’s going to be Wilson behind it, thank god. She puts a little smile on her face but she knows she’s not going to fool him. Not going to fool either of them, really. “Hi,” she breathes out when the door is finally open. She’s so tired she’s pretty sure he can see right through her.
Wilson stands there by the door. He’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt that looks like one of House’s, still fidgeting with it after having obviously just put it on. His mouth hangs a little open with surprise. She’s supposed to be out of the country with Amy, as far as they know. It’s a fair response all in all.
“The prodigal daughter returns,” she says softly with a small bow, spreading her hands theatrically.
Wilson recovers at that, smiling at her. He moves a little to let her in, and she walks into the condo to the sound of the piano that never falters. “So, back in the States?” he asks when they walk in. The piano stops, apparently, House is now interested in the unknown guest invading his home.
“Yeah, our trip got cut short.” As they walk into the living room House pivots from the piano, his expression morphing into a mixture of surprise and curiosity upon seeing that it’s her. Wilson motions for her to sit on the couch and darts to the kitchen. He’s gone for a couple of minutes, through which she sits there awkwardly while House stares her down and says nothing before he’s back with a glass of water that he shoves into Remy’s hands.
“Thanks,” she says, taking it from him. He sits by her side and she takes a deep breath, settling in for the conversation ahead. “We got a call from Amy’s father,” she begins. “Her grandfather passed away unexpectedly. We took the first flight we could find so she could pack a bag and fly out there for a few days.” Her gaze falls to her hands, her voice trailing off for a moment.
“I couldn't… I couldn’t join her.” It’s a tough subject, and she really doesn’t want to talk about it. But unfortunately, she has a stupid agenda designed by stupid mentally stable people to deal with stupid grief about your stupid terminal illness or whatever. No funerals if you don’t feel like you can handle them, no staying home alone, no sinking into the depression that is always luring somewhere close.
“Of course,” Wilson says. His eyes bear into her soul and she’s very thankful, and still very – very – confused as to how these two ended up together. House is still staring without saying a word.
“Anyways,” she says, trying to shake her discomfort away, “I’m not really supposed to stay alone? I’m… starting to have some very initial symptoms, mostly tremors in my hands, and Amy doesn’t trust my mental state when it comes to those fucking symptoms. I kind of promised her I’d come by here to—“She’s about to stumble through the request, but Wilson beats her to it.
“Oh come on, you can stay here for sure,” he rushes, not even giving House a look.
“You sure it’s okay? It’s a few days, I’m not completely sure how many,” she says, this time looking at House.
Wilson is about to respond, she can hear him open his mouth. But before he can open his mouth to utter the words, House responds with unexpected decisiveness. “Stay,” he says, leaving no room for argument. She nods gratefully.
She follows Wilson in the direction of the guest bedroom soon after. The room is still as put-together as it was a few years back when she was here last. She stands in the doorway as Wilson digs out a couple of towels from the linen closet by the door and walks in to put them on the bed. “Please, make yourself at home. You caught Greg in a melancholic mood, hence the background music,” he chuckles a little. She smiles at him, appreciative of his attempt to lighten the mood. “But he’s going to behave, I promise. Have you had dinner?”
Remy smiles at him because she can’t make herself stop. He’s so sweet and welcoming and she already feels a little better even though it’s awfully awkward. “I have, yeah,” she admits. “Plane food. Not great, but I’m full. Wouldn’t be opposed to a beer though, long day.”
Wilson nods at her understandingly. “Yeah, I assumed so. Get yourself settled, I’ll get you a beer.” He gets up to leave the room. The piano blends into the background, muffled by the now-closed door. She gets her stuff out, arranges everything she needs, and loses her shoes. Then, with a deep breath to still herself, she walks out to the living room.
She braves the living room eventually. The image she finds there is the epitome of domesticity, which still doesn’t fail to amaze her each and every time she experiences it. There are three bottles of beer on the coffee table. House is still in front of the piano, playing a sort of melancholic ambient music. Wilson is sitting in the middle of the couch, glasses sitting low on his nose as he reads a magazine. They’re silent, not communicating with each other, and yet somehow it still feels like they’re enjoying each other’s company.
Remy approaches the couch carefully and sits in the corner, smiling awkwardly when Wilson lifts his head to look at her. When he sees her he closes the magazine and places it on the couch next to him. He bends forward, grabs a bottle of beer, and hands it to her. “Here,” he smiles, his smile putting her at ease. She takes it from him and he goes to lift another one. “Greg, you want a beer?”
House hums, music still playing. He turns his head though to give Wilson a small smile, and Wilson rolls his eyes and gets up from the couch, handing House the beer. He takes the bottle from him, twists the cap off, and takes a swig. Then, he places both the bottle and the cap on the bench next to him. Wilson just turns and takes his spot on the couch again, this time turning a bit to face Remy.
“So, how was your flight?” he asks, twisting off the cap on his beer and placing it on the coffee table. She takes the cue and twists off hers, placing the cap next to Wilson’s.
“Terrible,” she sighs, taking a sip. “So many kids everywhere, everyone screaming, and we were both so tired we just wanted to catch a couple hours of sleep before we had to make the drive home.”
“Fly first class next time,” House mumbles from his spot. The music is low, like background music that you stop noticing after a while. It doesn’t bother the conversation at all. She wonders if it’s like that every time House comes home on the melancholic side.
“They probably took anything they could find,” Wilson reasons, looking at Remy with a raised eyebrow. She nods her confirmation mid-sip.
“Yeah, it was either that or waiting a couple of days and Amy really needed to get home.”
House’s playing starts slowing down, becoming fatigued. Eventually, he abandons the keys and gets up with a sigh. One hand grabs his cane and the other his bottle, cap left abandoned on the bench, and he makes his way to the couch. This time Remy completely expects him to sit almost on top of Wilson, having witnessed it before.
House plops down, unintentionally crushing the magazine beneath him as he does. Wilson’s eyes roll in exasperation and he yelps, moving to retrieve the magazine from under House with a resigned shake of his head. House’s eyebrows wiggle as Wilson’s hand dives beneath him, and Remy has to laugh at how ridiculous this entire thing is. He places it on the coffee table.
Their sides brush together as House settles back, an apparent closeness probably born of years of marriage that still looks weird to an outsider like Remy who is used to the two’s hospital relationship. House breaks the silence with a stupid remark about the beer, which in turn causes Wilson to chuckle and engage in the banal conversation. It acts as a stupid yet effective ice-breaker, instantly making Remy feel a little more comfortable.
As the night wears on exhaustion creeps in on her. She interjects the conversation with an ill-timed yawn that causes her to chuckle, embarrassed. “I hate to be a party pooper but I think if I don’t go to sleep now I might be dead in an hour,” she says with a sheepish smile, stretching her arms above her head.
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Go get some rest. We’re both leaving in the morning for work, but you know House – you might still see him in the morning. I’ll leave a spare key on the kitchen table for you in case you want to go out or something?” Wilson responds warmly, offering her a sympathetic smile.
“Sounds good, thanks,” she says. She rises from the couch, the weight of fatigue evident on her limbs. “Thanks, again. Night.”
“Night, Thirteen,” House calls after her, his voice surprisingly soft.
As she closes the door, she can hear their muffled voices as they agree to go to sleep as well. She sinks into the bed, the softness welcoming her with the promise of a good night's sleep. She texts Amy a last goodnight message, places her phone on the bedside table, and closes her eyes.
Morning light filters through the curtains as Remy stirs awake. The first thing she notices is the faint scent of coffee wafting into the room through the door. She rubs the sleep from her eyes and sits up. It’s late, Wilson is probably already gone. She can hear the telltale of someone in the kitchen. With a tired sigh, she stretches and gets up to go to the bathroom to get herself presentable.
When she pads out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, she finds House sitting by the kitchen island already ready for work, sipping on a cup of coffee. “Morning sunshine,” he greets her with a smirk, voice laced with playful sarcasm. “Sleep well?”
Remy rolls her eyes in response. “Like a log,” she confirms, unable to suppress a small smile. This feels good, and natural. There’s a sense of comfort in it, a familiarity that makes her feel oddly at home.
House gestures lazily towards one of the cabinets. “Help yourself to some coffee so Wilson doesn’t say I’m a lousy host.”
Remy chuckles softly and follows the instructions, pulling a random cup from the cabinet and pouring herself some coffee. She takes a breath in, enjoying the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and joins him by the island. They sit in companionable silence, both not great morning people. Remy gets lost in her thoughts, thinking about Amy and their trip and their life in general.
Finally, House breaks the silence, his tone a little more serious. “Wilson instructed to show you the spare keys, so – Thirteen, meet the spare keys.” He points at the table behind them where a couple of keys rest. “There’s the building door and the apartment key there.”
“Thanks, House,” she says, and she knows he understands she doesn’t mean the keys specifically. “I’m sorry I’m invading your home, I appreciate it.”
With a nod of acknowledgment that somehow tells her that he’s not actually that mad about it, House finishes his coffee and rises from his chair. “Don’t mention it,” he mutters gruffly, placing the cup in the dishwasher. Without another word, he heads towards the door, leaving Remy to ponder the unexpected kindness hidden beneath his rough exterior.
They both return home together. Remy guesses they’ve coordinated their leaving of the hospital. She’s sitting in the living room reading Wilson’s abandoned magazine from the day before. She’s completely absorbed by an article about lung cancer when the door opens and they both walk in. She looks up as they enter, a curious expression on her face as she observes the two of them, clearly engaged in some conversation she only catches the tale of. Their words are too soft for her to catch their meaning. As she watches, she notices something about House is different – a rare smile is spread on his face, genuine if the dimples are any indication, a happy twinkle in his eyes and his features lit up with a rare sense of contentment.
Remy sets the magazine to her side and rises from her seat. “Oh my, what’s got you in such a good mood?” she asks, unable to control her curiosity.
House’s smile widens, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Just sharing a joke,” he replies casually, although there’s a warmth to his tone that she just can’t ignore.
Wilson nods in agreement, a playful twinkle in his eye. “Nothing important,” he adds with a grin, but the look he gives House tells her there’s an unspoken understanding between them. Suddenly, she isn’t so sure she wants to know anymore. It warms her heart though, somehow, to know that there are some genuine connection moments between Wilson and House that only they know of. Private, yet amazing, moments that just make them them.
They share a look again before Wilson excuses himself to go take a shower. “Take care of dinner,” he tells House before he disappears into their bedroom, closing the door behind him. Remy picks the magazine up again and goes back to reading her article.
“Pizza okay for tonight?” House asks when they’re left alone. He makes his way to the couch and sits on its other side, pulling the landline from the small table by the couch and placing it in his lap.
“Yeah, sounds good,” she says. There’s something nice about the thought of a familiar fast-food dinner. She had a conversation with Amy earlier when she was still alone at the house, and the complaints about the awful food they’d been receiving from friends and neighbors made her crave something greasy and simple. The pizza sounded great.
“Alright, pizza it is,” House mumbles, his fingers already flying across the pad as he dials the number he apparently remembers by heart. He waits a bit for the place to pick up. “Yeah, hello, I need to place an order for delivery,” he says, pausing briefly to listen to the voice on the other side. “One large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, and one large cheese pizza. And make sure it’s not too oily this time, last time it was swimming in oil like a fish.”
Remy watches with amusement as House goes on. “And a side order of garlic bread. And don’t forget it. I’m serious, this is a matter of life or death – my life or death. You don’t want to find out what I’m capable of if I can feel my death coming.”
He listens for a moment longer, brow furrowed in mock seriousness. “Good,” he says finally. “Don’t mess it up, and hurry up we’re hungry.” With that, he hangs up the phone, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He turns to Remy and shrugs. “Well, that’s taken care of, should be here in about half an hour.” There’s a mischievous glint in his eye that suggests he thoroughly enjoyed the exchange. Remy can’t help the fond little shake of her head at his antics.
When Wilson emerges from the bedroom, he looks awfully comfortable. There’s a visible change in his demeanor moving from wearing a full-on suit to wearing a simple t-shirt and pajama pants. House takes it as his cue and gets up from the couch making his way to the bathroom. Remy watches as their paths cross in the hallway, and as they pass each other, House leans in and steals a quick, playful kiss, catching Wilson off guard.
He moans softly and chases the kiss before he can catch himself, and Remy smirks when he turns crimson red, a bashful smile tugging on his lips. “Uh, thank you,” he mumbles, his voice betraying a hint of embarrassment.
“Anytime, James,” House grins wickedly at him, clearly enjoying his flustered reaction, and moves on, grabbing his ass and squeezing softly before he disappears into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
Wilson turns to look at Remy, still flustered. “Did uh… Did… Did Greg take care of dinner?”
Remy nods, lips quirking up in amusement. She chuckles, nodding. “Yep, he did. Gave them hell about a side order of garlic bread.”
Wilson’s eyes light up at the mention of garlic bread, his face turning soft with fondness. “That might be my fault,” he tells her, joining her on the couch. “I might have warned him last time we had pizza that if he ever forgets to order garlic bread again he will spend the night on the couch…” Remy has to laugh at that. Leave it to House to threaten a poor employee just so he doesn’t have to sleep on the couch.
They sit in silence for a minute or two, Remy finally giving up on the magazine and setting it on the coffee table. ”So,” Wilson breaks the silence eventually, “Should we watch a movie with dinner?”
There’s really no reason not to, so of course she nods. He smiles at her and grabs the remote, turning the TV on and starting to scroll through the TiVo list. “Mm… Anything specific you feel like?”
House chooses the moment to emerge from the bedroom, hair still wet and dripping all over the floor.
“Honestly Greg,” Wilson breathes out with a sigh. House shakes his head like a wet dog in response. He walks straight to the piano and sitsdown on the bench. “Find something with some action,” he says, fingers sliding on the piano. Remy notes that today’s music is happy and upbeat. It makes Wilson’s comment from yesterday make more sense. The music matches House’s mood as if it’s a tool to express his emotions without talking about them. Everybody lies. It’s their actions that matter.
“I was thinking more RomCom,” Wilson admits with a mumble.
“Oh, for the love of god,” Remy groans, the happy piano in the background not matching her tone, “please put something funny. I’m not in the mood for violence or lovey-dovey shit. I have enough of the latter right here.”
She’s smiling, because really they’re cute. But, of course, House has to ruin everything by making it obnoxiously cute. He moves impossibly closer to Wilson, who just sits there smirking. He leans his head on Wilson’s shoulder and cuddles into his side with a happy sigh. Wilson’s hand lifts and wraps around his husband, pulling him closer to his side as he plants a kiss to his temple.
House looks up at Wilson and gives him a dopey smile. “I love you, hubby,” he says, sickly sweet. Wilson bursts out laughing and kisses his temple again with a soft “I love you too.”
Remy groans and lets her head drop into her head. “I feel like a child whose parents are trying really hard to embarrass her,” she says into her hands with a miserable laugh.
The laughter she hears is foreign and she lifts her head to realize it’s House that’s laughing. A genuine laugh, not a mean one, with dimples and everything. Maybe she feels a little proud of herself for that, maybe she feels like it’s a little less of a previous-boss and employee relationship and a little more a regular friendship, maybe she likes it. Sue her.
There’s a ding from the door and Wilson gets up. He grabs his wallet from the kitchen and goes to open the door, accepting the pizza and leaving the guy a generous tip. Remy can only assume he feels guilty for House’s threats. House finds a stupid, funny movie to replay, and Wilson appears a moment later with two plates. He sets them on the coffee table and goes back to the kitchen, coming back with a plate of his own and another plate with some garlic bread.
When he sits back down, it’s a little further from House. Remy notes how, within seconds, House scoots closer to Wilson. He cuddles back into his side, hugging the plate in front of him. They start the movie and fall into a comfortable silence, eating and watching.
When the movie is over she gets up and picks all the plates up to put in the kitchen. “Thanks,” Wilson whispers at her. She looks at him for the first time in a while to realize that House has dozed off on Wilson’s shoulder.
“Sure,” she says quietly. She nods her head to where House’s head rests, “Should I get you anything?”
Wilson shakes his head, but before she reaches the kitchen she hears a soft “Thirteen?” She turns around to look at him, smiling. “Could you actually get his pills? They’re on the counter by the fridge.”
Remy returns to the kitchen with a cup of water for herself and House’s pills. She hands Wilson the pillbox and sits down carefully so House doesn’t stir. Which proves to be futile when Wilson shakes House awake a second later. “Greg,” he says, kissing his temple softly. “Darling, wake up. The movie’s over, and you should probably take another pill before you go to bed.”
House shakes his head and mumbles something incoherent. Remy has no idea how, but Wilson seems to understand exactly what he’s trying to say. “No, no, I have them here, Thirteen brought them over. Do you want water with it?”
House blinks his eyes open and straightens himself, looking at his husband groggily. With a small shake of his head, he opens his mouth and lets Wilson drop the pill into his mouth, swallowing it dry. “Thanks, Love,” he says to Wilson, dropping his head back on his husband’s shoulder. Remy suspects he’s too tired to realize he let it slip because she’s never heard him call Wilson anything but Wilson and the occasional James. Her suspicions are confirmed when Wilson gives her a quick look, cheeks flushing.
“Can I help you get things ready here before I turn in?” Remy asks, motioning to House who is already nodding off again.
Wilson looks like he’s in full caretaker mode. One hand cradles House’s head as the other moves things around them until he finds the remote to turn the TV off. He nods at her gratefully. “Actually, could you turn the lights off in the kitchen, and maybe check that the front door is locked?”
She steps to the kitchen and presses random switches until something works, then moves to the front door. As she secures the door, she glances back to see Wilson coaxing House to his feet. He speaks so softly she can’t make out his words, but House gets up. His hand goes over Wilson’s shoulders and he puts some of his weight on him.
With a weird sense of admiration for Wilson’s unwavering care, Remy lets them lead the way to the bedrooms their steps slow and steady, switching the living room light as they pass the switch. “Good night,” she whispers.
“Good night, Thirteen,” Wilson replies.
The next morning when she wakes up the house is silent. The faint smell of coffee lures her out of bed and after a quick detour to the bathroom, she emerges into the main area, finding it completely empty. There’s a clean mug on the kitchen island, and underneath it there’s a piece of paper in House’s familiar handwriting.
James wanted to leave you a note but I decided to spare you his godawful handwriting. We carpooled because he said it’s too wet outside from the rain and therefore I had to leave at the butt-crack of dawn. Boo.
Thirteen chuckles, picking up the mug. She turns to pour herself some coffee and sits down on the couch. There’s a new issue of the magazine on the coffee table, and she opens it up and flips through it looking for anything interesting to read. It holds her interest for a while until her phone rings and Amy’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hey,” she says when she flips it open. “I was just thinking about calling you a little later.”
They speak for a bit. Remy tells her about House and Wilson and the previous night, and Amy whines a little about the unwanted guests coming to bid their respects. They have to end the call pretty quickly, but right before they’re done Amy mentions that she booked a flight for tomorrow. One more night until they can reunite.
Sometime late in the afternoon, the door opens and Wilson walks in alone. Remy looks up from her spot on the couch and gives him a confused look. “Thought you went in together?”
Wilson sighs, closing the door behind him. “Yeah, I took a cab, his patient wasn’t stable. He’ll probably be able to leave in an hour or so but I really needed to get out of there. Long day you know?” Wilson looks absolutely exhausted. He loosens his tie and toes off his shoes by the door. “Sorry, I’m gonna go take a shower I’ll be right back.”
When he emerges back from the bedroom half an hour later, Wilson looks like a new person. He smiles at her and heads straight to the kitchen. “Right, sorry about that. Is pasta okay for dinner?”
“Yeah, of course, should I help?” Remy asks. She gets up from the couch and moves to sit by the kitchen island to at least keep Wilson company. He shakes his head in response, already bending to pull pots out of the cabinet.
“So, umm…” she starts after a second. Wilson turns to give her a small, encouraging smile. “I talked to Amy, she’s flying back tomorrow. So I’ll be out of your hair in a bit.”
“Oh, come on Thirteen seriously, we’re happy to have you here. You’re our friend.” He says it matter-of-factly but it’s still touching, way more than it should be, to hear him call her their friend. Sometime along the way she crossed from being a moron fellow to being their friend, and she likes it. They make her laugh, they make her crazy. They’re completely disgustingly cute, but they’re her friends. It’s nice.
“Still,” she says, watching him start the water for the pasta. “I appreciate it, Wilson.”
She sits for a while just observing him. “So,” he breaks the silence once he pours the pasta into the boiling water. “You and Amy sound serious?”
Remy chuckles. Somehow she thinks this conversation wouldn’t happen if House were home to crinkle his nose at it. “I know, who’d’ve thought right?” she jokes.
Wilson shrugs. “I guess I did,” he says. She can see his smile when he turns to pull some ingredients from the fridge. She doesn’t say anything for a while and she guesses Wilson feels it’s a little awkward for her so he provides the next bit of conversation, trying to steer her into it. “You… said you had some symptoms? I mean, feel free to tell me to fuck off if you don’t want to talk about—“
“It’s fine,” she says, but she’s grateful for how thoughtful he is. “Yeah, my hands aren’t as steady as they used to be. It’s really minor at the moment, but let’s just say I don’t feel great about it…”
Wilson strains the pasta, sets it back on the counter, and turns around to look at her. He leans on the counter, crossing his hand over his chest. “And Any?”
Remy thinks about her girlfriend. There’s a soft small tugging on her lips at the thought of how amazing she is. “She’s great. She knows it’s going to get exponentially worse and for some reason, she’s still there every morning when I wake up…”
She meets Wilson’s eyes for a second and smiles at him. She has no idea why Amy stays, how she doesn’t run away at the thought of having to take care of a very sick Remy, but she does. Every day she chooses to stay is a mystery and a miracle all at once.
“Well, I think—“ Wilson starts, but stops when there’s a click and a turn from the door and House walks in.
“Hi,” House says as he closes the door behind him. Remy sees Wilson’s eyes grow big and excited, like he’s been waiting for days and not a single hour for his husband to come home. House stands by the door and takes his coat off, hanging it and walking into the kitchen. “Mm smells nice,” he mumbles, sticking his nose closer to the pot of simmering sauce.
“I just pulled the sauce you made last week from the freezer,” Wilson shrugs.
“Which is why it smells so nice,” House says like it’s obvious, “because I made it.”
“Ha,” Wilson mocks, but it’s swallowed by a kiss that House plants on his lips. Remy just sits there, quietly watching, as House deepens the kiss and his hand goes behind Wilson’s back to make sure he doesn’t fall back with the force of it.
“Hello to you too, House,” she deadpans when they finally break free.
“Thirteen,” House nods at her. She can see right through his mocking face though, something soft at the edges that tells her that he is, in fact, happy to see her.
House wraps his hands around Wilson’s waist and pulls until Wilson stands from the counter. Before House has a chance to do anything, Wilson turns the stove off. He pulls softly until Wilson gets the clue and follows him to the kitchen island. House pulls a chair by Remy’s side and drags it a bit so he can sit facing her, sits down, and pulls Wilson closer to him. Wilson rolls his eyes, fondness in them, and shifts his weight a little so he leans against the back of the chair, House’s hand still around his waist. House’s head falls to rest on Wilson’s chest and he sighs happily. Wilson’s hand goes into House’s hair and scratches softly at his scalp as he plants a soft kiss on the crown of his head.
“Anyways,” Wilson says softly, looking at Remy with another roll of his eyes. “I say this as the expert in I don’t know why he stays,” he says, his voice mocking, and plants another kiss on House’s head, “there’s more to it than just taking care of you. She loves you.”
House protests a little, probably only half listening to their conversation. He pulls Wilson a little closer and nuzzles into his chest, taking a deep breath. “You smell good,” he says sleepily. “And I know why you stay.”
Wilson shakes his head fondly, looking down. “Yeah, I think Thirteen would appreciate it if you kept that to yourself. God knows I will.” He chuckles when House hums dismissively. “Why don’t you go take a shower and get changed so we can have dinner?” House lets out a whine. Remy starts thinking that maybe it’s not that uncharacteristic of him to do just that. He gets up, steals another kiss from Wilson, and disappears into the bedroom.
“You should both come over for dinner at some point,” Wilson tells her when House is out of earshot.
“Do you think waiting for House to go before asking will save you from him killing you for setting up a double date?” Remy cackles.
Wilson blushes a little when he rolls his eyes at her. “Greg will live. Besides, I think he’ll be convinced if you promise to let him see you kiss her.”
They both laugh at that. “Sure, fine, Amy’s been begging me to meet you guys anyway; she’s fascinated by my stories about how a teddy bear like you married an ass like him. But to be honest I think I’m getting convinced that House is softer than you actually are after a couple of days here.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Wilson stage whispers when he turns to portion the pasta into three plates. He looks over his shoulder to make sure the bedroom door is still closed, then continues. “But he’s definitely a cuddle monster.”
“So umm, I told Wilson earlier, but Amy’s flying in tomorrow, so I’ll be out of here soon,” Remy tells House when they all sit down by the table, hot plates of pasta in front of them. Wilson sets wine glasses in front of them and walks back into the kitchen.
“White or red?” he asks no one in particular.
“Red goes best with the pasta,” House answers. “So, last night here?”
Remy nods. “Yeah. Thanks again, really.”
Wilson comes back with a bottle of wine. He sits down next to House and hands him the bottle. House takes it with a sift nod, and turns to open it. “Well,” Wilson says when House finally pours the wine. He lifts his glass up a little. “Here’s to your reuniting with your girlfriend?”
Remy smiles gratefully, picking up her wine glass as well. “Thanks.”
“Here’s to wonderful sex after,” House says with a twinkle of mischief, lifting his glass in the air, “for all of us.”
They eat, falling into a conversation about House’s patient. Remy makes a comment about one of the symptoms that makes House go Aha and he gets up mid-bite to call the team, making them run a couple of tests to confirm his newest diagnosis. Wilson looks at him with awe, still eating happily.
“The sauce is really good,” Remy tells House when he’s back. She knows he’s a good cook, but she doesn’t actually get to try many of his dishes, and every time she does she’s still surprised at how good he actually is.
“Well, wait until you see what I’m planning to cook for when you come here for our scheduled play date,” he answers, raising his eyebrows at Wilson. Wilson ducks his head, the tips of his ears a little red. House shakes his head in mock exasperation and turns back to Remy. “Leave it to James to set a double date the second you say you’re leaving in a day.”
They finish dinner and move to the living room. Remy and Wilson both take a seat on the couch while House pads to the piano as usual. Today’s background music is soft, not too happy but not melancholic either, just relaxed and enveloping, kind of sleepy.
Wilson hands her the magazine, and Remy takes it with a nod of her head flipping through it until she finds the article she started reading earlier. He picks up a book that is resting by the phone and opens it, and they sink into a comfortable silence, House’s music in the background.
It feels like some sort of routine. Background music playing until House is too tired and joins them on the couch, cuddling into his husband like a little cuddle monster. Soft conversations, stupid TV shows, until they are all too tired and going to bed.
In the morning when Remy leaves the bathroom and walks into the kitchen it’s already empty. There’s a mug again on the kitchen island with a little not under it, in House’s handwriting.
James said to tell you that we’re sorry we couldn’t stay to say goodbye, but apparently, my team is a bunch of idiots who can’t do anything on their own, and since it’s still raining we both had to leave too early. Lock after yourself when you leave, the key is a spare so you can just bring it with you next time you come over.
There’s a little arrow at the end of the page, so Remy turns the paper over. Her eyebrows shoot up at the messy handwriting and she squints, trying to decipher whatever it says.
Just wanted to add that we had a great time having you over and you’re always welcome here. I’ll call later to talk about the dinner we talked about. – W
It’s a little less weird thinking about how these two ended up together, Remy thinks as she pours herself some coffee. It seems like they’re the perfect fit for each other. And it’s nice thinking about how they both want her to come over again. She had fun, and it’s nicer than she would have ever thought, to have House and Wilson as her friends.