Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts, as all things steeped in resentment often do, on a rainy Sunday in Trenton, New Jersey.

Trenton isn’t so bad. It gets a bad rep, but there’s a restaurant on the riverfront that isn’t half bad. The town also happens to be a good midpoint between Philadelphia and Princeton, about thirty minutes each way.

Julie parks in the rain and joins Bonnie and Sam for the first time as they try and figure out a better option for lunch, as the outdoor seating is closed and that is their usual thing. Instead of the pre-arranged plans, they find a little Chinese restaurant a few blocks away, and settle there.

None of them have much in common, but Julie doesn’t find it hard to latch on to Sam and Bonnie’s interests, finding quickly that James’ tastes in women are actually impeccable, and that he is unequivocally—

“A total dick,” Bonnie asserts, waving a piece of sweet and sour pork around.

“I can’t believe he treated you guys the way he did,” Julie says with rage in her chest.

“Same goes for you, girlfriend!” Sam replies. “We all deserved better. James is awful. He’s wonderful, and he cares, and he tries to do good, but he also sucks.”

“Especially with House around,” Bonnie grumbles.

“House,” all three of them groan at the same time.

All things considered, they actually spend less time talking about James and more about themselves. It’s really, really nice. But, by the end of it, they all come to the same definitive conclusion: James is incredibly repressed about his sexuality, deftly in love with House, and might have been cheating on Bonnie and Julie with him the entire time he was married them and sleeping with him through his divorce with Sam – though none of them have any proof.

Julie is invited to the repeat lunches, and after a few months, jokingly, after a few margaritas, they decide to name their little group.

Thus, The James Evan Wilson Ex-Wives Club is born.

Chapter Text

It’s on a warm June afternoon that Julie and Sam, having carpooled together to save gas since both of them have now migrated to Philly, spot the motorcycle parked about a block away from the restaurant on the waterfront. Julie stops in her tracks, and Sam asks her what’s wrong.

She points at the bike, then glances at Sam with a look that signals danger without saying anything. Sam gives her a confused look, searching Julie’s eyes with her own gorgeous green, before a dawning overcomes her and she lets out and anguished, “No.”

“I’m guessing he bought this one after you, then.”

“Shit,” Sam swears. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

They hurry to the restaurant, heels clacking against the cobble.

Julie’s heart sinks to her stomach.

Bonnie is already there, engaged in conversation with none other than Gregory Fucking House. (Julie doesn’t know his middle name, nor does she care.)

Her eyes flick to Julie and Sam and she cocks her head to the side, giving them a strained smile. “Surprise! I guess.”

“What the hell are you doing here, House?” Julie asks threateningly.

“Oh, you know,” he says in a way that strikes a different tone from how Julie remembers him talking. “Just joining the club!”

He doesn’t elaborate, only standing to pull the empty seat next to him out and looking at Julie expectantly. Squinting, she hesitantly sits. Sam follows suit, though he doesn’t pull her chair out, opting to sit back down. It’s noticeable how he winces, grabbing his thigh and pulling his limp leg under the table.

The waiter hustles over to them, taking their orders quickly when he ascertains the strained tension in the air. Julie purses her lips and orders a filet mignon, because whatever the hell this is means she deserves to treat herself. Sam orders a marg pizza, Bonnie a grilled chicken sandwich, and House gets the salmon. She remembers James once saying that House hates fish. Then she hates herself for remembering that.

They order drinks, too, wine all around except, then, for House, who is “fine with just water, thanks.”

Julie crosses her legs under the table and folds her arms, leaning back in her chair to signify she’s waiting for an answer. Looking at Sam reveals the same posture, but Bonnie’s more relaxed. It only serves to put her more on edge.

House sighs, looking anywhere but the three of them. “He had a girlfriend. Amber.”

“I didn’t hear about her,” Sam says quickly.

“Had?” Julie asks.

“She died,” House answers in the most remorse she’s ever heard out of the man. Reflexively, she takes a large breath in, holding it. “Amber was on my team. One night, I got too drunk, called Wilson. She answered, came to pick me up. Really, you didn’t hear about her?”

“None of us have talked to James directly in two years,” Bonnie says, “and I was the last. When I came to the hospital.”

Sam and Julie know about this, of course. They don’t keep secrets about James from each other. There isn’t any use in doing so, not when they all understand why he does what he does, and that why he does what he does is sitting right in front of them.

“Hm,” House hums, looking up and meeting eyes with Julie, intense and uncomfortable and unrecognizably human. Vulnerable, almost. “Freak accident. Our bus was T-boned. She died. I lived.”

“And James blamed you,” Sam finishes. Bless her. She says it with sympathy. Julie adores that about Sam. Even with the guy they should all hate, she still manages to find it in her to give a shit that he’s hurting.

She turns the scenario around in her head as House drums his fingers on the table, then lets out her breath. “He didn’t. He didn’t blame you, did he?”

House looks away from her. “No. He didn’t.”

“Then what happened?” Bonnie asks curiously.

House turns his attention to her, keeping that same intensity; sharp and pained.

“I’m an addict. I started taking too much. Hallucinated Amber a lot. Drug-induced psychosisss...” he drags out the last letter, sighing at the end. “It was too much for even him to handle. Way past rehab. I voluntarily admitted myself to a psychiatric inpatient program.”

Part of Julie wants to accuse him of lying. That’s what he does! He’s House, the liar! The scoundrel! The man James was in love with!

Was, though, seems to be the case now.

Her heart aches in a way she thinks it shouldn’t.

“Okay,” she finds herself saying. “Okay. So. Why did you stalk us here, then? Because that’s kind of indicative of psychiatric treatment not working.”

“I came to... apologize.” House pauses and she hates him. “And buy you ladies lunch, at the very least. For all the trouble I’ve put you through, even if unintentionally.”

Their food comes, and Julie welcomes the distraction. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches House pick at his side salad, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. Whenever they used to eat together, he would wolf everything down like it was going to scurry off his plate and leave him to starve.

“You’re off the Vicodin, then?” Bonnie asks bluntly, softly.

Damn it. These two. They’re so forgiving. Julie isn’t like them. She’s vindictive and angry and she hates House. She hates him, hates him, hates him.

“Clean and sober,” he chirps. “I’m doing therapy, pain management, and PT.”

Julie knows him better. Lying by omission, that’s his game.

“You’re thinking of cutting off your leg,” Julie says, not asking.

He looks up at her, swallowing his food and hopefully that stupid excess of pride.

“I liked my leg. Now I kind of hate it. What’s one to do with things they hate if not get rid of it?”

“Yeah, I could say that about you, too! You’re lucky we haven’t kicked you out of here,” Julie spits.

Bonnie interrupts her from going further with a hand on her arm. “Jul.”

“I think I deserve to get a little vitriol out,” she forces out at a regular volume instead of shouting. “After everything. But just a little. I get it, I get it. I know.”

The soft hand on her arm pats her twice, and the reassuring smile Bonnie gives her makes her feel ten million times better. It’s weird how she’s just able to do that. That’s just Bonnie, kind, soft-hearted Bonnie. Such a good girl. Over the years she’s really rubbed off on Julie. A few weeks ago, Julie and Sam had been mulling it over how to convince Bonnie to move to Philly to be closer to them. Bonnie’s so lonely out in Princeton. She has one friend, an elderly neighbor, but not much else. They would help her get situated, start anew, introduce them to some of their friends, hell, Julie would even offer Bonnie a place in her home!

She turns her attention from Bonnie back to House as his eyes flick back and forth between them. “What is it that you get, exactly?”

It’s Bonnie who sighs, gearing up for the inevitable.

“House, we always kind of knew it was you.”

“... real-ly? Do say more.”

“It’s just...” Bonnie laughs, “we all knew he was in love with you. And, now that you’re here, well, that at least confirms that it was definitely an emotional affair. AH! No!” she interrupts, putting a finger up as House starts to speak. “We all decided years ago that we didn’t want to know about the physicality of it. It doesn’t matter, in the end. He always wanted you, and it was you that he had. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it didn’t work out between you two.”

“Maybe if he hadn’t married me, it would’ve been different,” Julie interjects.

“I think that kind of applies to all of us,” Sam snickers. “I’m sorry, too, Greg. That really sucks.”

If she were to say anything to the same effect, Julie would be lying. And Julie is not a liar. So she says nothing in the same vein, taking a bite of her sandwich instead.

House looks at them all like they’re a three-headed hydra.

“So you all... knew... but you chose to say nothing to me. Why?”

They all give him an incredulous look.

“Okayyy! Point taken.” He takes a hefty bite of his salmon. “So. How does this whole club thing work?”

“Bimonthly, and you pay dues up front,” Sam says jokingly.

House clicks his tongue, which roils a weird amount of hatred in Julie’s gut considering it’s absolutely nothing to hate. “Great! I will pay for lunch until the end of time, is what I’m guessing that means.”

“You’re damn right,” Sam replies. “We’ll cover drinks, though.”

For the rest of the meal they poke and prod at House, trying to pry a story out of him, a narrative that makes sense.

“I don’t really know how to do this,” he finally admits, more genuine than Julie thinks any of them have ever seen him. It’s weird to see him really open up and admit his faults. More than anything he’s been focusing on how they knew about him, why, when, specific events in their marriages where House was a catalyst for some sort of decay or destruction. Quickly, it becomes clear that he never knew how long James had felt that way about him. She pities him.

Bonnie – sweet, sweet Bonnie – reaches across the table and takes his hand. “That’s okay. I know you’re probably going through a lot right now, I can’t imagine you and James splitting made it any easier.”

There’s a quirk in Bonnie’s words that Julie catches, then. Julie’s mouth twitches up at the corner, and she takes a drink of water to hide the growing smirk.

Gotcha.

“James and I... have never been simple.”

“You can say that again,” Sam quips as she takes another sip from her second glass of pinot for the afternoon.

“One of the conditions of my release from inpatient was that I land in a stable place. We bought a condo together.”

“Oof, messy,” Sam continues with the humor, which makes Julie laugh in turn.

“Yah,” House says stalwartly. “Real messy.”

By the time they finish, Sam is tipsy enough to have firmly decided that House is now the group’s gay best friend, and that really, he must keep coming to their lunches because it’ll help them all in some way. Weirdly, he agrees. Julie and Bonnie share a look as Sam pulls House in for a hug at the end of their meal, which he reciprocates with much less chagrin than Julie would ever expect of him, then hobbles off with a smile on his face she’s similarly, of all things she’s seen of him today, never seen from him.

Sam takes her time gathering her things as Bonnie and Julie watch him rev away on his cycle, only turning to them once he’s finally gone.

“They were never together.”

“Nope,” Bonnie affirms.

“What are you two up to with this?” Julie asks with almost a chastising tone. “I might hold a grudge but I’m not vindictive enough to want to hurt House over what we went through with James.”

“Oh no,” Sam says with a massive boozy smile plastered across her face, falling into Bonnie a little bit and clutching around her waist. “No, no. We’re not gonna hurt him. We’re gonna meddle. And we’re gonna meddle until they’re together. Remember what we’ve all said about James?”

Julie sighs, knowing what’s coming next.

“That we just want him to be happy,” Bonnie finishes.

“And we really think he’s going to be happy with House?”

They start walking to their respective cars, Bonnie following along with an arm around Sam’s waist.

“Did you see him?” Sam continues. “He’s actually doing better! That was no act.”

“No, definitely not,” Bonnie confirms. “I know you didn’t get to be around him as much, Julie, but this is a big change for House.” She sighs, stopping them all in their tracks. “Sam got to know him when she and James were divorcing, before his infarction. I knew him before and after. You only know him after. And he would never ever ever ever be able to face us like that if he wasn’t in the act of choosing to be better. Plus, he still lied to us! He pretended to have broken up with James! And why would he do that and join us if something wasn’t going on, there?”

“She’s right!” Sam affirms, gesturing to the wind over the Delaware. “We just gave him the big gay realization he always needed. No way he’s gonna act on it right away.”

“So we’re just supposed to, what... manipulate them into being boyfriends?” Julie asks, starting to feel a little scummy.

Sam grins again, starting to walk forward and slipping her arm around Julie instead. “Nope! All we gotta do is bide some time and talk it all out with House. He’ll come to it naturally.”

Julie accepts Sam’s weight easily, glancing at Bonnie with a fond but hesitant smile. “You both really think this is a good idea? What about our mental health? We’re essentially writing a prescription for a dose of House every two weeks.”

“Maaaybeee mooo-ooore~” Sam sing-songs. Julie, in turn, groans, knowing where this is going.

“We’re not inviting him to everything we do together, are we?”

“Yeah, actually Sam, I’d like some alone time with both of you, sans House,” Bonnie finally agrees with Julie. Finally. God, she’s thankful for Bonnie.

In the end, Julie knows she holds no ground to these two. Sweet Bonnie and adorable Sam are convincing in all things. This is no exception.

“Fine. Okay, yeah. Let’s do it. Let’s get our ex-husband together with his addict-in-recovery not-a-boyfriend not-an-ex.”

“YES!” Sam exclaims, raising her arms and throwing them around Bonnie, spinning them ‘round in a small circle. “Operation Hilson is a go!”

“I’ll see you guys later. Text me when you get home!” Bonnie chuckles, giving Julie a sweet squeeze on her shoulder before walking to her blue Nissan.

Julie opens the door for Sam, then gets in on the driver’s side and starts the car. She looks over to Sam with a weary smile, watching Sam root around in her purse for her little vial of hyacinth perfume, spritzing a little bit on her wrists before leaning the seat into a reclined position. Those sparkling green eyes stare up at Julie as she lulls her head to the side.

“Relax, Jul. What’s the worst that could happen? They find out and neither of them speak to any of us again?”

Oh. Well, when she puts it that way...

“Do you mind if I nap a lil?”

“Go ahead,” Julie chuckles, staring for a moment longer as Sam closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, immediately falling to sleep.

She starts the drive back to Philly thinking of next weekend, and shaggy brown hair, and sparkling green eyes.

Chapter Text

The drive back to Princeton gives House enough time to properly freak out before getting back to the condo. Wilson isn’t there when he enters, thankfully. Thankfully, because House opens the door to Wilson’s bedroom and stands, staring, for a good few minutes, taking in everything he can. 

Wilson leaves his bed unmade these days. Gone are the habits of keeping everything ship-shape, messes left for the maid instead of choosing to clean them up before she even comes like the shame of being dirty could be weaponized against him for whatever reason he can come up with in that stupid oncology-ridden head of his. The bottles on his vanity are out of order, some uncapped; hair pomade that smells like mango and face cream he uses on his face at night to keep the aging away even though he knows the chemicals in that shit could very well cause the very diseases he treats every day. Fucking hypocrite. 

Everything causes cancer, these days. If House, deep down, didn’t know that those goddamn women were completely right, he’d be headed to the hospital right now for a full neurological workup, MRI, and CAT scan to confirm he didn’t have something pressing up against the part of his brain that’s suddenly blasting him full of imagery of James Evan Wilson on that messy bed completely nude and a hand out in a gesture for him to come to bed.  

It’s not Vicodin, and it’s not a tumor. It’s the thing he’s been thoroughly ignoring for the better part of twenty years rearing its ugly head demanding to be let out of its cage.  

James Evan Wilson’s wives all think that House was the one he cheated on them with. They think that they’d been together. And now, they think that they’d broken up. 

What had started as a genuine attempt to try and apolo- apolo- apologize (he can barely even say it in his head, he don’t know how he got it out of his mouth in front of them all) to people he owed it to has spiraled into something much, much larger. 

He thinks of the first time they met. 

His heart swells. 

The lock breaks. 

And the beast is unleashed. 

Gregory House is in love with James Evan Wilson, and now he is a part of the James Evan Wilson Ex-Wives Club. 

“Fuck.” 

“House? Are you home? I stopped at the store on the way home and got us frozen pizzas for dinner! House?” 

“Fuck.” 

Chapter Text

The next few months fly by quick. Sam is nearly giddy with the thrill every other Sunday brings, finding a new joy in fucking with House.

First off, she actually likes the guy. He really is very, very gay. He doesn’t try and play it up at all, she would know if he did, but his eccentricities are both a) manageable and b) way more entertaining now that he’s not baring down on her and sniping at her personal attributes like he did when she and James were getting a divorce.

House likes daytime soap operas, instrumental music, and a ton of other really gay shit. And, as it turns out, he’s always quietly identified as bisexual. The nineties were a different time. Even Sam, back then, was a bit of a bigot. Time changes people, though. It’s changed her a lot.

They fall into a comfortable dynamic that Sam just loves. She’s the fun, slightly sarcastic one, Bonnie’s the genuine psychoanalyst, and Julie’s the stern asshole who delivers the final blow. Sam’s just glad Julie loosened up about the whole thing a month in. Once House started just, like, talking, things became a lot more fun.

It is, however, definitely hard sometimes. House’s life really isn’t just a walk in the park. Nothing is easy, but some topics they come to are hard walls that deliver nothing more.

A lot of that is hidden behind the fact that House is still keeping it up that he and James were a thing. Any time they get close to ‘how the break-up happened’ House clams up. So that’s off-limits. Whatever, though.

Autumn means that their time outdoors is coming to an end, and one rainy day, House convinces Julie and Sam to come up to Princeton instead. Of course they know something’s up. Maybe he finally got his head out of his ass, or something, something, whatever, Sam doesn’t really care, even if the jig is up and he’s figured them out, or this is a surprise of ‘guess what we got together!’ Sam has had a completely wonderful time getting to know House for who he is off the pills and working through his shit.

They pull up to the restaurant to see Bonnie and House already at the table like all those months ago, already animatedly in conversation about something. Sam actually really likes his smile. He doesn’t try to force it, and he doesn’t show too much teeth. Rather, it’s a soft, cloying thing that pulls at the corners of his thin lips, making him seem way more youthful than he is.

As per usual, they sit, talk, and enjoy the autumn breeze. Before their food can come, a wicked wind picks up and they’re forced to move inside.

Bonnie’s in the middle of her genuine spiel on the topic of House’s sobriety when their food comes; a cheeseburger for Sam, a Cubano panini for Julie, dinosaur chicken nuggets and fries off the kids menu for House, and – to everyone’s surprise – a dozen oysters for Bonnie.

Sam watches Bonnie slide the flesh of one into her mouth with rapt attention. She never orders seafood, and definitely not shellfish. But, about a month ago, House had started insisting she follow her adventurous streak, after she’d started to reveal to him just how much she yearned for something exciting to happen to her. Admittedly, Sam really likes this side of Bonnie, the one looking for fresh experiences to supplement her life and bringing Sam and Julie along for the ride.

“Look, House, my point is, getting back out there after James isn’t a sin. I know you guys are still living together, but, it’s James! He wants to see all of us happy, and we all know he wants to see you happy.”

“Probably you more than us, honestly,” Julie supplies. Even Sam can’t argue with that.

The corner of House’s mouth twitches. “After all the pain I’ve caused him... I’m not so sure.”

This is exactly the kinds of conversations they have about James, all slowly inching House towards doing or saying something. It’s reverse psychology: encourage House to date other men, he’ll run right into James’ bed.

“Oh, terribly sorry!” an elderly man says as he trips over House’s cane accidentally. He bends over to grab it, but clutches his lower back. Sam sweeps it up instead, standing to assist him. “I’m fine, I’m fine! Ah, these old bones can’t do much these days. So sorry, again.”

“No problem,” House says with a bit of a stilt to it, still himself even though he’s much different.

Outside, the storm intensifies, leaves fluttering against the glass. Sam frowns, looking at Julie. “Do you think we should head back?”

And at that exact moment, every phone in the establishment goes off with a warning of an impending hurricane.

“Shit,” Julie swears, looking up at Bonnie and Sam. “Looks like we’re not getting out of here at all! Bonnie, it’s been a while since we’ve been to your place, do you mind if we crash the night?”

The lights flicker out.

“Of course! You know you’re welcome any time. I’m just going to use the restroom before we head out,” Bonnie says as she gets up.

“I’ll join you. Hope you brought cash, House.” Julie pokes him in the shoulder as she passes.

“Boy, did I! I was planning on hitting up a strip club after this,” House all but shouts.

Sam rolls her eyes, finishing off her fries. After a moment she squares him with a look. He stares back. “Say it.”

“Maybe this is a great opportunity for you three to have an awesome candlelit lesbian threesome.”

She grins, laughing and punching him in the shoulder. “You know, I was just about to say the same thing.”

“About time. Really, you three should thank me. All it took was your ex-husband's gay ex-boyfriend to push you over the edge.” House shoves the last of his chicken nuggets in his mouth, chasing it with cranberry juice. Apparently the cranberry juice is a ‘Jimmy thing.’ That’s one she can’t quite tell if it’s a truth or a lie.

“We would’ve got here eventually.” Her smile drops to a softer one, and she looks down at her plate. “Thank you, though, House. I know Julie can be a pill sometimes, but we really do like doing this with you. Something about having your heart broken by that guy, I don’t know. Really puts things in perspective.”

House pauses, and she looks back up at him.

“What would you say... if I told you I was going to make a move on him? Again, I mean.”

“Do it.”

He frowns.

“I’m serious. You should do it. With everything you guys have been through, getting back together after a break-up is like, way high up there on the list of things I’d expect to happen between you two.”

She pauses, trying to see through his astonishment to the other side of his bullshit, if there is any to be had. There isn’t. It’s all House, baby! Score one for Bonnie, Sam, and Julie.

“But what will I do without my three favorite lesbian ex-wives! I can’t be a part of the club if I’m an active wife!” he says sarcastically, fishing for what he wants to hear.

Sam hits him again, this time with a little more oomph. “We’re not going to disinvite you, Gregory. But you will have to tell James about us. Eventually. Probably. Actually, do you think you could get away with not telling him? Where do you tell him you go when you’re with us?”

“Church.”

“Okay, so he thinks you’re with a hooker.”

“Yup,” House says with a pop to the ‘p’ at the end of the word. “Had to make him a little jealous. Wherefore art thou, sweet House, do beseech me with your presence at my bedside!”

“You’re terrible,” Sam laughs.

“Never said I wasn’t.”

“I’m really glad you’re off the drugs.”

“Yeah,” House says, looking down at where he’s counting out twenties – not ones, indicative of an anticipated strip experience – for the bill. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Bonnie wakes from her slumber abruptly, gasping, and lurches from her bed to the bathroom just in time to spill the contents of her guts into the sink. After the initial purge, she manages to move to the toilet, dizzy and hot and cold and feeling very much like she’s still dreaming but knowing that she’s not.  

“Bonnie?” comes a faraway voice. “Bonnie? Are you okay? Oh, shit! Sam! I’m here, hon, It’s okay. Oh, fuck. Okay. Holy shit you’re burning up. SAM! GET ICE PACKS!”  

Cool hands frame her face as she wracks with another gut-wrenching gag. Sweat drips into her eyes, blurring the contents of the bowl. Is that red? She doesn’t think that should be red. Copper tangs her tongue.   

“Oh my god,” she hears Sam’s voice. “We need to get her to the hospital.”  

“Yup, yup. Thank God James gave us training for shit like this. Okay, hey, Bonnie, honey. Can you breathe for me? Sam, go start the car.”  

“The roads are flooded, shit.”  

“Call 9-1-1 and check with them what streets are bad, they’re not going to want to send an ambulance out for this.”  

“Got it, got it.”  

“Okay. Okayokayokay. Hey, Bonnie, here, we’ve gotta try to get your fever down, this is gonna be cold. You’re okay sweetie.”  

Ice at her neck. Feels nice. She scrabbles for purchase at the bowl, retching bile.   

“It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna take care of you, Sam and I. Oh my god I’m so glad we didn’t go back tonight. Can you nod yes and no for me?”  

She nods.   

“Okay, good, good. That’s so good, you’re doing so good for me. Do you think you can stand up for me?”  

No.  

“We’ll figure that out, then. Do you think you’ll be able to hold a trash can?”  

Yes.  

“That’s really good. Sam and I are going to carry you to the car, okay? We’re going to take care of you, honey. We’ve gotta take you to the hospital.”  

Footsteps. Dizzy. Pain. More vomit.   

“I’m on the phone with the operator, the freeway’s closed but she’s going to give me directions because some of the streets that are closed are just for emergency and we have permission to use them.”  

“Perfect. Bonnie, I need you to take the trash can, okay? Amazing. You’re doing great. Sam, get behind her, I’ll get her legs. On three. One, two—”  

Chapter Text

Clinic hours are easily translated into short-staffed ER-during-a-hurricane hours. At least, that’s what he’ll be telling Cuddy tomorrow, when he opines how he saved all these innocent lives, there, each hour in the ER should count for five clinic hours. Four. I’ll take three.   

Okay, yes. He’s trolling for cases. So far, nothing major’s come through. Everything’s hunky-dory! Both ankles sprained while jogging in the rain badly enough to think they’re breaks, car accidents with some very exciting whiplash, homeless and on heroin, suicide attempt with a simple fix of charcoal and stomach pump – oh, and don’t forget those cute little bracelets that come with the insurance coverage. Nobody comes to the ER for anything that really can’t wait until the next morning in a hurricane.   

No, House is not thinking about Wilson, who is right upstairs keeping the cancer kiddos company through the very scawy storm. And, no, he’s not thinking about watching Wilson read a bedtime story to a seven-year-old until said seven-year-old shrieks and calls House the bogeyman come to steal his soul away, nor is he thinking about Wilson rolling his eyes when House makes some quip or another that doesn’t lean too mean so it doesn’t invoke an angry reaction. If House were, indeed, thinking about this kind of scenario, he would maybe, perhaps, be thinking about how Wilson would smile at him and promise the seven-year-old he’d be right back – only for it to turn out that no, he wouldn’t be right back, because House would be pulling him into a dark part of the ward and kissing him so, so quiet.   

Nope. Not thinking about it.   

“HELP!”   

Oh good, things he can think about instead, even if they are boring in comparison to—  

“Get a gurney!” he shouts to the nurses, catching Bonnie as Sam loses her grip on the woman and she starts to fall. “What happened?!”  

“We found her vomiting blood a couple hours after we all went to sleep! She said she didn’t feel good before anything happened and went to sleep in her bed alone, I was on the couch, Julie was in the guest bed. She’s burning up,” Sam pants frantically. “Bonnie, Bonnie baby, can you hear me?”  

Her head lolls on the pillow as the gurney comes flying through the doors, and then he’s in real emergency mode. Pulse, eyes, breathing, everything. “She’s unconscious. Get her in bay five. Sam, stay here.”  

“Okay. Okay. Julie’s parking.”   

“You! Page Wilson!” he points at the nurse at the station, then hurries in following the nurses, suiting up as they shove things at and on him.   

He helps with getting her set up on monitors, confirming the VT and calling for blood, A-negative, yes, he knows her blood type. They need an OR, it’s a burst ulcer – how do you – I just do, alright? It’s more than that. Drop in systolic blood pressure. She’s lost a lot of blood. Her fever is 103.1, get ice packs. Endoscope, down, quick. There it is.   

“House? Oh, god, Bonnie? What the hell? ”  

Wilson.   

“They’re prepping an OR, burst ulcer.”  

The sound of vomiting behind him. He glances up.   

It’s the fucking old man from the restaurant.  

“HEY! YOU” His cane pointed at the patient. “What did you eat this afternoon! At the restaurant, what did you eat?”  

“I had— HURGH— I had the oysters!”  

“House, she soiled herself.” One of the nurses.  

“Great, take a sample and get it tested for H. pylori and salmonella, him too. Then call the health department once it’s confirmed and report the outbreak. The restaurant is La Beaux on Capital.”  

“How the hell do you know—”  

“Because I’m having sex with all of your ex-wives. Once she’s in the clear, get an x-ray. The perforation caused an acute tension pneumopericardium. As long as her heart holds up during surgery, we can wait until we have scans, if not, we go in blind. Go, now.”  

Wilson’s white as a sheet when he turns around.   

“House?”  

“Come on.”   

As soon as he’s walking away, the pain hits excruciating. He manages to get to the stainless-steel sinks in the sluice room and dispose of his soiled bloodied garments before he doubles over, clutching at his thigh over his jeans and gasping.   

“Shit, House. Hold on, I’ve got you.”  

“I’m fine. I’m... can you... just... grab me a chair. And clock me out. I’m done.”  

“You owe me an explanation when I get back.”  

“Julie and Sam are in the waiting room. Hurry up. Go.”  

“... what the fuck, House.”