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Marriage a Trois
by Gigi Sinclair
Julie's mother had been against the marriage from the start.
"I don't know, dear," she'd said, gently, when Julie, James beaming beside her and a brand-new engagement ring on her finger, had called to share the news. "He's been divorced twice, and you haven't been very lucky yourself. Couldn't you just live together for a while?"
"Mother."
"She's right, Margaret," Julie's father broke in. He'd been listening on the bedroom extension because Julie had told them she had Big News. "He's a doctor. Even if they get divorced, she'll be set for life."
Julie hadn't cared. She'd been caught up in a whirlwind romance with a handsome young doctor, the kind of relationship she'd only seen in sappy movies and the daytime TV her mother watched. She'd never expected it to happen to her; she'd never expected to meet anyone like James. She was a realistic, modern woman and she thought of herself as a feminist; she'd certainly never relied on any man for anything before. Still, even with one failed marriage under her belt, she couldn't wait for the ceremony that would turn her into Mrs. Dr. James Wilson, even as she mentally pictured the horrified expressions of her university women's studies professors.
She was so excited that she didn't even wonder why, whereas James had met her friends many times, she didn't meet any of his until the engagement party.
"Jane. How nice to finally meet you." The man who---according to James's vague descriptions of who he'd invited---had to be Greg House was leaning against the coffee table as she came downstairs, fastening her earring. He had a cane in one hand and one of Julie's carefully prepared clairs in the other.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize anyone had arrived." She glanced around for James, who had to have let him in.
"He went out for beer or Cheetos or something," Greg replied, although she hadn't said anything. "You know what a food snob he is." He stuffed the clair into his mouth and limped towards Julie, a hand out. She shook it politely. "Greg," he said, confirming Julie's suspicion. "Also known as the bitter crippled pill-popping junkie charity case your overly generous fianc has sadly been saddled with since he found me collapsed in a puddle of vomit outside the bus station."
Julie looked at him evenly. "Funny, he told me you were a diagnostician. And it's Julie, but I think you knew that." It clearly wasn't the answer he'd been expecting, but Julie was used to working with people who thought they were intimidating. Greg blinked at her, then smiled, awkwardly enough for her to suspect it wasn't his usual expression.
"Well. Let's all hope he can hang on to you." He licked his fingers, then reached for another clair. "These are great, by the way. I'll have to do all my mooching here in the future. Not to mention my freeloading. "
It was only later that Julie realized this was when she'd won Greg's respect, when he'd seen her as someone worthy of James. She'd been pleased to think that Greg was concerned with James's happiness. It wasn't until much later that she realized how deep that concern went.
***
The honeymoon period lasted six months, longer than the courtship had. Julie and James spent every moment they could together, usually in bed. James often worked late, but Julie had expected that. Sometimes he went for a drink after work with Greg and some other friends he named but she'd never met, and she didn't begrudge him that. She wasn't going to be a stereotypical hectoring wife; she'd decided that from the very beginning. Besides, James and his friends worked hard. They deserved some time to relax.
James and Julie had been married just over five months when Greg started coming over on a regular basis. Julie didn't mind that, either, at first. He always had a comment to make, and they were usually funny. They would watch videos together, she and James holding hands on the couch while Greg sat in the armchair, resting his cane against the coffee table and providing a running commentary on whatever they were watching. After they'd spent three Saturday nights in a row that way, though, Julie waited until James went to the bathroom and asked, casually: "Have you ever been married, Greg?"
Greg laughed, like it was a ridiculous suggestion. "No, my dear. I am the Quasimodo of diagnostic medicine. No woman would deign to look at me."
Not true. James had told her one of Greg's employees, his ducklings as James called them, had a crush on him, and Greg had even taken her out, to a monster truck rally James had been supposed to take him to. "Come to think of it, though," Greg continued, thoughtfully, "I did meet that gypsy chick, what was her name? Esmeralda?"
Julie smiled obligingly. "I know a lot of great single women. If you ever wanted me to set you up with someone..."
Greg laughed again, more bitterly this time. "That's the trouble with women, Julie. You either want us to relive our painful romantic experiences or you want us to go out of our way to make new ones." He looked uncomfortable, though, and he didn't take his eyes off the television screen. From the downstairs bathroom, Julie heard the toilet flush, and the water ran.
"Greg," she asked, "Are you gay?"
"Me, darling?" Greg batted his eyes and made a camp gesture with one hand. "Have you seen my wardrobe?"
She asked James the same question later, when Greg had finally gone home and they were lying in bed together. "Would it matter if he was?" James replied, which wasn't any kind of answer.
"Of course not, honey. I just want him to be happy." Preferably, she thought, somewhere other than her and James's living room, week after week.
"I don't know," James said, leaning over to kiss her. She pulled back, for the first time ever.
"He's your best friend, James."
James shrugged. "We never talk about it." He moved on top of her, and Julie put her arms around him. She'd known enough men in the past to know this could be true, and at that point, it was enough for her.
Two weeks later, for the first time since Julie had known him, James didn't come home.
She was just pulling into the garage when her cell phone rang.
"Hi, honey."
"Hi, James." She parked her new Jaguar, a belated wedding present from James, and reached for her purse. "I'm just getting home. Do you want spaghetti or chicken?"
"Actually," James replied, "I'm staying out tonight. Greg had a really hard day. I'm taking him out for dinner, then we're probably going to head back to his place."
Why? Julie thought. But she said: "Is that really necessary?" as cheerfully as possible. "He is a grown man, James..."
"And Vogler's giving him a hell of a time lately, and he's trying to cut down on the Vicodin. He needs me right now, Jules." James's voice sounded rueful, and Julie felt herself weakening.
"If you're sure..."
"I am. Thanks, honey." James's voice sounded distracted. "Listen, I've got to run. Love you."
"Me too," she replied, but James had already hung up.
Julie thought about going over to her parents' for dinner, but she could imagine the meaningful looks and falsely casual questions about James's whereabouts she would have to endure if she did. Instead, she thawed out some spaghetti and, after flicking through the TV channels twice and checked her email, she took out the wedding pictures and the scrapbook she was slowly putting together.
Julie's first wedding had been a courthouse ceremony when she was twenty-five. Julie wore a sundress; the groom wore a sport coat and slacks. Afterwards, they took their two witnesses for a drink in a local bar. Her husband was a man she'd known since grade school and been dating since freshman year of university, a final year law student who'd surprised her by looking up from his textbooks one day and saying: "How about getting hitched after finals?" Julie said yes, because she'd known him so long she couldn't imagine saying no.
It had been good, for a while, until Michael---who was about as different from James as it was possible to get while still being a member of the same species---passed the bar exam. It was, as Julie later explained to a sympathetic James, the only bar he did pass. The marriage ended after four years and affairs on both sides, and Julie lost not only a husband but a childhood friend.
Julie's second wedding had been completely different. She'd expected a quiet ceremony, but James wanted all the bells and whistles, like they were a couple of romantic teenagers rather than two divorcs trying again. Julie had agreed, because while she wasn't a superstitious person, it seemed like the less this marriage had in common with her first, the greater the chances of success.
And success was something she wanted very much, for her sake, for James's, and so she could prove to her parents that marrying a man you'd known for four months could make more sense than marrying one you'd known your entire life.
***
With Julie's first husband, it was the clichd lipstick on the collar that had alerted her to his first affair, a cute young paralegal with a taste for "Strawberry Passionfruit." Things were much more dramatic with James.
It was James's birthday, and for once, she and James had plans that didn't involve Greg. They'd been having a truce lately; James had told her he didn't want to lose her, and proceeded to prove it by spending every night at home for nearly two weeks. It was a pathetic thing to be grateful for, Julie knew that, but James was as charming and attentive as he'd been before they were married. Instead of spending Saturday night in front of the TV with Greg, they spent it in bed, making love like the newlyweds they still were, in theory, and Julie couldn't bring herself to care about anything else.
On Monday morning, his birthday, Julie gave James his present, a tie and a book he'd looked at when they were browsing in Barnes and Noble and handed him a brown paper lunch bag.
"I buy my lunch, Jules," he said, beaming at her and putting on his new tie.
"I know. This is special." As well as James's favourite sandwich, it included a piece of thawed-out wedding cake from the four-tiered monstrosity they'd served at the ceremony eight months ago. Julie had no idea how it was going to taste, but it was, she thought, a symbolic gesture, and she knew James would appreciate it. She kissed him good-bye and went upstairs to get ready for work. She tended not to be around when Greg came to pick up James for work, and everyone seemed to like it that way. When Julie came back downstairs, the lunch was on the kitchen table, along with James's hospital ID badge and wallet.
A few weeks ago, she wouldn't have cared, but a few weeks ago, she wouldn't have made James the wedding-cake lunch anyway. Julie glanced at her watch and figured that, if she skipped her usual morning coffee, she could drop it off at the hospital and still get to work on time.
That idea went out the window when she pulled into the staff parking lot at Princeton-Plainsboro, planning to run inside and drop James's things off at the front desk. She noticed Greg's car, but she didn't pay any attention, until she got out, wedding cake and wallet in hand, and happened to see that Greg's car was occupied.
For a long moment, Julie thought: "Oh, thank God, he's actually found someone." From what she could see, the someone was a dark-haired man in a dress shirt, leaning forward to kiss Greg. They kissed again, and again. Just when Julie was moving from being relieved and amused to feeling a little guilty for watching them making out in a parking lot at 8:15 in the morning, Greg's friend opened the passenger's side door, straightened the tie Julie had given him that morning, and said: "Come on, Cuddy'll kill you if you're late."
Julie's first thought, before she could even form a coherent thought, was to hide. She ducked back into the car, squishing wallet, sandwich and cake in her haste to sit down. She threw all of it onto the floor of the passenger's side and watched in the rearview mirror as Greg limped towards the door, James's hand on his back. She couldn't have turned away if her life depended on it. Finally, when James opened the hospital door and helped Greg inside, Julie turned the key in the ignition and without thinking, backed out of the parking lot and went home.
She phoned in sick to work, in a voice that sounded hollow even to her. It convinced her boss there was something wrong with her, anyway, and she said, "Take care of yourself, Julie," before she hung up.
Julie didn't bother changing out of her work clothes. She lay on her bed, on their bed, stared at the ceiling and wondered how she could have missed this. James wasn't gay, she knew that better than anyone. He loved her; he told her that time and time again. He was nothing like Michael, which was why she hadn't hesitated to marry him after only four months.
Now she wondered if maybe they should have lived together first.
There was a lot Julie wanted to know. What, exactly, was going on, how long they'd been doing it, why James had married her in the first place. She already knew she wouldn't be able to count on James to answer any of those questions. He'd been lying to her for God knew how long. Maybe since they were married. Maybe, Julie thought, since they'd met.
Greg, though, prided himself on always telling the truth. He was completely obnoxious about it, but Julie believed him, enough to test him on it now. She got up, straightened her clothes and wiped the mascara streaks off her face, and got back in her Jaguar.
The nurse at the front desk told Julie that Greg was in the clinic. "But he's very busy," she added.
Right, Julie thought, as she headed down the hall. She knew how much Greg hated clinic duty. He waxed annoying about it every time they met. After this conversation, though, Julie suspected clinic duty was going to look like a walk in the park.
She found him in one of the exam rooms. Through the half-closed blinds, she could see Greg sitting on the bed and twirling his cane unconcernedly while some poor woman wrung her hands and sobbed in front of him. The sight of the patient stopped Julie in her tracks. She wasn't someone who made scenes, even when she found out her first husband was sleeping with half the public defenders in New York, yet here she was, about to make the biggest scene possible in a very public place.
Later, Julie thought she might have convinced herself to leave at this point, if Greg hadn't glanced through the window, raised his eyebrows at her, and said something to the patient. But that was what he did, and when he opened the door and said: "Oh, thank God. Did James send you to save me?" a scene was inevitable.
Julie had never hit anyone before. She'd never even wanted to, and she watched with interest as her hand came out and smacked Greg across the face. It hurt more than she'd have expected. She flexed her hand as Greg put his to his cheek, the nurse at the admitting desk said: "Oh my God," and someone, Julie thought it was one of the patients, clapped. The applause spread as Greg blinked at her, at a loss for words for what Julie thought had to be the first time in his life, and a couple of the patients were adding cheers when Dr. Cuddy appeared, arms crossed over a blue blazer, and said:
"What the hell is going on here?" Cuddy turned to Julie and narrowed her eyes, like she couldn't quite place her. It came to her, though, and she exclaimed: "Mrs. Wilson?"
Greg said: "I'm taking an early lunch."
"It's nine-thirty in the morning," Cuddy pointed out.
"Late breakfast, then. Or Mrs. Wilson and I could continue our discussion here." He glanced at the patients. "We already seem to have a devoted fan base. Or, rather, she does."
"Ten minutes," Cuddy snapped. Well, Julie thought, that was probably all it would take. Greg jerked his head at Julie and headed down the hall.
Julie followed him into the staff lounge. It was empty but the TV was on, playing some inane talk show, and there was an assortment of snack foods on the counter. Greg leaned against it and pulled out his pills.
"Can I offer you a pretzel?" He asked, pointing at the bag. "Or perhaps a Saltine?" He swallowed two of the Vicodin, and Julie saw a clear, red mark on his cheek. Sighing, she sat on the edge of the couch, moving a stethoscope out of the way.
"I'd rather have what you're having."
Greg laughed, and she put the stethoscope on the coffee table in front of her, on top of a tabloid newspaper. "That's not a road you want to start down. Trust me."
"How could you?" She didn't know how else to phrase it, but Greg seemed to understand. He didn't look embarrassed or even sorry, but the smile disappeared.
"Can I assume you're not talking about those Canadian quarters I gave the panhandler outside the 7-Eleven?"
Julie wasn't in the mood for jokes. "Cut the bullshit, Greg. How could you and James betray me..." She wasn't going to cry, she'd told herself that repeatedly on the trip over. It was a close thing now.
"Give it up, Julie," Greg snapped, viciously even for him. It dried Julie's eyes instantly, though, and she scowled as he went on: "The only person who's betraying anyone is James, and he's been doing it to me for ten years."
"Ten years?" Julie hadn't been expecting that. Well, she'd expected hardly any of what had happened since she'd woken up, but this was an added surprise.
"Yeah, amazing how time flies when you keep buying your boyfriend wedding presents."
"You didn't get us a present," Julie said.
"I didn't expect it to last this long," Greg replied.
"Why does he do it?"
Greg picked up the Saltines box and peered inside, shaking it idly. "Because he's a bisexual man who wants to be straight. Every once in a while, he finds someone who can almost convince him he is, and he marries you because he thinks if he doesn't, you'll find out his deep dark secret and make him face reality. Also known as a crippled lover with a decided lack of breasts, uterus, or herbal hair care products."
"Why do you put up with it?" Julie asked, as Greg pulled a cracker out of the box.
"Because I'm a bisexual man with long experience of being rejected by both sexes. And because unlike women, some men believe you can enjoy a good meal without having the whole buffet table to yourself."
"And because," Julie said, "You love James." She knew what that was like. It meant that, when the door swung open and James appeared looking pale and panicked, she couldn't bring herself to hate him completely, the way she'd hated Michael by the end of their marriage.
"Cuddy said you were fighting in the clinic," James said, as he looked between them.
"No biggie," Greg replied. "Julie was merely showing me how to execute a right hook. Call her the Clint Eastwood to my Hilary Swank." He held out the box of crackers to James. "Saltine?"
"Oh, God." James collapsed, more than sat, on the couch beside Julie. "You know." He didn't look at her, instead burying his head in his hands.
"You left your wallet at home," Julie said, pleased when she heard the steadiness of her voice. "Here." She reached into her purse and handed it to him calmly.
"Julie." He blinked, staring at the wallet like he'd never seen it before. "I can explain..."
"I already did," Greg put in, cheerfully. "And I should probably get back before Dr. Cuddy's stopwatch goes off and she comes to get me." He headed for the door, leaning heavily on the cane.
With a sudden empathy, for all aspects of Greg's life, Julie said: "I'm sorry I hit you."
Greg looked at her, his eyes meeting hers with as much sincerity as she'd ever seen in him. "You're the only one who ever made me feel guilty." He didn't need to say more, and, in true Greg style, he didn't, leaving without another word and shutting the door behind him.
"Do you want a divorce?" James asked miserably, once he'd gone.
Julie's first impulse was to say yes. But following her first impulse was what had gotten her here in the first place, so she held off. "I don't know." She didn't feel like she had when she'd divorced Michael, but then James wasn't him, and this situation wasn't at all the same. Michael's infidelities, Julie thought wryly, had been entirely female.
"Why wouldn't you? I'm a..." He replaced whatever he was going to say with: "I'm gay."
"Bisexual, Greg tells me," Julie replied, lightly.
James snorted. "He told you a lot, huh?"
"Yes. I think you should go and stay with him for a while." There was a lot Julie needed to think about, without the distraction of having James around with that puppy look in his eyes.
"Oh. OK. If that's what you want." Unlike Michael, who tended to get hysterical and accusatory, James sounded reasonable and he was calmer than he had been. Julie smiled.
"It is, for now," Julie said. "Maybe we could...go out for dinner or something in a week or two. Just the two of us," she added hastily, because there was a difference between sharing a buffet table and sharing a plate. "We didn't date a lot before we got married. Maybe we should do that now."
James looked at her like she'd offered him a cure for cancer and a dozen new ties. "I love you, Julie. You have to believe me."
"I do." She wondered if she could bring herself to kiss him, decided she couldn't just yet, and patted James's shoulder instead. "Happy birthday, James."
As she left the hospital, Julie wondered how she was going to explain James's sudden absence to her mother. A medical exchange, maybe, or a dying relative in another city.
Or, she thought, she could just say he was a time-share husband. Her parents wouldn't appreciate that, but her women's studies professors might.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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