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Rituals
by Quillwriter
It was an odd thing, Greg House thought, but there was a certain ritual to getting dressed. He'd never noticed it before, but he recognized it, as he stood just inside the closet door and watched James Wilson do just that. He was here in answer to a rare summons from Wilson to drive him somewhere. It went against their grain, and the oncologist had not been specific as to the destination, but since he hardly ever asked, and usually when he did, it was very occasion specific, House had come. Now he waited and watched Wilson change his shirt. He had his pants undone to tuck in the tails. His hands slipped down around his thighs and over his cheeks, smoothing away the wrinkles, and House's eyebrows rose.
"You should go commando," House quipped. "I can see your panty line." It was a safe thing to say, skirting the issue for the time being, cryptically approving of the look, without actually saying he looked good.
He felt a small satisfaction at Wilson's start, but the younger doctor hid it well, pulling the pants closed with a clank of his belt buckle. He deftly slipped the end through the brass buckle and tucked it into a loop, picked up a blue tie, hung it around his neck. "I am commando. No line." He looked over his shoulder at his own butt, as though confirming. "Flattered you'd be looking for one though."
"You're not naked. Not under that suit."
Wilson looked at him through the mirror, his brown eyes glittering a little, his voice teasing. "Why not in this suit?"
"Because that's your brown suit."
Wilson looked back to his tie, shaking his head slightly. "Nothing gets by you."
"That," House clarified, is your conservative, staid, wonder oncologist, whatever-she-told-you-about-the-women-and-booze-is-not-true, suit."
Shrugging the jacket over his shoulders, Wilson looked down at himself. "Gee, and I thought it was so understated."
"You might as well be wearing a sign."
"Saying?"
"I'm going to see my lawyer today." There. Say it without saying it.
"Why would I be going to see my lawyer?" Wilson could be stubborn about denial, never acknowledging the inevitable until his back was against the wall. It was a familiar dance.
"Why does anybody?" House countered, letting him back away. After a minute, though, it was obvious James was not going to step up. "All right, because they're selling their house."
"The condo i-was Julie's," Wilson said, straightening his tie, carefully keeping his voice neutral and his eyes on what he was doing. House had been sifting through the files on Wilson's desk, looking for something. His hand stopped in mid air, his eyes flicked up, but only for the briefest instant before he continued his rifling.
"Buying a House?"
Wilson grinned. "Got one." House nodded his appreciation. "And besides," Wilson continued. "You know I'm really a renter at heart."
"Too true." House watched him run hands down his lapels. "Making a will?"
"The only thing I have that's worth anything is the Jag, and you already put a post-it in the glove box."
"You have that CD collection."
"Yes, and I put post-its in the Manilow and Air Supply sleeves for you. My brother gets the rest."
"Ingrate."
Wilson turned away from the mirror at last. "You ready?"
House thumped his cane on the floor once. His eyes dropped. They always did when he was about to say something important. "You sure about this, James?"
Wilson held firmly to his smile, even through the tremor that threatened its corners. Like always, House let him pretend this was O.K. "How do I look?"
"Almost divorced."
"Yeah." His lips pinched at the corners, his eyes narrowed. Greg wanted the words back. This dance was spinning too quickly, to slightly different music. He thought he should point that out. Usually, on this ride, James had an envelope of signed papers in his hand. This time, the papers were yet to be drawn. This time, James hadn't cheated, House hadn't interfered, it was not the usual proceedings. Everything looked the same on the surface, the ritual was intact, but there was conviction behind it this time. For some reason, House knew this time, it would mean something. This time it would stick. He wanted to say so.
"Yeah," he said instead. Like always, leaving what he really meant unsaid. House shook his head because James Wilson was the only person he knew who actually had a divorce suit. Like a wedding dress, but not.
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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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