Fic: A Marriage of True Minds

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Title: A Marriage of True Minds
Rating: all ages
Word Count: 1300
Summary: There’s a reason why Wilson’s marriages are so crappy. Wilson/Julie; House/Wilson friendship...and possibly more.

 

Julie flipped idly through an out-dated Marie Claire, wondering why hospitals only replenished their reading material once a decade. For the umpteenth time she checked her wristwatch impatiently. James should have met her for their lunch date almost thirty minutes ago. He could have called if he was going to be late. She tried to spend as little time at PPTH as possible. Despite the open and airy design of the reception area, the architect had still failed to mask that this was a hospital, with all the unpleasantness that entailed.

“Hey.” Julie looked over the top of her magazine to find what she had always considered her husband’s greatest vice standing before her, cane in hand. Gregory House had been one of the habits Julie had hoped to change when she’d married. James was almost perfect- sweet, responsible, charming, but he was far too attached to Greg, who was none of those things. She utterly failed to see what allure Greg House’s company held for her wayward husband and had just as utterly failed to wean him from that pernicious association. “Jimmy’s sent me,” he said, without further greeting. “He’s got a doctor thing. Just came up. Said he’s going to be late.” Greg was looking at her in a way that made her distinctly uncomfortable. There was nothing overtly threatening in his demeanor, but the quirk of his tight-lipped grin was unsettling.

“James is already late,” she snapped, irritation getting the better of her, and returned the magazine to the messy stack on the low table.

“Later,” Greg corrected. “Cancer kids these days,” he rolled his eyes, “they’ve got no respect for other people’s time.”

Julie felt immediate chagrin. “I didn’t mean…” She inspected the polish on her nails; it was about time to make an appointment for another manicure.

“Of course you didn’t,” he agreed a touch too readily and, much to her dismay, sank down into the chair next to hers. He picked up the Marie Claire she’d discarded with interest that had to be feigned. “Oh, and happy anniversary. Almost two years, huh.” He whistled in amazement. “What is that? Paper?”

“Paper’s first. Second is,” she paused, thinking about it, “cotton. But thank you.” Greg’s congratulations took her by surprise. He didn’t seem like the type to remember anniversaries and birthdays.

“Cotton? Really?” House was obviously underwhelmed. “You can tell Wilson it’s gold; he won’t know the difference,” he assured her. “I really am impressed, though. The first marriage made it barely sixteen months and the second not even nine. You’ve broken the record, Julie Wilson.” She didn’t like the way he said her last name. He was oblivious to her discomfiture, though, licking a finger and turning a page, apparently absorbed in women’s fashion. “So. What’s the secret to the perfect marriage?”

Julie took a deep breath and held it a moment, wondering if she ignored him if he’d go away. Probably not. “There’s no secret. James was too young when he married the first time; he’s matured a lot, knows what he wants from life. It’s just finding someone you enjoy spending time with.” She shut up, knowing as she finished that Gregory House wasn’t actually interested in the elements of a good marriage.

“What, no sexual chemistry?” he inquired, amused at a joke that Julie feared she’d missed. “Because it says here that compatibility in the sack is one of the ‘corner stones of a relationship.’” She’d read the article he now quoted.

“Well,” she managed frostily, “we have that too.”

“Yeah.” House’s smile was dangerously close to a leer. “So I’ve heard.”

Her eyes narrowed and she toyed with the hem of her suit jacket, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles. “Don’t be vulgar. James wouldn’t discuss our private life.”

“No, of course not.” House closed the magazine and tossed it onto the pile; it slide across the slick surface of the table, hanging precariously off the edge. Julie pushed it to safety, and then straightened the entire collection, fanning out the magazines. “Besides,” House continued, eyeing her work, “it’s not really worth telling about.”

Julie was about to snap something particularly nasty, but House’s pager went off, startling her. He checked it with a supremely annoyed look, and quickly slipped it back into his blazer pocket. “There’s a complication with the biopsy.”

“What?” she asked automatically.

“Biopsy,” he repeated, enunciating as if she were deaf or slow. “It’s where they dig out little bits of you trying to figure out what’s wrong.”

“I know what a biopsy is,” she gritted out. “Complications?”

“Yeah. He’s going to be awhile. But don’t worry, I can wait with you,” he said with exaggerated solicitude.  

But his was not chivalry she was inclined to take. “No, thanks.” Her tone was anything but grateful. “I’m not going to spend my entire lunch hour waiting for him.” She rose, gathering her coat and purse. “Please tell him I’ll see him when he gets home.” She made her exit as quickly as possible, not waiting for Greg’s parting shot. But he just nodded, already distracted by another magazine. He pulled it out, ruining her careful arrangement.

House watched surreptitiously as she made her way across the PPTH foyer, the click of her designer heels receding. Settling back in his chair, he opened his selection, but made a face as he realized that someone had already solved the Highlights word search. He briefly considered erasing the pencil and doing it anyway, but it was too late; he’d already memorized the answers.

It didn’t matter that much, though, because Wilson made his timely arrival, rescuing House from impending boredom. “Where’s Julie?” he asked, a little breathless from the jog he taken to get over here from the lab.

House shrugged in a way meant to suggest his contrition and helplessness. “She got tired of waiting for your sorry ass.” He pulled himself to his feet, dropping the magazine onto the table in a way to ensure maximum disorder.

Wilson scanned the open atrium, as though House might be hiding his wife behind plate glass. “Did she just leave? Maybe I should call her.” He pulled out his phone, but House caught his elbow before he could dial.

“Don’t bother. She was pretty pissed, better let her cool off a bit first.” His gaze flickered the front doors, before returning to Wilson. For a moment he thought Wilson was going to call anyway, but then his hand dropped and he slipped his cell back into his pocket.

“Oh.” Wilson’s face fell, and House felt briefly guilty. “Damn.”

House adjusted his grip on his cane. “Sorry. I told her you were with a patient. But you know women.” He leaned in, just the slightest inclining of his upper body, to bump Wilson’s shoulder with his own. “She’ll get over it, sooner or later.”

Nodding once, Wilson smiled resignedly. “Thanks, though.” He still had that distracted look that meant he was thinking about his wife and House struggled to resist the urge to poke him with his cane. “For talking to her.”

House brightened. “No problemo. That’s what friends are for. That and buying each other lunch.” He waggled his eyebrows hopefully.

Wilson’s wry expression softened as the corners of his mouth turned up in a genuine smile, and the last of House’s guilt evaporated. “Yeah. You’re subtle. Come on, then. Moocher.” He turned and headed off for the cafeteria. “Oh, and your new fellow was trying to get a hold of you.”

“I know,” House answered. He hurried after Wilson, following so close that he nearly tripped over Wilson’s heels. “He just paged me.”

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