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Gregory House was supposed to be on clinic duty.
Instead he was watching reruns of early seasons of General Hospital with James Wilson, who had time to burn before going home, and thought he may as well spend it with House so he wouldn't have to make two trips back to the apartment (House's motorcycle was 'in the shop' for some reason, he had refused to explain when Wilson had questioned this.)
House was remarking on the poor picture quality, then suddenly stopped. Wilson looked over to him, concerned. There had been a stream of white-noise coming out of his mouth, and he'd decided to stop now. Either something was seriously wrong or-
"Oh, that reminds me. Fancy a couple drinks after work? I found this new 60’s joint and I wanna shoot the breeze with some hip cats."
There it is.
Wilson sighed. "Fine, as long as you stop using weird slang. It’s freaking me out.”
“It won’t matter when there’s a babe on roller skates serving my whiskey instead of miserably pouring another one out with you as my only company, Jimmy.” he leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Be off work by 4.”
He chose to ignore House’s rudeness, instead rolling his eyes fondly and noting the time.
-
James Wilson wasn’t supposed to be on clinic duty.
Instead, he was supposed to be doing paperwork in his office and maybe letting a patient thank him for dying. It wasn’t like he enjoyed it, it was just what happened.
He decided he’d rather do clinic duty because it would kill time in a more stimulating way than sitting at his desk putting pen to yet more paper. He was actually kind of looking forward to going to the diner with House, as he liked movies from around the same era (La Dolce Vita, Contempt, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and other greats) and the music wasn’t too bad either.
Out of all his patients that day, the last one had to take the longest to diagnose. Technically speaking, it wasn’t the first time he had been to see her. She had gotten increasingly ill, and the Oncology ward suspected it was cancer, so had kept her there for a few days while they carried out CBCs, MRIs, laparoscopies, before finally carrying out more than one biopsy, just to find that it was an extremely rare (of course) type of ovarian cancer that only affected 0.1% of ovarian cancer cases: SCCO.
Unfortunately it was terminal, and Wilson was nearly 15 minutes late to meeting House after his shift had ended because he had to hold her hand as she cried. Again, he neither liked nor disliked this aspect of his job. It was just another part of his day, like paperwork or clinic duty.
He would’ve preferred it if House hadn’t been tapping on the glass door to her room while Wilson was trying to comfort her for the past minute though. He looked at his watch when he saw him, and hurriedly wrapped things up with the patient.
When he left the ward, House gently whacked the back of Wilson’s leg with his cane. “You do remember I don’t have my bike? I was standing in the freezing cold for 15 minutes, you prick.”
”You could have just come inside you know? You’re not going to catch anything by being patient.”
”Yeah, but if I stay here longer than my shift, I get hives. Nurse Brenda’s scowl is enough to make me itch.” House then let out a comedic shudder, causing Wilson to laugh sarcastically.
When they stepped outside, Wilson pulled his coat tightly around him in an attempt to keep the cold out. House wasn’t exaggerating when he said it was freezing. His car was on the other side of the parking lot. It wasn’t a massively long distance, it just felt like that while trudging through slush.
House seemed to notice he was shivering, and shucked his jacket off, handing it to him.
“What happened to standing outside in the freezing cold for nearly fifteen minutes?”
“You look like you’re about to turn blue, take the jacket or die of hypo.” He took the jacket.
It was a little better, still a fight not to let his teeth chatter until they got in his car though, where he quickly turned on the heating.
“Single-handedly destroying the environment Jimmy? Tut tut, I expected better of the oncologist with a rep for being ‘the good guy.’” House chided jokingly, fiddling with the radio dials.
”Says the guy who just gave me his jacket.” he deadpanned, before casting his eyes down to his lap and saying quietly, “Thanks by the way.”
If Wilson hadn’t known any better, he could have sworn blush warmed House’s cheeks, turning them a pretty shade of pink.
Music started to filter through the loud noise of the heating, House having finally settled on a song.
My body is a cage that keeps me…
From dancing with the one I love…
They drove in silence for a bit, the sun beginning to set low in the sky. Suddenly…
”Wilson?”
”Yeah?”
”I- I think I…” House sighs. He sounded almost… angry? “Never mind.”
Set my spirit free…
Set my body free…
-
Eventually, they got back to the apartment, after sitting in the car in awkward silence aside from whatever radio station was on, and began to think about what clothes they were going to wear.
Originally, House wasn’t going to wear anything different to what he usually wore for going out drinking, but Wilson had held up this pair of round, tinted glasses, reminiscent of John Lennon (in a pinch), and he’d caved. It wasn’t like he couldn’t just take them off if he cringed too hard in the mirror. Aside from that, a turtleneck and blazer had to be 60s enough.
Wilson, on the other hand, had been digging around in his wardrobe for at least 20 minutes, with House sitting, unamused on his bed, picking discarded items up off the floor with his cane and giving unwanted opinions as much as possible. It was really entertaining.
He held up a paisley shirt in disdain. “Why did the 60s have to become the era of retinal damage? I feel like I need sunglasses just to look at this thing. Why do you even own this?”
”My dad gave me some of his clothes when he was clearing out his closet a couple years ago. I was thinking about what to wear on the drive home and remembered that I still had them.” Wilson explained absent-mindedly, throwing aside a tie-dye shirt and what looked suspiciously like bell-bottoms.
”You’re such a girl.” House tried to hide his fond smile, thanking coincidence that Wilson had his back to him at this point.
Wilson huffed and ignored him, before grabbing a pinstripe waistcoat and pants combo.
“What, are you going to the diner on business?” House snarked.
”It’ll be fine with no tie. Maybe if I cuff the ends of the pants?” he sighed. “I don’t know, I’ll figure it out.”
”Better figure it out soon or we won’t have time for a drink before midnight.” The clock read 5:19.
Eventually, after another 10 minutes of deliberating, Wilson decided on a white button up shirt, a red v-neck sweater vest and black pleated pants that stopped just at his ankles. Clearly he was a little taller than his dad. Still shorter than himself, House noted pettily.
-
Finally, at around 8pm, they showed up at the diner. It had a kind of chaotic vibe, with its checkerboard floors clashing with the red and white booths; not to mention the turquoise walls and slightly dim, orangey lighting. Its cobbled-together, vintage look made it feel almost comforting. Music, though easy to hear over the bustle of the diner, was lazy and indecisive (changing from 60s rock to psychedelic tracks with no words). The whole combination gave the place a cozy atmosphere.
A waitress on roller skates rolled up to them at the front door and sat them down with a bubbly “May I please take your orders, cool cats? If you wanna change the jive, the jukebox is right over there, though I warn ya, it’s a buck a pop, so be prepared to lose all pocket change!”
They ordered, and were left alone for a while. By the time the waitress came back with their drinks, the lights had grown dimmer, allowing for the slow turning of the disco ball to send specks of light over the centre of the diner, highlighting the dance floor and letting the customers in the booths have a tad more privacy.
The club had steadily evolved from its daytime to night-time persona. A lazy jazz song had just finished playing, and soon Elvis was quietly serenading people out of the speakers connected to the jukebox.
”Wise men say…” And so on.
House and Wilson were bickering (and occasionally talking) when House, who was sat facing the door, suddenly stopped and groaned. “You have got to be kidding.”
Wilson craned his neck to see who House was talking about, and sure enough, Chase and Cameron were stepping into the bar. Clearly they were on a date, as Cameron was holding Chase’s arm and smiling.
They had also dressed for the occasion. Cameron looked like a 60s flower child, with a long flowery dress, white boots, and a paisley bandanna wrapped around her wavy blonde hair. It was pretty on her, but very understated compared to whatever Chase had going on. A paisley button down shirt, bell bottoms and a fringed jacket. Perched on the end of his nose were a pair of round, tinted glasses very similar to House’s. House immediately took his off.
”I give it five seconds before one of them says what a surprise it is to see us then tries to pretend we’re not here for the rest of the night.” House leaned back in hs seat, eyeing Chase with suspicion (masking something else… irritation? Wilson was unsure.)
”Or until they try to leave.” Wilson turned back and took a sip from his vermouth.
House looked like he wanted to reply, but Cameron spotted them and rushed over with Chase following closely behind.
“House! Wilson! What a surprise to see you two here! And dressed up too!”
”Yeah, funny three out of the four employees on the diagnostics team chose the same gimmicky nostalgia trap for drinks tonight.” House looked at Wilson. “Not quite five seconds, but close enough.”
Chase quickly spoke up. “It was her idea, I just thought it sounded fun.”
”Says the guy most dressed up. Something tells me this was your idea. It’s fine, it was mine too. For once we’re the ones dragging them-“ he gestured to Wilson and Cameron “-to places, not the other way around.”
Wilson interjected, pleasantly telling Cameron; “You look great. Very Woodstock.”
”And you look like dollar-store Jim Morrison.” House said to Chase, who had sat down uninvited opposite House.
“You look like the pretentious high school teacher who gets fired for picking on the special kids.” Chase retorted. House sighed and pretended to wipe away a tear. “He’s learning,” he said faux-proudly, “They grow up so fast.”
Though a bit miffed that Chase and Cameron had interrupted their… what was it exactly? Going out drinking with your friend that you had a burning desire to kiss on the mouth wasn’t technically classed as a date, but that’s what House wished it could be…
Anyway, they settled into a comfortable banter, the bickering having moved on from Wilson and House to Chase and House, with Cameron and Wilson chatting about random things in a friendly fashion. Waiters occasionally skated up to them to refill their drinks and offer food. It was festive. House felt a bit nauseous.
That is, until the door opened again, Foreman walking in with a dejected look on his face, until he spotted them and they spotted him. Cameron spoke up first.
“Is that… Foreman?” she moved to get up and greet him, but he was already coming over.
”What. The hell. Did I miss an invite or something?” Foreman attempted a deadpan, but it was ruined by the unhappy look on his face.
”No, Foreman. It was just a coincidence,” Cameron tried to reassure him. “What’s wrong anyway? You looked a bit maudlin walking in here.”
“Yeah, I came here to drink after my shift because one of the patients I was working on went brain-dead after we gave him a medicine that caused a blood clot that nobody noticed until it was too late.” The booth was silent aside from an ‘I’m sorry’ from Wilson and House of all people moving up so that Foreman could sit down. Chase ordered him a drink and Cameron patted his hand.
And so Foreman joined the gang. More and more drinks were ordered, most of the group members going from tipsy to more than a bit drunk. There was laughing, a little bit of crying, and House was the only one not getting more stupid with the alcohol. Chase made some crude joke about bell-bottoms and the entire table burst out laughing. Even Wilson was giggling a little. God, House thought, he was so whipped.
The night moved on, more people were dancing on the floor in the centre of the diner, they were all feeling fuzzy from the copious drinks and The Turtles music playing over the top of it all.
Suddenly, House was being tapped on the shoulder by none other than Lisa Cuddy. The conversation abruptly stopped. Would they get in trouble for drinking together into irresponsible hours of the night without a designated driver? What about the fact that Cameron was on Chase’s lap? That had to be an HR nightmare.
“My date cancelled, and I saw you. Mind if I sit with you?” She asked flatly, not without a trace of hope, though. Of course, people shuffled up and they were now all squished into the booth. Yes they fit, but it was clearly made to comfortably fit 5 people maximum. It helped that Cameron was still on Chase’s lap, though it was slightly more awkward now that their boss’s boss was there.
Cuddy had also dressed up, leaving Foreman the only one still in his work clothes. She sported knee-high, heeled white boots, a black mini dress with long sleeves, and hair that looked like a less dramatic bouffant. It suited her really well, though House would never-
“Nice, Cuddy. What asshole would stand you up?” he said, slurring his words together slightly. He had a bit of a headache. Maybe it was time to slow down on the alcohol. Cuddy ordered a drink from the waitress who had served them earlier. Yet another Turtles song started playing. Happy Together, of course. House let out an overly dramatic groan as the intro played.
“If anyone starts singing, I’m limping into traffic. Where’s my cane?”
Naturally they all started singing when the chorus came, seeing as none of them knew the first couple of verses except Wilson, who was too nice to bully House this way.
Being that so many people had arrived after them, House and Wilson were now squished together, and House had totally not been leaning on Wilson’s shoulder for the past couple of minutes in a melodramatic attempt to hide from the drunk singing of his colleagues (read: friends).
Wilson felt his face burning, and he wasn’t sure whether it was because of the alcohol or the smell of House’s hair. He had half a mind to bury his face in it, before remembering where he was, and stiffening up. House sat up, squinting at him in his alcoholic haze. “What’s the problem? You’re such a lightweight…”
House chuckled to himself. Wilson’s eyes were so pretty under this light, especially as he averted them bashfully to take another swig of his drink. House took note of the flush on his cheeks.
A game of truth or dare had started up around the table, mainly between the ducklings, with Cuddy occasionally joining in to suggest truths or dares. House was naturally the best at giving dares. Foreman had been made to flirt with a waitress, Chase had to kiss a random body part of Cameron’s (he’d chosen the cheek, how coy), and Cameron had to stand on the table without falling over or being noticed by the staff (surprisingly she’d gotten away with it, despite probably having drunk the most that evening aside from House and maybe Wilson.)
”House, I dare you to dance when the next song comes on. With, hmm…” Chase pretended to deliberate when he clearly had already decided and had been holding onto this for a while. “Wilson!”
Wilson had been taking a drink and choked as he was caught by surprise by the dare. He spluttered for a minute, tears threatening to form, before he recovered and glanced at House.
”You expect me to dance?” House said incredulously.
”Well if you’re too chicken to do the dare…” Chase dragged out the last syllable, knowing he was being irritating.
“Don’t be stupid. Of course I’ll do it.” he huffed. Wilson still hadn’t said a word.
Slowly the song started to fade out, welcoming in a bouncy guitar riff and then what sounded like tambourines. Cameron sat up in recognition, grinning.
“Oh, I know this song, I love this song! Can you dance with me? Please…?” Cameron did her best puppy eyes, holding Chase’s hand as she stood up and nearly tripped over Foreman and Cuddy. Chase stumbled after her in wordless agreement, and House started to get up too. Grabbing Wilson’s hand for balance (before he could reach his cane that was leaning against the outside of the booth, no other reason), they too made their way to the dance floor.
”I can’t dance…” House was grumbling to himself. Curse him for never being able to turn down a dare. The lively music sounded a lot louder on the dance floor, and lyrics were now clearer, a bittersweet chant of a man jilted by his lover, and found comfort in apathy. Didn’t sound familiar at all…
Finally, they made it to the dance floor.
Well who’d have known that just yesterday…
She’d danced with me the very same way…
Wilson was desperately trying to reason with himself.
It’s just a two-and-a-half minute song, stop stressing. You’re just dancing with House, why does this feel like you’re dancing on your wedding. You don’t even like him like that. You shouldn’t… right?
Before he knew it, he was dancing with House.
”Your dancing is deeply heterosexual, you know that right?” House said quietly.
”You’re not even dancing, just limping in rhythm.”
“At least I have a better sense of timing than you do.”
Time seemed to be moving slowly. House seemed to be drifting away, thinking about something else, before coming to a decision. He looked almost… shy?
”I’m not… I’m not really sure about this-“
”Dancing?”
“You. Like this… it’s not nothing. You’ve felt it too, right?” he paused, like the weight of his words were crushing him. Wilson understood. He understood what he was feeling, and he was pretty sure House was feeling the same way. “If you can’t tell, I’m trying to tell you something without sounding like an idiot, which is-“
He didn’t get it finish his rambling explanation, as Wilson’s lips were on his before he could form another thought. It was felt weirdly do-or-die, and House couldn’t think of anything better.
Wilson hurriedly pulled away, clearly worried he’d done the wrong thing. “I’m sorry House, I wasn’t thinking straight, I didn’t-“ he blurted out a string of apologies. House cupped his face in his hands, staring into his eyes with sincerity. “I take back the deeply heterosexual comment.” he said rigidly. Then he kissed him back.
Cuddy had kicked her boots off long ago, sitting cross legged while the couple (couples now, apparently) danced (or kissed a lot in public). She took a sip from her martini.
She was going to have to do a lot of paperwork tomorrow.
Meanwhile, back on the dance floor, Chase was muttering to Cameron as they swayed in time with the new song that had come on.
California dreaming (California dreaming)
On such a winters day…
“I could have sworn they were already dating. I could feel the sexual tension from here.”
Cameron sighed. “House is an enigma, Wilson apparently just as much. It’s best just not to question it.”
Chase glanced over to Foreman, who was taking what looked like a wad of money out of his wallet. “Hey, you had a bet without me?”
”Would you believe me if I said no?” Cameron said sheepishly. Chase laughed into her hair before kissing her gently.
”No way.”
When they had all had their fill of dancing, they prepared to leave the diner, paying their bill and stumbling off to get taxis home, Wilson deciding he’d come to pick up his car in the morning. He had a day off tomorrow anyway.
Good thing too. House looked like he had things planned.