FIC: Everybody, This Is House
Title: Everybody, This Is House
Author: serotonin_storm
Fandom: House
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: House/Wilson
Word Count: 2000 words
Summary: House goes to meet the Wilson clan for the first time.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: This was a planned two-parter, but sadly, I still haven't gotten around to finishing the second part. Sorry about that. Edited 12/9/08.

“You can't insult them. Not bluntly, not subtly. My mother is a smart woman; she'll pick up on everything. Don't make smart ass comments about the food, or the wallpaper, or whatever other triviality you find to dislike because nitpicking makes you less uncomfortable. And please, try to resist the urge to make jokes about us sleeping together. The last thing my father needs is a heart attack, his cholesterol is already high.”

House tapped his thumb against the glass of the window and glowered. “If I didn't know any better,” he grumbled, “I'd think you were being pessimistic.”

“Realistic,” Wilson corrected. With House's stubborn fondness for cynicism, Wilson was sure he knew the difference.

“If we're being realistic,” House replied, “then sometime in the future the sun will burn out, supernova, and suck our planet in. Think I should spend the next twenty years worrying about that? Or can we go in now?”

Stifling a yawn, he massaged the back of his neck. “Your first meeting with my family is a more immediate threat than the end of the world, House. Just don't do anything...” he paused, then shrugged, “you-like.”

“It's impressive how much you love me. Now, seriously – leg. Searing pain. Inside. Now,” House snapped.

“I – ” He sighed. “Yeah, okay. Just remember -- behave.”

He reached for the handle, stepped out of the car into the damp winter air, and stretched. Long car rides invariably cramped his muscles. He couldn't help feeling guilty when he thought of what that must mean for House. There was a hollow bang as House's cane slammed against the side of the car, and Wilson looked over. House gripped the handle and leveraged himself out of the passenger seat, glaring darkly at Wilson as if daring him to do something stupid like offer assistance. Rolling his eyes, Wilson prayed to God to spare him a dent in his vehicle. There was no way in hell House would pay to get it fixed. “No, don't ask for any help getting up. Just damage my property. I can see how that's a much better option. It was a cheap car anyway,” he said.

“The best option is for me to damage your property and drive the car through your parents' living room wall,” House retorted. He grunted as he steadied himself on his feet. “Wanna go with that, because I really don't have a problem with it.”

“As fun as that would be, no. I doubt you could even get back in the car in the state you're in. Come on.”

Turning, he started up the gravel driveway to the house. Even after all these years on his own, the crunching of gravel underneath his feet always reminded him of home. House was still by the car when Wilson reached the door of the big, old house he'd grown up in. From twenty feet away, Wilson could still see him gritting his teeth in pain and annoyance. “Take a Vicodin,” he called.

House slammed a hand into his pocket jerkily. “Gee, why hadn't I thought of that?” he yelled back.

“You lack my sensible brilliance,” Wilson quipped.

House swallowed a pill and began to painstakingly limp toward him, rattling his pill bottle obnoxiously in response. His hand was clutched in a death grip around his thigh by the time he reached the door. “Wanna see me stoned out of my mind in front of your parents? Continue down this path,” House threatened.

Finger hovering above the doorbell, Wilson turned back to the other man. “That reminds me,” he said. “Try to remember that Vicodin are not candy while in front of them. My mother doesn't need to think I brought home a druggie.”

“Wilson.” He felt a pat on his shoulder. “You did bring home a druggie,” House said, voice thick with fabricated sympathy.

He raised one eyebrow and finally pushed down on the doorbell. It tolled loudly inside. “So I've noticed. They just don't need to know that.”


--

When his brother opened the door a moment later, he was wearing a large, multi-colored clown wig and a round, red nose. "Wait, Wilson," House said off to his right, "you didn't tell me you were bringing me to the circus. Did you forget about my allergy to freaks?"

He shot House a chastising look, then smiled teasingly at his brother. "Bobby. You've certainly changed your look since Hanukkah."

Bob grimaced. "It's Liza, you know how she is. It was either Daddy dressing up as a clown when we went to see Grammy and Pop-Pop, or she wasn't going to speak to anyone." He made a frustrated whimper. "Daddy's wig is making his head sweat."

House cleared his throat. "Grammy and Pop-Pop," he repeated, eyes fixed on Wilson. "How very Jewish of you. I'm impressed."

"House, right?" Bob asked, extending his hand. "I'm Robert, Jim's brother."

House regarded the hand dismissively. He nodded to his cane. "Can't. Might fall over. You know what they say about cripples and balance."

"Right," Bob drawled, narrowing his eyes in Wilson's direction. "Look, Mom's been whining about you being late all night, Jim. I can't juggle her, the kids, and the endless stories about Dad's heartburn on my own. Would you get in here already?"

"Right, right," Wilson said, hurrying past his brother. House followed closely, hissing into his ear, "You didn't tell me there would be spawn here. You've deceived me. No nookie for you."

"You'll just have to punish me for being such a naughty, naughty boy," he said sarcastically.

House snorted. "You wish."

His neice was the first to stop him. She was camped out on the couch with a dozen or so Barbies strewn around her. She grasped one by its head and waved it wildly when they entered the living room. "Uncle Jimmy!"

Wilson knelt down on one knee and opened his arms as Bob disappeared into the kitchen. "Little Miss Liza, come give me a big hug."

Liza ran to him and clasped her arms around his neck. He gripped his tightly and stood. "Grammy kept saying you weren't gonna come," she whined in his ear.

"Grammy says that every time. Is she ever right?" he asked.

"Nope, you always come," Liza said happily.

"That's right," he agreed. He turned to the black-clad figure hunched in the corner of the room. "What about you, Ashley? Where's my hug?"

Ashley pursed her lips, crossed her arms, and glared at him darkly. "It's Ivy, Uncle Jimmy. I'm changing it. I told you that last time."

"Don't listen to her, Jim," a voice called from the kitchen. His sister-in-law, Kathy. "We're not encouraging that kind of behavior."

"Oh, independence," House said. "How scary."

"Who's he?" Ashley asked, staring at House appreciatively.

Wilson let Liza down to the floor slowly. "This is Hou -- er, Greg. My friend," he said as the little girl ran back to the couch. The name "Greg" felt heavy on his tongue, and he resolved not to use it again, no matter how formal "House" might sound.

House limped closer and threw an arm around him. "Very close friend," he corrected.

"House," Wilson said warningly.

"What?" House asked, feigning hurt. "Do you wish us to hide our love, Pookie?" Wilson grimaced and shrugged him off.

"Ohhh," Ashley said. She nodded conspiringly. "So you're, like, gay and all."

"Ashley!" his sister-in-law yelped. She appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, hands on her hips, Bob following closely behind. "Ignore her, Jim. You know how teenagers are," she said.

"Jeez, Mom, I'm not four," Ashley said sulkily. "You can hide the gayness from Liza, but it's not gonna work with me. Just give it up already."

"Ashley, don't talk like that to your mother. We had a talk about this last night," Bob said wearily.

"What's 'the gayness'?" Liza asked.

"It's where your Ken doll would rather go to the mall with Barbie and pick out pink bikinis than play house," House said.

"But Barbie likes house," protested Liza.

"He already got all tuckered out playing house with the other Ken dolls," House answered, tone wicked with double-meaning. "Your uncle Jimmy plays house all the time. Granted, a much more exhausting kind..."

Liza cocked her head and her braid tumbled over one shoulder. "But why would he -- "

"That's enough questions," his sister-in-law said quickly. "Why don't you go watch cartoons, Liza?"

"But -- "

"Come on." Kathy stood and walked into the living room. She took her daughter's hand and firmly led her out of the room. "You can watch them in Grammy's room."

Liza sighed. "Can I watch Grim and Mandy?" Wilson heard her ask as they disappeared down the hall.

There was the sound of the screen door slamming and some rustling in the kitchen. "Jimmy!" He turned instantly at the exuberant voice of his mother. The tall woman stalked up to him immediately and pulled him into a hug. "I thought you'd changed your mind about coming!"

"I never change my mind, Ma," he said, patting her shoulder awkwardly. "Where's Dad?"

"Out back. He's grilling us some hamburgers and hot dogs."

He caught the guilty face of his brother peaking out of the kitchen. "You didn't tell me Dad was grilling," Wilson accused.

"I wanted you to actually come inside," defended Bob.

"We could have gotten food from somewhere close by and brought it back for everyone if you'd told me, Bobby. Now we all have to eat it."

His mother swatted at him. "Jim, your father is a wonderful cook."

"Who here makes the macadamia nut pancakes of love?" House asked. Wilson turned to stare; leave it to House to come up with a love of cooking out of nowhere. "What?" the other man demanded. "You must get the recipe from somewhere, and you guard it like a vicious, feral hound."

"You can't hit my mother up for my recipes, House. Some things are just below the belt."

"Oh, that's below the belt!" House said with obvious amusement. "What about the time I -- "

"I'm sure whatever it is was worse, so I'd prefer you didn't finish that sentence." His hands slid to his hips. "She doesn't know the recipe, anyway, so your shortcut won't work. You'll just have to ask for them if you want them."

"That's cute. Pancakes are your insurance policy. I have to give you points on the gay, there."

"What's yours? The pleasure of your company?" Wilson asked, irritated. They'd had the "I may sleep with you, but I'm not gay, especially in front of anyone we know" conversation more times than he cared to remember, but House never went for it.

"Obviously," retorted House. "But I was thinking more along the lines of my enormous, immensely satisfying di -- "

"House!" he yelled before the man could go any further. House smirked, apparently pleased with himself, and Wilson couldn't for the life of him remember why he'd bothered to set ground rules in the first place.

When he finally got up courage to look around, he was sufficiently mortified by what he saw. Bob looked mildly ill, and his mother had one hand over her eyes (though beyond that, her expression wasn't all that unpleasant, maybe even amused). Kathy, who had just walked back into the living room, was looking very undignified with her mouth hanging open. Ashley wasn't even attempting to hide a snicker.

"Er, everybody," Wilson said, "this is House."


--

To Be Continued...