Chapter Text
House was almost fully across the main lobby to his bike when he heard it. Music fading behind a voice bolstering the lyrics.
Gitchie, gitchie, ya-ya, da-daaa
Gitchie, gitchie, ya-ya, heerree
Interesting. All of the shops were closed, yet the curious noise came from the left side of the atrium. He limped his way over to a shop that had previously been empty for the last year, serving prior as a comfortable waiting area. The no longer waiting room had its security grilles shut. House hadn’t noticed it changing to what looked to be a small shop. A quaint looking cafe. Lights shone behind a counter and a closed door. House used the hook of his cane to grapple the metal shutters aside and slid them open. The music was definitely coming from the lit room, and he quietly shuffled towards it–but honestly, with the volume of the music he didn't need to try too hard– and made his way behind the counter and the door. He slowly peaked an eye through the rectangular window.
…
You were supposed to leave hours ago, but then the espresso machine had low water pressure, one of the lights on the front case went out, and all in all it felt like the universe was trying to stop you from opening tomorrow. The last on the list turned out to be one of the best problems to have with the used espresso machine. It simply needed a new filter since there was build up from hard water. Lady Marmalade rang through your speaker. Your hips sway as you pull on the valves to tighten the rig onto the filter. You sang the lyrics and went to run the water through the purge when the kitchen door slammed open and the water filter broke from the valve as you jerk at the noise, leading to water spewing all over the counter. And your top.
“Who the hell are you?!” A tall, frantic man hobbles towards you, as he screams over the music. You grip at your–now wet–shirt as you try to still your racing heart and take a deep breath in and slowly let it out. Your brain short circuited for a moment as the music rang on and began to crescendo.
But when he turns off to sleep, old mem'ries creep
More, more, MOOOORRREE
You cut the music on your phone and you curse this bastard for ruining the drop of the chorus.
“You have five seconds to turn around and limp your sorry ass out of here before I call security!” You make sure to keep a workbench between yourself and this audacious stranger as you make a show to hold up your phone and hover a finger over the screen, not over anything in particular, but hopefully the intruder is smart enough to know you're serious.
“Well, now, I think security might be a bit too distracted by the wet t-shirt contest,” he plops himself down into a single chair by the door and looks up to you with pleading, bright blue eyes, "I certainly am.” He swayed his cane in front of him.
“Who are you and what do you want?” You deadpan. You are not playing this game back; however, you still felt a blush creep onto your cheeks because of course you had a white shirt on, and you were sure it was now slightly transparent.
“A doctor, who the hell are YOU? And why are you here so late trying to ruin my mood by botching a wonderful soul tune,” he emphasized the last part by bumping his chest with a fist a couple of times. The last half of what the man said was so sarcastic and dry, you were surprised the water from your shirt hadn’t instantaneously evaporated.
“Right. Okay, Doctor,” you made sure to make the capitalization of the word apparent as you spoke in faux respect, “could ya do me the courtesy of leavin’ my cafe before I really do call security? You can come back tomorrow. When we are open.”
“Welp, you’re no fun. Adios.” he gave you a mock solute and groaned a little as he stood.
“A pleasure. Bye.” Your narrow eyes follow him through the atrium and out the front door before you get back to settling everything you needed for tomorrow, which now included a mess of water and hoping you didn’t rip the valve fully off the wall from your scare.
–
“Two cappuccinos, please. One with sugar, one without, the wife is on a diet.” The bright eyed guy raised his eyebrows and gave you a look of ‘oh you know how those women can be’. The universe hated you. It was the wackjob from last night, but at least he was wearing a badge, so maybe he actually was a doctor and not some new form of stalker. The name read House. You gave him a flat smile as you rang up his order. “Oh, while you’re at it go ahead and throw in a couple of those donut holes, not for the wife– for me of course, we’re trying to make the ground not shake so much as she walks. It’s beginning to scare the kids.”
Your mouth gapes for a moment, but you compose yourself, obviously this guy thrives for a reaction. You tell him the total and it’s his turn to gape, except this one is so dramatic the man had obviously missed his calling as a mime.
“I am expected to PAY?!” He is blubbering like a fish out of water. There is no one else in the small cafe except the two of you, so you let your hospitable exterior slip a moment.
“Well, Doctor House, I would think a man with a medical degree would understand the working of a business,” you pause and look him up and down and smile placentally at the taller man, “especially a man of your age.” His smile almost seemed genuine. You begin fixing his order while he deals with the process of understanding how a consumerist society works.
“A low and shallow blow. An expected response from someone without a medical degree.” He snagged the coffees and bag of treats from the counter as soon as you placed them down. Low blow indeed. “Put it on my tab.” And with that, he walked away towards the elevators. There is now a decent line where he once had stood as the hospital visiting hour opens, and so you are left with nothing to do except stare after him as he walks away for the second time in the last twelve hours.
…
Wilson was looking through a file on his desk as House walked in and set the coffees and his bag of treats on the small table in front of the couch. House reclined himself down onto it.
“Honey, I’m home! Want some sugar, sugar?” House shook the bag of donut holes and Wilson immediately got up and sat next to his friend.
“Where did you get this from?” He snatched the bag from House’s hand too fast for him to pull away and ate a donut hole, “damn, where did you get these from?”
He drank a sip of coffee from the cup closest to him and almost moaned. Damn, this was so much better than cafeteria or office coffee they were used to drinking.
“My sentiments exactly,” House spoke and then leaned back and threw a donut hole into the air and caught it in his mouth. Cuddy barged into the room.
“House!” Wilson gives him a side eye and takes a breath in to prepare for the worst, because at least he normally isn’t on the receiving end of Cuddy’s scrutiny. He just gets to witness it through his best friend. He popped another donut into his mouth and got comfortable for the show.
“I can deal with your harassment complaints normally, but as I see you have already reaped the fruits of our newest hospital addition, I shouldn’t have to. This new cafe is a good thing for the hospital AND us. AND more importantly, potentially the quality of our patients and their families who are here with us.” She huffed and pointed a finger towards Wilson who immediately put his hands up in surrender. “You couldn’t’ve paid the poor girl for him?”
“I’m innocent-!”
“Plead the fifth-” House cut in at the same time and Wilson looked down to the gifts he brought him and his whole face contorted.
“You stole this?” Wilson is exasperated and sighs.
“We own her, it should be free. Or at the very least she should be grateful to the astonishing doctors staffed in this building who save countless lives everyday,” House stated matter of factly.
“God help me, we don’t own her. We get a percentage of her sales. Somebody go pay her!” Cuddy left in a flourish and slammed the door behind her.
“Hate to see her go, love to watch her leave, do you see the extra shake of her ass when she’s angry?” Wilson got up and House put his cane out to stop him, but he kicked it out of the way.
Cuddy was waiting outside his office, arms crossed. He asked about the new cafe and despite him probably being able to find it without her guidance, he stood and listened to her spiel about the new establishment: Wishful Thinking. He was impressed with the thoughtfulness of it. The main drawl for most would probably be the source of caffeine as they lay and wait for results of loved ones, or doctors needing a caffeine kick from a third or 24 hour shift; however, the cafe will also be great for patients who are looking for a sweet treat while also suffering from being immunocompromised, diabetic, celiac, and so on. The woman in charge has an associates in nutrition and a culinary degree. He said his goodbyes to Cuddy, apologized on behalf of House, and made his way from the fourth floor down to the main atrium.
…
You hold an older lady’s hand as she speaks to you in a soft voice.
“My husband smiled for the first time all week today after I grabbed him some treats from you earlier. Do you have anything a poor old celiac can have?” The woman’s short round face turned to the dessert case on her left, eyes hungry. “I was so distracted with him earlier I missed out on myself, you see, but now the old geezer is napping and he can’t see the extra sweet treats I get.” She gave you a wink. You laughed and talked to the old woman–Sharren, you mentally corrected yourself–and then sent her on her way with a mousse cup and a cookie. You watch her as she slowly makes her way to the elevators to get back to her husband.
A man walked up to the counter next. His hair was malleable looking and as your eyes met his, you realized his eyes were even softer than his hair looked. They are a deep brown with a slight sparkle to them. Your eyes trail to his lips, which are also criminally soft looking, and you blush as you move to his tie and it looks ridiculous. His high cut cheek bones beg to be caressed. Fuck, focus. You smile to yourself and meet his warm brown eyes again. Boy was this guy a looker.
“Mrs. Dias is a wonderful lady, her husband has squamous cell carcinoma,” you blink at him and your smile falls a fraction and the man cleared his throat and then thought better of himself with a tight smile, “a type of skin cancer, sorry, I’m an oncologist, Dr. Wilson, I’m here to…” he looks into your eyes for a moment, and warms his face before continuing, “pay for someone’s order, a specific someone’s–a friend’s order. Do you remember a Doctor House coming by earlier?” There is absolutely no way this man could be a friend to that asshole from before.
“How could I possibly forget.” Your response came out more clipped than you intended and Wilson gives you puppy dog eyes.
“House is a bit…Unconventional, I normally get to play damage control.” Wilson looked genuinely apologetic for his friend.
“My, by the way he treated me last night AND this morning, I can only imagine how many people would be willing to do that for him.” You almost huff, and that made Wilson hesitate. He was going to kill House.
“So he is guilty of more than just theft? Should I start calling in the national guard to help diminish the flames?” You smile.
“He’s lucky his advocate has a bleeding heart and nice eyes,” you snapped your mouth shut and felt your cheeks pink. You looked down to the man’s ridiculously striped and colored tie and peaked over the counter to see if you could spot a ring. Nada. Score. Wilson’s eyes darken, or did it just get darker in here? His smile changed slightly, but never faltered.
“I’d say I’m the lucky one. I got to reap the reward of a donut earlier and now the pleasure of learning there might be even more bounty in my future soon,” Wilson hands you his card and you turn two shades darker, but smile and swipe it. As you hand it back you can’t tell who made the contact of your fingers more purposeful.
“Hang on one sec… Doctor,” you look at him through your lashes and he nods silently. The word ‘doctor’ had never felt so intimate off of your tongue, and good god, you are going to be playing out fantasies of this man for the rest of the day. You push through the door to the back for a batch of the protein cookies you were still perfecting the ratio of. You swung the door open and walked to the other side of the counter and handed Wilson the bag of cookies and explained that you’re still working out the kinks (ugh your brain is rotten around this man) and hope he reports back to you soon with his professional opinion on the cookies.
“Report back to me soon, Doctor, and consider your,” you noticed House walking towards the cafe and you wave in his general direction, “friend’s deprivations rectified. For now, I assume.”
“Ah, so you’ve met the wife,” House put up his hand like he was trying to make sure no one could read his lips, but held it on the wrong side of his mouth so the whole room could see what he was saying and not just you. "See what I’m saying about the earth shaking?”
Well, you actually did, but not in the way he implied earlier, more like a tsunami coming in and crashing around you and the only way you’re ever going to be able to survive is to steal the oxygen from Wilson's lips. The thought makes you steal a glimpse to the lips in question and they smile back at you.
“What is it, House?” Wilson gives you an apologetic glance.
“Well you took longer than I thought you would, so I had to make sure they weren’t holding finals for the wet t-shirt contest and you were holding out on me,” House looked to you disappointed. “Did I just miss it? Maybe I can rectify-” Wilson sees a very bad glint in his friend’s eye, and grabs at House’s wrist as he begins to jerk it towards you, holding an open coffee cup, “that, HEY! Don’t manhandle me in public…I’ll blush. Save it for when we get home.” House gives Wilson a school girl giggle and a wink. That gives you a slight pause, and maybe you’ve read this whole situation wrong. Was the asshole, scruffy guy and this soft, golden retriever together? Maybe the sexual harassment jokes are just remaining internalized homophobia. You guess the fantasies will remain in your head. Maybe they can progress to the three of you–oh god keep those thoughts for AFTER the victims are out of sight. House looked at you like he knew exactly what you were thinking.
“Oh, now that’s interesting. Honey, are we interested in a third?” House turned to Wilson and slapped his butt with his cane and he finally got where your mind had gone. You are going to die of embarrassment. It must be all over your face.
“I know I-” House is cut off before he is able to finish that.
“We’re not together, he just likes to ruin my life. I’ll report back as soon as I can, maybe we can talk over some more of your coffee. It was great, really. Thank you…” You hadn't even given him your name yet, but at least you know there is nothing to worry about with the taller man, at least on Wilson’s side that is.
“Y/n.” You reach your hand out to shake his. He accepts and his hands are smoother than you would have imagined, but firm as he grips your own. He introduced himself as Doctor James Wilson, and continued to hold your hand for a moment longer than necessary before letting go.
“Good god, get a room, or better yet, let's meet up in my room later. How does 5 o’clock sound?" House winks. Wilson put his hand on House’s arm like he was about to lead an elderly man across the street like a good boy scout and began to shuffle the taller man away. Wilson waves and you give a small smile and wave back.
A line is beginning to form again and you get back to work, mind almost completely distracted as you watch Wilson’s fitted pants strut away.