#house driving his car into cuddy's front window.

[gooseplumes]

on the one hand they definitely chose teardrop by massive attack bc the instrumentals are cool. on the other "love is a doing word" applied to the fucked up deranged toxic dynamics in house md between EVERYONE to EVERYONE makes me cuh razy

[asclexe]

birthmarks is actually hilarious

watching s5 ep4 of house as we speak and screaming it’s so funny

[spoilers !!]

house is extra unhinged in this one, bro’s father died and he was damn ready to just continue the differential. cuddy girlbossing and sedating him + wilson AGREEING to drive him? wilson we know what you are.

yay gay people road trip !! house was also damn ready to piss in wilson’s car, no hesitation. but he respects wilson enough not and wait for the rest stop. and then we get chaos house and THEIR BACKSTORY??? they met in jail??? hello? that’s so silly of them

side note i love kutner and the patient’s bond, even if it’s barely highlighted it’s quite sweet.

help wilson is at the funeral too, what are you doing there you blorbo? and them talking about house’s daddy issues during the service, i’m dead (like john house)

HA I FORGOT HOUSE’S FIRST NAME IS GREGORY. NOT THE SILLY FNAF ORPHAN 💀💀

oop now we’re getting his eulogy, i love him shitting on his dad at his own funeral. HOUSE IS SHOWING EMOTION HOLY SHIT, THIS IS not A DRILL. oh it was acting. but still house can you stop denying your emotions and sob uncontrollably into wilson’s shoulder. we know you want to.

argument in front of a random dead lady <33 like guys just kiss already. and wilson throwing a glass into the window like how they met, so silly.

“this is fun, isn’t it?” KISS KISS KISS

and ofc the buddha was rigged. NEEDLES? um ouch. i fucking hate needles and the fact she’s had them in her brain her whole life makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

finally wilson and house are friends again (like they ever weren’t friends) gay people cannot stay mad at eachother for long.

[joaquinbumblebee24]

Onslaught 3/11

A week and a half later, June 23, House packed his bag with Wilson’s help. They had been packing all day yesterday; their backpacks were brought to the brim.  Wilson overpacked; he wanted to make House comfortable. He and House had wanted to treat this trip as a vacation. While away for five weeks in the Philippines,  one week they would spend in the city of Clark in the province of Pampanga, two hours drive from the capital Manila. Then after the conference, the plan was to go backpacking across Luzon, one of the three main islands of the country.  

After the incident with his birthday House told Cameron that he was on the spectrum. The woman was on a hissy, half pitying and half freak out. She had almost blurted to a patient's father that Dr. House was autistic. Chase just removed her from the potential disaster on time.  

House was furious, and stress out. He finagled a five-week vacation from Cuddy. He told her about an offer for a research position at UCLA, and he was ready to take it. Wilson was willing to go with him. Cuddy was taken aback; she gave in without any fuss.

They took an Uber to the John F. Kennedy Airport in New York City. As soon as they were there, House’s nerves were shot to hell. He had taken his Luvox, which he only takes when extremely anxious.

“Greg, You okay?” Wilson asked while they walked to their gate. House put a hand on his ears, even though he has his noise-canceling headphones on. The airport was busy;  people were rubbing against him. House was on the brink of a meltdown. “Okay, Greg,” Wilson said dragging him to go to a bathroom.

As soon as the bathroom open House went inside a cubicle. Wilson followed him in; his partner was rocking back and forth. The oncologist slid down next to House and hugged him. The noise overwhelmed him, and too many people. Wilson knew this; He just stayed in the bathroom for thirty minutes. Luckily for them, they were an hour early.

After the meltdown ended, House felt humiliated. Wilson sensed this. “Hey?” Wilson said. “You don’t need to feel embarrassed, Greg. I love you.”

House huffed; he lost his words. As a child, whenever he had a meltdown, his Oma would know how to coax him, hugging him tightly.  “Jimmy, I’m fine,” House said, regaining his barrings.

Wilson blinked and handed House the cane.  He used a cane whenever they would walk far. His legs were easily fatigued due to hypotonia, which was related to the  Autism. They walked hand and hand; Wilson kept House’s guitar bag, it was the Martin LX1.

The next hurdle of this trip was the pat-down search. House past thru a metal detector fine; an agent stopped him. “Mister, where do you think you’re going?” The TSA agent asked.

House; oblivious to the sarcasm said. “To a medical conference in the Philippines, I’m a doctor.”

Wilson frowned. “Sir, please forgive him, he has Autism,” He said. The glare from House didn’t stop him. “He doesn’t understand sarcasm.” The statement was half correct. House could understand sarcasm when he knew the person speaking.

The TSA agent, a man asked. Are you his brother?”

Wilson glowered at him. “He's my husband.”

The TSA agent looked at House with disgust. Wilson sighed. “Where the hell is your supervisor? Because I won’t let you harass us for being gay. Being gay is not a crime.  I don’t know what you saw on him, but you are looking at the wrong person here. As he said, he is a doctor, not a terrorist. “ The agent looked humiliated.  

Wilson led House out to their gates. They sat at a frequent flyer lounge, Wilson and House were both frequent flyers. They flew at least once a month to go visit House’s 86-year-old Oma in Portland. While his parents settled in Eugine.

“Greg? You doing okay?” Wilson asked while they drink coffee.

House looked at him. "What do you think? You called me autistic in front of a bear;  I have no choice but to give a speech." He said, and his voice was bitter.

Wilson knew House. His spouse didn’t like it when people questioned their relationship, saying that because he had autism he didn’t know how to Love, romantically. “I’m sorry, I just need to get him off your back.”

House sighed. “I don’t want you to tell people I’m on the spectrum, James. It’s my business. “ He knew that House was upset when he uses his first name, not his nickname, ninety-nine percent of the time he was Jimmy to House or (Wilson at work.)

He knew not to argue with him; he was right. “Okay, I am sorry again.”

The overhead speakers announced their flight. They both got their backpacks, Wilson took the guitar, while House took his cane. They boarded the flight without any difficulties.

As they sat at first-class, House opened his laptop sleeve and got his MacBook Pro;  and began editing the speech, that Wilson wrote. While Wilson got to sleep.

The fifteen-hour flight was a success.

During the flight,  House played on his phone and iPad. While awake, Wilson researched  LGBT issues in the Philippines. Although there are no laws on the criminalization of homosexuality;  the country has no protection for being a gay man. According to his source, a nurse back in Princeton; "The Philippines is like the US in the ’90s. People in the country were more tolerant and accepting, though."

The plane touched down at Clark-Diosdado Macapagal International Airport. This was Wilson’s first time here in Asia; He and House had vacationed in Europe a bit.  They had avoided Asia and Africa for safety reasons.

“Jimmy, welcome to my home for five years.” Said House as he ordered a (Grab car) an Uber-like service in the country.

The Grab CAr arrived. As soon as they were in the got inside the car, House slumped in a seat. “Mabuhay, Welcome to the Philippines, My name is Carlos.”

Wilson looked at his partner for cultural guidance. “People in the country understands English pretty well, they had been learning it for years since Pre-School,” House told Wilson while slumping next to him in exhaustion.

“Okay, Carlos,” Wilson said. “What are the best places for food?”

The driver smiled. “There is the mall;  you can eat at some of our restaurants. First timer?”

Wilson smiled despite his exhaustion. “Yes, but my partner lived here when he was a teenager.”  

The driver’s smile was never faltered. “Where are you from?”

“We are from New Jersey.”

They arrived at their hotel. “If you want a ride, call me,” Carlos told Wilson in parting, giving him his personal number.  

Wilson booked a suite; at the Clark Marriott hotel. As soon as House saw their bed, he removed his blue Hershel & Co backpack and slumped to sleep. Wilson followed after a quick shower.

GH/JW

Hours later, It was ten in the morning they had arrived at 4AM. House woke up.  They needed to buy OTC medications.  They didn’t usually bring so many things, because he and that conveyor belt don’t mix. “Jimmy? You awake?” House asked, shaking Wilson. “Am hungry.”

Wilson  mumbled, “Greg, what time is it?”

House looked at the alarm clock. “ten-thirty. I‘m hungry.”

Wilson stood up and got his jeans from underneath the bed.

“Can we call for room service instead of going outside?” House asked,  getting his laptop from his bag.

Wilson most defiantly wanted to say no; Let's go outside and mingle in with the locals at the mall, but no, House needed to rest, for lunch, he would urge. “Okay." Wilson got the hotel phone. Then he asked as though forgotten. “What kinds of Filipino food do you eat when you were younger?”

House remembered the taste of one of the handfuls of mushy food he would eat, Kaldereta. Kaldereta was made of goat or sometimes beef with liver paste and tomato sauce. He’d love the beef version. “Kal- De- Re- Ta. Kaldereta.” When Wilson gave him a questioning look. “or Adobo.” He said the words with the correct accent.

“You call them yourself,” Wilson suggested. House looked at Wilson as if Wilson killed his puppy. Right, social anxiety, he thought. House swallowed nervously. “I won’t let you call them, okay?” Wilson was reminded; how House was in many ways a kid.

He dialed the number, “Do you have, Kaldereta or Adobo?” The staff on the other line answered an affirmative, “An order of adobo and kaldereta, please,  Rice?" House gave a big nod, he ordered rice too. “So what are we going to do today?” Wilson asked; when the phone call ended.

“Do some touristy things with you?” House said, peering from playing on his iPad.

They have watched CNN Philippines on the hotel’s flat-screen TV. It was an English channel but was geared towards Filipinos and what was happening in the country. “There is a freaking Typhoon,” House commented as he saw what was on the TV screen.

“Where is it headed?” Wilson asked.

“We don’t know yet,” House said, as he peered towards a half-opened window. Meteorology had been one of his obsessions growing up.

Their food arrived fifteen minutes later. House looked at his food, and the Kaldereta looked and smelled lovely. House tasted it; as soon as he tasted his food. He was brought back almost 30 years ago; in the same town, that was previously a military base.

Wilson was delighted to see him eat; House regularly didn’t eat, he didn’t like the texture, or the smell or its high caloric. His partner was closed to being too thin. “Greg, you really love it here?” He asked as he took a bit off his chicken adobo; it was really good.

House looked at everything, but not at Wilson. He is gearing up for a speech. “When I was eight, I was homeschooled because of autism. I was bullied. I was with Oma Abbigail in California, while mom joined father somewhere in South America. I didn’t come; it's too dangerous. When I got here, in Clark, knowing a few words of Tagalog.  I started in the third grade. They just put me on the fourth grade a month into it, After that school year I was entering the sixth grade.”

“Where I went to school was an international school, but 80 percent are Filipinos. Kids didn’t bully me, unlike that back in the states. They liked me, Here I was a Kano-puti or white American.” House said, touching the keyboard of his laptop repetitively.

Wilson didn’t know what to say. “I am sorry you went through that, babe.”

“Don’t be,” House said, making eye contact for the first time since the question started.

End of Chapter 3