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Paint Fumes
by Taima Hiroshima
"Less than a month to go." Wilson was standing over cans of paint in the hardware store, examining shades of yellow. "How about this color?" he held up a little card.
"Ew, no, it looks like piss." House wrinkled his nose. "Hank Wiggen piss, which is cool, but still piss."
"Okaaaay," Wilson put the card back neatly. He was wearing his weekend clothes of worn jeans and a white t-shirt. House drummed his fingers against his cane. This was really one trip he hadn't wanted to make.
"Why are we even bothering about it? We don't know if the little bugger is a boy or a girl yet." House picked up one of the cards. It was a shade that reminded him of pneumonia boogers.
Pea green, it said on the back of the card. Yeah, that's real imaginative, he snorted as he replaced it. They should have him naming these colors. Then again, no one would ever buy them if he did.
Damn his honesty.
"You mean I don't know about the sex of the baby. Which I would if someone wasn't being such a brat about it." He gave House a dirty look. "I can only pray our child doesn't pick up the same habits as you."
"What, you don't want him or her to have my stunning good looks and charm?" Wilson stood stock still for a moment before he burst out laughing. He laughed almost hysterically for a minute, before stopping abruptly to look at House.
"Oh, you were serious, weren't you?" he picked up a can of white paint. "We at least need to get a base coat down. That way when the baby is born, we'll have a nice clean palate to work with."
"You've been watching those art shows on PBS again, haven't you?" House accused. He shuddered. Bob Ross was creepy, with his white guy 'fro and morphine like state of serenity.
"Uh-no," Wilson looked away quickly. House chuckled. In an uncharacteristic bout of affection, he bent close to his companion and kissed his lips. When he pulled away, Wilson was blushing slightly. It made House smile, that after all they had done, it just took one public look, one brush of skin, one kiss to make his cheeks light up.
One of these days, he was going to have to play How Horny Can We Make James. He pondered the thought to himself as Wilson paid for the paint and brushes, rollers and trays.
They spent the better part of the day painting what had once been the guest room. That was what House called it anyway. Really, it was just a room for all the junk he didn't need but couldn't bear to throw away. There was a dresser crammed with old jeans and t-shirts, there were old, dog eared books, and scores of music. Old letters...
"Packrat much?" James mumbled when they stepped in. "Now I guess I know why you didn't want me sleeping in here."
"Yeah, you might have touched my stuff and messed it up." House sneered. He began placing things in boxes to put in his hall closet.
"I was thinking you were afraid I'd get lost in here. Then again," he cast a sidelong glance at House. "It is you we're talking about. What was I thinking?"
They cleared out the room and began painting. After a few hours of working in the quiet, House cleared his throat.
"What religion is the kid?" he asked as he sat down in a chair, pretending he'd worked hard. Really, he'd brushed a coat over the doorframe, but that was it. Wilson went thoughtful for a minute.
"I don't know. What were you thinking?" he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm, leaving a streak of paint. House looked at it fondly. Suddenly, he wanted to walk over and kiss Wilson.
He quickly stifled the feeling. Mustn't get too mushy now. Bad enough he was actually having a baby. He shrugged in response to Wilson's question.
"What's Leia?"
"She's Jewish. She wrote it in her biography."
"So, technically, our child is Jewish." House twirled his cane, careful not to scuff the paint job. Part of him ached to do so, but he knew he'd be castrated with a putty knife if he even attempted it.
"They don't have to be." Wilson shook his head.
"You don't want them to?"
"Sure I want them to." Wilson stood up straight and stretched his arms above his head, cracking his back. "But it's not just my choice. I also want my child to know he or she has the option of changing his or her mind, if they want to be Christian, or Muslim, or Buddhist."
"Or Taoist." House added.
"Um, I suppose."
"Fair enough," Greg agreed. "Did you tell your family?"
"Does it look like we're drowning in hand knitted booties and blankets?" Wilson laughed. It made little bubbles of joy rose up in House's chest and pop. Again, he tried to stifle the feeling.
"What about their last name?"
"I thought Wilson-House," Wilson blinked. He was surprised that House was thinking up these things.
"Fair enough," Wilson continued to paint, and House continued to watch, quick to point out when the other man had missed a spot. Wilson didn't complain, merely ground his teeth and stuck it out.
It had gotten very dark when he was finished. He laid in the middle of the carpet, inhaling paint fumes and not caring. House came and stiffly laid down on the floor next to him.
"Are you happy?" Wilson lifted his head to look at House.
"Yeah. It's probably just the paint fumes."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've narrowed names down! Girl; Rebecca Louise, Samara Eileen, Rachel, Ruth, Abigail Anne, or Autumn. Boy; Daniel, David, Luc, or Andrew.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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