(Untitled)

[yourtieisugly]

Who: House-Wilson and Wilson-House
Where: The hangar
What: A MAN HUG. A BIG, SWEATY, ENTIRELY PLATONIC MAN HUG.
When: Following this series of e-mails (and before the last petal falls off the rose in the West Wing of the Beast's castle

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[snazzyties]

"...Hey." Wilson stood, sweat on his brow from the pain that he could no longer contain. The leg, everything else that ached, and the feeling that he just wanted to forget everything that had happened in the past month or so.

Not forget Amber, but... he forgave him. Somewhere, between taking the pills every day all day long, and watching the show, and seeing him say I don't want Wilson to be mad at me, in such a genuine way.

And now he was apologizing, kind of.

Their friendship meant something to House. Honestly meant something.

Wilson rubbed his forehead. "House, I'm so sorry."

[yourtieisugly]

Other people were good at this. Apologies. Other people accepted them and got all kinds of good feelings hearing them and, sometimes, they even gave them out themselves and could write off that week's trip to the therapist. House's experience with apologies was limited. He never saw the point of them; either delivering them or hearing them come from other people.

But now, seeing himself apologize and hearing it out of his own mouth (Christ, he thought, has he been practicing in front of a mirror? How come I've never seen myself look that sincere?) House revisited the last two months of his life -- every uncomfortable, awkward second of it.

He tugged his lips against his teeth and looked down. The pavement was scored with tire treads. He grunted. Wilson was waiting for him to say something.

"I don't --" he pulled his tongue up short and reconsidered whatever it was that he was going to say; started over with "-- I'm sorry, too."

[snazzyties]

Wilson smiled. More than anything, he wanted to reach around and hug House, but not only would that involve actually hugging House, but it involved basically wrapping someone else's arms around himself. Which was just bizarre.

Instead, he wavered awkwardly, trying to take the pain off of the right leg, that it looked like would keep him in pain forever. But maybe that was for the best, after all. House had done his time in the prison he called a body, and now Wilson would just have to learn to cope. Let House live a little.

Aw, to hell with it. They were probably there anyway.

Wilson stepped in closer, well, limped in, and put a hand on House's shoulder. "You're all I have too." It came out loud and stiff, but there it was.

He leaned in, waiting for House to push him away, or for a thousand demons to come screaming through the cracks of the sidewalk with icicles on their tails.

[yourtieisugly]

A snort sounded so uncivilized coming out of Wilson's cultured, always courteous mouth. "Chuh, you are such a girl." He blinked down hard on the rough grainy feeling at the corners of his eyes. He'd given an apology. The last, hail-mary, back-of-the-brain thing that House thought might shake them both free of whatever this was. They were stuck. This was it.

He glanced at the hand on his shoulder and, without thinking, pulled the other man in close for a tight hug. "I've lost everyone," he said, muffled by his shoulder, "I can't lose you."