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  To Heal a Heart 
 by lilyleia78	

 To Heal a Heart

Wilson had no idea how he'd gotten here. His last clear memory was of
lying in a too-empty bed, staring at the ceiling and keeping his mind
carefully blank. He had no knowledge of the chain of events that had led
him here, the Princeton-Plainsboro ICU, staring down at the pale, drawn
face of his best friend.

Best friend. Everyone always wondered at that, and for the first time,
Wilson wondered too. Could he keep doing this? Was the forgiveness inside
him? House would probably think so. That used to be enough. Right at this
moment, it was hard to imagine.

Some part of his mind was dimly aware that Cuddy was no longer dozing in
the chair, but mostly he was acting on instinct. Without really thinking
too hard about why, Wilson took House's right hand in his own. He flipped
it over to stare blankly at the palm, his mind stupidly focusing on palm
reading and lifelines. He turned it back over gently and studied the back
of the hand instead. House carried all of his pain on this hand. Wilson
wondered if it could take his too.

Operating on autopilot, Wilson pulled the privacy curtain closed. He
shoved the abandoned chair tightly against House's bed and laced their
fingers together. The weight of grief and exhaustion pulled his head
toward the bed and he laid there - half on the chair, half on the bed -
and let himself be pulled into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

When Cuddy returned with a fresh cup of coffee, she wasn't surprised to
find Wilson sleeping with his head perched on the bed level with House's
hip. It didn't look comfortable, and Cuddy weighed the threat of a sore
neck against the need for peaceful sleep. As she watched, House woke and
the decision was taken away from her.

House blinked rapidly a few times, and Cuddy had the impression he was
taking a moment to assess his condition. He tightened his right hand
around Wilson's before finding the courage to glance down at the man
himself. 

House slowly extracted his hand and cautiously began stroking his fingers
through Wilson's hair. The raw look in his eyes made Cuddy's chest tighten
painfully. She felt like an intruder but remained rooted to the spot.

"I'm sorry, Wilson. Don't hate me. Forgive me just one more time," House's
deep voice was so low, Cuddy could almost think she was hearing things.
But she couldn't ignore the pleading pain in his eyes. 

Wilson stirred without waking. His hand came up to rest on House's hip,
offering comfort in sleep that he wasn't ready to offer while awake. The
diagnostician smiled, and Cuddy felt an echo of it on her own face. It
would take some time, but she had a feeling that everything was going to
be okay.

  
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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 NBC/Universal, 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.