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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.
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