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  Sorry 
 by Jackyblu  

 For 'Wilson', because 'House' needs to say SORRY again...

When reading this story, it helps to know the album Abbey Road.

*

Well Greg, you really screwed this up! Dr. Gregory House leaned against
the wall of his balcony. He had positioned himself so that he was able to
see into the office of Dr. James Wilson. House gave a slight shiver, it
had turned cold suddenly today, and a threat of snow was in the air. Damn!
House hated the snow. Cold weather gave his leg fits, and deep snow
excluded using his bike. It was also a pain walking with a cane on ice and
snow. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his bottle of Vicodin. He
tipped one into his hand, paused a moment and then added another. He
tossed them both into his mouth and swallowed. He was replacing the lid on
the bottle when he glanced up and noticed Wilson watching him with an
unpleasant look on his face. Wilson closed his eyes, shook his head once,
and left his office. He did not come out onto the balcony. Definitely
things were not 'all right' as far as Wilson was concerned. 

House abandoned his vigil on the balcony and returned to his office to
think. He shivered coming into the warmth of the office from the rapidly
dropping Princeton climate. Coffee was needed; he could warm his hands on
the mug. He limped into the conference room and went to retrieve a red
mug. 

Dr. Alison Cameron looked up from an AMA article she was reading, "Did he
talk to you?" She asked her boss quietly.

"Nope," House answered trying to be casual and pour his coffee without
spilling it all over his hand. Why am I shaking like this?

Cameron smiled in encouragement. "He will. You two never stay mad at each
other long."

"It's been two weeks, not that I'm counting."

"Or going to the balcony or haunting his outer office, or trying to be in
the cafeteria or the clinic whenever Dr. Wilson is." To her credit Cameron
didn't smirk or tease. She looked sincere. "You miss him."

"Wilson? I don't miss him! He's just being pissy. I made one comment and
he just took it wrong. I wasn't even serious."

"You weren't?"

House stirred sugar into his coffee. He put the stirring straw into his
mouth and thought for a moment. 

"Dr. House? Were you serious?" Cameron asked again.

House took the little straw from his mouth and pointed it at her, "Don't
do this."

"Don't do what?"

He leaned against the sink and regarded her. "Don't try to get into this
with me."

"I'm not trying to get into anything, with you. I just asked you a
question." Cameron's eyes snapped as if they were electric. 

He leveled his gaze at her. "You're trying to act as my conscience, and I
don't need it."

"Well apparently you do!" She crossed her arms in front of her on the
table and met his gaze, becoming an alarming female carbon copy.

Okay, this was a bit unnerving. He began to limp back to his office and
gave her a devastating, "Do not either," over his shoulder. Smooth Greg.
Great come back. He entered his office, set his coffee on his desk and
hung his cane on the bookcase. He sat in his chair placing his feet on the
desk and reached for his ipod. What to listen to? He searched through the
selections. God he was bored! Nothing looked interesting to him. Absently
he reached into a drawer and thumbed through his CD's. Nope, nope, nope,
wait, Abbey Road? He had forgotten it was in here. House pulled the CD out
and looked at the cover. The four fab friends eternally young would walk
forever in that crosswalk of London's Abbey Road. This was it! He removed
the disk, and placed it in the player, picked up his headphones and began
the music. Leaning back in his chair, House closed his eyes and let the
Beatles take him away. What was with Wilson? It was one stupid comment.
James had forgiven his remarks before! What was the big deal now? 

John Lennon was advising that they "Come together...right now". Can't do
that John, one of the parties is unwilling. House would be happy to
apologize to Wilson; the only trouble was Wilson would not get within
hearing range of House. He picked up the coffee and took a drink. Cameron
had switched brands on him again. House gave his mug an one eyed
appraisal. Hmm, wasn't too bad. In fact it was good. He took another
drink, and rested the mug on his knee. George was intimating about
"Something". Something needs to be done about this thing with Wilson. He
can't stay mad at me forever. House raised his mug again and caught sight
of a white lab coat moving determinedly past his office, the occupant of
which gave the office not a glance. Okay, maybe he can. Crap.

House was deep into Maxwell's Silver Hammer, singing along with the
lyrics. "Maxwell Edison majoring in medicine..." What was it he had said
to James? He had been drunk, that was true enough. Was it then, or back
here at the hospital? Couldn't have been at the hospital, I was kidding.
Back in school again, House has played the fool again, Wilson gets
annoyed...No shit Sherlock! It was monumentally unfair of Wilson to be mad
at a comment House couldn't remember. Wilson was all about fair play, good
deeds and all that. Why couldn't he give House a little hint? Was it at
the fundraising reception or here at the hospital? He supposed that as the
same people were in both locations it was kind of the same thing. Damn. 

Sir Paul was now proclaiming, "Please believe me, I'll never do you no
harm." Wilson knows that! I would never want anything to ruin our
friendship. Not really. "If you leave me, I'll never make it alone."
Sadly, House was afraid that was all too true. Life would suck without
Wilson, very much like these last couple of weeks. He took another drink
of his cooling coffee and rubbed his right thigh. Jeez it had gotten cold!
He turned to look out the window, yup just as he thought it was starting
to snow. He had ridden the bike today too. If they had any accumulation he
wouldn't be able to ride it home. Perfect!

"I'd like to be, under the sea in an octopuses garden..." Bet it's warmer
there than here Ringo. The climate outside as well as inside the hospital
had definitely gotten chilly. Wherever House had been the last couple of
weeks; he had been greeted with stares. Not the ones he typically got for
being an ass. These were the type he got for being an ASS. 

"I want you. I want you so bad...It's driving me mad..." What was driving
House mad was his inability to recall the specific event that had done
this to his friendship with Wilson. Damn it! What did I say?

"Here comes the sun..." Nope snowing here George...sorry. House would need
to get a ride home tonight. He doubted that Wilson would offer so that
left one of his ducklings. No way! Cameron would give him soulful advice
on how to make up with Wilson. Foreman would look smug the entire drive,
with a 'You brought this on yourself' look on his face. Chase would shoot
him furtive looks trying to decide if he wanted to talk about it or not,
and what would be the most advantageous position for him to take. He
really was a little brown nosed wombat! Cuddy? Was he completely insane?
He could hear her now, "Apologize to him for being YOU!" That was a bit
too generic. Wilson would never go for that. Too bad, it would have made
things easier. 

"You never give me your money," Sir Paul accused. True enough. House had
never given a dime to Wilson. Wilson had never asked of course, but
equally House had never offered. Would it kill me to pick up the tab once
in awhile? If I did, it might cause Wilson to have a brain hemorrhage. He
chuckled to himself and then stopped. Not helpful Greg. As the next track
began to play, House with his eyes closed began nodding his head in time
to the music, partly to get deeper into it, mostly to escape this useless
self-argument he was having. 

"Has he made up with Wilson yet?" Foreman asked as he and Chase entered
the conference room.

Cameron looked up from her AMA article. "Not yet. He just grabbed some
coffee, sat down and put the headphones on."

"What's on the play list?" Foreman asked watching their boss.

"Well, at first I thought it was the Who, but he hasn't played air piano
or drums."

Chase glanced in the direction of his boss' office. "He's probably
listening to Jazz then."

"No he's not, the beat is all wrong," Foreman, said indicating the way
House was moving his head. "It's rock of some sort."

"The Beatles, Abbey Road," said a voice from behind them. Someone in a
white lab coat had come in quietly behind Chase.

"How the bloody hell did you know that?" Chase said half incredulous half
impressed.

"Because," the voice sighed, "I can hear the rather loud baritone through
my sadly thin office walls." Wilson stood looking toward House in his
office. 

Cameron looked up with doe eyes. "Dr. Wilson, you know he's sorry."

"Dr. Cameron, let him tell me that," Wilson replied a little testily, as
he rubbed the back of his neck.

"He's tried you won't get near him," Cameron complained on House's behalf.

"Yeah, shame isn't it? Guess he'll have to try harder to reach me." Wilson
left the office of diagnostic medicine.

Chase watched Wilson leave. "Bullocks! House has really screwed up this
time."

"So what's new?" Foreman shrugged and walked to the counter. "Is this
coffee fresh?"

John launched into Mean Mr. Mustard. Lennon the king of laughably
lascivious lyrics! How much was House like Mr. Mustard? Mean Dr. House
shaves in the dark...no, not so much. 'Such a mean old man.' Take me out
to look at a queen and I know I would shout out something obscene! 

"Once there was a way to get back homeward..." Are you sure Paul? Looks
like a long journey from where I sit. "Boy you're gonna carry that weight.
You're gonna carry that weight a long time." Wilson was making sure that
House carried this weight. Two weeks had been a long time. Too damn long.
Enough was sufficient! It was time for something underhanded. He knew just
the action that needed to be taken. House removed his headphones, turned
off the CD player, and made a phone call to the hospital operator. He
unhooked his cane from the bookcase, set the mug on the desk, and removed
his legs from it. By the time the page was made he was half way out the
door of the office.

Dr. James Wilson walked quickly to room 302 to attend the stat page he had
just received. He slid the door open and stepped in closing it almost
completely behind him. The room was dark. Why are the lights all off? He
let his eyes adjust. When they did he was a bit confused to find the
patient's bed empty. Bathroom? With a stat page? He looked around the room
and spotted a tall, scruffy diagnostician leaning on a wooden cane in a
corner of the room. Wilson closed his eyes seething." You faked an
emergency to get me here? You are UNBELIEVABLE!"

"If I could think of any other way to get into the same room with you..."

"I'm leaving!"

"James..."

"What House? What? What the hell do you want?"

"I..."

"Screw you!" Wilson slid the door open and walked out. House followed as
painfully fast as he could.

"James," He pulled up short the pain flashing through his thigh. He rubbed
it and called out in a voice that reflected his pain, "I'm sorry!" 

Wilson stopped. Damn it! He's hurt himself trying to follow me to get me
to listen to him. This is not my fault! Not this time. He brought this on
himself. I should keep walking and leave him here! He's been an asshole to
me a few times too many. Wilson turned and looked back at the man bent
over, kneading his leg, eyes tight shut. Must really hurt. Greg would
never let anyone see him that vulnerable. Shit! If I go to him, he'll
think I have forgiven him. I haven't! Wilson walked back to House. "Need
some help?"

"You offering?" House asked looking sideways at Wilson.

"Yeah," Wilson answered putting his arm around House to help him walk.

House looked at Wilson. "We okay?"

"Not even close! Where do you want to go?"

"Hydro therapy room."

Wilson nodded, "Good idea, the hot water will help relax the muscles." He
helped House down the hall to the elevator and then pushed the button for
the basement. They left the elevator and went to the right. When they
reached Hydro Therapy, House took another right pulling Wilson along. 

"Uh, House? The Jacuzzi is the other direction."

"I know," House answered. He pushed open the door, revealing the therapy
pool. He shook himself loose from Wilson and walked to the edge. "Push me
in."

"WHAT?"

"Push-me-in."

"And this will help the cramping how?" Wilson demanded hands firmly
attached to his hips.

"It won't. In fact I imagine it will make it worse."

"You think that by my pushing you in the pool, it will make up for what
you did? You're pathetic!"

"Yeah," House answered sadly. "James, the fact of the matter is...I don't
remember what I did. I'm sorry." House had never looked more sincere in
his life.

"YOU DON'T REMEMBER!" The echo in the room forced House to hear these
words in surround sound. 

"No. I'm sorry, but I don't," House answered quietly. "I have been trying
for the last two weeks to recall, but I don't." Wilson stared at him in
disbelief. "Was it that crack about you and the peds nurse?" House asked
knowing it wasn't.

"You are un-fucking-believable. The reception House! Remember now?"

House covered his face with his left hand, and leaned a bit more on his
cane. Damn his leg hurt. He looked Wilson in the eye. "James, I'm sorry. I
was drunk. It's not an excuse it's an explanation. What did I say?"

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. "You didn't say anything. You
laughed." 

House stared at Wilson with a puzzled look on his face trying to put this
together. When realization came his features softened. "What was said
about you?"

Wilson looked at him, his brown eyes much deeper than usual. "It doesn't
matter," he said softly.

"Yes it does. Something was said about you in a gathering of our
colleagues. Something obviously untrue and I was too damn drunk to defend
you. I laughed, maybe joined in? As a result I hurt the best friend I have
ever had. The only friend I have. Would that be the synopsis?" House's
eyes were large, and his look was penetrating.

"Number and verse," Wilson answered regarding House.

House closed his eyes, showing a pain on his features that had nothing to
do with his leg. "God James, I am so sorry. I should have had your back.
We are a team. When we're in a room together it should always be 'us' and
'them'."

"No. It's not up to you to fight my battles. I just didn't expect you on
the opposing side," Wilson finished despondently. 

"I won't do this to you again."

Wilson gave a cruel laugh. "You're lying and I don't know if it's to you
or me! Christ House, can't you tell the fucking truth for once in your
miserable life?" Wilson yelled at House as he advanced on him, eyes
glistening with anger.

"YOU'RE RIGHT!" House yelled back throwing his cane to the ground. He
turned toward Wilson and continued to yell, "I'M FULL OF CRAP!" He was now
directly in front of the younger doctor, his sapphire eyes gleaming. "I
LIE ALL THE TIME!" House's chest was heaving with the emotion he was
throwing in Wilson's face. He swallowed it and composed himself, saying in
a gentler voice, "But you know I never lie about things that matter. You
matter."

They were only inches from each other, and James Wilson was unnerved. He
had heard House yell before. There was nothing novel about that. It was
the sincerity. It was House's sincere need to apologize to Wilson that got
him. The lengths he had gone to for this apology, and the promise of a
stronger friendship in the future. Would House keep his promise to him?
Greg would try James knew, but House was House. That was an axiom that
Wilson had accepted years ago. It wouldn't change, but maybe House would,
if only a bit.

The proximity to Wilson was uncomfortably close. If he hugs me, I'll kill
him, which would really ruin the whole apology thingy.

We are very close here. If I hug him he'll kill me. Spoils the point of
forgiving him. Wilson made the only acceptable decision open to him. He
placed both hands on House's chest and shoved hard. SPLASH!

House returned to the surface of the pool coughing up a lungful of water
and wiping the water from his eyes. He looked up at Wilson in complete
shock. 

"You were right. I do feel better! Now we're okay."

"I don't believe you did that," House said in an awed voice.

Wilson crossed his arms in front of him and regarded House below. "Hmm,
You know it turns out, that in the end, the revenge you take is equal to
the vengeance you make." 

"You gonna misquote John Lennon, or are you gonna help me out of here?"
House coughed again. 

Wilson cast his eyes sideways, a tight little smile on his face, and
tapped his chin with his index finger. "Let's see, I could extend the hand
of friendship to my soggy pal, and as a result end up having my ass pulled
into the pool beside him; or I can continue to stand here warm and dry and
cast aspersions his direction. Really hate making these kinds of
decisions." Wilson raised his brows in a very House-like manner.

"Ass," House replied as he struggled to the steps. 

"It was your idea."

"That's because I never thought you would actually do it!" House growled
at Wilson as he fought his way up the steps, pulling himself along the
handrail. Damn this is harder when weighed down with gallons of water. He
stopped a moment to catch his breath, and pulled off his jacket, shirt and
tee shirt and tossed them up on the concrete. That should lighten the load
a bit. He continued to pull himself up the steps. Wilson met him at the
top with a couple of towels. "Th-thanks," House got through chattering
teeth. He rubbed his thigh.

"Worse?"

"M-much."

"You idiot. Let's get you some dry clothes." Wilson led House away from
the side of the pool. He picked up House's drenched jacket and pulled out
the bottle of Vicodin. Good thing medicine bottles were relatively
waterproof. He brought it to House. 

House had kicked off his shoes and was attempting to get the jeans off as
well. 

Wilson left the bottle on a chair and exited the pool area.

When he returned House was wrapped in a towel, his wet clothing on the
ground in a heap. He was trying to get the lid off the Vicodin bottle but
was having trouble owing to the fact he was still shivering and trying to
rub his leg as well. Wilson handed House a clean pair of sweat pants and a
tee shirt.

House looked up at him. "Where..?"

"Out of my locker."

"You keep a change of clothing in your locker?" House slipped the sweat
pants on. He was grateful for the warmth on his bad leg. 

"Never know when it might come in handy," Wilson said. He reached in his
pocket and pulled out a pair of socks. "Sorry, no shoes. We don't wear the
same size."

"This tee shirt looks familiar, unless you were at the 1977 Jethro Tull
concert?"

"Yeah. Dad got me tickets for my eighth birthday."

"A man's tee shirt collection is sacred!"

"Lucky for you, I had it. It's a bit nippy out to be going shirt-less,
even with your fabulous pecks."

House pulled the shirt over his head cutting his eyes at Wilson, "Don't
tease me." He resumed trying to open the bottle of Vicodin. Wilson took it
from him, opened it and tipped two into House's hand. House popped them
into his mouth before Wilson could reconsider and take one back. Pills
swallowed, he went back to rubbing his thigh. 

Wilson helped House put on the socks. House didn't protest. His attention
was focused on the tight muscles that remained in his right thigh. Wilson
then went to the drenched pile of clothing and picked up each piece,
holding them as far away from him as possible to avoid being dripped on.
House chuckled. At that moment Wilson reminded House of his mother,
picking up his sweaty clothes after he had returned from lacrosse
practice. 

"Need a ride home?"

"Yeah. I rode the bike today."

"Didn't you listen to the weather reports?"

"Thought they were lying," House said shrugging. He struggled to his feet,
trying to avoid any puddles.

"Yes there is a state-wide conspiracy to keep you from riding that death
machine. The weathermen in the greater tri-state area are all in on it,"
Wilson narrowed his eyes at House and nodded his head, a little smirk on
his face.

"Nice. Cane?"

Wilson walked to the edge of the pool and retrieved it for him. "Here."

"Thanks."

"You carry your own wet clothes." He said thrusting them at House, who
took them reluctantly.

"Going to throw my balance off," he grumbled.

"You have been off balance for years," Wilson replied smirking. He walked
to the door and held it open for House.

"Snap! You're going to make me suffer a while aren't you?" He groused
limping through the door way and attempting to brush his wet clothes
against Wilson, who dodged them effortlessly.

"As long as possible. Yes, that's my plan," Wilson replied following House
through the door. They were about half way down the hall heading in the
direction of the elevator when Wilson spoke again. "I think I can get a
pair of clogs from the surgery department that would fit you."

House stopped cold and turned a horrified look at Wilson. "You mean those
day-glow colored plastic things that people with garden gnomes wear in
their yards? I don't think so!"

"Suit yourself, but socks and snow don't mix."

"No. Never!" House tapped Wilson on the chest with his cane for emphasis.

"Okay."

"I mean it!"

"I know."

"You aren't going to bring the car close enough for me to avoid walking in
the snow to get to it are you?"

"Nope."

"I hate you."

"And yet, you are going to let me buy you dinner."

"And you are going to drink my beer and watch my TV."

"Pretty much."

"Okay then."

*

House entered his office very much aware of the three sets of eyes that
were staring at his eclectic attire of concert shirt, sweatpants and
bright yellow plastic clogs. "One word, and it's a week for each of you,
in the clinic with me." Three mouths shut quicker than Scrooge's purse or
House's wallet. 

He checked to see that the trashcan was empty before dropping his wet
clothes in and then taking out the plastic liner that now contained his
sodden attire. He put on his leather jacket and picked up his backpack.
House shot his team another nasty look as he limped into the conference
room. Wilson entered the room from the hall wearing his overcoat, gloves
and scarf, "Ready?" He asked House.

"More than ready," he answered testily giving another challenging stare at
his team. Wilson held the door open and House limped through.

"Good night," Wilson said to House's team, his eyes dancing, and a barely
concealed smirk on his face.

Cameron was looking equally smug at Chase and Foreman. "Told you they'd
make up. That's fifty each. Pay up boys!" Chase and Foreman grudgingly
pulled out their wallets.

House was still complaining bitterly about the indignation he had suffered
being forced to walk through the hospital's lobby with all eyes upon him,
all mouths quirked in mirth. He muttered obscenities under his breath
while he waited for Wilson to unlock the car's doors.

"Sorry Greg? I didn't catch that."

He shot a smoldering look at Wilson, "Don't worry. You will!" House
answered under his breath. He opened the car door, took off his backpack
and dropped it in the backseat along with the trashcan liner of wet
clothes. He put his left leg in and lowered himself onto the seat, then
lifted his right leg carefully inside. House placed his cane next to him
and closed the car's door.

Wilson sitting in the driver's seat placed the key in the ignition and
started the car. He turned on the heater and selected a comfortable
setting. House reached for the radio. Wilson smacked his hand. "Uh uh. My
car. My tunes."

Perfect! House thought. He crossed his arms and cut his eyes at Wilson. He
probably listens to a soft pop station. Barry Manilow and the Carpenters
all the way to my place.

The radio blared, "Come together... right now, over me," the bass booming
at an appropriately escalated level for classic rock. 

House looked at Wilson and chuckled. His best friend had surprised him
again. "Thanks John," House said to the radio. "Tell the other three boys
we're okay." 

Wilson looked at House and chuckled as well. He addressed the radio too
and sang, "and I say, it's all right."

  
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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.