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God, it was raining. Hailing, snowing, whatever. Wilson found himself craning his neck to see out of the window every minute or so, like a child at school. The patient reports due in January sat to his side, forgotten. The sky was gray and hung heavy and dark over the hospital. Rain and snow pummeled the ground, and whatever grass on the thoroughfare that had not frozen had been thoroughly saturated with cold water. He shivered just thinking about it. The hospital turned on its heat after Thanksgiving, but Wilson still wore a wool sweater under his lab coat.
Drumming his left leg under the table, Wilson got up.
Might as well go home, I'm not getting anything done.
He grabbed the gift bag that had been sitting at his desk, this year's secret santa. It was surprising that after all these years no one had realized Wilson's constant streak of pulling House's name.
All the better.
This year, he'd gotten him a new pair of comfortable sneakers-they lit up when you jumped!-and a pack of Reese's cups. He'd left a nice note too. Although it probably wasn't advisable to be spending so much time and money instead of working, Wilson believed a happy mind made a good workplace. He slipped out of his lab coat and grabbed his backpack. And a coat. A big one, or that snow'd eat him alive.
Heading down the stairs, Wilson gave his goodbyes to nurses and orderlies he knew. As his Goodwill loafers came down upon the last flight of stairs and he headed into the lobby, he jumped in surprise.
It was about the hour of shift change, and people were coming and going through the double doors in a hurry, despite the relentless rain. In the middle of the lobby, however, stood Gregory House, soaked to the bone. His blazer and jeans dripped with dark, dirty water, and his shoes sucked slush in and out like a dying animal. House's bright eyes glared at seemingly everyone from under his mop of shaggy wet hair.
"Nice walk. Maybe I should've brought a snowman back for you, Wilson."
He could see that his coworker was shivering violently, and hunched over with cold.
"Maybe you should've brought a coat."
House continued limping towards the stairs, coughing and shivering as he did.
"You are not going to the clinic in your...condition. Please, go home. You'll catch a cold."
"Probably already have. Anyway, Cuddy says I have sixty more hours for December."
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"When I said come to work more, I didn't mean show up after your swim lessons. Wilson's right. You're going to catch a cold. Go home and get some rest. It's the holiday season."
House stared at Cuddy in disbelief.
"You're siding with him? I can't believe this!"
He broke down in another fit of coughing, supported by Wilson.
"Drive him home, Wilson. Oh, and merry early Christmas. Hope Katrina doesn't get you two out there." Cuddy waved them away.
"Have a safe trip home!" Wilson responded, House leaning, half on him, half on his cane for support. They walked along the halls and to the parking lot. Wilson unlocked his car with one hand and practically shoved his friend into the passenger side door.
"Why did you take this time for a jolly stroll?" Wilson started the ignition of his Volvo. He put his hand on House's as the taller man leaned over to cough again.
"Fresh air. It looks better from inside."
"Well, you should take tomorrow off. You feel hot."
"Maybe."
Their eyes met.
"No. Tell me you'll rest tomorrow."
"Fine. Wilson, it's just a cold."
"I know." He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the ramp out of the hospital. It really was raining, and dark outside. They raced down the highway as fog and sleet whipped by bare trees.
"It really is raining out there." Wilson tapped his free hand on the dashboard.
"It's beautiful. When you're inside." House coughed. Again.
About halfway along the way to House's house, the traffic began to slow. And slow. And slow, until they were stopped dead on the highway. Someone in a reflective coat had put up a sign, but Wilson couldn't read it. House had fallen asleep, shivering and dripping with his head resting on the window.
"We have to go back."
"Huh?" House had woken up, one eye open.
"We need to go back. They closed the road."
"You're joking." House peered out the window, pushing Wilson aside. He squinted.
"Stop it! Why would I lie?"
House leaned back. "What're we going to do? Sleep in the car?"
"You wish. There's a Super 8 at the next exit. They'll let us take a backroad." He turned onto a side road, House leaned to look at the long backup.
"I wonder what happened."
"I don't want to know. Just be happy you won't have to be the doctor."
They pulled into the hotel parking lot, Wilson made sure to get a spot underneath an overhang.
"I'm going to grab my bag, and then I can help you inside. Is that okay?" Wilson asked.
"I don't know if I can make it. The cold's making my leg act up."
"We can take our time. There's a shower in the hotel."
There was a long pause.
"Can you. Carry..me?"
Wilson took a deep breath, feeling a hot flush travel up his ears and cheeks. He nodded.
"If you want." He slipped one arm around his bag, and House's satchel, and put his hand on the door handle. Stepping over the middle of the car, he gently picked House up. The larger man was hot from fever, and still shivering. He squirmed in pain in Wilson's grasp, and then relaxed. Wilson felt a strange calm in his chest.
"I'm going to open the door now."
The rain was even colder and harder now, beating down on Wilson's back as he heaved House in his arms and walked towards the doors of the Super 8. It must've been a funny sight--a tall grown man being carried by his...his friend in the rain. No one was there to look anyway.
The doors opened automatically, House and Wilson were finally inside.
The carpet was an ugly-yellow brown shade, and stained from years of use. Wilson let House down, and they struggled towards the front desk, occupied by a young woman in a pressed shirt. She eyed them curiously.
"One night please. Cheapest room." Wilson muttered, trying to act friendly. He was at the end of his rope tonight. The woman checked her computer.
"We have a 55-a-night deal, but it's one-bed-one-bath. Is that...okay with you two?"
"Of course." House blurted out. Wilson flushed again.
It was just one night. One.
"Yeah. That's fine." He slid his card to the secretary. She typed it into her computer and handed it back with a key.
"Have a good night. Breakfast starts at 7, room's 422. Left side."
They nodded and left. The elevator was tiny and smelled like mold, but it was good to be out of the rain. House smiled as he leaned on Wilson, unlocking the door. Their room was small, with a dark carpet on the floor to hide stains. The sheets of the single bed were thin and cold. House sat down on the lone chair while Wilson emptied his bag. His extra sets of clothes, a water bottle, asprin, and House's secret santa. He put the bag under the bed and handed House his fleecy McGill sweater and a pair of soft pajama pants.
"I brought you clothes, since yours are..wet."
"Thanks." House paused, "I'm going to take a shower. Or a bath. I just need to get clean." He limped away, grateful for the fresh clothes.
Wilson changed in by the bed, donning an ugly blue sweater he saved in his office and sweatpants. He fluffed the pillows and got into the bed, checking to see if there was anything on the TV. Apart from a few cooking shows he was not too interested. He raised his voice in the direction of the bathroom.
"If I order food, what do you want?!"
"General Tso's with no rice, extra broccoli." He took a breath. "Wilson, can you help me wash my hair?"
His heart skipped a beat.
"Sure." Wilson got up, his legs shaking slightly. House was sitting in the bath, chest-deep in water he'd filled with hotel soap. One knee was raised above the water: his bad leg. He seemed to shiver less now, his skin warm and wet.
"How're you feeling?" Wilson ran his fingers through House's wet hair, putting on a dollop of shampoo. He gently rubbed it through.
"Fine. Is it still raining?"
"Yeah."
They sat in silence, Wilson kneeling at the side of the tub.
"Thanks."
"For what?" Wilson's heart felt ready to beat out of his throat. He was used to feeling..nervous around House, but this close proximity, this tenderness stripped him of all experience. He felt like a kid again.
"For driving me home. For taking me here. For washing my fucking hair. I know..I know I made stupid decisions, and I'm glad you catch me."
Catch me. He's likes it. Wilson smiled.
"Greg, we catch each other." He poured some warm water over House's hair, washing out the soap. "I'll order dinner. No rice."
"No rice." He smiled ear to ear.
Wilson padded out of the bathroom, he felt like skipping, blushing like a kid. One hand on the hotel phone, he made sure the bed was as warm and soft as possible for them. Eventually, House came limping out of the bathroom sporting wet hair and Wilson's McGill sweater. It looked good on him. He sat down on the bed next to Wilson. The TV was playing a low-quality baking show.
"'Wonder when the rain's going to let up? It still looks pretty bad." Wilson found himself leaning on House's shoulder. He was sinking into sleep, so tired from the stress of the day. He melted into House, sporadically coughing, the warmth of their bodies clinging together.
"I bet the road'll be open tomorrow. I'm going to take the day off. I promise. It's almost Christmas anyway, and I bet we'll be busy as all hell."
Wilson chuckled. "That reminds me." he looked into House's eyes, deep brown meeting ice bright. "I have your secret santa."