The breeze was fluffy, not a sharp piercing whistle that ripped leaves and sent them scattering, but a puff of air like God had expelled his lungs across the park, sending some branches dancing, people's hair bobbing around their faces, flowers bumping into each other like some kind of affectionate social ritual, hugging each other in greeting.

He was lying on the grass with Wilson. The blades were tickling his arms and he knew he'd get grass rash, but he didn't mind for now. The ground was slightly damp though he'd cured this by lying on Wilson's suit jacket and the sky was the deep blue after rain has washed the dust and pollution away. He couldn't see Wilson in his line of vision, he shut his eyes and he listened to ridiculously sweet sounds as people's voices, but he knew he was there. People were social creatures, no matter what House said to other people and himself, and he had to accept this as a sense of peace stole over him that he could only get when someone else was close. In his memories there were few people that he could feel like this with. Stacy, his mother on occasion, Cuddy when she wasn't an administrator and just a friend of his whom he'd had sex with once and last but perhaps he understood now, definitely not least, there was Wilson.

He supposed he could forgive people their ardent belief in God if this was what they were looking for.

Shifting his head and cracking his eyes open, he looked over at Wilson, who lay on his back a few feets away from him. They hadn't really intended to end up sprawled over the small waving stems of grass, but the excellent lunch and the sunny weather had caused the to stop by a bench, then to sit by the lake, and finally, lying back, arms spread wide under some dappled two o'clock sunlight, staring up into the heavens. Wilson had his eyes closed, he looked peaceful. A small contented smile was on his face, and House felt happy for a moment too. God what was wrong with him? Feeling happy because Wilson was happy? Those anti-depressants really were screwing with his mind.

It was three in the arvo when Chase found them. He'd spotted them, huffed and hot as he was from pounding the Princeton hospital area looking for them, but had paused, if for a moment. Two friends lying on imaginary crucifixes in the grass. He thought, for a moment, he saw them touching hands but he blinked and it was gone.

He greeted them

"Cuddy is so pissed off."

Wilson jumped up, naughty child look on his face and looked at his watch

"Oh god! Three Twenty? I've missed half a day!" He hurriedly dusted leaves from his pants and as House mocked him by sitting up as leisurely as possible with an over exaggerated yawn, Wilson ripped his suit jacket out from underneath House's hands and began a brisk jog, down the sandstone paths, under shade and yellow sunlight, back to work. Chase turned away from the brown bobbing hair to see his boss standing and coming forward a few steps, before pausing and leaning on his cane. He was watching Wilson with a quirk in his lips, something he would deny vehemently if ever asked about. Chase flicked his eyes between the two; silently he wished for something like that in his life, even God could not satisfy the need sometimes to just be there with someone, something physical, alive, real.

House shrugged, smacked Chase on the shoulder and walked back to his work, prepared to face the wrath of Cuddy.

Chase shook his head, a wry smile on his face, and followed.