His tie was crooked.

Angrily he tugged on it, pulling down and forcing it to look straighter. It was still slightly wrinkled and semi-off center but it was better. The sleeves of his suit coat were a little too short, they covered his wrists, but just barely. He tugged at those as well, until they seemed longer and he was satisfied that it looked decent. His leg began to throb slightly and he fumbled in his pocket for his bottle of pills. Dry swallowing a few Vicodin he peered into the mirror, scrutinizing his appearance. He hadn't shaved in a while, his cane wasn't polished, and his hair wasn't cooperating. He could think of a thousand pointless excuses as to why he needed more time to get ready, but he knew what really was holding him back. He didn't want to go. That was it, point blank. He simply didn't want to go.

He contemplated calling Wilson and telling him not to come because he was sick or some other stupid reason. But that would be to much effort, Wilson would insist on coming over and seeing if it was true, House would need to call the Social Worker… Besides, not going wouldn't solve anything. True he wouldn't have to see Sonya's face, feeling guilty for not telling the truth. But what would he gain from that? No, he couldn't turn down the chance to say goodbye before they… buried her. He didn't want to think about that now, he refused to break down before even getting to the damn wake.

Leaving the bathroom, he entered the kitchen and put his hand on the phone, just staring at it for a few seconds. Before he could pick it up and dial the number, a knock on the door sealed his fate. Wilson was here to pick him up. There was no turning back now. Snatching his cane from where he had left it, leaning against the couch. He could hear more impatient knocks coming from outside the door.

"I'm coming!" Opening the door, he stood face to face with Wilson who's hand was raised as he prepared to knock again. "Why didn't us just use your key?"

"Because you had the deadbolt on."

"Oh."

Wilson opened his mouth to say something but House pushed past him, not making eye contact.

"Let's go, I want to get this over with."

Closing his mouth, Wilson obediently turned and followed his sullen friend outside and to the car. Sliding into the driver's seat he glanced sideways at House who was already seated, head tilted upwards and eyes closed. House sighed loudly.

"Are you going to drive, or are we going to sit here all day?"

Putting the car into gear, Wilson backed out and started on the road. Several long minutes of silence passed before he cautiously spoke.

"Are you… are you ready for this?"

Silence.

"The kid's moving in with us Greg, you have to make an attempt to connect with him."

"The kid doesn't want to connect with me James. Would you want anything to do with me if I walked out on your mother when she was pregnant with you?"

Wilson fell silent as he searched for the right words.

"My point exactly." House muttered under his breath. Wilson sighed as he turned on his blinker and slowed the car.

"Greg, I know what happened between you and Sonya and I know that I probably would have done the same thing in that situation."

You have no idea.

House wanted to scream at Wilson. He had never told anyone the whole truth behind the breakup and he wasn't about to now so instead he opened his door and exited the car as fast as he could, slamming the door shut behind him.

"You don't have to be perfect, you just have to give love..." Wilson called out after him.

Opening his door as well and pulled his jacket around his neck, he looked through the rain and fog, watching the forlorn outline of his friend limp towards the funeral home. Quietly he repeated what he had yelled into the cold and empty air just seconds before.

"Just love him Greg, just love him… he's your son."