Together
"There are things that drift away
Like our endless numbered days
Autumn blew the quilt right off
The perfect bed she made"
-Perfect Afternoon, Iron & Wine
It was the nineteenth of November that found Wilson, Cuddy, and House in a bitterly cold grave yard. The sun was hidden behind hazy clouds. The cool dew of morning made the grass a slippery green ground. Headstone after headstone, name after name, they passed, their tactics of keeping themselves together played.
The long, black coat tapped the backs of Cuddy's legs as she nearly slipped on the cool ground. She pulls her arm through House's for extra support. His face was blank, almost emotionless, as he kept her upright, an occasional glance at Wilson almost breaking his heart.
Wilson held a bouquet of red roses, Amber's favorite, in his left hand. A white, neat envelope was held delicately in his right, her name and a heart written carefully on the front. Inside was a letter to her, written spontaneously the day after she died. Glossy eyed, he struggled to see the headstone they had stopped in front of. Swallowing hard, he let tears escape.
He found himself next to the marble stone, wiping the dew from the front. Slowly, Wilson placed the roses atop the ground in front of the marker. Cuddy and House watched from a distance, arms still linked together loosely. She bit her lip at an attempt to stifle the emotional tears that rested behind her lids. Watching Wilson open the envelope, she tried to hear his whispers as he read the letter.
He tried reading through blinding tears and choking sobs, but with no avail. The salty tears stained the paper as he folded up the letter once more, the inky blobs smudging the words of love and desperation. Carefully, he put the letter back into the envelope and tucked it underneath the dozen roses. Wilson ran a finger over her name, feeling each curve and line of the embossed stone's writing.
The scene before Cuddy broke her barely-mended heart, the blue of her eyes foggy behind the hot, salty tears that overflowed. "House?" Her voice was quiet and cracking. She searched for emotion behind his eyes, hoping she wasn't alone in her sadness.
He turned his head, his eyes heavy and clear. Locking his gaze with hers, the unspoken words screamed at volumes only they heard. He wished he could wipe away the red of her eyes and the mournful look on her face. His regret tried to force away the reality of his best friend behind him, crying. House reached a weighty hand to her face, wiping the tears from her cheek with his thumb. He kept the contact for a moment before letting go, whispering, "I'm sorry."
She buried her head in his shoulder, her arms stretching around him. Awkwardly, he wrapped his arm around her, not knowing what to do. His cane dropped to the ground, the distraction of remorse and comforting taking over his brain. The leather of his jacket rubbed roughly against itself, the friction making a small squeak as he settled his open hands against her small back. It wasn't okay, so instead, he whispered a barely-there "I'm here," against her ear.
Wilson wiped his tears on his sleeve, attempting to regain his composure. Slowly, he stood again, biting back the sadness that tried to wash over him. The dew on his shoes reflected the sun, small rainbows on the black leather. A step forward, away from the resting site, his mind took a step back; the memories of her kisses, the feel of her skin, and the warm voice of hers whispering the "I love you" 's still fresh in his mind. His wishes for her back went unanswered, the last touches bittersweet in his memory.
The trio found themselves back together again, even House's face damp with the occasional tear. Cuddy retrieved his cane from the grass, wiping off the handle with her scarf. They turned together, their backs to Amber's point of no return. Wilson and House's eyes gazes locked for a moment as Wilson understood House's silent apology.
They took the steps away together, Wilson and House side by side, friends in understanding once again. Slowly, as he limped quietly, Cuddy put her hand in his, squeezing the cool fingers. They'd get through it like they got through everything: together.