A/N: Random moment that came to me, via my own blanket. Takes place during the episode "Distractions."

No slash intended. Please Read and Review. Thanks.

Listen to: "Nota Reasonable Man" by I am Kloot. (amazing band)

Where It Comes From

House didn't look up when the door to his office slid open and shut near him. The pain in his head had receded to a distracting throb, but he was beat. His leg pulsed with a similar kind of sensation. He just figured he would sit out here on his side of the balcony and try not to move, until something improved.

"Here."

He pulled his face away from his hand just enough to meet Wilson's gaze; it was still tinted with annoyance and frustration but weaker. House blinked at Wilson's outstretched hand and took a moment to register the offering in his abused brain: a blanket. Folded.

"Is that the magic kind?" he said. "Going to – make me feel twenty-two again?"

"No," said Wilson. "But maybe it'll make you more comfortable."

House didn't make the effort of scoffing, just took the blanket. Wilson waited for about thirty seconds before taking it back out of House's lap and throwing it open. House almost smiled; he could see his mom throwing open a white table cloth, the summer sun in her hair. Wilson tucked the blanket around House's waist, wisely keeping the silence. And House shut his eyes, back against his palm.

Wilson sighed, straightening and perching his hands on his hips. His friend looked anything but twenty-two. Wilson pursed his lips.

"You know – you do some really stupid things in the pursuit of victory."

House breathed. "I'd like to think – it's a pursuit for truth."

"Your truth."

House didn't want to argue. Not today. He waited to hear Wilson's familiar padding draw away from him and back inside, but it didn't materialize.

"How much pain are you in?"

House, in a distant and uncompromised part of his mind, observed with a certain fondness that Wilson's voice didn't grate, like everybody else's. It never did. Even when his friend was yelling at him, that soothing quality persevered, whether Wilson wanted it to or not.

"Little more than usual. Mostly just tired."

"Want me to get you some more water?"

Wilson's voice had grown even quieter now, the annoyance melting away. Ah, Wilson. Never could fail at caring.

"No," House murmured. "Just need to ride this out."

"Maybe you should take a nap. My couch is free. No one will bother you."

House smiled, though Wilson couldn't see it. When House had first returned to work after the infarction, he would often go nap on that couch when he tired himself out or when his leg got too aggravating. He'd had a short tolerance level back then for physical function. The low tolerance for work, obviously, had not changed regardless of the years.

"I'll be fine," he said. "Thanks."

And Wilson didn't speak again. He stood at the balustrade, watching the sunset start, with no idea that House eventually brought his eyes to rest on Wilson's back. The elder man felt something warm blossom in his chest, just for a moment. Wilson was the only one who knew how to give him what he needed – that silent presence.

House slouched down in his chair, resting his head to one side, and decided he would try to sleep. When Wilson turned around again, it seemed House had succeeded. The younger man shook his head. He headed toward House's door, not his own, and paused when he was close enough to his friend that he could have touched him. The sky was a golden orange against his shoulders. Wilson just stood, hoping the blanket was enough of a touch.

He left, no longer angry.