A chilled breeze floated through the tombstones and around the surrounding people, threatening rain as the clouds swirld overhead. Everything was quiet, and though the coffin had been buried over and hour ago, nobody had moved more than a few feet. Wilson had an ornate marker, with the hospital insignia carved under his epitath. The rest of the staff, some patients, and friends had watched him lowered into the ground.
The tears had dried, along with the silenced sobs. Outside of the graveyard, the world continued to spin, and eventually the moment had to end. One by one, friends, family members and patients made their way to the parking lot, until only two men remained. Forman stood before the fresh dirt, hands crossed behind his back, as a gentle rain began to drizzle around him. He almost didn't notice the umbrella opening above his head, or the person standing by his side.
"Thanks," he grinned, turning slightly towards the unshaven man beside him.
Gregory House removed his glasses and hood, though the bodysuite added to further the disguise stayed in place. "I was opening it for myself. You're just lucky to be standing here," he drawled, not bothering to look at the doctor. Both stood in comfortable silence as the rain whispered to the graves.
"I never quite believed you were dead."
House scoffed at the comment. "Of course you did. I heard your euligy. Wouldn't have been so nice if you actually thought I was alive."
"Na," replied Forman. "I just always had a feeling."
"That and I put my nametag under your damn uneven table. Which you never bothered to get fixed, did you?" There was a pause. "Thought so."
There was another lapse of silence before Forman spoke again. "How were his last months? Before the cancer started to get really bad?"
"Cancer is boring," House repeated after a while. "He was his regular, annoying, goodie-two-shoes self. Aside from trying one more three-way. Apparently he liked that more than he had admitted." Forman shook his head involuntarily, repressing the thought as soon as it had come up.
"And what about you?"
"Me? I'm peachy. Never better."
Forman turned to him. "Come on, you know I don't believe that."
"Now you believe me when I say everybody lies. Where was that when you worked for me?" House questioned, tilting his head as he continued to stare at the tombstone.
They lapsed into silence again. The rain continued to fall, a bit harder now, and thunder cracked overhead. The graveyard grew darker until flashes of lightning were all that illuminated the features of the two doctors.
"I have to get back to the office," Forman finally said, casting a glance at House. The older man's eyes never left the tombstone.
"Well, then you'd best get back to the office. I'd run if I were you, or else you'll really end soaked."
Forman rolled his eyes. "Can I at least have the umbrella?"
"What, and leave me standing here in the rain?"
The doctor waited a beat, then shook his head and turned to go. Metal slapped against his arm as he did, and he took the umbrella from House's outstretched hand. "Thanks."
"Just go," came the soft reply.
Forman paused for a beat. "Will I see you again?"
"No."
House listened as the doctor walked away, letting the rain drench his hair and unshaven face. Slowly, carefully, he put a hand on Wilson's tombstone.
"I am the better friend. I didn't leave you alone, you son of a bitch," he mumbled, eyes downcast.
Without another word, he turned and walked away.