It was late -- eleven-thirty, and he'd been almost asleep; the dinner dishes had all been washed and put away, the television screen flickered silently with an old black-and-white movie. House sat unmoving beside him, a warm and somehow comforting presence. Music from a CD was playing softly, a woman's voice playfully dancing around the lyrics, sailing high in the damp night air. James turned his head, looking questioningly at his friend. He was pretty sure he recognized the singer but not all of the songs.
"Ella Fitzgerald. Johnny Mercer songbook," House said. "Used to listen to this a lot."
James leaned his head back against the couch and let the jazz wash over him, competing with the light rain pattering against the windows.
Skylark .
Have you anything to say to me?
Won't you tell me where my love can be?
"Nice," James observed.
"She liked it."
The unspoken name lay between them, a hidden rock in uncharted waters.
Stacy, the younger man thought. You mean Stacy liked it. Hell, you two probably slow-danced to it back when ...
He cut off the vision before it had a chance to form. You'll never be truly over her, will you? The CD had shifted to the next song.
Single-O, all the way -
Rain or shine .
Gonna stay, Single-O.
Till you're mine
"Why now?" James asked.
House shrugged, tapping his cane gently on the floor. "Why not?"
James looked at his friend again, and this time House gazed back. The eyes, blue as any ocean, were shadowed, giving nothing away. James knew that look all too well.
Stubborn bastard, he thought ruefully. Only so far, and then no further.
A new song started, and James quickly choked down a laugh at the timing of the words.
When an irresistible force, such as you,
Meets an old immovable object like me,
You can bet as sure as you live,
Something's gotta give, something's gotta give,
Something's gotta give!
House's right eyebrow quirked upward, and James came to a sudden decision. Standing up, he faced the still-seated House and held out both hands.
"Up," he commanded.
The left eyebrow joined the right as House regarded him suspiciously.
"No."
James sighed. "House, you don't even know what I'm going to do."
"Yes, I do. You're going to want me to get all touchy-feely and dance with you." He thumped his cane on the floor for emphasis, harder than before. "Or something equally stupid and creepy."
James's hands hadn't wavered.
"House ..."
"No."
The rain increased in intensity, and there was a low rumble of thunder.
Ella sang softly in the background.
He said goodbye,
And took my heart away .
So from today
I'm trav'lin' light
"House," James whispered, and House looked up, reluctantly. "If you've slept more than three hours in the last forty-eight, I'd be surprised. You're in pain and worse than that, you're miserable, and it's killing you by inches." He paused. "My wife's gone. Grace is gone. You said it yourself -- I'm more screwed up than you are." A bleak, tired smile came and went. "We're both adrift, so what's one more stupid, creepy thing between friends?"
House stared at him, then looked down.
Jimmy's hands, still extended, still open. Waiting.
He grasped them.
The younger man took his weight easily and helped lever House to his feet. He slipped his left arm around House's waist, giving him something to brace against, and kept hold of House's left hand with his own right. After a moment he felt House's free arm encircle his ribs, and the two men leaned on each other.
James took a deep breath, taking in the scent of House -- a faintly sweet shampoo, a slightly musky deoderant, the smell of a clean cotton t-shirt. He was careful not to look in House's eyes.
House's tension began to drain away, slowly, as the warmth of Jimmy's body merged with his. Their clasped hands, left and right, formed a two-fisted heart trapped between their chests.
They stood like this for a long time, holding on as drowning men might grasp a floating timber. The music bore them up, a lifeboat carrying them to a distant harbor neither could quite yet see; and as the rain continued to fall outside and the thunder rolled, they moved. Tiny, hesitant steps; for here and now, this is what they have, and that will have to do. Tiny steps on a precarious raft.
The mantel clock, its measure run, began to strike again. The twelve small chimes sounded, their tones hanging in the air, as Ella's honey-smooth voice caressed the words of the last song.
Each star its own aurora borealis, suddenly you held me tight .
I could see the midnight sun.
fin