A/N Next bit....... blaaaahhh...
Enjoy as always :D
House
His concern was enough to convince himself not to let Wilson drive them back to the apartment.
It was bad enough that Wilson looked dead on his feet. To let him behind the steering wheel of a car would just be idiotic.
Wilson and his mother had been drawn into the small group of people gathering in the parking lot who were dishing out their sympathies. A benign handshake here, a compassionate pat on the shoulder there.
He took Wilson's distraction as an opportunity to grasp the keys out for his friend's jacket pocket. So he gently hobbled behind the crowd, before whipping the Volvo keys out in one swift move. There was no way Wilson would have noticed that.
He was wrong.
Wilson span round, padding down his jacket. "Hey what are you doing?"
He waved the keys in the air. "I'm driving you home."
Wilson raised his eyebrow. "You hate driving my car." Wilson was right. He hated that damn Volvo with a passion. "It's okay. I can drive us back."
"I want to." It was an unconvincing response but it was the best he could produce.
"You want to?" He could tell Wilson wasn't wholly convinced. But they held their gaze before Wilson finally relented and opened his palms. "Fine. But don't reset the radio. I hate it when you do that."
He quelled a smirk. That almost felt like an invitation to reset the radio to a heavy metal station like he did the last time. The look on Wilson's face when a Slayer song blasted through the speakers was priceless.
But after catching another glimpse of Wilson's darkened features he decided against it. Now wasn't really the time for pranks.
He retreated towards the car, leaving Wilson and his mother to say goodbye to the handful of attendees. Sitting in the driver's seat he adjusted the rear view mirror and watched as Wilson made his way back to the car with his mother in tow.
As a man usually so warm towards people, he was surprised to find Wilson seemingly unable to create the same warmth for his own mother. They hadn't spoke more than a few words to each other throughout the whole afternoon. There was just a collection sneaking half glances and sheepish smiles, mostly on Wilson's part.
He had only met Wilson's mother a handful of times and he rarely talked about her. House had assumed that with Wilson's job being what it is that he never really found the time to visit or call his mother. It had never crossed his mind that there could have been something more to it.
He saw them weave around the side of the car. He unlocked the back doors and turned on the ignition.
Wilson
He wanted so desperately to throw up.
The bile had been building most of the morning but now the stinging acidic sensation in the back of his throat was becoming overwhelming.
The way House was driving wasn't helping his cause either. If House insisted on continuing to skid around corners at too high a speed then he would have to think about a cleaning bill for the car upholstery.
He had no idea why House wanted to drive them back but he couldn't be bothered to argue the point.
Let House have his fun then he will leave you be.
He glanced over his mother who was rummaging through her handbag for something.
Nothing. He had nothing to say to her. He didn't know where to begin.
'Sorry mom for having a hand in your youngest son's death' wasn't going to be a good place to start.
'Sorry mom for bringing shame on you by being married and divorced three times. That wasn't going to work either.
No matter what he will say she will always end up slinging mud.
The last time they spoke properly he informed her of his impending third divorce.
Then it started. She brought up Danny, his father, his marriages, the way he only calls on the holidays and her birthday, the lack of grandchildren. She branded him a failure and a philanderer before he slammed the phone down.
However desperately he wanted to talk to her, he didn't have the constitution to take another character assassination.
Instead, he turned his attentions towards the buildings rushing past the window, hoping the blur of colour would be somewhat therapeutic.
It wasn't.
He wanted so desperately to throw up.