"What happened?" Wilson said softly, his hands gripping the desk. "That is, only if you want to tell me, which you don't have to." His eyes were focused on House's, which seemed to be intrigued by the edging of the glass that topped his desk.

"Car crash, yesterday." The fingers kneaded his chair's armrest, the lips became pursed.

Wilson made a motion to get up, the slightest of muscle contractions creating creases in his pressed white shirt. He left his chair and traveled around, then stood beside him, arms outstretched. House snorted at him in a sad, bemused way.

"You look like one of those Ken dolls with the molded arms." Yet he made no motion to reciprocate, so Wilson bent down and wrapped his arms around his friend lightly, his tie pressing against House's heavy blue stubble. He stayed there for only a moment before squeezing slightly and removing his grip.

"Well, that was weird." However, House looked a bit mischievous and a tiny smile cornered his mouth.

Wilson sighed as he sat down. "I'm sorry that I wanted to comfort you. Friends do that sometimes."

"Only ridiculously needy friends. The best ones know what the other wants before they say it."

"Is there anything that you need? Do you want me to talk to Cuddy about giving you some time off? You are entitled to bereavement days." Wilson was searching House, desperate for some sort of response.

"I can talk to momma, I'm a big boy. And yes, I might go home later, but I guess I need something to distract me for now, even clinic hours might work." Something flickered in House's eyes. "But maybe beer and a bad horror movie later this evening might be good."

"Well, maybe I could arrange that." Wilson was unsure what the older man was implying. Certainly House didn't need someone to accompany him on a porn and gore fest, he and his Jack Daniels were good enough at that on their own; but he realized, with a little bit of hesitance, that although his friend wasn't the most gracious host, and knew how to hit all of his nerves with frightening precision, Wilson missed spending time with him. Broken marriages and the poor moisturizing qualities of hotel bath soap had given Wilson reasons to stay at his apartment in the past, and both of them knew that when it was late evening, and they both were slightly inebriated, they enjoyed laughing at lame, off-color jokes and rubbing their eyes after four hours of nonstop play of House's GameCube. These were often Friday evenings, following shortened days where Wilson would avoid revealing any terminal sort of information to his patients, and praying that they would exist for their appointment that coming Monday. He had never wanted to be anywhere else at the time, knowing that House's apartment had been the only true haven for him, and it still was. But now House needed him, instead, and for perhaps only the second or third time, the reason was truly valid. Wilson was willing to abandon most of his hesitation.

He found his pupils wandering to his watch, which indicated another looming appointment, probably with someone else who happened to be dying. He quickly glanced at House, who looked, for once, defeated. For all of the funerals that he had attended from thankful families of patients, and all of the 

news that he had to deliver, he found that he had never been more concerned for anyone than this man, who enjoyed injuring himself simply when he had no pills left.

"House…" Wilson ventured. "I have an appointment in 20 minutes. Do you want to meet for lunch?"

"Will you pay?" House asked unabashedly.

There was barely a sigh in Wilson's voice before he agreed. It took not only his moral compass, but his deep un-seated care for his friend to swipe his credit card on House's behalf, every day, but this day was different.

"Yes, I will."

"Good. " House grasped his cane on the side of the chair and pulled himself up. "Thanks for the show, Jimmy Stewart; we know you're quite the performer. And thanks, for… the hug." House's eyes quickly met Wilson's in a searing glance, wide-eyed freezer-pack blue centering in on the brown. He then opened the door and left.

Wilson had to blink once or twice to remove the irises of those eyes from the retinas of his.