"(…) The way surviving hard winters makes a tree grow stronger, the growth rings inside it tighter."

-Haruki Murakami, Yesterday

4-Weathered (Epilogue)

It had been a short night. Neither of them had slept much. Wilson suspected that both of them had spent most of the night trying not to disturb the other one. This was not how they usually acted around each other.

They finally stopped pretending just before 5 am. The sooner they left, the sooner they would be home, so they picked up coffee and muffins at the diner and went on their way.

House shifted around in his seat, obviously in pain. Every hour or so, Wilson would stop, just to give him the chance to stretch a little.

"Your bladder must've shrunk to the size of a pea in the last five months," House complained when they stopped for the second time.

"Yeah, I should probably get that checked out next week. Maybe I caught an infection or something," Wilson said and walked off in the direction of the restrooms.

A little down the way he turned and watched House lever himself out of the car. Even from this distance it was obvious that he was in pain just standing up straight. Wilson decided to make this the fastest pretend restroom break ever. The sooner he got House home, the better.

Despite the lack of sleep the mood was a little lighter on the way back, which was a relief. Wilson envisioned a big tangle of guilt and grief, both his and House's. When they had started out, he had been wound tight as a spring, ready to uncoil. They were still a long way away from their usual state, but things had loosened up a bit on this trip.

They made it to Princeton in what was probably record time.

Wilson got out and walked very slowly around the car to give House enough time to get out by himself. When he arrived on the other side, House leaned against the car with his back turned to Wilson.

He resisted the urge to support House and simply asked, "Are you going to be okay on your own?"

House nodded. He took a step towards the house but then stopped as if he had just remembered something.

"Wilson."

He could see House's face in profile. Except for the tightness, which he put down to the pain, his expression was unreadable.

"Yeah?"

House continued to stare at the ground between his feet.

"My dad's dead."

Wilson took a deep breath and this time didn't resist the urge to put a hand on House's shoulder. "Yeah. My sympathies."

House didn't shrug off Wilson's hand; he just stood there for a moment before he nodded once.

Wilson watched House's back as he slowly walked the few steps to his front door. Even though his limp was more pronounced than normal, his back was as straight as an arrow.