Fic - Levayah

[jezziejay]

Title:  Levayah
Rating:  PG
Spoilers:  None
Word Count: 2,000 - ish
Disclaimer:  Not mine
Warning:  Character death
Thanks to flywoman who is not only a great beta, but she's amazingly speedy also!

 

“Nice suit,” Wilson whistles as he leans on the door frame of the bedroom.

House slowly lifts his head from his hands and looks up at him from the edge of the bed.  “It’s the same as yours.”

“I know.  I chose them.”

House nods and then winces.  “I feel awful.”

“But you look great.”

He hears the swish of fabric as Wilson moves closer and sits down beside him, their shoulders almost brushing, their combined weight causing the bed to dip.  It’s quiet inside but outside the street bustles with life, and somewhere close by a thrush is singing. 

Behind the heavy curtains lies a beautiful morning.

“Big day, eh?” Wilson breaks the silence.

“Yep.”

“Nervous?”

“Terrified.”  He’s been terrified for weeks now.

“How many people are coming?”

“Too many.”  House looks up at the ceiling.  “Cuddy insisted.”

“Well, not everything is about you.  It is her day, too.”

“I guess,” House’s smile is at first reluctant, then rueful.

“I called by her place earlier this morning.  She looks beautiful.”

“Cuddy always looks beautiful.”

“Yeah, but today she’s really outdone herself.  Simple.  Classy.  Elegant.  Really, really beautiful.”

House nods and scrubs a hand over his face.  “I really don’t feel well.”

“You’re fine,” Wilson insists.  “Come on, let’s have a drink.”

House grins at him.  “I knew you wouldn’t let me be too responsible.”

Wilson is already walking towards the kitchen.  “Just the one.  And you’re going to eat something.  The last thing anybody needs is you throwing up as you walk up the aisle.”

House shrugs as he stands.  Scotch and eggs?  He could do that. 

*****

The sitting room is brighter than the bedroom and as House stands in front of the mirror on the mantle, he calls into the kitchen.  “Do I look grey to you?”

“Turn around,” Wilson commands from the entry, jacket off, sleeves carefully rolled to his elbows.  “A little, maybe.  But you’re still going,” and he shakes a spatula at House.

House looks back at his reflection, at the man he is about to become, at a man he never wanted to be.

And then Wilson is smiling softly behind him.  “You didn’t shave.  I thought you might have.”

House smirks back at him.  “You always said I looked better unshaven.”

“I said that once.  And now that I think of it…” he can see the reflection of Wilson’s finger wagging.  “You still owe me five thousand dollars.”

House turns to him and asks in mock earnestness, “Oh, I’m sorry.  Do you need it right now?  I’m sure I have some cash in my sock drawer.”

“No you don’t.  I’ve looked.  Anyway keep it – it should cover the bar bill for today.  Consider it my gift to you.  Now come on, breakfast is on the table.”

House nods as Wilson disappears from the mirror.  He really doesn’t think he’ll be able to eat. 

He really doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep breathing.   

*****

“Got your speech ready?” Wilson asks as House stares at the glass of amber and the plate of yellow.

“I can’t do this,” he says.

“Try,” Wilson orders.  “There’s bacon in it.”

Not that this, this this.  But he knows Wilson knows which this he means.

“Yes, you can.”  Wilson’s voice is both firm and gentle and House wants to punch him.  “You promised Cuddy.  You can’t do this to her.  You can’t leave her there on her own.  I won’t let you.”

“Go away.”  He sounds childish, petulant, and he just can’t bring himself to care.

“No.  It’s my job to make sure you get there, on time, and I’m not leaving without you.”

Then let’s just stay here.  Please.

House feels the cold metal of Wilson’s fork as it softly taps on his wrist, coaxing his heart into joining it in a slower, deliberate rhythm.  Sneaky bastard.

“It’s perfectly natural to be nervous.  Terrified, even.  But the reason that it’s worse for you, is because you make everything worse for you.  Now eat.”

That’s not the reason, House thinks, but he decides to be magnanimous, and does what he’s told.

*****

By the time he’s finished, he thinks he might just have a heart attack.  The eggs are sitting heavy in his chest and the scotch burns it.  This isn’t just nerves, this is something more.

“Maybe I should go to the hospital,” he suggests.

Again, Wilson pretends to misunderstand him.  “Why, did you leave something there?”

House glares and begins rubbing circles over his chest.  It would serve Wilson right if he keeled over and died on top of the plates.  His fingers catch on the hidden platinum band in his shirt and he breaks into a sudden and breathless smile, which Wilson catches and returns.

“Let me hear your speech,” he asks. 

House reaches into his inside pocket.  “You know, it’s not actually my speech.  Cuddy chose it.”

Wilson laughs.  “Cuddy chose your speech?”

“She was a bit worried about what I might say.  Thought it might be best to work from a script.”

“Clever woman, that Cuddy.”

“That she is.”

“And hot.”

“Very hot.”

They snort like school boys and Wilson unfolds the piece of paper that House hands him.  “It’s…it’s short,” Wilson observes, as he turns it over to see if there is more on the back.  There isn’t.

“Apparently, the less I say, the better.”

 “I concur and I approve.  It’s perfect.”  He slides the page across the table.  “Not very you, though.”

“No, but it is totally you.”

“Hey,” Wilson holds up his hands.  “This had nothing to do with me.”

House eyes him sceptically but lets it go.  “So what have you got planned for the after party?” he asks.

“The usual – music, food, drink.”

“The Stones, Thai chilli, Johnnie Walker Black?”

"Pianist, Kosher catering and Johnnie Walker Blue."

“Christ, Wilson, that’s it?  No belly-dancers?  No circus freaks?  No twenty-one gun salute?”

“Well if you’d given me more notice, I might have organised something more spectacular but…” House’s cell cuts him off.

Wilson raises his eyebrows.  “Guess who?”

*****

“Afraid I’m going to stand you up?” House smirks into the phone.

“Yes,” and he can hear her smile.  Half joking, fully in earnest.

“I’m not,” and he’s filled with an overwhelming need to reassure her.  “I’ll be there.  I promise.”

“You better be.  I have hitmen at the ready if you aren’t.”

“Any of them look like Angelina Jolie or Jennifer Garner?”

“Sorry, no.  Think Taub, but less pretty.”

“Cuddy, that is simply not possible.”

“Try me.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” and maybe he is breathing a little easier, until she speaks again.

“Thirty minutes, House.”

He hopes she doesn’t hear his strangled swallow.  “Thirty minutes,” he agrees.  "You’ll be the stunningly beautiful one wearing something wildly inappropriate and erotic, right?”

“Right.  Under my dress, of course.”

“Great.  I’ll be the devastatingly handsome one in the expensive suit.  And the skull topped cane.  I’ll need something to keep all those weeping women at bay.”

Her laugh is shaky.  “Right.  I’ll see you soon.  And House?”

“Yeah?” and he knows what she’s going to say. 

“I love you.”

He takes a breath.  “I know.” 

*****

Wilson’s hand is on his shoulder as he closes the phone.  The car keys in his hand make House’s knees buckle a little.

“Ready?”

“No.”

Wilson shakes the keys.  “Tough.”

They make it as far as the door before House stops.  He shakes his head at Wilson.  “No.  No.”

With a roll of his eyes, Wilson pulls at his sleeve.  “Yes,” he insists.

“I think I need an ambulance.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’m having a heart attack.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Why won’t you believe me?”

“House.  I know you.”

House huffs in ungracious defeat and walks out of the apartment.  He pulls the door over but doesn’t close it.  He can’t.

“Baby steps,” Wilson smiles at him.

*****

The drive is quiet and short.  He was so sure it would take them longer.  If he'd known that it would be this quick, he would never have left home.

They sit and watch the guests go inside, some in groups, some in couples.  House doesn’t even know most of these people.  All too soon, the throng becomes a trickle, and then the trickle dries up.

“It’s time,” Wilson nods.  “They’re all inside.”

House folds his arms across his chest.  “How do you plan on actually getting me out of the car?” 

“House, the hardest part is already over.”

Two minutes later he finds himself following Wilson up the steps.

“Well,” Wilson claps his hands awkwardly.  “I got you here.  My job is done.”  He does his best to smile.  “Good luck.”

House swallows painfully before tilting his head and staring at him with pleading despair.  His jaw trembles and he can’t speak.

“I know,” Wilson mutters.  “I know.”  And he leans in to gently kiss shivering lips.

“I love you,” House tells him.

“I know.”  Wilson presses paper into his hand.  “I’ll see you inside.”   

*****

House looks down at his crumpled speech.

Love is patient, Love is kind, It does not envy, it does not boast,
It is not proud, It is not rude, It is not self-seeking, It is not easily angered,

It keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.
Love always protects, always trusts,
always hopes, always perseveres.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never fails.

Love never ends. 

*****

Cuddy’s car pulls up just as he’s about to run away. 

Wilson is right.  She is stunning.  He watches her walk towards him, her own smile as shaky as his.

They had agreed on this.  It would be simple and somewhat non-traditional.  But it was what they had wanted.  To walk in together.  To leave together.  No big fuss. 

Just them.

Her hand finds his immediately and he sobs out a breath.  “I can’t,” he begins.  “I can’t…” he leans forward, and even though he is telling her that he is going to walk away, his fingers wrap tightly around hers.

“House”.  She squeezes until he looks up at her, bewildered and terrified.  “Yes, you can.  We can.”  She pushes her hand until he stands straight and gently cups his jaw, before reaching for a tissue to mop his shiny brow.

And for a moment she allows herself to fold into his misery, leaning into his chest, and something hard presses into it.  She feels it, too because she moves and slowly reaches a hand under his collar, pulling out a chain that holds a narrow wedding band.  Her eyes find its twin on House’s left hand, and she takes a collecting breath before placing the ring in her fingers back under his clothing.

“I’m sorry.”  He is shaking.  “I need…I need…”  What?  Heart paddles?  Vicodin?  A paper bag?

“Him," she finishes.  "I know.”

The door opens and they both turn to see Wilson’s coffin just a handful of steps away from them.

“Come on,” she whispers.  “He’s waiting.”

Críoch