It's 4am, a dead hour. Literally. People slip away at this time in the night, as quiet as someone turning over in their sleep. The hospital continues working, nearly (but never) fading, ticking towards Wilson's and House's shifts whether they are ready or not.
"House, you are an ass."
House lies in his office, shivering and soaked, head resting on Wilson's lap.
"I know."
House's voice shakes as well as his body, eyes the colour of ice. Wilson doesn't think House realises how much their colour make the people around him stop - not that Wilson would ever let House know. House notices things, but not things like that.
"What were you thinking?"
Wilson doesn't really want to know the answer so he has to choke the words out.
"I thought that might be obvious. Even for you."
"Not really."
House's eyes shut. Squeezed. As if simple closure doesn't block out the world enough.
"I needed the pain".
House's words leave his mouth, not with passion or conviction, but like they are dead weights he wants to be rid of. Drops of water shake off House's beard onto Wilson's fingers and Wilson lets his hand slip under House's neck and takes a deep breath. He feels like he is supporting the skull of a baby, not a man - as if one slip will leave a crack in House's mind forever - an almost completely clear, logical machine into permenant distortion. His best friend. He doesn't want to let go of House.
"Okay, House. Okay, okay-"
House's eyes open again. "And if that means I'm an ass then being an ass is the only sane response to this world!"
Wilson scoffs. It takes an effort to lighten the mood. "And who's the sane one in this room? The ass who knowingly caught hypothermia - you're lucky it's mild by the way - or the non-ass who he's lying on the lap of?"
House doesn't try to leave in a effort to maintain his dignity after that jibe as he usually would - instead he just stares at the ceiling with dead eyes. Apparently Wilson wasn't mocking enough. Or House simply doesn't care.
Wilson takes a deep breath. "Come on, House, let's get you up."