Ok, it was official, hip replacements were the most annoying, sucky, painful, disabling surgery on earth. House had known he'd need to get it done eventually, after more than twenty years of overbalancing to the left, but - OUCH! It was six weeks since the surgery now and he had spent three of them in a wheelchair. At the moment he was getting around with crutches and a leg brace, and hating every minute of it. The leg brace nipped and itched and scratched in all the wrong places, and the crutches were ugly, awkward, dreadfully unsexy and made him feel like some kid from a polio textbook. He couldn't even carry his own coffee while he was using them, for hell's sake! And this morning they had slipped on the bathroom floor, causing him to collapse in a messy heap and look like he'd been in a major bar fight. He felt like kicking puppies, only right now he wasn't even able to do that.
And who would he bump into first thing on this way to the elevator but only dearest Mr We Care Better himself. He threw him his don't even think about it death ray glare but Wilson had developed considerable immunity over the years: "House! What the hell happened to you?" "I fell in the bathroom this morning, the crutches slipped, get over it!" "Well if you actually wore that leg brace..." House pulled up his right trouser leg, exposing four inches of annoying orthotic. "In the shower?" Wilson nodded. "Ok, you win. Ummmm..." But he left whatever was on his mind unspoken and got them both coffee instead. "Will you stop staring at me?" Wilson's gaze never seemed to leave him as they were walking, or in his own case, staggering, up to their offices. "Only making sure you're not gonna knock the coffee out of my hands the next time you fall." House gave an almost good-natured grunt, the closest thing to a laugh he had at his disposal at the moment, and regretted it almost immediately. Oh God, no, he had encouraged Wilson: "Ummmm... Are you sure you should be on your own in your apartment right now? What if you had knocked your head?" "Can't get any madder than I already am, can I?" "Seriously, House, this is dangerous!" "Yeah, and so is life! Look, if I wanted to get myself a 24 hour care assistant I'd let you know, ok?" He was getting seriously pissy now; how dare Wilson insinuate he wasn't able to look after himself?
Wilson really was behaving like a fussy old lady as far as House was concerned, hardly ever letting him out of his sight if he could help it and annoying him with suggestions to help the rehab along morning, noon and night. Hell, what else was he supposed to do? He was keeping up with the physio regimen religiously, he put on that fucking leg brace - grah, there it was itching again - first thing when he got out of the shower every morning, he didn't even try to mount the bike; Chase had actually been impressed with him the last time he had checked on the new joint healing in, but Wilson the mother-hen was quite a different matter of course. Ah well, at least he'd had the decency of toddling off and leaving him alone after depositing the coffee on his desk, though in a way that was annoying House, too, because now he had no one to be pissy at. Anyway... As there didn't seem to be a case file coming from anywhere, he made himself as comfortable as he could in his lounge chair and decided to take a nap with a daringly pioneering but excruciatingly boring research paper on protein markers draped across his face. He got little enough sleep as it was after all.
Only he obviously wasn't supposed to get any more now either, because he was just about to settle into a comfortable doze when he heard a husky alto voice reprimanding him from the door. "Get lost, Cuddy!" "No, listen!" "Well, as leaving this room would constitute a major physical effort right now..." "Show me your face!" "Yes, it's bruised, yes, I fell in the bathroom this morning, yes, Wilson is worried, no, I'm not gonna get someone to stay with me. And now go and assign some parking spaces!" He hadn't even taken the thick wad of paper off his face during that whole exchange. "Actually I wasn't going to suggest that." House felt a swash of paper being taken off his face and the breeze from the air conditioner. "Would you kindly open your eyes while I'm trying to make sure you're not gonna accidentally kill yourself?" "Who said it was gonna be accidental?" "More of that talk and I'll send you upstairs under some mental health act or other!" House sighed. Right, he wasn't gonna get rid of Cuddy, but he wasn't gonna make things easy for her, either. He opened his eyes at her slowly, for maximum effect. "Pleeeeeeze, Mom! I'll be good and always make sure there's no puddles on the bathroom floor." "And how are you gonna do that if you can hardly move, let alone wipe stuff off the floor?" "Get a cleaner?" "Which brings us back to you not being on your own at the moment. Why don't you stay with Wilson for the time being, just till you're rid of the crutches?"
Cuddy couldn't be serious. Move in with Wilson for AT LEAST THREE WEEKS? He'd expect him to act civilised, for God's sake! House made his feelings known: "No way in hell!" "You'd get an excellent home-cooked dinner every night..." The fake seductiveness in Cuddy's tones made him want to crawl up walls. "Yeah, and even less sleep than I do anyway because he'd be up at five in the fucking morning BLOW-DRYING HIS HAIR! You forget I've been through it before, and this time it would be by his rules!" "Is it just me or would that be a small price to pay for not being found dead in a pool of your own blood one morning because this time you slipped you hit your head off the tub?" "Look, it won't happen again. Anyway, it's pathetic to see you jump into action as soon as he whistles." Cuddy shrugged. "Whatevah..." Well, he had won this round, that was something. Back to sleep now... Only... Just a moment... Cuddy had put the research paper he had been using as a sleeping mask on the desk. "CUDDY!" There was no way he was going to get up to retrieve it. She was straight back as if she had been waiting just out of eye-shot. "Come to a sensible decision yet?" "No, and now give me back that research paper; that's important work in there." "You were sleeping under it." "I wish I could..." Cuddy gave him one of her long-suffering ones and got him the paper. Cripple-bonus rocked!
But House hadn't won the war yet. At half past twelve on the dot Wilson came sauntering into the office with lunch for two. "Thought I'd save you the trouble of dragging yourself over to steal it", he grinned with feigned innocence. In fairness, it looked and smelt delicious. Only... "And if I eat it I'll automatically end up being guilt-tripped into staying at your place, right?" "That is totally up to you, you're a competent adult after all." The sarcastic undertone of "competent adult" In that sentence had not eloped House. "Perfectly competent enough to take care of myself, thank you very much, and now go back to your office." House had made sure to finish every last morsel of the excellent beef salad Wilson had surprised him with before saying that, though. 2-0, and time to actually put some work in. That research paper wasn't so bad once you got used to the guy's style after all. And he really had some pretty good things to say.
House had half a mind to peek around the door of the elevator before leaving it on the way home and go straight back up if he saw Wilson or Cuddy there. Surely they weren't going to stop him in the lobby and expect him to stand there with them for more than 30 seconds in his current state? Oh dear, forget it, he had just seen them. There was no escape, not at his current walking speed. "House! Wait!" "No, I'm gonna make a dash for it and you won't be able to catch up with me till I'm on a plane to Buenos Aires!" They escorted him to Cuddy's office where he couldn't help but sit down, just to take the weight off his tormented lower limbs. "Ok", said Cuddy. "Here's the deal. Take the rest of the week off, look after yourself, don't move around more than you have to. If you're better on your feet on Monday, we'll leave you alone. If you're not, you go and stay with Wilson till you're rid of the crutches." Wilson piped in: "That is when Chase and the physio decide you can get rid of them, not when you're just sick of them." "No worries there, I was sick of them about five minutes into the experience." "Never mind that, is it a deal?" Well, they were trying, and Wilson for one really did seem to want to help. "Ok..."