House sat, his armchair facing the front door, when a key opened it. He stood, furious, when he saw his partner.
"You've been out for seven hours. I kept getting your voicemail," House said accusingly, then stopped. "You—you broke your leg?"
"My ankle is chipped." Wilson hop-turned on his crutches, closed the door and leaned on it. He didn't meet House's eyes.
"What could you be doing that got your ankle chipped? Were you pretending to be Paula Deen on 'Dancing With The Stars'?"
"No."
You know I'll find out." A long finger poked Wilson's chest as House stared into his eyes. "You know you can't keep anything a secret from me, Wilson. So just quit trying and tell me."
Wilson gave up, leaning on his crutches. "Fine. I've been taking tightrope walking lessons. It was going to a surprise for your birthday, okay? I was only going to walk six inches off the ground for three feet, but I was going to do it naked. But, well—I fell off this afternoon. I even had to ask the ambulance driver to take me to a different ER so you wouldn't know."
House's tone softened. "Does it hurt?"
"No, I'm too buzzed on painkillers."
"Great." House put his hands on the door on either side of Wilson. "You know, I've had this fantasy of giving a blow job to a guy on crutches. Is that sick?" He kissed Wilson lingeringly on the mouth. "I've always wondered if he would be able to stay standing."
House slid down, unbuckled Wilson's pants, and set about testing his theory.