A White Spring
Reluctantly, House cut the engine of his bike and set the kickstand. Reaching for his cane, he got off the motorcycle and started for the door.
It was a perfect day for riding. Though the sun was out and the sky was blue save for the occasional white cloud, it was still quite chilly. It was the middle of March after all, no time to think about swimsuits or week-long camping trips, especially in New Jersey.
House tended to despise this time of year, and who could possibly blame him? In between Valentine's Day and the idiots in the clinic who thought their allergies were some sort of rare disease, the recent days had driven him close to insanity.
Moving to the threshold, he was about to pull his key out, but then realized with a shock that his door was ajar. Grasping his cane like a club, he quickly pushed the door wide open, ready to hit something and expecting to see his place ransacked, not unlike Tritter's little scavenger hunt. The only thing he could see was white.
House stared in a different kind of horror at the white sheets that were draped over everything, his floor, his furniture, and even the television! His eyes panned the area, looking for the cause of this, when he heard a noise from the nearby hallway. Still wondering what had happened, he made his way to his own room.
What he saw would've made him laugh, but his curiosity suppressed the urge. Still, a snort of amusement escaped him and the hunched-over body stilled its scrubbing for a moment as the head turned and allowed House to see Wilson's face, an expression of inquiry shaping his features.
"Hey, House, you're back early," he greeted, recovering quickly from his surprise, and turning back to his task. House moved to the bed, sitting down, a moment of confusion hitting him as he wondered, where's my mess?
"What are you doing here?" he asked, staring at the form still on the floor, scrubbing like mad.
Wilson faltered, and House could see his head drop and knew he was rolling his eyes, as if the answer to that question were obvious. Leaning back on his heels, Wilson stood and turned. House had to stop another laugh from escaping him when he saw exactly what it was Wilson was dressed in.
Wilson had somehow found an apron within the confines of his apartment and was now wearing it. It was white, like everything else that covered the place, and his sleeves were rolled back. Somewhere, Wilson had managed to come across a pair of kneepads. They were large, as well as visibly wet. Wilson must have been down on the floor for a while. He was also holding a sponge in his left hand, the other gloved hand on his hip as he mock glared at the man on the bed.
"What does it look like, I wonder? Want to help? Hand me the towel behind you. I've been trying to get this stain out of the floor for ages. Seriously House, what is this?" he asked, pausing slightly before returning to his strenuous task. House raised an eyebrow, staring at the spot on the floor.
"You don't want to know…"
Wilson froze. He stared at the blotch of darkened wood, thinking of all the connotations of what he had said. Agreeing with House that he probably didn't want to know, he very slowly moved to a dusty area on the opposite side of the room in desperate need of his attention.
"Now what inspired you to do this? April Fool's Day isn't for another two weeks," he heard House remark, making no move to help.
Wilson stopped, turning back to his friend. "Uh… Spring Cleaning?"