A/N: Happy Easter!
The physical therapy department at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital had an air of athleticism about it. There were weights against the walls, a track out back, even signed posters from the many famous athletes that had passed through its doors. It made House feel sick; reminded him of everything he'd lost.
Wilson parked his friend's wheelchair in the waiting area and went up to register. House sat, catatonic, not having enough energy or will to analyse the room too deeply.
"Gregory House," Wilson said to the woman at the front desk. She looked him up and down suspiciously.
"Oh! No!" Wilson exclaimed, laughing a little, realizing her mistake. "I'm his friend. He's over there. Can we just get the paperwork please?"
The receptionist nodded, giving him a clipboard and pen. The oncologist walked over to where he had parked his friend's chair, and started filling out the paperwork. The receptionist glared.
"He needs to fill that out himself," she ordered.
"Oh! Sorry!" Wilson apologized. He gave the pen and clipboard to House.
NAME: House AGE: 23 SEX: Yes
REASON FOR VISIT: I'm being kidnapped. Send help.
MEDICATIONS: All of them
"House!" Wilson exclaimed. "You can't write that!"
House glared at his friend, daring him to do something about it. Wilson sighed, knowing there was no way to stop him without making a huge scene.
"Mr. House?" a smiling nurse called from the doorway. House pretended not to hear. Wilson sighed. His friend was being especially difficult today.
"That's us," he said, wheeling House back into the room. A younger woman wearing scrubs and a ponytail smiled at them
"You must be Dr. House. I'm Dr. Smith." She shook his limp hand. He grunted in faint acknowledgement. She took the clipboard out of his hand.
"Oh! I'm sorry, that's not-" Wilson warned her. To his and House's surprise, the woman laughed.
"This paperwork's pretty much pointless anyway. It's not like I didn't look at your file."
Wilson could see the famed diagnostician sizing his new therapist up, trying to figure her out.
"So what I'm seeing in your records is that a few weeks ago, you had a blood clot in your right leg that caused muscle death. Is that correct?" She smiled.
House didn't answer, so Wilson jumped in. "Yes, that's correct. He had physical therapy in the hospital and he didn't enjoy it. In fact, he ran off two therapists. I'm pretty sure you're the only one in the hospital he hasn't yet run off."
The woman laughed again. "Alright, well I take that in stride. Dr. House, why don't you hop on the exam table for me?"
House gave her one of his signature glowers. "Hop? I don't think I'll be hopping anywhere ever again, thanks."
"Oh, I'm sorry sir. That was a poor choice of words."
"And don't call me sir."
"Alright," Dr. Smith said smoothly, "Dr. House then. I hear you're pretty important. What kind of doctor are you?"
"Diagnostician."
The woman looked confused for a split second but then decided not to question her patient further. With Dr. Wilson's help, she lifted House onto the examination table. He whimpered in pain.
"How bad would you say the pain is daily?"
"Ten."
"And with medication?"
"Ten. Can I go now?"
"No," Wilson glared.
"Would you mind if I took a look at your leg?" Dr. Smith asked.
"Yes."
"Yes you'd mind or yes I can look at it?"
"Yes, I'd mind!" House barked.
"House, please…" Wilson pleaded. House looked at his friend's big brown eyes and relented. There was no use in arguing, and it was taking up all his energy. Wilson took off his friend's loose-fitting sweatpants to expose the heavily bandaged leg, and unburdened it from the wraps as House bit his lip hard.
"Sorry…" Wilson offered. Gently, the physical therapist probed at House's leg, causing him to turn his face towards the wall and scream in agony. Wilson went over to hold his friend's hand, but House either refused to take it or wasn't aware it had been offered to him.
"So, I'm seeing this is still swollen. What have you been using to keep that down?" The question was more addressed to Wilson than his limp friend.
"We've been elevating it and using hot baths."
"Have you tried icing it?"
Suddenly, fear crossed House's face. "No...no ice…"
"Why not House? It would probably help and it might feel good." Wilson pondered.
"I said no."
Wilson shrugged. "Okay…" He knew there was no use in arguing with Gregory House.
Dr. Smith's voice cut through the awkward silence. "Okay, I'm going to show you some exercises you can do at home." Without a lot of warning, the doctor took House's leg and slowly moved it upward towards his body. House screamed in agony, flailing against her grip.
"Put it down!" Wilson panicked. The doctor obliged. House was panting, panic in his eyes. He gripped the sides of the table with pale knuckles. His eyes were wide and staring at the ceiling.
"Okay, well maybe we'll leave that one for a little later. Sorry about that Dr. House…" She did genuinely seem sorry, but House didn't answer. Tears streamed out of his eyes and onto the table.
"Could you just write them down for me please? I think he's had enough for now." Wilson made the impression of asking, but everyone in the room knew it was an order.
"Of course. He needs his rest. Just some gentle moving side to side and bending the knee should be just fine for now. I'll see you later this week?"
Wilson nodded and whisked House out of the office and back home.