Wilson was the first to look away, to look down at the steaming mug House held out. His voice was thick as he whispered, "I can't. This—"
"Isn't yours."
"It's not yours, either. Not anymore."
House shook his head. "Maybe not. But you need to give it back."
Wilson looked at the cane leaning against the arm of the couch. How could he willingly give this back, knowing what House would suffer? He shivered a little as a new question arose. Would he have taken it, had he known what it was like?
House squeezed Wilson's fingers between his own. "You've walked your mile. It's time."
Wilson looked up, meeting House's eyes again.
"Besides, I'm sick of your fancy French shoes."
Wilson found himself smiling, and something flopped over in his belly. He reached for the mug's handle. "I'm going to hold you to your promises, you know."
As Wilson took his first sip, House gently disentangled their fingers and shifted from the coffee table to the couch. "You won't have to," he murmured as he settled himself next to Wilson.
"Well, this is familiar," House grumbled, rubbing the callus on his right palm with his left thumb. He shifted his feet on the coffee table and looked over at Wilson, who was setting the empty mug on the end table. "Done?"
"Yeah," Wilson replied and looked back at House. "How do you feel?"
House's eyes narrowed. "This is a test, isn't it?"
Wilson rubbed his palms down his legs to his knees. "You could think of it that way, or you could turn off the analyzing and just tell me."
House looked down at his own legs, one with a familiar dip in the denim. He was going to have to learn to talk about it sometime. "It... doesn't feel too bad. Achy. But I haven't tried to move yet."
"The Vicodin should be kicking in by now, too."
House nodded. He hadn't had Vicodin in months; he could feel the single pill he'd taken working as well as three used to, before.
As Wilson leaned forward to get up off the couch, House grabbed his wrist. "Can I trust you not to do this again?"
"You mean, can you trust me to cook for you?" He looked over at House, then leaned a bit in his direction. He said quietly, "I don't know if I could."
House searched Wilson's face, then nodded and let go of his wrist. "I'm no good at being support personnel anyway."
"Tell me about it." Wilson got up from the couch and took his mug to the kitchen.
"Was I that bad?" House shouted after him.
Wilson stopped in the kitchen door and leaned on the frame. "No, you really weren't." They shared a smile. "Now what?" Wilson asked as he came back into the room.
"I think we should walk to my place."
"You. Want to go for a walk."
House shrugged. "I've got better porn."
Wilson snapped his fingers and pointed at House. "I knew it! You stole it when you moved my stuff!" House grinned back at him. "You told me I must have lost it, or Julie swiped it!"
"What can I say? It was going to waste here." House shifted his feet off the coffee table, moving carefully so as not to disturb what was only a mild twinge in his thigh. "Maybe I just want to walk a bit."
Wilson picked up the cane from where it rested against the couch and offered it to House, who shook his head. "It's too short, remember? That's why I gave it to you in the first place."
Hefting the cane in both hands, Wilson contemplated the thing that had been his near-constant companion. He looked over at the fireplace, where a row of nails had been driven into the mantel by the previous owner. Wilson wouldn't need them for Christmas stockings, but he decided he'd use them for something else.
He walked over to the fireplace and laid the cane across the nails, resting it like a trophy. He looked back to see House watching him intently, and he nodded. Not like either of them would need the reminder, but Wilson thought it deserved to be showcased.
"I'll be right back," Wilson said and disappeared into his bedroom. He returned carrying the silver-handled dress cane. "Remember I borrowed this for the benefit last month? I didn't bother to cut it down."
House suppressed a smile and held out his hand. He'd always liked that cane. Maybe he'd start using it more often, make Fridays a little more pimp. "Let's go, then."
They were halfway down the first block when House stopped and turned to Wilson. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
House waved his cane in the space between them. "Walk around me like I'm fragile. You never used to."
Wilson spread his hands in apology, not really sure what he was apologizing for. "That was before I knew."
"Well, get over it." House turned and hobbled away.
Wilson caught up to him easily and puzzled over exactly what House had meant while they walked. Midway through the second block Wilson said, "What did you—"
"Shut up if you're going to walk with me. I'm trying to enjoy the night air."
Wilson chuckled and shook his head. "Ah, the delicate scent of truck exhaust."
House sniffed in a long breath. "Smells like rain."
Wilson could smell it, too, mingling with exhaust and lawn and concrete. He ducked his head in agreement and kept walking.
By the time they reached House's block, they were walking shoulder to shoulder. House didn't bother to hide his smile.