Wilson was leaning against the counter in the lobby when he saw someone limping in the corner of his eye through the doors and turned to see that it was House. He dropped all his messages he was looking at and walked at a quick pace to his friend.
"House, what are you doing back here? You should have at least been out a couple of months!" he reached over to House's left side to help him walk while House held the cane in his right hand.
House shrugged him off, "I'm fine," he snapped. "So, I may not be able to do Clinic duty for a while. Boohoo," he said in reaction to Wilson's outburst of being there so soon. He reached into Wilson's coat pocket and pulled out his prescription pad and the pen next to it and scribbled on the top sheet and ripped it off handing it to Wilson. "Sign this."
Wilson took it from him and saw he wrote himself a prescription for Vicodin. He looked up at him, "you got a refill yesterday. You're telling me you used them already?"
"I didn't tell you anything did I?" House was scanning the lobby to make sure no one of importance was overhearing their conversation. "But, yeah, I need more."
Wilson gave House a sad disappointed look. "You shouldn't be here," he repeated, more as a concerned friend rather than an almost angry tone as a doctor he used the first time he told him.
"I need this, Wilson."
"You need to rest. Have you even gone to any physical therapy sessions?"
"Why? What are they going to help me do, walk? I leaned that as a toddler." They stared at one another, until House couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want to admit it to Wilson but his leg was killing him just by standing and the idea of sitting at his desk felt all too pleasant and he wanted to get there as fast as he could. "Are you going to refill that or not? Should I get another doctor?" he snapped.
Wilson scowled at him. "No, I'll do it," he said sounding like a defeated little boy. House felt relief flood through him when he saw Wilson was starting to walk away and he limped as fast as he could to the elevator to get to his floor.
Wilson redirected his path from the pharmacy to Cuddy's office. She was on the phone so he took a seat on her couch, looking down instead of at her until she was done. "Wilson? What's wrong?" she asked cautiously, seeing his solemn expression.
"He shouldn't be here. Not yet."
Cuddy sighed, understanding his concern. "I didn't want him back so soon either. But, it's what he wanted. You should have seen him, Wilson. He looked…. He looked like he wasn't even aware of what was going on around him. He was avoiding eye contact, using the same monotone and a neutral expression…the only time he seemed close to himself was when he told me he needed to come back. How can I say no?"
"But, didn't you go there to see when he was, not to ask him?"
"I didn't ask him," she paused to remember how she worded it. "I just wanted to know when he was going to come back. He figured out I was going around asking if I need to find a replacement which, the thought did cross my mind. I wasn't going to lie to him but-"
"Couldn't you have just said that his job was waiting for him when he was ready? If I thought my job was on the line, I would try and come back too!"
"Are you saying this is my fault?" she asked defensively.
"No. Yeah. Maybe," he answered while trying to think of what he was saying. He sighed and started again. "I'm not saying it is. I just, don't think he should be here," he said sadly, looking at the ground.
"I know," she said in the same sad way he just spoke, and he looked from the ground to her, his expression telling her he was sorry for trying to put blame on her. "Let's see how today goes. We'll both keep a close eye on him, and we'll take it from there."
Wilson sat thoughtful on the couch before answering. "Yeah, okay. Let's do that." Wilson got up and silently let himself out of her office leaving Cuddy alone thinking about House…