House was sitting on the couch in Wilson's office, again absently playing with his cane as he often did when his brain wouldn't let go of something. This is how Wilson found him when he finally returned to his office, but whatever tension there had been earlier in the day was gone.
Wilson decided that the best thing to do was to open with settling the bet. His having to pay House the $100 was a sure way to put his friend in a better frame of mind before tackling the more difficult issue at hand.
"MRI confirmed macro prolactinoma. He's doing the treatment."
House looked up at Wilson. "And the wife?"
Wilson pulled out his wallet and handed over a $100 bill. House took the money with an air of self-satisfaction.
"Come on. You saved a man's life. Course corrected two people's wildly screwed up world views. Not bad for a day's work."
Wilson sat down next to House. "What about our wildly screwed up world views?"
House considered this for a moment. "Our world views aren't screwed up. Not even remotely. We don't play by the same rules. Everybody knows that."
Wilson had to admit House had a point. House handed Wilson a cigar.
"I think they were happy, even if it was based on lies."
House shrugged. "What relationship isn't? Everybody lies. The whole of human society would collapse if everyone told the truth."
Wilson gestured at themselves. "And us? Considering we've never had the usual social contract, what happened between us really doesn't change anything, does it?"
House lit his cigar with the bank note. "Nope. It happens. It's an imperfect world." He passed the burning money over to Wilson, who used it to light his own cigar.
The two men leaned back into the sofa, mirroring each other as they crossed their feet on the coffee table and taking a moment to simply enjoy the experience.
House looked over at Wilson. "Well?"
Wilson had to admit there was something to be said about their illicit indulgence.
"Disgustingly satisfying."
House nodded with approval. He was about to say something else, something pithy that seemed to fit the occasion, when the door to Wilson's office unexpectedly opened and a workman carrying a toolbox walked in. House quickly tried to wave away the cigar smoke and pointed at Wilson.
"He said it was okay."
The workman looked at his clipboard, then back at the two guilty-looking men.
"Is one of you Dr. House?"
House looked over at Wilson. "You've seen Sparticus, right?"
The workman referred to his clipboard again. "I've got an order here to deactivate and remove his ankle monitor."
When the workman left, House and Wilson went back to enjoying their cigars, House chattering animatedly about everything he was going to do now that he was finally free of his electronic leash. All at once he stopped and put out his cigar, grabbing his cane and limping out of the office, leaving Wilson with a quizzical look but comfortable with the fact that all was right with the world again.
House strode into Foreman's office unannounced, as he usually did, and planted himself in front of Foreman's desk. Foreman was deep into administrative paperwork, but didn't have to look up to know who was there.
"Bikes go faster without training wheels. Now get out. I have work to do."
House briefly considered a sarcastically triumphant remark. Instead, he reached out to the pencil cup on Foreman's desk and knocked it over.
"Whoops," House said over his shoulder as he turned and limped out, feeling lighter and freer than he had in over a year, and leaving Foreman mildly amused as he regarded the mess. Some things never change, Foreman thought, returning to his paperwork.
