This story will be continued. I can't speak for the time in between chapters, though. Real life is kicking my ass.

Wilson eyed the steps that led to House's apartment critically.

"Maybe we should just go to my place," he offered, knowing he would be denied, but having to voice the option anyway.

"No," House answered predictably, rolling back and forth slightly in the chair. It'd taken quite a bit of effort to get him out of the car. "I want my apartment."

"But how are we-"

"I'll walk, and you'll help me."

"House, you don't have any good legs right now."

"Don't you think I know that?" he demanded. "There are some crutches inside the hall closet. You know, you've seen them. It's three steps, Wilson, I'll manage."

Wilson sighed. "Fine, fine," he muttered, knowing that this was the first of many battles. You win some, you lose some… but with House, it seemed like he lost quite a few more than he won.

He was back in record timing with the crutches, still set at the tall height from the infarction era. Back then, House had moved from the wheelchair, to the crutches, to arm crutches, then to the cane. Wilson remembered the day that he'd put these in the back of the closet well.

House was sitting on the edge of the wheelchair, his eyes ablaze. He did like a challenge, after all, and this was a big one.

Wilson twisted his mouth, looking up the steps with his friend. "You're going to have to use your bad leg to get any leverage, House. I don't think that's a good idea."

House snorted. "Oh, well then, I guess I'll just stay here for the night. Oh, Wilson, is that snow?" he mocked, squinting off into the sky.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Maybe it'd be better if I just pulled the chair up from the back. It'll be bumpy, but it'd be done."

"Can't," House replied shortly, still looking at the sky with a curiously intent look on his face. "Your back."

Wilson's eyes widened. House had just denied assistance because it would have hurt Wilson.

Sometimes he forgot that House could be considerate, at least when it really mattered.

He watched his friend shakily push himself up on the crutches, his right leg hardly touching the ground. His arms were shaking, attempting to hold all of his weight.

"Just three steps," he puffed, seeming to be trying to pep himself up more than anything else. "Only three."

Wilson blinked, and he was on the first one. Despite the chilly air, sweat was dripping down his face. Wilson hurried forward, slipping under House to help support his weight.

Together, they hoisted him up the meager vertical distance to his front door. House held his own while Wilson rushed to the wheelchair, and soon he was sitting in it once more.

"Let's not do that again any time soon," he panted, leaning back and closing his eyes. Wilson had to agree.

Without waiting for House to protest, he wheeled him into the warm apartment himself. There was a thin layer of dust over everything from his stay at the hospital, but Wilson had come earlier to turn the heat and the electricity back on. He resolved to dust as soon as House was safely in bed.

"You want to sit on the couch for a while, or you want to go to bed?" Wilson asked, knowing it was important to let House feel like he was making some of the decisions. If he felt like he was being bossed around, he would sulk, and Wilson didn't need that right now.

House looked exhausted and defeated as he shook his head. "Just bed. I'm fine, Wilson. Go dust or something."

Wilson watched worriedly as House slowly wheeled himself into his bedroom, the door shutting firmly behind him. He listened closely for a few minutes, half expecting a crash to come through the door. None came, however, so he shook himself and set out to clean the apartment.

House lay in bed, his hands stretched over his head. It felt good to be back in his own room after such a long hospital stay, that was for sure. He felt pathetic for being so tired at such a short trip, but he also knew it was to be expected. Despite the therapy, his leg had weakened considerably, and the small steps he had taken had made it angry as hell.

And the weather certainly wasn't helping. He hadn't been kidding about the snow. He could feel a weather change coming, and coming fast, because the longer he sat still the more his leg ached.

Under normal circumstances, House would be up right now. He'd be limping around his living room in a well trodden path, trying to work out the dull ache in his mutilated limb. But right now, with his left leg broken, that wasn't an option. So he laid there, in too much pain to sleep, but not in enough to do anything about it.

He sighed, closing his eyes. This was going to be a long few weeks.

Hours later, Cuddy arrived in the apartment. Though she had a key, she knocked. The last thing she wanted was to walk in on an awkward situation and embarrass House. She knew he was a proud man, but with two non functioning limbs, he would need help with even the simplest tasks.

Her concern was unwarranted, however, because Wilson opened the door with a small smile a moment later. "He's asleep," he said quietly, moving back to let her in. "Has been since we got home. I was just about to wake him up for dinner."

Cuddy smiled, shedding her coat, gloves, and hat. It had begun snowing just as she'd left the hospital, and she was thankful she'd thought to bring gloves. "He's been okay? Pain wise, I mean."

Wilson shrugged. "He hasn't called me or anything, and the few times I checked on him he was dead to the world. I think he's okay."

Cuddy smiled at him. "I'll go wake him up."

Wilson nodded, disappearing into the kitchen. Cuddy walked down the hallway, relived. She'd been afraid that the weather would be affecting House, but it seemed that her concerns were needless. If he'd been sleeping…

Her unease flooded back ten fold when she pushed open his door. He was sitting up on the bed, shoulders tense. He was rubbing his leg in a practiced, efficient motion.

He looked up at her entrance, startled. "Cuddy."

She frowned at him, concern in her eyes. "The weather?"

He hesitated for a moment, and Cuddy felt her stomach sink. After all this time, he still didn't want to open up to her about his pain. But after that small hesitation, he jerked his head in the smallest nod possible.

She sighed, yanking a folding chair (likely in there from Wilson's last vigil) to sit in front of him. She took over the massage, rubbing at his scrubs at the exact angle he could not. He leaned back on the heels of his hands, closing his eyes and wincing slightly and blowing air out of his mouth.

"Is this helping?" she asked after a moment, concerned by his seeming unwillingness to speak.

He opened his eyes a sliver, blue poking out. "Yeah," he answered shortly, but she could hear the gratitude in it. His voice was tired, and Cuddy felt her heart ache for him.

She pressed her lips together. "Wilson seems to think that you've been sleeping soundly since you got home. Now, why would that be?"

House looked up the ceiling as if for a consult. "I may have neglected to tell him."

"Oh, and pretended to be sleeping when he checked on you?"

He twisted his mouth.

Not pausing in her rubbing, she sighed. "House, why didn't you just tell him…"

House mimicked her sigh mockingly. "Cuddy, why don't you just stop lecturing me for a minute…"

She continued the massage silently, and after a moment he relented. "There's nothing he could have done about it, Cuddy. The meds don't have any effect on this kind of pain."

Cuddy kept looking down, not wanting to betray her dismay. "So what, is it breakthrough pain?"

House shifted. "No. Not really. It's just this kind of… dull ache. And it builds and builds and it drives me insane. Normally I'd just pace until it went away, but with a broken leg…"

Cuddy nodded, silently amazed. This was the most she'd ever heard him open up about his pain, willingly anyway. She didn't want to screw it up by saying the wrong thing.

"It's just above the point where I can ignore it. So no, I haven't slept. But there's no point in bitching to Wilson about it, there isn't anything he can do. So better to just let him think I'm asleep."

His brutal honesty struck her. "House… that's both sweet and moronic."

He smiled slightly, and she saw satisfaction in there around the pain. She felt her heart grow warm at the sight of that small expression.

His hands on hers stopped her rubbing motion. His blue eyes took her breath away, and for the first time in a long time, an emotion other than pain was in them.

"Go eat, and I'll see you in a minute," he said quietly, and she took the dismissal for what it was. She got up from the chair and kissed him on the forehead gently.

House smiled slightly, watching Cuddy walk out the door. She was perfect, during times like this. Applying just the right combination of disapproval and concern to get on his good side. And his leg really was starting to feel better with her ministrations.

With a slightly less chagrined sigh than he might have had, he maneuvered himself into the wheelchair and went out to face Wilson, who would know he hadn't been sleeping the moment he saw him.

If you have any suggestions, comments, plans to rule the world, etc, don't hesitate to review.