Cuddy and House had had a more in-depth discussion Sunday on whether or not she would return to work Monday morning or wait a few days. Cuddy, of course, wanted to get back to her job; Thursday and Friday both had been total failures on getting anything accomplished, and she knew the number of administrative fires clamoring for attention would be mounting. House countered that many of those could be delegated and that taking a few more days to gain proficiency on the crutches couldn't hurt. In the end, though, he agreed with her. Cuddy stuck at home worrying about the office wouldn't be an improvement over doing deskwork at PPTH.

So, Monday morning, they set out for work together. She was ruffled already before leaving, of course. Selecting an outfit was a chore, as all of them to her simply emphasized the cast. It almost expanded to catch the eye, dominating the whole scene. At least at her desk, she could shove the thing underneath, even if propped up there.

To make matters worse, she then realized that she couldn't carry her purse as usual while using crutches. House, well practiced at juggling loads along with ambulatory aids, recommended a longer strap and slinging it over her head and opposite shoulder. Actually, his first recommendation had been a backpack, which as expected she vetoed before that option was even tried. Backpacks add nothing to the administrative, professional appearance. He offered to stuff the purse into his own backpack and just pull it out in her office, but she finally, grudgingly let him conscript a luggage strap with snaps to add to it. At least she could take it herself anywhere required that way.

Finally, they were en route, taking her car for easier entrance and exit. At the first stoplight, House looked over at her set jaw and tried for diversion. "I've been thinking."

That caught her attention, at least, and even brought a weak smile. "You always are. I doubt you ever stop."

"Probably not. This latest topic is a fairly new one, though." He saw her smile vanish. "And I didn't mean your ankle." She was in hyper-aware mode at the moment, interpreting everything in that one context, which he definitely could sympathize with. "I was thinking about the schedule for talking to Stacy."

She relaxed a little, considering the question herself. "At the hospital, you said."

"Definitely. Not home, not a restaurant. Fully professional and no possibility of confusing it with anything else. Although again, I'm not sure what she wants here, but I think the obvious answer is the wrong one. She has something specific in mind she wants to discuss, something I haven't thought of." His lips tightened. The existence in the world of things he hadn't thought of was itself a minor annoyance.

"So do you want a weekend, with fewer people around for privacy, or a weekday, with more people around for lack of privacy?" she asked.

That was indeed one of the largest points in his differential. "I can see advantages both ways, but probably the weekend would be better. Give us that much privacy. I don't want the team next door or even working around the hospital. I can just see Kutner bouncing in in the middle of things with some patient he found. Of course, if we have a critical patient who isn't solved yet, the weekend might be booked anyway, but Stacy would understand that. She knows what the job can be like. Whenever I set this up, she'd accept it if we have to reschedule at the last minute."

"Yes. Saturday, then? And you could talk it all over with Jensen on Friday."

"Yeah. Definitely want to talk it through with Jensen. I figure I'll shoot for Saturday afternoon. I'll spend the morning with you and the girls, then slip out while they're taking a nap. Hopefully. We'll be sure to get them good and worn out Saturday morning at the stable, and the old man can stay over after lunch just in case…" He trailed off, but she followed the thought anyway.

"In case something comes up that I can't handle." She reached down to thump her fingers against the cast. It didn't notice, didn't even flinch, just stayed there in hard, inflexible, impersonal presence, and somehow, that was even worse. She wished the thing would notice her as much as she noticed it.

"Lisa, it's a valid physical point at the moment. You're still getting used to the crutches, although you'll be better on them by the end of the week. But you wouldn't be able to pick them up if anything came up that required it." He sighed. He had stopped picking them up himself recently, at least when he wasn't sitting down. But in an emergency, he still could do it at this point. Cuddy, still adapting to her assisted gait, didn't need to try it, even in a pinch. She would be too likely to fall.

Cuddy didn't respond immediately, and he looked over at her at the next light. "You know, Lisa, a wise person has said to me many times that it isn't a personal failure and it doesn't define me to my family; it's just a medical condition, nothing more."

"But that's…" She sighed. "I know, Greg. I do know that you understand this. Better than I could, even." Her imprisonment to a handicap was temporary.

"Just think of it as an opportunity to spend time with the old man Saturday afternoon. You enjoy his company."

"Yes." That did bring a small smile again. "You're right; I need to try to focus on the positives here. It's just hard to see them sometimes."

"Believe me, I know." His right hand twitched, as if it wanted to shift off the steering wheel and touch his thigh, but he mastered the impulse. PPTH loomed ahead of them, and he pulled into the parking lot, taking his reserved close spot.

Cuddy opened the door and carefully slid out, setting her balance, managing to achieve it before he rounded the front of her SUV. He retrieved her rebellious purse from the floorboard and put the strap over her head and on the other shoulder, and side by side, they limped into the hospital. Cuddy straightened up, squared her shoulders, and was smiling and answering comments from people as they crossed the lobby, but by the time they reached her office, she was glad to sit down. That had been the longest walk she had taken yet since breaking her ankle.

The desk did indeed look neglected and overburdened with paperwork. House set up a pile of books underneath as a foot prop, an action which hurt him somewhat getting down there. Cuddy watched from the couch but knew better than to say anything. Finally, the spot was prepared, and he got her settled in her desk chair. "All right?" he asked.

She nodded. The whole situation still ruffled her, but this wasn't too bad, and the leg did feel better propped up. "Thank you, Greg."

He kissed her. "Call me if you need anything."

"I will. And I'm sure you'll be down here occasionally to check anyway."

"You do know me." He gave her another kiss, then limped on out of the office. Cuddy watched his stride as he left and sighed again. They were quite a matched pair at the moment. Well, at the moment, he had the advantage over her.

Resolutely, she turned to disciplining the paperwork into some semblance of order.