As Wilson stepped into House's office, a tennis ball glanced off of his shoulder.

"Oh," House said, looking up, "I'm sorry, I didn't see you coming in."

Wilson sighed. "No, you're not, and yes, you did."

"Okay," House agreed with a shrug. "How can I help the oncology department?"

Helping himself to a chair, Wilson stretched himself out in it. "You can start by not making me come to see you in your office."

"I'm a cripple," House countered, "It's your show."

"You're not that crippled." Wilson shook his head. "You seem to get around very easily when someone's after you to get something done."

"What, you want me to limp for you?" House took three halting steps around the room, and then slid back into his desk chair without looking for Wilson's response.

"Wasn't that a line from "A Chorus Line?" asked Wilson. "On father's day, I'd limp for him."

House shrugged. "I've never seen it."

"Uncultured," grinned Wilson.

"Sure, sure," House said, raising his eyes to the heavens in mock frustration, "Abuse the cripple."

Wilson slid his hand across the desk in a one-armed stretch, and stopped. He looked down at the counter, blinked, and then ran his hand along it, sliding down behind it to look at it from the other side. He picked up the coffee mug and moved that, looked under it and around it. Sliding his chair over to House, Wilson reached into House's breast pocket and fished around for a moment. House looked down at his hand, and then up at Wilson.

"Why Doctor Wilson," he said, "I highly doubt this falls under appropriate workplace contact. We might have to take it home with us."

Wilson extracted his hand from House's pocket. "Where's your Vicodin?" he asked.

"You can't have any," House retorted. "Go buy your own. Lazy moocher."

Dissatisfied, Wilson insisted. "Where is it? You never go without. Got a new hiding place that you know I'll end up finding before tomorrow?"

"Nope." House recovered his tennis ball from below the desk, and tossed it on one hand. "The meds and I are undergoing a period of separation."

"Uh huh." Wilson watched the ball bouncing up and down in his friends' hands. "Forced separation?"

"No." House bit his lip. "It's a mutual thing."

"How long is this separation period going to last, do we think?" Wilson asked, receiving no response from his otherwise occupied friend. "What are you going to do, play mournful piano while your fingers itch to reach for those pain meds?"

"Cripple abuse," muttered House, dropping the tennis ball with a disgruntled sigh.