June 11th

Wilson used his key to get into House's apartment. He'd had a copy even before they'd gotten together, but now he actually felt comfortable enough to use it without knocking first. He braced the bag of groceries against his hip and got the key in the door. He'd taken to picking up things from the market on the corner- milk, vegetables, things that didn't come out of a can and weren't sugar-frosted. House mostly refused to eat them, unless Wilson made him, but it was a start. The man still ate like a college co-ed. Wilson secretly envied House's metabolism; he'd had to start cutting back on the coffee-break donuts lately to keep from going up a notch on his belt. Middle age was a bitch.

House was sprawled on the couch, beer in one hand, remote in the other. He eyed the grocery bag with obvious contempt. "That's not more rabbit food is it? Steve can only eat so much of it."

"It wouldn't kill you to eat healthier. Rather the opposite, actually." Wilson started putting away the groceries. The fridge was finally beginning to look less like condiment storage.

"Do you realize how many take-out joints rely solely on me for survival? I can let them down. Hey, while you're in there, grab me a beer." Wilson heard the roar of a television audience, which transitioned abruptly to gunfire as House changed the channel. Wilson grabbed a couple of beers and joined House, who grudgingly moved his feet to make room for Wilson, and promptly plunked them in Wilson's lap. Wilson grimaced, but just twisted off the bottle caps and handed House his beer. House wiggled his toes happily.

"You can rub my feet if you want to."

"Oh, please, can I?" Wilson said sarcastically, catching a big toe and giving it a sharp pinch.

"Yes, but only because I'm feeling magnanimous." House stretch languorously, apparently pleased with himself and the world.

Wilson rolled his eyes, but began to skillfully knead House's aching arches. House sighed, eyes half-closed with bliss. "You're in an awfully good mood. Makes me suspicious. Who'd you terrorize today?"

"Terrorize? Moi? Lies, all of it." He nudged Wilson's thigh in remonstration as Wilson paused in his attentions. "Don't stop. …Mmmmm, good. I'm just relieved I managed to make it through the day without any ill-advised birthday solicitations."

"We thought about a surprise party, but couldn't book the pony rides." Wilson stopped rubbing, this time ignoring House's protest. "Actually, though, you haven't made it quite through yet." He got up, setting House's feet back down behind him.

"Oh, God. What've you done? Please tell me you haven't invited anyone who's not paid to remove their clothing." House threw an arm over his face as though overwhelmed by the thought of human interaction.

"Relax, it's not that bad. And there is no socializing expected from you at all." Wilson made his exit before House could lodge further complaints. He quickly retrieved the box from where he'd stashed it behind the vacuum in the hall closet- the one place House was sure not to stick his nose. He returned to the living room feeling apprehensive. He'd agonized for months about what to get House. When asked what he wanted, House invariably answered 'porn,' 'a midget with pointy shoes' or would suggest Wilson do something obscene and that required more flexibility than Wilson had possessed in years.

"Happy birthday," Wilson said, proffering the package. It was a long and narrow box, white with a dark blue ribbon tied in a bow around the middle. House stared at it as if it were a particularly obscure blob on an MRI scan. "Go on. Take it. Don't worry; I don't actually expect you to have a happy birthday."

Finally, House sat up and accepted the package, laying it across his knees. Deft fingers made quick work of the ribbon and carefully lifted the lid. There lay a cane, more ornate than any of the few House owned; the body was rich rosewood with an elegantly worked silver head. Gingerly, he lifted it out, running his finger tips down the dark wood, face inscrutable. Wilson watched breathlessly, realizing now that he'd made a huge mistake.

After the seeming success of the ketamine treatment, House had tossed his collection of canes. It had been uncharacteristically optimistic of him, as if by cutting his safety line he could force the treatment to succeed. He'd hobbled around for weeks when the pain slowly but inevitably returned, unwilling to acknowledge that his body had betrayed him a second time.

It had taken an embarrassing collapse in the cafeteria for House to finally admit defeat. Wilson had stolen a cane from one of the physical therapists to use the rest of the day, then taken him to get his own after work. It was the first time since the infarction Wilson had seen House near tears. Wilson had found an excuse- made up an excuse- to stay with him that night. Just in case. But House hadn't drunk himself into a stupor, hadn't pushed the limits of his Vicodin dosage. He'd just gone to bed, staring at the ceiling and ignoring Wilson whenever he checked in on him. The next morning they'd gotten up and gone to work, the cane once again part of the landscape and the ketamine treatment never to be talked about again.

"The top screws off," Wilson said finally, trying desperately to decipher House's expression. House looked at him briefly, then twisted the handle off and slid the saber hidden within free. "It's not as sharp as your acerbic wit, but it could do some damage."

House brandished the sword experimentally, the corner of his mouth slowly quirked in a grin.

"You're not going to take that to work," Wilson admonished.

House pointed it at him and grinned. "Try and stop me."

Wilson slapped his forehead in comic chagrin. "Cuddy's going to kill me. Please, at least promise me you won't threaten patients."

Laughing, House raised his right hand, "I solemnly swear not to threaten my patients unless they really, really, really deserve it. Or I'm in a bad mood. Or it's a day that ends in 'y'." He shrugged as if to say that he was powerless to resist.

Wilson sank down on the sofa next to House and leaned in to kiss him briefly. "Well, that's a great weight off my mind."

"So," House said after a minute, "Does this mean you're not getting me a stripper?"