AN: Anyone ever wonder how House—a wealthy, world-famous doctor with a love for speed wound up driving such a crappy car? Here's my initial take on it. Set between One Day and One Week since I'm using my own fics as a timeline. May evolve into a longer piece. ^^)

Hey little Porsche, I wanna try ya
Crazy baby girl, there ain't nothing like you
Hey little Porsche, so right I had to get ya
B-b-back it up, let's roll, roll, roll

-Nelly, Porsche

Porsche

She hadn't been his first car by any means, but she'd been the first really nice car he'd bought for himself after he'd finished his subspecialty in nephro. Silver, sleek and incredibly fast, the 911 Porsche had suited him to a tee. There was nothing like sinking into her leather seats at the end of a long day and streaking out of the hospital—on good, dry roads he could make zero to sixty before he hit the first stop light. He'd waited anxiously by the window for most of the morning; listening for the high pitched hum of her engine and the low purr she made when she was put into park. Like a nervous parent, he'd handed her keys off the week before to a technician from the dealership and watched as she'd been driven off. Now, she was coming back—he could make out her distinct sound from a block away and he held his breath as she came into view. She looked beautiful, he noted admiringly; her sleek silver exterior glowed from the thorough detail he'd indulged in to make up for his lack of attentiveness these past nine months. A lady like her had to be treated right, after all. Taking up his crutches, he rose stiffly from the arm chair and limped steadily forward to the door; down the wide steps and across the side walk as the technician rose from the car and closed her door.

"Mr. House?"

"Yes, that's me."

"She's all tuned up for you." The tech handed him the keys, and presented a slip for him to sign on a metallic clipboard. "We went ahead and changed all of her fluids and her spark plugs. She's purring like a kitten. As you can see, we washed and waxed the exterior, and detailed the inside. She should be in top shape for you."

"Thanks." House held the clipboard out and slipped the keys into his pocket before gripping the handles of his crutches again. He made his way to the driver's side door and swung it open; grateful that the tech had picked up on his desire to be left alone and had simply headed over to the dealership vehicle that had come to pick him up. He breathed deeply; her leather seats had been warmed by the sun and gave up their sweet scent to the interior. He let his hand trail fondly along her roofline as he began contemplating how to get into the driver's seat. He'd gotten in and out of Wilson's car more easily of late, and he pivoted on his left foot to back up to the side before leaning his crutches carefully against the car. He gripped the doorframe tightly before using the door to lower himself down and in. His left hand sought the lever beneath the seat and he used his left foot to slide himself all the way back cautiously; with the right hand under his leg to steady it. He lifted first his right leg into the bay; followed more surely by the left and breathed a sigh of relief as he sat back in the seat and gripped the steering wheel confidently.

He was back. He'd dreamed of this moment for weeks. Months.

Lifting the keys from his pocket, he slid them into the ignition and turned her over expectantly; feeling his heart flutter when she roared to life. His hands itched to put her into gear and soar out of Princeton; but first things first. Using both hands, he lifted his right foot onto the gas pedal and cupped his knee as he tried to press down gently. His foot slammed the accelerator and the engine roared as the tach climbed precipitously. He lifted with his hands then; feeling his foot ease off the pedal enough that she settled back into a steady idle. He relaxed his grip then, trying to gauge the pressure he was adding with his hands and force the ruined muscle of his thigh to hold his foot in place as he had done since the day he'd first sat behind the wheel. His foot slipped again; the tattered muscles unable to lift and hold with the sensitivity needed to maintain a set pressure. The engine roared again, and this time he used his hands to take his foot off the pedal entirely. As she slowly settled back down into a smooth idle, he felt hot tears prick his eyes. In shame, he squeezed his eyes closed and bowed his head. Of everything he'd lost in the wake of the infarction—his mobility, his independence—Stacy—he'd never imagined that the car would join that list. His chest ached abominably with the rage, grief and despair roiling just beneath his breastbone. Shifting forward slightly, he let his foot flop over onto his ankle on the floorboard and rested his forehead against the steering wheel.
If he wept, it was all but inaudible beneath her throaty purr.