Hey kiddies...

Not going to lie, I'm losing motivation on this story. I have zero plot bunnies. So, suggestions would be welcome. Offers to adopt the story and continue it as you see fit may be considered.

House closed his eyes, grimacing. Of course Wilson would be here already.

"Yes, mother?"

"You okay in there?"

House, with a large amount of difficulty, attempted to prop himself up on his elbows. He was only partially successful.

"I'm just dandy."

He could hear Wilson hesitating, and he sighed. There was no way he was getting off the floor by himself – that much he had figured out almost instantly. He was tired and his head was spinning, and he could hardly lift his head, let alone his entire body.

"Yeah, on second thought, open the door. But slowly!" he suddenly added, realizing the wheelchair would hit him if Wilson shoved open the door.

Wilson obliged, slowly creaking open the door.

"Aw, shit, House," he sighed, and edged his way into the bathroom.

House crossed his arms behind his head, looking up at Wilson innocently. "I don't know what you mean. I'm conducting an in-depth study of my floor tiles."

Wilson ignored his comment, his hands on his hips. House sighed, irritated. "Just shut the door, will you? I don't want…"

He didn't finish, but it was clear what he didn't want. If Rachel were to come traipsing down the hall…

Wilson complied, cramming himself into the small space. He lifted up the chair and placed it on the other side of the bathroom, the back wheels braced against the tub.

"What happened to the brakes?" he asked, bending down to help his friend off the floor. House didn't reply – he was too busy trying not to scream. His bad leg – the longest running one, anyway – was screaming at him now that he tried to move it. It was like a rabid animal was trying to gnaw it off.

He hissed instead. Soon, Wilson was holding his entire weight. There was nothing that House could contribute to the situation.

Grunting, Wilson helped him back into the chair in an – unfortunately – well practiced movement. Once he had gotten his breath back, he replied.

"I don't know. I locked them," he said, gripping his leg and wincing.

Wilson sat on the edge of the tub and inspected the locking mechanism. "The right one is broken."

House hit the armrest with the heel of his palm, irritated. "God dammit. What the hell?"

Wilson let him curse the chair, knowing it was simply a reaction to the pain. "Is your leg cramping?"

"Of course it fucking is," he hissed, his hold on it not lightening up in the slightest. "Nothing can ever be easy."

"Do you want some diazepam?" he asked gently, knowing he couldn't force it on him. If he demanded that he take it, House might deny him out of spite or hurt pride.

House gritted his teeth for a moment, but was saved from answering by Cuddy appearing in the doorway. She took one look at House's pale frame and sent Wilson out.

"Thanks, Wilson, I got it from here. Please get some diazepam and keep an eye on Rachel."

Wilson hesitated for half a moment, then acquiesced when House did not protest. He shut the door behind him, realizing that House would want to keep Rachel from seeing him right now.

Cuddy sat on the toilet in front of him, taking his free hand. "Did you fall?"

"Brake broke, the chair rolled backwards."

"Well, it is an old chair," she said gently. Before he could protest, she'd taken over the ministrations on his leg, rubbing firmly against the locked up muscles. He gripped the armrests, trying to stay silent. It hurt to have her touch it, but it would hurt more to leave it alone and let it progress to a spasm.

He could feel his nausea ramping up the longer the pain progressed, and by the time Wilson got back with the diazepam he was willing to rip it out of his hands and inject it himself. Instead, he only had to nod to Cuddy before she injected it.

With the combined affects of the meds and her hands, the cramp finally subsided. He let loose a breath, finally relaxing his tense posture.

"Better?" Cuddy asked, her gray eyes looking into his own.

He nodded. He was exhausted. Cramps always took it out of him, and he was already tired from rolling around all day. He could feel his eyelids drooping already.

"Come on, House," Wilson said. "Bedtime."

House waved him off, trying to keep himself awake. "No, no. I need to eat. It's hardly nine."

"That's what time normal people sleep, House."

"I'm not normal people. Leave me and my sleeping schedule alone."

Wilson rolled his eyes, allowing Cuddy to take over as he retreated to the kitchen. Maybe she could talk some sense into the man. He was too freaked out to try, right now – it always made his heart race when his friend, but he'd gotten to the point where he could hold off his reaction till he was out of the same room as House. Only years of practice had gotten him to that point.

Apparently, Cuddy had not been able to convince him to retire "early", because he appeared in the kitchen a few minutes later. He had allowed Cuddy to push the chair, but clearly, that's as far as he was going to lean.

They ate mostly in silence, and House only got through about a third of his helping before he could eat no more. He would admit, to himself at least, that he wasn't hungry and only wanted to make a point, but Wilson would never hear that from him.

"What did you make that out of? Beets and cabbage?" he cracked, pushing his plate backwards. Cuddy looked vaguely chastising at his comment, but Wilson was used to it. House had done the same a million times before, and he'd learned to recognize it as a cover and not as an insult to his cooking.

"Yes. And also goat eyeballs and worm spleen."

"Worms don't have spleens," House argued, and Rachel giggled.

"Spleens!" she yelled, laughing. "Spleen spleen spleen!"

Her laughter lightened the mood. "Look what you've done, House," Cuddy sighed, smiling. "Now I'm going to have to hear about spleens for the next three days."

"Good. Next week we'll learn the rest of the digestive system."

After they'd finished, House surrendered to Wilson's puppy eyes and allowed himself to be rolled into his room.

"Alright, now get out," House demanded, thumbing over his shoulder. "You aren't my fiancé and I don't want to sleep with you."

"Yeah, well, Cuddy is putting Rachel to bed and you need to change into PJ's," Wilson replied tartly, tossing a sleeping shirt at House's head.

As he slipped it on, Wilson pulled off his shoes. This had become such a familiar ritual that neither man said a word about it. House did, however, wave off Wilson's tug on his pants.

"Leave it. I can sleep in sweat pants."

"Yeah, okay."

He took Wilson's outstretched hand and allowed himself to be helped into the bed, where he laid back with a sigh.

"Go help Cuddy," House demanded, closing his eyes. Wilson sighed, hands on his hips.

On his way out, House called out a quick thanks, and Wilson grinned. "I'll pick you up a new chair from work tomorrow," he said as a reply, then gently shut the door.

True to his word, Wilson made a trip up to PPTH early the next morning. Because it was Sunday, there were hardly any people milling around. For that he was grateful – he didn't feel like explaining himself to casual passerby. Everyone knew he was House's friend, and most everyone knew about his hospital stay. That meant that anyone snooping around for hospital gossip would come straight to him, and that was something that he did not want to deal with.

To his immense surprise, when he wandered up onto his and House's floor, House's team was gathered in the DDX room. Foreman was writing down something on the whiteboard, Chase was nursing a coffee, and Taub looked hardly awake. Kutner, however, looked excited, and was pacing around the room and talking loudly.

Wilson knocked twice on the door, then pushed it open. The four fellows turned to look at him, and Kutner's face broke out into a grin.

"Great! We can use you," he exclaimed, clasping the oncologist on his shoulder and leading him farther into the room.

Wilson read the board. "Wedding Planning, House style?" he questioned, reading it out loud. "What in the world?"

"We're helping out," Kutner exclaimed proudly. "I mean, I figured we know him the best, aside from you, and Cuddy has so much on her plate already…"

Chase rubbed his eyes, half awake. "This was Kutner's idea, if you couldn't tell."

Taub, from his slumped over position on the table, muttered an agreement. "Why we had to come so early in the morning, though, I have no idea…"

Wilson was already grinning. "Well, what have you got so far?"

Kutner detailed out some of the ideas they'd come up with. "Obviously, he's going to have to have some good music. I was thinking we could hire a local jazz band, something really cool like that…" he said excitedly, practically bouncing up and down. "And as far as dress code, I was thinking – "

Wilson held up a hand. "Whoa whoa whoa. Let me stop you right there. The color coordination is going to Cuddy first. I don't want House pushing you guys into making everyone wear casual… and making Cuddy wear a mini skirt instead of a white dress."

That got Foreman grinning as well as the other fellows. "How is he doing, by the way?" he asked, capping the marker. "Haven't talked to him since he checked out."

"He's… he's healing," Wilson said slowly. "Getting frustrated, but that's understandable. I'm actually here today to get him a new wheelchair. The one he was using was quite old, and one of the brakes snapped."

That caught Chase's attention. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Wilson said quickly, knowing House wouldn't want the details shared with his fellows. "But I wanted to get him one from this century."

They nodded in tandem. Taub was the first to say the question they'd all been thinking out loud.

"When is he coming back to work?" he questioned, and the other three fellows leaned in to hear the answer.

Wilson pressed his lips together. "It's hard to say," he replied finally, tapping his hand on the table. "His leg won't be back in working order for another month or so – "

"But surely he won't be gone that long?" Kutner interjected, looking worried.

Wilson looked at them in turn, surprised. He knew that House's fellows respected him, if nothing else, but it had not been clear to him up until this point that they all cared about him as a person as well. "I'm sure he won't stand for that," he replied, grinning. "You know he's going to bully his way up here before long."

The ducklings nodded in agreement. They all knew House, and they were sure that before long he'd be bored at home and ready for the next puzzle.

"Are they going to do the ceremony after he's completely healed up?" Foreman questioned, raising a brow. "It'll be a while, if so."

"I don't know," Wilson replied genuinely. "I think House will want to, but Cuddy might get it through to him that she doesn't care one way or another."

Kutner sighed. "He's tense about it. You could tell when he was here, he doesn't like it."

"Would you? You know he has these ideas about what a "man" is supposed to be…" Chase pointed out, thinking about House's father. He would have bet money that the man was a strong force in House's hurt pride.

Wilson was thinking along the same lines, but he was better about hiding it. "Well, I'll leave you all to it then. I've got to get back to House's."

"Bye, Wilson," they chorused, and the man continued on his way to the supply closet.

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