Dr. Gregory House is one of the greatest diagnosticians. He’s solves cases that others have deemed unsolvable. But there is one drawback: his leg. His thigh muscle had atrophied, leaving him crippled. He walked with a cane and downed way too much Vicodin a day. But he was your husband, and you loved him more than anything.

After a long day of work, House came home exhausted. You made him dinner while he showered, then you ate together. He went into the bedroom and laid down while you cleaned up, and you joined him when you were done.

House glances at the alarm on the nightstand. 1:25 a.m. He sighed as he turned to lay on his back. House’s leg was killing him, and massaging it wasn’t helping at all. It felt like a million little pins were being stabbed into his muscle. He looked over at your sleeping form. You seemed so peaceful and perfect in your deep slumber. He sighed again, his face scrunching up in pain.