Author note: This is the first of a two-part House/Wilson fic. Please read and review. (Constructive criticism welcomed.) Also the formating and spacing isnt working properly, im trying to fix it, please bare with me.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, or the show.


Dr Lisa Cuddy MD stood with a look of composure plastered on to her face as the rain soaked her black dress.

The motorbike had been speeding; swerving as though it had transcended the physical plane all together. The truck hadn't come out of nowhere, but the bike had been going too fast.

Cuddy went through the motions. Her practical side was pointing out that there were highly prestigious doctors and possible donors here, and the hospital would definitely benefit from alliances with them. But she couldn't take her eyes off of the simple pine box and she couldn't take her mind of off the man who lay inside it.

The call had come from the E.R. at 2.38am, she had still been there burying herself in her work. Trying to forget the events of the last 36 hours. It turned out work wasn't the best of places to hide. She sprinted down the steps, and froze as she saw the hospitals best diagnostician broken and covered in blood.

Lisa Cuddy sat solemnly blinking back tears as the box was lowered into the ground. There would be no wake. She would soon be able to go home and breakdown and cry.

The surgeon talked to her at 6.15am. Internal bleeding, broken ribs; collapsed lung, broken humerus, shattered radius. There were serious injuries but surgery had gone well.

"He'll probably pull through," the surgeon had said.

The clock taunted her as time stretched infinitesimally. He awoke at 9.27am and with immediate relief she snapped into doctor mode checking his vitals and such.

"Hey" she said with a small smile.

He gave her a wry smile in return. The pain swirling in his piercing blue eyes shot daggers into her heart.

She talked to the surgeon again. "He's too stubborn to die" he smirked, "besides if he can get through an infarction, a heart attack and getting shot in the neck, this isn't going to stop him."

She hated it when they spoke to her like she was his boss, the dean of medicine. And not like she was his friend. But she was his friend, so she returned to his room.

"It hurts so much." He said. She realised he wasn't actually talking about any of his physical injuries.

The other doctors had thought he would be fine. She knew he wouldn't make it.

Most people, (including the many doctors present) would have scoffed at the thought running through Lisa's head as she glanced at the two lone words on the grave-stone: James Wilson.

Greg House died of a broken heart.