Disclaimer: I do not own House. It's just not happening.

Author's Note: Also, I know nothing about medical procedures, diseases, and lingoes so…never mind the technicalities and enjoy! As for the misspellings and not-perfect grammar, I had a random playlist going and unfortunately, Usher had somehow managed to find a spot on there. I was under the influence.

House was where no one expected him to be. No, the chair in which House resided was not in the location of any 12-step program or the cheap seat of a therapist's office.

No, he was visiting his patient.

Technically, it wasn't even his patient. Upon reviewing such a textbook case, Wilson hadn't even bothered to read the name of his would-be patient. It wasn't until he called the young woman into his office did he even recognize her.

"Oh, crap." The look on the terrified woman's face that was sitting across the desk implied that she agreed with him, that she was as disturbed by the situation as he was.

Wilson had rudely asked if he could have a moment to himself before issuing a diagnosis. "You didn't check the name, did you Wilson," she asked quietly. Wilson had shaken his head, and then gently pushed the case file towards the seemingly calm person across the desk. She started to examine it, thereby ridding Wilson of the need to make eye-contact. He didn't tell her what she already knew, just needed to tell her that there was hope.

"The lung has to be removed. You'll probably survive but you'll need a couple rounds of chemo. You…you know the drill."

There were a million questions running through her mind as she looked without seeing at the tell-tale x-rays in her hand. Probably going to survive? I'm only going to have one lung? What if I develop asthma? Will I have to get a lung transplant? Is it genetic? What if I have kids, and they get it?

"Will I lose my hair?"

Will I lose my hair? Your life is hanging in the balance, and you're concerned about losing your hair? What's wrong with you? I can't believe of all the things that you should be asking, the one question you voice is about your vanity. Seriously…

Wilson chuckled at how surprised she looked that she asked that question. But he quickly dropped the emotion. What am I thinking, her whole life is about to be turned upside down and I'm laughing at her? What's wrong with me?

"Yes, you will."

"So…everyone will know. Even if I'm not treated here, everyone will know."

"I would never let you be treated anywhere else."

But her mind had already moved off to other places.

"I'm going to have to tell everyone. My friends, my dad, oh man my dad, my brother, oh no he just broke up with his girlfriend, he can't handle all this…"

Wilson interrupted. "Just like you to worry about other people when you have just been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness."

The look on her face told Wilson that he had said the wrong thing.

"But, but what if I die?"

"Mark my words; the obituary will make the front page. The pews will be filled all the way to back row. Grown men will cry."

She gave him a weak smile. For the first time that day, Wilson had said the right thing.

She had driven home under the distinct impression that the world was made of inflatable objects, that if she happened to crash into a tree or car or house, she would simply bounce back and continue steadily on the path she was already on.

She marveled that after the past couple of hours of her life, in which she scheduled a surgery for Monday, been told exactly what to expect, and to come to hospital or call Wilson at work or home or at his mother's house for anything, she thought she was invincible.

"Forever the idealist" she said to herself.

It wasn't until she walked into her apartment, carefully hung up her jacket, in awe that it would stay on the hanger until she moved it, placed her keys on the end-table next to her turn-dial phone that she realized that she was still supposed to be at work for the next hour and a half.

It was a hectic week at for a certain employee at PPTH. She told her colleagues about the…thing that was growing inside of her (she couldn't bring it to herself to call it cancer). She had made quite a few friends at the hospital and recounting the story over and over again was hard enough to her friends but it was almost impossible to tell doctors and nurses who had heard it through the grapevine. She had told her superiors just as a formality, but was touched when she saw more a few pairs of moist eyes. As for those she was a bit closer with…she had told them as a group, insisting they let her finish before they asked inevitable questions. Dr. Foreman just gave a sad but brief nod, punched her lightly on the shoulder, and told her if she needed anything then he was just a phone call away. Dr. Chase was speechless for a few moments but eventually followed a similar suit as Dr. Foreman, deciding it was for the best to give as neutral a touch as possible. And Dr. House had responded right after she broke the news with a simple "oh" then left the room, making his emotions on the matter unknown to everyone.

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday passed all too soon, and on Sunday night, a woman checked herself onto the oncology floor all alone. By chance, Wilson and House had walked by just as she was finished settling in. Wilson had insisted on going in and checking up on her and House just kept hobbling by. Patient and doctor alike both stared at his retreating form. Finally, Wilson broke the ice.

"So, how ya been holding up?"

"I'm OK, no symptoms as of yet, I've been lucky."

"You're lying; you're not making eye-contact with me."

"Well, I've had some trouble breathing, I get short of breath, but really, it's nothing."

Wilson sighed. "How long has this been going on for?"

"Since the day before I…"

Wilson decided to push her. "The day before you what?"

"The day before I found out."

"Found out what?"

"Wilson..."

"Just say it once and I'll leave you alone."

"I have cancer Wilson! OK! Are you happy now!"

Wilson studied her face. How could he have missed how pale she had become, how thin and drawn her face was, how weak she looked? "No, I'm not happy" he said quietly.

The surgery went relatively well. No complications. Wilson had said she might not even need chemo.

The surgery took place at 5:30 at night due to odd scheduling and her father and brother had gone home at 11:00. It ended at about 1:00 in the morning. House had hobbled by her room just as she was being wheeled out of the OR. A nurse had mistaken him for her boyfriend. She whispered it had gone fine and he had nothing to worry about. If only.

Seeing as she was all alone, and that the nurse wasn't watching, House quietly walked into her room and tried (and failed) to make himself comfortable in a chair by her head. After staring at her serene face for half an hour, House gently took her hand in his and rubbed circles into it, easing her into the calm after the storm, his heart heavy with the knowledge that the storm had really just begun.

In more ways than he could have imagined.

"Allison."