A/N: Hey guys :) This is the heavily edited version of the very first fanfic I ever wrote. Reading it again now, I found so many things I didn't like about it, that my first impulse was to take it down completely. But since a couple of you guys fav'ed it, I decided to simply edit it instead (amongst other things based on i have an idea's very critical review of the first version... thanks again for that!). – Hope you don't mind… :)

This couldn't be true. He must have been knowing it for months. Hiding it from him for months… – No matter where it was located, it had to be so advanced that it must have been causing trouble.

Three different markers were through the roof. Most likely candidates were the lungs and the liver. Bones were another possibility. But no matter what: It was bad. Very bad. – Probably terminal.

Wilson couldn't believe his best friend had kept this from him. He was an oncologist after all! Maybe he would have been able to do something!

He had to get out of here…

Numb fingers let go of the test results he had accidentally found on the other man's desk, the results that very possibly meant his best friend's death.

He didn't even know how long he had been just numbly sitting at his desk, when he was suddenly ripped out of his trance-like state by the insistent ringing of his office phone. He picked it up on the third ring, taking a deep breath just in case someone actually needed him to be coherent right now…

A familiar voice demanded without preamble: "When are you leaving? – Need a ride home today… Didn't bring the bike."

House.

Sounding unbelievably… normal! If he hadn't found that damned slip of paper, he'd never be able to tell something was wrong. – How could he do this?! Why was he doing this? And just how long had he been pulling this stunt??

"Wilson?"

Oh, yes; some sort of reply. That would be a good idea right about now...

"Uh… yeah." Wilson was surprised by how weak his own voice sounded. Quickly clearing his throat, he continued slightly more firmly: "Okay! Sure... – Why don't you just… meet me in the lobby in ten."

Click.

"Why didn't you drive your bike today…" Keeping his eyes fixed on the road, Wilson could sense House turn his head towards him, studying him.

"Because… it was… raining!" He made it sound like a revelation, his eyes still on the other man.

Wilson didn't reply anything for a moment. Then, in a somewhat raspy voice: "Unusually reasonable of you…"

House frowned slightly at his friend's strange demeanor. Choosing familiar ground, he finally replied innocently: "Why, Jimmy…! Reasonable is my middle name!"

Another short pause, before Wilson spoke again; quietly, tentatively. "Maybe you weren't feeling so good this morning…"

House nodded without hesitation. "Maybe I wasn't feeling so good. – Or maybe my bike was simply stolen yesterday! Might also be my Mom asked me not to ride it…" Shrugging slightly, he finally sat back facing the road again. "Feel free to pick whichever reason you're most comfortable with today..."

Neither of them spoke the rest of the way.

When House finally made his way towards his apartment, Wilson kept his gaze fixed on his friend the entire time.

It was hours later, before he finally pulled his car back onto the road...

The next day, Wilson was called in to a consult by House's team. They handed him the test results of their latest patient, all eyes resting on him expectantly, while he tried to concentrate on the numbers before him.

His concentration was seriously challenged by House though, who was currently in his office next door talking to someone on the phone. But what distracted Wilson was not his friend's sonorous voice, but the slight cough that interrupted his speech every other minute or so.

Finally giving up on trying to focus on anything but this most crucial matter right now, Wilson suddenly turned towards the three younger doctors, test results all but forgotten. "How long has he been coughing like that…" Tone a strange mixture of concerned and resigned.

Chase frowned at the question. "Maybe a few days," he hesitantly replied in his usual thick Australian accent, voice rising slightly towards the end of the sentence.

Placing both hands onto the back of one of the chairs, Wilson suddenly leaned forward, head bowed, refusing to meet any of their gazes. "Have you noticed anything else wrong with him...?" His voice now almost toneless.

This time it was Cameron who replied, frowning slightly as well by now. "Why do you ask? He didn't seem any worse than usual…" When Wilson didn't reply anything, she stood up to take a hesitant step towards him. "Why do you ask? What's going on…"

They were interrupted by House entering the conference room. – All eyes turned towards him.

"What?! Did I interrupt a cozy little foursome…?" Quickly limping towards the white board, House hooked his cane onto its frame and started looking for a marker.

"Differential diagnosis, people! – Thanks for joining us, Jimmy…" He grinned slightly at his friend, who was still staring at him with an odd look on his face. When he noticed how pale the other man was, House raised a questioning eyebrow. "Something wrong?" His gaze went from Wilson to his team and back again.

Wilson slowly shook his head in what might have been disbelief. Then his expression suddenly became determined. "It's in your lungs, isn't it…"

House just stared at him for a moment. Then, shaking his head slightly in apparent confusion: "What?"

Quickly averting his gaze, Wilson took a couple of steps towards the window, focusing on the bleak gray winter sky. Anything to avoid having to face his friend right now...

"Have you done anything about it at all, or have you just been ignoring it…" His voice sounded slightly bitter, but it was really just his incredible worry talking.

He could hear House's uneven steps behind him.

"What the hell are you talking about…" Tone an unusual blend of confusion, impatience and just a trace of annoyance.

Suddenly, Wilson couldn't take it any longer. He abruptly turned around, causing House to take a startled half-step backwards.

"You don't wanna talk about this in front of your staff? Fine! But talk to me, House! – I thought we were friends… Dammit – we've been through so much together; I think I deserve to know when you're dying…!"

The outburst was followed by a moment of complete and utter silence, all of them momentarily stunned speechless. – House's expression was completely frozen in unconcealed surprise.

It was Foreman who spoke next, taking a step towards his boss, his expression and tone both disbelieving. "You're dying?!?"

House grimaced slightly in response. "No…!"

He quickly met each of their gazes. "I mean, sure; we're all dying in a way, but officially I'm not any closer to death than you guys are." Then, suddenly frowning slightly as if in thought: "Well, okay, technically I might be a little closer really, but – "

"House!" Foreman impatiently interrupted him. "Why does Dr. Wilson think you're dying…"

Shaking his head slightly, House just shrugged, while slowly turning towards his friend again. "I have no idea…" All eyes followed his, everyone now staring at Wilson.

Suddenly, all strength seemed to leave the oncologist, who now simply let his shoulders slump, his gaze fixed on some spot on the carpet slightly to House's right.

"I found the test results," he finally mumbled in a dejected voice. "On your desk...? I wasn't looking for – I mean; I just… accidentally stumbled upon them."

He slowly lifted his head to meet House's still confused gaze. "There is no way you don't know that it's cancer."

Suddenly understanding filled the older man's face. "Oh shit, Wilson…" Impulsively, he took a quick step towards his friend, stopping just short of actually touching him. "Those weren't my test results."

Now it was Wilson's turn to look stunned, for a moment simply incapable of adapting to this new piece of information.

House quickly continued, for once unexpectedly compassionate in the light of the other man's very obvious distress. "There's this guy in accounting, who… Let's just say I figured he might have a problem. – But he refused to let me test him, unless I agreed to test him under a different name. So..." He gestured slightly with one hand, apparently trusting the other man to figure out the rest of the story on his own.

When Wilson didn't immediately react, he threw him a somewhat apologetic half-smile. "Just this once: Believe me when I tell you… I'm fine." He finished with an uncomfortable half-shrug.

For a second or two, Wilson's expression remained completely unreadable, but then he quickly took a step towards the other man, impulsively grabbing both of his shoulders, apparently as of yet undecided whether to embrace or simply shake the shit out of him! He finally just let his head hang again, huffing out a strained breath that might have been a very pained half-laugh. Then he tightened his hold some more, before abruptly releasing his friend again, instead now throwing his hands up in frustration.

"I can't believe it! You, you, you…" He was still gesturing angrily with both hands, but his eyes shone slightly with the threat of tears, and his whole posture was starting to slump as relief swept over him.

The team discreetly backed out of the room.

When Wilson finally took a small step back and lifted his head to meet his friend's gaze, his eyes were still shining slightly, but he managed a small smile. "I could kill you right now, you know that?"

House raised an eyebrow at that, visibly relieved that the acute crisis had apparently passed and he could finally return to his usual grumpy self. "Why Jimmy! Seconds ago the prospect of something killing me seemed to be pretty high up on your list of 'things that give you a tummy ache'…"

Wilson just shook his head, the usual spark slowly returning to his eyes. "If you ever do anything like that again, I swear I'll get Cuddy to insist on monthly physicals for you. And wouldn't that be fun..."

Then he suddenly frowned in mock-thought. "Speaking of physicals: Aren't you overdue for yours again? – Maybe I should do it for you this year, and include a nice, thorough prostate check…!"

A suppressed groan and the sight of a grumpy middle-aged doctor limping out of the room as quickly as his cane would carry him, were the only reply he got...

The end :)

BTW: This was of course written long before "Half-wit" aired, so it's completely unrelated to - and uninspired by - the events of that episode...