"This is me, far forever,

One of the Lost Ones

The one without a name,

Without an honest heart as compass"

"Nemo" – Nightwish – Once

Chapter Two - Baggage

"Deep breath, Grant," the technician intoned as she adjusted the scanner. "Now let it out as slowly as you can. Now breathe in. Hold it."

Wilson watched from behind the glass wall in the MRI room, his brow puckered in concentration as he went over each screen, every angle, his eyes drinking in the pictures as they came up one at a time. Something… something wasn't quite right, he thought, the frown deepening. There had to be something he was missing. Had to be.

He'd get Foreman to look at the brain scans. The man was the finest neurosurgeon he'd ever met; if anybody could figure it out it was a fair bet that Foreman could. It was cancer; he knew that from the first look forward. But, why was the man in almost no pain, despite how ravaged his body was? When he'd questioned Brid about it she had brushed him off with a tired wave of her hand. Everybody lies. Now she was behind the glass with Wilson, supposedly for an update on the cancer's progress. He hadn't liked the idea of having her there but she'd been insistent and promised to stay out of his way. As he didn't want her to run screaming to Cuddy he'd allowed it.

Or at least that's what he told himself.

What he didn't want to admit was that he found the woman attractive, despite everything which screamed at him that she wasn't his type. He was starting to wonder just exactly what "being his type" really meant, aside from the fact that he either broke up with or divorced that particular type on a regular basis.

No, falling in love with psychic Goths was not something he was particularly interested in doing. The second the "L" word hit his brain his eyebrows went up. Oh, no. No way. He was not going to do the head over heels business ever again.

"So, what's the verdict?"

Wilson broke out of his pondering the meaning of love, life and the universe to find himself smiling at Brid Connors. He tried to wipe the grin off his face and barely succeeded.

"I have to say, Dr. Wilson, that you look a lot better when you're smiling." Dimples creased her cheeks and he couldn't help but smile again.

"I'm not usually quite so…"

"Grumpy? Yeah, so I heard."

"House talking out of turn again?" The best defense was keeping busy, he decided as he leaned over the screen and began going over the results inch by inch.

"Not precisely."

"Let me rephrase that. House thinking out of turn again?"

"A bit." That hadn't been the only thing House had been thinking, Brid mused, most of it of a prurient, mocking tone that implied Wilson might be interested in more than he let on. The younger doctor had walls around his psyche that were nearly impossible to surmount. She had no business crawling through his brain, so she, aside from the outburst in the cafeteria and the nudge in Cuddy's office, resolved to stay out. People raised walls for a reason and had the right to do so. They also had the right to decide whom to let in and whom to keep out.

For a moment another frown and a twitch in his lazy eye indicated that the revelation had fazed him, and the brief wave of emotion revealed…

"You're jealous?"

Now a blush crawled up those handsome features and she knew she was right. "I'm so sorry, we didn't mean to make you feel left out. It was just that I'd never known more than one of me existed and…"

"Stop apologizing," he interrupted gruffly. "It's only natural you'd want to communicate with… whatever you call yourselves," he finished lamely.

"We don't call 'ourselves' anything. Not yet, anyway. Although Sabrina mentioned something about S.O.S."

"S.O.S.?"

"Sisterhood of Sabrinas." When Wilson looked at her askance she added, "My middle name is Sabrina, and every other one she has encountered was named Sabrina."

"No males?"

"Not yet."

"Healing?"

"Somewhat. Except for…" She indicated her father, still lying patiently in the MRI machine. "Cancer, for one. Incurable illnesses. And, like Sabrina, I can't heal adults, just offer some pain relief."

"Which explains why you won't leave him alone for any length of time."

She nodded, and for the first time he noticed the dark circles under her eyes, how tense her posture was. The constant monitoring of her father's physical state was taking its toll.

"Only heal children?"

"Yeah. Which brings me to my next thought."

"Oh?" Wilson leaned forward into the microphone. "Grant, we're going to bring you out of the MRI machine now. Just relax and enjoy the ride."

"Hang in there, Dad." Brid added, getting a dismissive wave from the older man in return.

"You were saying something about your next thought," Wilson reminded her.

"I noticed that the pediatric cancer ward seems… well…"

"Bleak? Understaffed? Under equipped?"

She nodded, a frown puckering her forehead. "The play room is nice, to be sure, but the entire ward could be so much more."

"So I keep telling the board at every meeting." He let out a sigh. "And every meeting I get the 'our financial advisors indicate that we need to spend the money in this other department' response."

"Huh."

"My feelings exactly."

At that point they were starting to wheel her father out of the MRI room and she followed, leaving Wilson wondering why she was still wearing that frown as she left.


"I want you to get out and enjoy life."

"Daddy…"

"Listen to me!" He sat up, wincing a bit before pulling himself together enough to fix his daughter with a glare. "You cannot sit here, watching me die…"

"You're not dying. You need me here."

"We're all dying. My time is coming sooner than expected, but yes, I'm dying. As for needing you here, what you're doing for me is admirable, but I'd rather have them prescribe something than watch you wear yourself down like this."

"What did Dr. Wilson say?"

"So far, the tests are inconclusive, but you knew that already. No, he doesn't have to say a thing. They told me four months, and I'm sure he'll say the same thing once all the tests are in."

"You can't give up."

"Sweetie, I'm not giving up. I'm surrendering. I'm waving the white flag. Now, honey, please don't cry. The chemo stopped working, I'm tired, and my time is coming. When Dr. Wilson gets here I'm going to ask to stop the chemo, if he hasn't already concluded that it needs done anyway."

"What will I do?"

"Move on. Get your ass back out in front of audiences and show them you don't need Thomas or any of the band members to be a success. My one wish, before I die, is to know that you're out there, performing."

"That's emotional blackmail, Daddy."

"You're right, but it's what I want."

"Okay, then."

"You'll do it?"

A reluctant sigh, then, "I'll do it. In fact…"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"I'm thinking of doing a fundraiser."

At that point they heard the sound of someone clearing his throat and looked up to see Wilson standing in the door, clipboard in hand, wearing an unreadable expression on his face.

"Bad news?" Brid asked softly, her hand reaching out to grasp her father's. Wilson let out a sigh, then nodded, closing the door behind him as he made his way into the room. "Should I leave?"

"No, you're fine," Wilson replied quietly. "Grant, I've looked over all the tests, plus went over everything your previous oncologist had done. It looks as though he had covered all the bases and did what he was capable of doing. I'm sorry."

Connors nodded, giving his daughter's hand a squeeze. "I figured as much. Still about four months?"

"Possibly five. Also, there's something else I wanted to discuss with you."

"Cutting off the chemo?" When Wilson blinked at him Grant added, "It's just making me sicker, and I don't think it's doing me any good any more. I'd like to at least be able to hold down something every once in awhile."

"I was going to suggest no more chemotherapy. I am sorry, Grant." He gave the older man's arm a gentle squeeze, getting a pat on the fingers in return.

"You're doing your best, young man. Thank you. And now…" Grant Connors let out a sigh, "I just want to go home and die peacefully."

"I can find us a place near Princeton, Daddy."

"Not a blasted hotel room."

"I'll get you information on hospice care, Grant," Wilson offered. "As for a place to stay… Brid, since you're friends with Sabrina, ask her if her husband's old apartment is still vacant. It's very comfortable and not too far from the hospital."

"Or you could ask him."

Wilson flushed and lowered his eyes. "I think it would be better coming from you."

"Like I said before, a year is a long time to carry all that anger and to not forgive someone for something beyond his control."

"I… can't right now. Maybe someday."

"Just don't let the maybes become the woulda shoulda couldas, Dr. Wilson."

With that, she gave her father a reassuring pat on the arm, then walked out to go and search for House, leaving both men to stare after her. Finally Grant stirred and lifted a brow at the younger man.

"Like my daughter, do you?"

"What? No! I mean… no!" The blush heating his cheeks were a dead giveaway, Wilson thought uneasily. He felt the flush deepen as Grant gave him a hard stare.

"I have no objections if you want to see her, Dr. Wilson. However, I think you have some personal business you need to clear up, first. My girl isn't one to allow someone with a lot of unneeded baggage into her life."

"I'll… give the matter some thought," Wilson finally said, nodding to the older man as he ducked quickly out the door and made his escape.