Chapter Two

"What was that all about?" Kutner mused while running the MS tests in the lab, accompanied by Thirteen and Taub.

"What?" Thirteen asked, frowning.

"House's little imaginary patient."

Her mouth rounded into an O and she shook her head, saying, "I've no clue."

"Whatever it was, it has to be either something he's being forced into or it's just House being House," Taub reasoned. "Those weren't interesting symptoms."

"Unless the symptoms belong to someone he knows."

The three of them looked up to see Foreman standing in the doorway.

"Someone he knows?" Kutner echoed.

"None of you have noticed how Wilson isn't looking exactly healthy right now?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Wilson's thirty-eight," Thirteen said, her sharp brows pulling together in realization.

"It's just grief, though," Taub said. There was a long pause, and he looked at Foreman. "Isn't it?"

"We need to talk."

Wilson looked up from a patient file to see House standing in his doorway. "What makes you think I have anything to say to you?"

House ignored the question. "Are you hydrophobic?"

"What? No. Get out."

"Guess it's not rabies, then."

"House, what the hell are you talking about? I have work to do!"

"The bald kids can wait."

"No, they can't," Wilson argued. "Seriously, House, if you don't leave, I'm going to call security. You're harassing me."

House scratched his forehead, torn. He finally decided that figuring out what was wrong with the oncologist would have to be done from a distance. Emerging from the elevator on the first floor, he headed to the ER to find Cameron.

"How long do you reckon a grief period lasts?" he asked when he found her filling in a chart at the nurses station. "I'd use my own experience, but…I don't have any."

She frowned and answered slowly, "That…would depend." She closed the chart and placed it on the stack, leaning on her elbows and looking him in the eye. "Give him time."

"He's sick. He looks like the walking dead, he's acting angry all the time—"

"To you? That's a shocker," Cameron interrupted. "He's not sick, House, he's sad."

"I'll send him a Hallmark."

She gave him a look. "You just don't want to face your guilt over Amber. Wilson being angry means you can't do anything to fix it. Him being sick means that you can."

Cuddy looked up at the sound of her door opening, expecting it to be House, but instead seeing Wilson entering.

"You got a minute?" he asked.

"Sure."

He handed her an envelope. "My letter of resignation."

"What? Wilson, you—"

"I need a change, okay? And I'm not going to get it here. I'm sorry, but…"

"Has this anything to do with House?"

He gritted his teeth.

"When are you going to make up with him?"

"Don't push this," he growled. "I can do what I want with my life."

Cuddy frowned, wondering why he was being so defensive. House was right, Wilson did look ill – very ill. His cheeks were slightly sunken, and his face was much paler than it should be. Then she began to think that Wilson was right. Maybe he did need a change. House certainly wasn't going to help that situation if he stayed. She sighed and nodded, sadly watching him leave.

He stopped just as he got to the door, leaning his hand against it and hanging his head. "You okay?" she asked him.

He flapped a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Just feel a little dizzy is all."

Her brows knitted together and she circled around her desk, going to his side as he righted himself, giving his head a shake to clear the cobwebs. Then, his legs buckled beneath him and he landed on the hard floor. Before either he or Cuddy could react to the sudden change, he scrambled to the trash can by the door and emptied his stomach of what little was in it. She dropped to her knees next to him, her hand on his back, an expression of extreme worry and concern bending her pretty features out of shape.

"Sorry," Wilson breathed, inhaling deeply through his nose and trying to swallow the nausea.

"Wilson, you are not okay," Cuddy said. "What's going on?" She reached forward to put her palm to his forehead, but he slapped her palm away.

"Don't touch me." Her jaw dropped slightly at his hostility, but he continued, the belligerent tone vanished from his voice as swiftly as it had appeared. "I ate at this Chinese place last night, it's nothing to—"

Before he could finish his sentence, his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the floor, his body limp. Cuddy banged on the door, getting her secretary's attention and shouting, "I need a nurse in here!"

In the ER, Cuddy stood by Wilson's bedside, watching him sleep as the heart monitor beep steadily. The beat of a cane on the floor grew louder as House walked up beside her, taking in the scene of his friend lying in bed.

"Told you so."

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed/favorited/etc. More would be nice :) Hint, hint.