No, your eyes are not deceiving you! Yes, this IS the next chapter in Theirs! I'm finally writing again after a very long bout of writer's block. Sorry for the very long wait and thanks for reading!! As always, thanks to my brilliant betas chippers87, lucyvanflick & wrytingtyme.

Ch. 25

Cuddy stood in Wilson's office, mouth agape, eyes wide. She shook her head slowly, afraid to believe what she was seeing before her. "Are you sure?"

Wilson's eyes were wet. He nodded, not trusting his voice.

"How?"

Wilson shrugged as he turned off the lightboard. "The percentage of recovery is next to nil. He should have been terminal." Wilson's voice caught in his throat with the last word. He looked up at the ceiling, smiling slightly. The unshed tears spilled from the corners of his eyes.

"So, he's in remission."

Wilson shook his head. "No, let's not jump the gun yet. He needs to undergo one last round of treatment, and then we wait to see if it grows, but if he continues on as well as he's doing right now, then yes, he'll be in remission."

Accepting the tissue Wilson offered to her, Cuddy blotted her eyes with a slight smile. "You did it."

He turned the desk lamp on, shuffled through a few papers, and tried to appear professional, despite the giddy sense of relief stemming from his stomach. "He did it."

Cuddy placed a hand on top of Wilson's, to keep him from fidgeting with the papers in front of him. "No. You did. If you hadn't gone back to check on him that night he tried to give himself the ultrasound, who knows how long he would have hidden it from us." Cuddy squeezed his hand before letting go. "He's lucky he has you for a friend."

With his head bowed, Wilson glared at a specific file in front of him, the one labeled, "House, Gregory". He was equally as thankful that he had been there that night, but something on House's file caught his eye. As he looked at it more closely, he detected a stray pen mark that wrapped around to the inside of the folder. A frown forming, he opened the file. Inside, he found an arrow, leading to a sticky-note:

You donated $32 to the dying cripple fund.

Your wallet thought you should know.

Wilson sighed as he proceeded to follow the thick, black line that led away from the note and across five sheets of House's file, where he found a second sticky-note:

Rueben, no pickles.

noon today, or you

may never see your wallet again.

Wilson looked up, intending to show Cuddy the ransom note inside House's file, but found he was alone in his office. He walked over to his coat and searched the pockets, which turned up nothing. He was frustrated that House would steal his wallet, the money inside, and demand lunch that afternoon. Growing angrier by the moment, he searched the other pocket, where he found his driver's license and A.T.M. card.

Mumbling to no one but himself, he grabbed his car keys from his desk drawer and House's patient file. He shook his head and opened the door to his office. "So nice of House to leave me some method of payment, because my biggest burning desire is to stop what I'm doing and run the risk of being late for my afternoon appointments just to spend my lunch hour with…."

Wilson paused after he locked his office and closed his eyes. He leaned his head against the nameplate on the door and inhaled deeply. Gathering himself, he made his way to the elevator, entered an open car, and as the doors closed, he stared at the Diagnostics wing in the distance, grateful for the chance to spend his lunch with House.

_______

"Got my note?" a familiar voice called out from the kitchen, when Wilson walked in. Wilson nodded a quick hello to Nurse Franklin who had let him in.

"What exactly do you need $32 for, anyway?" Wilson asked, carrying a Rueben sandwich and a turkey croissant. He set them on the kitchen table before grabbing two sodas from the refrigerator.

House unwrapped the white paper, and did a quick search for pickles. "Hookers cost twice the price when you look like I do."

Wilson choked on his soda, before eyeing House. "So, what was is it really for?"

House took a large bite of his sandwich and mumbled, "Mia."

"What does she need money for?"

"Field trip," House said, putting the sandwich down. He motioned towards the wheelchair. "The other drivers at the bank drive-through wouldn't give me the right of way."

"You could have asked."

"Why? You would have given it, anyway."

Knowing House was right, Wilson dropped the subject, instead choosing to take note of House's physical condition: his color was good, his eyes bright. He was attempting to eat.

"You look good today," he said in his least patronizing way possible.

House waved him off. "Here," he said, pulling Wilson's wallet out from behind him.

"Thanks. So, how's your pain?"

"Let me enjoy at least three bites before you start the oncologist thing."

"Sorry." Wilson paused as he watched House struggle to get his second bite down. "Plan on eating more than three bites?"

"No."

Wilson tried not to look sympathetic as he watched his friend. "Want me to take the rest of the afternoon off?"

"Nope. I can watch the monster truck video alone. Don't need a babysitter."

Knowing this was likely House's plan all along, Wilson wrapped up both sandwiches; House was done after three bites and Wilson had suddenly lost interest in his own lunch.

"I suppose Cuddy knows I'm here?" Wilson rolled his eyes in realization. "She's the one who stole my wallet and placed the cards in my pocket."

House gingerly moved to the wheelchair as Wilson kept it from rolling. "Yep."

"My afternoon appointments?" Wilson asked, as he wheeled House to the family room.

"Rescheduled."

Wilson turned to look at Nurse Franklin as he clumsily waved between himself and House, indicating that he would be staying. She nodded, grabbed her sweater from the back room and quietly left the men to their monster trucks.

"In the chair or out?" Wilson asked.

"Chair's fine."

Wilson looked at House, who now seemed exhausted from the simple act of moving from one room to the other. Wilson knew House was too worn out to move from the wheelchair, so he sat in the chair adjacent to House, took his shoes off, and placed his feet on the end of the coffee table.

"Let me know if you need your pills."

House nodded as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

_______

Wilson woke to the smell of something baking in the kitchen. He looked down at himself and found he was covered in a blanket and when he looked towards his left, there sat House, with the corner of his mouth turned up mockingly.

"What?" Wilson asked.

"You look like an old man, or a baby with his woobie."

"Have you seen yourself lately? You practically glow in the dark."

"Yeah, but glow in the dark is so totally the new black." House paused a moment as his smirk grew. "Remind me to tell that to Foreman."

Wilson held up the corner of the blanket and looked questioningly at House. "Did you-?"

"You're asking the guy who didn't have the energy to get out of the wheelchair?"

Wilson conceded with a nod. "What's cooking?"

House shrugged. "Mia's in there. It's either a frozen quiche or something not fit for the dog."

Wilson started to laugh but stopped abruptly when Mia appeared at the door.

"Thanks for the blanket," Wilson said.

"You're welcome."

"What's for dinner?"

"Quiche. Mom'll be here in just a few minutes."

Mia walked over to House and handed him three pills and a glass of water. Wilson watched what was a nightly ritual as House palmed the pills, threw them back in his mouth, and swallowed them dry. He then handed the glass back to Mia, still full. She then rolled her eyes, took a sip and walked back to the kitchen.

_______

Later that evening, once House was in bed and Wilson had gone home, Cuddy perched on the edge of the couch, helping Mia to cover up with the same blanket given to Wilson earlier that day.

"You don't need to tuck me in."

"I know," Cuddy said, leaning down to place a kiss on Mia's forehead. "You did good tonight, taking care of both of them."

Mia looked up at Cuddy with a genuinely innocent expression, which reminded Cuddy of a time when Mia was much younger and House much healthier.

"You told me to take care of them."

"But I didn't have to. You would have done it, regardless."

Mia's innocence extended into a sleepy yawn as she said, "I love them." She turned over onto her side, slipped her hand under the pillow and closed her eyes. "Tell Dad to say goodbye to me before he leaves."

_______

House sat in a wheelchair, staring at the whiteboard in the diagnostic conference room. He yawned deeply as he read through the symptoms on the whiteboard. The team was off running tests on their newest patient, while Foreman was likely taking advantage of his job title and sleeping in.

Wilson had been paged minutes earlier, leaving House to sit alone for a few minutes. He yawned again, ran his hand down his face and then studied the whiteboard. With great effort, he rolled over to it, picked up the marker and wrote, HIVES? on the side, in large letters. Capping the marker, he sat back, closed his eyes and shook his head. He was tired of being tired.

"House?" Cuddy asked, startling him.

"Here to take me to my last round of torture treatment?"

"No, I thought Wilson was tak-"

"He was paged."

Cuddy perched on the tabletop, facing House. He refused to look up at her. "Mia said you didn't say goodbye before you left."

"She was asleep."

"She's scared. Couldn't you have at least said goodbye?"

"I don't plan on dying today."

"That's not the point," she said, standing up. "She specifically slept on the couch so you wouldn't have to go upstairs. I told you that."

Before House could say any more, Wilson appeared at the doorway, oblivious to the conversation between the pair. "Okay, so this is it. You ready?"

Facing away from Wilson, House frowned at Cuddy and turned the wheelchair around to face Wilson. "Yep." Without looking back, House called out, "What, aren't you going to wish me luck?"

"Why? You don't plan on dying today," Cuddy spat, instantly feeling foolish. She watched as the pair disappeared down the hall, and as much as she wanted to run after him and apologize, she remained rooted to the spot.

_______

Wilson appeared at Cuddy's office a couple of hours later, carrying two cups of coffee and a tired grin. He offered her one as he took a seat. "I thought we should celebrate."

"What, no champagne?" she asked with a smile.

"I think the hospital administrator would have me fired for drinking on the job."

Cuddy raised her eyebrows, nodding. "Probably." She took a long sip. "So, how is he?"

Wilson set his untouched cup down before running his hand through his hair. Cuddy noted how unkempt he looked. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair tousled, and it was obvious he hadn't gotten much sleep the night prior.

"First dose is in. His BP plummeted but he stabilized fairly quickly. It's a waiting game, right now." Wilson debated whether or not to broach the subject of that morning before deciding he couldn't just let it be. "So, House told you he's not planning on dying today? That's always a good thing."

Cuddy set her coffee cup down and leaned forward. "I shouldn't have said what I did."

"No, you shouldn't have."

"But, he shouldn't have left without saying anything to Mia."

Wilson's eyes widened and his cheeks suddenly flushed a pinkish hue. "That wasn't his fault."

Furrowing her brow, Cuddy leaned back in her chair, wondering if Wilson was about to cover for House or if there was something more to it. "Go on."

"When I picked him up this morning, his pain was at an eight." Wilson shifted in his seat. "I gave him a mild sedative, just to make him more comfortable. He wasn't awake enough to say goodbye to Mia."

Cuddy sighed, feeling guiltier than ever at her own behavior. "She woke up and he was gone. I thought he'd…."

"I'm sorry, I was just-"

"You were just concerned about his pain and about getting him here. No, don't be sorry. It's not your fault. If I didn't have that international conference call so early, I would have been there."

Before Wilson could say another word, his pager jumped to life, beeping loudly, while Cuddy's phone rang simultaneously.

"How long?" Cuddy asked as she pushed her chair back and stood. She paled as she listened, while waving her hand at Wilson to wait for her. Hanging up the phone with a loud bang, she rounded the desk and caught up to Wilson, who held the door open for her.

With terrified eyes, she looked up at him and despite all of her years in the medical profession, panic set in.

"He seized several times and then stopped breathing," she said, winded, as they ran towards the stairwell. "I should have been there," she whispered.

_______