A/N: I thought I was done writing House fic, but this story popped into my head and I feel like I need to get it out. I've been too recently reminded of how cruel cancer can be, and maybe this is just my way of processing that. This story is angsty. It has elements from other stories I've written, spun a bit differently, so I apologize if parts of it feel rehashed. This will only be a few chapters long.

Part I: The Untranscended

As Cuddy stood in the foyer of her hospital, she was unaware of the weakened man whose eyes had been following her for the last few minutes. The man waited nearby while she carried out an impromptu meeting with one of her physicians. She didn't notice that the stranger followed her down the hall to the elevator. She entered the elevator and hit the button, politely asking what floor her co-rider was going to. "Four," the man answered in a soft, strained voice. Then he added, "You look great."

Cuddy stifled a chuckle at the forwardness of this old man, nodding and replying, "Thank you. This is my floor. Have a nice day."

"No hug for an old friend?" the voice asked a little more forcefully, sounding familiar enough to make her turn around.

She held the elevator door open before it could shut. As the realization hit her, she felt a tightness at the back of her throat as she asked, "Wilson?"

"I've lost a few pounds," he confessed.

Shaking her head, she got back on the elevator and delicately wrapped her arms around his shoulders, "I just didn't expect to see you."

"That's probably true. But I'm guessing you didn't recognize me because I look like shit," he chuckled.

"I can't believe you're here!"

The elevator doors shut as he said, "Wasn't that your floor?"

"I'll take you to my office," she answered, pressing the button for the top floor. "Unless you're here to see someone else?"

"Just you," Wilson replied.

"Where have you been?" she asked as they entered her office.

His eyes grew wide as he looked around. The office at this hospital was nearly twice the size of her old office, opulently decorated, equipped with the finest furniture and technology and a view that was surely to be envied. "This…is your office now?" he asked.

"This isn't a teaching hospital…it's a whole different world here."

Even after the short walk, Wilson seemed exhausted. He sat down, leaning his palm on his knee as he tried to find his breath. She sat on the chair next to his as she was finally able to really look at him. It was easy to see why she hadn't recognized him. It seemed almost unfathomable that his perennially boyish face was so gaunt and hollow that he actually looked so old. Dark circles surrounded his eyes and his skin seemed stiff and pale. The thing that was most shocking was his weary voice. He was so quiet and frail that it didn't even seem possible that he could have changed so much. Logically she understood the havoc cancer could wreak on a body. She'd seen it hundreds of times. She knew the physical changes that could happen, but seeing such changes in Wilson, a man she'd worked with almost every day of her life for years, defied logic.

"So…tell me everything," she insisted, trying her best not to seem shocked by his appearance.

"Everything is…complicated. And I'm a little short on time."

"When's the last time you've seen a doctor?"

"Let me think…this morning when I looked in the mirror."

She smiled disappointedly, "So you aren't receiving any care?"

"I have a huge favor to ask. I wouldn't ask except—"

"Anything!" she answered, reaching out and covering his hand with hers. "Tell me what you need."

"I'd like a scan. I don't want to deal with a new oncologist. I don't want to fill out forms and discuss my history, and go through all of that just to see a scan that I can read myself. I know what I'm looking for."

Cuddy nodded, "Sure."

"I don't have insurance—"

"God, no, Wilson," she said, somewhat offended. "I'll take care of it."

"Thank you."

"So, is treatment out of the question?" she tried.

"I just want to see the scan…I need to see the scan."

"I'll get you in today. Let me check the schedule."

After the scan, Cuddy took Wilson back to her office to view the results. As he stared at the scan he shook his head. He knew what the results would be, but seeing the truth brightly lit up on a computer screen made everything painfully clear. "If you want to try treatment, I'll make it happen," Cuddy offered.

Wilson continued to stare at the screen, and he finally said, "I just wanted to see it."

"Untreated, how much time do you have?"

"I'm already on borrowed time," he admitted.

Cuddy stepped in front of him, leaning back against her desk, and she said, "Why are you really here? I don't think this scan is telling you anything you didn't already know. I'm flattered you thought of me, but I don't think catching up with me was your motivation."

"I thought I'd made my peace with this. I'm just…I'm not ready to give up. And I feel like I owe…," he shook his head. "I don't know."

"It's worth a try," Cuddy stated. "I don't want to pressure you. But if you want it, treatment is yours. I can talk to our lead oncologist, transfer your records, you can review all of the options and choose what's best for you."

"I can't afford to—"

"We can work all of that out. Maybe I could bring you on as a consultant. Take tonight to think about it. If you want treatment, meet me here tomorrow."

Wilson stared out the window. He looked back at her and said, "I'm not unrealistic about this. I just don't want to go out without knowing I tried."

She nodded. "Then I'll see you tomorrow."

Given Wilson's compromised state, he was admitted to the hospital while he was being treated. The chemo made him quite ill, but oddly enough, after some care at the hospital, he started to look a little better. The transformation wasn't amazing, but he looked a little less gaunt, and his voice seemed a little stronger. It was enough to give them a spark of hope, even against the odds.

Cuddy went to Wilson's room a few weeks after he'd begun treatments. She sat on the edge of his bed, draping her fingers over his bony wrist. "Wilson, I know these treatments have been difficult."

"I knew what I was signing up for. I think I can be released between rounds of chemo."

"Stay," Cuddy said, knowing they could make him more comfortable at her hospital.

"I should go. I know it's not cheap to keep me here."

"Stay," she insisted. "We need to keep your strength up. You have a decent view. The food is pretty good. Your nurses love you. If you want anything like books or movies or whatever, I'll bring them here. And…he doesn't have to wait until after midnight to come in. Evenings are fine. Tell him any time after six."

"Who?" Wilson asked, turning toward her with a manufactured look of confusion.

"You're still a terrible liar."

"I don't…I just…I don't know what you're talking about."

"Wilson, I'm not that clueless. There's only one person you'd go through all of this for."

"Who?"

"You know who. Don't do that to me, Wilson. He died and you suddenly disappeared without a word. Am I supposed to think that's a coincidence? Plus, like I said, he's the only person you'd go through all of this for. I know he's here."

"That's pretty wild speculation. House was a genius but I don't think even he could cheat death."

"And he's on my security cameras," Cuddy said as she took a few printouts from her clipboard and placed them on Wilson's bed. "I know that's him sneaking through the door between midnight and two am every morning, using the employee ID badge I gave to you. It was a decent disguise…the crutches instead of a cane, the bulky sweatshirt, the hat. But I knew what I was looking for."

"How did you even know to look?"

"The two of you are like…soul mates or something…inseparable." She shrugged and smiled and confessed, "And, after the second or third night you were here, your nightshift nurse mentioned the 'rude asshole' who sat here with you all night. I thought there was no way it could be true, but it seemed like too much of a coincidence. So I checked the cameras."

Wilson winced, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I wish you would have told me…but I guess I don't blame you for keeping it to yourself. I'm not even sure how I would have reacted. But, he's stayed out of my way, and I will continue to stay out of his. I don't think he wants to see me any more than I want to see him. He's here for you. I'm here for you. That's the extent of it."

"You're remarkably calm about this."

"I wasn't when I first figured it out. I had a minor breakdown," she said as she smiled.

"Why didn't you say anything to me?"

"I thought you had enough to deal with at the time. You still do. Your focus should be on resting, getting better."

"And now it's fine?" he skeptically asked.

"The thing is…it doesn't matter. This isn't about me, or House, or House-and-me. This is about you. I don't want you to leave, because I think we can make you more comfortable here. At the same time, I think you should have access to your support system."

"I don't know."

"I don't want you to be alone. I'll have someone bring in a more comfortable chair for him. I can take days, he can take nights. He can come in, use the side entrance he's been using. House and I never even need to see each other."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," she answered with a smile. "It's in the best interest of my patient."

Cuddy didn't see or hear from House while Wilson was treated over the next couple of weeks. Unfortunately, the cancer was ultimately undeterred even though the chemo was quite aggressive. The momentary improvement that had given them hope slipped away as the benefits of good rest, fluids and proper nutrition couldn't combat the cancer and chemicals that coursed through his veins, and his body began to surrender even though he wasn't prepared to give up.

After a follow-up scan, it was clear the chemo wasn't slowing Wilson's cancer. Even the spark of hope had been snuffed out. It simply wasn't worth subjecting Wilson to chemo any longer. Cuddy went to Wilson's room to talk to him about his latest results. The moment he saw the look on her face, he said, "It's time to stop."

She nodded, "Wilson, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I appreciate all of your help. I'd like to leave tomorrow."

"Would you like me to call Hospice?"

"No. I don't want another stranger offering me their sympathies, no matter how good their intentions."

"Then I'll do it. I can prescribe something to keep you comfortable and monitor you. Let me do this. I'll be as unsympathetic as possible," she said with a gentle smile.

He laughed softly, "Okay."

Cuddy talked to him until exhaustion took over and she could tell he just wanted to sleep. "I'll be back later. If there's anything you need, just—"

"Just rest. I'm tired," he answered.

She left the room, maintaining her poise as she tried to get to a secluded place. Her office was too far away, and she didn't want to break down in the hallway, so she slipped into the chapel. Quickly sweeping her eyes over the space, she was relieved that no one was there. Hurriedly entering the chapel, Cuddy pushed the door shut with both hands and began to step backwards. Her control was slipping away. It had been nice seeing Wilson again, feeling a connection to the past and holding on to some hope that maybe she could help him. She so desperately wanted to give him the second chance that he'd given so many people over the years. The momentary hope had been a cruel trick, and now all that was left was suffering and death.

Her hand went to her forehead as she could no longer hold back the tears. The sight of her friend in his current condition continued to appear in her mind. He was only a shell of his former self, and in spite of his efforts, it was becoming difficult for him to hide his pain. Taking a few shaky steps without looking, Cuddy bumped a table, and a vase full of flowers tumbled to the ground, shattering. Flowers and leaves scattered across the floor. She grabbed the nearby trashcan that was filled with tissues from someone else who'd probably received devastating news. Shoving the flowers as deeply into the can as possible and picking up the larger pieces of glass, she felt a few tears continue to slip over her cheeks in spite of the distraction. She winced as she felt a stab in one finger. A small shard of glass was sticking out of her fingertip. Carefully removing it, she mumbled a string of curses befitting the day. Taking out her cell phone, she said to the answerer, "This is Dr. Cuddy. I need someone from Environmental Services to vacuum up some glass in the chapel," and abruptly hung up.

Cuddy sighed, taking a few cleansing breaths to steady her emotions until she could seek refuge in her office. As she began to walk down the aisle to the door, a figure sat up in the second to last bench from the back. "You didn't call the cops. Why?" he asked.

"Were you sleeping in my chapel?" she asked, ignoring the dizziness she felt as shock hit her.

She'd seen the camera footage, she'd known he was around, but being in the same room with him made it all very undeniable. "Your chapel?" House asked. "I always knew it would come to this. Do you require human sacrifices or are monetary offerings from your subjects enough?"

She clenched her jaw as she asked, "How did you know I'd be here? I never come here."

"I didn't. Which is why I was here. Waiting for my turn to visit Wilson."

"The scans came back."

"I know."

"It's not good."

"I know. He texted me. I'll get him out of here. You didn't really think that would work, did you?"

"I hoped."

"Apparently, hope was a waste of time."

She countered, "Having hope is not a flaw."

"But it is naïve. And in cases like this, it's just pointless."

Cuddy was ready to argue but she shook her head mumbling, "Speaking of pointless..."

"You mean this particular discussion or our entire history."

"Where are the two of you staying?"

"Why do you care?"

"I'm not calling the cops, if you're worried about that. As far as I'm concerned, we never even saw each other. I don't feel like filing another police report, enduring another barrage of questions from some uniform who looks at me with pity or disgust or…whatever. This is about Wilson."

They'd avoided looking directly at each other through the entire discussion. Perhaps some part of each of them clung to the last piece of denial, like they could partially ignore their proximity by refusing to fully acknowledge it. Wilson, the last tenuous thread that connected them, was barely holding on.

House finally answered, "I've been hanging out here the last few days. The hospital-wide free Wi-Fi is a nice touch. Your security guards suck. They don't seem to mind a chronic loiterer. And that chair in Wilson's room was like a welcome mat."

Her eyes were still cast away as she spoke, "I've offered to provide palliative care for Wilson after he leaves. I want him to be comfortable."

"I can do that without you."

"With what? Heroin? Stolen morphine? Whatever you can find on the street that's been cut with god knows what?"

"You're right, how foolish of me! He could die," House sarcastically jabbed.

"I'm offering to administer the medication he needs to stay comfortable in a safe, controlled way. It won't cost you a thing. You can save your money for whatever pills you're popping these days. I'll coordinate my visits with Wilson so that you and I don't even have to see each other. He shouldn't suffer because of how you feel about me. "

"This has nothing to do with you."

"I agree. It doesn't," she curtly answered. "Do you have a place or not?"

"Not yet."

Cuddy grabbed a pamphlet from a rack nearby and wrote an address on it. "This is an apartment we keep for visiting guests…surgeons, specialists, donors. He can stay there. I'll give Wilson the key."

"Do I have to pretend I'm not staying with him?"

"No. I've dealt with the past, with my feelings about you and our…relationship. I've transcended all of it."

House scoffed loudly and countered, "You've transcended it? How is the weather up there, in your lofty perch above the rest of the untranscended? You're so fucked up that you actually think you're all better."

"I know you're hurting right now—"

"Don't give me that crap."

"You are. You're upset about Wilson and—"

"I barely remember not hurting. This is nothing new."

"—And so instead of arguing, I'll focus on what's best for Wilson. He needs you. You should stay with him," Cuddy continued emotionlessly, holding the pamphlet out to the side toward House.

He slid along the bench until he was just close enough to reach and took it, flipping the pamphlet over and reading it, "'Coping with Loss. Part Two: Anger.' Is this a hint?"

She shook her head, "It was a coincidence. I grabbed the first one in that row. Do him a favor. Take him to the apartment. I'll be by tomorrow at noon and I'll stay for about an hour. With a little coordination, we won't even have to see each other."

"Avoidance. Yes, clearly you've transcended the past." House stood, the two still avoiding direct eye contact. He limped slowly past her and reached for another pamphlet. "My cell, for the time being," he explained as he scrawled with one of the half-sized pencils that lined the rack. "Text me whenever you need to see Wilson so you can avoid future sightings." He handed her the paper he'd written on. When she took it, he tapped the pamphlet with his finger and, finally catching her eye, said, "This pamphlet…not a coincidence."

The door opened and a man with a vacuum looked at Cuddy, "I've come to clean up the glass."

She pointed her employee toward the remnants of the broken vase, and when she was done, House was already gone. Cuddy looked down at the pamphlet he'd given her and the phone number he'd written on the back without any sort of label. She flipped the pamphlet over and read the title: 'Coping with Loss. Part One: Denial.'