Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. They are the property of David Shore and Fox television

A/N: I am already starting to neglect school work, but this is too much fun to stop. I am glad you are all enjoying it. Your feedback really motivates me. Please note that I am keeping my medical descriptions simple. I am wading through unchartered waters there. Also I've brought Marlou on board as beta. She's a gem, and the first chapter yielded more than its share of grammatical errors. Enjoy!

Sheila

Heart Cancer

Chapter 2

House rubbed his eyes in frustration and tried to concentrate on the file in front of him, but it was almost impossible. He was operating with about 3 hours of good sleep, and he was past the age where he could get through the day without showing signs of fatigue. He slapped the file shut and sighed.

After Wilson passed out last night, he had tried to go back to sleep, but it was no good. Unwittingly, his friend had given him a puzzle to solve and he couldn't help feeling that the stakes were high.

This morning, he had prodded at Wilson, but the man only groaned and pushed him away. He finally got him up for a shower, and when House went to get him a towel, Wilson had disappeared out the front door. Chasing him down the block was not even an option.

So he had gone to work, half doubting that Wilson would really play hooky. He had checked on Wilson's story about a dying leukemia patient, but found nothing to substantiate it. The nurse manager in oncology said that the last juvenile death had been two months earlier.

Whatever was going on, Wilson clearly needed time to think on his own. House needed to be patient as Wilson had so often been for him. The only problem was that House had virtually no relationship with patience.

"So you want to tell me what's going on or do I have to guess?" A formidable Lisa Cuddy was standing before him, her shiny black hair cascading over her shoulders. As usual she was dressed in a suit he could have imagined his grandmother in, but only if she was also a stripper on the side.

House scowled, "Is putting your twins on display every time you come to work really the new feminism?"

"Do you want to file a complaint?"

"In no way, shape or form. It's nice that our hospital administrator is willing to invest so much to ensure healthy fantasy lives for her doctors. It's good for those of us in the trenches.' He grabbed the oversize tennis ball off his desk and flipped it in the air.

Cuddy took a deep breath. "About five years ago, James Wilson took a sick day and stayed home. He did rounds by phone, and kept three residents busy reporting back to him on his cases. He ran them ragged. I finally had to block his calls. Ever since then, he doesn't get sick. I mean, he does not get sick. He gets his flu shot every year on the day they become available. He's only a few hand washings shy of an OCD diagnosis. And when he does get sick, he takes a vitamin C/Echinacea cocktail and goes to bed for 12 hours. That's all it takes. But today, I come in, and my chief of Oncology has called in sick with almost no notice, and I can't reach him on the phone. I am prevented from imagining him dead in a ditch only by a call from Julie saying that you called her at 3 in the morning to say he was crashing with you. So, what's going on?"

"A man who works as hard as Wilson can't take a sick day?' House clutched the ball and leaned forward.

"A man who works as hard as Wilson doesn't take a sick day." She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. He realized that she wasn't going to leave without something.

"I don't know."

She threw her hands up. "Not possible. I thought you knew everything."

"He showed up drunk and passed out. I never found out anything more."

"You're kidding?"

"He lied to me and I bought it."

She shook her head, "The great House didn't catch a lie?"

"It was Wilson. He still believes his nose will grow if he tells one."

"I don't like it."

House nodded. "Me neither."

She nodded and then turned to go. Before she got to the door, she looked at him over her shoulder, "Julies says 'thanks' for calling her last night. I know the two of you have never gotten along that well. That was nice."

Instinctively, House tried to counter this evidence of his caring with a dry comment, but nothing came to mind. He stared grimly down at his desk, finding he could muster up no interest in his TV or his game boy.

………………………………………………………………………………………..

Julie cried a lot, and so it was a ridiculous idea to bring her to the zoo to have this kind of conversation, but the headache plaguing him was only one of the variables impacting his common sense. He finally stopped her at a park bench and sat the both of them down.

Mascara slid down a cheekbone, encased in a tear. Wilson debated reaching over to wipe it away, but Julie reached up and rubbed at her face, smearing it across her cheek. Now it was clear they would have to have the 'you need to wash your face' conversation, but it seemed prudent to wait until she stopped sobbing.

She raised her cornflower blue eyes to his. "How long have you known?"

"Two days."

She licked her top lip. "How long has House known?"

He took a deep breath. This would have to be about House; even now with the specter of cancer looming over them, it will end up being up about House. "Jules, he doesn't know."

"Really?"

"You are the first one I've told."

She blinked at him, streaks of make-up dancing about her face. "Are you dying?"

He hesitated because the truth was he was dying, they all were. Was he going to die in the next year? That was the real question. For the moment, it helped to remove himself and pretend he was the doctor again talking to a patient's wife. "It is a big tumor. There is treatment, and the success rate for this kind of tumor is promising. We'll know more in a couple of months."

Her face deadened, "I used to be a nurse, remember? Don't give me the old prognosis shuffle."

He threw his arms up above his head. "I don't know, Jules. I don't know. My crystal ball is at the shop."

She nodded. "I understand. It's okay. We're going to get through this. I am going to be there for you."

Wilson nodded dutifully. It was an effort to keep his face impassive. This is where the expectations would start. This is where he would undoubtedly disappoint her as he always did; no matter if he lived or died.

She ran long, delicate fingers through her soft, curly brown hair. "I'll take a leave; 6 months to start. My sales territory isn't that big yet. Carol and Ted can cover it between them. Then I can be there for you whenever you need me."

James struggled not to wince. "No Jules, really. I don't want you to take a leave. Work is important. You can't saturate yourself with this. It'll overwhelm you."

She reached over and stroked his cheek. "But I want to. I want to be there for you. This can be our…we can grow closer."

He gently pulled her hand away. "You have to let me breathe. I am not an invalid; not yet anyway. We still have to live our lives."

He could feel her stiffen. "You're pushing me away again."

"Jules, please. I'm not pushing you away. We've talked about this a million times. You are my wife. I want to be with you. But each of us needs to be our own people as well. You have your interests and I have mine. I am going to need your support and your patience and your understanding."

She snorted and looked away. "You always do this. You get scared. Why?"

'Because you suffocate me!' He wanted to scream into her face. Instead, he gently steered her face back to his. "I'm not pushing you away."

She looked at him for a long time searching his eyes. She needed him to need her, and he couldn't accommodate her. She worked her mouth a couple of times and finally she said, "I've been sleeping with Ted. I didn't want to, but you were never there."

He threw back his head and laughed. He started rubbing at his eyes much like she did. Then he looked at her. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Tears were coursing down her cheeks again. "It's a lousy time to tell you. We haven't talked this much in months and I have wanted to tell you for a while. I guess I want to see if it mattered to you."

"I know I have been a disappointment to you, but I didn't think we were at this point."

She had discovered the mascara on her cheek and was rubbing at her face. "Maybe I wanted to hurt you before you hurt me. Your record speaks for itself, you know."

"What do you want from me, Jules? What do you want?"

"I want to work on this. I want you, not Ted. I want this to be a wake-up call for both of us."

Wilson was already calculating how much damage he could do to his liver before the chemo started. He stood up.

"Come on, James. Don't be like this. Think back to when you were in this position. You wanted forgiveness. You wanted a fresh start. This is our chance. Don't push me away when you need me most. I can call Ted tonight. He'll understand---"

"He'll understand." Wilson considered the statement for a moment. "I'm happy that Ted will be so magnanimous about this. He's a real sport. I can't wait to meet him. We can compare notes. Maybe I can show him that spot you like so much or does he already know?"

"I was wrong. This was stupid. I don't know what I was thinking. I was in shock, and I just…I'm sorry." She got up and tried to approach him. Wilson backed away. "Please James."

"I'll have my stuff out by the weekend."

"No!" She was getting loud. Women with strollers and little kids stopped in their tracks to look over. "Come on. Do you think you are the only one hurting here? Don't make this an excuse to walk away. Please."

James looked around and could imagine that everyone was wondering what he had done to this hysterical woman. Then he looked at her. "Jules, let's say that I was using this as an excuse. That should tell both of us something."

"James! I love you."

"I love you too, but it doesn't mean that we can be together. I am responsible for what happened to this marriage. I know that, but I can't just start over, especially now."

"Let's talk." She tried to reach out to him.

He put up a hand and shook his head. He gave her one last look of warning, and then turned, trotting away down the path.

…………………………………………………………………………………..

Drinking and doing chemo were not recommended. Being dehydrated when he was already going to be nauseous was ridiculous. He only had a couple of days. He took another long drag of the whiskey in front of him. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a meal. The bartender looked at him and he raised his glass. This was the same guy who had kicked him out the night before, but he smiled some and the man reluctantly filled his glass. He heard the cane but didn't react. Reaction required reflexes. All of his had gone to sleep.

"You're really starting to piss me off, you know?"

Wilson chuckled and then buried his face in his new whiskey. "I bet you think you're clever, finding me here."

"Yeah, I was a real Einstein," House countered. He settled into the seat beside him. "You only go to this bar. Did you know that?"

"I was refused last night and it hurt my feelings. Who knows where I would have gone tonight." Wilson mumbled into the glass tumbler in front of him.

"Right, you are not a creature of habit. I keep forgetting." House signaled the bartender and ordered a brandy.

"My wife left me today." He looked at House for a reaction. "Actually, I left her emotionally, and then she left me sexually and then I left her physically. Does that make sense?"

"My life works better when you have no problems," House said, making short work of his brandy.

Wilson chuckled. "Does this constitute the sum of my relationships? People are interested in only how my problems affect them."

House took a deep breath. It's a surprise that I'm an emotional idiot? Let me try again. I am a little lost when you are not available. Maybe you're my compass."

Wilson smiled into his whiskey. "I'm glad I can be something to someone."

"Jesus, please give me a clue. There is no Rosalie."

Wilson took another drink. "Yeah. Julie left me."

"Really! That's what was going on last night?"

Wilson shrugged. "Couldn't talk to you about it."

House shook his head. "You're full of shit, Wilson."

James Wilson laughed. "I'm trying something new. What if I wasn't the most predictable person in the world?"

House took a breath. "Fine. Just be someone I can talk to."

Wilson took a drink and then signaled the bartender. "She left me. Or I left her. I can't remember."

"James, you've been having headaches. There is no dying kid. You've disappeared from the hospital, albeit for one day, but I called around and Princeton General said that you are a patient there."

"What if I wanted my life to be my own? What if I didn't need any help and I just needed some privacy?" Wilson finished his drink and accepted the next one with a smile.

"Then you are not Wilson. And I have survived the last five years for no reason at all."

Wilson's eyebrows rose. "Really! It's not the work. It's not Cuddy or Cameron. It's me. That's what you're trying to tell me."

"Yeah," House took a drink. "You are the one. You have been there through everything with me. What can I say?"

"And I'm not sharing. Life's really gotta suck right now." Wilson started laughing into his drink. He signaled the bartender for another, but the man ignored him.

"What if I paid you? Do you have a price?"

Wilson pounded the bar. "What if I was fighting for my life and I didn't think you could help? What if I didn't want my life at Princeton Plainsboro to be destroyed? What if I didn't want what few relationships I have left to change? What if I was just struggling to survive?"

"Then you would be me five years ago." House stayed impassive although his fingers danced against his glass.

"Greg, the tumor is big. It could go either way. What can I say?"

House's breath caught. He ran a finger in a circle around his drink. "Talk to me, James. What kind of tumor are you talking about?"

Wilson breathed into his whiskey. "It's in the brain. I've looked at it. It's big. There's a good chance I'm not going to survive it."

"Do you forget who I am?" House chuckled mirthlessly into his drink. Then he threw his head back and downed the scotch in one gulp.

"Yeah, you're the guy that never accepts the truth. Greg, you can't turn this into something it isn't."

"Bullshit! Let me help."

Wilson let out a deep breath. "I don't know if I can afford much hope."

"Let me worry about it."

Wilson sighed. "I don't actually have a place to stay tonight. I don't want to go home."

"Okay, we got that covered. You stay with me. I need access to this. Please! Let me see the films. I want the file."

"That means your whole team."

"Yeah, let me work on this."

"It will be a circus, and I don't want that.' Wilson pressed the highball glass toward the bartender when he passed. The man stopped, and considered the situation. He pulled the whiskey from the shelf and hesitated over the glass. Wilson rolled his eyes and the man reluctantly poured.

"I won't let that happen." House signaled for another. The bartender poured without question.

"I don't trust you." Wilson edged his pounding head onto his arm.

"Good. Life is as it should be. Let me talk to your doc. Come on. I'll be sensitive. I've been watching Oprah. It'll be great."

Wilson buried his face in his elbow.

"Okay. That's considered consent in some ancient Mayan cultures. So I'm going with it. Let's get you home."

House pulled Wilson off the barstool, and steered him toward the exit. The bartender reacted and House dropped a 50 dollar bill onto the bar. Wilson staggered with House, who winced at the discomfort of keeping him upright. And though he expected more trouble, Wilson was more than compliant as he settled his head against the window in the passenger side of House's mustang convertible. He snored all the way back to House's place.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

TBC

9