A/N: Sorry! I had this chapter ready for a week already, but the internet wasn't working, but someone introduced me to the concept of a zip drive. Now everything is okay. Good news is that I am almost ready with the chapter after this one so I will post #6 this weekend. Thanks for your patience! Hope you enjoy! Let me know if you're on board with this. We have so many places to take it yet.

Sheila

Heart Cancer

Chapter 5

Cameron lifted her head from where it had been perched on the microscope, and pinched the bridge of her nose. Eyestrain was one of the many burdens of research, and she'd been looking at Wilson's cancer cells for the last 3 hours. Recent studies had suggested that the presence of type A white blood cells could improve his chance of survival, but she found no evidence of these cells.

She'd found the article the night previous, and had showed up at 4 a.m. to start preparing samples for study. It was now 11:30 a.m., and she had no good news. She almost felt like hiding the fact that there was even this possibility. The idea of adding more disappoint to their lives seemed unnecessary.

Someone cleared their throat and she jumped. She hadn't heard him come in, but there he was, only a few feet from her, his intense blue eyes bearing down on her. "So did you find anything?"

She swallowed. "Um, well, technically I wasn't looking for…I was just checking some—"

He sighed. "Your eyes are puffy from lack of sleep, and I saw the article on your desk. What time did you show up today?"

"Early," she said as she rubbed at the edges of her eyes, trying to imagine what she must look like without sleep. "I didn't find anything. I've been looking for hours, but I can't find them."

"Yeah, that's what happens when they're not there. I appreciate your interest in sparing people, but don't do that with me. I need to know everything."

He was surprisingly soft with her, and it filled her with an uneasy feeling, something almost sad. She swallowed hard as he made his way to the door. She took a chance and called out to him, "House! I was wondering…um, I have a question."

He stopped at the doorway and looked at her.

She bit her lip and then launched in, "I was wondering if you would tell me how the two of you became such good friends. Was Wilson one of your students? I don't understand how the two of you ever…"

"Good. You think this will help. You think my relationship with Wilson has something to do with cancer. Perhaps, prolonged exposure to my particular wit is cancer causing."

She looked away.

"Is there a reason you need to know?"

She shook her head and started to gather up her slides.

"Well, I'm hungry."

She ignored him and continued her work. She picked up her things, and was surprised to still find him looking at her from the doorway. "I said, 'I'm hungry'."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

He shrugged. "I can be bribed."

She shook her head in frustration. "What are you talking about?"

"Buy me lunch. The better the lunch, the better the stories I'll tell you."

"I buy you lunch and you'll tell me how you and Wilson met?" She raised her brows at him.

"You take me to McDonald's, and I'll tell you only the year in which I met the man. You take me some place nummy and the information improves. What do you say?"

Thus, she found herself seated across him, an hour later, at the best steak place she could think of. House was smiling down at a thick, bloody piece of filet mignon. She couldn't imagine eating anything that heavy so early in the day, and so a chicken Caesar salad sat in front of her.

"So, he was your student."

House finished chewing and spoke, "Wilson was one of my students at Johns Hopkins. He wanted to specialize in infectious disease. He was a second year resident, one of four that I had."

"You were friends with a student?"

He screwed up his face. "Oh God, no! I couldn't stand him."

Her eyes widened.

"You think you're earnest? He was so sincere I couldn't even look at him most of the time." House attacked his potatoes au gratin.

Her forehead creased in confusion. "I don't get it."

He rolled his eyes and sawed away at his steak. For a couple of minutes they ate in silence, and then Cameron stabbed her fork in his direction. "So, talk to me. I want to know more."

"I'm eating."

"That's a Madeira truffle reduction on your filet mignon. You owe me a big conversation here."

He smirked at her and finished chewing. "Wilson was good. He worked hard, had an encyclopedic knowledge of diseases, and took a lot of crap from me. But he wasn't going to be a great diagnostician; a good one undoubtedly but not a great one."

"Why?" She leaned forward on her forearms, her salad forgotten.

"Diagnostics is…an imprecise science. Coloring in the lines is only going to take you so far. You have to be willing to explore the edges of possibility; make it an art form. You know that. Wilson was only able to go so far. He tried, but it didn't suit his talents. For almost two years, I tried to ride him out of diagnostics, but he wouldn't budge. He took everything I threw at him and worked harder."

"What about me? Foreman? Chase? Do we have it?"

House considered her question and then smiled at her. "One of you does. One of you doesn't, and the third might. The jury's still out on that one."

"Which one am I?"

"Telling you would be no fun at all. I'm going to let you figure it out for yourself. Besides, we're here to talk about Wilson, aren't we?" He returned to his food.

Cameron sighed deeply and looked away. After a few minutes, she said, "Alright, have it your way. At least I'm going to get my money's worth about Wilson. Spill!"

House looked up, startled. Then he nodded and continued. "He was good with the patients. We would diagnose, and be ready to move on, but that wasn't good enough. The patients all wanted nice Dr. Wilson to provide ongoing care. People who had been non compliant on their medications for years would change their ways for the handsome Dr. Wilson."

"You sound jealous."

House chuckled. "Wilson was too good to waste his time on a speciality that didn't match his talents. He was the complete package; brilliant, committed, and great with patients. He was just too stubborn to think he couldn't excel at everything."

"So you pushed him into oncology."

"No! Two years around Wilson, and I couldn't help but start to like the guy. I wouldn't wish oncology on my worst enemy. "

"He found it on his own?"

A barracuda of a colleague named Lisa Cuddy came by trolling for talent, and stole him right out from under me. The next thing I knew, he was working his way up the departmental food chain here at Plainsboro."

"And then you followed him."

"That, Cameron, is a whole other story. There's an expensive Italian place Atlantic City where I'd be happy to tell that story."

She let out an exasperated sigh and sat back in her chair.

"But if you order me the death by chocolate dessert, I'll tell you all of his divorce stories. Very steamy stuff. And…that salad is looking awfully lonely. Mind pushing it this way." A grin spread across his long face.

……………………………………………………………………………….

They were already gathered in the office. He could tell 35 ft. before he hit the door. Loud, sarcastic remarks floated out into the hallway and he dreaded walking into it. Not only were they all going to be there, but with the exception of his oncologist, all of them had a vested emotional interest. It did not make for a dispassionate accounting of the current situation and that was what he thought he most needed right now.

The other reason was his head. The pounding headache had started two days ago. He was able to stave it off with ibuprofen to some extent, but now it resisted all attempts at relief. It was the tumor. He was sure of it, and it scared him more than he was willing to say. Right now, it was his secret. Everyone knew about the cancer. He tried not to wince at the looks and extra attention people at the hospital gave him; he knew it was only out of concern, but it tugged at the last bit of control he was trying to retain. The headaches, the dizziness, the nausea; these were his concerns.

"Sloan, it doesn't take an expert to tell that you wouldn't know a good idea if it hit you in the head."

House's distinct tones greeted Wilson before he hit the door.

"This is good, House. The diagnostician is telling the oncologist how to treat a tumor. Your arrogance knows no bounds."

The pain in Wilson's head stabbed at his temples as he entered the room. Everyone but House and Sloan were seated. The two big egos were glaring at each other from opposite sides of the room. Cuddy sat at the table with an exasperated look on her face, and the team sat around her, watching the proceedings with interest. Heads swiveled in his direction, and he nodded curtly, finding a chair near the door.

"James," Sloan strode over, his hand outstretched. "How are you?"

Wilson pumped the man's hand limply and mumbled a greeting. Over the man's shoulder, he could see House regarding him with an odd look on his face.

"We are at some point of disagreement, I am sorry to say," Sloan continued. "Your friends seem to think we are ready for another CT scan. I think you and I know we should wait another week for that."

"Aggressive treatment is aggressive, hence the name," House shot from across the room.

"There is a study out of Stockholm that suggests that earlier CT scans can begin to track and thus, predict the course of a brain tumor," Chase said, sounding every bit like the kid in class that nobody likes.

"Great!" Sloan had his arms in the air. "Let's just scan him every day. That should be fun for everyone."

Cuddy stood up. "That's enough out of both of you. I think we should be able to come up with a CT scan schedule without bloodshed." House started to say something, but she pointed a well manicured nail at him. "I mean it, House." Surprisingly, his mouth clapped shut, and he satisfied himself with an electric blue glare at the visiting oncologist.

"Dr. Wilson," Cameron said softly, "Are you okay?"

Wilson felt dizzy and strange like he was floating outside himself. He remembered feeling this way one other time, and that was when he woke to find Hispanic women peering down at him outside of the drugstore. Her question seemed remote and distant, and unrelated to him.

"James, I think I left an article in your office; one that I wanted to talk about in this meeting." House started to move toward him. Wilson couldn't imagine what he was talking about, House rarely read the research himself and he never called him James. Somehow though, he could sense that his caustic friend was trying to help him. Wilson nodded, his head throbbing, and pulled himself to his feet.

House reached him and took his arm. "I'm a little stiff today," he mumbled loud enough for the others. But instead of weight, Wilson felt himself supported as they walked out of the room.

House leaned over, "Is your head bad?"

Wilson nodded at him, blurry lines replacing the sharp images he usually saw.

House took his keys from him, and fumbled at the door. Once the office door opened, he grabbed Wilson's shoulder and pulled him inside. Before Wilson passed out, he could feel his muscles pulse out of control; the last memory he had was of House gently lowering him onto the floor.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

He took note of the fact that the lights were awfully bright for the person lying under them. He would have to remember that the next time a patient squinted up at him. He felt naked, and a hand to his stomach confirmed that he was in a hospital gown. A sense of modesty hit him suddenly, and he checked to see if he was truly covered.

A weary face he knew all too well peered at him from a chair beside his bed. His chin rested on his cane, and, for once, he didn't have anything to say. Wilson swallowed and looked for a wall clock. He realized he must have had a seizure, and wondered how long it had incapacitated him.

"You passed out almost an hour ago."

Wilson rested his head back on the pillow and let out a deep sigh.

"We're going to do the CT scan this afternoon."

Wilson chuckled mirthlessly. "I can tell you what it's going to show. The tumor is growing; probably at least a millimeter larger than it was two weeks ago."

"The chemo hasn't had much time."

"I know." He looked away from House. "But the seizures wouldn't be continuing if it wasn't growing. I imagine we're going to have to step up the chemo some more."

"Can you handle much more?"

Wilson turned his intense brown eyes at him. "Do I have a choice?"

House squinted at the wall above Wilson. For a moment, neither spoke. Then House took a breath, "I want you to have choices. I remember how out of control this all felt for me. I should listen to you better; not make things quite so complicated."

Wilson narrowed his eyes at House. "Don't get all soft on me. You're hard enough to take on a good day. A repentant House is the last thing I need right now."

House scowled, "I wasn't---"

"Shut up, Greg. We've got a lot of work to do and you are at your best when you're an asshole."

House frowned deeply but said nothing.

Wilson grinned. "The things people let you get away with when they think you're about to die."

………………………………………………………………………………..

He agreed to a night's stay. Seizures can be exhausting, and he found that sleep on the stiff hospital mattress was remarkably easy. Cuddy did a good job of keeping well wishers away and he was grateful for that. He finished breakfast, and was ready to go. Technically, he should wait for a physician to sign him out, but he wasn't going to be that easy.

He was just working his legs into his pants when a woman walked in. Startled, his pants dropped around his ankles. Feeling something similar to what he felt in 8th grade when Mrs. Stahl walked into the boys locker room, he grabbed at them, and fell back on the bed; the only saving grace being that he still had his hospital gown on.

"Shit!" he yelped, and the raven haired woman squeezed her eyes shut. He took the opportunity to drag his pants over his hips and fasten them. Without thinking, he tucked the gown inside his waistband.

She peeked one eye open, and he realized that it was his Puerto Rican chemo buddy. "I'm sorry," she mumbled and he could see her eying the door.

He blushed. "Ah, no, no, no. It's all right. I'm afraid I was surprised, that's all." He stood up and herded her in the direction of a chair.

"I was looking for your room, and there was this man with a cane, and he told me that I should walk right in because you were wearing headphones, and probably wouldn't hear me knock." She allowed him to guide her to a seat.

Wilson had his hands on his hips, hospital gown spilling out the back like the train off a wedding dress. "Ah, yes. That would be our resident comedian. Don't pay any attention. Ignoring him is the only thing that works. Apparently I overestimated what I could get away with."

She looked confused, and he suspected she wanted nothing more than to get out of the room as quickly as possible.

"Nevermind. Your name is Conni, right? What can I do for you?" He gave her a little space by retreating to the bed.

"You told me to switch doctors, and I was thinking about it when an oncologist called me out of the blue to say that the head of the department specifically asked that she take my case. I have seen her almost every day since."

He settled onto the bed. "Good. That's the kind of care you deserve."

"You didn't tell me you were the head of oncology," she said looking at him carefully.

He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"I was very foolish to run down your doctor in front of you."

"We need patients to be our critics. Otherwise, how will we get better at what we do?"

"Well, I appreciate what you did. My children need me around, and I have been feeling a little lost since all of this happened." She pushed up on the armrests and stood.

He hopped off the bed. "You have a good doctor now, Conni. Please do everything she tells you to do, okay?"

She nodded and smiled thinly. He noticed, close up, that her skin was warm and smooth. He wanted the perfect word to describe the color, but got lost somewhere between light cappuccino and the most delicate of mochas. He smiled at her, and moved to touch her arm when he remembered where he was and how he was dressed and the circumstances of their acquaintance. Abruptly, he stepped back, the blush returning to his cheeks.

"So I imagine that I'll see you at your next chemo appointment?" One of her eyebrows arched slightly with her question.

He hesitated. Boundaries were his problem. He wanted to do for her, help her; be the hero in her life. That's what he wanted with most women. But it never worked. Three marriages had taught him this. Women only really needed heroes when they were curled up on the sofa on a rainy Saturday afternoon with a copy of the latest romance novel in their laps. The reality of heroes was far too disappointing to extend beyond fiction.

She could feel his hesitation. "I'm sure you want a more private space. Three kids are a lot to put up with. But maybe, we'll see you around." She edged toward the door.

"I really think it's nice to have other people around to pass the time," he said before he could catch himself. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She flashed him perfect white teeth and slipped out the door. And for a moment, he stood there, his gown shooting out the back of his pants, and tried to convince himself that he could see her as nothing more than a fellow patient. He reminded himself that they came from two different worlds, and the only thing they had in common was their cancer. The last thing he needed right now was another ill-advised romance.

TBC