A/N: It's been a busy week, but I had some hours today and knocked out most of this chapter. This chapter feels risky to me. It's just that I am taking it where I want. I think with writing you have to go with your gut regardless of what you perceive to be popular sentiment. I hope that this will continue to be compelling for you all. I really like writing it. Thanks for reading, and thanks for taking time to write me a few words. It means a lot to me.

Sheila

Heart Cancer

Chapter 7

He came in the room for the first time, ducking his head a little, despite more than adequate height in the doorway. She looked up and sighed, pushing her glasses down to the tip of her nose, and glaring at him.

"So, Melvine, we finally meet."

"I'm not in the mood for your antics," she said.

"Me neither. It gets tiring always having to entertain with a superior wit. Let's call a truce. I'll leave my personality at the door, and you let me in to see Wilson."

"You responsible for the amount of chemo he's getting these days?" She pushed her glasses up to her eyes again and returned to her paperwork.

"How's he handling it?"

"Don't underestimate the exhaustion and depression that can accompany this much chemo."

House let out a rush of air, "Any suggestions?"

"Stop letting him go home to an empty house. Makes it worse. And he needs fresh air. Get him outside for a walk. It can help the nausea."

He gestured at his cane. "Not much for long walks."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Well, improvise then. I'm sure somebody would be happy to get him outside for awhile."

"Okay, it's done. Now I need something from you."

She narrowed her dark brown eyes at him.

"I need you to call me if you notice anything. He's hiding the headaches from me, and God knows what else. And I want you to start coming to the care conferences. I need every perspective I can get."

She folded her arms across her ample chest. "We're not on my turf I come to your office. You think you can behave yourself?"

He shook his head. "Absolutely not. Behaving is for old ladies, Republicans, and people with more than one DUI."

A muffled snort escaped her, and she struggled to regain her composure. She bit her lower lip, and shook a manicured finger at him. "Don't test me, Stick man."

"Okay, big chocolate marshmallow lady."

She glared at him, and he pointed at her. "You started it. You could be referring to my rather gaunt frame or the infirmity I have which gives cause for my cane. I could be very sensitive about my appearance. You don't know."

She stood, her hands on her hips. "Chocolate marshmallow lady?"

He shrugged, "You stunned me with your rapier wit; I fumbled. But I will be ready next time. Mark my words."

She narrowed her eyes. "I do not find you one bit cute or disarming or any of that other crap you think women fall for. So, just remember; when you are in Melvine's house, you play by Melvine's rules. Understood?" She regarded for a moment in full glare. Then she turned and motioned for him to follow. She opened a door and pulled curtains aside to reveal a rather crowded room. Two girls did homework at a table with a young woman with long, dark hair, checking their answers. A striking Latina woman was getting chemo, a sleepy look on her face, and his friend, Wilson, was sitting up, reading about ballet dancing mice to a small child with wild curls.

Melvine stopped and announced, "Look who's here."

Six faces looked up at them. House suddenly felt like a kid wearing underpants on his head. Wilson looked flustered. He snapped the book shut and sat up straight. "House!"

"Why didn't I get invited to this wedding? Was it the gift issue? I've bought you three already, but I would have sprung for a fourth."

Wilson took a deep breath. "This is my friend, Dr. Gregory House, world renown diagnostician and pain in the--" He glanced down at Maggie, "posterior." Wilson gestured at Conni and her children," "House, this is Conni Sandoval, her sister, Marta, and her three children, Isabella, Melinda, and Magdalena."

The five females looked him up and down. Conni had a distinct frown on her face. "We've met."

"Ah, sorry about that. Wilson assured me that he was ready for visitors."

Wilson looked at the ceiling for a moment. "Okay, well that's nice. So House, what can I do for you?"

"I have news. We need to talk."

He gestured at the line buried in his arm. "Not a great time as you can see."

"Melvine here assures me that you have no more than twenty minutes left. I can wait, and then maybe we could go for a little walk. It's a beautiful fall day outside."

Wilson furrowed his brow in confusion. "You want to go for a walk? Outside?"

"Then tonight you're coming over for a sleep over. Melvine's idea. We're going to make chocolate chip cookies, and watch Steel Magnolias and call around to see if anyone has Prince Albert in a can."

Color rose on Wilson's face. "House, that's enough."

House stood there awkwardly for a moment, and Wilson realized that his jibes often covered his extreme self consciousness. Few people understood how shy Gregory House really was. So he sighed and gestured, "Hey! Come on over. Here's a chair. Maggie's got me deep into this story about a mouse named Olivia who can dance. Check it out. We'll start from the beginning." House shifted from one foot to the other, and didn't respond. Then a sharp little voice piped in. "Come on, House. Sit! We need to read about Olivia. She's very cool, and she wears a tutu." The curly headed child was waving him over with a chubby hand. There was something about her bossy demeanor and those bright eyes that appealed to him, and he made his way over, allowing the child to point out his chair and order him to sit.

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Leaves were crisp beneath their feet as they slowly shuffled through the park square across from the hospital. Wilson appreciated the slow pace set for him. Few trees had any foliage left, but still he admired the skeleton canopy above them. In many ways, it was cliché, but the appreciation of little things did take on greater meaning when facing one's mortality. House cleared his throat, and Wilson stiffened slightly. It was clear that this was not a conversation that either one of them wanted to have. House gestured at a bench. Wilson sat down gingerly, and looked up at his solemn friend.

"I think we have a solution," he began.

Wilson breathed in deeply; though not feeling any sense of relief. House's demeanor suggested that this would be an inelegant solution at best.

"Chase stayed up all night like a good boy, and found something interesting by looking over some studies on lung cancer."

"Isn't that a little south of our focus?"

House squinted into the sun. "At Abbott Northwestern in Minneapolis last year, they operated on a tumor three millimeters beyond surgical limitations."

Wilson closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "I read about that. They cut out half, stabilized the guy for 12 hours, and then went in again for the other half."

"Chase called around. The guy is still cancer free."

Wilson opened his eyes. "As I recall, the guy was an athlete and had gone through no chemo before the procedure. The surgery is too hard on the human body. This happened under very specific circumstances."

"Foreman thinks we should cool you down, slow your metabolism for 4-6 hours so your body can rest, and then prep you for the second surgery."

Wilson looked skyward before replying, "So, you want to do a two part surgery on my brain that has never been done before based on a one time event involving someone with lung cancer, and you want to do it on a man who has been assaulted with high doses of chemo for the last month."

"Foreman is looking for a neurosurgeon as we speak."

"Tell him to not bother." Wilson pulled himself off the bench.

"We'll put together a team. We'll make this work."

"No," Wilson started to walk away.

House shook his head in frustration. "James, this might be our only chance."

Wilson stopped and turned around to face him. "I'm not some homemaker from Hoboken who's not smart enough to understand the risks and too intimidated to say no to you. You are too willing to roll the dice. You have to cure half your patients from your treatments before you can even treat the cause. Do you think the chemo took my common sense, Greg? The odds on this working…." He stopped to compose himself. "I would rather have nothing more than the last three months of my life than to die on the table tomorrow. That is essentially the choice you're giving me. You understand that, right?"

"James."

Wilson put a hand up to stop him, then turned and walked away. House whirled around and cursed at the sky. When he turned around, Wilson had already crossed the street to the hospital.

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House growled at her, there was no more civilized word for it. Lisa Cuddy ignored him, and perched on the bar stool beside him. She caught the bartender's eye and ordered a bourbon neat for her and another scotch for him.

"You didn't really think he'd jump at the idea, did you?"

"He's an idiot."

She rolled her eyes. "This from the guy who risked his life to save his leg."

He scowled at her. "Are you here for a reason?"

"You're not the only one scared to lose him. He's my friend too. He said no. We have to respect that for right now, but I have an idea."

The door to the bar opened and House looked over. Three women came in, laughing and talking. House sighed and looked down at the bar.

"You really think he's going to come?"

He shrugged. "This is where he drowns himself in whiskey when he's upset. Wilson's nothing if not a creature of habit."

The door opened again, and Chase and Foreman came in. They settled themselves at the bar next to House. Chase asked for a beer and Foreman, a bottled water. House glared at them. "I told you to sit on his place."

"Foreman paid the kid across the street fifty bucks to watch, another fifty if he calls when Wilson shows." Chase picked up his long neck, and took a swig.

Cuddy screwed up her face. "What is this? NYPD Blue."

"You really want me to stake out a townhouse in a white neighborhood? I'm not going to stand out at all. Really great idea, you know." Foreman growled, hunched over his water bottle.

"You're worthless; both of you. At least, I can count on Cameron to wait for him at the hospital."

Chase sighed. "I called her twenty minutes ago. She should be here any minute."

"Idiots!"

"House, it's a lousy idea. I'm the one that brought the article to you, and even I know this isn't going to work."

Foreman looked over. "There isn't a neurosurgeon on the Eastern seaboard willing to touch this. I talked to thirteen of the best already."

House pounded the bar. The bartender looked up in surprise. "You don't work for me if you want to stay with safe! You don't work for me if you're afraid to take risks! This is what we do!"

Cuddy rubbed at her temples. "Knock it off, House. They're right. You only have half a plan. There're too many risks."

House's face turned red. "So your solution is to roll over and play dead. Perfect! It's good to know where you stand."

Cuddy hopped off the stool. "Yeah, that's me. Playing dead is what I do. Look guys, all of you are banging your heads against a brick wall." She pointed at Chase and Foreman. "You two because you refuse to think big," she turned to House. "And you because you're pushing too hard. You stopped thinking at all. I think I'll just leave, and go play dead somewhere else."

House visibly deflated. She bit her lower lip, watching him. "Listen to me, House. I do have an idea. I called Minneapolis today. I'm bringing the lung tumor guys in. Let's get some other people together and workshop this thing. That's the only way we'll know if this thing floats or not. They're going to be here in three days. Do you think you can find some people to sit in on this?"

His eyes widened slightly. Then he turned to his team. "Foreman, get me two of those prissy, no-good neurosurgeons you know. Find someone with a little bit of creativity. Chase, I need Sloan there, and someone else from Oncology. And round up a couple of anesthesiologists. We're not giving up on this until we explore every angle of it."

Chase had a new longneck in his hand, ready to take a drink when House snapped. "Don't just sit there. It's not even 10 p.m. Get on the phone. We want a full day out of these people. Go!"

Chase and Foreman pushed away from the bar in exasperation, and headed out. They ran into Cameron at the door. "Take her with you," House barked. Foreman turned her around and pushed her out the door in front of him.

Cuddy stood regarding him, her arms folded. "Feeling better?"

"Not at all." House signaled for more drinks. "But at least, we have something to do now."

Cuddy nodded, sitting down again as he pushed a new bourbon in her direction.

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Wilson found himself in a neighborhood far different than the one he lived in. For a few minutes, he just leaned against the door of his car and looked at the worn brownstone in front of him. A couple of kids walked by, hunched over, and Wilson tensed. They stopped and looked him over; one said something to the other and they started laughing. Wilson breathed a sigh of relief when they moved on. He looked up at the brownstone again, took a deep breath, and climbed the stairs.

Conni answered almost immediately. Her eyes widened, and then she looked behind him. Finally convinced he was alone, she let him in the apartment. The living room was small but neat; photographs crowding the walls and flat surfaces. He looked for the little girls, and found that he was disappointed when he realized that they were probably in their beds for the night. Through the living room, he saw her sister, Marta, sitting at a small kitchen table. A muscular young man sat across the table, giving Wilson a hard look.

Wilson risked a small grin, realizing that he belonged in this room under almost no possible circumstances. Conni moved next to him. "Come. Sit down, James. Tell us what brings you here this evening."

Wilson shook his head, his hands buried deeply in the pockets of his overcoat. "No, I don't want to take too much time. I was…in the neighborhood, and thought…"

A smile grew on her face. "You were in the neighborhood, huh?"

He shifted awkwardly. "Conni, I thought maybe we could go for a walk."

"In this neighborhood? In the dark?"

In the background, Marta giggled.

Wilson colored slightly. "You're right. I didn't think…Listen, it's late. I shouldn't have stopped, but, hey, I'll see you…um, in a couple of days, right?"

Conni looked at him with a strange look on her face. Then she turned to her sister, "Marta, can you watch the girls? James and I are going down to the diner on fifth and Lowry."

Marta nodded, and then slapped at the young man who still wore a wary look on his face. "Me and Hector will be just fine."

Conni spoke in a stream of consciousness all the way there. She explained Hector as being Marta's boyfriend or fiancée, it depended on the week. She said Marta was three years younger and had started dating him when she was only fourteen, and they had all worried and tried to interfere, but Marta was defiant. Hector had turned out to be a good guy who had hung around for the last six years and had a good job as a mechanic in a garage, and now, the only yelling Conni did was when Marta thought about dating other guys, and then went on to list a group of no-good boys that hung around Marta when Hector was at work. Wilson nodded attentively although generally lost as to who was who in her narrative.

He was rather grateful when they finally sat down, and she looked him in the eye and said, "So what's all this about? Trolling for a little latin booty?"

He leaned forward, "Can I talk to you? You know, really say what's on my mind. I get the sense that I could do that with you."

Her shiny black eyes blinked. "Sure…I guess."

He sat back and let out a breath of air. "Good. I need to talk to someone. I have friends, but I never realized until this evening that every last person who means something to me, works with me, and they're a little biased right now."

"Okay, James, tell me more."

"I don't really know why I'm here. I can guess. It probably has to do with the fact that you're a beautiful woman. I like women. I flirt. Worse, I fall in love…a lot. And I know that is not the right thing to do here, so let's just be clear that I am aware of my…weaknesses."

Her mouth twitched and so she buried her face in a hot cup of coffee that the waitress placed before her, careful not to meet his eyes.

"But I think it's more. I just need to talk to someone, and I thought of you, and what a bad idea that would be, and yet I ended up on your doorstep."

She breathed in the steam from her coffee and then looked at him. "So tell me what happened."

He looked away and then chuckled. "I don't know. More treatments; a tumor that isn't shrinking. I do this work. I know what comes next. And I'm not ready. I'm fighting everything they are trying to do."

"More treatments? What does that mean?"

He waved his hand over his shoulder. "Stupid, invasive procedures that will undoubtedly rob me of whatever little freedom I have left."

"I don't understand."

"I have seen this so many times. There's something new and risky that could make all the difference, and the patient gets excited, and then it doesn't deliver as promised, but the damage is done. The patient's body is too tired to recover. A walking, talking, smiling person is reduced to a semi-comatose patient in the matter of a week, and then they never regain footing again."

Her brows furrowed and she looked away. "Is that what's going to happen to you…to me?"

Wilson dropped his eyes to the table. "I'm not only a jerk, but now I have become a moron. No, Conni, I'm sorry. I have no reason to think that this would happen to you. This is about me. House, my friend, has a procedure he wants to do. Very risky. There's an outside chance that it could make all the difference in the world. But I'm not ready. And by the time I am ready, it will probably be too late."

"What are your chances if you don't do it?"

Wilson snorted, "Who knows? The fact that the tumor is growing is not good. It's big; too big."

"If you were the oncologist on this case, would you recommend the procedure to your patient?"

"It would be unethical. It's not even a procedure yet. Right now, it is only an idea."

"What are your choices?"

He looked at her intently. She already had grasped that this was not a simple yes or no decision. "I could go out and live my life right now. I would have maybe three months. I could do things I had always dreaming of doing. And then, maybe, when I couldn't anymore, I could look back and not feel so many regrets. Or I could stay and grasp at straws, hoping that something would take hold and make a difference. If I choose that route, I have pretty much resigned myself to a hospital bed for the rest of my life unless something fairly miraculous occurs. Conni, what would you do?"

She reached over and closed her long, warm fingers over his hands. "I would spend every last minute with the people I loved, whether it be in a hospital bed or on a beach in Tahiti. My kids are everything to me."

"Yeah, but I got no kids. I got a wife, but we're separated, and I should be missing her a hell of a lot more than I am. I have my parents, but I'm not quite ready to devastate them yet. Other than that, I have my friends at PPTH. It's dysfunctional at best, but…it's what I have."

"House is your friend."

"I am oddly dependent on him. In fact, I am a little lost when he's not around. God knows, there's no physical attraction, but he's very important to me. I was…rather cruel to him today. I feel pretty lousy about it, but he's pushed me, and I reacted."

She squeezed his hands. "So you know the answer then. It's not time."

He closed his eyes and let her hands warm his. "This will be hard for them especially House. He needs to be able to solve this."

"Then he'll have to be patient."

Wilson opened his eyes and chuckled. "He'll love that."

She nodded. "James, I am happy to be your friend. It's a good thing. More than friends is a very complicated thing, and I don't think either one of us has the energy for that."

Wilson blushed. "You're right, but just remember that kind and beautiful women are a particular weakness of mine. Don't be surprised if I end up a little smitten."

She smiled. "Thanks for the warning. I guess I'll have to take the risk."

He was happy that she didn't let go of his hands right away. The touch of a woman was addicting, and her warmth felt like a tonic for his tired soul.

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