A/N: Hi! It's been a busy week. Sorry it took so long to post. I appreciate everyone's support for this story. For those of you that have read me before, you know I don't make it easy, but I have a plan and I know where it is going and I predict that I will be done in less than fifteen chapters. It rocks writing House. I don't know why, but I appreciate the break from CSI right now. And, how excited are we all that there is a new episode this week. Thanks again for letting me know that you are reading. It means a lot.

Sheila

Heart Cancer

Chapter 8

He looked at them from every angle for an hour. The blood tests were drawn twice to make sure. Biopsy results lay next to them, but he ignored their stark reality and walked back to the first film in the series. Hands on his hips, he tried again, squinting at the hazy picture of her lungs. The dots like pellets from a BB gun peppered the lower quadrant of her right lung. In her left lung, they clustered in the upper part. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the surgical path they would take to remove the cancer. He bit his lip and concentrated. After awhile, he let a deep sigh and shook his head. There was really nothing to imagine. There was no surgical procedure to remove all of this. There would be no surgery for her. Further chemo would become a quality of life issue. She would have months to live, and then her lungs would literally choke the life out of her.

His life had become this macabre dance with mortality with himself and now with her, and he wanted nothing more than to escape it all. The anger and outrage were gone; they had been replaced with a wearying numbness he felt through his entire body. He leaned against the wall, and hung his head. His beeper went off, but he ignored it. It rattled in his breast pocket three more times before he picked it up. It was Dr. Oliver, the new oncologist on his staff. She was calling to report that she had talked to Conni Sandoval. The news had been delivered. Wilson should have been there. He was the head of the department, and he was her friend, but he couldn't find the courage to look her in the eye and tell her she would have to say good-bye to her three children. He thanked Dr. Oliver and put his pager down on the counter, and as he walked out of the lab, his pager started to buzz again, he turned to look at it, but then left it dancing on the counter as the door shut behind him.

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Lisa Cuddy played her fingers nervously along the edges of his letter. She smiled perfunctorily at him, but couldn't seem to meet his eyes. "I don't really need anything this formal, James."

"It's better this way. I can't give the attention to this department that it needs." He sat straight, hands folded in his lap, reminding Cuddy of a stiff chemistry professor she once had.

She nodded, and then slowly tore the letter down the middle.

"Dammit Lisa, I need you to take this seriously." He shook his head in frustration.

She leaned forward, extending her hand. Wilson ignored it. "I do. I do! I just think a leave of absence makes more sense."

His anger grew. "Then the department sits in limbo with an interim for months before you even begin a decent search. We have built a reputation, but we will lose it in a few months if we're not smart about this."

She sat back and regarded him intently. Slowly, she spoke, "I am being smart. It's important to protect my investment. You're my investment, and I think you're going to be back and better than ever in a few months. I am not willing to let you just sit on the open market. You have a contract, Dr. Wilson, and as your boss, this is the option I am giving you."

"I'm a bad bet."

She stared at him, her eyes growing hot. "I am not letting you go. You need to figure out how to make this work because you have three months, and then we're really going to need you back."

He froze for a moment, and then leaned forward. "We have to be reasonable about this, Lisa."

She blinked. "No, really, we don't. Now, unless you have something more to talk about…on a different topic, then I really need to ask that you excuse me right now. I have a lot of work to do."

She returned to the papers on her desk. After a moment, she looked up to find him still staring at her. "Really, James, you have to get your shit together and find me an interim. I want this transition to be seamless. Okay?"

He let out a deep breath and nodded. Slowly he got up, and walked out of her office without another word. She waited until he was gone before picking up the phone. "House! I just talked to Wilson, and he is not doing well…I don't give a crap what you're not good at. You're his best friend. You will find whatever crumbs of warmth and support you have inside you and get on top of this situation…I mean it. We're not losing him. You hear me?" She hung up, and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stem the stream of moisture welling in her eyes.

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Wilson's office was literally dismantled around him by the time House arrived. It was something of a shock to see his friend in the midst of such disarray; the man was usually meticulous about his surroundings. Wilson turned and regarded him with his hands on his hips, a look of defiance growing on his face.

House leaned on his cane, "Cuddy says you're taking a leave."

"Don't argue with me about this."

House shrugged. "Why would I? It's a great idea. I'm jealous. You know how much I hate to work. I could be sitting at home in front of a plasma screen TV, watching General Hospital in high resolution. I can't believe I didn't think of it. From where I stand, you're the luckiest dog in the world."

Wilson rolled his eyes and returned back to his packing.

House cleared his throat. "I am a little confused though as to why you are packing up. It's only three months. Surely, you can't be expecting the interim chief to use your office."

Bending over a box of books, Wilson spoke, "I'm asking Samuelson. He's qualified, hardworking; he'll do a good job."

"Well, he's not moving next door to me."

Wilson sighed and looked up. "The two of you will do fine together."

"I'll set fire to him if he takes this office. I swear I will."

Wilson chuckled wearily. "You didn't like me in the beginning either."

"He doesn't need to move in here for three months. Put your things back."

He ignored House for a few minutes, packing the last items in a box and taping it shut. Then he pulled himself to his feet with some considerable effort. He sat in his leather chair and looked at House. "I was really unfair to you the other day. I'm sorry. I do trust you."

House nodded. "You know, we have some people coming in tomorrow. We're going to take a deeper look at doing this procedure. It would be good to have you there."

Wilson shook his head. "No interest. Sorry."

House nodded slowly and tried again, "I heard your chemo friend, Mrs. Sandoval, got a bad bit of news."

Wilson stopped what he was doing and shook his head, "You know, Greg, it seems remarkable to me that I ever thought there was something noble about oncology. I think I believed I was doing something real; something important. Now it feels like I have spent these years as some sort of death merchant; handing out death sentences to some, free passes for others."

House leaned on the arm of a chair. "You brought the five year survival rate for pancreatic cancer up 5 for this hospital. People still talk about it in hushed tones like it was a virgin birth or something. You do remember that, don't you?"

"Maybe," he said, stroking the fine mahogany of his desk. "But I don't feel it anymore, and that's what counts."

"God, I wish you could hear yourself. It's classic treatment fatigue. You're tired, feeling like shit, the tide hasn't turned for you, and then on top of it all, you find out a friend in the same boat is terminal." He shook his head, chuckling. "When I have a patient in this predicament, I go to you. You're the one person who can always turn this around, always have been, but now you're the one in it and I have no Wilson to guide me."

He let out a heavy sigh. "You're right, of course, but it doesn't help. I have no feeling for this anymore."

"For one minute, James, be the doctor again. Tell me what to do. What would you say to a patient in this situation?"

Wilson looked down for a minute. "I don't know anymore. Before this, I probably would have encouraged him to surround himself with his support system. I would have told him to seek counsel with the ones who loved him most. Now, I don't know. I don't think anyone, no matter how much they love you, can understand what this is like."

"And you're the poor slob who's stuck with me as your support system. We're in some big trouble, my friend."

Wilson grinned at him, and it struck House that it had been a very long time since he'd seen him smile.

House tried to stem the feeling of dread that constantly crept into his gut. "I can't give up on this. No matter what you want, I'm not giving up."

"So…I can expect you to slip me something like you did with Stacy's husband last year so that you can do whatever procedure you choose whenever you want."

House let out a deep breath. "If I thought I could get away with it, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

Wilson stared at him intently for a moment. "You're going to think this is stupid, but I used to wonder if I mattered to you at all. I used to wonder if I was sort of a convenient foil for you; you know, the affable guy who's easy to hang around because he doesn't challenge complicated guy much. And I guess I need you to know that I don't wonder about that anymore. If you're half as desperate as I was five years ago when you had your infarction, then I suspect that life must be pretty hard for you right now. And I'm truly sorry about that."

House felt paralyzed. His mouth opened and he worked it a little, but he seemed incapable of a verbal response. Wilson saw this and nodded his head once. Then he turned to his file cabinet and began transferring files to boxes. He let House sit there for as long as he needed, and then he purposefully didn't look up when House finally got up and left.

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She called from a car, and it took him fifteen minutes to coach her through the directions to his condo. It was late, and he stood at the window to watch for her. She arrived breathless, her cheeks red and eyes bright. She brushed past him, and began to pace back and forth the length of his living room. He was at a loss as to her state, and so he lowered himself into a chair and watched her. Finally, she stopped and faced him. "There's a place in Georgia, a clinic. They are successfully using Laetrile to cure cancer. The rate of remission is 63. They are willing to see me as soon as possible. You had to have known of possibilities like this. How could you keep this from me?"

Wilson closed his eyes. "Conni, it's a scam. They have been extracting Laetrile from apricot pits for thirty years. It doesn't cure cancer, and it doesn't put it into remission. They're lying to you."

"No!" She yelled. "There are testimonials, documentation."

He shook his head.

"Western medicine is afraid of it. That's why you won't pay attention."

"It doesn't matter what it is, if I thought banana splits helped, I would tell you. Laetrile doesn't work, and you're a smart woman so I suspect you are here because you know it's too good to be true, and you need someone to confirm it."

A short gasp of frustration escaped her and she walked away from him. He heard muffled noises, and he was conflicted. He wanted to go to her, but he wasn't sure what she wanted from him. Then she turned to him, her face wet. "I can't do this. My kids need me. My sister is too young to raise them. There has to be something we're not doing."

He stood up. "Conni, I wish there was, but your body is captive to a tumor that can't be removed. We have looked at the cells, and we know that this cancer is aggressive. We know that this type of cancer kills almost everyone it touches."

"How do I do this? I don't understand how this is done." She held her arms tightly around her middle.

He spoke gently. "I don't know. Some of us fight and some of us hide. But eventually, we have to come to terms with the situation, and we have to take care of the people we love, and let them take care of us, and then we complete the circle."

She snorted. "Where did you get that crap?"

He avoided her eyes.

"I'm so afraid of this. I'm afraid of the pain. I'm afraid that I can't do this well."

Wilson bit his lip. There were no platitudes for this.

"What should I do?" Her large eyes were pleading for his help.

He reached over and stroked her arm. "You should follow your heart and spend time with your girls and tell them everything you wish your mother had told you."

She nodded.

"And you should listen to your doctor, and come up with a pain management plan, and explore what options might prolong your life as long as it also preserves the quality of your life."

She let him pull her into his arms and hold her.

"Take a trip, Conni. Skydive. Swim with dolphins. Do things just because you want to. Forget diets and expectations and deadlines. Call up friends you haven't seen in years or fall in love with someone only because he has a kind smile. Just forget all the rules in life, and make this time all about you."

He stroked what remained of her dark, curly hair because it was right there, and he had often wondered how it would feel. She laid her head on his shoulder and stayed quiet for a long time. Then she looked up at him. "I don't have time to fall in love, James."

He blinked at her. Then she reached for his face and he pulled back. "I'm not really in the right place for this. We're both pretty vulnerable."

"But we don't have anything to lose," she whispered into his neck. The feel of her words sent shivers down his spine and he stood still, waiting. She spoke again, "I don't have time to fall in love, but there is a man with a kind smile, and I want to share some tenderness with him."

He sucked in breath, and let her reach for him. It was bittersweet, almost melancholy, the feeling in his gut as she took his hand and went in search of his bedroom. He was slow and gentle with her, and she allowed him to unbutton her blouse slowly as they kissed. For awhile they did nothing more than lay there, kissing, touching, exploring and whispering things to each other. There was no doubt that Wilson had experienced more passion at other times in his life, but he'd never felt so moved by another person. He kissed her tears, and was unafraid to let his own slide down his face. Lovemaking was long and deep, both of them taking their time as if there was nothing but in their lives.

For a long time, afterwards, they talked about their lives with each other, comparing the very different worlds they knew. He found himself drinking her in like a fine wine, pausing every once in awhile to catalogue a moment for memories. She drifted off before he did, so he lay next to her quietly, tracing lines in her beautiful brown skin, imagining that they weren't in a fight for their lives; imagining that they had a lifetime to know each other.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

She shook him awake just as the sun was rising. He rolled over and mumbled at her groggily. His head was starting to pound as it did most mornings now, and he winced at her through blurry eyes.

She stroked his hair and smiled. "Let's skydive."

"Huh?" He rubbed at his face.

"You said I should forget all the rules, do something I would never think possible. So let's skydive."

"Okay. You go. I'll watch."

"No! We do this together." She slapped his chest.

"Then we're going to have to do something that doesn't scare the hell out of me."

"Alright," she sat up, the sheet sliding down to her waist. "Think of something to do."

Wilson immediately knew what he felt like doing. He reached for her waist, and she clamped a hand down on his. "Yes, of course, that's obvious. We have plenty of time for that. Now think of something you've always wanted to do."

He rolled away from her, chuckling. "Conni, I wouldn't know wild if it bit me on the nose. I am very boring. I work and I work and I work. I haven't had a vacation that wasn't a medical conference since my last honeymoon."

She crawled over, climbing over him and straddling his waist. "James, tell me something you have always wanted."

He reached for her, and pulled her down to him. He started licking her neck until he got to her ear. Then he whispered softly, "Give me a few minutes. I'm sure I'll come up with something." Then he bit her ear playfully and rolled over so that he was straddling her. She smiled up at him, and he let himself, for a time, forget about everything but a beautiful woman with a laughing face.

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House saw the light flashing on his beeper when he woke. He groaned and reached for it. No one used his beeper to call him at night. His sleep medication was too strong for that. Most people called his regular phone which he had programmed to a high volume. He peered at the number on the display and was surprised to find Wilson's cell number. Wilson would surely know better than to page him in the night. He hit the message button. "Hey, it's me…Sorry…I needed to let you know what was going on, but I really wasn't up to the conversation…I'm fine. Feeling okay, in fact. I'm taking the headache meds…I hope that your impromptu conference is good. I hope that you find something useful…I am sorry I can't be there. I actually can't be anywhere for a while. I'm leaving. Temporary, of course. But I am going to be gone for some time. I think. I don't know. I can imagine you frowning right now. I won't be gone long, and I understand better than you do how important the chemo is, but I don't know how much time I have and I need to breathe and…I can't explain. I have turned off my cell, but I'll call you in a couple of days. I'm fine. Don't worry…although you would never tell me if you were. Do me a favor and let people care about you this week. You need it probably more than I do right now." The phone clicked and a dial tone sounded. House stared at his pager for a long minute. Then he drew his arm back and threw at the wall.

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TBC