A/N: Holy shit. At LAST. So sorry for the ridiculous delay. All I can I say is that I was gone for a week and the rest of the time, I cou ldn't write any prose at all. I don't know why, nor do I know why this suddenly wrote itself. I hope it's all right. Thank you for your patience and support!

Please read and review!

Chapter 4

Monday morning. House dressed Wendy in pink-flowered, white cotton and smiled at her. He gave her to Wilson, who was already a nervous wreck by eight but calmed a little when occupied with feeding her. Meanwhile, House packed up the new, white bag with everything Wendy might possibly need before five. Wilson mumbled to her, anxiety still buzzing inside as he thought of Julie's plane landing in two hours. House nagged at him about worrying. They strapped Wendy into her car seat and threw the bag into the back. House's corvette remained in the garage and he watched his house from the passenger seat, as Wilson tensed around the steering wheel. House coaxed him into dropping by Starbucks and took Wendy out of her seat while they waited at the drive-thru. Coffee soothed Wilson; House knew him too well. The oncologist didn't buzz so much the rest of the way, sipping on his coffee and pursing his lips to blow on it through the hole periodically. House was contented with Wendy in his arms. They didn't speak, and Wilson didn't turn up the volume on House's Pink Floyd CD until they were ten minutes from the hospital.

"God, I really need a cigarette," Wilson blurted as the familiar parking lot came into view.

"You're an oncologist," said House.

"I don't care."

"Bad example."

"Screw you."

Wilson didn't have a pack of cigarettes anywhere, and House was glad. He had only seen James smoke on a few occasions out of pure nervousness. He didn't like to think about James diagnosing himself at any point down the road, especially because of something stupid, like Pall Malls. And he'd be damned if anybody exposed Wendy to second-hand smoke.

"Calm down," House murmured. They pulled into Wilson's designated spot.

"I can't," said Wilson. "We're taking her in there, and Julie's coming home before lunch. Time bomb."

The younger man didn't stop staring at the windshield, and his fingers remained curled around the steering wheel. House eyed him warily. Under no circumstances did he want a panic attack on his hands in the middle of this delicate operation.

"Calm down," he said again, his voice even and urging. "Breathe – and maybe I'll find you a smoke."

Wilson broke into a shaky laugh.

"Do you have any idea how many things could go wrong?" he said.

"Maybe caffeine wasn't the best thing for you after all," House mused. "I've got some scotch in my office, if you like. Our little secret – don't want Cuddy stealing my booze, the sleazy drunk."

Wilson let go, shut his eyes when his head hit the seat, and sighed. Wendy dozed in House's arms.

"Shit."

House said nothing. Wilson opened his eyes and blew.

"Don't worry about Julie," House said. "You haven't been home all weekend; the house is spotless."

"My office?"

"Unless you want the three stooges brainwashing your kid – yeah."

"Not to mention announcing it to the world." Wilson rubbed his eyes.

"She's good for another two hours or so," House said. "If the bottles are cold, sneak one into a lounge and use a microwave."

"Did you bring a pacifier?"

"In the left side pocket."

"She's got her puppy, right?"

"Yup."

"How the hell are we going to go unnoticed?"

"Leave that to me. Just haul your ass to your office as fast as humanly possible."

Wilson blushed with the bag slung over his shoulder, as he carried his sleeping infant in her seat. He struggled with the weight and couldn't keep up with House for once, which worked out fine for House's plan.

"All right!" he yelled, standing before the doors. "Who the hell stole my drugs?"

Everyone within hearing distance stared at him motionlessly. He didn't wait long, knowing Wilson was about to reach the door. He hurried toward the reception desk and started banging his cane on the top.

"Vicodin! Somebody get me some Vicodin in here!"

Wilson slipped in warily, while everyone else watched House disturbed.

"Cuddy! Cuddy! You rigged Pharmacy again!"

His cane bashed the counter-top noisily, as Wilson glanced nervously at the scene before the elevator doors closed. He hushed Wendy, who had opened her bleary eyes.

"Someone get me my pills! I'm dying here! My leg's about to explode! CUDDY!"

"What the hell is going on here?"

Cuddy had finally appeared, brow crossed, strutting toward him in a new pair of heels.

"Ah, my gorgeous boss," said House. "Isn't she hot?" he asked the surrounding crowd loudly. Cuddy glared at him.

"What are you yelling about?"

"Why, love, Dr. Cuddy. My one, true love has been missing all weekend. Someone stole her from me."

"Your love?"

"Small, white chick," he said. "Sometimes answers to 'Vicky'?"

"Who would steal your pills, House?"

"I don't know – someone too cheap to buy the good stuff?"

"Have Wilson write you a new prescription, like always. Geeze." She turned away and clicked off. "And don't make anymore noise," she called. He waited for a moment before rushing to the elevators. How would Wilson get to his office alone?

He had a strange feeling as he limped onto the fourth floor – as if the ducklings below could somehow hear his footsteps. The oncology ward was fairly quiet, and the desk nurse showed no signs of surprise as she worked on something. He made his way toward Wilson's office and tried to keep his head down. This floor always had an inhospitable air to it.

"Did you make it?"

Wilson looked up at him with parted lips.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Barely."

House relaxed against his cane.

"You were insane," Wilson remarked.

"Got you through, didn't I? Cuddy gave me heat. This is going to be a great day."

"You don't have to tell me."

Wilson sipped on his coffee again, now calmer having gotten Wendy to his office without trouble. She slept, and House watched.

"I'll check on her every hour or so," said Wilson. "I think that's the best I can do."

"I can pop in," said House, blue eyes set on the baby, while a million possible incidents circulated through his mind. Most of them bordered on the ridiculous, but he couldn't stop himself. Thank God she couldn't walk yet.

"Got a key?"

"Yeah."

"I'm locking up. Wouldn't want some nurse wandering in."

"Keep the blinds drawn," House warned. He chewed on his lip. Wilson looked at Wendy now too. He sighed.

"Do we really have leave her?"

House didn't reply. Wilson sipped his coffee.

"You're late," said Foreman. Cameron sat at the table, cup of coffee steaming in front of her. Chase had his legs propped up and the latest crossword puzzle in his lap. He gnawed on his pen and leaned on the back legs of his chair. Foreman had his hands on his hips but didn't look anything like Wilson.

"Happy day to you too," House said, limping in from his office doorway.

"Starbucks?"

Cameron noticed the cup in his hand.

"I felt adventurous." He stopped near the whiteboard. "Now, who's got a case?"

"Thirty-five year old female, joint pain, fatigue, shortness of breath, and rhinorrhea."

"Rhinorrhea?" House echoed, taking the file from Foreman. "It's July."

"She thought she had a cold," Foreman said. "But it's been three weeks and no improvement, even with drugs."

"It's definitely not a cold then," House muttered. "No other symptoms?"

"None at the moment."

"Great. Draw some blood and make sure she has a never-ending supply of Kleenex."

He tossed the file on the table and began to turn away.

"Wait," Chase called, settling his chair back on all four legs. "We can't just leave the rhinorrhea untreated. It could damage her nasal cartilage."

House gave him a bored stare. "Fine. Surgery. But we're not treating her runny nose. We're treating whatever's causing it."

He slipped into his office and plopped into his chair with a sigh, didn't notice Cameron look at him suspiciously. Chase got to his feet and followed Foreman out, but she didn't budge for a while. Something was going on. He had never stopped for coffee before; he usually drank her coffee. And he was never late. He was usually the first one here. She decided to push suspicion aside, however, when he picked up his Game boy.

He fiddled around until Cameron was gone and threw the Game boy aside once she disappeared down the hall, not bothering to switch it off. He got to his feet and fled his office, heading for the nearest elevator with silent speed. He didn't care if it had only been thirty-two minutes. He needed to know Wendy was still alive and well.

When he reached Wilson's office, it took too long for him to find the key, shove it in the hole, and turn it correctly. He breathed easy when he found Wendy still asleep, just as he and Wilson had left her. He didn't know what else he had expected.

It was dark except for the weak light of the halls outside, and House kept it that way. He stood in the near-dark for a while and just looked at her – the most perfect human being he had ever encountered, even if it was only because she hadn't had a chance to screw up yet. He felt his lips curve, as he leaned against his cane.

Wilson's nerves weren't helped when he found his office door unlocked, when he had been sure he'd locked it before. He deflated a bit when he recognized House's silhouette. House looked at him, eyes hidden in the shadows.

"Beat you to it," House said.

"It hasn't even been an hour."

"Close enough."

They paused. Wilson had his hands on his hips again. House could see the white lab coat now, though he didn't remember Wilson putting it on.

"We can't keep this up," the oncologist said.

"Not forever. She starts school in about four years."

"God."

They paused again. No one bothered turning on a light.

"Lunch here then?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah. We can bring it up."

"The rumor mill is going to spin out of control."

"Oh, yeah," House said. "Nothing's better than office sex with a side of meatloaf."

"You always have a Reuben."

"You could have the meatloaf."

"I wouldn't have the meatloaf. And they're not even making it today."

"I do not always have a Reuben. I'm not that boring."

"Well, I don't consider chips out of the vending machine to be an actual meal," said Wilson.

"You're just jealous of my girlish figure."

"It fits your new role so well."

House flipped him off.

"All you need to do is steal Cuddy's breasts," Wilson continued.

"I'm sorry to kill your sick fantasies, but I'm not really a transsexual."

"Some hormones could change that."

"You already have a wife to screw, what do you want?"

Wilson blushed, even though House couldn't see it in the dark.

"Hah. So I am a better woman than Julie."

He limped to the door.

As he turned the corner and approached his office, Cameron strode up alongside him.

"Low red blood cell count, elevated white cell and platelet count."

"Inflammation, huh?"

"Elevated sedimentation rate, too."

"Interesting," House murmured, nearing the glass door. Cameron followed once he swung it open. "Give me a CT scan and see what comes up. Where are Chase and Foreman? Looking at porn in the bathroom? I did hire them for a reason, you know."

He sat back in his chair with expectant, blue eyes. She stared at him, sighed through pursed lips, and left. His eyes moved out of focus. His hand had not moved from the cane. He pushed his legs up on his desk and picked up his Game boy again. Dead. He hadn't expected anything else.

Not two hours later, during which he had checked on Wendy again, Cuddy finally arrived.

"Where have you been?"

"You have that same delicate look on your face from this morning," House observed. "Like someone shoved a lemon down your throat and forgot to add sugar."

"There's still a clinic around here, you know."

"I've got a case, Cuddy," he said, fingers blindly pushing the game keys.

"Which you're not currently working on," she said.

"I'm letting it stew. Haven't you have ever cooked before?"

"Clinic, House. Now."

"Well, someone has a case of the Mondays."

She glowered and strutted out, having thrown a file on his desk. He sighed.

"I've been having these cramps in my arm lately."

The woman had short, dyed hair. She must've been in her thirties, like his new patient. He took her blood pressure routinely and scribbled it down on her chart.

"Any strenuous labor?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I just do the dishes and chase my kid around all day."

"How old?"

"Three," she grinned. "He's so energetic."

"Maybe he's got ADD."

She stopped and looked at him, as he felt her arm.

"Then again, maybe you're just one of the thousands of moms who lets her kid have too much sugar."

She blinked.

"Go home, use Tylenol, and come back if you want sedatives for the kid."

The door squealed when he pulled it open and she watched him, stunned, as he left without looking back.

He returned to his office with a clear conscience and found Cameron and Chase waiting for him.

"CT scan was clear," the Australian said.

"She's scheduled for surgery in about an hour," added Cameron.

"Great," said House. "Go find a hobby while you wait."

He switched off the Game boy on his desk and slipped out again, leaving them confused. Wilson was waiting for him inside the cafeteria, not yet in line.

"So are they serving your meatloaf or not?" House asked.

"I think it's pasta today," said Wilson, as they both walked to the end of the line, picking up trays.

"Cold or hot?"

"Cold."

"It might be safe then. Who knows – may even be good."

They slid along, barely glancing at anything in front of them, behind the glass.

"I'll have the soup," House told the serving lady. "It's vegetable," he murmured to Wilson. "Best shit they make, besides the Reuben."

Wilson smirked and asked the woman for the pasta salad with a side of bread, as she handed House his soup.

"They use the good foam," House said to Wilson. "They know I'd sue their asses for everything their worth if I sustained a burn injury."

"You would sue the hospital cafeteria?" Wilson asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I would sue your mother."

House grabbed a handful of those individually packaged crackers at the register, as Wilson paid.

"That's all you're eating?" the oncologist asked, eyeing the hot soup.

"What is it with you and wanting to fatten me up? Going to sacrifice me to Cuddy?"

Wilson rolled his eyes and didn't answer. He had always worried over House's eating habits since the infarction. Sure, the man wasn't anorexic, but it always seemed like he ate as little as possible within the realm of 'healthy'.

Wilson almost sat at an empty table, but House didn't stop in front of him. Then Wilson remembered Wendy in his office and followed House as if he hadn't forgotten. Wilson carried House's tray because he didn't want the soup to spill. House jerked along with Wilson's tray in his free hand, the curly-cue noodles quivering with each step. Once situated in Wilson's office, Wilson bought them sodas from the vending machine in the hall. He liked Sprite, and House always had root beer.

"So this hasn't been a total disaster," House said, spooning soup into his mouth.

"The day isn't over yet," Wilson warned, spearing noodles with his plastic fork.

House picked up another spoon and offered Wendy cold applesauce. She didn't take it right away but accepted once House let the tip dab at her lip.

"You sure she's not allergic to that?" asked Wilson.

"Who's allergic to applesauce?"

Wilson shrugged and ripped off a piece of bread with his teeth. House let Wendy swallow and dipped a cracker into his soup.

"So what's your new case?"

"Thirty-five year old woman, anemic, elevated sedimentation rate/white blood cell/platelet count, joint pain, and rhinorrhea."

"Rhinorrhea?"

They both filled their mouths.

"Set for surgery this afternoon," House confirmed. Wilson wrinkled his nose. "CT scan was clear."

"Hm."

House fed Wendy more applesauce. Her bib was already a little stained. She bobbed her legs.

"So no call from Julie yet?" House asked.

"Nope," said Wilson. "She only got in about an hour ago."

House slurped on his soup and then sipped his root beer.

"This is actually pretty good," said Wilson, in reference to his pasta salad. He took another bite of bread.

"Wonders never cease," said House. He fed Wendy more applesauce.

"No suspicious people?"

"Cameron commented on my Starbucks visit."

"Women are intuitive," said Wilson.

"Or maybe just observant."

"You should be careful."

"No shit. So should you."

"People in my department aren't so interested in my fine details."

"Must be the chemo."

"You know – I've never wanted a day to be over this badly," said Wilson, sitting back in his chair, leaving a few noodles in his bowl. He sipped his Sprite.

"Why? All we have to look forward to afterward is dinner and sitting around until you absolutely have to go home."

House sipped on his root beer, wiped Wendy's chin, and fed her again.

Wilson scoffed. "Home."

"Still want a cigarette?" House asked.

Wilson grinned and rolled his eyes.