Just to give a timeframe here: It is the day after Valentine's Day, and six days before Cuddy's trial

Chapter 68:

On Friday morning, upon walking into her office, Cuddy was greeted with a beautiful arranged bouquet of a dozen fresh-cut, long-stemmed assorted red, white, pink and peach roses in a vase sitting on her desk. She smiled, and smelled a red rose, engulfing the aroma of freshly cut flowers.

Glancing at the card stuck in the middle of the bouquet, she beamed as she read what it said. 'I guess you were wondering why these came today and not yesterday. Valentine's Day = so overrated.'

Cuddy laughed aloud.

Continuing, the card said, 'Doing the appropriate thing as per the 'boyfriend handbook' and taking you on a date tonight.'

She noticed he didn't sign his name, but simply wrote 'Always' on the bottom of the card.

Tears filled her eyes, mostly due to her hormones, as she felt extremely touched at his unusual act of generosity.

She ran her fingers over a rose petal, closing her eyes and breathing in the scent.

"I'm guessing you like them?"

Cuddy spun around, wiping her eyes, and saw House standing in the doorway, leaning on his cane. She smiled warmly at him.

"They're beautiful," she gushed. "Thank you."

House limped over to her. Noticing her eyes, he scoffed, "Oh don't tell me you cried over flowers. I didn't think it was that bad…"

"Sorry. I can't help it. So…about this date.."

"Not going to say anything," House replied with a knowing smirk.

"Oh come on…"

"Nope." House turned to leave her office. "I like keeping you guessing."

As he left her office, Cuddy smiled warmly, shaking her head.

He can be very surprising sometimes, she thought as she moved the flowers to one side of her desk before sitting down and logging into her computer, ready to begin the day's work.

Later that morning, House was sitting in his office at his desk, waiting for his physical therapy appointment. He wondered how Laura, his therapist, was going to begin his treatment regarding his thigh. He thought about what he had told her in regards to why he wanted to strengthen his leg.

Opening up that much was surprising, even for him. Has being with Cuddy changed me that much? he thought to himself.

He smirked as he thought of the answer Cuddy would give to that, even Wilson. They both would definitely say 'yes'.

His thoughts shifted to Cuddy. Even though he knew she could handle what was to come in six days' time, he couldn't help but worry about her present stress level.

She had come home exhausted, almost every day for the past two weeks, presumably, House thought, due to the enormous amount of stress that her job as Dean of Medicine places on her. He knew he wasn't going to convince her to cut back, so he only did one thing.

He kept his mouth shut, telling himself that she knows when to stop. Hopefully what he had planned for that evening would help her relax a little.

His concern for Cuddy gnawing at him, he was about to stand and make his way upstairs to the rehab unit of the hospital, when Wilson strode into his office.

"Why didn't you tell me?!" the oncologist exclaimed, barging in without knocking.

House looked at him, curiously. "That depends. What are we talking about? And I have an appointment. Leave a message."

Wilson walked up to the desk, his hands on his hips. "You and Cuddy both went behind my back! I'm your best friend. You couldn't tell me that this was going on and that you two have a court date?!" he exclaimed, ignoring House.

"Ever hear of the term 'attorney-client privilege'? I'm pretty sure they don't call it that for shits and giggles…"

"Does that matter?!" exclaimed Wilson, gesturing with his hands. "And don't give me that privilege crap! You break ethics all the time!"

"Maybe," House started through gritted teeth as he stood up and moved away from his chair, "we didn't want anyone knowing. Ever read an ethics code? You're huge on that crap! Now move. I'm going to be late."

Wilson stayed where he was, blocking House from moving away from his desk. "No," he demanded. "I have a right to know what is going on."

"Yeah? Ask your boy-toy. Now, get out of the way."

Wilson raised his hand to House's chest, placing his palm in the center of House's t-shirt.

House looked down at his chest. "You know I don't play the gay game, right?"

"House, all I'm trying to say is…that I'm concerned about you with this. As a friend. That's all."

"Yeah, well thanks, but I think I can handle this on my own. And keep your mouth shut. You shouldn't know anything in the first place."

He sidestepped, grabbed his cane and limped out of the office before Wilson could stop him.

Ten minutes later, House was lying flat on his back in a room located off the PT main suite. A beige sheet covered the lower half of his body over his boxers as he lay on the table with just his t-shirt on.

"The sheet stays where it is for today," Laura told him. "I'm just going to start with a gentle massage."

"That's something my hookers NEVER say."

Laura rolled her eyes. "If anything is uncomfortable, let me know."

She began performing light circular motions with her thumb and forefinger on either side of his right knee. When she laid a hand on his right thigh over the blanket, House immediately tensed up and flinched.

"You need to relax," Laura told her patient gently. "If you want me to treat you, I'm going to need to start by feeling your thigh. Relax."

House exhaled slowly, his hands balled into fists on either side of the table. Gritting his teeth, he shot out, "I'm trying!"

"Did you take any Vicodin this morning?"

"No," House gritted, silently cursing himself for not taking any painkillers.

"The muscle seems to be in a spasm. Why don't we put some heat on it for a few minutes and then I'll come back and try again, okay?"

House nodded. "Sorry," he muttered, embarrassed.

"Don't be. This is fairly common. I'll be right back."

When the door closed and he was alone, House reached down and gripped his damaged thigh with his right hand.

Immediately, he felt the muscle bulging in a spasm. Taking a deep breath, he gritted his teeth and ran his palm up and down the bulging muscle.

Suck it up, Greg, he said out loud. You want to get better. This is part of the process. Suck it up.

For the next few minutes, House lay there silently, as his palm dug deeper into his flesh, trying to relieve some of the spasm build-up.

Suddenly, he felt his hand being moved and something warm being applied to his right thigh.

"Sorry," Laura said quietly. "Let's try this for about ten minutes and hopefully it'll loosen up some."

She left, leaving House alone again.

Five minutes later, the door opened and then closed.

"My ten minutes aren't up yet," House said with his eyes shut, his right hand gripping the side of his leg as he felt the muscle start to loosen from the contraction.

He felt someone move next to him.

"I know," Cuddy replied.

House opened his eyes. "What are you doing here?" he asked surprised.

"I heard you were…having a hard time," she whispered.

"You don't have to be here," House told her coldly. He didn't want her to see him like this.

"I want to," she stressed quietly. "I know this is uncomfortable for -"

"I don't want you to be here!" House said loudly, staring hard at her. "Just – just…leave."

"I've seen you on worse days than this," she told him, ignoring his requests. "The only difference is that right now, your vulnerability is not just being shown to me. And that's what scares you."

House was about to shout at her to leave again when the door opened and Laura walked back in.

"Ready?" she asked, not surprised to see the Dean of Medicine.

Not wanting to make a scene in front of his physical therapist, House mumbled, "Sure," as he looked away from Cuddy.

"Are you going to deflect this time?"

House and Wilson were sitting in the cafeteria after House's therapy appointment. While his team was busy with their new patient, House took the opportunity to be as least productive as possible and to once again freeload off his friend as the two ate lunch.

Stealing a chip off of Wilson's tray, House popped it in his mouth.

"Do you ever eat your own food anymore!?" Wilson exclaimed.

"Nope," House told him. "That's why I keep you around."

"Typical," Wilson scoffed as he rolled his eyes. "I'm not just the best friend, but the best friend whose food you steal almost every day…"

"Hey, hey. That's a horrible thing to say. To think that I base our relationship off food…what kind of a person do you think I am?"

"Do you want me to start a list or…" Wilson asked sarcastically as he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms across his chest.

"Don't you have dying patients to cater to?"

"I can't believe it. You're still deflecting. You are unbelievable, House!"

Stealing another chip from the tray, House popped it in his mouth before answering.

"Deflection, My strong suit. Chicks dig it."

"Seriously. This is a big thing," Wilson continued, "You having to face Chase, who I know you want to beat to a pulp..."

"You know who else I want to beat to a pulp? You, if you don't shut up."

"Are you just going to keep on deflecting about this?"

House cupped his ear with his hand. "I think I can hear cancer kids calling for Jimmy WonderBoy Oncologist…"

Wilson shook his head, fairly amused. "Don't come crying to me when you want to talk before Thursday…"

House held up his cane. "You'll come crying to me because this cane will be shoved directly up your -"

"House!" a voice shouted from across the cafeteria.

"Where the hell have you been? We have a case!" Cameron interrupted him, walking up to the table where the two men were sitting, her hands on her hips.

"Damn," House exclaimed. "You found me."

He jerked his thumb at Wilson. "I can't take him anywhere anymore. Was his urine smell that foul that it gave us away?"

Cameron rolled her eyes as Wilson made a face. "Disgusting," she told him. "Molly just spiked a fever and we just found a rash on her stomach. And she's going through fluids quicker than normal."

"Who's Molly?" House blatantly asked.

"…our patient…"

"Our patient's name is Molly?"

"Yes," Cameron stressed. "And the house was clean. No drugs."

"Patients always lie about drugs," House replied as he stood and grabbed his cane. "Let's go figure this puppy out."

"Nice chat, Wilson!" he yelled, as he and Cameron exited the cafeteria. Wilson shook his head amused and went back to eating his lunch.

The patient was started on corticosteroids and given acetaminophen and fluids for the fever and dehydration. While Cameron was in the lab, Foreman was out questioning the patient's place of work for any sort of toxin that might help to explain the unknown rash and sudden spike in temperature.

Two hours after his lunch with Wilson and when his team was dealing with their patient, House stood in John Greene's office, as he waited for the lawyer to finish up his phone conversation he was currently having.

Once he had laid the receiver back in its cradle, John Greene glanced up at the diagnostician, warily.

"You know, knocking would have been appropriate."

"Yeah, but barging in was way easier," House replied, sarcastically.

Amused, John chuckled. "Manners, Greg."

"You need to shut your boy toy up about this case!" House demanded suddenly.

John looked up at him, surprised. "He said something to you?"

"Yeah, this morning. He wouldn't stop bugging me. How the hell he find out?!"

"He saw my notes a few days ago, and wouldn't stop badgering me about it. I told him to keep his mouth shut," John replied.

"Yeah, well, Wilson is the equivalent to an eight year old girl when it comes to gossip, especially when it doesn't involve him."

John exhaled, clearly agitated. "I'll talk to him. He knows better than that."

"I'm sorry," he added sincerely. "Did he say anything to Lisa?"

"Not as far as I know. Just shut him up about this."

"I will," John told him. "And thank you for coming to me."

After House had left and the door had closed, John pounded the desk with his fist, clearly frustrated.
Although he had no choice but to have told Wilson about the case, due to what Wilson saw and his adamant persistence, John was still extremely angry at his partner's betrayal of trust.

Standing up, he walked out of the office, shut the door, locked it and journeyed down the hallway to the elevators.

Knocking on Wilson's door not even five minutes later, the lawyer was greeted with no response. He knocked again more rapidly.

"If you're looking for Doctor Wilson, he's down the hall."

John turned to see a nurse looking in his direction who had just spoken to him.

"Thank you," John replied, before walking down the hallway and into the cancer ward.

As he walked down the corridor past rooms, some with patients, some vacant, he stopped when he saw Wilson inside a room standing by a hospital bed.

There were two people, a man and a woman, standing at the edge of the bed. Wilson's lips were moving, but from his position, John could not make out what he was saying. When Wilson finally stepped away from the bed, John swallowed hard.

He saw a little girl, laying in the hospital bed, pale, bald, sickly, and incredibly thin, the light green gown she was wearing loosely hanging off her due to the lack of fat on her body. IV lines ran into her hands and arms and various monitors surrounded the bed. John saw the grown woman collapse into Wilson's arms, as she clung to him and sobbed heavily.

Hidden in the shadows, John observed silently.

Wilson approached the patient after the woman had finally let go of him, and he sat down on the bed, grasping the little girl's hand with his own. After a few seconds, he stood up, went over to a cabinet and withdrew a syringe.

John watched as he injected something into the IV and then took a step back.

Wilson's face was neutral, but John couldn't believe what he saw in his partner's eyes.

His eyes, the lawyer noticed, said it all.

John saw the little girl tug on Wilson's lab coat and he sat down again beside her, speaking to her as her little hand was grasped in his once more. The girl reached up with her IV-clad hand, and Wilson ducked his head low so she could run her fingers through his hair. Wilson smiled and John could see it was quite evident that Wilson was struggling to keep his composure.

After about a minute, the oncologist reached up and carefully removed his patient's hand from his head. They spoke some more and then Wilson stepped aside, letting the girl's parents step forward with their daughter.

Wilson stepped out of the room. Hidden across the corridor, John was sure the oncologist couldn't see him.

Standing still, Wilson peered in the window at his patient.

Sure, he was used to increased mortality rates in his profession and he had learned to move on after a patient's death, but there were one or two patients for every fifty or so who he and his staff of doctors treated that were tough to let go of.

Madeline was eight years old, dying of leukemia. She had been under Wilson's treatment for over a year and, as he peered in the room at her, Wilson knew that her end was nearing.

He didn't know why but she had a lasting impact on him; maybe it was her courage; so young and so resilient, it seemed. Maybe it was the fact that Wilson felt that no one that young should have to go through so much suffering.

Throughout his training, he was taught not to get emotionally invested in patients. But sometimes, it was a lot tougher than it sounded, especially with Wilson's compassionate personality and all-caring nature towards his patients and even with his colleagues.

Finally tearing his eyes away from his patient, Wilson hung his head and turned to walk back to his office, not knowing if that was the last time he would see Madeline, his patient, alive.

Meanwhile, John still stood a few yards away from the oncologist, hidden behind a column, silently watching as Wilson stared into the room at his patient.

John could immediately tell that this little girl had quite an impact on Wilson. When the doctor had turned away from his patient, John saw his eyes were glassed over. John's eyes flickered back to the very young girl in the bed and saw her parents flanked either side as they silently observed their daughter, the man holding the girl's hand tightly.

As his anger towards his partner dissipated slowly (for now at least) as what he had just witnessed changed his current emotional state, John walked slowly in the other direction and continued back up to his office, as he decided for now to hold off berating his partner for betraying his trust.

His emotions are probably pretty low at the moment, the lawyer thought to himself as he continued his journey down the hallway, as the image of the dying girl stayed fresh in his mind.

TBC…

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. You guys rock! The next chapter will most likely pick up still on Friday, but obviously later on in the day/evening.…date night for our favorite couple! yay!

I thought it was appropriate to have Cuddy in the room while House was beginning his treatment. He obviously doesn't want her to see his vulnerability, especially in front of his therapist, but I think Cuddy knows that, and she's willing to do whatever it takes to make this easier for him. I think the tiny burst of anger he had towards her was in fact very true to the character and was necessary to give the reader the proper insight into his whole treatment. House wants to get better. For himself and for Cuddy.

Yeah, we all know Wilson shouldn't have said anything to House about something that wasn't his business, but in all honesty, did you really expect him to keep his mouth shut? I know I didn't!

I wasn't going to add the flowers thing in the beginning but then I remembered that it was around Valentine's Day in this chapter. House definitely would not have come out and expressed his feelings up front, even if being with Cuddy has in fact changed him in a way.