"I'm so sorry...your daughter has graft-versus-host disease. It's-"

The sobbing mom stopped him. "I know what it is. How long?"

"Maybe a week. Normally we would give her steroids, but her immune system is so compromised that the steroids would kill her. And she didn't have much time in the first place. Steroids would decrease her quality of life. Again, I'm so sorry."

The woman's husband put a hand on her shoulder. "We did the best we could...there's no other treatment. We just have to let her go."

The mom nodded and sniffed. "Thank you Dr. Wilson…"

Wilson nodded. "You're welcome."

The woman's husband led the woman out of the office, putting an arm on her shoulder.

Wilson sighed and put his head in his hands. It had been a rough week, and it would be even rougher once the girl actually died. The parents would blame him, and he would have to call his lawyer. Again.

"Well that was rough," a voice said from across the room. Wilson looked up.

"Not now, House…"

"30-year old woman in liver failure with an enlarged spleen and nystagmus. Spleen biopsy was negative for any abnormalities."

"I can't deal with this right now, House. Please just go away."

House sat down, supporting his leg. Wilson detected a grimace, even though House tried to turn his face to the wall to hide it.

"Are you hiding from your team again?"
"What? Why would I do that?"

"Well, you're in my office asking me for a differential and elevating your leg on a pillow. If something's wrong with your leg you can tell me."

House shrugged. "I'm not hiding. I wanted to make sure you were OK."

"No you didn't"
"Fine, no I didn't. I just don't feel like working."

"That's something I can believe. Now can you not work somewhere else?"

"I could...but that would be no fun…" House said, rubbing his leg hard, trying to knead out a cramp. He had woken up this morning with every muscle in his leg rock hard. A hot soak had helped initially, but it was coming back. It didn't concern him, though. He'd read Riggin's report and about 40% of the mice had experienced muscle cramping at some point. It did, however, make his limp more pronounced and cause him to make faces that would definitely give him away.

His leg cramped harder despite his massaging and he winced, moving his head downward and grimacing.

"House?"

House waved a dismissive hand in his friend's direction, grabbing his leg with both hands and massaging the injured muscles with his thumbs until he loosened the cramp. He gasped, letting out the breath he'd been holding.

"Is it the weather?" Wilson asked, concerned. House nodded.

"Rain and I don't get along."

"Well, I'm not just going to watch you like this. Does anything help?"

"No. Just don't tell my team," House said, unscrewing his pill bottle and downing two Vicodin.

"I won't."

House gritted his teeth and stood. He needed to administer the medicine again. He was up to ten reps on the resistance band, but he didn't feel like he could do even one right now.

Wilson watched his friend leave, wanting to get up and help him but knowing House would bite his head off. Instead, he just watched.

(LINE BREAK)

House limped heavily down the hallway. His leg was on fire, but he was almost to the janitor's closet...just a few more feet.

His leg seized and he grabbed the wall quickly to steady himself. He looked up. He needed a place to sit down or he was going to be stuck on the floor where everyone could see him. His office mercifully stood in front of him, being across from the janitor's closet. He grabbed the doorframe and used it along with his cane to hop into his office and sit down in the armchair to the right of the doorway. He took a minute to catch his breath, then pulled down his pants carefully and assessed the damage. He tried to massage his leg but it was so sore and tight that he cried out. Quickly, he stifled the noise with his hand and made sure his office was locked and the blinds were drawn before continuing to massage out the cramp, grimacing and wincing all the while.

When he'd gotten the cramp mostly out, he took out the syringe he'd stowed in his backpack and was getting ready to unwrap it when the cramp came back with a vengeance and he dropped the syringe in favor of continuing to massage the injured limb.

"Are you OK?"

He looked up and swore. He hadn't heard the door open. Above him stood a skinny, brown-haired doctor with wide blue eyes staring at him with a sort of concerned surprise.

"How the hell did you get in here?!" House yelled at Thirteen.

"The key for the case room works on your office door too...I saw you fall. Are you OK?"

"I didn't fall," House corrected, pulling his pants over his leg, grimacing as the fabric touched the exposed nerves.

"Okay, fine. You didn't fall. Seriously, though, that looks really bad. Should I call someone for you?" Thirteen asked, gesturing at his leg. House seethed. Nobody was supposed to see his leg, not even Wilson. It was the most private part of him. He'd rather walk around in crotchless tight leather pants.

"No. Leave. Now," he ordered her, trying to make himself look as menacing as possible, but wincing as he shifted his leg by trying to sit up straighter.

Thirteen stooped down and picked up the syringe House had dropped.

"What's this?" she asked.

"You're a doctor. You figure it out."

"House...were you about to shoot up?"

"No! Just because I use pain medication doesn't mean I heroin is the logical next step!" House yelled.

"I didn't say anything about heroin, House…" Thirteen had known her boss was an addict, but she'd never expected him to stoop this low. She watched as he grimaced, rubbing his leg like he was trying to grind it into the couch. She watched as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them and looked at her.

"It's not heroin. It's an experimental drug," he said, sounding exhausted.

"Huh?"

House sighed. "I'm trying to regrow the muscles that were debrieded in surgery eight years ago."

"Is it working?"

"Yes. But if this gets out I'll have your head."

"Why wouldn't you want to tell people? If I'd found something that helped my Huntington's, I'd be shouting it from the rooftops!"

"I stole it."

"You stole an experimental drug?"

"Yes."

"How?" Thirteen asked, baffled.

"Same way you steal a candy bar. I just did it. What else do you want?"

"Okay...fine. I won't tell anyone. But can I at least take a look at your leg?"

"No!"

Thirteen sighed. "Okay. Well I'm glad it's working. And you should find a better lock for this door."

The doctor left, setting the wrapped syringe on the table next to House and closing the door behind her. She stared at the office for a second, then left to check on their patient.

MEDICAL GLOSSARY

Graft-versus-host disease: an autoimmune condition where donor bone marrow cells attack healthy cells.