Wilson unlocked the door to his office and quickly slipped inside locking the door behind him. As he turned to walk towards his desk, he could see the limping shape of someone on his patio. "Damnit – patio door!" he thought, racing over to lock the door. As he reached for the handle, the door was pulled open.

"Wilson, I'm hurt. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to keep your pancakes all to yourself."

"The thought had crossed my mind," he said walking back towards his desk. "What do you want, House?"

Pulling a fork out from his jacket pocket, House reached over to stab the pancakes. "Besides your breakfast, you mean? I talked to her."

"Cameron?"

House looked at him and rolled his eyes.

"And?..." Wilson asked.

"And….we're gonna have dinner."

"So you apologized then?"

House again looked at him and rolled his eyes. "What is this? Ask stupid questions day?" He reached for the pancakes, but Wilson grabbed the plate away first. "Hey! What the he11 did ya do that for?"

"My office – my pancakes."

"Oh, yeah, fine. I finally come here to open my heart and soul to you and…."

Wilson laughed out loud. "You are so full of crp, House! You don't open your 'heart and soul' to anyone."

House got quiet. "I know, Jimmy. I just don't know if that can ever change. What the hell am I thinking with Cameron? This is just a recipe for disaster."

Wilson set the plate down and was just about to speak, when House reached over and grabbed the last bite of pancake. "Look you old jackss. She is the best thing to happen to you in years. For some demented reason, she loves you the way you are. I don't know why – I don't even LIKE you the way you are! But to find someone who will actually put up with ALL of you is…, jeez, I don't know – maybe she needs help more than you do."

"I know, I know. I just don't want to hurt her," House said getting up and heading for the door.

"Then remember that, and don't."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Her liver is huge," Chase said walking into the conference room with the MRI results in his hand.

"And her ALT and AST are through the roof," added Cameron, sitting down at the conference table. "But still no hepatitis anti-bodies."

House stood by the white board writing. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. So if it is not hepatitis, then what did she have before and what is killing her liver now?"

"How about Hemachromotosis?" Foreman asked. "Cameron, what's her ferritin level look like?"

"Nope, ferritin is within normal range," she replied glancing at the lab report.

"What about in the history. Anything about drug or alcohol abuse?" House asked.

"Patient says no to both. Occasional alcohol use, but very rare. No drugs. She says she's never even smoked a cigarette. The daughter confirms that." said Chase.

"Right…and let me guess….you believed her." House grumbled.

"Yeah. I do believe her." Chase said rather indignantly. "About the only thing we could find was some maternal alcohol abuse and the fact that both of her parents had smoked, but other than that, everything in her history is clean. Until she got so sick, the woman would bake cookies to take with her to her doctor's appointments for Gawd sakes. House - She's not lying."

Looking over her chart, Foreman asked, "What about non-alcoholic steato hepatitis?"

"Fatty liver?" Cameron asked, to which Foreman nodded yes. "No…her triglycerides are normal. Below normal actually."

"What if her liver is so far gone that it is just not able to produce the cholesterol that the tests measure? That would explain the low cholesterol levels."

"That could be right, but there is no way to tell without a biopsy, so let's do one." House declared.

"But we can't! With her bleeding time she'll bleed out right there." Cameron countered.

"Not if we do it transjugularly. Foreman get it set up for tomorrow morning. Chase, keep pumping Sandra Dee with Vitamin K. If she is able to get a transplant, she's going to need to not bleed to death on the table. Cameron – my office please."

Cameron followed House into his office with a quizzical look on her face. "What's wrong – sorry if I yelled back at you in there but..."

"No, no, I don't care about that. Dinner tonight, I'll pick you up - so dress for the bike."

She smiled. Ever since they went to the Munchausen patient's home she had been longing to get back on the bike with him. "What time?"

"7:30 ok?"

"I'll be ready."