Hey all. Here is the start of the third story of what has become a trilogy. Updates will likely be a little shorter and less frequent, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it. As always, reviews are appreciated. No flames, please, my fragile little ego can't take it.

PS - I don't own House. If I did, I wouldn't share him with anyone.

Acceptance

Chap 1

Patience had always been one of James Wilson's most positive qualities. Patience helped him succeed as a doctor, the patience to listen to the sorrows of the dying, the patience to wait out new treatments for promising results. Today, his patience was failing him.

Late yesterday afternoon, his best friend of over ten years, one Dr. Gregory House, had barged into his office and demanded his engagement ring. Wilson had been entrusted to keep said ring until House was ready to propose to Dr. Allison Cameron, the newly promoted Associate Dean of Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Since that time, Wilson had been waiting on tenterhooks for some indication of her response.

Their relationship had not been an easy one; no relationship with House ever was or ever would be. Despite that Wilson was hopeful that things would finally go his friend's way. House had not had a happy life, rather the opposite in fact. He'd had happiness, but somehow it never seemed to last. Either life or House got in the way of it. This time, Wilson wanted it to be different.

When the clock on his computer showed the time to be 10:30am, Wilson reasoned that House would have to be in by now. He'd asked to be advised if House should call in sick today, and had received no such call. Wilson forced himself to wait another five minutes until he really could not wait a minute longer. He walked to the door leading out to the balcony he shared with House and looked across its expanse. The blinds were drawn, giving him no indication as to whether House was there or not.

Although House never had any trouble scaling the balcony wall and entering Wilson's office unannounced, it was simply not in Wilson's nature to do so. So, he crossed his office and entered the hall, carefully controlling his pace so as not to seem too eager. House would only tease him about his enthusiasm.

The blinds to House's office were also drawn on the hallway side, and this caused Wilson to pause. Closing himself off from the hospital could mean one of two things. She had said yes, and they were currently 'celebrating' in the most inappropriate way possible, which was a distinct possibility where House was concerned. Or she had said no, and he was warning people off to leave him alone. In either case, he was unlikely to respond to Wilson's knock. Hoping not to have his retinas scorched, Wilson opened the door and stuck his head inside.

"House?" Wilson called. The chair behind his desk was turned to face the windows, although their view was obscured. Wilson took note of the cane hooked on the edge of the desk and entered.

"House?" He asked again, more tentatively. This wasn't looking very promising. "You okay?"

Wilson got no response. He wasn't quite sure how to proceed. He didn't want to rub salt in the wound if she'd said no, but damn that House was so unpredictable, Wilson couldn't be sure House wasn't putting him on just for fun.

"Did you ask her?" Wilson asked, sitting in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. This seemed like a sensible enough place to begin. Perhaps Wilson was being overly dramatic and House hadn't asked at all.

House did not turn around, but instead held up a legal pad that he'd been holding in his lap. 'Yes'.

"Okay. Did she say yes?" Wilson asked, gently and hopefully.

House lowered the pad, flipped the page and lifted it back up. 'No'.

"She said no?" Wilson asked, still gently but with disbelief.

Another lowering and another flip of the page. 'No'.

"She didn't say yes and she didn't say no?" Wilson asked, now confused.

Again, the pad lowered and the page was flipped. 'She wants to think it over. Yes, I'm fine. No, I don't want to talk about it.'

"House, just because she wants to …" Wilson's voice trailed off as House flipped the page on the pad without lowering it.

'Really, don't want to talk about it.'

Wilson sighed. He knew better than to try to force a conversation out of House about this. If he didn't want to talk about it, he wouldn't and trying to force it out of him now would only ruin his chances at having an actually conversation later.

"Okay. Well, when you're ready," Wilson offered. He stood up, not really sure he wanted to leave House alone. Sadly realizing he really had no other option, he exited.

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"Allison, are you okay? You look a little pale," Cuddy said as she came out of her office to file some clinic charts.

"I'm fine. I just didn't get much sleep last night," Cameron said, smiling sadly at her boss.

"You're still a terrible liar," Cuddy remarked. She stopped in front of Cameron's desk. "What's going on?"

"Lisa, I appreciate your concern, but I'm just not ready to talk about it yet," Cameron said.

"It's House," Cuddy said and Cameron nodded. Cuddy looked her over carefully and then nodded. If it was something Cameron didn't want to talk about with her, hopefully it was something House wanted to talk about with Jimmy.

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House sat in his chair and stared at the blinds covering his window. He did not play any music. His cane, untwirled and untapped rested next to him, hooked on the desk. House sat. He had been sitting since he'd arrived that morning. He had not moved for hours. The thought of walking back out into the hospital and facing her or Wilson was nauseating. He sat and thought for the first time in months how much he missed his Vicodin.

Had this been a year earlier, he would have taken an extra pill or two to escape the pain. He grimaced, had this been a year earlier he would have been alone, without even the hope of her accepting him.

Buried in his thoughts, House didn't hear the door open behind him. He became aware of a person in the room, a male judging from the aftershave. He briefly thought that Wilson must have been getting desperate for some information when he recognized that was not Wilson's aftershave.

"House?" the man said, and House turned his chair.

"Quig, what are you doing here?" House asked. He had never spoken to Quig outside the confines of the other man's office and to have him here was a little unsettling.

"I need your help," Quig said and for the first time House noticed the file he held in his hands.

Seizing on the possibility of a case being a perfect way to get his mind off of his current troubles, House motioned for Quig to sit.

"So, got a nut-job with a real medical problem?" House joked. Quig didn't seem amused.

"Not exactly," Quig said. He handed House the file and slumped back in the chair. House noted his odd body language. Quig was a tall man and usually carried himself with the sort of confidence and comfort House usually associated with happiness or contentment. The Quig slumped in his chair looked nothing like that. He looked defeated. A glance at the file in his hands told House why.

"This is your wife?" House asked, just to be absolutely certain. Quig nodded.

"Tell me she's not dying," Quig said.