Author's Note : Hello! Thanks for everyone who read and reviewed :D! Special thanks to visitkarte & Nyokiee for reviewing every House fanfic I posted :) For Axe10gas, since you reviewed as guest, thanks for the reviews :)
As I promised, this is from Wilson's POV. I hope you can enjoy it as much as the first chapter. As usual, let me know how you think about it :)
For this chapter, special thanks to Amanda Lc, who had given me suggestion about how Wilson might have thought :)

Disclaimer : House, M.D. belongs to David Shore & FOX.

"House, I have cancer," I had stupidly practiced the line, in case House really wanted to chase me down in this rainy day—which actually would be a rare case, considering the hard rain.

As if a speaking of a devil, my fear came true when the door of my office opened. He barged in to my office. I almost cursed when our eyes finally met. I hadn't been sitting on my desk because of this insecurity. And I had wished he wouldn't have noticed me—though it had been stupid for him to not see me. I couldn't concentrate on his words when he ranted something about Adams and Dominika. I just waited for him to finish his whining when he said, "I am surprisingly depressed by this."

And it hit me.

Would it be okay if I tell you the truth? I had thought. Will this depressed you, too?

If you die, I'm alone.

And those words popped up again in my head. His own words. The ones I knew he had been honest. The ones I knew he had said sincerely. But I had been sure about the operation that time. And now, I couldn't be sure about anything.

I had tried to form another words just to make it sound better.

House, I am sick. But don't worry, there're chances that I'll recover.

I had tried to find something lighter.

Well, House, I need to tell you something. I did a full body scan and they found a tumor in my chest.

I had tried to find something he could make a joke from.

You know, I know I'm an oncologist, but apparently, cancer loves me so much that it decided to stay in my thymus gland.

I had tried to find something that wouldn't be too truthful to him—although all he couldn't do was not knowing.

House, I am— Oh, cut it out.

I had tried to find a lie. But instead, those simple-plain-bare words were the only ones coming out from my mouth.

"I have cancer," I finally said.

Then there was a short pause.

I could see the change in his eyes. I just knew that unbelieving eyes. "You were little short with me the other do need an excuse. Cancer may have overplaying it." Of course he didn't believe it—I swore I had seen him smirking just now. Or did he not want to believe it? Was he trying to find a lie, too?

The only excuse that I need is that I am afraid to tell you, House.

"Stage two thymoma." Again, only the bare words, only presenting the most important facts.

I saw his face changed from his usual-arrogant-childish-face to his rarely-shown-serious-face. He finally realized that nothing I had said was a joke.

" I didn't wanna tell you until I had it confirmed. I got the test back this morning."

And that is why I had been avoiding you all day, I wanted to gave him my excuse. But I knew that he already found out. I knew that face. His face when he connected one symptom to another. This time, my avoiding him was the only symptom had been available.

I turned my face away and looked outside the window, refusing to look at his shocked face much longer. As if I still needed his confirmation, as if I wanted him to say that the diagnosis was wrong, I said it one more time.

"I have cancer, House."

And I still could feel his eyes on me for some long seconds, until he looked away to stare at the door in front of him.

Now all we could hear was only the sound of the rain crashing on the window. This silence was killing me. I wanted him to say something. I wanted him to be honest and say anything that was on his mind. I even wanted him to throw some sarcastic joke he usually said. I wanted us to pretend that it was all jokes. But instead, without saying any word, he stood up and leave. He limped away without even seeing me again.

And I just couldn't help wondering what this really meant for him. What I really meant for him. And how should I have known? There was one in a hundred chance that he would be telling the truth and one in a thousand chance that he would be willing to talk about feelings. But deep inside, I somehow always knew that he really cared. Just like when Foreman and Chase's lives had been in threat, or when they had found Cuddy's apparently-benign-tumor. Maybe-maybe he had left just because this news had actually hit him hard. Maybe he was actually pissed. He might have actually felt betrayed by the fact that the cancer had betrayed me. Could it be that he was devastated by the truth?

And I couldn't get my feet to step forward to chase him—although I would have the advantage. I couldn't get my mouth to call him, to say if he was okay-though it should be him who asked me. I could only stare at his leaving until he impatiently went into the elevator and disappeared from my sight. I could only wonder what he thought about this. How he felt about this.

And I couldn't help wondering : Am I gonna leave him alone?