XII: Fall from Grace

Wilson shows open-mindedness towards immigrants seeking permanent residence by dubious means, but deep-rooted prejudices about House's recreational drug use, while Cuddy whines.

"Remind me again why I'm doing this." Cuddy sat on House's bed, her head in her hands. Wilson, who had followed her into the bedroom, was too busy mustering the various articles of furniture to pay much attention to her.

"Doing what?" he asked perfunctorily as he moved to the bedside table and pulled its drawer open.

"Attending House's wedding. I'm pretty sure that as his ex-girlfriend, I'd be justified in staying away."

"You're his ex-not-girlfriend, remember? This shouldn't be bothering you." After a quick rummage around the contents, Wilson shut the drawer again. Next, he moved to the wardrobe.

"It does. First, he's doing it to hurt me, really hurt me, and that - the fact that he'd go to such extremes to get under my skin - really hurts. Second, I like House enough to feel bad watching him marry a hooker."

"She isn't a hooker," Wilson corrected, stirring through House's shirts. He looked up, frowning, as the sound of applause drifted in from the living-room. Turning to Cuddy he asked, "Could you keep an eye out at the door, please?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes, but got up to do his bidding. "She's granting sexual favours, among other things, for material benefits. Sounds like a hooker to me."

"Until recently, that was the main basis for marriage in our society, and it still is in many others. And for your information, sex isn't part of the deal."

"Says who?" Cuddy asked petulantly.

"Dominika. I had a longish talk with her yesterday. It was very interesting." The contents of the wardrobe were less so, judging by Wilson's expression.

"You ... hit on House's wife?"

"Technically, his fiancée," Wilson corrected once again. "Yesterday they weren't married yet. And I didn't hit on her; I interrogated her. Found out some interesting stuff."

"Such as?"

"She's a trained nurse."

"Right. From some obscure college in Eastern Europe that sells degrees."

"You are jealous," Wilson noted. "No, she has bona fide credentials and a few years' work experience in oncology. Under cover of a little chat between two people who share the same speciality, I asked her questions that only someone who has worked in the field could have answered, and she passed with flying colours."

"So House is marrying some long-legged illegal to piss me off, but he's chosen an oncology nurse to, what, mollify you?"

"Or he's anticipating that he'll need medical care in the near-ish future." Wilson was so deep inside the wardrobe that his voice was muffled.

"You still haven't told me what you're looking for."

"Drugs."

"And you couldn't have done that without me?"

Wilson re-emerged with a shoe-box full of letters that he thumbed through. "Actually, I asked you to attend the wedding because I was hoping that seeing you here would deter House at the last moment. But since it hasn't, I may as well grasp the opportunity to do a little search."

"And what will you do if you find a secret little stash of vicodin? Tell House that he's being a naughty boy?" Cuddy left her position at the door frame and marched back into the room. "Wilson, this is ridiculous! He's popping pills openly in front of friend and foe. He doesn't need a secret stash - he's got a public one!"

"There isn't a single pill here." Pushing the box back into the wardrobe, Wilson rose irritably. As he dusted off his knees, he looked around the room for other possibilities. "You see, he stole my prescription pad ...,"

"He did - what?" Cuddy sank onto the bed, holding her head in her hands. "Oh my God! We're headed for another Tritter affair. Well, this time he can stew in jail for all I care!"

"... but he hasn't used it. I've sent an email to all the pharmacies in the area asking them to inform me whenever a prescription issued in my name turns up, but so far they haven't notified me of anything that isn't legit."

"He could be getting his vicodin somewhere else - on the streets, for instance."

"Why would he do that when he's got my pad? Why steal my pad if he doesn't intend to use it? It doesn't make sense, unless ...," Wilson trailed off, moving over to the flatscreen that stood at the foot of the bed. It was perched on top of a small chest of drawers. Wilson opened the first drawer.

"Unless what?"

"Unless he's trying to distract me from what he's really taking by making me believe that he's 'only' on vicodin." Wilson pulled a face at the collection of DVDs in the drawer, lifted the pile of magazines next to them for a quick check, and then turned to the next drawer.

"So, what do you think he's taking, if it isn't vicodin? Methadone again?"

"That, or heroin. Possibly Fentanyl," Wilson said with no overt emotion. He drew a small packet out of the second drawer. "Ah!"

"What is it?" Cuddy got up and came to him.

Wilson opened the packet and tipped its contents on to his hand. Small, white, oblong pills. He lifted one up and gave it a tentative lick. His face fell. "Breath mints."

Cuddy scrutinized the box, and then gave Wilson a mocking smile. "How amazing! Breath mints in breath mint packets - who would have thought it?" She returned to her slumped position on the bed.

Wilson pointed at the contents of the open drawer. "Eight boxes of breath mints that look exactly like vicodin from a distance in the bedroom of a guy who never takes breath mints? Yes, I do think that is surprising. He's messing with me."

"They could be Dominika's," Cuddy remarked. She added rather bitterly, "Or maybe he likes to keep his breath sweet for her, but not for me."

Wilson finally took note of Cuddy's drawn expression and her sagging shoulders. He sat down next to her, placing an arm around her shoulders. "Look, I'm sorry I made you come. I wasn't thinking."

Waving off his concern, Cuddy gave a shaky smile. "It's okay. I really shouldn't be letting it upset me."

"The hookers the first few days after the break-up didn't seem to bother you."

"That was just sex. I don't mind him having sex - why should I?" Cuddy absently fingered the pyjamas peeking out from under the bedcovers. "But now he's ... replacing me."

XII: The Dig, Last Temptation

Wherein Cuddy's prompt provokes a Hygienic Incident in the sterile halls of PPTH, and House's urinary habits are the subject of Public Scrutiny.

An ominous shadow fell over Cuddy's food tray. She looked up from her meagre meal to Wilson, who didn't look pleased to see her. "You shouldn't be back at work yet. You just had a kidney removed."

Cuddy sighed as she waved Wilson into the seat opposite hers. "It was ten days ago, and I have no choice. House is back, and he'll start snooping around if I'm not here."

"How'd you manage to get rid of him for ten days without him smelling a rat?"

"I suggested to him that it would be difficult to convince immigration of the veracity of his marriage unless he did something that could pass as a token honeymoon."

"He went with that?"

"I also hinted that I'd find it a lot easier to lie to immigration for him at a pinch if he got himself off my back for a few days, and that conversely I might feel inclined to make a phone call or two in the right places if he didn't."

"You couldn't have made it 'a few weeks' instead of a few days, and given yourself time to recover properly from the operation?" Wilson asked with some asperity.

"I had difficulties enough convincing him that I needed a few days to recover from the sight of him getting married to that ... girl. There's no way he would have bought a few weeks. He'd have started snooping around straightaway. In fact, he did anyway." Cuddy poked a few items of food experimentally before she speared a tomato.

"But?" Wilson prompted.

Cuddy looked smug as she twirled the tomato around on her fork. "Unfortunately, I'd left a confidential letter from Dr Hadley's probation officer with the date and time of her release from prison lying around."

Wilson sat up straight. "Thirteen was in prison?"

"Yes. House knew that, but not why."

"I take it you aren't going to tell me," Wilson said with unmasked displeasure.

"Employee confidentiality," Cuddy said smoothly, ignoring Wilson's snort of disbelief. "I visited Dr Hadley the week before her release and told her that if she wanted her job back, she'd better give House a run for his money. Then there was that annual spud gun competition ..."

Wilson mustered her with growing admiration. "How the hell do you even know all that?"

Cuddy waved the impaled tomato regally. "House isn't the only one who can read other people's calendars. I got someone from IT to hack into his. That should have gotten me another three to five days, but it didn't play out as planned." She shrugged and returned her attention to the food in front of her. The tomato joined the other items; the fork was replaced neatly on the tray.

"It's only a two-day affair," Wilson pointed out.

"I bribed one of the geeks there to provoke House. Seems the geek provoked the sheriff as much as he provoked House, so House only spent a few hours in jail, more's the pity." Cuddy got up gingerly and picked up the tray of uneaten food.

Wilson hastened to relieve her of her burden. He adjusted his pace to Cuddy's hesitant steps. "Given your vigorous, bouncy stride House won't have to snoop around to find out what's wrong with you. He'll figure it out in five minutes."

"So, distract him. Keep him off my back!" Cuddy instructed.

"You want me to find him a patient?"

"No, I've got a patient for him. Plus, I'm pulling Masters off his team and placing her in surgery."

Wilson slid the tray into the rack. "How's that supposed to help?"

"House hates change, even if it's change for the positive. He'll be scheming to get her back, instead of figuring that he's happier without her. I want you to distract him further. Play some of your stupid games with him: saw through his cane again, steal his guitar or whatever. Do whatever it takes to keep him busy," She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Thwarted instructed.

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck.

"What?" Cuddy snapped.

"It's a bit difficult to think of anything suitable under pressure," he admitted sheepishly

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

Wilson spread his hands. "Usually my divertissements arise from the occasion. I need a trigger, ... or at least a prompt."

Cuddy glanced at the blackboard on which the specials of the day were chalked up. "Chicken," she said.

"Chicken it is," Wilson assented.

A week later.

Wilson re-read the instruction manual a fourth time, placed the test tube carefully into the designated slot and pressed the 'Start' button. Then he leaned his head on his hand and closed his eyes. It was late, even by his standards, and the lab was empty. The print-outs in front of him stared at him accusingly.

A familiar clackity-clack approached down the deserted hallway. There was a short pause, then the lab door opened and the sound, amplified, mingled with the hum of the lab equipment. Cuddy peered over his shoulder. "Are you considering a career as lab technician?"

Wilson raised his head and waved his hand vaguely towards the print-outs in front of him. "House's urine sample."

"Anything in it?"

"No. I've run it three times." There was no ignoring the defeat in Wilson's tone. He clearly expected no new revelations from the fourth analysis that he'd just started,

"Why are you so surprised? He has probably trained his golden retriever to pee into a cup for him."

"I sent Masters into the stall with him. I didn't think he'd manage to cheat with her making sure that he - and he only - peed into that cup," Wilson explained.

"Why would House agree to this farce? Is this one of your stupid bets?" Cuddy asked suspiciously.

Wilson leaned back in his chair with his hands spread on the table before him. "House wanted to get rid of Masters. I said I'd take care of it, but letting her invade his privacy was the price he'd have to pay if he wanted it done without having to deal with you."

"Well, Foreman has signed her up as an intern. Her paperwork is fine. There's nothing House or I can do about that now," Cuddy said with finality, leaning back against the lab table. "What's got into him, anyway? In his roundabout way, he basically begged to be allowed to keep her."

"That was before she maimed Sailor Girl. She conned the parents into consenting to an amputation by inducing a life-threatening situation."

"That's exactly the sort of thing House does himself," Cuddy pointed out.

"No, it isn't! House dupes his patients into consenting to procedures until he has a diagnosis. Once he has that, he lets them decide for themselves whether they want to get treated or die. Masters had her diagnosis, but then she didn't respect her patient's choice. House," Wilson paused, "doesn't like that, for obvious reasons."

"She was a minor!" Cuddy protested. "Not even House believes in letting kids commit suicide. When minors make stupid decisions, House bullies their parents into doing the right thing."

"Which is what Masters should have done. House believes that parents should learn to make the right call, instead of being conned into it, else the next time a situation like that arises - and who's to say that girl won't sabotage her own treatment at some later stage and steam-roller over her parents once again? - the parents will cave once more. They have to learn to make decisions against her resistance, instead of doing it behind her back. House expects his people to stand up to stupid family, either like Foreman, with logical determination, or like Cameron, with firm empathy, or like Thirteen, with brutal frankness. What he doesn't need is Masters's weak, 'You ought to be doing this.' The parents know what's right; it's just that they choose the path of least resistance. House expects his fellows to point patients and their families down the right path, not close down all the wrong ones."

Cuddy was practically gaping at Wilson. "He ... told you all this?"

"Well, more or less. We talked about the case, yes."

"Oh."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. It's just that - he doesn't talk to me anymore." Cuddy briefly touched her forehead with her fingers, before dropping her hand and reverting to her normal brisk manner. "But what's all this got to do with House's urine sample?"

"I wanted a urine sample so I can figure out what House is using. House wants to be rid of Masters; he agreed to let Masters supervise the taking of the sample, provided I could use that to get rid of her. I was going to return to Masters with positive test results and tell her, 'Dr Cuddy is going to be really pissed when she sees those, because it means that she'll have to run an intervention, and we all know how that'll end.' And she'd have gaped at me and said, 'But his test results must have been positive these past two months!' And I'd have said, 'No, they've always been negative, because everyone else knows better and lets House cheat on his urine samples. You're the first moron to have taken a real, unadulterated sample, and now there'll be hell to pay!' And then I'd have advised her to transfer to some other department as quickly as possible, because even if House actually cooperated enough during the intervention to save his career, he'd be so pissed at Masters that her life would be sheer hell."

"So what's to stop you from faking the test results and doing just that?" Cuddy enquired.

"Oh, no need. She believes he's on vicodin: he's been chugging his damn breath mints in front of her just to rile her. So I'll go to her with the negative test results and tell her that you're fuming because she's clearly colluding with House to prevent an intervention, which, in your opinion, he sorely needs before he self-destructs. And then I'll advise her to transfer to another department or, preferably, another hospital before you initiate disciplinary measures against her for shielding her boss."

"So you get what you want either way."

"No. House gets what he wants. I still don't know what House is using." Wilson looked aggrieved.

Cuddy picked up one of the print-outs and scanned it. "Nothing, obviously."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

"Masters supervised the urine sample; the sample is clean. Ergo, House isn't on drugs. 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' "

"Are you quoting House at me?"

Cuddy smiled wistfully. "Sherlock Holmes, actually. But yes, I got that one from House - when he was still talking to me."

XIV: Changes

Of clandestine trysts in coffee shops, financial fiascos and fool-proof methods of dealing with House.

Wilson eyed the man leaving the coffee shop suspiciously before sidling up to Cuddy at the counter. "Who was that creepy guy?"

Cuddy jumped, spilling sugar over the counter. Giving Wilson a glare she replied, "My banker."

"You're meeting your banker clandestinely in a coffee shop." Wilson looked at her sideways, not quite believing her.

"I don't want House barging in. We're figuring out how best to handle the financial aspects of my resignation."

"Isn't it a bit early to think of resigning?" Wilson said in his best oncologist's manner.

"Since my time is limited, I'd like to spend as much as possible of it with my daughter. I spoke to Sanford Wells yesterday, hinting at an imminent resignation due to Personal Reasons." She stirred her latte and closed the lid. "He chose to interpret this to mean that I'm leaving because the break-up with House is breaking my heart; I didn't enlighten him. He indicated that he'd be prepared to ease my way out with a generous gratuity for services rendered to the hospital over the years, if ...," Cuddy paused.

"If?"

"... if aforementioned Personal Reason remained at the hospital. In short, he wants to secure House for the hospital."

"That's understandable. House is internationally renowned." Wilson nodded his thanks to the barista handing him his mocha.

"It's damned awkward," Cuddy pointed out. "It means that we need to make House depart of his own volition before I do. I should have thought of this earlier." She chewed her lower lip.

"Umm, you've lost me. Why can't House stay on?" Wilson carefully tore open a sachet of sugar and upended it into his cup.

"Because the moment I'm out the door, my successor will notice that the star of the establishment is not a physician, but merely employed as a consultant with no right to treat patients. How do you intend to explain to my successor and to the board, not to mention to House himself, why he has no licence?" She put in a purely rhetorical pause. "Exactly! And then things will get very unpleasant for everyone involved in Operation House-Deception. You'll all get fired at the best. At the worst you'll be reported to the medical board and your licences will be revoked."

Wilson frowned for a moment. Then he suggested, "Fire him before you leave."

Cuddy huffed impatiently. "What's to stop my successor from trying to hire him right back? Besides, other hospitals are waiting to pounce on him. The moment some dean approaches him with an offer, our little world of make-belief collapses."

"They must be mad. Only you can handle him - he got fired four times before you hired him." As though to illustrate his point Wilson picked up another four sachets of sugar. He tore each open exactly parallel to its edge, poured the contents into his cup without spilling a grain, and then folded each empty sachet once before throwing it into the designated container.

Drawing patterns into the sugar she had spilled, Cuddy said with studied casualness, "The problem isn't keeping House under control - I don't even bother. He has a miniscule department, no equipment worth mentioning and no nursing staff at his disposal; he's a mere blip on my budgeting radar and he only treats between fifty and seventy patients a year. How much damage can the man cause? The art lies in controlling the rest of one's staff when one has an anarchist like House setting a bad example: half the other doctors believe they can ignore the rules because House is doing so, and the other half are permanently in my office complaining about House's disregard for rules. 'Handling House' means letting him be himself while concentrating one's efforts on keeping the other staff members toeing the line. That's all there is to it, really."

Leaning with his back against the counter, Wilson had listened to Cuddy's exposition without any comment, but with a slight smile tugging at his lips. Now he took a deliberate sip from his cup, pushed himself off the counter and said, "I don't want the job."

"Sorry?"

"You're prepping me so I can succeed you. Forget it! I'm a good oncologist, I'm a decent department head, but I'm no administrator." He turned deliberately towards the door of the coffee shop in an attempt to close down the route the conversation had taken. "They'll probably get someone from outside anyway."

Cuddy skipped after him. "Yes, they will - they always do, but they'll need an interim dean while they let loose the head hunters."

"Get someone else to do it." It was difficult to escape from Cuddy when one was holding the door for her. Cuddy took advantage of Wilson's dilemma by halting in the doorway.

"It has to be someone who is in the know. That narrows it down to House's team - and you. The board won't accept anyone from the team, so that leaves you." Wilson looked unconvinced, so Cuddy upped the pressure. "The sooner I leave, the better in every respect, but I can't leave unless you take over."

"You're trying to palm the problem of making House leave PPTH off on me," Wilson noted.

"Yes. I do so want that golden handshake." Cuddy said, trying for an ironic tone.

Wilson wasn't fooled. "Is money an issue? Because if you're worried about Rachel's future I'd be happy to ..."

Cuddy interrupted quickly, flushing. "Rachel will be fine; I've put aside enough to secure her a good education." She tapped a fingernail against her cup. "It's House I'm worried about. He can't stay on the PPTH payroll much longer, no matter when I leave ...,"

"Look, I'll provide for him. There's no question about that."

"... which means he'll need a private medical insurance. I don't need to point out to you what that'll cost, given his medical history." Both were silent for a moment. "I was going to put something aside for him, but now that my mother has disinherited me ..."

"I thought she was joking."

Having diverted Wilson down her avenue of thought again, Cuddy moved out of the doorway towards her car. "I should be so lucky! No, she's paranoid about me and she's definitely cutting me out of her will. Julia isn't exactly being helpful there - she seems to think that my mother's paranoia isn't without cause."

"What, your sister thinks you're trying to cheat your mother out of her money?"

"No. But she believes I haven't been very tactful about anything lately, thus deliberately provoking my mother's mistrust. She won't see that mom is going downhill fast." Cuddy leaned against her car, twisting a strand of her hair. "There isn't much I can say against that because my brother-in-law is egging her on, and there's no way I'm provoking a marital crisis there. I reckon he figures that if he can delay having my mother incapacitated until I'm well and truly out of the running, then his three children get to benefit. Mom is also suing the hospital - another reason why I should resign as soon as possible. I really don't want to explain to the board why my mother has a totally justified claim against this institution and its staff. She served me the papers yesterday, here at the hospital."

"Ah, yes. Regina told me she set off the fire alarm just to get House and you together again. Sweet." Wilson the Matchmaker smiled at the memory.

"Crap! I set off the fire alarm." She laughed at Wilson's incredulous expression. "Honestly, why would anyone install a smoke detector in the janitor's closet? House concocted that charming little tale to save my face in front of all those eagerly eavesdropping nurses, but believe me, my mother is more interested in rubbing my face in my relationship fiascos than in helping me to make a success of them."

"You really should stop smoking, Cuddy," Wilson the Oncologist said.

"I did stop - until my mother phoned to say she was dropping by the hospital." Cuddy scrunched up her empty cup and looked around for a bin.

Wilson took the cup from her. "Let's get you some nicotine patches," he suggested.

Cuddy, sliding into the driver's seat, rolled her eyes. "My mother is not a problem that can be solved with three nicotine patches." And with that she slammed the door.

XV: The Fix, After Hours

Wilson finds the answer to a question he doesn't ask more illuminating than Nolan's evasions to the questions he does ask.

The sun had set long ago. Wilson sat in the dark stroking Sarah, who was draped across his lap. Finally he heaved a heavy sigh and reached across to the side table on which his hand-set lay. The display lit up, illuminating his face briefly, as he scrolled through his contacts. He hit the dial button.

"Hello?"

Wilson unconsciously squared his shoulders. "Darryl? It's James. James Wilson."

Nolan didn't sound surprised to hear from him despite the late hour. "Hello, James. What can I do for you?"

"It's about House."

"Yes?"

"I'm worried about him."

"That's - good."

Wilson frowned into the darkness. "That's - an odd reply."

"Why?"

"Shouldn't you be asking why I'm worried?"

"Okay - why are you worried?" Nolan asked obligingly. Wilson pictured him leaning back and steepling his fingers.

"Did you know that he has relapsed?"

"James, Greg has patient confidentiality." Nolan paused to let that sink in. "Why don't you tell me what's on your mind? If I know, that's fine; if I don't, then that's even better."

"Okay." It wasn't as though Wilson had much of a choice. He plunged right into the heart of the matter, hoping that his disclosures would shock Nolan into something more revealing than his standard blocks and feints. "Last week, House was admitted to Princeton General after trying to do surgery on himself. He was removing tumours from his leg in his bathroom."

Nolan remained silent.

"He'd caused the tumours himself by taking an experimental drug that was supposed to stimulate muscle growth. He stole it from a research project at PPTH where it's being tested on rats."

"He told you that?" Nolan sounded mildly surprised.

"No. I figured that he must be on something stronger than vicodin, because ... well, anyway, so I asked one of his team to ... make discreet enquiries." That didn't sound as suave as Wilson wished.

"What did he say when you confronted him with your information? Because I'm assuming you talked to him about the dangers of trying out experimental drugs."

Wilson asked himself whether Nolan had ever tried to broach topics House didn't want to talk about. Of course he had - he was House's therapist, after all. But then, Nolan wasn't the one who had to deal with House in Real Life; no, he was safe in his sterile environment where people who broke the rules got put into solitary confinement. But there was no use in meditating on their respective access to instruments of torture when dealing with House - he wanted something from Nolan, not vice versa.

He took a deep breath. "No, not really. The thing is, House knew long before he started injecting himself that the drug - it's called CS 804 - not only stimulates muscle growth, but also causes tumours. The head of the project, Riggin, came to me for advice when his rats started dying. House was with me and he made stupid jokes about the most expensive rat poison in history. That was about half-a-year ago. Ergo, he knew that the drug caused cancer when he started injecting himself with it some weeks ago."

"But those drug trials were still continuing?"

"Well, yes." This was truly a bit awkward. Wilson drew the hand dedicated to massaging Sarah's back through his hair. When Sarah made a mewling sound of disapproval, Wilson hurriedly returned the hand to her spine. "Riggin had money to conduct the trials for another six months, which was the time span the trials would have taken if the rats hadn't gotten terminally ill, so he just kept testing on new rats. If he'd published his results at that point, funding would have ceased. Riggin has tenure, but the other members of his research team are on short-term contracts. Had he let his sponsor know that the trials have failed, they'd all have been out of a job."

"So you knew House was injecting himself with a potentially lethal drug, but you saw no reason to interfere because House was well acquainted with the dangers of what he was doing," Nolan stated baldly.

When Nolan phrased it like that, it did sound rather callous.

"No! No," Wilson protested. He hastened to explain, "When Thirteen, sorry, Dr Hadley, told me that House was injecting himself with CS 804, I figured that he must be messing around with her - and by extension with me -, because no matter how desperate he was, it didn't seem likely that House would be so insane as to try out a drug that had proven to be 100% fatal in a trial. I came to the conclusion that he was shooting up heroin or morphine, and trying to hide it from Cuddy by telling Dr Hadley it was CS 804. You see, Cuddy had also talked Dr Hadley into checking on House, and neither she nor Dr Hadley knew of the negative trial results … yet. Riggin kept them from Cuddy for the same reason he kept them from the sponsors. As a result House's story - that he was trying to grow muscle tissue with the help of CS 804 - seemed credible to them."

"But not to you. So what did you do?"

"I tried to talk to him about pain management. He," Wilson winced at the memory, "smashed some stuff in my office. That sort of killed off the conversation. And then he carved himself up before I could do anything."

"And now you'd like my advice on what to do."

Wilson's voice rose involuntarily, making Sarah complain once again. "I want you to do something about House! This can't continue. He almost killed himself, first with CS 804, then by operating on himself. He could have gone into shock and died right there!"

"I can only do something about Greg if he comes to me asking for help. He's a free man; I can't force him to do anything."

"Can't we get him committed or something?" Wilson suggested with a hint of desperation.

"On what grounds?"

"Attempted suicide?"

"If you thought he was trying to commit suicide, you would have put him on psych watch straightaway," Nolan said reasonably.

"Temporary insanity, then. House must have lost his mind, or his memory, to take a drug like that. He knew he'd get tumours from it."

"Have you had an open talk with Greg about this? About his mental state?"

Wilson tried to picture an 'open talk' with House - one in which House expressed to Wilson his worries about his sanity - and failed miserably. "I told you, he hasn't exactly been patient lately," he said somewhat tartly. "I'd prefer not to lose more of my property to his acts of violence."

"And before this?" Nolan pried. "You're hardly calling me to have him declared incapacitated or committed because of one isolated incident that is admittedly worrying, but only barely outside the range of harm that Greg inflicts on himself on a regular basis. You're convinced that he's permanently compromised."

"It's difficult to talk to someone about their mental state if they aren't ... don't ... have no idea what their mental state is."

"Have you ever tried?" Nolan asked. Wilson wondered whether Mayfield was the epicentre of some alternate universe in which House listened to well-meant advice. "No? Well, James, as you say, something has to change. I suggest that you and Greg have an open, honest talk, one that not only covers the incidents of the past week, but also the developments of the past two years or so. And try not to make any assumptions. Go into the talk with an open mind."

"Sorry?" This was ... ridiculous! He wasn't the one who sabotaged all attempts at communication by pretending that everything was fine or went around smashing stuff with his cane!

"You assumed he was taking heroin or morphine when you tried to talk to him about pain management. It seems he wasn't."

"No, but CS 804 is no better. In fact, I'd say it's worse, all risks considered - it's suicidal! If that's the way he intends to approach pain management ..."

"See, you're making assumptions again. What if this wasn't about pain management?"

"What else could it be?"

"I have no idea. But I wouldn't jump to any conclusions until I hear what Greg has to say. What does Dr Cuddy think? Is she also in favour of his being committed?"

"I haven't discussed this with her," Wilson admitted. "She doesn't know that House was aware of the carcinogenic properties of CS 804 when he started taking it, so she's upset, but not unduly worried. She isn't aware of the full insanity of his actions."

"Don't you usually consult with Dr Cuddy over major decisions like these?"

"She's - got a lot on her plate at the moment, and I didn't want to upset her any further." That wasn't the whole truth; the fact was that Cuddy had always tended to rosy-hued optimism where House was concerned, and the direr her own predicament, the less likely she was to give House's matters the consideration they deserved. The way she'd dumped House was just one example that proved his theory - it was difficult to envision House spiralling more out of control that he had done already, even if he was forced to watch Cuddy die. Wilson settled for, "I'm pretty sure, however, that it would take a load off her mind to know House safe in Mayfield." That, at least, was true.

"Ah, yes, I understand. Yes, it's very tragic."

Wilson was about to quote his standard reply that given the improvements in cancer treatment during the last decade there was always hope, blah-blah, when realization hit him. "Wait - how do you know about Cuddy's cancer? No one knows, except for ... oh, crap! Crap!" And forgetting his manners, Wilson disconnected the call without wishing Nolan a good night.