DISCLAIMER: Well, I still don't own em.

APPOLOGIES: So, I've been on hiatus for a while, obviously. I'll not bore you with the details. To those who have been reading and reviewing, I thank you. You're the people who are behind my writing today. So, before I get tangled in my puppet strings, I'll continue the story that I had set out to write in the first place.

PLEASE NOTE: This part of the story is based on a true story.

His pager went off, perhaps for the sixth time that hour. He sighed heavily, knowing that his ducklings had tried contacting him at least twice each. He supposed it must be urgent, but so was obtaining vicodin, and so he ignored them. His leg was throbbing again, it was always throbbing. The vicodin hadn't helped in a long time, he supposed, but it was his best shot at getting some kind of relief. The best part of this whole scenario was that he knew a new pharmacist when he saw one, and this one was most definitely fresh out of pharmacology.

"What's taking so long? My patient's in agony!" House bellowed, watching the pharmacist's face grow flustered.

"Doctor…"

"Wilson."

"Doctor Wilson, this is a narcotic. Your patient has been prescribed vicodin—" The pharmacist stammered, watching House grow more impatient.

"He's dying, and you're quibbling with me about how much vicodin he's been prescribed?" House stamped his cane for emphasis, knowing full well the channels that had to be gotten through before he could collect his medication.

"House!" He heard, sounding rather urgent. House rolled his eyes, hoping that his cover hadn't been blown. It was Cameron. Again. He didn't respond, he just started limping away from the pharmacy counter into the waiting area. "House, wait!"

Once he was safely within the waiting area, he turned around. "What now??"

"You didn't answer your pager."

"And you're still surprised by that?" House's expression and his voice dropped considerably. Cameron stepped closer so that she could hear. "I'm concerned about you."

Cameron's eyebrow shot up and she looked him directly in his startlingly blue eyes. "Why?"

"Because you perform the same actions repetitively and expect different results. I really think you need to be checked. I know a really good psychotherapist—"

"A patient died today, House."

"Big surprise," House huffed, "What do you want me to do about it? Raise him from the dead? You may think I'm God, and I can't say I blame you, but I reserve my resurrection powers for more important things."

"His wife won't accept that he's dead." Cameron looked up at House with a concerned expression, one that she was used to wearing around him.

"Have you bothered to read up on the various stages of grief lately? It's right there under denial."

"Will you just come with me to see them?"

"And get the blood from your bleeding heart all over me again? Come on. I just got the blood out of this shirt from the last time." Cameron grabbed his hand and started dragging.

"She wanted to see my boss, and that's you. You'll get the vicodin later."

House followed quietly for once, not trying to come up with a comeback. He was disgruntled at not having his vicodin, but he had a few reserve pills still on him, and he popped them indiscriminately as he walked. Just before reaching the patent's room, he had a chart thrust into his hands. Cameron went into full-on doctor mode.

"75 year old gentleman, history of pancreatic cancer. Tripped at home, hit his head on a coffee table. CT shows subarachnoid hemorrhage with midline shift. His cancer had metastasized and had infiltrated all of his vital organs. He was pronounced brain dead yesterday, but his wife refuses to allow us to switch off the vent."

House nodded and entered the room, closing the door in Cameron's face. "Your husband is dead. Get on with your life." He turned around and started limping toward the door.

"Doctor! I want him to undergo experimental treatment trials for his pancreatic cancer." House stopped suddenly, a small grin threatening to erupt from his mouth. What came instead was short and so to the point that the patient's wife was stunned.

"Sure. I'll see what I can do." With that, he limped out of the room and directly up to Cameron.

"Call Wilson. Tell him he's got a patient."

"What? House, the man is dead."

"I thought you were doing an H and P on that 14 year old?"

"It's done. That case is done. I took on this case—"

"For personal reasons. No need to tell me, I can read you like a book. Go. Call Wilson."

"And tell him what? That he has just had a patient referred to him who is dead? That the patient's wife wants him resurrected?" Cameron was growing more puzzled by the moment, and was wondering just what House was up to.

"Tell him I've got a surprise for him, he can call me in my office."