On Monday Alice organised a meeting with the paper's legal advisor to discuss the finer points of medical malpractice and then went to meet Sue again afterwards to discuss his advice. Earlier in the morning, Simon the cancer guy had left a message on her cell phone to organise a time for their interview. He sounded even sicker than he had last week.

The women sat in the conference room, the not-insignificant pile of papers Alice had compiled as part of her research between them.

"Okay, so first things first, did Simon tell you he was suing Doctor Wilson for malpractice?" Alice asked.

"Yeah. He seemed to know a lot about the legal side of things."

"So what exactly did he tell you?"

Sue grabbed a notebook. "He's suing for malpractice, punitive damages of three-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars, and last time we spoke he was talking to his lawyer about suing the hospital for vicarious liability."

Alice could see the dollar signs that would have been racking up in the attorney's eyes at that. "And does he have anything else wrong with him? When I spoke to him last week he sounded really sick. "

"Not that I know of," Sue said. "The poor guy just had chemo for no reason. Isn't that enough?"

"I guess." Alice could tell that Sue thought she was a heartless bitch. But Alice was still unsettled by something and it was partly that Simon seemed to be too sick for someone who'd done one round of chemo at least two months ago. Her research – and even Dr Wilson's careful advice – indicated that even if he'd been badly affected by it, he should be getting better now, not worse.

"Did he tell you how he was diagnosed with cancer? Was he referred to Doctor Wilson by his normal doctor?"

"No, I think he went into the free clinic at Princeton Plainsboro with a cough. He lucked out and got Doctor Wilson in the clinic."

Alice nodded, she knew now that Princeton Plainsboro had a policy of ensuring all their doctors did regular rotations in the clinic – and not just because House complained about it bitterly. After all that's how her cut arm had ended up being stitched by the head of diagnostics.

Alice sent up a silent thanks to whoever had come up with that particular plan.

"Okay, well, thanks Sue. If I think of anything else, I'll give you a yell."

She sat for a while in the conference room, trying to work out why this story was giving her such trouble. Certainly, a large part of it was the fact that she was lying to House. As far as he knew, she'd turned it down weeks ago. Then there was something about this Simon guy that just wasn't right. She'd thought so when she'd observed him in his interview with Sue. But the poor guy was sick, no doubting that.

Her phone rang, telling her automatically that it was her Sexy Thing on the other end of the line. She smiled.

"Hi sexy."

"Hi yourself. I'm going out with Wilson tonight."

"Okay." That was fine with her. Being back at work had reminded Alice exactly how awful things were going to be if – when – he found out she was still doing this story. And apart from that, she wouldn't mind an evening with the Xbox to herself.

"So I won't be home for dinner."

"Okay."

"And I might be a bit late home."

"Okay."

He paused. "Okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

"You mean you won't, like, miss me?"

He was so teasing her. Greg House was not the clingy type and she figured calling to say he wasn't going to be home was something he felt he should do, but something he kind of didn't want to do, all at the same time. It was nice that he had, and nice to be teased. Alice laughed. "Nup. Not even for a second. And while you're out I'm gonna beat your top score on Duke."

He laughed in reply and hung up the call.

Alice took a deep breath and told herself to get on with it. She dialled Simon Ferguson's number and organised to meet him at his place at two o'clock that afternoon.

--

Simon Ferguson lived in a modest, but by no means poor, neighbourhood. His house was cleaner, brighter and altogether far nicer than Alice was expecting. She figured it was because he seemed so wan and sickly, she'd expected a home that reflected him.

Alice deliberately arrived fifteen minutes early, a test to see if he was unsettled by it. It might mean he felt he needed time to prepare or hide something from her. But if he was concerned by her early arrival it didn't show, and he politely invited her in to his living room and offered her coffee.

"Thanks, that'd be lovely." She needed a hit of caffeine and it gave her a brief time to snoop around the room while he was in the kitchen. Keeping a careful ear out for the noises of coffee preparation, Alice took in as much of the room as she could manage.

It was nicely decorated, but impersonal, and had the feel of a hotel room or display home. There was one framed photo, a fairly standard, mall-photographer portrait of a husband, wife and daughter, but Simon returned to the living room before Alice could check it out closely.

"I appreciate you coming here," he said, his voice still as shaky as it had been over the phone. He seemed to find it hard to draw a deep breath, and it gave his voice a hollow, wispy quality.

"That's fine Simon. How are you feeling?" Alice took the coffee he offered and sat down in the lounge chair opposite where he'd sat. She belatedly noticed a pile of papers on the floor next to his chair and wished she'd been able to look through them while he was gone.

"Still recovering from the chemo. Still wishing I'd taken a dose of Benadryl and never gone to that clinic."

"You do have a nasty cough," Alice observed. He hadn't coughed since she'd been there, but she'd heard it on the phone and it was – for want of a better word – gross.

"Ah, that's the irony," he said, giving her a smile that sent a chill down Alice's spine. "The chemo weakened my immune system and I've been getting every bug around. So I don't have lung cancer, but I've got bronchitis."

"And are you seeing a doctor? I mean surely Princeton Plainsboro is doing everything they can to make sure you're looked after?"

"I'm not going back to that place ever again," he said, as vehemently as his limited breath could manage. It seemed to sap his strength and he took a sip of coffee and sat back in the chair to rest for a moment.

Alice gave him a brief respite.

"Is this your wife?" she asked, pointing at the photo.

"It was."

"Was?"

"Ex-wife," he said bitterly.

Hmmm, Alice's spidey senses were tingling again. Something was definitely weird, if only she could work out what. She pulled on Alice-superhero-reporter-disguise number one: best friend and confidant.

"Oh, divorces are so painful, aren't they? I mean for everyone involved." Alice gave him a sympathetic smile. She knew that to gain trust, often you needed to reveal a little of yourself. "I split up with my husband almost two years ago and it was one of the most difficult experiences of my life." She put down her coffee mug and leant forward, her face and body posture as open as she could make them. On reflection, Alice realised it was exactly the same pose as that therapist had used on her, way back, before Alice had punched her and gone to the hospital and had her life turned around by a blue-eyed, grumpy misanthrope. In that way, she and Simon had something in common: both their lives had been utterly transformed by doctors.

"Did you have kids together?" he asked.

"No, thankfully. You have a daughter?" Alice guessed from the photo.

"Yeah, she lives with her mother."

"Oh that's hard. Especially with you being so sick. She must come and visit you a lot."

"From Florida? I don't think so."

"Oh." Alice watched as Simon frowned and then looked down to study his coffee intently. She thought it seemed like he was regretting letting out that bit of information. Alice made a mental note of it.

"But I guess she misses you. They must have both been worried when you thought it was cancer."

"I guess." He shrugged. Alice took the opportunity of him looking down to peer at him closely. His light-brown hair was thinning, but she guessed that might be a result of the chemo. He was pale and seemed aged somehow, although his face wasn't particularly lined. He was sweaty and, despite his pallor, there were two bright pink blotches on his cheeks. Already slim, Alice thought he'd lost weight since she'd seen him last, his clothes definitely seemed too big. The photo was too far away for her to properly compare his weight in it to now.

Alice decided to pull out one of the oldest tricks in the book.

"Simon, can I use your bathroom? Sorry, it's just I came straight from the office and I've been so busy today." She gave him her best smile.

"Sure. Let me show you where it is." He rose and led her down a hallway and gestured to a door.

Alice closed the door with a smile which quickly faded as she looked around. It was a tiny powder room, nothing more than a toilet and basin. No cabinet to check for medications. The main bathroom must be back further in the house. Damn.

Alice peed and washed her hands, deciding that this had been a waste of time. She didn't really need any more information from Simon to write the story. She just had to admit that she was procrastinating, trying to find some way to get out of writing the story, to get out of ruining the lovely Doctor Wilson's reputation and having to admit her lie to House. She was clutching at straws and the straws were rapidly running out.

She dried her hands on the little pink-embroidered hand-towel and her eyes glanced past the trashcan in the corner as she did. Something in it caught her eye. The trash was empty except for a single, crumpled, blood-stained tissue. It was reasonably fresh, and it didn't look the way a tissue would look if it had been pressed against a wound or a cut. Alice wished that House was with her. From what she knew of him – and what she'd read on the internet – he'd know what was wrong with this guy in seconds. Would know if he was really sick or faking it. Would know what it meant for the cancer misdiagnosis.

With a sigh, Alice put on her smile again and headed back out to the living room.

She could hear Simon in the kitchen, washing up their coffee mugs and Alice quickly raced over to his chair. The papers that had been in plain sight earlier had been moved. Peeking out from under the chair Alice saw a corner of a white business card and she grabbed it with her toe. As it appeared she read Collins and Lukowzski, Attorneys at Law and an address. In Florida. Before she could see a name on the card, she heard Simon returning from the kitchen and hurriedly went back to her seat.

Alice asked him a couple more standard questions, taking notes of his answers, but all the while her brain was working. Lawyers in Florida? Might mean absolutely nothing – they might have been his divorce lawyers. Hell, Simon might be a paralegal or something – it reminded her that she didn't know what he did for a living.

"And Simon, are you working right now? What do you do?"

"I've been too sick to work recently and got laid off. Before that I was in sales. Car parts."

Alice nodded. "Well thanks, I think that's about it for now." She got up and he rose with her. She could see it was a struggle and that just their short conversation had tired him out. As they walked to the door, he began to cough. It was as awful to watch as it was to listen to – coughing obviously caused him tremendous pain, and he grimaced with the effort.

Alice felt a stab of pity for him for the first time. The poor guy was sick. Most probably because a doctor had made a mistake about what was wrong with him and had prescribed the wrong treatment. It was just the sort of story superhero-reporter Alice loved. Simon was the good guy, the underdog, so why was she trying so hard to prove that he wasn't?

Alice reached an arm around him to help when a particularly vicious cough struck.

"Simon? Are you sure you're okay?"

He leaned against her for a moment, then straightened up. If she hadn't been so close, Alice would have missed seeing it, but there were tiny droplets of what looked like blood on his lips.

"I'm fine," he said, pushing her away and out the door.

"I don't know . . . are you sure you don't want me to call a doctor or something?"

"I'm fine." He gave her what she figured was supposed to be a reassuring smile. "My friend is coming over in an hour and then I'll take a nap. I'm sure I'll be better tomorrow."

Alice nodded reluctantly and went back to her car. At least he has a friend coming over to be with him, she thought.

--

That night Alice woke up when House lurched against the doorframe of the bedroom, his cane hitting the timber with a loud bang. He staggered across the room, limping worse than normal, weaving over to the bed.

"Alice?" he whispered, loud enough for most of the neighbours to hear.

"Yes Greg, I'm awake." Alice sat up a little and blinked at him. He was standing next to her, swaying back-and-forth slightly.

"Alice? Alice?" He poked at her leg with his cane.

"Yes, Greg?" Alice repeated, feeling like a grade-school teacher addressing a naughty seven-year-old.

"You're bew-di-ful."

"Thanks."

"No, really. You are. You really, really, really are."

"That's very nice of you to say, Greg."

"Can we have sex?"

"God, aren't you raw from the weekend?" Apart from which there was no way you'll be getting it up in your current state, she added silently.

"Heh heh heh." He laughed, a silly, dorky noise, like a nerd who'd been told a dirty joke.

"Looks to me like you need to sleep."

"No-o-o-o, Alice," he pleaded. "I wanna . . . 'cause you're so bew-di-ful . . . and you're in bed."

"I tell you what," Alice reasoned, "you go in the bathroom and brush your teeth and drink a big glass of water. Then come back here and get undressed and get into bed. If you do all that, I'll do anything you can stay awake long enough to do."

His eyes lit up in the way only a drunk person's can. "I'll be right back."

Alice heard him noisily making his way in the bathroom and wished she'd added "shower" to her list of demands, because although he'd left the room, the bourbon smell he'd left behind was enough to be intoxicating in itself.

Eventually he returned to bed, crossing over to his side and falling onto it clumsily. Alice had pulled the covers back in preparation of just such an eventuality and she reached over and pulled his long legs under the comforter. He made a messy grab for her as she did and Alice let him drag her into his arms.

"How was Wilson?" Alice asked, resting her head into the crook of his shoulder. Despite his drunkenness it was still nice to curl up with him.

"Drunker than me," House declared.

"I find that hard to believe," Alice muttered under her breath. "No, I meant did you guys have a good time?"

"Yeah, kinda. He's pretty bummed."

Bummed? Alice smiled. An intoxicated Greg House had the vocabulary of a sixteen-year-old. Amusing.

"This guy's suing him. He's gonna settle. Guy's lawyer's playin' hard ball and Wilson doesn't wanna court case. Bad for your rep, ya know. Cuddy's gonna give it up too." He paused to burp. "Doesn't take much for Cuddy to give it up." He did his dorky, sleazy laugh again. "Better to let one guy win and shut him up."

Damn it. There, amongst the innuendo, was her inside info. The reason Mad-Eye had given her the story in the first place.

He bent his head to kiss her neck, noticeably less skilful than usual, murmuring to her under his breath.

"What?"

"Alice? I love you, y'know, the way you smell."

Great, she was two-for-two now. Twice he'd said I love you, twice he hadn't meant it.

And now she had a bigger problem. If the hospital had decided to settle, that meant they'd probably make Simon sign a non-disclosure agreement. Once that happened, Alice's story, all those weeks of research, would be over. And so, most likely, would her career at the Princeton Observer once Mad-Eye found out.

Her deadline had just been suddenly and irrevocably brought forward. The story had to be done tomorrow. And that meant that her relationship with House would most likely be over tomorrow too. Well, maybe the day after, once the paper hit the newsstands. Once he read the story he would know that Alice had gone behind his back, skewered his best friend and destroyed his medical reputation, and used her time with him to do it. Yeah, she could see him forgiving all that – not. Alice sighed and stared up at the ceiling, knowing it was going to take a long time for her to get back to sleep.

Against her neck, House snored.

--

During the night, unable to sleep, Alice had plotted her strategy. Of all the things bothering her about Simon Ferguson, the most significant was his continuing illness. It was a tricky legal area, but Alice remembered that the paper's legal eagle had made it clear that if Simon had some other disease, something that could be easily mistaken by a doctor for cancer, then he could no longer sue for malpractice without going to court to prove it.

Alice was sure that if she could prove that he was deliberately avoiding being properly diagnosed and treated in an attempt to boost his potential settlement, then that was something Wilson's attorney's could use. And instead of writing a story about doctors' malpractice, Alice could show how malicious and frivolous legal action was contributing to the rising cost of healthcare. The research she'd done worked for both angles.

Perhaps, in doing so, she might just possibly, maybe, salvage her relationship with House.

If only she could prove that Simon Ferguson was sick. Sick with something other than bronchitis that he'd caught after being wrongly given chemo. Alice let out a big sigh.

It was such a long shot.

House was still lying in bed nursing his hangover when Alice went in to say goodbye before heading to work. She brought him a coffee, a glass of water and a piece of toast.

"How's the head?" she asked sympathetically.

"Not good." He squinted up at her as she put the drinks and food on the nightstand next to him.

She perched on the edge of the bed, pausing for a moment to take in the sight of him there, in her bed, knowing it might well be for the last time. It could have been romantic if not for the fact that he smelt like a sweaty distillery and looked like death warmed up.

"Uh, Greg, I wanted to ask you something. A friend of mine, someone at work, I think they're coughing up blood."

"Are you coughing up blood?" He looked alarmed.

"No, not me. A friend." Alice knew she sounded pathetic.

"Alice, years of experience tells me to be suspicious when people ask about medical problems that belong to 'a friend of mine'. 'A friend of mine's penis has turned green and dropped off, doctor, what could it be?'" he mocked cruelly. "Morons." He rubbed his head as if the mockery had taken more energy than he had to spare.

"So, what do you think?"

"What do I think? I think they'd better go see a doctor." He peered at her more closely. "You're not sick are you?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You're not pregnant?"

"What?" Alice was shocked. "Why would you ask that?"

"I thought you might be softening me up. You know, make me think you've got cancer or something and you go, 'Ha! Joke! It's not that bad, actually I'm just pregnant.'"

"No, I'm not pregnant. And if I was, I would never do something like that."

"Ah, you say that now."

"Greg, you must be the most cynical person on earth."

"Not quite yet. But I'm training hard."

Alice rolled her eyes. "I'm going to work."

"Have fun. I'm going back to sleep."

Alice got up and walked out and was standing at the door with her keys in her hand before realising that she hadn't said goodbye.