The tests that House had ordered came back with very few facts and more confusion. They hadn't even proved beyond a doubt that Cuddy's crisis was not a severe influenza virus. There were so many illnesses that could result in these broad symptoms, however and House remained stumped. She had tested positive for the flu, but House knew that was because she had recently had it and still might. It wasn't what was causing her nervous system to start shutting down, however.

It was Chase who arrived first, no doubt sent by Foreman to scope it out to make sure he was actually needed. The pretty doctor had a few more wrinkles but had changed very little in appearance since the last time House had seen him. To make it more mysterious, House sat with his back to the door. These rooms weren't glass like at Princeton and anyone approaching wouldn't be able to see inside until they walked through the door.

Chase stood outside the doorway for a moment, preparing to see his former boss laid out and ill. He stepped in and saw a man sitting beside the bed. Cuddy, who had seemed asleep before, awoke. She gave him a sympathetic glance, knowing what was seconds away.

"Differential diagnosis," House said handing chase Cuddy's chart but still not turning around.

Chase's eyes grew wide and they darted from Cuddy to House. He was speechless and the silence hung in the air for several moments.

"You're still useless and Foreman gave you my job? Idiot." House stood and faced his former employee. Then he motioned to Cuddy, "She would never have given you my job because she knows you're an idiot. But don't let that stop you from your diagnosis."

Chase finally found his voice, "You're dead."

"The force is not strong with this one." House said in his best Obi Wan voice. "Then I'm a ghost, whatever makes this easier for you to stop wasting time and start diagnosing."

Chase turned to Cuddy, "What the hell is going on?"

"What's going on is she's dying unless we figure out why." House interjected before Cuddy could answer, "And where the hell is Foreman? Too high and mighty to do a consult these days?"

It was the first mention that Cuddy could be dying and she swallowed hard and looked away. She had known it, of course, but that didn't make it easier to hear. It had not been easy to say either, and House had to focus on Chase ways to insult him in order to prevent freezing in fear.

"He just sent me because the request was for a difficult diagnosis and since-" Chase cut himself off, "I went to your funeral."

"And you said some very nice things, can we get to the matter at hand, now?"

Chase looked between Cuddy and House for another few moments. House's urgent and annoyed stare made him nod and look at the chart, "Shouldn't we be talking to Dr. Kincaid?"

House held back a growl, "No."

"I see your ego is still intact." Chase commented.

"Did you notice the cardiac arrest a few hours ago?" House snapped, "We have the genius Dr. Kincaid to thank for that. Now either call out some ideas or get Foreman down here like I asked from the beginning."

"House." It was Cuddy's faint voice, "The antibiotics didn't cause the cardiac arrest."

"No, but his stupidity did. All he had to do was look at your current symptoms to know it wasn't simply the flu."

Taking the chart with him, Chase left the room. House turned briefly toward his leaving, distantly worried that he was about to be turned in. Cuddy's voice brought him back, however.

"The cardiac arrest would have happened anyway, but it would have happened while I was at home." It wasn't a question and he suddenly knew where she was going, "You saved my life."

"Not yet." Was all he said in return. Their eyes locked now and House reached out to take her hand...

"Lisa!" It was Arlene Cuddy's voice and House pulled away from her daughter quickly like a teenager caught necking in her bedroom, "Gregory?" She said, blinking in shock and coming closer.

House rolled his eyes, "Let me save you some questions. I'm not dead."

"I can see that." Arlene shot back.

"At least she's quicker than Chase." House commented toward Cuddy, "I'm going to go find out if jail time or a differential diagnosis is in my near future. I'll leave you to explain everything else." He limped out of the room and Arlene gave her daughter a steely gaze. He found Chase in the hall, holding the chart with one hand and his beeper in another, "Chase," he began, "You can do whatever you want after this is over, but it need you to stay and help me." His sincerity was difficult to muster but needed. He couldn't tell if he was simply manipulating Chase into helping him or truly begging.

Chase stared back at him and House could tell that he was fighting with himself, "Not until you tell me what happened."

House gritted his teeth, knowing they were wasting precious time, "I faked my death. Artists are only truly appreciated after their dead." He tried, dryly. Chase narrowed his eyes, so House tried again, "I violated parole, I didn't want to go back to jail, OK?"

"Wilson disappeared after your funeral." Chase pointed out.

House looked away thoughtfully, "Wilson died three months ago."

"And if you had gone back to jail, he would be dead by the time you got out." Chase said, figuring it out, "You faked your death so he wouldn't die alone."

"So, now that I'm a selfless and decent human being, will you help me save Cuddy's life?" It was a mixture of sincerity and annoyance.

"I just paged Foreman, he's on his way." Chase answered.

House found himself extremely relieved.