A/N: The title is nicked from EM Forster's novel. I'm not a doctor and the medicine is approximate at best.

"Here are the reports from Sloan-Kettering, Chicago, and Montreal. They all agree that I should be able to continue working almost normally for many months."

"They also politely suggest it might be a good idea to start searching for a replacement oncology head. All of them."

"Sure. Actually, I don't want to take any new cases from now on. I'll coordinate oncology until you find a replacement, slowly move my long-term patients to another provider, and I expect to take full medical leave and, if all is well, start a consultancy agreement in six months' time."

Cuddy went once more through her annotations on the sides of the pages of the thick folder.

"I think your proposal is fine. I will have to see what the hospital board says, but I have no doubt it will be accepted."

"Thank you. I'm sure we can arrange this so as to disrupt only minimally the hospital's working conditions."

"Wilson... it feels stupid that our main concern here seems to be PPTH's oncology department. How about you? Is there anything I can do?"

"You know the medical situation as well as me." (she nodded) "There's not so much anybody can do, unfortunately. But you could cut House's clinic hours. He's taking it well so far but I'm afraid of a crash if my health, no, when my health takes a turn for the worse. He needs to reduce other sources of stress."

"I see. I'm not sure I can push this through at the board, but I might be able to find some stopgap solution for a while."

"Thank you."

After her head oncologist took leave, Cuddy didn't start working immediately. She remained sitting at her desk, deep in thought, her eyes unfocussed, while the winter sunset hurried on outside and shadows engulfed her office.

A magnum of Moët Chandon stands tall among two flutes and the shells of two dozens oysters.

"That was a busy week. Who knew a slow death could be so stressful?"

"At least we've now planned for your first rounds of visits, surgery and chemotherapy without disrupting too much your life or those of your patients."

"Wonder how I'll tell them. Maybe I won't. Maybe I could use it - as in, don't worry, you'll live longer than me. Speaking of which, where were you today after lunch? Did you visit your patient?"

"No, my lawyer. He looked up the paperwork you prepared, said it's fine but he suggests we go to Massachusetts and get legally married. It gives us a much stronger position, especially since both New York and New Jersey will recognize the marriage."

"Is this a proposal?"

"I thought that as a cripple I'm excused the going on my knees routine."

"I'm not sure I want you to become the fourth Mrs Wilson."

"Don't worry, I'm keeping my own name. But I do feel like exchanging rings. That and engraving a tasteful tattoo of my name on your lower back. One can never be too careful with a philanderer like you."

"What does Cuddy have to say about this? It seems weird."

"I told her about this yesterday evening after I broke up with her. I plan on concentrating on you for the time remaining. If she still wants me she can wait until you're gone. Maybe you can drive with me there tomorrow: she agreed to leave the house empty for a few hours so that I can get out my stuff. By the way, no pressure but if you like the idea I'm ready to move back in with you at any time."

The quiet corner of the expensive restaurant where they're dining seems to become even quieter. For a handful of minutes all each of them can hear is the soft rustling of the flames in the fireplace and the beatings of their own heart.

"I would love you to move back in with me again, but... there's something you should know. Something I should have mentioned months ago, except it took me very long to realize it and when I did it scared me."

The tall glass gets filled, than immediately emptied.

"I find you attractive, both romantically and sexually. I dare say you may have noticed. Don't worry. I'm happy if our friendship continues unchanged, but if anytime you want emotional intimacy or a massage with happy ending or both just let me know. Having you in the loft with me might lead me to unchaste thoughts, and I would understand if this would make you uncomfortable."

The unreasonably long pause stretches Wilson's nerves. House turns towards the window, watching the snow slowly falling. He seems to look very far away in the darkness, as if looking for answers there.

"I did suspect for a while. I am not uncomfortable but I might need to ask questions - I don't want to risk hurting you."

"I have no secrets from you. Not anymore."