sorry I couldn't update yesterday, because of the 'technical glitch'...

** CHAPTER 42 **

There was no other place of which he could think. No other person he'd rather see. House walked in and silently shut the door behind him. He walked toward the desk and sat down on the chair across from it, resting his hands on his cane's handle solemnly.

"So?" Wilson asked, looking up, with eyes full of excitement. "Did you get rid of Cuddy?"

House frowned, and Wilson shot him a bewildered look.

"Come on, House!" he exclaimed as if the explanation was obvious. "Poker night, at my place! We've planned this days ago! And believe me, the cardiologists are dying to get their revenge. But we're gonna scalp them just like we did last time!"

"Gruber."

"No. Carver. And Benton-"

"He's in Princeton General."

House's tone had that specific edge of resoluteness in it, indicating he was being serious and not in the mood for joke. Wilson sighed resignedly, for he perfectly knew he was no longer in charge of the conversation.

"And, what about him?"

"Is he one of your people?"

"What do you mean one of my people?"

"An oncologist?" House specified, sounding slightly annoyed.

Wilson puffed, upset, but still gave the question a real thought.

"Gruber, you say? Um, sorry, doesn't ring a bell. Is he new?"

"I don't know."

"Why would you want to check on a doctor you don't know?

"Forget it. You don't know him, either. Just… forget it."

"House?" Wilson looked suddenly really concerned and even a little bit scared. "Are you ok?"

House smirked. Wilson was so predictable.

"I'm fine. Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not dying if that's what you're asking. You'll have to wait a little longer before you can claim the special porn collection that I'm keeping just for you!"

Wilson shook his head in dismay, but sighed in relief before squinting at his friend, looking intrigued. House sustained the oncologist's inquiring gaze until at some point, he shot him a pointed glare to end the staring contest.

He'd come here because the weight was too heavy, because he couldn't keep the news for himself anymore. He needed to share it with someone, to dissect it in order to process it, and maybe learn to accept it. And Wilson was the only one he trusted enough to do that with. Not only was he, for so many reasons, but in an ironic and frightening way there was also a probability that, given his medical specialty, he would turn out to be the most adequate person to seek advice from.

Except the words wouldn't come out. It wasn't the right moment. Most unexpectedly, House stood up and started heading toward the exit. He'd reached the threshold when Wilson called him back.

"House, is it your patient? Cancer?"

"Why on earth would you jump so easily on the cancer diagnosis? Oh, that's right, I forgot, coz you're an oncologist," House snapped. "You like them when they're dying. It fits your caring, needy side better,"

And before Wilson had the time to say anything, the diagnostician limped out of the room and left him alone, wondering what the hell had just happened.

# # # # #

The conference room was empty. House's team was doing the tests he'd ordered them to do without having specifically named them, which meant they would probably be busy for at least two or three more hours, wondering if they'd made the right choices, and keeping adding more tests in case they forgot the most important ones.

House crossed the room and went to his office. He looked around him at all the familiar objects that were there: the books, the record player, the old TV, the red and grey giant tennis ball. It was supposed to make him feel better, but it didn't. He sat down on his ottoman and took a deep breath.

She has a lump... She has a lump.

That voice, in his head, it killed him. He'd been living with that voice since the moment he'd felt it under his fingers. Underneath her soft skin. The warm, tender flesh of her breasts. He was fondling them, and then, there it was. It was like a nut. Like a small peach pit. Just only less hard.

She has a lump... She has a lump.

House closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as if he wanted to scrap his skin off his skull. God, he hated himself! How could he have missed it? He'd held her breasts inside the palm of his hands so often. He'd put his lips on them. He'd rubbed his nose against them, buried his face between them, nibbled them, massaged them... and he hadn't felt it! That was so not like him. The fact that he hadn't been able to see that coming, identify it or sense it, terrified him. How could he have let that happened?

Because she's not a patient, you moron! Because you don't touch her like she is one... Because you don't want to. Because you lose your common sense when you hold her and none of the things that she inspires you are rational. Because she makes you feel like no one else does. Because you…

House closed his eyes and breathed in deeply once more. That feeling, it pervaded him. He'd wondered many times how it would feel to experience it again. And he'd thought it would feel good. But it didn't. Love was confusing. Distressing. And harrowing.

She has a lump... She has a lump.

He needed to sleep. He'd barely slept the night before. He just couldn't. He'd held her in his arms instead, almost throughout the entire night, trying to soothe her restless sleep and waiting for her agitated breaths to slow down. As he was holding her against him, he'd felt each and every one of her nerve jolt against his body. And each time, he wanted to squeeze her a little tighter, to appease her, but he didn't dare to move. He was so afraid it would wake her up. Even when, at some point, the throbbing pain in his leg had commanded him to stretch his body, he'd stayed still, just holding her. Still, and silently suffering, barely breathing.

At dawn, he'd finally fallen asleep, almost passed out from exhaustion. The last time he'd looked at the clock, the numbers were saying 4:45 and he had relaxed his embrace. He'd barely managed to escape the heavy, distressful feeling that was clutching his chest for half an hour, maybe slightly more, but it wasn't even 5:30 in the morning when House had felt Cuddy wiggle in his arms and carefully move away from him to get out of bed.

He'd held his breath and kept his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. But he didn't need to see her to know what she was doing. She'd picked up her clothes, very slowly, heedful not to make any noise, and she'd left the room. For some long, painful minutes, as a faint light was coming from his living room, House had pictured her putting her clothes on. He'd waited long enough to be sure she'd be almost fully dressed and then he'd stepped out of bed, put his robe on and had limped out of the bedroom to see her. Her hand was on the doorknob when she'd heard him approach. It'd startled her, but she'd managed to hide her surprise and keep a neutral face.

"Did I wake you up?" she'd said with her voice low, her hand still holding the doorknob. "I'm sorry I didn't w-"

"Why are you leaving? It's still early." House had stated that simple truth with no anger, no malice, and no provocation.

"I— I couldn't sleep," she'd lied, uncomfortably shifting on her feet. "I have to go back to my place to change and-"

She'd suddenly fallen silent under the weight of House's stare. Then she'd gulped and a pang of sadness had violently hit him under his ribs.

"Of course. I understand," he'd lied too, his voice soft and non-judgmental. "You should go."

"I'll see you later today in the hospital then?" she'd said, trying to give an enthusiastic fit to her question.

"Sure."

And then he'd heard the little clicking sound of his door, as she'd closed it behind her. And then silence. Again. House had glanced at the clock, which read barely six, and the tightness in his chest had returned, as had the throbbing pain in his thigh. He'd scanned the empty room, searching for the familiar, reassuring shape of his bottle of Vicodin. He'd spotted one on his desk that he'd forgotten about. One that was lying there half-empty and that he hadn't felt the need to use in a long time. He'd reached for it and with a shaky hand, he'd slid two pills into his palm and had pushed them down his throat to swallow them dry.

She has a lump... She has a lump.

# # # # #

"I checked that Gruber guy you've mentioned earlier and he's definitely not one of my people!"

House's head was cradled inside his hands. He slowly slid them off his face and looked up, acknowledging the presence in front of him: Wilson was standing there, his hands on his hips, visibly waiting for a reaction from his friend.

"He's a gynecologist!" he exclaimed reproachfully when the answer didn't come.

House kept looking at him but remained silent.

"You didn't ask me about Gruber for you!" Wilson said with an angry edge to his voice.

There was nothing to laugh about, really, but seeing how upset Wilson seemed to be, House couldn't repress the amused grin that flickered across his lips.

"Thank God I didn't! Because I'm not very fond of the idea of a man touching me down there, you know-"

"House, I'm not joking!"

"Me, neither."

"It's about Cuddy," Wilson finally stated.

House heaved a deep, defeated sigh and looked away.

"You know, for a moment I stupidly thought you had knocked her up!"

The diagnostician jerked his head back toward him and frowned disapprovingly.

"And I was stunned! I mean, wow, Gregory House, the dashing, fifty-year-old cranky doctor who's never loved anyone but himself."

House rolled his eyes, faking to be shocked.

"But finally, he'd found a woman willing to take up the challenge and accept to be forever tied up to him because of a child! And I don't know, I was kinda happy, too, because-"

"Cuddy's not pregnant," House said grimly, cutting Wilson's monolog short.

Wilson puffed and stared at his friend gravely.

"No, indeed, she's not" he said, his tone serious. "And you've already confirmed it to me by not being surprised when I told you Gruber's specialty. Because I'm sure you already knew he's a gynecologist."

House clenched his jaw but, deep inside of him, felt somewhat relieved: It was exactly in moments like these that he could tell why he and Wilson were friends.

"You knew," Wilson continued. "But you came to me anyway and still asked if he was an oncologist." He sighed heavily. "House, what's wrong with Cuddy?"

Wilson looked really concerned and anxious. House inhaled deeply and a faint, bitter smirk turned his lips upward.

"She has a lump."

Wilson' mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in astonishment.

"What? Where? When did you find out? How? Is she ok?"

"You know that's exactly the kind of helpful, not freaked-out reaction I was expecting from you," House deadpanned sarcastically.

Wilson looked down at his feet, embarrassingly.

"And to answer your brimming flow of questions: Yes, she has a lump. Where? In her right breast. When did I find out? Yesterday. How?" House shot him an explicit glare, "And I don't know if she's ok because she won't tell me."

"What do you mean she won't tell you?" Wilson looked at him in disbelief.

"I found about it yesterday, but Cuddy's known for a week. And she didn't tell me."

"Wow!" Wilson scratched the back of his head in discomfort. "But try to understand her. I mean, she's probably scared."

"I don't know if she is! That's my point!" House exclaimed, his voice growing louder. "She doesn't want to talk about it with me. She wouldn't even let me have a look at it!"

"Do you want me to examine her?" Wilson said, treading carefully, as he wasn't sure if it was the right suggestion to make.

"Seriously? Is it really too much to ask of you not to jump to the cancer diagnosis just yet?" House puffed.

"Of course! That's not what I meant. You don't need me to know there're plenty of minor reasons to have a lump in the breast."

"But what if it is— cancer?" House said, his voice slightly wobbly.

Wilson sighed, looking contrite.

"You can't be sure of that yet. Not until there are tests either confirming the possibility or ruling it out. You're a diagnostician, House. You, of all people, should know that."

"She's seeing that Gruber guy tomorrow. She said he thinks it's probably just a cyst and that he wants to do some tests to confirm."

"See? It's probably nothing."

A heavy silence settled between the two men. House looked away, beyond the waving vertical fringes of his curtains, trying to escape the discomforting, suffocating sensation.

"What do I do now?" he murmured, almost to himself.

"You talk to her."

"Don't you listen to anything I'm saying? She doesn't want to talk!" He sighed. "She dismissed me earlier today, saying we should stay apart tonight."

"Then, you don't listen to her. You insist. And if she still doesn't want to talk, then you silently stay there, with her, and you comfort her. You let her know that you're here for her."

"Have you ever applied any of your advice to yourself, just once? I'm just curious, you know, because you divorced. Like, thrice! So, I'm not sure I should actually listen to you!" House said, with a crooked smile, in a poor attempt at cracking a joke.

Wilson rolled his eyes but smiled back.

"Says Mister Bachelor!" he quipped. "At least, I convinced them to marry me first."

"Tutt! You bribed them, with flowers, and gifts, and dinners in fancy restaurants! So, of course, they eventually caved. But I won Cuddy with my irresistible charms, and nothing else!"

"Sure!" Wilson laughed playfully but, his sudden, spontaneous outburst inappropriately echoed in the room, and he stopped, smiling sheepishly.

"Everything will be fine, House," he said evenly, trying to sound as convincing as he could.

He walked a few steps backward and started to turn on his heel to leave.

"I guess that means Poker night is cancelled?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

House nodded and Wilson offered him one last reassuring smile before leaving the diagnostician's office.

A/N

Thank you again so very much for your kind and enthusiastic comments. this is such a thrill to see how committed you are to this story. thank you!

I hope I won't disappoint you with the direction I've chosen to take for the plot, as we're going to explore it further...

(to huddles777) 'funbags storyline' = lump in the breast thing... and yes indeed, there is a reason... so I'm not spoiling here, but I just felt the need to say it, since I think at some point, maybe some of you will start yelling at me... :)

have a wonderful day ~ maya