new chapter, still surfing on the wave of angst... yeah, sorry…

** CHAPTER 48 **

"Patient is out of surgery," Foreman said, entering the office.

House was sitting at his desk, forcefully typing on his computer keyboard. He didn't even turn his head toward the neurologist, which slightly annoyed Foreman. After all, the patient would have died if it hadn't been for him suggesting the lung abscess. He thought he deserved a little credit for it, at least some attention.

"It was lung abscess… like I'd said," he said, a bit haughtily.

House abruptly jerked his head toward Foreman and shot him a furious glare.

"I'm busy!" he shouted. "I don't care what it was! Is he still alive?"

"Yes, he's-"

"Good. That's all I need to know. Now go to hell, do whatever bragging, annoying thing you need to do to feel good about yourself, but elsewhere!"

Foreman shook his head, bemused, and frowned intrigued.

"Wow, you're prickly! What is it? Mr. and Mrs. Boss had a little lovers' fight last night?" he sassed, unaware of how dangerous and slippery his attempt at a sarcastic comeback was.

In a matter of seconds, House had leaped to his feet, and in barely two or three long strides, he stopped right in front of Foreman, fiercely grabbing him by his jacket's lapel and raising a menacing fist in front of his face. Foreman gasped, stunned, and set his lips trying to sustain House's bloodshot glare. The two men stood, almost chin to chin for what seemed like an eternity, House breathing heavily, his fist trembling in front of Foreman's face. Finally, letting go of his grip, he shoved him backward and away from him.

"Get the fuck out of here!" he hissed through clenched teeth, as he limped back to his desk and sat down in his chair.

Foreman squared his shoulders and pulled on his jacket tails to tidy himself up. He stared in House's direction, incredulous, but the diagnostician wasn't paying attention anymore, conspicuously ignoring him. With a puff, Foreman jutted his chin out and left the room.

When he realized what he'd just done, House forcefully rubbed his temples with his fingertips and closed his eyes, taking long and deep breathes to try and calm himself down. His hands still trembling, he fumbled in his pocket and took his bottle of Vicodin. Agitatedly, he opened the cap and put one little snow-white pill in his palm that he instantly pushed down in his throat, covering his mouth with his hand, as he swallowed it dry.

He sighed and swiveled in his chair, facing his computer again, intensely staring at the screen. Taking a deep breath, he hit the keys, typing a quick message before pressing the 'send' button. As the message disappeared from his screen, he promptly got up and walked out of his office.

"Got my email?" House questioned, bursting into Wilson's office.

"Wait a sec-" Wilson looked up at his computer. "Yes, just got it! ... What's-" He leaned down, closer to the screen and narrowed his eyes, looking a bit puzzled.

"It's Cuddy's breasts scans, from her first appointment at Gruber," House specified. "And I'm warning you, I almost just punched Foreman's face, so you better watch your mouth and hold back any ironic comments involving the words Cuddy and boobs in the same sentence."

Wilson sighed and looked sorrowfully at House's apprehensive face.

"How did you get those?" he simply asked.

"Don't care about how I got those! I got them, is all. Few phone calls to the right doctors, making few subtle threats here and there and the scans ended up on my computer. Can you look at them?"

"House, I can't make a diagnosis just from a-"

"I know you can't! That's not what I'm asking! I just want you to give a look at these scans and tell me what you see."

"Well, sure. Obviously, I'd need the actual proper scans to-." Wilson muttered under his breath, as he leaned down to the screen again. "Hmm-"

"What?" House interrupted him distressfully, coming closer to the desk.

"There's a lump," Wilson deadpanned.

"Of course, there's a lump, you idiot!" House blurted out in exasperation. "What does it look like? That's what I'm asking you."

Wilson leaned closer, frowning, and nervously bit his lip. House gripped his cane's handle tightly, struggling hard against the urge to jump at his friend's throat and drag the words out of his mouth.

"So?" he prompted, jittery, incapable of holding the angst any longer.

Wilson looked up at House and took a deep breath. He knew all too well that Cuddy wasn't just any random patient. And most of all that, just standing there in front of him, House was not any anxious man waiting for relief. He felt the weight of stress invade him. The stakes were high, and Wilson realized he couldn't be wrong or just approximate. House would never be satisfied with what he had to say, and yet that was all he had to offer.

"I can't tell you for sure," he started, hesitantly. "It doesn't look like cancer cells to me. The mass is not dark, it's regularly shaped, and there," he mechanically pointed to a spot on the screen, "there're some random small calcifications around the lump area which are not the ones you usually observe in cancer."

House huffed and his eyes became moist. He pierced into Wilson's gaze even more intensely.

"So, it's a cyst?" he asked hopefully.

Wilson sighed heavily. He knew that was the part House wouldn't like.

"Well, that's hard to tell. Thing is, it doesn't look like a cyst either-"

"What else could it be?"

"Honestly, I don't know. House, I told you, it's impossible to make a reliable diagnosis just based on a computer screen images of a scan. I'd need to do an echo of the breast … I'd need a blood test … I'd need to make a cytopuncture of the mass. I'd-"

"Alright, ok, I got it! You need to run some tests!" House interrupted him angrily. "But what you're saying, from what you see is that … It's not cancer, right?" He peered at Wilson almost imploringly.

"I don't know, House. I couldn't swear to it. I'm just saying it doesn't look like cancer. I'm sorry."

House closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as if mentally processing the whole picture. When he re-opened them, he stared at Wilson with disillusionment.

"So basically, what you're saying is that you know nothing!"

Wilson shook his head, upset. House should have known better. He, of all the doctors in this hospital, should have known that he couldn't get an answer without any concrete element to question. They had nothing! Yes, maybe, shots of Cuddy's scans on his screen, but it just gave the location of the lump, its size, surely nothing more than what House had already found out about on his own. But they had nothing about its chemical structure, its density, its origin…

"House! I told you. I'm sorry."

Wilson kept shaking his head in dismay, unable to offer any rational, soothing arguments. He didn't want to lie to his friend, anyway. Even if it could help him feel better, eventually, lie wasn't the solution.

House's eyes were looking at Wilson, but his mind seemed elsewhere. His face darkened and he crookedly smiled.

"Thank you, Wilson," he said with a toneless voice.

He remained still for a moment, staring blankly in front of him, and then walked out the door with an accentuated limp.

Downstairs, he passed by the nurse station. By the exit door, he grabbed the knob, adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and turned around to scan the main lobby, trailing his eyes toward the clinic door a little while longer. Then he pushed the door opened and stepped outside.

And he went home. Alone.

There, he sat on his couch with the bottle of alcohol in one hand and his cell phone in the other. And he slowly let himself dive into the soothing spiral.

One drink. One pill. Two drinks. Pain. Clutching fingers. Tears. Another drink…

"I hope you know what you're doing because fuck, Cuddy… Why are you doing this? I need to know why… I-"

Numbness. Floating body. One drink. Spinning head. Two drinks. Another pill…

"No. Never mind. You know what? I'm fine … Don't call me back. Don't explain. I don't want to hear about you, anyway … because I don't care about you … I don't care anymore…"

One drink. Burning eyes. Stomachache. Two drinks. Squeezing pain. Nausea…

Yes. That spiral was a lie. It was not soothing. It didn't help him feel better. And it didn't chase her haunting image out his mind, when all he wanted was to chase her haunting image out of his mind…

A/N

it's a short chapter, I know, don't shoot me! I had no choice but to edit it like that... and personally, I kind of like it like that.

I hope you'll enjoy it despite its short length... let me know your thoughts!

have a wonderful day ~ maya