* Hello, Readers!! Sorry it has been so long since my last update... got a little writers block as to how to handle the chapter after this one, but since I'm diligently trying to write a chapter ahead of what I post, I just had to finish it first. This one's kind of a shorty, but the next one is at least twice as long. I don't know about you guys, but I'm super excited for: 1) Hugh doing House on "Family Guy" tonight! AND 2) Christmas break is only 5 school days away!! (I've been a student and a teacher, and as the latter I appreciate it a hundred times more!!) Anywho, enjoy and review, s'il vous plait :-)

Wilson had made his 12:00 appointment on the oncology ward on time with no trouble at all. Moving back to his office for his 12:40 appointment, he was about to embark on one of the least favorite parts of his job; telling a new patient that he had a pretty serious form of cancer. Wilson sat in his desk chair just as he had hundreds of times before, across from a patient who looked expectantly yet fearfully into his eyes, waiting for Wilson to weigh in on his fate.

"Mr. Pietramalav, you have kidney cancer," Wilson said as gently as he could.

"Wow, is that a bad one? I mean, they're all bad but…" the patient started, but was interrupted by yet another inopportune grand entrance of Princeton-Plainsboro's most brilliant diagnostician into Wilson's office.

"The door was closed for a reason," Wilson stated obviously, irritation clearly present in his voice.

"Well, now it's open for a reason. We need to talk," House said curtly.

"He just told me I have kidney cancer," the patient directed at House, turning in his chair to face the man who had so boorishly intruded on his life or death moment.

"Then you'll obviously need a moment to process," House replied insincerely.

"House…" Wilson began to chide his best friend, but he was quickly interrupted.

"I'm hallucinating," House declared loudly, but emotionlessly. As House expected, Wilson's jaw nearly landed on his desk, and his eyes darted quickly back and forth between his friend and his patient as he stood up.

"I'm… I'll be right back," Wilson said to his patient apologetically as he made his way out of the office with House.

"I need you to sit in on my differentials. Double check everything I do," House stated simply as Wilson closed the door behind them in the hallway.

"You can't treat patients…" Wilson responded, his expression showing that he was still in shock at House's declaration.

"It's got to be sleep apnea. I got a good night's sleep, but I still feel exhausted. Lack of delta sleep can lead to hallucinations," House rationalized, but he could tell by the look on Wilson's face that he didn't think that his troubled sleep patterns had anything to do with sleep apnea. Nonetheless, Wilson humored House a little.

"Do you have any other neurological symptoms?" Wilson asked.

"I don't think so," House answered honestly, for once.

"Aphasia?"

"No."

"Memory loss?"

"No."

"Irritability?"

"Yeah, that one!" House snarked. Wilson's questions were starting to wear on what little was left of his nerves.

"Don't deflect, he cares about you," Amber interjected to House, making her presence "behind" him known for the first time during his conversation with Wilson.

"You shouldn't be practicing, at least…" Wilson lectured, but Amber began talking to House at the same time, and he felt as if his brain were being split in two, literally.

"Enough!" he finally shouted, no longer able to tolerate the hyper-stimulating verbal dissonance caused by his hallucination and his flesh-in-blood confidant. Wilson shot House a befuddled look, which conflicted with Amber's standard self-satisfied smirk.

"Don't give me that look. I told you, I'm hallucinating," House reminded him.

"Ok, so… what do think is causing this extreme irritation?" Wilson asked, honestly trying to keep his tone devoid of any sarcasm.

"Besides everyone on my team acting like an idiot, barely getting any sleep for the last two weeks, and half the hospital taking wagers on whether or not I'm the father of Cuddy's bastard seed? Gee, can't think of a thing!" House retorted angrily.

Wilson sighed. Ever since learning about the bet from Chase during lunch, the wheels in the back of his head had been turning as to how the whole thing would affect House. Wilson knew he was taking a chance, but he had to try.

"Usually you could give a damn one way or the other what anyone around here says about you, but this bet really seems to be a sore spot. Five hundred bucks, huh?" Wilson probed, hoping he hadn't crossed an inerasable line.

"I see you've been talking to Chase," House said quietly, his eyes radiating the betrayal he was feeling. "How much money did you put down?"

"That's not the question you really want to ask him," Amber purred mercilessly into his ear, continuing to assert her presence. "You want to know on whom he put money down." House tried not to respond as he awaited Wilson's response.

"I put down two hundred. I guess I wasn't as confident in my choice as you obviously were in yours," Wilson finally answered, his raised eyebrow wordlessly conveying his true suspicions.

House looked at the wall, and then down at his feet, thinking that Wilson had evidently spent all too much time with Amber. The tone of House's best friend was inching uncomfortably close to that of his dead girlfriend's pseudo-phantasm.

"Maybe we should continue this discussion in my office?" Wilson offered, breaking the silence. House nodded tersely in agreement, and both of them retreated back through the office door.

"I'm very sorry for the wait, Mr. Pietramalav," Wilson said kindly to his patient as he went back behind his desk and pretended to gather some files while House waited by the door. "But I'm needed for an emergency consult that can't wait. Why don't you head out to the nurse's desk, and they can schedule you another appointment for tomorrow. There are more tests that we need to run, anyway. Does that sound alright?"

"Ok, Dr. Wilson. I'll see you tomorrow," his patient answered, confusion evident on his face as he walked out the door.

Wilson felt positively awful about his current deficit in bedside manner, but sad as it was, not much would change for Mr. Pietramalav in the next 24 hours. House, on the other hand, was quite a different story. The next 24 hours could easily be make or break for him, and Wilson was afraid that the implications of "break" could turn out to be quite literal, at least from a psychiatric perspective.