Author's Notes: (ducks flying furniture) Hello! Sorry it's taking me so long to get through with this story. I know that there are plenty of people anxious for an update, and I really appreciate everyone who reads this and cares to leave a comment, but I've been crazy busy and haven't been feeling inspired to write more of this. Sorry! My muse has taken an abrupt turn. So... don't expect a Ch 11 anytime soon. I've only got a few pages written out so far, and no inspiration to speak of. In the meantime, enjoy this!

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Anatomy of a Secret

Chapter 10

The thing that sucked about MRIs, Cameron decided, was that there was nothing to distract you for a very, very long time. And during this very, very long time, there was also no clock or and other way to count down the minutes that remained. Somehow being on the other side of things, sitting the lab room with the computer instead of laying here in a too-short hospital gown, had been so different. She missed those days, only last week, when she’d worked with House and Foreman with her head happily whirling with petty worries, like what she was having for dinner or how she was going to tell her mother that their lunch together had to be cancelled again.

Now, there was a much pressing concern on her mind. Literally, if you cared to look at it like that. In fact, there were several pressing concerns in her head, but there were a couple that were not all that literal. Like the fact that, a few hours ago, House had kissed Wilson in her room. It hadn’t been in a joking, let’s-embarrass-Wilson-and-spread-rumors sort of way... It had been serious. Looking back, it had all happened so fast.

“Cameron, I know that’s it’s been a rough couple of days for you, but I think that it would be detrimental for you to refuse this MRI,” Wilson said patiently, sitting by the side of her bed with his brown eyes boring into her in concern. For once, Cameron almost understood why House hated that trait in her.

“If I don’t think that it’s a problem, then I don’t have to get one,” she said firmly. “As a doctor, I think I’m pretty qualified to make that call.”

Suddenly, the door to her room was thrown in and House stormed in, his eyes fixing on Wilson. “What are you doing?” he demanded, approaching the bed in a storm of fury.

“House, what—” Wilson tried, backing away from Cameron’s bed with something like fright spinning in his eyes.

“Is she your rebound girl, Wilson?” House asked, glancing to Cameron.

“My—no!” Wilson protested, standing up from the chair he’d been sitting in. “I would never do that to her! What kind of person do you think I am?”

“Someone with three ex-wives,” House said belligerently, stepping closer to Wilson, who backed up. “It’s exactly the sort of thing you’d do. I discovered your little secret, and you needed some comfort, so you go running to Cameron!”

“That’s insane!” Wilson said incredulously, stumbling backwards. “You’re losing it, House!”

“Prove it to me,” House challenged, smacking his cane against the bed. “Go ahead! Prove it to me!”

“No!” Wilson said, and he took several large steps backwards, accidentally knocking into the bedside table and sending a tray of instruments clattering to the floor, but he kept going backwards until his back was pressed against the wall. “House, I won’t—”

But House reached out, grabbed Wilson’s shoulders and captured his mouth in a kiss that looked as harsh as his words. There was nothing romantic or sentimental about it—House was grabbing greedily, and Wilson was flailing somewhere between desire and panic, as his arms found House and began to cling to him furiously. Tears began to roll down Wilson’s cheeks and his eyes were tightly shut, but House pinned him against the wall, cane long forgotten, and devoured him ruthlessly.

Then Wilson seemed to find it in him to push House away, and he did so with all the strength that was left in his body. Wilson staggered away from him, clinging to Cameron’s bedrails like a lifeline while House rocked back and forth where he stood.

“Bastard,” Wilson hissed, and then he fled the room like he was being chased by hound dogs.

The memory created a stir of feelings inside of her, but which ones, she wasn’t quite sure. Obviously, there was something going on between House and Wilson that had been the source of their problems for the last few days. That must have been the secret that House had figured out—that Wilson had a crush on him. Of course! It all made sense now!

She was curious about what would happen now, but couldn’t help the shadow of resentful disappointment as she realized that there was no chance in hell that House would ever be hers. True, the infatuation had ended a while ago, but these things always left those ghosts and shades across your mind, and hers had just been doused with ice water. Whether she’d been developing feelings for Wilson... she didn’t know. Maybe. He’d been a good friend to her for the last few days.

Sighing, Cameron tried to ignore the urge to shift her neck, which was aching after laying in this position for so long. She’d made several decisions laying here, which gave her some peace, but the part that she was dreading was informing everyone else.

---

When he heard the door open, House knew that it was Wilson without even opening his eyes. Cameron was having an MRI, Foreman and Chase were the ones giving her the MRI, and Cuddy’s heels would not have made the soft, padding sound that Wilson’s shoes were creating—it would have been more akin to someone doing rim-shots on a snare drum. What he couldn’t tell through the process of elimination, though, was whether Wilson was calm or pissed off, whether he was smiling or still had tearstains on his cheeks, but House didn’t care to find out so he did not take his legs off his desk or sit up properly or open his eyes. Maybe Wilson would think that he was asleep.

“I know that you’re not asleep, House.”

Well, damn. That hadn’t worked.

“Mmph,” he replied noncommittally. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you,” Wilson said, and House heard him pull up a chair and sit down in it with a sigh. “And I want you to pay attention when I talk to you.”

Unhappily, House opened his eyes and found himself staring at a freshly-showered Wilson, whose expression could be described as pensive, at best. “Happy?” he asked grouchily, swinging his leg gently down to the ground, trying not to wince at the flare of pain that shot through it as he did so. Impatient already, he waved his hand about. “C’mon, c’mon, I haven’t got all day here.”

“I want to know why you kissed me,” Wilson said stubbornly, folding his arms over his chest as he set his jaw. House knew that look. That was his ‘don’t-even-try-the-bullshit’ look.

“Because you wanted it,” House said simply, taking out his bottle of Vicodin and popping two of them into his mouth. “Was I wrong? Because if I was, then you’ve got some serious explaining to do for avoiding me for the last three days.”

“You were doing it to make me happy?” Wilson looked as if he were trying to suppress a snort. “I can’t remember the last time you did anything to help someone else without getting something for it in return.”

House opened his mouth to say something, but Wilson suddenly cut him off.

“And don’t feed me shit about how you’ve secretly loved me all these years,” he said, leaning back in his chair smugly, clearly awaiting to hear what answer House would come up with now.

House shrugged, trying not to let Wilson’s interruption throw him off. “I was curious,” he said, and there was a certain element of truth behind his words. “It worked both ways—you got your kiss, and I got to see what it was like.”

Wilson’s face exposed his feelings for a split second, showing a sharp mixture of betrayal and resignation, before it morphed into a mask of exasperation. “So I was your experiment? House, you don’t experiment when you’re throwing to the far side of fifty! You do that in college!”

House rolled his eyes. “What was I supposed to do, sit down and tell you that I had no idea what the hell I was doing?”

“It would have been appreciated,” Wilson said in a frustrated voice, struggling to express himself without screaming. “I’m not your personal lab rat for testing—I don’t appreciate you screwing with my feelings. Don’t do that again.”

“Aren’t you interested in my findings?” House asked curiously, seemingly unfazed by Wilson’s words.

Wilson stood up, disgust twisting his features. “No, House,” he said. “I’m not.” He turned around and walked out of the room, his pace quickening as he made it out the door and disappeared down the hallway.

House was momentarily torn between going after him and staying back here—but what reason did he have to go after Wilson? It would only lead to more fighting, inevitably, and so the only productive thing he could really do was wait until Wilson had cooled down. Then he would talk to him, and get things straight with his favorite oncologist.

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and wondered what he would do for the rest of the day. It was certainly late, and he could have gone home, but there were at least things to entertain him here at PPTH. Maybe he’d go see how his patient... what was his name? Dustin? David? Either way, he should be out of his surgery by now, and he was curious to see why the devil there had been a thermometer in his body. It might prove to be an interesting story.

But unfortunately, House was interrupted in his deliberating by the opening of his door and the sudden appearance of Cuddy.

“Pussy Galore!” House shouted, attracting the attention of several people who were passing by. “Quick! Quick, before she’s—oh, sorry Cuddy... Old age, you know. My vision isn’t what it used to be.”

Cuddy scowled at him, fixing her blouse self-consciously as she shut the door behind her. “Shut up House. Your patient is refusing treatment.”

House stopped moving, fixing Cuddy with a stare. “What’s there left to treat?” he asked slowly. “He just got out of surgery. Or did he wake up in the middle of it and demand to be closed back up?”

“Not him,” Cuddy said impatiently. “Your other patient.”

“Who—”

“Cameron!” Cuddy snapped. “She has another brain tumor, and she’s refusing to have surgery!” She glared at House, as if this was certainly all his doing, and waited for an answer with no sign of patience.

This news was a little unsettling to House, but he shook it off easily. “And that,” he said lazily, “is why God invented anti-depressants. Besides, Cameron is not my patient—she’s Wilson’s problem.”

“She won’t consent to that, either,” Cuddy said, desperation entering her voice. “You need to do something! If this were any other patient, you would down there screaming at them that suicide was for lemurs, so get over whatever secret feelings you’ve been harboring and talk to her!”

“Secret feelings?” House questioned in surprised, wondering if Cuddy had been completely blind when she’d seen him and Wilson kissing. “And lemurs don’t commit suicide. They migrate, you ninny.”

“Yes! You’ve been obviously avoiding Cameron because Wilson is usually down there, so you and him need to get over yourselves and either have sex or move to opposite ends of the earth,” Cuddy instructed, her voice leaving no room for doubt that this was what she actually wanted them do to. “So get down there and save her life.”

House rolled his eyes. “Sure thing. After I have sex with Wilson, of course.”

Cuddy’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “So help me, House, if she dies in my hospital because you wouldn’t talk her out of her depression, I will make your life a living hell. She is a good doctor and you are going to save her.”

House stared at her for a long moment, and then blinked slowly. “Wow,” he said in a wondering voice. “I just had the craziest idea for a role-play. Here, you be the dominating, incredibly sexy—”

“Fine!” Cuddy said, whirling around and stalking out of the office. House’s grin faded abruptly as the silence descended.

---

Chase held the thermometer in a plastic baggie, and he carefully laid it next to Daniel’s bed in case the man wanted to keep it. He didn’t personally see the attraction in holding onto an object that had been holing up in your body and nearly killing you before it was finally found, but there were people who apparently did. Backing away from the bed, Chase stared at the sleeping Daniel and wondered how this man had ended up with a thermometer in his intestinal tract. A surgical scar on his stomach suggested that there had been a poorly preformed surgery some time ago, but the thermometer was not a surgical one. It was more akin to a turkey thermometer, actually.

During the surgery, Chase had also discovered why Daniel had been so insistent that they stay away from his left arm—a tattoo, a long string of numbers, was imprinted on the inside of his forearm. The surgeon had also found various scars and possibly surgical markings that were unexplained by Daniel’s files.

Just who was Daniel Schenck? What secrets was he holding?

Chase stared at him, ideas floating around his brain like wisps of clouds; there was nothing solid, but stray thoughts conjoined and occasionally made sense. His mind became lost in the whirlwind, and Chase stood there blankly for so long that he barely even noticed Daniel’s heart monitor when it started to increase in speed. Jerking out of his stupor, Chase realized that Daniel was waking up and hurried to assist him.

“Daniel?” he said carefully. “Daniel, it’s Dr. Chase. Do you remember me? You just had surgery, so you’re going to be a little sore.”

Daniel blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the light, and he opened his mouth. No sound came out.

“It’s okay,” Chase assured him. “I can’t give you anything to drink for a few more hours, but until then—”

But Daniel suddenly grabbed his wrist harshly and stared up at him, eyes clear and demanding. Chase grabbed the older man’s hand and almost pried it away reflexively, but there was something animalistic about the panic in Daniel’s eyes that held him back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning and taking his eyes off of Daniel to glance at the monitors. There was nothing unusual on any of the screens, and Chase fixed his gaze down to the older man. “We did the surgery and took out the thermometer—it all went fine.”

Daniel shook his head, and his lips parted. This time, the traces of a voice came out, and Chase leaned over to hear.

“…es… oy… eh…”

“I’m sorry—I can’t understand what you’re saying,” Chase said apologetically. “Can you speak a little louder?”

“…estr… eh…” Daniel tried again, his hand unrelenting on Chase’s wrist.

“I can’t—why don’t you wait a little while and then you can try again, okay?” Chase suggested, but Daniel again shook his head, and the fingers ensnaring his wrist tightened. “Okay, okay,” Chase agreed hurriedly, not wanting to upset the man lest he have to go back into surgery. “All right, I’m not going anywhere. Try to tell me again. I’m listening.”

“Chase?”

Chase whirled around to see Foreman standing in the partly-opened door, looking tense as he stared in at Daniel and Chase. His lab coat was on, the stethoscope held in one hand loosely and the other drumming against his thigh. Foreman nodded to Daniel, raised his eyebrows when he saw that the elderly man was awake, and then turned his stare back to Chase. He took a slight step into the room, but he still held the door open carefully.

“I’m busy,” Chase responded. “I’ll be up to the conference room in a while. Tell House to—”

“House didn’t send me,” Foreman said impatiently, too anxious to wait for Chase to finish his sentence. “I need to speak with you. Now.”

Chase glanced down at Daniel, and then shrugged helplessly. “I can’t. It can wait a few minutes, can’t it? I really need to do this right now.”

“No,” Foreman said, giving him a pointed look. “We need to talk. Now.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes and sigh in frustration, Chase carefully detached Daniel’s hand from his wrist. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he promised.

---

Wilson, despite the ever-present list of things that he needed to do as the Head of Oncology, found himself wandering the halls as if he had nothing better to do. His mind could not concentrate on work. Usually, when such an obstacle arose, he’d sit back in his desk chair and remind himself just why Cuddy had named him department head and guilt-tripped himself into returning to his work. Today was different. It was not trifling concerns that flitted about his head—concerns about Cameron’s eminent death, House’s emotional games, that damned kiss…

Shaking his head to clear his mind Wilson suddenly realized that his feet had led him straight to Cameron’s hospital room. Again. Only this time, he had second thoughts before he put his hand on the door. Would Cameron bring up what she’d seen earlier? Would she demand to know why House had called her a rebound girl, why the two men had suddenly began kissing in the middle of her room, because Wilson didn’t have the answers she would be looking for. But on the other hand, he did have to continue his discussion with her about the tumor in her brain. Since House was refusing to do so.

He pushed open the door and entered the room, offering no words of greeting to Cameron, who was watching him from her bed with steady eyes. Wilson tugged the chair over from the corner and sat down in it, facing Cameron.

“Hey,” Cameron said, her eyes studying him. “You look—”

“Fine,” Wilson interrupted, knowing that she would try to bring up his situation with House to distract him from her brain tumor. “You, on the other hand, look like someone who’s going to die in a hospital room. Alone. In pain.”

Blinking, Cameron switched her gaze to the sheets and rubbed them between her fingers as she spoke. “It’s my choice,” she said stubbornly. “Mine. So shut up.”

“I’m not trying to get you to change your mind,” Wilson said placidly. “I just want to know if there’s anyone I should call. Anyone you want to see. Death next to a friend is better than dying here, where no one knows or even cares—I see it all the time. Families show up days after, shocked at the news and wishing for nothing more than that they’d known.”

“You care,” Cameron said, looking at him. “Chase cares. Hell, even House cares a little bit.”

Don’t put your money on it, Wilson almost said, but he caught himself at the last second. Cameron didn’t need to know that he’d gone to House, pleading for his help, because this would raise questions about her decision and about that… moment a few hours ago. Instead he fixed her with a look, waiting for a real answer.

Sighing, Cameron seemed to deflate. “No,” she said softly. “There’s no one.”

“Not your parents?” Wilson tried to suggest gently, wondering if there was some bad blood between them that House hadn’t managed to dig up. “A friend, maybe a cousin?”

Cameron snorted softly. “No,” she said. “You can’t reach my parents by telephone.”

“Are you sure?” Wilson asked, trying not to probe into unwelcome areas, but at the same time trying to get Cameron someone—someone—to sit with her while she died. “No pets you want me to sneak in for you, no neighbors you want me to call? What about your friend Joe?”

Again, Cameron shook her head. “No pets, and Joe’s dead. Please; I know that I’m going to die alone here. I’m okay with that.”

Wilson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “All right,” he said, resigning himself to the fact that Cameron did not want anyone. Straightening, he brought the image of Cameron’s MRI films to his mind and slipped into a more professional, ascetic manner. “Now, judging by the location of the tumor, you should begin experiencing deafness and speech problems soon. We can try chemotherapy, if you’d like, and that may—”

“No chemo,” Cameron said. “I’ve seen it, and I don’t want that. Give me painkillers—that’s all I want.”

Wilson clenching his fist three times in a row to hide his frustration, and relished in the feeling of his nails digging into his palm. Sharp pains prickled across his hand, and Wilson took a deep breath to steady himself. “You’ll be comatose before the end,” he told her, as if Cameron didn’t already know this. “Without treatment, the tumor will grow and probably metastasize, which will result in total organ failure. We’ll do our best to keep the pain at bay, but it won’t be comfortable.”

Cameron raised her eyebrows, making the little white cap on her head slide back slightly. “I know,” she said, her voice reassuring. “Everyone has a time, and this is mine. I’m ready for it.”

Wilson opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it.

---

“House!”

House looked up from his Gameboy Advance, reaching to press pause but his fingers were too slow, and the miniscule Mario went sailing into a little mushroom guy. Tinny, mournful music played in honor of the character’s death, and then a map of the various worlds reappeared, a new Mario dancing next to Luigi as he waited for House to direct him. Scowling, House glared at Chase and was surprised that Chase looked equally as, if not even more pissed off than he was.

“Can I help you?” he asked, trying to divert a little of his duckling’s anger. House switched off the Gameboy Advance and leaned back in his chair.

“Yeah, you can,” Chase snapped, stalking into the room and stopping just short of House’s desk. “Tell me why the hell you’re letting Cameron kill herself.”

“Jesus Christ, are you people on a crusade?” House exploded, not wanting to hear about how he should try to talk Cameron out of her suicide for a second time. Why did people expect him to be the one to save her? Didn’t he prove on a daily basis that he didn’t give a shit? “Cameron is not my patient, she’s Wilson’s—go cry to him!”

“Wilson—” Chase stopped, appearing to be at a loss for words. Finally, after flustering his hands about in the air for a few seconds, he gave up and let his shoulders slump. “He isn’t you.”

“Well spotted,” House congratulated him. “What clued you in? Was it his lack of a cane, or the fact that he actually gives a crap that gave it away?”

Chase glared at him. “Shut up. You know full well what I meant—you have the power to make her have the surgery, and you know it. It’s your duty as a doctor to save her.”

“Actually, I don’t seem to remember there being anything about stealing other doctors’ patients in the Hippocratic Oath,” House quipped, making his voice light just to piss off Chase even more.

“Then read the fine print!” Chase screamed, seeming to lose control of himself completely. “She’s going to die! How can you just hole up in here and—and—and play your damned Gameboy?”

House sighed as he felt a headache coming on. “If she wants to die, then don’t get in her way. I only steal interesting patients—Cameron is boring. The mystery’s over, the case is solved, so give it up. It doesn’t matter anymore.”