I don't own anything but the plot. 3 to my readers and my sweet beta.

Over a week later, House found himself on his back in the operating room, grimacing as a biopsy needle was pushed forcefully into his hip. He let out a small groan, breathing through the pain, suddenly glad for the Vicodin he'd taken an hour before.

"Can't you be gentler with that?" He asked through his clenched teeth, staring up at Wilson angrily. He wasn't mad at Wilson - he wasn't really mad at all - but Wilson was his nearest target.

"There's no less painful way of doing a biopsy, unless I knock you out," Wilson answered mildly, pulling the plunger and concentrating on the amount of bone marrow he was taking. "Since you didn't want to be knocked out, this is the best we can do. Suck it up."

"That's what he said," House muttered, and inhaled sharply as the needle started to pull out of his body.

"Where are we going for lunch?" Wilson asked, completely removing the needle and he put it on the table beside his body quickly. He picked up a cotton ball and held it to House's hip and taped it in place. "I can't go far because I have appointments and I want to get this to the lab."

House sat up slowly, wincing at the pain in his hip. His stomach fluttered as he looked over at the bone marrow Wilson just collected. Soon he'll know if the cancer was wiped out.

"I'm not really hungry and Kutner told me they need help with a patient," House said, and held up his hands defensively when Wilson looked at him sharply. "I'm not technically working. I had a good night's rest in my own bed for the first time in weeks last night, with a hooker beside me and a bottle of Jack in my hands, and now I'm ready to get into the groove of things again. Five minutes."

Wilson shook his head and pulled off his rubber gloves, dropping them into the trash can smoothly. "Then I'll pick up some sandwiches and fries in the cafeteria and we can sit in your office."

"Fine. You know what I want," House said and jumped off the table, wincing as the weight on his leg shot a jolt of pain from his hip down to his knee.

House picked up his cane and began to move carefully out of the room.

"Wait," Wilson told him, and he paused to look over his shoulder. Wilson moved around the table and came up to House, holding out a paper mask. "Use it today."

"I'm not visiting China," House grumbled, but put the mask on anyway. He gave one last exasperated look at Wilson before turning forward and moving into the hallway. Hardly anyone glanced at him as he moved through the busy hallways, and he was glad for it. A cancer patient walking through the cancer unit isn't that unheard of.

Moments later he was striding through the doors into his office, and was horrified to see balloons and flowers on his desk. He looked to the connecting outer office at his team and they all smiled back.

"You can come remove this crap now!" He said loudly, and they stood up, taking the backhanded invitation to come into the office. House sat down behind his desk, relieved to be back at work, and began rifling through the packages that came with the balloons. He grinned, the mask hiding his joy, as he picked up a bouquet of lollipops from Cuddy.

The flowers were from everyone, including some nurses from his department that he spent most of his time ignoring over the years. He wasn't a flower guy by any means, but it was nice of people to do this.

"Split up the flowers amongst yourselves. Save the candy and money for me," House said, glancing up at the team briefly before pulling a red sucker from the bouquet and sticking it under the mask and into his mouth.

Thirteen smiled at him, making no move for the goodies on the table. "You look really good, House."

"Oh, I know," House said, pulling off his beanie and running a hand over his scalp. Tiny, short hairs poked his hands as he rubbed his head. "I'm growing back my hair. I don't think the bald look is good for me. It works for people like Foreman."

"You've put on weight, too," Kutner added, nodding as if in approval. House stared at him with his eyebrows raised.

"Yes. Once you stop throwing up fifteen times a day, food manages to stay in your system longer."

"Regardless," Foreman cut in, stalling anyone from continuing their helpful discussion. "We're happy to have you back. When do you officially start again?"

"Four weeks. I'm going on a vacation in three weeks." House glanced at his watch and sat back in his chair. "So what's going on with the patient?"

Immediately House was dragged into the case and he lost track of the time. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed this part of his life. People depended on him, and he'd always known that, but being away for weeks and not being able to help had stabbed at him. His team, for the most part, stayed to the topic and patient at hand, though Taub stopped all conversation completely when he asked, "when do you get your biopsy results?"

"The results will be done when they're done. I'm not going to read them until I get back from Vegas," House said, eyeing each of his team individually, waiting for them to argue. They just nodded their acceptance; they'd probably sneak into the lab later and check for themselves. Actually, House thought. . . "if I find out any of you are snooping through my test results after I go home, you're fired."

The only person who looked even partially abashed was Kutner, which didn't surprise House in the least. The other three were better manipulators and liars.

The door to his office opened and before House could see past his team to see who came in, a picture was taken. Cameron lowered the camera and grinned; Chase stood behind her with an apologetic smile. House picked up his giant tennis ball and threw it at her before sticking his sucker back in his mouth and putting his feet up on the desk.

"Release the hounds," he said, looking up at Kutner, waiting for him to get the reference. He grinned in response, but otherwise didn't move. "Fine," House sighed and sat upright again. Cameron took another picture. "What do you want?" He asked, agitation evident in his voice and eyes.

Cameron held out a wrapped gift, pocketing her camera. "We're glad you're back."

"I've been here for weeks! I haven't gone anywhere." House dropped the gift on top of the desk and looked up at her expectantly. She just smiled, apparently expecting him not to open it yet. "We're in the middle of a differential. Either join us or leave us. We're not talking about me anymore."

Chase and Cameron exchanged confused expressions, then Chase asked, "are you feeling okay? You love to talk about yourself."

"Har har har."

House looked up at his door and was thankful for the mask on his face that hid his relieved expression. Wilson came through the door with a bag of boxed food and a tray of drinks in his other hand. House shooed everyone from the room with parting words of wisdom ("Chase, she's in a hot mood now that she's seen me. The closet down the hall is never bothered.") and tore off the mask the moment Wilson sat down. He pulled his sandwich from the bag and opened the box of fries and stuck a fry in his mouth.

Wilson reached over and picked up the wrapped gift Cameron had left, and tore the paper off without asking permission. House raised an eyebrow but watched, curious despite himself.

"Wow," Wilson said after a moment, then handed the picture frame to House so he could see. "It might not be something to proudly hang in the office, but it's a good one."

House looked down at the picture in the frame and grimaced. It was the picture Cameron had taken during his first dialysis treatment. His eyes were closed and he had a slight smirk on his face, despite how pale he looked even in the black and white ink. Dark circles under his eyes magnified the look of death that was House.

"Gross," House finally said, putting the picture face-down beside his computer monitor and picking up his Reuben. Wilson chewed his fries thoughtfully, his head tilted to the side as he studied House.

"That picture was taken eight days ago and you already look 150 percent better."

"I know I look good. Everyone keeps telling me that as if I didn't spend the entire morning admiring my reflection in the mirror," House said, exasperated, then picked up his soda and took a long drink from the straw.

"I dropped off the bone marrow. Should have results by the end of the work day. Are you going to be here?" Wilson asked, his voice light. House knew he was eager to see the test results, and House had made him swear he wouldn't look at them before House did.

"I need to go take care of my damaged bike," House said, shaking his head.

Wilson's hand stopped halfway to his mouth and he said, "you are? How are you getting there?" House grimaced; Wilson had taken him to work this morning, so he didn't have his car.

"I was going to take the bus. Maybe Cuddy will drop me off on her way home. Don't worry about it," House added, sticking a fry in his mouth. "You don't need to help me today. Take care of whatever you've blown off the last few weeks. I'm fine."

"I can't let you take the bus," Wilson said softly, and House internally groaned. He knew what Wilson was imagining now. Amber. "Let me drop you off there on the way back to my place at least."

That will ensure that Wilson won't be here. .

"I have to be there by four. I was planning on leaving by three."

"That's not a problem. I don't have much work that needs to be done here. It's mostly desk work that I can do at home tonight," Wilson said quickly, brushing his hands on his napkin. House stopped an amused smile from spreading onto his face. He really wants to do this.

"You have to drop me off there. No tricking me. My bike's been in the shop for over two weeks now and it's been ready to be picked up for at least a week." House narrowed his eyes.

"Do you have a new helmet and jacket?" Wilson asked innocently. "The other ones were damaged too."

"They sell that kind of stuff there." House waved his hand dismissively. "It's not a problem."

Wilson chewed on his bottom lip in thought before saying, "you really shouldn't be in public places yet."

"Whether you take me or not, I'm going down there to get my bike today." House raised his cup to his mouth and drank out of the straw, keeping eye contact with Wilson. Wilson stared back, torn between being supportive and behaving like his doctor, and when he sighed in defeat and nodded, House grinned. "I'm only going to be there for ten minutes, then I'll go straight home."

"I'm so sure," Wilson muttered, jabbing at his chicken with his plastic utensils. After a minute, he looked up and said, "if you go to a bar, will you at least call me if you need a ride home?"

The question surprised House and it took him a few seconds to get a hold of himself before responding. "I wasn't planning on going to a bar. Wilson, I'm not stupid. I know what could happen if I get sick right now with a cold. I know how dangerous drinking and driving is. I know how bad the public transportation in this city is. I'm a doctor who has seen and personally experienced all of the negativity's to every possible scenario. I'll call you if i need your help. Otherwise, go home, crack open a 40, and take a damn break."

Wilson smiled, and House felt immense relief at Wilson's acceptance.

----------**----------

"You don't need to come in, really. It's just signing a bunch of paperwork and getting my keys back," House said, exasperated. Wilson had his fingers wrapped around his keys, ready to turn off the car and come inside.

"I want to make sure you get your helmet," Wilson explained pathetically. The excuse was a lame one, and House rolled his eyes to deflect the emotion behind the words.

"I told you I'm not stupid."

Wilson dropped his hand from the keys in defeat. "Fine. But call me when you get home so I know you're safe."

"Yes mother," House said, putting his cane to the icy ground outside.

"Seriously, House. You're still recovering from chemo and you're still weak."

House turned his head and looked over his shoulder as he put his feet to the pavement. "I'm stronger now than I was weeks ago. I haven't had an 'oh shit!' scare in over a week." House watched emotions flash across Wilson's face; he was trying to accept House's words but he couldn't stop being concerned. "If it will get you to stop being a baby, I'll pull over if I start to feel weird and I'll call you."

"That's the best you can do. I'll be at home, then," Wilson said and House turned forward and got to his feet, hoping Wilson didn't see the slight shake in his legs. House wasn't feeling terrific, but he was well enough to drive to the hospital and then home afterward. The test results were waiting in the lab to be picked up and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to get to look at them in peace before his vacation.

After House shut the door and he walked inside the warm building of the body shop, Wilson put the car and gear and drove away. House limped to the counter and hung the cane over his wrist, then leaned heavily - but trying to go for nonchalance - onto the counter. The man behind the counter was a kid in his mid twenties wearing a gray jumpsuit with the name 'Levi' stitched across the breast.

House bit back a snarky remark about his name and said instead, "I'm here to pick up my bike. Gregory House."

Levi nodded and dug through a stack of paperwork, and House took the opportunity to look around the room at the few helmets they had on sale. He noticed they didn't have any jackets, which was fine because he was planning on buying a new one elsewhere on another day.

"I need a helmet, too," he said to Levi, and the guy eyed House up and down briefly before pointing behind House.

"That's the best one we've got. It's $450."

House looked at the helmet from the distance and shook his head. "No, I just need something to get me by until I get the one I want. Just ring me up for one that's moderately priced." House reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.

Minutes later, he was standing out front with his new $225 helmet and watching Levi pull his bike around. He felt a surge of adrenaline as it stopped beside him, and he grinned despite himself. He missed riding his bike, and his shoulder was healed enough to operate it without worry. Plus, he'd doubled up on his Vicodin for the day, so he was far from concerned about pain and the possibility of an accident.

Once he'd inspected the bike and signed the last of the paperwork, he got on his bike and it roared to life when he kicked it on. I'll miss this if I end up dying from leukemia he thought sadly, then pushed the thought aside and pulled on his helmet and gloves.

----------**----------

House narrowly avoided Cuddy on his way up to the lab. He'd sent his team home early after they'd diagnosed their last patient, and Cuddy was getting the clinic closed for the night. He had his helmet under his arm as he walked down the bustling hallway, feeling anxious with each step to the lab.

The lab technician barely looked up when House walked into the room, but eyed him suspiciously when House told him to give him his test results.

"Dr. Wilson needs to sign off on these," the guy said, holding a file tightly.

"Since when do you require a sign off on test results? They're just test results, and they're my results. Give them up," House snapped, holding his hand out impatiently. His cane swung from his wrist almost threateningly.

The tech glanced at his partner, unsure of what to do, and House snatched the folder from his hands. He made his way to the door, and the men began to protest, their chairs screeching as they stood up to follow him. House paused at the door and turned his head around and said, "if Wilson says anything to you, tell him I overpowered you." They looked doubtfully at one another. House rolled his eyes and pushed the door open, his heart thudding in his chest. "Trust me, he won't get upset. I'll even bring these back when I'm done so he'll never know you failed at your job."

House was out of the lab before they could say anything more, and he walked as quickly as he could to his office. If he were capable of it, he'd be running through the halls, but the last thing he needed to do was cause a scene and get Cuddy involved. Or Cameron. Ugh.

Once safely locked in his office, House flipped on the lights and drew the blinds. He threw his cane on the chair with his helmet and rubbed his leg as he walked around his desk to sit down.

The green folder taunted him as he looked down at it, biting his lip nervously. He glanced up once to make sure his office was empty, then opened the folder and skimmed through the results.

----------**----------

Wilson pulled into the parking lot at Princeton Plainsboro and shook his head in amazement when he saw House's bike in his handicap spot. Truthfully, it didn't surprise him in the least that he'd lied and come back here anyway. It would surprise him more if House wasn't looking at his test results.

After debating in his idling car for a minute about whether he should go inside or go back home, he shut off his car and got out. House couldn't have been here long - he'd dropped him off 45 minutes ago - and he wondered if he could catch him before he got to the lab. Probably too late now.

Once he got inside, he stopped long enough at a vending machine to get two cups of coffee, then pushed the button on the elevator to go up to their floor.

"What are you doing back here?" Cuddy asked from behind him, and he turned to give her his attention. "House isn't here, is he?"

"Yes," he answered simply, then stepped into the elevator after the doors opened. She walked in after him and pressed the button for him.

"Why? I thought you guys weren't going to look at the test results..?"

Wilson just shrugged. "I don't know what he's doing here. He said he'd go home. You know he's probably up in his office looking at them anyway."

"And he wasn't going to tell us," she added, her voice heated. A stab of anger hit Wilson at the tone in her voice. How dare she get angry at him for that? If he didn't want to tell anyone, it's not anyone's business but his own. He knew he was a hypocrite for the thought. If he truly felt that way, he wouldn't be here right now. If he doesn't want to tell me, that's okay. But he knew deep down it wouldn't be okay if House didn't share the results when he knew.

They stepped off of the elevator once the doors opened and they stopped beside the closing door, unsure of what to do.

"I'll just check on patients. If he tells you, and it's okay to tell me. . ." she trailed off, looking up at Wilson with a pleading expression.

"I'll let you know if and when I find out," he promised, and she smiled, blinking back tears. His stomach flipped, and he mentally braced himself for what House was going to say or do.

They went separate ways, and Wilson started dragging his feet the closer to House's office he got. The lights were on inside, and the blinds were pulled shut. He heard the bass from his speakers from down the hall.

Oh no. Loud music could mean anything. In this case, though, he was afraid that it could be bad news.

Wilson stood in front of the door for a minute, collecting his emotions and holding them tightly inside. He took a deep breath and slowly pushed the door open.

House was sitting in his desk chair, his back to the door. He was tossing his tennis ball in the air and catching it, bobbing his head to the music. Wilson stopped just inside the door, watching his friend, trying to figure out the mood. His mind raced, and he couldn't quite grasp the situation.

"House?" He finally blurted out when the music started to quiet. House stopped tossing the ball, but didn't turn around. "I brought coffee -"

"You followed me." House didn't make it a question. He didn't sound angry, or upset.. just tired.

"No. I..figured you'd come back here," Wilson admitted, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I can leave. Do you want this?"

House turned his head for a moment, and Wilson lifted the coffee cup a bit.

"Sure." House spun his chair around and put the tennis ball back on his desk. Wilson stiffly moved forward and handed the cup to him, then stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. The green file with House's test results sat closed on top of the rest of House's books and paperwork. Ask him what it says! His mind screamed at him, but he couldn't force the words out of his mouth.

"Want to go get some dinner? Watch a movie?" House asked casually, taking a sip of his coffee, meeting Wilson's eyes over the rim of the cup. Wilson's mouth went dry, and he tried to form a full thought. He's okay. He wouldn't be this calm if he wasn't, would he?

"I..yeah. Sure." Wilson's eyes drifted back to the folder. He swallowed back bile and tried to breathe slowly to ease his racing pulse.

House watched him carefully before saying, "I got a new helmet. I need to buy a better one though." He nodded to the chair behind Wilson. Wilson barely glanced over his shoulder. I don't care about your fucking helmet, House!

"You said you wouldn't look at them before the trip," Wilson finally said, and anger flared up again. He tried to suppress it, raising his hand to his neck to distract himself from lashing out.

"You said you'd go home," House retorted, raising his eyebrows.

"So did you," Wilson snapped, placing his coffee cup on the edge of the desk. His hands were starting to shake and he knew he'd drop the cup at any moment.

"Everybody lies. Test results lie, too," House said smoothly, and Wilson completely froze. He closed his eyes slowly, steadying himself at the words House said. No. Please, no more.

"Either tell me, or don't, but stop fucking with me House. I can't deal with this game," Wilson growled, raising his hand to the bridge of his nose.

House was quiet for a few moments, and when papers started rustling on his desk, Wilson forced his eyes open. He was holding out the green folder for him to take. Wilson studied House's face momentarily, but couldn't decipher what he saw. He pulled the folder from House's grip and opened it tentatively.

Before he was done reading the biopsy results, tears had formed in Wilson's eyes. He had to blink a few times to clear his vision, re-reading the words. He fell into the chair beside his legs, no longer able to stand.

They were silent for a few seconds, and House turned the music off when Wilson closed the folder.

Wilson broke the silence with a shaky sigh. "You still have to do consolidation therapy for a few weeks even though you're in remission."

"I know."

"It could come back. We'll have to test you every six months or so."

"If I have to tell you I'm not stupid one more time today, you're fired," House said lightly, and Wilson raised his eyes from the closed folder to House's face.

"You exhaust me."

"Admit it. You loved taking care of me the last few weeks. You'll miss it terribly."

Wilson put the folder back on top of House's desk and laughed to himself softly. Relief flowed through him, and he felt happier than he had in so long.

"You're such a jackass," Wilson managed to say before he started laughing louder. "I need a beer."

"I thought you had work to do at home?" House asked innocently, and Wilson waved it off.

"We have a reason to celebrate tonight. Work can wait." Wilson smiled at House, who gave a small smile back. He's happy, even if he doesn't want to show it. Wilson's smile faded, though, and he said, "Cuddy knows you're here. She's going to want to know what the results say."

House groaned and sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "I can't have a secret very long at this place, can I?"

"You don't have to tell her. But I will. Screw patient-doctor confidentiality. She's been here through all of this, and she deserves to know. And she doesn't deserve to be screwed with like what you did to me," Wilson said with a slight frown. "That was wrong."

"It was entertaining," House explained, a full smile finally breaking onto his face. "It was fun watching you squirm."

"You're sick."

"Ah, but I'm not dying. At least not right now. There's always tomorrow," House mused, tilting his head while he scratched his forehead. Then he looked over at Wilson. "You can go tell Cuddy if you want. I don't want to deal with her tears and hugs. It's bad enough I had to watch you hold back tears."

Wilson stood up from his chair and put his hands on his hips, waiting for House to struggle to his feet a moment later. Once House was fully upright, he walked around the desk and put his arms around House and said into his ear, "just because you almost died doesn't mean you can bail out on sharing the good news."

House patted Wilson's back a few times before pushing him away. His face was blank, and Wilson knew he was trying to hide whatever embarrassing emotion he was feeling. Relief. Happiness. Appreciation. The list was endless, but Wilson knew him well enough to know that he felt something positive, and that was all he needed to know.

Thank you guys so so so much for sticking with this story :) I hope you enjoyed it. I have a few new stories started already, be sure to check my profile for updates. Perhaps I'll do a follow up ficlet on the vacation :p