"At this stage it doesn't look good," said Doctor Clancy, the head of diagnostics. "There's a possibility she might die."

"It doesn't look like cancer, but we can't be sure," said Wilson. "We are still running tests."

"Is that a good thing?" Mrs Louis looked incredulous. "Isn't cancer terminal?" She was getting more and more frantic.

"It's okay. We'll keep working on every possibility," said Cuddy breaking in. "Why don't you go and get some coffee. She is stable for the moment. Then you can come back and sit with her."

Mrs Louis calmed and nodded her head. "All right," she agreed, casting one more look at her daughter as she left the room.

Wilson looked at Cuddy. "What do we do?"

"How long does she have Doctor Clancy?"

"A day, maybe two. She's dying and I have no idea."

Cuddy looked over at Wilson and they exchanged looks. "It's time." She turned to Clancy. "Are you okay with this?" Cuddy asked.

Clancy shook his head. "You always ask that and I always say the same thing: what would happen if anyone ever found out we were doing this?"

"More people would die," said Wilson.

Clancy rubbed his head and gave in. "You're right."

"I'll go get him," responded Wilson.

…

Cuddy loved her job. She always had and always will. She had finally met a man and she now had two beautiful girls who drove her mad with grief and worry.

Her husband once said how amazed he was that she could take care of a hospital and kids.

"I've had had practice," she'd said. "Doctors are just kids with scalpels."

Ron knocked on her door. She frowned. Ron was the head of the cleaning and sanitation department. He was a jovial Latino man who had been with the hospital since he was a janitor way back when. He was damn fine at his job. When the position had come up a few years back he had come to her and asked to be put forward. She thought back to all those years ago and her one handed handyman telling her how he desperately wanted his brother to have a chance.

She had fought long and hard to get Ron the job. He had no formal qualifications, but he had worked his way up to administration and he knew every nook and cranny of this hospital.

"There will be no mold under the sinks Doctor Cuddy," he had told her as he stood in her office. "And I will make sure all the doctors wear tie clips."

It had been the right decision. She had the cleanest hospital in all of Princeton.

She smiled warmly. "What can I do for you Ron?" he looked uncertain.

He came forward and proffered a file. "As you know from the last meeting we are looking for new staff."

"Everything going okay."

"Yes," he said quickly. "But this application crossed my desk. I thought you might want to look at it?"

She took the file and opened it:

Oh Jesus.

…

No one had expected the sentence would he that harsh. Fifteen years with no possibility of parole for ten. House filed an appeal, but it had failed. Tritter always had the upper hand. He had buddies everywhere in the system and in the crime community. And in a system like that where prisoners were considered the property of the state House was vulnerable. He just kept pounding and pounding House. Arranging it so that at every turn House never got an even break.

House had served very hard time, five of them spent in total solitary confinement: locked away for 23 hours a day with nothing but his leg for company. God knows what else had happened to him.

Now he was apparently out and looking for a job.

…

"What do I do about this," she said as she pushed the file over to Wilson.

He took one look at the picture. "Oh Jesus," he said.

"Exactly what I said."

"What the hell is he doing?"

"I don't…" Then Wilson laughed softly. "I know what this is about," he said to himself as realization dawned.

…

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing. I'm cleaning the windows."

"With your eyes shut."

"I am visualizing the cleaning."

"Looks more like you were sleeping." He nudged the other man's leg. "You're needed."

House's eyes slowly opened and looked up at Wilson. A small ironic smile crept across House's face. "Here," he said, thrusting the bucket sitting beside him in into Wilson's arms. "You can carry this for me." He struggled to his feet and set off down the corridor.

"Yes Doctor Baraku," mumbled Wilson as he followed after him.