Title: Better to Have Loved and Lost

Summary: When Wilson falls suddenly ill, the resulting diagnosis becomes a lesson in love and loss for all concerned.

Rating: T

A/N: My medical background consists of Google searches and WebMD. I think I've gotten things mostly right, but I'm sure I've manipulated some stuff here and there. Please bear with me.

Disclaimer: As much as I adore Jimmy Wilson, I do not own him or any aspect of House. I'm going to go cry now.

Chapter 1

"You have a patient."

"Sorry, no can do." House pushes himself up off his chair. "See the time? I have exactly three minutes and twenty-seven… twenty-six… twenty-five seconds to get to a TV or I'll miss the beginning of General Hospital. That happens and I'll be in a really bad mood." He raises his eyebrows to his hairline before giving her puppy-dog eyes that don't even make her waver.

"You have a patient." She repeats herself. This time her voice is shaking as she thrusts the file into his hands. "Cuddy, what's so spec…" he trails off, glancing at the name on the tab. "Wilson?" His stomach bottoms out.

"He was just admitted; he… he seized in his office. He's awake now but he's demanding to see you." There's something she isn't saying but he has the feeling he'll find out soon enough.

"Wilson doesn't demand anything."

"He does now."

"Come with." He limps away from his desk.

"He doesn't want to see me. He doesn't want to see anyone but you."

He walks out the door and Cuddy trails behind him as far as the door to Wilson's room, but waits outside.

Wilson with an oxygen mask, hooked up to all the regular monitors, is more disconcerting than he'd like to admit. He wonders if this is how his friend felt when he was hospitalized. "So, Cuddy walks into my office with a file, prattling on about this pushy… wait, demanding was the word she used, patient. Imagine my surprise when I find out how it is."

Wilson gives him a weak half-smile. "Sorry." The word is some mix of slurred and lisped.

House shrugs, then nods toward the IV. "Did they somehow damage your sense of humor when they shoved that needle into your arm?" He gets a quick nod in response. "Well, remind me before I leave that I should tell Cuddy that the Hospital's getting a lawsuit that's actually in no way related to me."

"No lawsuit." Definite slurred speech.

House closes the door, effectively leaving Cuddy out of the conversation. She'll stay anyway and he'll decide later whether to tell her whatever Wilson tells him.

"What do you remember?"

He taps his head lightly and then points to his eye. "Blurry."

"Blurred vision. Slurred speech. Seizure." He repeats the words in his mind as well. Keeps him focused, in true doctor form. None of that pesky 'friend' stuff getting in the way. "Headache?"

Wilson nods and House adds it to the mantra playing through his mind. Headache's been continual for the last week or so; Wilson's looked exhausted too. He sets the file down on a chair and stands by the bed. He takes Wilson's hand, holding it just intimately enough to have crossed the line between doctor and friend and then says, "Squeeze my hand." Normal, firm grip from the right hand. He reaches across to take the left. "Again." This is Wilson's dominant hand and the grip is incredibly weak. "Weakness on the left side of the body." Another for the list. Explained the half-smile too.

"Blurred vision," Wilson manages, and House frowns. "Headache."

And memory problems. "I'm gonna run an MRI, a CT scan, maybe a PET scan." He holds Wilson's gaze and lies through his teeth, though the lie isn't much better than the suspected truth. "Looks like a stroke. Though I'd like to know why a healthy man under forty would have a stroke."

"You're a bad liar."

House's eyes widen until he elicits a laugh from Wilson. "I'm a great liar."

"Not to friends."

"I lie to Cuddy. But she just pretends to be a friend. She's really the anti-Christ, trying to find a way to utilize me in her plans of world domination."

"Cuddy doesn't believe you anymore."

He doesn't say anything, just glances back at the notations and nods once. "I'll have Foreman run the MRI." It's his way of asking if Wilson wants it kept quiet, though it wouldn't make it outside of his team anyway. Well, and Cuddy. His friend just nods.

"Hang in there." He clasps Wilson's good hand once more, very tightly, and releases.

Cuddy is, as he knew she would be, still in the corridor. "Either he doesn't know what it is and he's scared, or he thinks it's cancer and he's scared."

"So, scared being the common denominator here. And you drew theat conclusion how?"

"Because he wouldn't talk to anyone but you."

House cocked his head to the side. "That's because he's barely able to talk at all. Neurological thingies are nasty like that. They really screw up karaoke night."

"Watch it; your defense mechanism is flaring up. Might want to get that looked at."

"It does that from time to time. No biggie. Pill-popping does wonders for it." He draws out the Vicodin bottle and rattles it. "Sounds like you could use one too."

"Uh-huh. No. What is it?"

"He thinks it's cancer. Brain tumor."

"He said that?"

"No, but he called me a liar when I said I thought it was a stroke. Same thing."

She lifts an eyebrow and then shakes her head but doesn't bother to ask. He takes great pride in the fact that she can never follow his logic. "Sure. Any idea where--"

"Not right now." He pulls out his pager and sends a message to his minions simultaneously. "Gonna run an MRI and a CT scan. Depending on the results, a PET scan. I'm also ordering an ECG. "

"It's not a stroke."

He pauses. "I know. I'm gonna run an ECG."

-------------------------

"We have a case. Thirty seven-year-old male, active, generally in good health. Patient seizes. Now he's showing blurred vision, slurred speech, and weakness on the left, dominant side of his body. Has had a headache for the last week or so, which he tells the attending, and then forgets that he told him and tells him again two minutes later. Possible causes?"

"Sounds like a stroke," Chase says.

Cameron shakes her head. "Thirty-seven is young for a stroke. If he had one, then there's something else wrong with him."

Foreman nods. "Yeah, but it would explain the blurred vision, the headache, weakness. And the stroke could have caused the seizure."

"The seizure could have also caused the speech problems, instead of whatever caused the seizure causing them. Seizure could have caused most of those problems, actually."

"Seizure as cause and effect. I like it. So what causes seizures other than stroke?" House writes 'stroke' on the top of the board.

"Drug use," Cameron suggests, but House shakes his head.

"No drug use."

Foreman frowns, one eyebrow raised. "Everybody lies, remember?"

"Patient isn't using drugs."

The frown turns to an expression of confusion. "Right. Okay, well… diabetes could cause a seizure."

"No family history of diabetes; nothing in the prelim blood work."

"Fever seizure?" Cameron's thinking out loud. "Or it could be meningitis."

House shakes his head. "Patient hasn't complained of neck pain."

"Most people don't know that they should. Was the patient asked about neck pain?"

"Patient's a doctor; he'd have mentioned it. There's no neck pain. And there's no fever either."

"A doctor?" He ignores her and glances toward Chase.

"Encephalitis. Or toxoplasmosis."

"Didn't display any sensitivity to light. No cold or flu-like symptoms. Not sick."

"He had a seizure. I'd say that's pretty sick." Chase is really so cute when he argues for a point.

"Oh, you know what I mean." House frowns at them. "So we're back to stroke."

Cameron's frowning. "Could be cancer."

Foreman nods. "Brain tumor, or something else neurological."

"There's CNS lymphoma," Chase mentions. "But he's kind of on the young side."

"So we'll go with stroke for now."

"Why stroke? Cancer's more likely, given his age." Chase is questioning and being stubborn about an idea that wasn't even his. House likes that. Then Chase rolls his eyes. "Where's Wilson? He'll convince you." Oh, the irony.

"Why would a healthy 37-year-old have a stroke?" Cameron asks. She's not trying to discredit him; there's a genuine question in her eyes.

House shrugs. "I don't know; for one thing, he's obviously not very healthy. Do an MRI and a CT. They'll show us either a tumor or a stroke. And do an ECG."

Foreman stands. "Echo. For a stroke."

"I told you we're going with a stroke."

"Why?"

Damn if Foreman isn't too persistent for his own good -- or, really, for House's own good. "Why not?" He sighs. "If it's cancer we'll find it through the MRI anyway. If it's a stroke, we need to know now so we can look for the cause."

"The MRI and the CT scan will show you if it's a stroke. We don't need an ECG."

"Just do the ECG."

Cameron changes the subject. "Why us? It doesn't sound like there's anything… that would interest you about the case."

He frowns at her. "Well, I want to know why a healthy 37-year-old has a stroke."

"It's not a stroke," Chase presses. "You're trying too hard to make us think it is. Which means there's something you're not telling us."

"I tend to do that when I know I'm right." He gives a tight-lipped smile. "Nothing special. Except the patient's name." He hands Cameron the file he's been clutching like his life depends on it. Her eyes go wide and he swears he can already see tears. Soundlessly, she passes it on to Foreman and Chase.

He waits a minute or so before continuing. "You're right. Probably not a stroke. Foreman, Chase, do the MRI and the CT. Cameron, do the ECG and try to resist becoming Wilson's fourth wife."

He moves to sit behind his desk. Their meeting is over.