Here we go.

Story's coming along, one glacier at a time.

Reviews would be nice.

"…It says here 'Both Tasigna and Glivec inhibit Bcr-Abl, the definitive cause of Ph+ CML — in effect, shutting down production of the Ph chromosome. Tasigna was specifically designed to be a more selective inhibitor of Bcr-Abl and its mutations, which can cause resistance to treatment…'"

Cuddy slapped the issue of 'New England Journal of Medicine' shut and looked at the prone form of House.

"You probably already knew that. You always did. Do. Dammit."

Embarrassed and furious at her slip – he's not dead, for fuck's sake – Cuddy busied herself with House's chart for the umpteenth time since she'd walked into the room an hour ago. Feeling foolish – there was no one else here, and he probably can't hear you – she angrily jammed the file into its holder.

Her control was falling to pieces, one person at a time. Since his leaving, her telephone conversations with Wilson – who was too well groomed to sever all contact – were awkward and painful, both skirting around the giant elephant in the middle of the room. More frighteningly, her daily "interactions" with House seem to have fallen into a comfortable routine, and that familiarity was something she would never get used to.

Comatose for slightly over a month now, the chances of House waking up grew slimmer with each passing second, and although the fracture seemed to be healing nicely, it was unlikely House's brain would escape unscathed. The fellows' visits have grown less frequent, and Cuddy spent much of her time ignoring pitying looks cast her way by her own staff every time she stepped into this room.

But she couldn't let him go.

It pained her that her mental image of House, a layered portrait carefully cultivated over decades, the gorgeous crippled child of Dr. Joseph Bell and AC/DC with stupendous blue eyes was slowly fading into the wasted shell in front of her, pale and tubed, quiet and uninteresting.

However, with him unconscious, Cuddy could pretend he would still be the House she knew – brilliant, funny, snarky – after he woke. And both images were more welcome than the last option: that House would no longer be her House when he awakes. Her House wasn't brain-damaged, and her House had a Wilson (Not to be sold separately).

Sighing, she settled her paperwork on her lap and eyed the monolithic life support systems that surrounded House.

"If you're doing this to avoid clinic duty…"

Cuddy turned the iPod on and let Muddy Waters fill the silent room.

Wilson hovered anxiously around Amber as she reached for her crutches.

"Take your time, you don't have to rush this."

Amber rolled her eyes, but allowed him to grasp her shoulders to steady her.

"I'll be fine. I've got more legs than you."

Wilson snorted.

"Yeah, I feel completely reassured."

Amber waved him off and hobbled toward the bathroom.

Wilson allowed a small smile as he watched her, and then became sombre as he remembered a different hobbling form – just as stubborn, just as funny, just as infuriating.

Just as memorable.

He shook his head and moved to the kitchen, oblivious to Amber's watchful gaze from the bathroom door.

"What the hell are you still doing here?"

House looked up from where he stood in the fountain.

"Taking a bath, what's it look like I'm doing?"

He screwed up his face and tilted his head.

"Didn't I get rid of you?"

Growling in frustration, Amber hopped into the fountain next to him, and seized his arm as he immediately turned to leave.

"How long do you plan to keep this up?"

House put on his most pathetic face.

"Until my broken little heart is fixed."

"Do you want to die? Is that it? Cause sooner or later someone's gonna give up, and pull the plug."

"They need Wilson to do that. Which he won't agree to."

"You don't know that."

"Pleas, letting go is the one thing the man won't do."

He stared at her with a sneering eye.

"Can't say the same for his women."

Amber slapped him on his bicep.

"Is that what this is about? You're still mad cause he picked me over you?"

Amber thought she saw his eyes flash briefly.

"Give me a break. You were dying, ergo, the most needy."

"You're dying, and he doesn't even want to see you."

Hurt caused his features to fall slightly, giving him the appearance of a kicked puppy. His shields were up again in the next second, his voice a steely monotone.

"Then it should be no problem to sign the letter of consent."