It had been a mese since the drama concerning Cuddy occurred at PPTH. Things were settled and calmed down. But the sadness still remained. It was clear, to everyone, that things would soon change at the PPTH, once she's gone. And this hurt the faculty and staff, very deeply. Cuddy, had been a hard working, and determined boss, for all of them. As Dean of Medicine and the hospital administrator, she did her best, for not only the sake of the patients, but for her employees. At her departure, many would be grieving. In fact, despite her presence now, many are. And some, più so than others.

|||

House hadn't been staying at Cuddy's for quite some time. He insisted on staying at his rightful place in his apartment. Some days, he wouldn't mostra up. No one would hear from him for a whole day, and sometimes, maybe even two. Other days, he would come back--but he wasn't really there. However, he showed up eventually. After Cuddy had dato him a whole lecture about his obligations at the moment. And he listened without his own consent. He listened not because he wanted to o because he had to. He did it because it was what she wanted.

Wilson and House were eating lunch at a later time that day. Little conversation was held between the two from the very start of their lunch. As time progressed, and nurses and doctors had left, soon enough, barely anyone was there. Then, their conversation grew to it's extent.

"You're too quiet today. Something on your mind?"
"Yeah, the approaching death of my girlfriend."

Wilson scrunched his face and then shook no. He grabbed a napkin from a dispenser on their tavolo and wiped his mouth, crumpled it and threw it aside, then cleared his throat.

"Something's bothering you. Besides that. Something, past the dying thing. It's about Cuddy, but not about the cancer."

House shifted himself further into the booth and moved his legs up onto the sede, sedile to rest them both. He laid his elbow down on the table, and rested his head on his clenched fist. He looked away from Wilson, and popped in to both their surprise, a vicodin.

"Where did te get that?"
"Old."
"Why are te back on it?"
"Too many to tell. Just relax. I take two a day, tops."

Wilson looked away and continued to try to find, meaning and reason in House.

"What am I supposed to do." he detto blankly.
"What?"
"What do I do, when she's gone."

Wilson's face turned curious. His mouth dangled open, without words and without sound. Eventually, he managed to throw out some words.

"You--well. te saw me when Amber died."
"First of all, I'm not you. secondo of all, te had me to cagna at, cause it was partially my fault--"
"No it wasn't."
"Third--she didn't die of a terminal illness."
"Well, all that, with the exception of the secondo one, is true. But--you will do most of the things I did. For a while, te won't be able to fully grasp it. It'll feel, surreal. And then, you'll get angry. With yourself, and everyone else around you. And then, after a while te will face the longest and most painful stage of grief. The depression. It will hurt and te will refuse to do anything. After a while, you'll see the light and--you'll accept it. All of it. And te will, te will sposta on."

House turned to face Wilson. He had a half grin on his face and closed his eyes. Wilson didn't understand.

"I've been through denial. I've been through anger. I've done the bargaining. I am depression. But I'm sure as hell not going to acceptance."
"House--despite the fact that te are, well you, te aren't deprived of everything and anything everyone else goes through. Eventually you're going to have to accept this--"
"No. She might have. te will also. Same goes for probably, everyone else. Not me."
"You just have to give it time."
"Time. That word scares the hell out of me."
"Doesn't it?"

Suddenly the tavolo started vibrating. House and Wilson's phones had gone off, simultaneously. Each receiving a text message. Both read:

Cuddy:
===================
Help - my office.
===================
3:35pm Tues, June 12

Both of them looked at each other and practically sprinted out of there. This was no ordinary cry for help. If it was some type of help for her office, o for clinic duty o anything beneficial to the hospital, o anything concerning patients, she would've called. But this was a real cry for help - related to her current condition.

Within less than one minute

They had rushed out and threw open the doors to the clinic as bystanders gawked at them as they hurriedly made their way into her office. They found her collapsed on her knees, coughing up blood on the floor. Both of them rushed to her side. As House helped her off the floor and onto the couch, Wilson tried cleaning up the blood. He rushed into the bathroom and grabbed paper towel to wipe down the carpet, and to wipe her face. House was trying to calm her cough attack, as they sat together on the couch. Her coughs continued but the blood had stopped. House knelt down on the floor in front of her as Wilson went to sit da her on the couch. He glanced up at him, as he took a hard swallow.

"Think it's about time we should admit her huh?"