Even though I only saw 4 episodes this season, I still felt compelled to write an epilogue to the show. If it doesn't flow well, I'm sorry. At least when I got stuck, I didn't take the easy way out and crash a car into someone's house. Oh wait, that's not normal? Nevermind. I hope you enjoy. For better or worse, House was a huge part of my life for almost a decade. I think it deserved a proper sendoff.

Prologue (To the Epilogue)

They didn't know how they ended up in Oregon. It was never discussed that this was the place where their journey would end. Matter of fact, they didn't discuss much of anything other than the present. They didn't take time to reminisce about the past, or look to the all too short future. The word cancer was not uttered once they mounted their motorcycles. Wilson had held out for about eight months, three months longer than expected, a fact that neither dared to mention, for fear of jinxing their extra time together. He was starting to fade slowly now. House knew the end was drawing near all too quickly and he wasn't ready to let go.

They sat out on the balcony of the cabin they had rented for the night, staring silently out onto the Cascades, the sun slowly dipping below the horizon.

"House, it's time."

A lump instantly formed in House's throat as he kept his eyes fixed off into the distance and nodded. Those were the three words he'd never wanted to hear. Three words he never wanted to hear again. What he would trade to make those words not be true. But there were no more bargaining chips. He'd thrown all he had into the pot eight months ago.

Together they stood up and walked into the living room together, pulling the sliding door closed and drawing the curtains behind them. Wilson pulled out a syringe and the bottle of morphine that he had been holding since they left Princeton and handed it to House.

House took a seat on the coffee table in front of Wilson as he drew the lethal dose of painkillers. Looking up slowly, his eyes met Wilson's.

"Thank you, Wilson. For everything." It didn't seem anywhere near enough given all that they'd been through but, somehow, it was.

Wilson smiled. "You're a good man House. No one could have given me what you gave me these last few months. Don't let anyone tell you differently."

"I don't know what I'm going to do without you," House murmured softly, looking down at his feet.

"There are plenty of people out there that love you, House. And they haven't given up on you." He paused. "You really should have gone to your fake funeral to see all the people crying over you. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself."

They both laughed softly and smiled at each other.

"I'm…." A single tear ran down House's cheek that he didn't bother to wipe away. "I'm going to miss you."

He reached for Wilson's arm, the muscles weakened from the cancer that had overtaken his body, and quickly inserted the needle into Wilson's vein.

Wilson tilted his head up with a slight twinkle to his eye. "I'll see you soon."

No, you won't. It's what House would have said under any other circumstance. Seeing his best friend facing death didn't change his belief. If anything, this unfair, cruel, unforgiving thing did nothing but strengthen that belief. But it didn't matter what he believed in that moment. Nothing mattered. It would all be over soon enough.

Entwining Wilson's fingers into his, he gave his reply. "Yeah."

He gripped his hand tighter and tighter as he watched Wilson's breathing slow, his eyes close, and, finally, his chest fail to rise. Even in death, it was oddly fitting that Wilson remained the pillar of strength for House. He held tightly onto Wilson's hand as he bent forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

The past eight months, he had forced himself not to think about this moment. He vowed to be there one hundred percent for his best friend as they took on the world together and it was not a promise he could have fulfilled had he pictured this moment. He wanted Wilson's last days to be happy, not filled with fear of the finality of death. He didn't ask Wilson whether he succeeded. He hoped he did.

The months of suppression finally took his toll on him. His heart began to race, his blood pressure rising, as he grabbed the empty syringe and threw it forcefully against the wall.

"FUCK YOU, CANCER!" He screamed. "FUCK YOU."

The tears fell unabashedly down his cheeks as he took a seat next to Wilson, dropped his head into his hands, and cried.

In the weeks following Wilson's death, House was lost, trying to seek refuge with those few people he knew he could trust. He stopped in Kentucky to let his mother know that he was still alive. Really, it was the least he could do. She took it well, he thought, needing only four hours to convince her that he was real and that she was not going crazy.

He ultimately decided to go to Wilson's funeral, standing hidden from view in the dark shadows of the synagogue as countless people, most of whom he didn't know, lined up to pay their respects to the great Dr. James Wilson. Only Foreman saw him there, giving him a nod and a slight smile on his way out.

He knew he would inevitably show up here. He wasn't quite sure how but there he was, pacing back and forth on her front porch. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her, so many things he wanted to apologize for. He wouldn't know where to start. Before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked on her door.

She opened the door and her eyes instantly widened.

"Hi." It was the only thing he could think to say.

Cuddy stared back at him for what felt like ages and then suddenly, she did the unthinkable. She began to laugh. Not one of those nervous laughs, either. A full-on-shoot-milk-out-of-your-nose throaty laugh.

"Not quite the reaction I was expecting for my Lazarus-like appearance," He muttered under his breath as she continued to laugh.

"You knew I was alive?" He asked when she finally quieted.

"No, I thought you were dead," she admitted. "But out of all the things you have pulled over the years, this doesn't surprise me in the least."

They both paused to ponder that thought.

"I should call the cops, you know," Cuddy said with no real substance to the threat.

"Wilson's dead, Cuddy."

Cuddy dropped her head. "I know, House. I'm sorry."

"I didn't see you at his funeral."

"I couldn't bear saying goodbye to him," Cuddy replied with remorse.

House let that comment slide. "Can I come in?"

Cuddy lifted her eyes suspiciously.

"I didn't bring a car," he said with a smirk before pausing. "Too soon?"

She smiled, which surprised House, and opened the door to let him in. She led him to the living room as House drank in his new surroundings. This place didn't remind him of her old place at all. He shuddered to think of the reasons why it didn't.

"Where's Rachel?" He asked as he dropped his backpack beside the sofa.

"Piano lessons. It was either soccer or piano lessons. All of her friends played soccer. But she had her heart set on learning to play. No one could convince her otherwise. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

House smiled to himself. "Don't blame me. The piano was the only thing I found that made her stop pestering me about playing My Little Pony."

Cuddy's face saddened at that thought while House reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen and swallowed four pills.

"You're not on Vicodin anymore?" She asked.

"Nah. Once Wilson got sick, Vicodin just didn't mean as much to me anymore." He paused. "Plus, kinda hard to get a scrip when you're considered to be dead."

Cuddy didn't know why she wanted to cry. Cry for Wilson. Cry for House. Cry for all the things she missed. Cry for the happy memories and the sad. Even though she'd spent most nights the past year crying herself to sleep, it wasn't enough. It wasn't until now that everything felt real.

"Did he suffer?"

"We never let it get that bad. We rode our motorcycles across the country until….one day we didn't." House quieted and leaned back into the couch, playing one of those days back in his mind.

Cuddy let out a soft chuckle. "Wilson on a motorcycle? That's a sight I would have liked to seen."

House smiled. "We certainly weren't winning any records for speed, that's for sure. You can read all about that in my book - The Boy Wonder Oncologist and the Sundance Kid."

"Ha!"Cuddy tilted her head to one side. "Like you could pull off the role as the Sundance Kid!"

"I think I made a great sidekick!" House defended himself.

Cuddy drummed her fingers against her chin. "Let's see – you're an egotistical smart-ass…"

House lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

"…Who also happens to be funny and devastatingly handsome. If I didn't know better, I would have thought they modeled Butch after you."

"I'm sure there's a compliment in there somewhere, so thanks. Still not enough to make me rethink the title of my book."

A few moments of silence passed. It wasn't particularly awkward. Many of their nights together in the past had been spent lying in bed silently holding each other, one another's presence being sufficient.

"I was there for him right through the very end," House said softly, looking down as he rubbed his hands together.

"I'm glad you were, House," she replied sincerely.

He looked up at her. "There are some mistakes you know to never make twice."

Cuddy was the first to break eye contact. She had to. It was the closest thing to an apology she would ever hear from him yet somehow more meaningful than any actual apology he could give. It was something she was sure only House could pull off.

House saw Cuddy shift uncomfortably in her chair. Changing the subject, he asked, "So, how's life as a Baltimore suburbanite?"

Cuddy gave a thankful sigh of relief. "It's good. I head up the Endocrinology Research Center at Hopkins now."

House nodded knowingly. "I know. I read your articles. They were good. I always told you that you made a better doctor than an administrator."

"No, you didn't," Cuddy argued, "You mocked me for being an administrator and then you teased that I wasn't a real doctor whenever I took on a patient."

"You always were terrible at reading between the lines." House retorted.

"I think you also mocked me for that, only being able to see in black and white."

House nodded. "That does ring a vague bell."

"What about you, House? How are you doing?"

House scratched a non-existent itch on his neck and stammered. "I….I'm okay. I mean, I've definitely been better. But I'm going to be okay. I miss him, Cuddy."

Cuddy was taken aback by his honesty. This vulnerable side wasn't something that he showed often, at least it wasn't before she left. She resisted the urge to beat herself further up over her decision to leave. "I know the feeling."

"I missed you too," House added. "Foreman just couldn't pull off the low-cut tops and heels like you could."

Cuddy laughed. "There's an image."

A couple more minutes of silence passed.

"So, what happens to you now, House? Are you okay…..financially?"

House smiled. "Technically, the name's not House anymore." He pulled out a fake driver's license from his wallet and handed it to her. "It's Steve McQueen. I wanted to go with the Artist Formerly Known As Sir Limps-A-Lot but it wouldn't fit. And I have plenty of money. Wilson left everything to me, and by me I mean Steve, and if there's anything that you Jew-folk do well, it's save money. No worries there."

"Steve McQueen, The Great Escape." Cuddy inspected the license in her hand. "Quite a few parallels there."

"All completely unintentional. I just chose that name because of his dreamy blue eyes."

House took the license back from her and placed it in his wallet. Looking at his watch, he regretfully stated, "Well, I think I should go. Thanks for not slamming the door in my face. I know it couldn't have been easy."

But it was easy, Cuddy thought. Too easy. From the moment she opened the door and saw him, not once did she feel even one ounce of anger toward him. Not once did she feel scared or threatened. The past thirty minutes had been the best thirty minutes she'd experienced in the past year and a half. All she wanted to do was wrap her arms around his neck and never let go. She knew that couldn't be normal. She wondered how he managed to have that effect on her.

"You have to go already?" In her head it sounded desperate. It probably sounded desperate to him as well. She really didn't care.

He nodded. "Yeah, I decided to go to Europe and travel around. I've always been a hopeless romantic that way."

Cuddy couldn't believe what she was hearing. So quickly he had reappeared in her life and, just like that, he was leaving. "How are you going to get there?"

Shrugging, he said, "I've got some high friends in low places that can get me there. Besides, I can be myself over there. I can't do that here anymore."

Cuddy felt the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "I don't want you to go. Stay. Here, with me and Rachel."

House grabbed her hand and brought it up to his chest. "Cuddy, we both know I can't do that. I no longer exist in the eyes of the government. I can't be a doctor anymore. Why would I put that burden on you and Rachel? It's my mistakes that led me here. I can't let you pay for my sins."

"But you can never come back." Cuddy pleaded with him.

"I know." He pulled her into a hug, placing his chin on the top of her head. He didn't know how long he stood there, holding her, listening to her cry. However long it was, it wasn't long enough.

Cuddy finally pulled away and looked up at him. "You really have changed, haven't you."

"Believe me, no one's more upset about this than I am. To have your whole world view shattered in a matter of minutes is a very devastating experience. I still haven't quite recovered."

"I can imagine." Cuddy laughed softly. "So what will you do once you get there?"

House tried to picture it in his head. "You know, I haven't really gotten that far. Maybe I'll play the piano a bit. Maybe I'll solve the European debt crisis. The possibilities are endless."

"I will miss you, Cuddy." He stopped talking to watch her wipe a tear from her cheek. "Despite everything that happened, I never stopped loving you."

Cuddy knew she wouldn't be able to respond without having a complete and utter breakdown. Instead, she leaned into him and pressed a kiss to his lips. They both knew it wouldn't go further than that. There would be no backing each other against the wall, no ripping off each other's clothes as they raced to the bedroom. It would just bring too much pain.

He pressed his forehead against her before backing away, already regretting his decision to leave. But he knew he had to. For himself and for her. He reached down for his backpack and pulled out a leather-bound portfolio and handed it to Cuddy.

"Here, give this to the kid."

Cuddy untied the ribbon and opened it up. It was two pages of sheet music. "What is it?"

"It's a piece that Rachel should learn to play."

"Who wrote it?"

House inhaled. "It's a song I wrote about her mother."

"Play it for me." If he hadn't been waiting for a response, he probably wouldn't have heard it she spoke it so quietly.

"One day." House promised.

Cuddy nodded. The vow of seeing him again in the future was enough for her now.

They walked to the front door in silence. Adjusting the strap on his backpack, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on her cheek. "Good bye Cuddy."

"Good bye House."

She watched him limp slowly to his motorcycle, wanting nothing more than to run after him and pull him back inside and never let him go.

Once he reached his bike, he turned around and called out to her. "We always were exceptionally good at the sex, right?"

Cuddy laughed and yelled back to him. "You ruined me for all men if that tells you anything."

House smirked to himself, storing away that knowledge in his permanent files. "I thought so."

And with that, he turned on the ignition and he was gone.

Epilogue (to the Epilogue)

13 Years Later

Now, it was Cuddy who didn't know what she was doing there, pacing back and forth in front of the hotel. He had kept in touch with her, despite it being something he never promised her he would do. He called every couple months. They certainly weren't the deepest conversations by any stretch of the imagination. They just needed to hear each other's voices, though both were far too stubborn to ever admit that. He sent Rachel a present every year on her birthday. Cuddy cherished every phone conversation, every gift, until one day it wasn't enough.

She hopped in a cab to the airport and booked the first available flight to Lisbon, the last place from where he had phoned her. And here she was, standing in front of the Bairro Alto hotel. The crowd in the lobby began to dissipate and that's when she heard it. The sounds of the piano invigorated all of her senses. No one else touched the keys that way.

She made her way to the entrance of the lobby, leaned up against the wall, and observed him playing. His eyes were closed and he was completely lost in the music. Even though it had been thirteen years, he still looked the same. More wrinkles, greyer hair, yes, but somehow the years had been kinder to him than she would have imagined. The stubble remained. She laughed to herself. She never could get him to shave.

House finished his song, his finger lingering on the last key, almost regretful that it had to end. When his eyes opened, they immediately found hers, as if he had sensed her there the whole time.

"Cuddy, what are you doing here?" He asked, not believing she was standing in front of him.

She smiled back at him. "I'm coming to cash in that promise of you playing me a song."

"But your job, Rachel..." He stammered, trying to convince himself of reality.

"Rachel's a freshman at Stanford. I retired last month."

"Last time we spoke, you didn't mention anyth..."

"I wanted it to be a surprise." She laughed. "Judging by the look on your face, I think I succeeded."

Mouth agape, House nodded. "I guess there's a first time for everything."

Cuddy closed the distance between them and took a seat next to him on the piano bench. And then she just spit it out. "House, I've been without you for the past fifteen years. That was enough. I can't go the rest of the way without you. I don't care what you say."

House looked down at the piano keys. Finally, he nudged her with his elbow. "Is it just me or have the years made you even bossier?" It was his way of accepting her terms.

"I've always knew how to get what I wanted." Cuddy leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Yeah, but this time, you did it without using your cleavage. That takes talent." He teased.

She lightly slapped his arm.

"How long are you here?"

"I bought a one-way ticket." She shrugged. "Haven't really given it much thought. Now, I didn't come all this way to hear you talk. I came here to hear you play."

She did come to hear him talk. But now they had the luxury of time. Now they had a tomorrow and a next day. And finally, that was more than enough.

He leaned down to her ear. "Yes, mistress."