Denial

Something told her it wasn't over. Some little voice inside whispered that he was not gone, not really. He was House, and though he was made of flesh and bone and blood the same as everyone else, there had always been, in her mind, a part of him so intrinsically permanent that she just couldn't seem to grasp that she was sitting at his funeral. Couldn't fathom that all that was left of him was the burned shell of his body beneath the gleaming lid of a casket.

It couldn't be true.

Anger

Wilson's words weren't a eulogy. His speech was an angry staccato of long built up frustration at his best friend's stubborn idiocy. His anger sparked her own as she shifted in her seat and blinked back tears. How could House let himself be swallowed up in smoke and flame while they all held their breath waiting for word of him. That was the coward's way out. The thought made her nostrils flare and her breath come in shallow gasps, and suddenly she wanted to put her hands on him and shake him, slap his whiskered face until he could see what he'd done to everyone who loved him.

Bargaining

The shrill ringing of a cell phone startled everyone, including Wilson, who seemed quite perplexed to find that the ringing was coming from his very own pocket. The way he looked at the phone, staring at it as if it was some foreign entity, and then abruptly walked out of the funeral parlor, made her hairs stand on end. Quietly she rose and followed him out the funeral home door.

"Where are you going?"

He turned, startled, his jaw hanging open at the sight of her. "I uh… I just… "

"It's him, isn't it?" she said, stepping right up to him and looking him in the eye. "That was him on the phone, and now you're going to see him."

"Cameron," he paused, running one hand over the back of his neck, "it's…"

"Take me with you and I won't tell anyone," she said, cutting him off before he came up with some pathetic lie. Without waiting for an answer, she walked to his car and let herself in.

Depression

All the way there she cried, body quietly shaking as Wilson drove. He alternated between watching the road and glancing at her, as if at a loss as to what he should do with the sobbing woman in his car.

House was alive and that should be all that mattered, but there was one thought she couldn't let go of and it was more intensely painful than anything she'd ever experienced before. His desperation in that burning building, the thought of losing his friend, going back to prison, the desire to just give up and die. It was as if she'd put herself there with him, laid down beside him and told him to just let go as the flames licked up the walls and the smoke filled their lungs.

Finally Wilson spoke, dispelling the image from her mind.

"You okay? I mean, he's alive. That's… good news, right?"

"Sure," she said on a half-laugh, half-sob. "It's great news." The last words were mumbled through more tears, as she swiped at her eyes and tried to pull herself together.

Acceptance

"What'd you do?" House demanded, as he laid eyes on her and then shot a questioning glance at Wilson.

"She figured it out," Wilson answered with a shrug, "and insisted on coming along."

"I'm not going to tell anyone," she said, looking him over and then looking away. Now that she was there, facing him, she had no idea what to do or say.

"Then what are you doing here?"

The bite of his words broke something loose inside her and she snapped her head up to look at him.

"You know why I'm here," she answered, words low and angry as more tears threatened to fall. "You think I could just let you go without saying goodbye to me or to our son? Were you really just going to fade away and never let us know you were still alive?"

He had the decency to look ashamed for a moment, and then took another step forward, lifted his hand and stroked her cheek, softly brushing aside a tear.

"I wasn't going to do that," he confessed. "I just needed a little time and then… I would've come to you."

His gentle touch brought more tears to her eyes, and she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him and clinging like a shaky leaf in a storm.

"I would've come to you," he repeated in a soft murmur against the top of her head. "You saved my life."

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking up into the face she had loved for so very long.

"I'll explain someday," he said, pulling her tight into his arms again.

"Come home with me," she pleaded. "You and Wilson come home with me. No one has to know but us."

He answered with a nod against her head and then spoke, a low rumble vibrating through her. "That was the plan. I just need some time to get some money and things together. To do a few last things…."

He trailed off, but she understood. This was still about Wilson, and spending what little time he had left with his best friend.

"Okay," she replied, pulling away to look at him with a watery smile. "You'll come when you're ready."

"Yes," he said, his large palms framing her face. In his eyes were words of love he couldn't yet speak, not just for her, but for their infant son as well. She knew it and she accepted it.

He would come back to her. He always did.

A/N: This was written as a gift for spartan_muse on livejournal, who prompted me with:

"You found me.

I know it sounds all OUAT motto but that was the only thing in my mind when House is at the abandoned building and he hallucinates Cameron. I kinda made my headcanon that no matter how far away they were, they'd always find their way back to each other.

It's my other headcanon that Cam's baby is either a nephew or House's."