A/N: This is for momsboys, who asked for this. If you have not read the 1st chapter, I strongly suggest it.
Alone: (adjective) solitary; by oneself
It was a perfect day for a funeral.
A typical overcast autumn day in New York, the leaves were elegantly floating on their descent to the ground below, the cold air was whispering in the ears of those that stood around the patch of recently disturbed dirt.
Allison hadn't been religious; therefore there had been no church, no prayer, no hymn, not even a priest. Only a select few stood before Allison's soon-to-be grave, and of those few, several were holding onto what they could of the memories of her that threatened to leave them at their elderly age, including Gregory House.
-"I'm Dr. Allison Cameron, pleased to meet you…ah?"
"House. Gregory House. World renowned doctor, diagnostician, and dickhead."
-"Did you loose a baby?"
"Bastard."
-"I'm not some damaged puppy that follows you around all the time."-"Allison Cameron, will you marry me?"
"Yes. I would love to."
-"Her voice is beautiful."
"It is, Ally. It definitely is.
And that feeling of a soft, peaceful hand and those words, "I love you, Gregory House." that would stay in his mind until the day he died.
Greg couldn't bring himself to read a eulogy. Let's face it, he'd never been that type of person anyway, but for his Ally, he wrote one. But as Greg brought out that worthless piece of paper and looked before him at Allison's coffin as it was lowered into the dirt, he knew that no amount of words could ever do Allison the justice that she deserved. So instead, he mused in silence, as Allison was laid to rest beside another tombstone, one Annabel Cameron.
After the funeral, Greg went home, ignoring Leisel's plea to come and stay with her, Matthew and the kids in their New York apartment during the grieving stage. He said no, he couldn't intrude on her. And anyway, there was nothing he could do about it. Allison was dead. He choked back a sob as he said the word 'dead', but didn't let the tears fall. He felt like he was under attack by a thousand knives piercing his heart. He put his head down and left, leaving a stunned Leisel in his wake.
He didn't care. He just wanted to get out of there, out of New York as fast as he could.
Greg walked through the front door, and threw his coat down on the ground next to the coat rack. He then glanced up at the house before him and was welcomed by cold darkness.
He lit a fire and sat down in front of the heat on the couch. Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out the crumpled up piece of paper.
He closed his fist around it, as emotions, that he couldn't even express, flooded through his body. He flung the ball of paper into the fire, and watched silently as the whole page was incinerated.
He let the sobs convulse through his body, and his hands found his face in an attempt to shield himself from the rest of the world.
The crackling of the wood in the fire made itself the main sound. Nothing else. No talking, no fighting, no noises that indicated Allison's presence.
No Allison.
It had finally hit home.
He was alone.
Alone: (adjective) solitary; by oneself; Gregory House
FIN.
