a/n: this is the second to last chapter. I know that Cuddy is absent from this fic, as well as a cause of death for House (if you want to read my last fic, "Never So Bright," this could be taken as the sequel, I suppose). This actually started out as a one shot (chapter 4 was written first) and just evolved from there. I hope you enjoy the next two chapters and a big thanks for the reviews!

a/n 2: I'm not sure of the legality of what occurs in this chapter, so just take it at face value :-)

Forman crouched on the floor to get a better look under the bed. Clothing, towels, piles of medical journals, and newspapers greeted him.

"This is his idea of one last joke," Forman called to Cameron, who was standing on a chair to sift through all the things on the top shelf of House's closet.

"I think you're right," Cameron called as she climbed down with two shoe boxes. "I found an orange shoe box, but it's not Nike and it just has a pair of loafers in it. And I found a Nike box but its blue and it has a pair of sneakers in it."

Wilson wandered in, "Keep looking, Allison."

Cameron was startled by the use of her first name, "You heard me?"

"Trust me, it's up there. I told him not to hide it so well but he insisted. He said it was part of the fun," Wilson sighed.

"So you know where her box is?" Forman asked from under the bed.

"Nope, but let me get up there. I have a funny feeling," he said.

Cameron climbed down and Wilson took her place. "Hold the chair steady," he remarked as he leaned forward as far as he could. He pushed against the plaster tiles of the wall until one easily moved aside.

He climbed down, "There's your box."

"How the hell did he get it up there?" She marveled as she handled the dusty box.

"He wasn't your average cripple," Wilson smiled.

She took the box into the kitchen and sat at the table. She hesitated. Wilson leaned against the door frame.

"Do you know what's in here?" She asked.

"Nope," he replied.

"It feels like mostly paper," she remarked.

"I really don't know," he said, taking a seat across from her.

She removed the lid. She was right-it was mostly paper. It seemed like a keepsake box. Some movie ticket stubs, a picture of him presumably as a teenager with a dog, and the ticket stub from the monster truck rally. Cameron was touched that he left these things to her, but as she began to comment, she noticed a thin white envelope at the bottom of the box.

She held it up for Wilson to see, "What do you think this is?"

Wilson shrugged, although he was pretty sure he knew exactly what-and how much-it was.

Just as she opened it, Forman came rushing in with a matching one. Her jaw dropped.

Forman stood in front of her, dumbly, holding up his envelope.

"This is," Cameron started

"This is three years' salary," Forman stuttered.

"Chase! Chase get in here!" Cameron started to call.

He poked his head in the doorway, "Yeah?"

"House left us more than his guitars," she said, showing him the check that was meant for both of them.

"But how can we accept this?" Chase exclaimed.

Wilson leaned back in his seat, "No kids, no nieces or nephews. You were all he had. He wanted you to have this, he just didn't want the death taxes taken from it."

They noticed the checks were made out to cash.

Cameron, Chase and Forman wordlessly stared at each other for a moment, the shock of that many zeroes still gripping their thoughts.

Chase went back into the living room. He couldn't deal with all this.

He took the guitar off the wall, touching it for the first time. He sat with it on his lap for a moment, the strings staring up at him.

Even though he didn't know how to play, he held it in position as if he could. He thought of all the times House must have come home from work, tired and alone, and sat exactly where he was sitting holding that guitar.

Before Chase could allow himself to become truly lost in his thoughts, the corner of another envelope caught his eye. This one was taped to the back of the guitar with his name printed neatly across the front.

TBC