A/N: Terribly sorry for the long wait. Anyway, here's the next chapter and I don't know when I'll be able to post next so please be patient!

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it.


The ride in the police car had been totally silent. Officer Rhodes had not tried making conversation and that was perfectly all right with Dexter. She didn't want to talk to anyone. But as soon as she stepped through the door of her home, that changed quickly and she felt like screaming. It wasn't like screaming would help anything. Her deaf aunt wouldn't be able to understand any word Dexter shouted unless Dexter used sign language, which was the reason that Dexter signed whatever she was saying out loud.

"You told me to get out!" Dexter argued. She was sitting on the edge of her bed. Her furious Aunt Sheila was standing in front of her with her arms crossed for the moment. "Those were your exact words!"

Yes, but that didn't mean move out, Shelia replied. Her hand movements were rapid, and Dexter had a hard time understanding what Sheila was trying to communicate to her. But she managed to understand the gist of what her deaf aunt was telling her.

Dexter didn't respond; she just gave a frustrated huff that Sheila couldn't hear. The worst part of it all was that she couldn't look away from her aunt. No matter how angry she was, Dexter couldn't look away from Sheila in case her aunt started signing again.

There was silence for the longest time as Dexter did not speak and Sheila did not sign. The two stared at each other, Dexter's eyes narrowed in anger. Finally, Sheila sighed and reached into her back pocket, pulling out an envelope.

"What is that?" Dexter asked as she signed her question so that her aunt could understand her.

No response was given. All Sheila did was hand over the envelope and left Dexter's bedroom. She closed the door behind her and when she saw gone, Dexter looked at the sender of the envelope. Her blue eyes widened and she nearly tore it open to see the contents inside.

Dexter's eyes scanned the page until she came across the words that she wanted to see. It was a letter from Edwards University, the college in right there in New Jersey she had applied for.

She had been accepted. She was going to her dream college. Dexter picked up her cell phone and was about to call House. But she stopped herself and just stared at the device. He had done nothing to stop the police from taking her away and bringing her back here. Would he even want to hear from her? Probably not. So Dexter put the device back down on her nightstand and returned to just staring at her acceptance letter, grinning widely.

It was then that Dexter made a decision. House had pushed her away and she wasn't going to push back. If he wanted to talk then he would just have to call her. He didn't exactly have her number, but if he really wanted to talk to her, then he would find a way to contact her. And if not then she would just go on with her life.

Things were going to be fine without Gregory House. They were fine before and they were going to be fine now. She was going to go off to college and get her dream job and things were going to be all right.

''''''''''''''''''""""""""''''''''

House was at home, staring at his phone. It was as if he was expecting a phone call, but nothing happened.

He had gone back to the apartment from work and a part of him wished he hadn't. When he walked into his home, he had found Dexter's backpack on the floor next to the couch. And on the side table was the picture frame she had brought with her that held a photograph of a ten-year-old Dexter and an Audra who was still living. They looked so much alike. But Dexter had his eyes and he would never forget that.

This was a new sensation for him: sentimentality. House did not like it one bit which was why he had worked so hard in the past to avoid it. He did not love Dexter as a daughter. How could he when he barely knew her? A blood relation meant nothing to him.

Or did it?

No, he could not think like that. He had lived his life a certain way for so long that he could not change things on a whim for a teenager. House continued staring at the photograph, but he wasn't really seeing it. His vision blurred as he lost focus on what was in front of him, instead choosing to reflect.

She had called him "Dad" but only once. It didn't mean anything. She had insisted on staying with him. It didn't mean anything. Everything that had happened meant nothing and it was over. And he was glad that it was over.

A knock on the door roused House from his thoughts. He took one last proper look at the picture before putting it face down on the table, and he went to answer the door. Upon opening the door, he discovered Wilson standing in the hall. His friend said nothing and just raised a bottle of scotch. Not as strong as tequila; that was what House really needed. But it was good enough.

House stepped aside to let Wilson into the apartment. The two spoke, but both were careful to avoid the topic of Dexter. House decided that it was just an event that happened in his and it shouldn't affect the future and whatever that held. Soon, House was drunk enough to forget about everything.

The next morning, House woke up with a wicked headache. Nothing that Vicodin couldn't kill, he thought to himself as he popped open his pill bottle. Wilson was gone and the empty scotch bottle was standing on the coffee table. He was sure he had drunk most of the scotch, but that thought didn't bother him.

His thoughts briefly flickered to Dexter, but did not linger. He had to let that go. He had to let her go. And after a couple of weeks, he had.

Every now and then, the memory of either Dexter or Audra would bleed through. Late at night, when he would find himself at the piano, subconsciously he would begin to play the "Cape Breton Lullaby", sometimes hearing Audra's voice in his head, sometimes hearing Dexter's. But for the most part, Dexter was forgotten about.

Until the accident about four years later.