A/N - If you enjoy sappy, out-of-character, holiday fluff, you have come to the right place.

Epilogue

"Mom!" Megan squeals in her ear, "Mom, wake up! Santa's at the door!"

"What?" Cameron asks sleepily, eyes only half open. A quick glance at the clock confirms her suspicion that at a little after five, it's way too early for them to be awake on her day off, and on Christmas Eve at that. They'll be up early enough tomorrow. "Go back to bed honey; it was just a dream."

"No, mom, listen!" Her seven-year-old daughter is practically vibrating with excitement. "He's knocking! Listen!"

Megan dashes to the window and ducks under the curtains. "I can see him at the door, it's Santa!"

Cameron struggles to sit up amid the tangled sheets and blankets, cocking her head as she listens. Sure enough, she hears a faint pounding coming from downstairs.

"Megan, honey, come get in Mommy's bed, while I go see who's at the door," she says, sliding out of bed and pulling on her robe as she physically directs the little girl by the shoulders to her bed before pushing the curtains aside and peering out the window herself.

She can't see much of the figure at her door below, but the black boots and bits of red she can discern through the trees do look a bit Santa-ish. It's probably just the reflection of the Christmas lights.

"But Mom, I want to come too," the little girl insists, taking a step toward the bedroom door, but a pointed look and an extended finger have her scrambling up on the big, rumpled bed, pulling the covers over her legs.

"I'll be right back," Cameron promises, hoping it's the truth, and the pounding isn't due to some kind of emergency.

Leaving the lights off, she eases her way downstairs, trying to stay out of the sightline of her early morning visitor through the narrow window next to the door. She wants to get a better look at who it is before deciding whether she wants to answer. At the bottom of the stairs, instead of approaching the door directly, she veers left into the family room and kneels on the couch in front of the window, inching aside the heavy drapes to peer out at the front doorstep.

A strangled half laugh, half groan escapes her as the identity of the knocker becomes clear. She really should have known. Shaking her head in bemusement, she rises from the couch and walks over to the door. Unlocking it, she pulls it open and stands with her hands on her hips staring up at the tall man wearing a Santa-red scarf and leaning against her doorjamb.

"House, do you have any idea what time it is?"

"How's your mom?" Cameron asks, sliding a mug of coffee in front of her former boss.

He picks it up and gulps, mindless of the steam rising from the hot liquid. "Good. Fine. She's gone to my aunt's place for Christmas. Couldn't think of a way to get out of it without worrying anyone and without letting them know that her son is a lot less dead than they think."

Cameron nods, taking the seat across from him. "So you just thought you'd invite yourself to my Christmas?" she asks, sucking in her lips to hide a smile. Despite the early hour, it's good to see him.

Megan, over her initial disappointment in their visitor's lack of a white beard and large belly, twirls around the living room, House's red knit scarf wrapped several times around her neck, the tasseled ends hanging down her back to her knees.

"Meggie, put that scarf back where found it, please," Cameron requests.

House waves a hand. "It's fine. Mom made it for me. Looks better on the kid." He picks up his coffee and sips more gingerly this time as he examines his surroundings. "You moved," he comments after a moment.

"Pretty observant for a dead guy."

"Your other place was nicer. Where's the piano?"

"My other place had double the mortgage payment and was way too big for just me and Meggie. And I let the piano go with the other house. There's no room here and I don't play anyway."

He rolls his eyes. "I play."

"You don't live here. You don't even visit."

"Well I definitely won't be now that you don't have a piano."

"Oh no," Cameron deadpans, though the truth is she kind of wishes she did still have the piano. Listening to House play last Christmas had been one small joyous moment of reprieve in an otherwise dismal holiday season – her first without her daughter, thanks to divorce and split holidays.

But this year, Megan will be with her for Christmas and she's been looking forward to creating some new holiday traditions just for her and her daughter. The idea of sharing them with House is a bit disconcerting, with or without piano accompaniment.

"The kid is here for Christmas this year?" he asks, as able as ever to read her thoughts.

She nods, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug. "It's my turn."

House looks down at his own coffee, turning the handle from one side to the other. "I don't have to stay," he says quietly, "if you'd rather not have me around her." A beat passes before he looks up and waggles an eyebrow at her. "I'm told I'm not the best influence on the kiddies."

She smiles in spite of her own unspoken misgivings. "You can stay as long as you behave. The first time I catch you teaching her to pick locks, you're out on your ass."

She turns in her chair. "Megan, come here, please."

The little girl twirls over in their direction, long knit scarf trailing behind her. "Hmmm?" she asks, stopping in front of her mother with a little hop and a flourish of scarf.

"What would you think if my friend, um…" she pauses, glancing at House, not knowing what name he's using these days.

"Mick," he mouths.

She snorts and continues. "If my friend, Mick…stayed here for a few days and had Christmas with us?"

Megan looks at House considering, then leans in and whisper-yells in her mother's ear, as only a seven-year-old can. "Is he your boyfriend?"

Cameron coughs, flushing, as House smirks, crossing his arms across his chest and cocking his head, waiting.

"No honey," she manages to say. "Just an old friend. We used to work together before you were born."

"Okay," Megan chirps. "Can I have some pancakes?"

Cameron loads the last of the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, adding a detergent tab and closing the door. The whoosh of water as the machine starts its cycle momentarily drowns out the electronic beeps and whirls coming from the living room where House and Megan are intensely competing in some kind of video game. Megan is jumping around in front of the television, controller in hand, while House lies sprawled across her couch, controller resting on his good leg. Every few seconds he flicks his wrist, causing cries of anguish and renewed bursts of energy from the little girl in front of him.

It's an endearing scene that has Cameron stopping to observe, small smile playing at her lips. This had been her dream, once upon a time. It feels like a million years ago that her younger self had been working for House and naively hoping they might have some kind of future that could include scenes like this one. So much has happened since then. Who would ever have thought they'd be here, now - friends, or something like it.

"Are you going to stare, or are you going to play," House demands, waving the controller in her direction and she blinks back to the present.

"Play," she decides, crossing the room and snatching it from his hand. "And kick your butt," she adds, sending Megan off into fits of giggles.

Her bravado, as it turns out, is misplaced as House thoroughly wipes the floor with her, as Megan cheers him on, and then tosses his controller down and struggles to his feet.

"Need your car keys," he announces, hand out.

"Pardon?" Cameron asks.

He rolls his eyes. "Please, Dr. Cameron, may I borrow your car for a couple of hours. I'll be sure to have it home before dark."

Her eyes narrow. "Do you even have a driver's licence?"

"I expect they would have cancelled that when I, you know, died."

Cameron winces and glances at Megan, who is standing in front of the television, intently trying to mimic some of House's game winning manoeuvers. "Shhhh," she admonishes him. "She'll hear you."

"Oh sorry," he says in a slightly louder than normal speaking voice. "Did you not want her to know about…?"

"Okay!" she interrupts. "Okay. Fine, take it. The keys are on the hook by the door. Please be careful," she adds, without knowing why. He will be or he won't be; making the suggestion won't help either way.

He winks at her as he pulls on his coat and grabs the keys on his way out the door.

A couple of hours ends up being all day, and Megan is in bed by the time House returns, though she didn't go easily or willingly, wanting to wait for her new friend Mick to return. Only the thought that she might accidentally stay up too late and Santa wouldn't come convinced her to finally go to sleep. Cameron hadn't had the heart to tell her that there was no guarantee House would return. She's fairly certain he won't actually steal her car, but she can think of many ways he could have it returned to her without he, himself, coming back.

She's sitting in the semi-darkened living room watching Die Hard while drinking tea and munching on Santa cookies, when she hears a car pull up. And then she hears another vehicle follow the first into her driveway: a louder, rumblier one. Setting her tea on the coffee table, she rises up on her knees on the couch and, for the second time that day, shoves aside the curtains to look outside.

Her jaw drops when she sees a large white cube van backing up to her garage door. Emblazoned on the side of the van are the words Joe's Music Emporium.

"I still can't believe you did this," Cameron repeats for at least the third or fourth time, as House lifts the fallboard of the black baby grand piano that now sits in front of her family room window.

"I can't believe you're still saying that." He sits down on the bench and plays a short melody, head cocked, listening to the tones of the instrument. "This won't wake the kid?"

She shakes her head. "Once she's asleep, a freight train won't wake her. And if by some chance she happens to wake on her own, she'll never come downstairs tonight and risk ticking off Santa."

Her couch has been pushed aside to make room for the piano and now sits at an odd angle, partially blocking the entrance to the foyer. She'll rearrange things later when the Christmas tree comes down. For now, she closes the French door to muffle any sound drifting up the stairs and takes a seat.

"Why?" she asks as she picks up her tea and sips, cringing when she realises it's now stone cold.

"I like pianos. I bought a piano. I'm storing it here. Do you have a problem with that?"

She sets the cup down and raises her hands in surrender. "No problems here. Just be aware that seven-year-olds aren't known for leaving expensive instruments in pristine condition."

He doesn't even dignify the comment with a glance in her direction. They both know that isn't something he would worry about. Instead his eyelids begin to droop as his fingers slide over the keys, first caressing lightly, then actually pressing down and Cameron recognises the first notes of O Holy Night.

Despite her distinct lack of religion, it's always been one of her favourite Christmas songs, just for the beauty of the music itself which almost makes her wish she could believe in the lyrics, if only for the duration of the song. She mouths the words silently, hearing a rich operatic tenor in her mind.

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices!

O night divine, O night when Christ was born

House moves seamlessly from one song to the next, lost in the music. It's clear how much pleasure he gets from playing and Cameron is honored and moved to be able to be able to bear witness to this rare moment of true happiness in a life that has experienced far too little of it.

Leaning back, she closes her eyes, letting the joy and the music wash over her. She doesn't know how long she stays like that, just enjoying her own private little concert, and some rare adult company, that it doesn't even matter that there is no conversation. It's maybe even better this way.

Her eyes fly open when House launches into Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. She finds him twisted around, watching her over his shoulder as he plays. An easy grin spreads across her face as he winks at her and turns back around to finish the song. At the end of the song, his fingers drop into his lap, flexing, as the last notes fade away.

"Out of practice," he says, turning around on the bench. "Fingers are tired. Got anything to drink?"

"Nothing alcoholic," she says apologetically. "How about some cocoa? Or tea?"

He shakes his head and stands, leaning heavily on his cane. "Nah. Think I'll just turn in."

"It's been a long day," she agrees, rising and walking around the couch to the foyer door. All the bedrooms are upstairs in this new house. House will have to bunk here on the couch; that many stairs are now well beyond his capability. "I'll leave you alone." She smiles briefly, and starts to push the door open.

"Cameron," he says from behind her.

"Hmm," she turns back to find him only a couple of feet away.

"Thanks. For ah, keeping an old dead guy company."

She reaches out and rests a hand on his arm. "My pleasure." Rising up on tiptoes, she presses a light kiss to his scruffy cheek. "I enjoyed the music. And besides, you still look pretty good to me. You know, for an old dead guy."

She drops back down on her heels and takes half a step backwards, but House's hand catches her by her elbow and pulls her forward again.

Her stomach flips over and she finds she can't breathe as she looks up into his bright blue eyes. He stares at her for what seems like years before slowly moving even closer to touch his lips to hers. His kiss is soft and undemanding, lasting barely a moment, and it seems like just as she recovers from the surprise enough to respond, he's backing away again.

She raises her fingers to her lips, her eyes locked on his. "House, I…"

He leans in again, but this time instead of kissing her, he reaches behind her and pushes open the door. "Good night, Cameron."

"Will you still be here in the morning?" she asks, before she can stop herself, immediately cursing the young fellowship student who lives in her memory for the insecure question.

He blows out a breath and looks to the floor and then off to the side. For a moment she thinks he won't answer. But then he shrugs. "In the morning, we'll both know." And then with a hand on her hip, he gently guides her through the door and closes it behind her.

She's saddened but not surprised when he's gone in the morning, his borrowed blanket tossed haphazardly over the back of the couch, the pillow on the floor. Playing at happy family on Christmas morning just isn't who he is; she knows this. It isn't about her.

Megan's eyes are as wide as saucers when she dashes into to the family room. "Santa brought us a piano?" she asks, awestruck.

Cameron smiles in spite of her disappointment. "No, honey. Mick bought it. It's his piano, but it's going to live here for now."

Megan has already lost interest, squealing at the pile of presents Cameron had carefully placed under the tree the night before.

There's a note on the piano and a small gift-wrapped box. She unfolds the note first and reads.

Contact Joe's Music Emporium about lessons for the kid. It's looked after, if she wants them.

GH

And underneath his initials, scrawled as if in afterthought:

I'll see you later.

Later. That could be tonight for dinner, or not until next Christmas Eve. One never knows with House, but she has a feeling it might be sooner than later. Smiling, she refolds the note and picks up the small present, taking it over to the couch. Sitting down and pulling House's blanket over her lap, she carefully removes the wrapping paper to reveal a small jewellery box. The name of jewellery shop on the box is one she recognizes as being in Princeton; this is not a last-minute gift he picked up yesterday. Opening it, she discovers a delicate silver charm bracelet with four dangling charms: a caduceus, a piano, a tiny cabin…no, a house…and, providing a small touch of colour, a red and white striped candy cane. They are innocuous charms, easily explained to anyone who might notice and ask, but Cameron will always see them for what they really are – representations of one of the most important relationships in her life, a relationship she'd thought over many times, but that maybe…maybe…is just beginning anew.

Fastening the bracelet around her wrist, she jingles it in the air, just once to watch the dancing charms, and then goes to join her daughter under the tree.