The last chapter. Thanks to all my readers. You guys are the best of the best!
Something was up. House wasn't in the kitchen when she got up, he was on his laptop; notes and several medical journals and textbooks were piled next to him.
"What is this?" Cuddy asked, gesturing at the mess.
"Just a little something I'm working on," House answered blankly, not bothering to look at her.
"What kind of something?"
"A project."
"What sort of project could this be at six in the morning?"
"A private project." He shooed her away with a wave of his hand.
Cuddy took the hint and ate her cereal in the kitchen, listening to House mumble to himself and the incessant typing on the keyboard.
She came back from a late lunch to find House lounging on the sofa in her office. At first she thought he had finally gotten around to cooking and was going to force some of his gourmet goodies on her, but didn't see and kind of container filled with fattening chocolate chunk goodness. Nothing out of the ordinary other than House and his cane.
"Did you get bored?" she asked, hanging up her coat.
"Nope."
"I've already been to lunch and have a meeting in half an hour."
"I'm not here about lunch," he said. "This won't take long."
"What is it, House?"
"I slipped," he answered blithely.
Her tuna and spinach salad started to do flips in her stomach. He slipped. He couldn't take it anymore and hunted down a Vicodin stash. Now he was here to confess and start the road to recovery all over again and the only thing she could do was go along with it and give him the support he needed--
His voice interrupted her thoughts. "I know what you're thinking."
After a few beats she said, "You do?"
"You think I'm back on the Vicodin."
She crossed her arms. "You're not?"
"No."
Still skeptical, Cuddy asked, "Are you lying to me?"
"No."
"If you're not back on the Vicodin, what did you mean when you said you slipped?"
House reached into the inside pocket of his jack and pulled out a small slip of pale yellow paper folded in half, holding it out to her. She took it and opened it. It was a check for twenty-five thousand dollars. She recognized the signature immediately. Foreman's patient. The video game designer who posted his symptoms online in hopes of getting the answer Foreman and his team couldn't provide.
"Your project," she said, almost to herself.
House gloated, "A rather lucrative one, if I do say so myself."
"How did you find out about this?"
"Does it matter?"
No, it didn't.
"So how come Foreman isn't in here screaming his head off about you?" Cuddy asked.
"Because one of the patient's flunkies delivered the check to me in the parking lot. Foreman will figure it out eventually. Maybe this will teach him to pay a little more attention to the symptoms and a little less time worrying about turning into a prick like me."
"You're the prick who solved the case."
Laughing softly, he said, "Can't argue with that. But I didn't solve the case because I'm a prick. I solved it because I followed the clues."
"Good job, House." She walked over the sofa and sat down, handing his check back to him. "I hope you get to use your amazing detective skills when you get a new job."
"I'm not getting a new job."
"What do you mean?"
"It means I'm not going anywhere."
"But you said--"
"I said a lot of things." He sat up. "I haven't told you about the bonus I received."
"Bonus from what?"
"From solving this case."
Cuddy raised an eyebrow. "Is a flunky going to deliver another check to you in the morgue?"
"Not that kind of bonus," he told her, standing up. "I spent half the night and all morning working on the answer. Hours and hours had gone by and the only time I moved was to get some coffee and the textbooks, and to pee. It wasn't until after you had left this morning that I happened to glance at my prescription and realize that I hadn't taken a pill since midnight. I hadn't taken a pill because I didn't one. Because my leg wasn't hurting."
"Are you serious?" Cuddy stood up and walked over until she was standing toe-to-toe with him. "How does your leg feel now?"
"Fine."
It was the truth. His face was relaxed, not pinched with pain. The electricity was back in his eyes.
"Have you taken any pills at all today?"
"Not one."
"That's great!" Her face split into an wide grin, but she was still puzzled about something. "So what did you mean when you said there was no new job?"
"Exactly that. That I don't need a new job now. I don't want a new job now. I need this in my life, Cuddy. I need to solve the mystery, to put the last piece of the puzzle into place. That's something I'm not going to get from poking syringes into lab rights all day. I want my old job back."
"Are you sure about this, House?"
With a crooked grin, he answered, "Would I drag myself all the here if I wasn't?"
"No, you wouldn't," she agreed. "If you want the job back, it's yours."
"Thank you." House sounded more than relieved. "I want to start tomorrow."
"House, you know it doesn't work that way. You still have at least two weeks before you get your license back."
House frowned. "There must be something I can until do until then. I can't sit at home baking cookies for the next two weeks."
Cuddy smiled and patted him on the cheek. "Don't worry, there is. You can sit in and consult. No contact with the patient and Foreman is still in charge. Think you can handle that?"
Smiling back, House replied, "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"
--The End.