Reconciliations: A House MD Story Chapter 36, a house, m.d. fanfic

Reconciliations: A House M.D. Story

A/N: Only one chapter left after this one and I'm a little sad because there's so much more I want to explore with House / Chloe and Wilson dynamic, what the future holds for Thirteen and Foreman, what will happen now that House is taken but Cuddy isn't and what House's selection and hiring of a new team will be like. No story can include everything or go on forever and this is definitely the right time to end. Oh well. I hope you enjoy this update and please let me know what you think!

Song that helped inspire this chapter include: "It's Your Love" by Tim McGraw with Faith Hill.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chloe was reading when House barged into her hospital room, not bothering to say hello, and limped with a desperation he didn't quite understand towards the woman he loved. She looked up at him in surprise, her eyes as large as tea saucers.

"Greg!" she exclaimed as he sat on the edge of her bed, "What are you--?"

He stopped her mid sentence by leaning towards her suddenly and crashing a passionate kiss on her lips. He reached behind her with his left hand placed in the middle of her back and pulled her close to him. His casted hand went behind her head to support it. At first she was tense but quickly, as his lips conveyed his love and passion she relaxed and began to join in the kiss, tentatively at first and then with as much exuberance as him. She opened her mouth enough for him to thrust his tongue into her mouth where it met hers, just as eager, wrestling with his for dominance, which only turned him on more. She wasn't some wilting, goody-two-shoes wallflower; she was fiery and aggressive when she wanted and needed to be. She withdrew her tongue but she bit lightly on his tongue and began to leave little nips on his lips between catching them in her mouth and sucking on them almost leisurely. House groaned appreciatively, feeling his arousal mount. From the increase in her breathing and the small moans, not to mention the way her arms had entwined around him and her fingers gripped his back like talons he knew that she was growing hotter as well.

House wanted her desperately, wanted to remove all of her clothing and his and make intense, mind-blowing love with her right there in her hospital room. She appeared to be thinking the exact same thing. The blinds were drawn and they were alone and….

"Get a room!" Sara said from the doorway, in disgust. House's and Chloe's faces parted and both turned their heads to look in her direction. The thirteen-year-old stood with her arms crossed defiantly.

"We have one," House retorted snidely, panting a little, "Now get lost!" He proceeded to place tender kisses just behind Chloe's ear. She sighed reluctantly and gently pressed him away. House withdrew his embrace and sat back in his chair, pouting. He quickly grabbed a magazine on the near-by stand and placed in his lap to hide the bulge in his jeans from the minor. He looked at Chloe; her face was flushed.

"Do you have sex radar or something?" House groused at the teenager as she approached her mother on the other side of the bed and gave her a hug. "You have the most impeccably inconvenient timing!"

"I'm not kissing you until you gargle," Sara told her mother petulantly and glared at House. "Your lips touched that--disgusting! You should get a booster shot right away!" Despite her words the diagnostician saw a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth but the girl restrained it effectively. House gave her a well-practiced dirty look.

Smiling ruefully Chloe shook her head, still panting a little, and smiled. She looked to House. "What happened? You didn't give me a chance to ask. Why are you here and not in hiding?"

"Tritter's dead," he answered grimly. "He showed a day early, catching the police and yours truly unprepared. Fortunately Molonitny showed up in time to prevent him from shooting Thirteen and me."

"Thirteen?" she asked, trying to recall who that was.

"Dr. Hadley," Sara explained before the diagnostician could. "Dufus here nicknamed her Thirteen because she was the thirteenth contestant in some stupid game of his and because she's unlucky because she has Huntington's disease."

House looked at Sara in surprise. That was absolutely correct but he never told her that. How had she figured it out?

"Do you even know what Huntington's is, Pinta?" House asked her suspiciously.

"Du-uh!" the teenager said sarcastically. "It's a disease that affects the brain. It's hereditary, so if one of your parents has it, you've got a fifty-fifty chance of getting it. Over time a person becomes completely disabled from it and then dies. It screws up your emotions like making you depressed; you can't think or remember anything anymore. You get uncontrollable body movements then you can't walk, talk and eat. It usually starts affect a person as she approaches middle age."

"Have you been talking to Thirteen?" the diagnostician demanded accusingly, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Sara replied, puzzled. "I already knew what Huntington's was and when I heard from somewhere that she has it, I put the pieces together."

"Huh," House vocalized. The kid was even smarter than he thought—but of course she was; look at the mother she had. "Thirteen leeched onto me when she thought I was in the depths of despair over Wilson's 'death' and was concerned that I might off myself." He explained. "I couldn't get rid of her—and believe me, I tried." He sighed. "I'm losing my touch."

Chloe grabbed his hand and squeezed it with a sardonic smile. "Is James alright? Does he know that Tritter is dead and you are okay?"

"Yeah," the doctor told his love, "he does. That's a long story, too. Apparently the cop put in charge of him during this ruse wasn't really a cop. She was the female accessory of Tritter's who helped in the attacks on Thirteen and Foreman. I was on the phone with Wilson when Tritter broke into the apartment so he knew something was wrong. She caught him on the phone, knew the jig was up, and tried to kill him. He ended up running around the hospital in his 'airy' hospital gown with her pursuing him with a gun. He was lucky that there were cops in the lobby of Princeton General when he ran there and shot her. She's recovering with a heavy guard detailed to her." House smirked with amusement. "I can just see Wilson running around like a chicken with its head cut off, his bare a—uh—butt exposed for everyone to see!" He began to chuckle at the thought. Sara joined in, giggling.

Chloe looked at the two of them, shaking her head and smiling at the two recalcitrant 'kids'.

"Is he still at Princeton General?"

House nodded. "He's going to be released tomorrow."

Chloe nodded. "Lisa came to see me a little while ago."

"As in Lisa Cuddy?" House asked, a little surprised.

Nodding the chaplain explained. "She is being released tomorrow as well, as am I."

"Really?" Sara looked at her excitedly, grinning.

"Really," Chloe confirmed. "She came by to thank me for rescuing Rachel from my kidnappers. It was the first time that we've spoken where there hasn't been an air of tension. I told her that she didn't have to thank me. I invited her and Rachel to stay with Sarah and me until she's able to clear everything up with her insurance company and find a place of her own. That is, once I get my door and windows replaced and everything cleaned up."

House squeezed the chaplain's hand. "We'll take care of it," he told her, looking over to Sara.

"Who's 'we'?" the teenager asked him indignantly, standing with her hands on her hips. "Do you have a mouse in your pocket or something?"

"No, actually it's a--." House began to reply sarcastically only to be given a warning glare from the girl's mother.

"Greg!"

"I was just going to say that I used to have a pet rat," the diagnostician lied, feigning innocence. He loved the fire in Chloe's eyes. He decided he would have to do or say something every day to elicit that passion—it was just too thrilling not to! Every day…he liked the sound of that. A shadow of the fear he has always had concerning relationships and commitment tried to rear its ugly head, but he forced himself to ignore it. He was tired of allowing it to push him into sabotaging the opportunities of happiness in his otherwise dreary life.

Looking at him with a dubious smile Chloe told him, "Lisa has arranged for a memorial for Doctors Chase, Wilson and Taub on Wednesday. I guess we won't have to worry about including James any longer! Does anyone else know yet that he's actually alive?"

"Not yet," House answered, trying very hard not to betray himself to the chaplain's scrutinizing eye and then realized he had failed miserably at that.

"Why not?" she asked with suspicion. "There are a lot of people mourning his loss needlessly!"

"I was kind of hoping to see how many people actually faint or go into hysterics when he arrives at the hospital on Wednesday." There is a devious sparkle in his eyes and a smile struggles to make itself known. Chloe glared at him disapprovingly and he shrugged. "What? I need some laughs after the week I've had!"

After a few seconds Chloe gave up the act and began to laugh until she groaned, sub-consciously grabbing where her stitches were. House chuckled with her.

"She asked me to officiate at it if I'm feeling up to it," the chaplain said once her laughter had subsided. "I told her that I'm neither Catholic nor Jewish but I could probably pull something ecumenical out of my hat. She didn't know if you would be attending; she mentioned that you avoided the funeral of one of your Fellows last year."

House looked down at their joined hands for a moment in thought. He hated funerals—it wasn't like they brought the dead back to life or even comforted those left behind to mourn. All they did was remind one of the brevity of life and the emptiness of death. Still, he regretted not going to Kutner's funeral; he still in some ways thought it was unreal, that the Fellow was just off doing something idiotic like trying to break another world record and that someday he would be sitting at the conference table one morning when the diagnostician arrived at work. He wasn't real to him…and he realized that perhaps that was the real purpose of a funeral: to provide closure.

"I'll be there," he told her quietly, looking up into her eyes which provided him with so much reassurance. The chaplain smiled warmly.

"Good."

* * *

Wilson sat up in bed, watching television. He flipped through the channels, trying to find something half-decent to watch to pass the time. He was bored and besides his pride, nothing more was wounded from his little adventure earlier in the halls and lobby of Princeton General Hospital. His arm ached like a son of a bitch and he really wasn't looking forward to the physiotherapy he would have to go through to regain full use of it again, but so long as he kept it immobile and took it easy the pain was actually quite minimal. He wished the powers that be would have allowed him to return to PPTH after everything had been cleared up and his true identity confirmed. At least he was familiar with the routine around there and would probably recognize a face or two. House would no doubt visit Chloe as soon as he was able and if he were there as well it would make things a lot easier.

There was a knock on the door of his private room and since the walls of this hospital were not made of transparent glass he couldn't see who it was, only that it wasn't a doctor or nurse; they usually simply walked in.

"Come in," the oncologist said loud enough to be heard on the other side of the door. The door slowly opened admitting Darryl Nolan. He was alone and carried two Styrofoam coffee cups.

"Hi, James," he said with a friendly smile. "Are you up to a visit?"

Wilson grinned and waved him in. "Absolutely! Come on in, Darryl."

The African-American psychiatrist walked in and placed one cup on the table next to Wilson. "One Caramel Macchiato made with non-fat milk." He sat himself in the chair next to the bed with his own hot drink.

"Thank you…I can't believe you remembered that!" Wilson said, pleasantly surprised, "It's been what…going on nine years now since we last had coffee."

"I can remember that but I can never remember where I left my car keys," Nolan said with a smile, earning a chuckle from the oncologist. "When we age our memory doesn't erode logically."

"House is constantly making fun of my ability to remember the birthdays of pretty much everybody I've ever met but forgetting when it's mine," Wilson said, shaking his head.

"Selective memory syndrome," Nolan told him, "Its onset begins the day after your thirty-fifth birthday. How old are you now?"

"Forty-two," the oncologist acknowledged, cringing.

"Ah, you're still young," Nolan said, shaking his head. "Trust me…it's all downhill from there."

Laughing again, ruefully, Wilson shrugged. Aging was inevitable. What bothered him was looking back and seeing all the things he wanted to achieve by whatever age he was at the time and hadn't. He had tried to live his life without regrets—three wives and House later that had completely changed—or had it? Despite the storms, he didn't regret being the diagnostician's friend. For all of House's personal short comings, he had always been loyal, always there when he had needed him the most. The curmudgeon did have a heart buried deep behind his crusty exterior. He only wished he could say the same things about himself. H e hated to admit it, but when the going got tough, James Wilson ran away. When it came to being a friend House had been a better one to Wilson than he had been to House.

"James?" Nolan said, trying to get the younger man's attention. "Earth to James Wilson?"

Wilson's reverie broke and he looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, Darryl. I guess I just have a lot on my mind right now."

"I can see how being shot and nearly killed can do that to a person," the psychiatrist said wryly.

"Actually, I wasn't thinking about that," the oncologist replied with a shake of the head. He grabbed his macchiato and sipped it gingerly. "It was about House."

"Ah."

"Ah?" the younger man repeated suspiciously. "What does that mean?"

"It was simply an acknowledgement of what you said," Nolan deferred deftly. "Did it bother you?"

The oncologist stared at the psychiatrist for a long moment, trying to figure out what his true motive of visiting him really was—was he here as friend or shrink? Or was it both? If Wilson had hoped to find an answer in his friend's demeanor he had been foiled.

"It didn't bother me," was the younger man's answer. "I guess I'm just wondering if there wasn't a hidden meaning behind that 'Ah', that's all."

"Paranoia is not uncommon after the kind of traumatic events you've been through lately," Nolan told him with a small, amused smile.

Not convinced, Wilson asked, "So you weren't implying that there was something unusual about the fact that I was lost in thought about House?"

"No," Nolan told him, half-laughing. "Why? Do you think there is?"

Wilson was slow to respond. "I don't know…I guess not."

"You guess?" Nolan picked up, frowning. "Don't you know for certain what you're thinking?"

Wilson sighed and wagged a finger at the older man, "Don't play your mind-probing games with me Darryl! I'm on to you!"

The psychiatrist said nothing. He simply stared at the oncologist with curious brown eyes and a slightly amused expression on his face. It was enough to make Wilson want to scream. House would get the same expression from time to time when he wanted to irritate him without putting out a lot of energy into it.

"I'm jealous!" the younger man admitted in frustration. "It's absolutely ridiculous, not to mention a little weird, but I'm jealous of Chloe and the attention House directs toward her and oh my God I'm sounding incredibly gay, aren't I?"

"Are you?" was his friend's natural question, raising his eyebrows.

"No! No, no I'm not!" Wilson answered before the last bit of sound had left his mouth. "It's just…It's just…." He sighed, trying to find the nerve to talk. "I don't know what House told you about our friendship and I know you can't tell me anything he has said so this really isn't a fishing expedition but…Amber's death two years ago just about destroyed our friendship altogether and it just hasn't been the same since. I'm the reason for that."

"Oh?" Nolan responded, "How is that?"

"Well, I'm sure House has told you about the events surrounding her death so I won't bore you with the story…when it came to a point where she was dying and I needed to know what was locked in House's brain to figure out why so she could be saved, I made him undergo the DBS that put him in a coma and could have destroyed his brain permanently only to find out that from the moment the bus accident occurred there was no way she could be saved because of the medication she took to treat her flu. He risked his life trying to save my girlfriend whom he hated and I was so grateful I blamed him for her death and then broke off ties with House. I abandoned him when he was recovering from traumatic brain injury he only incurred because he was—is—willing to do anything for me if he thinks it will make me happy and remain his friend.

"I don't need you to tell me how hurt he was…I saw it on his face the day I turned my back on him…then when we reconciled, it began with me making the flippant remark that you can't choose your friends, insinuating that we were only friends again because some cosmic design made it inevitable and not because I loved him and valued him so much that I couldn't be happy without him as my friend. Yet, he forgave me time and time again. I justified my attitude by arguing that the only reason he was so loyal was because I was the only friend he in the world that he had so he really had no other choice unless he wanted to be alone. There again, I devalued him by assuming I was the only person who cared about him or ever would care about him.

"When he came back from Mayfield I was afraid that I would enable him again and help him relapse—as if he wasn't strong enough on his own to stay sober—so I treated him coldly, dispassionately. I even threatened to kick him out of the apartment because we have an obnoxious neighbor downstairs and I blamed House for antagonizing him and making me feel uncomfortable…again, I was tossing him away, and Darryl, the only reason he didn't move out was because he found a way to pacify the neighbor. If he hadn't, he'd have been out the door, abandoned again. That man has been abandoned so often, it's a wonder that he trusts anyone as much as he does.

"Then Chloe arrived and he fell in love with her, talked to her on their first date about things that took him years to feel secure enough to tell me. She's accepted him as is, values him as absolutely precious, somebody worth risking her life to help after knowing him a matter of hours. At first I thought I was jealous of House making the moves on her when I saw her first, but that wasn't true. I'm jealous of her pull on him, of how she is a much better friend to him than I ever have been. Darryl, I've been a horrible friend to him, I don't deserve his friendship but I need it, I think, more than he does and I'm afraid that now he has someone who treats him with the dignity and respect he deserves…I'll lose the best friend I've had or ever could have hoped for."

Wilson's eyes had been tearing during his speech, even though the rest of him remained completely controlled…until the end when he set his drink down and bowed his head, covering his face with his hand.

The psychiatrist leaned over and put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Have you ever considered telling him what you just told me?"

Unmasking himself he met Nolan's gaze and shook his head. "I wouldn't…I mean, I know how, but…He would either make fun of me or not believe me—that is if I could even get the words out of my mouth. I'd be so nervous I'd start the stuttering again."

"What would be worse," Nolan asked him, "Telling him, being mocked or stutter your way through it and get it off of your chest to unload the guilt you've been carrying and possibly improve your friendship or not tell him, carry the guilt and jealousy around with you every single day and risk losing him as your friend?"

Wilson stared at his friend, considering the question. He was afraid of House realizing just how lousy a friend he was and leave their friendship behind. He needed the diagnostician. House was the Holmes to his Watson. That left him with really no choice at all. It was going to be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth and let the chips fall where they may.

Wilson opened his mouth when the door to his room opened without a knock. The devil had to have been listening to their conversation and decided to come around for a chat. House stood in the doorway and took in the tableau of Wilson, slump-shouldered and eyes red from crying with Nolan sitting next to the oncologist with a comforting grasp of his shoulder.

"I'll come back," the diagnostician said, looking uncomfortable and backing out of the room.

"No," Nolan said with a shake of his head. "Stay Greg--I'm leaving." He stood up. "I'm heading back early tomorrow morning so I'll say my farewell now, James." He extended his hand and Wilson took it. Then the oncologist's face dropped in realization and he looked at House.

"I guess then House is leaving tonight as well…?"he said questioningly, not in any way hiding his disappointment.

"No," Nolan told him. "Greg's staying here. He's better here being useful than locked away feeling useless." He looked sternly at House, who had a pleased smile on his face. "Don't forget the conditions we agreed to."

"I won't," House promised sincerely. "Things are looking up…I don't want to screw with that."

"Good," the psychiatrist said with a smile. "I'll talk to you tomorrow morning." He patted House's shoulder once before leaving.

* * *

House watched Nolan leave and then turned back to face his best friend. It was so good to see him again, alive, fully awake and looking well. It was troubling, however, to have walked in on what must have been an emotion-charged conversation. He knew he had to learn how to knock. He'd get it someday. Wilson was always a bit of a softy in some ways; he'd get teary-eyed long before the diagnostician would but he didn't sob very often, if you don't count the period surrounding Amber's death. It upset him, but House wouldn't let it show.

He limped over to the chair Nolan had vacated and sat down, grunting a little with pain in his leg which he then extended out in front of him. He leaned his cane against the table.

"So," House said, feeling uncomfortable. He didn't know what to say about the tears but didn't want to let it go. Avoiding what was unpleasant, he had learned in 'Group', didn't get rid of it. "What's with the waterworks? Somebody kill a kitten or something?"

Shaking his head Wilson looked over at the diagnostician, a sardonic smile on his lips.

"Tactful as always, I see," the oncologist quipped. "Some things never change, do they?"

"If it ain't broken," House stated with a nod, "don't fix it." He grew more serious. "Are you okay? Nothing got rattled around too much during your marathon this morning?"

"Everything is still exactly where it belongs," Wilson assured him, trying hard not to smile bashfully. Unfortunately he was unable to hide the blush that appeared at his cheeks. "How much time have you got?"

House scowled suspiciously. "Why do I get the feeling we're going to talk about something awful and icky like our feelings?"

"Because you're a very astute man," was the wry reply.

House sighed dramatically. "Ohh-kaay. Let's get this over with so we can watch the third period of the hockey game in peace."

Wilson took a deep breath and then, before he could chicken out, began telling House, pretty much word for word what he had told Nolan only minutes earlier. He spoke quickly but clearly, not pausing long enough for House to make any comments. He tried to maintain eye contact with his friend as he spoke and more tears floated in his eyes by the time he was done.

The diagnostician was pretty much floored by the revelation he just received. His eyes were stinging with tears; he forced himself to keep listening and not avoid the emotions evoked by the memories of the events of the past two years. He had been hurt—badly hurt—by the rejection and abandonment. It had bruised his self-esteem and there was anger underneath a layer of denial.

"I'm so sorry, Greg." Wilson told him at the end. "I can't make it up to you, although I'd like to try, if you'll let me."

House swallowed multiple times to keep back the sobs because if so much as one escaped he wouldn't be able to hold back the rest.

"So," the diagnostician said softly, unable to look Wilson in the eye. "Exactly how much do I really mean to you, then, now that you've had this…epiphany?" One tear escaped and rolled quickly down his face.

"Greg, look at me." The younger man said to him. House simply couldn't…not until he knew what this man, whom he loved, thought of him.

"No," was the answer. "Not until you answer me."

With a heavy sigh, Wilson said, "It took all of this to make me realize how great…a man you really are. I-I can't b-begin to compete w-with you, I can only hope to become the kind of friend you've been to me."

House bit his lower lip hard. "That's not an answer to my question, Wilson," he told him, an edge to his voice this time. "You mean everything to me. You, Chloe…I need both of you. I can't bear the thought of something happening to either one of you. We…we've got history. That's something I can't say about Chloe and me…yet. I'd love you and….and esteem…you even if you didn't have anyone else but me and I wouldn't make you feel like shit and tell you that you can take it or leave it." Two more tears fell from his azure eyes. "So I need to know the truth, no bullshit mixed in. How much do I really mean to you?"

Wilson's face was wet and red with shame. "I don't want to…I can't live a life w-without y-you in-n it. I guess you could say that y-you're my everything, t-too. I love you."

"Well, it's not the middle of the night so you're not just telling me that to make me shut up so you can go back to sleep."

"It's the truth," the oncologist insisted softly, pleadingly.

Looking up at the younger man, meeting his gaze, House searched for any sign, any hint or trace at all of duplicity. When he couldn't see one, he grabbed Wilson behind the neck and pulled him roughly, a little clumsily, into an embrace, holding him tight, mindful of his friend's wounded arm. Wilson buried his face in House's shoulder and sobbed a bit, hugging back. House didn't just hug anybody; in this hug was his expression of just how much he valued the younger man and his willingness to forgive him. He couldn't promise that he would forget, however. Whether he wanted it or not, his mind never forgot things of this importance.

No gay jokes jumped to House's mind; for once there was no embarrassment or discomfort. This man was the closest thing to a real family that he had ever known, the kind of family he got to choose (not the horrible one he'd been forced into by genetics and bad luck) and always would be. His love for Chloe would never change that. If she loved him, then she had to accept Wilson too. They came as a package deal (except when it came to making love to Chloe…then Wilson could take a hike for a while, take up a hobby, bake a soufflé, find a pretty girl of his own….).

House broke the clutch first, but kept his good hand resting lightly on Wilson's shoulder, holding his gaze. "New rules," he croaked. "One, equal footing: we're both selfish assholes, and two, nothing about what just took place here leaves here or is so much as breathed about ever again to anybody!"

Wilson chuckled as a release of tension and nodded, "You got that right!"

House grinned and chuckled along. He released his grip on the oncologist's shoulder, and sat back in his chair. He lifted his bad leg up onto the bed and brought the other one up to join it.

"Turn on the hockey game and ring for the nurse," the diagnostician commanded.

"Why the nurse?" Wilson asked, confused. He turned on the game just as the third period is about to begin.

"We need her to fetch us some sodas and pay the pizza delivery guy when he gets here in about…." House checked his watch, "…oh, four minutes or so—or it's free."

Wilson shook his head incredulously and pressed the call button. "You think of everything," he said.

The diagnostician grinned smugly. "I know."

* * *

She had a mild concussion from hitting her head on the hardwood floor of House's apartment. It wasn't severe enough for her to remain in the hospital—it really was not much of anything besides a bad headache—so Thirteen had taken a cab home, set her alarm clock for one hour, took a couple of ibuprofen, and laid down on her bed to sleep; she was exhausted from getting very little sleep on House's lumpy old couch and was still not up to par from the injuries she had received from the attack in House's office. The Fellow had wanted to sit with Foreman for a while but she had just felt too lousy to do anything but sleep. Quality sleep, however, would evade her once again since she was setting her alarm clock to wake her every hour for the next eight, just to be on the safe side.

That's why she wasn't impressed when the beeping of her pager woke her ten minutes before the alarm was supposed to go off. She considered ignoring it but remembered that it could be important. She rose up on an elbow, turned on the reading lamp on the bedside table and grabbed her pager from next to it. It read: Call hospital—Foreman.

She dropped her pager on the table and picked up her cell phone, pressing speed dial. Her call to PPTH was transferred to the ICU nursing desk.

"ICU, Gordon," a male voice said into her ear. It was the evening charge nurse.

"This is Dr. Hadley," Thirteen said, trying to sound calm, cool and collected despite the anxiety she felt. Was this news about Foreman? Had he come out of his coma? Did his condition worsen? "I was paged?"

"Yes, Doctor. Good news…Dr. Foreman woke up about fifteen minutes ago. The neurologist is in there with him right now, but—."

"I'm on my way," the Fellow said, cutting the nurse off and the hanging up on him. A giant smile stretched from one of her ears to the other. She jumped out of bed and quickly dressed. Her excitement was barely containable and it was a reminder to her that despite her anger at the neurologist for being a jerk of a boss, she still cared for him, maybe even felt the word that started with an L and ended with an E.

Since her car was still parked in her stall in the hospital parking lot since Saturday afternoon she took a cab back to PPTH. Thirteen couldn't stop thinking about how good it would feel to see Foreman awake, but she also had to temper her enthusiasm with the fact that he could have serious neurological deficits due to the anoxia the brain suffered thanks to the cyanide. She wasn't certain how she would handle it if the damage proved to be extensive, especially if the deficit turned out to be cognitive in nature. Blindness, deafness, in ability to swallow, to walk, to talk—they were horrible but one could overcome them to live a relatively fulfilling, happy life; if his intelligence, reasoning or memory was damaged, the neurologist would live, but she had no idea what kind of quality of life he would have.

At the hospital she literally ran through the lobby to the elevator, but it was taking too long so she headed to the stairs and climbed then two at a time. She didn't slow down until she reached ICU. Panting lightly she rushed past the nursing station and headed directly to Foreman's room. She could see through the walls before she even arrived at the door the Neurology Attending talking to him. That was a good sign…a very good sign!

Thirteen knocked on the door out of habit but didn't bother to be welcomed in; she slid the door open and hurried into the room. She couldn't keep the grin off of her face when she saw his open eyes and his head nodding to what the doctor was telling him. Both looked at her when they heard the door open. Thirteen didn't notice the puzzled look on the Attending's face , paying attention to Foreman alone. When her ex-boyfriend locked eyes with her and smiled with recognition, her eyes became misty. She didn't care. Approaching the bed she grinned down at him.

"It's good to see you awake," she told him, barely restraining herself from hugging the stuffing out of him. Be cool, fan-girl! She thought, rueful.

"I-It good t-o s-see you," he said with a great deal of difficulty. Thirteen didn't allow her grin to fade, even though she was concerned with his obvious speech deficit. She reminded herself that speech could be relearned, new neural pathways could be built to overcome it, and he was capable of saying words in a logical way. If this was the only real damage he had to overcome, he was laughing.

The Fellow grabbed his hand in both of hers and held onto it like she was afraid to lose him if her grip wasn't firm enough.

"He's doing great, Doctor," the Attending told her optimistically. "A quick test just now has shown that he's having some difficulty with speech and motor coordination but both appear to be mild in degree and may improve over the next couple of days. We'll be running more comprehensive tests including an MRI and PET scan starting tomorrow morning and that'll give us a better idea of what damage may have been done." He rose from where he'd been perched on the edge of the bed. "If you have any questions just have me paged."

Thirteen nodded quickly, anxious for him to leave. Once he was gone she sighed in relief.

"H-how…ere…y-you?" Foreman said. She could see the disappointment and frustration in his eyes with the speech deficit.

"Good," she told him, touching the light dressing covering the stitches on her neck where she had been slashed. "I'm healing fine. I don't think I'll feel safe alone in House's office again, but whatever."

Foreman smiled at that. "H-house?"

Guessing that he was asking her what was happening with House and the attacks she answered. "It's over. It turns out that Lucas Douglas had teamed up with an ex-detective who was holding a grudge against House—Michael Tritter?—to punish, torture and kill House and those who had 'tainted' themselves by closely associating with him."

Foreman appeared dumbfounded, shaking his head in disbelief.

"The good news is, they're both dead as is one accessory and one is currently in hospital after trying to kill Dr. Wilson and being shot by the police," she continued, pulling up a chair to sit down. "Lucas wanted to scare and punish House for his interest in Cuddy and Tritter wanted revenge…."

Thirteen continued to tell him the whole account as he sat, listening as intently as he could, until he fell asleep. She sat for a few minutes, watching him pensively before settling in to sit with him for the night.

* * *

Lisa Cuddy sat up in her hospital bed with files of reports, patient files and other work lain out across her lap. She had conned-slash-intimidated her assistant to bring her some of the paperwork backing up on her, in spite of the fact that she was told to rest and take it easy. The problem was every time she tried to meditate or sleep she wouldn't be able to because she had too much going on in her head. She had last minute details to see taken care of for the memorial the next day, schedule adjustments to see to and approve to cover the losses of Chase and Taub and the recuperation of Foreman, Wilson and LaSalle; she was grateful to have learned from House that Wilson was still alive—grateful and pissed off for having to go through the emotional turmoil of grieving for her friend for no reason! She couldn't understand why she wasn't let in on the plan, but House had simply told her to give extra clinic hours to the police, not to him because it was their decision, not his.

She was also relieved to know that her Chief of Diagnostic Medicine was staying in Princeton and only taking Tuesday off for the memorial, which, to her surprise, he was planning on attending. She knew that had to be the influence of Chloe LaSalle on him. It amazed her to see how quickly House had fallen for the chaplain—and the fact that she was a chaplain—and was acting to please her without being nagged or guilted. That knowledge brought her enormous regret and shame . While House had told her that what Lucas had done was not her fault, she couldn't help but feel guilty for forming a relationship with him and bringing him into their lives. She had been so stupid! As a result of that stupidity she had strained her friendships with Wilson and House nearly to the breaking point. She regretted most choosing Lucas over House and hurting the diagnostician as badly as she had. She could have been the one he was doting over if she hadn't been wearing blinders to Lucas' manipulations.

Now she was alone, and it was her damned fault! At least she had Rachel. Every time she thought about how close she came to losing her baby too she shuddered. To the woman she envied the most for House's love she owed a debt she could never repay and that same woman was kind enough to welcome her and Rachel into her home until Cuddy could find a suitable place of her own. It caused the Dean of Medicine to pause and question if House wasn't better off with Chloe LaSalle than he would have been with her.

Regardless, she would never be able to forgive herself for her blind stupidity nor stop regretting what could have been if only she would have listened to the warnings of her friends. Working, keeping her mind engaged, helped her not to dwell on those things, so that's what she would do. She still had her job which she was damned good at and for the time being, that would have to be enough.