Reconciliations: A House MD Story Chapter 37, a house, m.d. fanfic

Reconciliations: A House M.D. Story

A/N: I want to thank everyone who has read this story! I hope you enjoyed it…it was a labor of love for me! Since season 4 I had the idea of House meeting and falling in love with a woman who would truly love him for him, dark side and all. Chloe LaSalle was born out of that and to me she is as real as she can be. Some have said that she is too good to be true or realistic, that she doesn't have a dark side which of course we all do. I would have loved to explore her character more here, but unfortunately I had to stick to what I felt was necessary to carry the plot and leave the rest out but trust me, she has a dark side. I am considering a sequel, but it will likely be a while before I write one, since I have two other story lines to complete, I'd like to try something new and I'm writing a non-fanfic novel all my own—plus I have to spend time with my family and work, too!

Thanks to all my reviewers, especially those of you who faithfully reviewed from start to end: TetraFish06, Iamawallflower, I love ewansmile, mipaturo, melraemorgan, coconut-ice22, slashfan54, fieto, LANIKI, furryface, theletterv, ghnobody, houseband, apocalyps24. If I forgot anyone, please forgive me!

Song that helped inspire this chapter include: "Forgiven" by Reliant K.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Forgiven by Reliant K

Oh yes, I know this tension you speak of,

We're in the palm of a hand making a fist;

It'd be better for one of us to speak up,

But we prefer to pretend it does not exist;

Refrain:

And you can't see past the blood on my hands,

To see that you've been aptly damned to fail and fail again.

'Cause we're all guilty of the same things;

We think the thoughts, whether or not we see them through;

And I know that I have been forgiven,

And I hope you can forgive me too.

So don't you dare blame me

For prying open the door

That's unleashed the bitterness

That's here in the midst of this;

Sometimes we live for no one but ourselves.

And what we've been striving for

Has turned into nothing more

Than bodies lying on the floor.

Victims of falling short

We kiss goodbye the cheek of our true love.

(Refrain)

Looking across the growing assembly of people arriving at the main lecture theater in the basement of PPTH, Chloe LaSalle didn't see Gregory House anywhere amidst the numerous faces. She realized that it was still early and that he still had time to arrive before the memorial service began; still, she felt a little anxious and hoped that the diagnostician actually showed. He wasn't the first person the chaplain had known who didn't like funerals and avoided them as much as possible. She understood the reluctance. It was true that funerals and memorials didn't change the fact that a person dearly loved and cared about was gone and never coming back and that they tended not only to remind those left behind the enormity of the loss they had just experienced. She didn't like thinking about her own mortality any more that the next person. However, Chloe also knew that humans needed closure to relationships to be able to move on with their lives in a healthy way. Funerals and memorials provided that opportunity for closure.

House had said he was going to be here, and she was confident that he would be true to his word, which begged the question: why was she so anxious? She spotted Lisa Cuddy seated in the third row from the front holding a very verbal early toddler on her lap and walked over to her to confirm last minute details. It was more an effort to dispel her anxiousness than a concern that everything was ready. She needed to distract herself, not that the discomfort from her stitches wasn't a distraction in itself. She fussed over Rachel, whom she had cooing and giggling in no time. She loved babies but they also caused her a little sadness by reminding her that she would never have anymore of her own.

Chloe felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Sara standing there, pretty in her deep blue dress and hair up in curls.

"Maman," her daughter told her, "I just saw Fido and Dr. Wilson arrive in the lobby and they're on their way down. With both of them with an arm in a sling they look like Tweedledee and Tweedledum! Guess which one is Tweedledum!"

"I think I know," Cuddy said with a wink at Sara.

Chloe sighed and then smiled. "You shouldn't call Greg 'Fido'. It's degrading."

Sara shrugged, "When he stops calling me 'Pain in the As—I mean, donkey—I'll stop calling him Fido. He thinks I'm too stupid to know what Pinta means. What an idiot!" She reached over to lightly tickle Rachel's cheek. "Hi there, Sweetie! Dr. Cuddy, if you need a babysitter when I'm not in school I'll do it. I took a training course and I have my Red Cross certification."

"Great!" was the Dean of Medicine's reply. "I never turn down an offer of a babysitter."

Chloe checked her watch and then said, "We're going to begin soon, Sara. Start the prelude, please." Chloe saw that she was being signaled by Remy Hadley and excused herself, heading in the Fellow's direction as Sara took her place on the front platform as the not-so-gently used piano. The teenager began to play classical and more traditional funeral-appropriate pieces from heart; she was a very talented pianist, especially one so young.

"Chloe," Thirteen introduced, "this is Rachel Taub. Rachel, this Dr. Chloe LaSalle, head of the Chaplaincy here at PPTH."

Chloe looked at the widow with a warm but slightly sad smile and took the woman's hand in her own, shaking it. "I'm so glad you could make it, Mrs. Taub! I'm very sorry for your loss."

Nodding, Rachel nodded, "Thank you, Doctor."

"Please call me Chloe," the chaplain told her. "We have seats reserved at the front for family, but you're welcome to sit wherever you feel most comfortable."

"I'd just as soon sit with everyone else," was the response.

"Of course," Chloe told her, nodding. "We'll, if you will excuse me, we're going to begin."

Rachel Taub nodded and took a seat next to Thirteen as the chaplain made her way back to the front. She noticed House and Wilson arrive just before the greeter shut the doors to the packed theater. She signaled the two men to join her in the second row from the front and she had to repress a smile of amusement; they did indeed look like quite the pair. She allowed them into the row in front of her and she sat with them briefly, waiting for Sara to complete the song she was playing. Chloe noticed that the diagnostician next to her seemed to be enraptured by the music; he was staring at Sara and smiling slightly.

"How long has she been playing?" he whispered into her ear.

"She didn't start taking lessons until she was seven, but her teachers have told me that she has a gift," Chloe murmured. "She just completed Grade eight practical and grade seven theory with the Royal Conservatory of Canada. She loves to play, she just hates practicing her scales."

"Who doesn't?" House quipped.

Chloe caught Sara's eye and nodded. The teenager finished and then left the piano and sat down in the front row just in front of Wilson, who tapped her on the back and gave her a thumb up. Rising, Chloe made her way up to the podium, passing a table that held flowers surrounding the framed photographs of Dr. Robert Chase and Dr. Chris Taub.

The buzz of chit chat faded away quickly. Chloe quickly look across the assembly of people who had come to pay their last respects and was reminded again how one single life can touch so many other lives and make a difference in the world, much more so the two doctors whose lives had been cut far too short. She regretted that she hadn't had a chance to get to know Robert and Chris.

"Good day and welcome to all," Chloe said into the microphone. "I am the Reverend Doctor Chloe LaSalle. On behalf of the families of the deceased and Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, I would like to thank you for joining us today to celebrate the lives of Dr. Robert Chase and Dr. Chris Taub." The chaplain's eye was drawn to the back; the greeter was admitting a young woman who crept in and took a seat in the back row. She was thirtyish with blonde hair and a lovely face. House, noticing the slight change in Chloe's expression, looked over his shoulder to see what she was looking at. For a long moment he just stared towards the back and then slowly turned back around, appearing distracted.

Not being the appropriate time to think about it, the head chaplain continued smoothly and no one else appeared to have noticed the distraction.

"Last evening as I reviewed what I was going to say today, I realized how formal and distant the words I had chosen to use were. Perhaps that's because I wasn't as fortunate as the rest of you were to have had the chance to get to know Robert and Chris. I quickly discarded that speech and decided instead to speak from my heart.

"You see, while I did not know Robert and Chris personally, I had an opportunity to speak to a few of the many people who did; likewise I, too, have lost dear friends and loved ones and understand what it means to grieve. This isn't to say that I can know exactly how you are feeling right now, for we're all different and we all grieve differently, but I can empathize.

"There are no words that I could say today that would lend to you as comfort to your pain save this: I firmly believe that this reality, this dimension or plane, whatever you wish to call it, is not all there is to our lives. At death we do not cease to exist, there is more beyond this phase of our existence. Many of you, I know, do not believe in the existence of God or any other supernatural power beyond that which can be empirically measured by the five senses that we possess as human beings or the instruments we have created to measure that which our senses are not capable of detecting. Others of you do believe in a Supreme Power or powers, and believe that there is an afterlife or eternal existence of some kind that extends beyond the mortal. Many of you are uncertain what to believe and only hope that your life has some kind of everlasting positive influence on this world and the people in it.

For all of you, I tell you, your life, your memory, your influence doesn't end once your heart has stopped beating and your brain has ceased functioning, or once you have been buried or cremated. There is reason for the hope of more.

"For those who believe in the supernatural and life beyond death, I remind you of that truth and encourage you to take comfort in it. You understand that there more to life than simply the substantive and have hope of not only your continued existence, but that of your lost loved ones and friends as well. There's no need for me to 'preach to the choir', as they say.

"To those of you who are uncertain or do not acknowledge the supernatural I say this: I can prove to you that a person does continue on in his or her influence after death. How, you ask? Allow me to give one illustration out of my own life to explain.

"My great-grandfather died twenty years before I was born, but he exists not only today for me but also for my daughter nearly as much as he did in the prime of his life—which was his entire life, because he seized each day and wrested all that could possibly be gained, experienced and appreciated of it. He left great memories of his life from his earliest memories of growing up in Southeastern Quebec on his father's farm, which had been his father's home before him, to the last moments he shared with my great-grandmother and their children at his side. The stories he told, the hospital he started in his community and the lives that have been affected by it to this day, the testimony of his family and friends—and yes, a few of his enemies as well—all still exist today, passed down by oral and written tradition. When I look into my daughter's eyes, I see his. He still exists differently but just as powerfully as he did before his mortal body gave up. Evidence of him can be measured by the five senses in the people and the things he left behind.

"That is how it is for all of us, that is how it is for Robert and Chris. The people they loved, the friends they made, the patients they treated, the things they did all carry their lives beyond their mortal existence and into the future. As long as they live in the hearts, lives and communities they were a part of, they go on. That is a hope for all of us.

"When you leave here today, you take them with you. Remember that, cherish that, allow it to give you solace. Let it be a reminder to those of us left behind to squeeze out of every day of our lives everything it has to offer, the pleasure and the pain, the good and the bad, for both sides are the building blocks of a full life. Let us invest in the things that truly last and stand the test of time: our families, friends, our circle of influence however big or small that may be. Remember to do your best to repair and reconcile those relationships that for whatever reason have been damaged or destroyed. It may take humility, forgiveness, patience and some pain—but nothing worth having and doing comes without a little effort and cost. Money, power, fame—they are here but a moment and in the next can disappear. If that's all we have to show for our lives with this bodily existence comes to its end, then so do we. Take courage that these men lived for more than the destructible and thus they live on."

Chloe paused a moment to look over the faces assembled in that place. Most were unfamiliar, but all expressed a mixture of emotions, most notably sadness. Some, however displayed small smiles as they recalled sweeter times, some hope, some regret, some shock or denial, some confusion and some anger. Such were the faces and stages of grief. She hoped that in some way her words had brought them some measure of comfort as well. She looked at Rachel Taub, whose cheeks glistened with tears as did other family members seated with her and around her. She could see Cuddy, who appeared sad but composed, and Thirteen whose tearless eyes belied a touch of pain. Sarah smiled weakly up at her mother. Wilson, the big softy, had tears in his eyes which he dabbed at with a handkerchief when he thought no one was looking. House…his face was impassive but she could tell by his eyes that he was troubled. When he realized she was looking at him he gave her a small, almost sly smile and then quickly looked down at his hands in his lap.

The chaplain's eyes were last drawn to the woman who had entered late and sat at the back. Her face was unreadable but her eyes were teary and it looked like a couple of those tears had escaped. Chloe felt an almost urgent need to talk with her when the service was done, if she had the opportunity.

"At this time," Chloe announced, "we will have the Eulogies." She nodded towards Taub's brother who left his seat and came to the podium as Chloe sat down next to House. Grimacing a little as she settled into the seat, House frowned and leaned towards her, whispering in her ear.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Smiling reassuringly she whispered back, her lips brushing his ear as she spoke. She saw goosebumps rise along his neck and jaw. "I'm fine."

"Pain?" he asked her next. He displayed concern in the way his eyebrows met. It was sweet, but there was no way she was going to tell him that.

"Just a little around the stitches. Don't fuss over me—it's annoying!"

The diagnostician gave her a small amused smirk and then returned his attention to the podium. Once Taub's eulogy was over, Chloe returned to the podium.

"Next we will hear the Eulogy for Dr. Robert Chase as presented by Dr. Gregory House," the chaplain announced and then paused as House rose from his seat amidst the odd whisper here and there and not a few surprised expressions, including Wilson's. As the diagnostician limped up to the podium he looked very self-conscious and just a little bit nervous. He looked at her almost pleadingly and Chloe had to resist the urge to smile. On her way down she quickly gave his arm a squeeze and winked encouragingly. She snuck a quick glance at the woman in the back; she had a look of surprise very similar to Wilson's.

Once she was seated again, Wilson leaned across the empty chair between them; Chloe leaned towards him to make up the distance.

"How did you manage to convince him?" the oncologist asked her in astonishment.

"I didn't," she whispered in reply, giving a little shrug. "He volunteered."

House shifted a little nervously behind the podium and pulled a small sheet of notepaper out of his suit jacket pocket and a pair of reading glasses out of the other. Perching the glasses on the end of his nose he began to mechanically readout the vital statistics and background information Chase's uncle in Australia had e-mailed him. After that he removed his glasses and pocketed them. Chloe saw him take a deep breath and glance towards Wilson and her. She nodded her head almost imperceptibly. She found it fascinating how shy he was underneath the protective brash exterior he displayed most of the time.

"I'm not eloquent…I often find it difficult to relate to others, but I could relate to Chase. He came to work for me a little more than seven years ago as the first member of my diagnostic team. He was young and cocky and a free-thinker; he reminded me a little bit of myself at his age. That's not why I hired him; I hired him because I saw in him the potential ability to get up in my face and tell me that I was wrong when I was. I didn't need a yes man who agreed with me no matter what I said. He was insightful and intuitive, two very important attributes of a diagnostician worth his weight in salt. As those who were there will attest we didn't always get along. I was mostly to blame for that. When there wasn't an actual conflict, I would try to create one. I knew he could take it—and he did. What I didn't think about was that I was also teaching him my own particular brand of justice, of obtaining the goal, the ends justifying the means. I didn't think of myself as his mentor, but there were times when I got the distinct feeling that in spite of the conflict he sometimes thought of me as such. I don't take credit for his skill and talent as a doctor. He was a good doctor before he came to work for me." House cleared his throat quietly and took another deep breath before continuing.

"Chase," he said, "had something that I do not—an unconditional conscience. He sometimes made poor decisions, as we all do. When he did something wrong, it was his way to pretend like it didn't faze him, but that wasn't the truth. He carried a great deal of guilt and insecurity for the mistakes he made. Recently he was faced with a moral dilemma. He did what he felt was the right thing, not for himself, but for many others. His intentions were good, even if the act was not. It cost him a great deal personally…more than he was capable of dealing with on his own. It began to wear on him…the guilt, the concern that not only would he face potential repercussions but that his actions would hurt the ones he was closest to as well. He tried to hide what he did both out of the shame of having done it but also to keep from hurting and implicating others.

"Towards the end he tried to quell the guilt and pain that was tearing him apart with the only means he knew. I never intended to create him in my image, but I saw him following the same destructive path I had, which he had witnessed a great deal of. Trying to drown his sorrows in alcohol was also one of my favorite tricks. I saw his future if he continued along the path he was, but I failed at helping him. Maybe I didn't do enough…I don't know. When he was dying…I failed again to save him. He wasn't a saint, but he sure as hell wasn't a monster either. He was human, and one the best of those that I have ever known, and I tend to be quite discriminating. His death was a stupid, meaningless waste that needn't have happened. He deserved better. The world lost a fine doctor, man, friend, colleague; it's a damned shame. If we do actually live on in the memories, deeds and lives of others, he'll live at least as long as I do, and I suspect much longer than that, in the rest of you. It's not nearly as good as having him alive and with us, but I'll take it over the thought of him not going on at all."

Chloe had tears in her eyes, and she quickly dabbed them away with a tissue. She understood how difficult it was for House to say what he had and while it wasn't the most eloquent eulogy she had ever heard, but it was the most honest. He grieved Chase's death and expressed it as well as he was capable of doing. The absolute silence in the theater spoke of the impact of his words and the fact that they came from him.

He limped off the podium; as he descended his eyes were glued to the back, at the young woman. He took his seat as Chloe took the podium to end the service and announce that light refreshments would be served in the lobby. People began to leave. Chloe moved quickly, looking for the woman but she was already gone. The chaplain hurried down the aisle, dodging people as she tried to get out of the theater, hoping she could catch up to and locate the woman. When she reached the corridor she saw the woman walking towards the stairwell and hurried after her, not allowing herself to be distracted but well-wishers and people standing, blocking the passage. The woman entered the stairs and three seconds later so did Chloe.

"Wait!" the chaplain called out to her, holding her stitches, which were hurting her considerably, and panting lightly. "Please!"

The woman turned to face her. Her bluish-green eyes were red rimmed, her nose was red, as were her lips, but she was still lovely. Her blonde hair was pulled away from her face efficiently; she was dressed simply but tastefully.

"What do you want?" the woman asked, his voice sounding a little harsh, but Chloe recognized pain rather than anger in it.

Chloe stepped carefully down the stairs towards her. "I wanted to make certain that you were alright, Dr. Cameron. You are Dr. Cameron, are you not?"

The woman dropped her head momentarily and then looked back up at her, looking sad and worn. "Yes," she said simply, nodding.

"Greg described you quite accurately," the chaplain told her with a soft smile. "You're as pretty as he said."

Cameron looked at her in disbelief mixed with bitterness. "House actually told you I was pretty?"

Nodding, Chloe leaned against the wall, feeling worn out. She sighed tiredly. "Actually he used the word beautiful. Why are you running away? There are people here who would love to see you."

"Not as many as you may think," the doctor told her. "I didn't exactly leave here under the best terms with--."

"With Greg?" Chloe finished for her. Cameron nodded. "I don't know what exactly transpired but I do know that he wants to see you again, to talk to you."

Not convinced, Cameron shook her head. "I don't even know why I came today. I wasn't going to. I swore to myself that I'd never come back. I don't think seeing House again is a good idea."

"Of course that is your decision," the chaplain told her. "But is it a wise one? Is running away from hard feelings going to ever eliminate them? Or will it end up as regrets someday? All bitterness does is eat away at our souls like a cancer. But this kind is curable. First you talk, then you forgive because not forgiving hurts you a lot more than it does the person you are holding a grudge against. Dealing with it means that you can move on without it haunting you ever again."

"You don't understand," Cameron told her. She quickly brushed a tear away with her hand. "I'm the one who needs to be forgiven, and I don't think House would be able to do that even if I deserved it."

"I think you may be surprised about that," Chloe told her, smiling ruefully. "You'll never know if you run away. I promise if he starts acting like a total jerk I'll clobber him across the head again—seemed to work last time I did it."

"You hit House?" the doctor asked her incredulously but there was the hint of a smile on her lips.

"Yes," was the reply, "with one of his porn magazines rolled up—straight to the coconut. He was being a bully and I hate bullies." Chloe grinned with amusement.

Cameron looked uncertain. "Dr. LaSalle, is it?"

"Chloe," the chaplain told her, extending her hand to her; Cameron shook it.

"Allison."

The women stared at each other for a moment. Chloe held her side gingerly. The sound of the fire door opening drew their eyes upward. Standing in the doorway was House. He looked to Cameron and then to the chaplain. Chloe climbed up towards him far too slowly; when she reached the landing House put a protective arm around her waist.

"You don't look good," he told her with concern.

"Why thank you!" Chloe responded with a playful smirk. "Learn that in charm school did you?"

House's expression softened somewhat but he wasn't amused. "You need to go sit down," he told her. "You're overdoing it. Please."

"Okay," Chloe told him and kissed his mouth gently before looking back towards Cameron, who was watching their exchange with fascination. "It was very nice to meet you, Allison. I hope that we get the chance to talk again soon."

Cameron nodded. Chloe went through the door the diagnostician held open for her and stopped, looking back at him briefly. "You brought Wilson as reinforcement?"

Wilson, standing in the corridor by the door, looped his good arm around hers and escorted her towards the elevator.

"There's a sofa in my office that has your name on it," he told her.

* * *

House stared down at Cameron with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Walk with me," he told her softly not unlike he had done many times when she was one of his ducklings; it seemed like decades had passed since then. House turned and went through the fire door into the corridor, holding it open for her. After a few moments of hesitation she climbed the stairs to him and passed through the doorway. He followed her into the corridor, which was empty now. They walked side by side towards the elevators, the only sound being their footfall and the rhythmic tapping of his cane against the floor. After a few moments Cameron spoke.

"What happened to your hand?" she asked him curiously.

Half-smirking House replied, "I broke it on somebody's face."

Cameron shook her head, "You have to stop doing that, you know."

They reached the elevator and House hit the call button with his cane. "Yeah, but the guy really deserved it this time," he joked. "He was a very bad man."

"I read about what happened to you and the others in the newspaper," she told him. "Sounds like I left just in time."

The elevator arrived empty and they stepped on. Cameron automatically hit the floor where House's office was located. House hit a different one.

"Yeah, but you missed all of the fun," the diagnostician said sarcastically, but it lacked the angry edge it usually had. "Have you settled anywhere yet?"

"New York," she answered. "Until I work through a few things."

House nodded noncommittally, and remained silent.

"Chloe's new," the younger doctor commented with a small smile. "She seems very nice."

House knew where she was leading and looked sidelong at her. "She is…but don't cross her. She's got a wicked swing."

"Looks like she has you broke like a horse," Cameron baited him teasingly.

"And I hope to be ridden soon," he quipped, staring straight at the doors.

Cameron smiled ruefully at him and shook her head. "Does she know what kind of degenerate you are?"

"Yup," he replied, "and loves it."

They rode in silence a few moments. House sighed silently. This was possibly his last opportunity to make peace and he didn't want to be a jackass and blow it again. He wished Chloe was there…she was good at this sort of thing, not him. He never knew what to say or do.

"House," Cameron said, breaking the silence; he sighed again, with relief this time.

"That's what's on my birth certificate," he replied. The elevator reached the floor the diagnostician had chosen and they stepped off. He led the way down the corridor heading towards ICU.

Cameron exhaled loudly. "About what I said the other day…."

"Forget it," he told her, looking down at her thoughtfully. "You had to say it and I needed to hear it. It's done."

The younger doctor shook her head at that. "No, no I didn't have to say that. In one foul swoop I practically called you the devil and blamed you for something Robert did all on his own. You were an easy scapegoat, but it wasn't fair. I just had so much resentment built up."

"Chase did learn from me, Cameron," House told her, avoiding looking at her. "I didn't make him do what he did, but I demonstrated time and again how nothing else mattered to me than finding the solution no matter what damage and mayhem I left in my wake."

"Yes," she acknowledged, "but he was still responsible for his own actions. Just because monkey sees doesn't mean monkey has to do. Besides, we both know that what drives you isn't simply the puzzle. You wouldn't kill someone because you didn't like what he was doing. You may walk over people that are in your way, but you don't go into it wearing spikes, determined to purposely crush them in the process. You just want to do what is ultimately best for your patient, after you've made them bleed out of every orifice or have one or more of their organs fail first."

House stopped at the ICU nursing station. He looked down at her and seeing the sardonic grin on her face he allowed himself a genuine chuckle.

"I'm sorry about the way I dealt with…things before," he said seriously in a quiet voice. "It was never my intention to hurt you."

She met his gaze and after a heartbeat she nodded in acceptance of his apology. They were rare, but when he made them, he meant them. Cameron knew that.

"Are we good?" she asked him cautiously.

"Yeah, we're good," he answered. He led her towards Foreman's room. When they arrived he was awake.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked the diagnostician before they entered his room.

House rolled his eyes dramatically and sighed. "He's going to make a full recovery."

Cameron laughed and then went into Foreman's room. Foreman's face lit up when he saw her. House watched them for a moment thoughtfully, thinking how there was someone missing. Things were never going to be the same again—he certainly wasn't. He hoped that things turned out even better, with time. He had the opportunities in front of him, it all depended upon how badly he wanted them and if he was willing to take the risks necessary to get them and keep them.

* * *

When he arrived at Wilson's office Wilson and Sara were sitting at the oncologist's desk playing cards with just his desk lamp on; he put his fingers to his lips to warn House to be quiet and then pointed over to the sofa. Chloe laid asleep there under a hospital blanket. The diagnostician crept over to her and stood over her, staring down. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever known, and that was just the inside. He wondered how he managed to get so lucky and that caused him anxiety. He didn't want to screw this up. He couldn't allow himself to screw this up. Somehow, he'd make it work, because he wanted this the most.

"Come help Wilson play gin with me," Sara whispered to him. "I'm whipping his butt!"

"Wilson likes a good butt-whipping from time to time," House whispered back, smirking and taking the last available chair at the desk. Wilson glowered at him indignantly.

"That's what she said," Sara quipped, dealing the cards. House looked at her in surprise for a moment and then chuckled, trying to stifle it.

"Great," the oncologist griped. "Now I've got two of you to humiliate me."

"Tag team," Sara teased, looking at the diagnostician and winking.

House winked back. He decided that he could definitely get used to this. This was good.

-{ Fin }-