A/N: This is the last chapter. Thanks to all my super fantabulous readers. You guys are the best!


Eames was about to say something but Goren didn't give her a chance.

"I still lost," Goren said as he watched his partner walk up to his desk.

Eames was puzzled. "Why would Ross say that?"

"Ross didn't say it, Nicole did. She told Dr. House that I still lost just before she died."

"Do you have any idea what she meant by that?"

"I think I do," Goren replied, drumming his fingers on a thick file that was very conspicuously taking up the middle of his desk blotter. Nicole Wallace's file. "I lost because I didn't get to stop her myself. I lost because I didn't get to slap the cuffs on her, knowing the charges would stick and she wouldn't be able to connive her way out of it and see the light of day again. I lost because I didn't get hold of one of her syringes."

Eames frowned and narrowed her eyes. "You wanted to kill her?"

"Am I sorry she's dead, Eames? No. Did I want her dead? Yes. I wanted her to get hit by bus while walking across the street. I wanted her to fall down the stairs and break her neck. I'll admit that. Did I want to kill her myself? If I had to...If I were in Dr. House's shoes, watching Nicole drag you in there by your hair after breaking your hand...yeah, I would do it. I'd kill her without thinking twice. And so would you. You've killed two perps without blinking, Eames."

"Because I didn't have any choice, not because actually I wanted to."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about here. I would have killed those men if I had to, and I would have killed Nicole if I had to."

"Me, too." Eames blinked, not liking the fact that her partner had brought men she had shot into the conversation and changed the subject: "Nicole dragged Lisa by her hair? Did I hear that right?"

"Yes, both House and Cuddy said that. Cuddy said that her scalp is still sore."

"How are they doing? Are they okay?" Eames finally got the question that Goren interrupted.

"They're doing fine, considering the circumstances. The second House woke up he wanted to see Cuddy. They were a bit groggy, in pain, and shell-shocked, not that I could hardly blame them. I told Cuddy to call you. She said she would."

"Great," Eames said. "They're alright now, but what about later? What happens then?"

Goren looked up at his partner. "We give them all the time and space they need. It won't be easy, nothing is, but I think they're both stubborn enough to come out of this without too many scars."

"But they will be scarred for life," Eames said, resigned to the fact.

"Of course they are. So are we. Nicole had a knack for that. Everyone she touched wound up worse off than before in one way or another." Goren stood up, holding the thick file, then strode over the filing cabinet and stuffed it back inside.


The piano had been wrestled into the room half an hour earlier, and now House was helping Cuddy, with a new cast on her arm and shaky legs from the pain meds, over to the bench. She eased down with a huge sigh of relief. House had barely sat down on his side when she threw her arms around his shoulders and nuzzled his neck.

"Easy there, boss," House said, carefully pushing her over a bit with more than a little regret. "We don't want to over-exert ourselves too soon. Besides, you're more than likely to smack me in the head with that cast."

"I don't care," she muttered absently, moving back over and leaning against him.

"You should. I can't play if you're going to be giving me fresh wounds to tend to. Now what does the boss want to hear?"

"Something pretty."

"Can you narrow that down?"

"No. Just play something."

And he did. Classical music, probably Beethoven. It didn't matter to Cuddy. It was pretty, just what she wanted. Glancing over at him, she could see that he was lost in the music, in the notes, in the keys. He had probably forgotten that she was there. From the corner of her eye she could see the shadows of people stopped outside the door, listening to the music.

Then he stopped as suddenly as he started. Cuddy scowled and poked him in the ribs. "Keep going," she ordered.

"In a minute." He turned to face her. "Something came to me while I was in the next room, thinking things over. I didn't want to think about her...Nicole, Elizabeth, whatever her name was, so I thought about us, about our time together. Then something hit me--I think it's something I've been meaning to tell you but never did. I'm not even sure it's real."

"What is it?"

"It's about separating from Stacy. Did I ever tell you something about that?"

Cuddy's heart rose to her throat and she suddenly felt lightheaded and nearly slipped off the bench. "Yes, yes, you told me that."

"I thought so. Stacy and I were supposed to get a divorce. Does that sound familiar?"

"Yes," Cuddy gulped.

"I signed the papers a long time ago. I don't know how that managed to slip my mind, but I'm telling you now. I figured it would be some good news and you certainly deserve to hear some good news."

"Thank you," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"You're welcome," he said. "More music?"

"Yes, please."

"Something pretty?"

"Yes, please."

"Coming right up."

He launched into another round of classical music. The rest of the world disappeared around Cuddy. It was just her, him and the music.

--The End.