A/N-I've never written FanFiction before… or really anything at all so any and all feedback is welcome. Thank you to all the amazing authors who have inspired me to try to flesh out this continuation/reunion that's been slowly developing in my brain the last few weeks. This is completely un-Beta'd so if anyone wants to be a Beta reader or DDX story ideas with me, please let me know.

Disclaimer- Obviously, I don't own the characters or the show. Or the lyrics that will appear in this first chapter. I don't intend to make this a songfic, but drew some inspiration from this song and felt it fit.

The cool stone under her yoga mat provided a welcome contrast to the warm sun. She focused on her senses- that contrast, the delicate smell of the late Spring blooms, the sounds of birds chirping, the lingering taste of her morning tea. A quiet morning to sit outside and practice her meditation was a rare treat in an otherwise busy life, and she appreciated the calm.

Breathe in. Breathe ou-

Cuddy groaned as the ringing phone cut through the quiet, harshly bringing her back to reality. Putting the phone on silent was not a luxury afforded to her, not as a hospital administrator or as a mother who'd dropped her daughter off for a playdate that morning. Cursing the interruption, she stood to pick up her cellphone from the patio table and looked at the caller ID before answering.

Wilson.

She smiled at the name, even as anxiety slowly bubbled inside her. It wasn't a crisis at the hospital. It wasn't a 4-year-old having a meltdown at a playdate without her mother. It was Wilson, one of her best friends. One who had seen her through the most horrific experiences of her life and all the changes that had come after. The anxiety grew stronger as the phone kept ringing. It was also Wilson who was dying. Wilson who never called at this time- they normally talked in the evening with a glass of wine in hand. Something had to be wrong. His prognosis gave him another 5 months, but cancer didn't always play by the rules. Cancer didn't keep a calendar to know that it was too soon.

She took a deep breath to steady herself and force a happy tone as she answered, "Wilson! What a surprise! How are you?"

"Cu- Cuddy," she heard through choked sobs on the other end of the line. Her anxiety grew as she listened to the quiet sobs. Wilson hadn't even sounded this devastated when he called and told her about his diagnosis, nor when he told her about his decision to stop treatment.

"Wilson, I'm here. Are you okay? Do you need me to come?"

She'd prepared herself for this. She'd prepared herself to go hold his hand in his last hours. She just thought there would be more time. Cuddy started to mentally plan everything she would need to take care of to leave and get to him before Wilson cut her off.

"No," Wilson choked again, "Cuddy, it's House."

"House?! What did he do now?"

"Cuddy, he's—he's gone."

Anger boiled up in her. House. The man she'd loved for more than 20 years. The man whose antics challenged her more than anyone before her since. The man she spent hours verbally sparring with. The man who drove a car through her house, forcing her to uproot her entire life.

"Wilson," she sighed, "what did he do now? What foreign country has he run off to this time?" Bitterness seeped into her tone as she asked, remembering that fateful day. Remembering the months before that day. Remembering the months he spent hiding on a beach while she struggled to pick up the shattered pieces of her home and her life. She'd hoped that House could be there for Wilson in these last months. It was just like him, she thought, to abandon Wilson now. He hadn't been able to be there with her through her own cancer scare so she didn't know why she ever expected him to be there for Wilson.

"No. He's not—he didn't—Cuddy, he's dead. House is dead."

The world tilted as she processed Wilson's words. Her legs felt weak. She slid into the patio chair beside her and pushed her hair from her face. Stunned, she sat a moment before remembering to breathe. With a deep breath, she rubbed her face and asked, "What? How?"

"House wasn't coping with everything." Go figure, she thought, he never copes. "It's a long story, but a prank went bad, and he was going back to jail. He just—his last patient was a heroin addict. He was in a warehouse. It was on fire. I just—Foreman and I—we just couldn't get him in time."

Cuddy didn't know what to say. She felt like she'd spent a lifetime preparing for House's death. She'd recommended a risky surgery that saved his life, seen him after he was shot, breathed life into his lungs as Wilson performed CPR, and held his hand while he was in a coma after deep brain stimulation. She'd seen him technically die so many times she started to think he was invincible. As the memories flooded over her, she realized Wilson was still talking, vaguely registering that he was offering funeral details.

"Can you come?" She heard him ask. "Will you be there?"

"I—I can't. I'm sorry, Wilson. I—" she stumbled over what to say. "If I come, it will—everyone will focus on that. It'll be about our past, our drama. There's too much there. I just—let the day be about him, not whispers about us. I—it wouldn't be good for anyone." She hoped Wilson would understand. As much as she hated House for what he'd done, she wanted his funeral to honor the greatest medical mind of their generation, not be mired with the drama of their past.

"I understand. I just wanted to let you know…" Wilson trailed off. They sat for a moment in silence, neither knowing what more to say before he finally said he had to go to help with the arrangements. They said goodbye, promising to talk soon.

The air felt thick as she sat in the chair, still struggling to catch her breath. House was dead. She rose and slid the sliding glass door open, heading back to her bedroom. She walked to the closet and flipped on the light before reaching to the top shelf to pull down the box she wanted. Hugging the box to her chest, she stumbled to the bed and turned on the iPod docked on the nightstand. She fell on top of the thick comforter, grief and shock sapping her of all strength. Finally, she rolled to her side, placed the box beside her, and gently lifted the lid.

The picture she wanted was right on top, alongside a small stuffed penguin. She quietly laughed at the memory of House walking into her office with the "peace penguin" as she lightly ran her fingers over the soft plush. Carefully, she lifted the picture from the box as a single tear slid down her cheek. It was a Vegas Nights oncology benefit. She was dressed in a long blue gown with a big smile on her face as she stood between tuxedo-clad House and Wilson. Wilson looked at the camera with his shy smile while House smirked in the camera's general direction. The tears continued to fall as the song changed on her iPod.

I miss your smell and your style and your pure abiding way
Miss your approach to life and your body in my bed
Miss your take on anything and the music you would play
Miss cracking up and wrestling and our debriefs at end of day

She'd forgotten downloading this song shortly after their breakup. It struck her particularly hard as she thought of his style—his t-shirts, wrinkled button downs, jeans, and sneakers. His unique approach to life and various mantras. The passionate sex life they'd shared. She knew she should hate him, but the loss of his opinions and his music felt particularly heavy. She missed their bantering, their teasing, and recapping the day with him.

These are the things that I miss
These are not times for the weak of heart
These are the days of raw despondence
I never dreamed I would have to lay down my torch for you like this

In that moment, she recognized the power of denial. She thought she was through this. She thought she'd already grieved House. She thought she should hate him. But as the finality of his death sank it, she recognized the fine line between love and hate. She hated him because she loved him, and she felt the loss so deeply it ripped those scars open.

One step, one prayer, I soldier on, simulating moving on

Moving on. She thought she'd moved on. She'd moved her house. Her job. Her life. But apparently not her heart. House was gone. Wilson would be gone in months. And Cuddy would be left to try to move on.

tbc