This will be the last chapter FOR EIGHT MORE DAYS. Better remember that last part, because this is not the end, even though it feels like it. I'm being forced to go on vacation (imagine the horror) and will not have access to a computer. Well, I will, but I won't be able to post anything because I'm quite certain my aunt and uncle don't want my fan-fiction stored in their computer and me constantly on it for hours on end…I WILL be looking for your reviews, though, so keep 'em coming! It'll help me remain inspired as I try to do the pen-and-paper thing for the next chapter. Again, this isn't the end! We're getting closer, though…

I don't own it.

Day One: December 23

Five thirty in the morning. Why am I awake? Something isn't right.

The thoughts occurred to House slowly and hazily. It took him quite some time to understand them. He sat up in his bed, sure his eyes weren't open. He couldn't see anything. He blinked several times, and things were just beginning to come into focus. That's when he realized: he felt alone for the first time in months.

He dragged his feet along the ground, walking towards the inevitable. If he took long enough, maybe it would have the decency to reverse itself and he wouldn't find what he knew he would. House flipped on the light in Julia's room, praying to hear her shriek at the intrusion as he knew she would if everything was alright.

Nothing.

He forced himself to look at her. Impossibly thin, impossibly white, impossibly still. This was death. How could she look so peaceful and happy? She didn't know what had happened to her; if she did, she would have been outraged. She looked so ignorant, with her lips curved slightly upward as if she was pleased with things. Obviously her flesh was weak in that it didn't understand what had happened to it; he wondered if her spirit was angry, somewhere beyond the living.

House sat down beside her and touched her hand. Impossibly cold as well.

He'd known it was coming; days would go by and she'd slide downwards, steadily and quickly, like she was riding some sort of evil sled on snow fallen from hell. He had wanted her to at least make it past Christmas, though. It would have made it a hell of a lot easier to accept. "At least we had that much time together," he could have said. But no. Julia had chosen to give up too soon.

"I understand," House lied. A thousand replies, all in her sweet voice, rushed through his mind. He wondered what she would have said if she could have spoken to him. He'd never know.

He remained fairly stoic throughout the day; he called Alma to come and see her, then contacted hospice to take the body away. He made sure Chase, James and Julie, Cameron and Foreman knew, and left a message at the hospital for Cuddy. Alma was the only one who could get away fast enough to kiss Julia's earthly vessel good-bye. It had taken every bit of willpower they had to let the nurse that had been taking care of her in her final days pull a sheet over Julia's once-beautiful face and have her carried out of the room like trash. The formalities of the incident went by too quickly; now they were left to face the emptiness Julia had left them with.

Alma finally spoke. "We have to have a funeral," she whispered, her voice smothered in grief.

"Yes," House acquiesced, annoyed that she had to be so blunt about the matter. "I don't want to see her body, Alma, I really don't."

She nodded in agreement. "We'll have her cremated," she decided. "She wouldn't have wanted to be remembered as the ghost she turned into over the past few months."

"What will we do with the ashes?"

"I don't want to sprinkle them anywhere," Alma insisted. "She used to tell me that she'd like to be on the ocean, but I'm selfish enough to want her with me, you know? It doesn't seem right to turn her out into the cold without a place to go when it's raining outside."

"She told you this?" House asked. "When?"

"When she was little," Alma admitted. "After she understood what death was, maybe around six or seven. It was after her goldfish or guppy or one of those little fish died, maybe a month or two later. She told me, 'Mommy, I know we've never been before, but I so want to see the beach. Maybe Frank –" that was the thing's name "- went there after he left us." I told her that's not exactly how it works. You don't wake up in another place on Earth when you die; who knows if you wake up at all? She got quiet and then told me, 'I'll be the first then. When I die, I want to wake up in the ocean, swimming with the dolphins watching the sun set in front of me.' I always meant to take her to the beach someday, to get the thought out of her head, because it scared the hell out of me, that a little kid could think that way." Her voice broke. "I guess I'll never get the chance."

House held her, needing the contact as much as she did, though not as quick to admit it. "What would she have wanted now?" he asked when they could speak.

"She would have wanted to be with us," Alma sniffed. "Both of us."

"We could divide the ashes," he suggested. "Two urns, his and hers."

Alma shook her head. "I don't want her to feel torn."

"She probably did anyway," House told her. "We did a good job of being civil, but we're not the kind of parents that probably put her at ease with the delicacy of the situation."

"Are you saying that felt like she had to constantly choose between us?" she asked. "The arrangement was a little unusual, but we were a family, Greg. I don't know about you, but I haven't been faking for the past few months. I'm…I don't know, fond of you, I guess. Not head-over-heels in love, but you…you really mean something to me."

"So do you," he said. "We weren't a family. We are. Things aren't going to be the same without Julia, Alma, but maybe someday they can be just as good."

Alma left a short time later to go home and contemplate the loss of what she and no one else had shared with Julia. Cuddy came by later with Chase, Cameron, and Foreman; they offered their condolences, which House figured were useless at a time like this. When they saw there was nothing they could do, they left as well, promising they would be back to check on him. Wilson was the last to arrive, coming in shortly after the last duckling had shut the door.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"No," House replied honestly. "I don't think I am."

"Need to talk?"

"No."

"Well, damn it, I do, and you're the only one around to listen." Wilson bit his lip, wondering what in hell had possessed him to say something like that.

"I talk to her," he admitted suddenly. "When nobody's listening, in between the spurts of visitors and the "I'm-sorry-for-your-losses" and the moments where I get caught up in trying to make everybody else feel better, I talk to her. I ask her questions, tell her things I never got to say, realize the truths it took me this long to understand." House drew in a shaky breath. "Goddamnit, Jimmy, it's gonna take years for me to stop expecting her to answer me."

"There's more than one way to answer somebody," James said, searching his mind for something, anything to say that would take the sting of the whole event away. "Maybe she will one of these days, just in a way you didn't expect."

"Right," House said sadly. "I bet you're gonna tell me next that she was a good kid and she'll go to heaven and get a halo for being so great."

"God would have to be a Nazi not to let her in," Wilson replied. "House, wherever she went after taking that last breath, she's happy. People get what they deserve in the end."

"Yes," he murmured. "And I deserve this."

Day Two: December 24

House laid in bed for hours on end, but never really got to sleep. For some inexplicable reason, he'd been reliving every single moment he spent with Julia, everything from their most significant conversations to petty disagreements over little things. He remembered things he had forgotten ever happened; those were the memories that made living from one moment to the next almost impossible.

He gave up on the idea of sleep at eight o'clock the next morning. He walked past the mirror, afraid to look into it and see what he'd done to himself from lack of rest. Mostly, he was afraid he might catch his own eyes and start thinking something absurd like Julia was now inside of him, a part of him that would remain forever engraved in his heart. Sounds like a Nicholas Sparks novel, he thought smugly, momentarily forgetting everything as he absentmindedly pulled on yesterday's clothes instead of something fresh.

He moved through the day's activities – funeral arrangements, cremation, picking out an urn, informing distant relatives, her friends, former teachers, and other people that obviously didn't give a damn if they hadn't been keeping up with her – like he was underwater. It got harder and harder to do, moving from one aspect of Julia's death to the next, but when he came home, it was like he didn't have to hold his breath anymore. Everything he had just done was blurry and distorted in his mind; at least here, he could see clearly.

House didn't particularly like seeing that everything was returning to the way it was before.

Exhausted, he hit the pillow and fell asleep, somewhere in his dreams, relieved.

Day Three: December 25

Oh God, House thought, nausea hitting him hard as he woke up. It's Christmas.

He thought back to barely ten days ago. Julia had been pretty sick; she wasn't up to going out with House and retrieving a tree like real adventurers would have, so she'd suggested that he pick up a nice fake tree at Wal-Mart along with some pretty decorations and lights. "And an angel!" she'd called after him as he left. He'd obediently brought back the items he'd never bothered getting for himself, and they'd set to putting it together. House had done all the hard labor: assembling it branch by branch, figuring out how to turn the lights on, and climbing a staggering eight feet into the air to get the angel on the top. Julia, too weak to stand anymore, sat on a chair next to the tree and hung ornaments from the branches. When the tree was finished, Julia told him to go into her room and get the huge plastic JCPenny bag from under her bed and put the contents all around the tree. He had begrudgingly relented, and when he was done, he had to admit the tree looked abundantly nicer surrounded by all of these mysterious shapes wrapped in Precious Moments wrapping paper. "So this is what you and Cameron accomplished when you went shopping the day after Thanksgiving," he said. "What'd you get me?" She had simply grinned and told him he'd have to wait.

The thought of all of those gifts under the trees burned him like nothing else ever had. All of that generosity, all of that time and love and devotion gone to waste! he screamed inwardly. All I want for Christmas is one more minute with my daughter! That can't hurt anybody! House wasn't exactly sure who he was talking to – God, maybe? – but whoever might have heard him apparently wasn't about to spread tidings of great joy, because no miracles happened for him.

He rolled over in his bed and groaned. Why'd you have to do this to me, Julia? he asked. That's a pretty cruel game you've played. I hate you for doing it. I hate you for coming into my life and turning everything upside down. I hate you for being so damn wonderful all the time and making me love you. I hate you for dying. I hate you for living. I hate you…The thoughts cut into him more than they ever would Julia if she could have heard him. I still hate you, he thought, strangely pleased that once again, he'd conquered emotion.

House got up and went to his living room. That damn Christmas tree stood there mocking him, blinking its little white lights ferociously. "I'll fix that," he said as he ripped the cord from the outlet. Then he took every ornament and threw it at the wall, smashing them into hundreds of different pieces, the broken glass shimmering as it floated to the ground. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Julia scolding him. Tsk, tsk, she would have said, shaking her head. If you wanted confetti, there happens to be a Party Co. about fifteen minutes away. I'm sure theirs would be a little safer, in case someone happens to step on it and doesn't want to have little shards of color embedded in the soles of their feet forever. "Shut up," he said as he continued to shatter the dyed globes meant to represent happiness and harmony. "You're dead. You don't get to talk, not even in my imagination."

House tore the tree apart, branch by branch, little fake pine leaves flying everywhere as he did so. The floor was littered, a mess of plastic, glass, and unopened gifts. He caught sight of a gift tag somewhere in the disorder. "To Robert from Julia," he read. "What's this? More heartache in a box? And all this time, I thought he would be the one to make you cry. Guess I was wrong about that too."

He went to the kitchen and shoved his hand into the cabinet under the sink. He felt a bunch of warm furry things with tiny feet crawling over his hand and scattering as he invaded their space. "Damn mice," he said as his fingers connected with what he was looking for: a garbage bag. He ripped the black plastic out from the cabinet, almost smiling as he shook it open and approached the tree again.

"To Robert from Julia," he said again as he tossed the package carelessly into the bag. "To Eric from Julia." Another gift was taken. "To Julie Wilson from Julia." He exaggerated a wince as he heard glass break when he dropped the box into the bag. "Oops," he said. "Oh, well. To Mom from Julia…"

Somehow, every parcel associated with her made it into the garbage bag within the next few minutes. It all came down to the last gift remaining under the tree.

"To Dad from Julia," he read. "Fascinating. Should I open it? That is the big question." He cocked his head, getting a perverse pleasure from returning to such a foul, crude state of mind. It felt better to be mad at Julia than to want her back, although madness took a little extra effort on his part to come up with reasons why. "Eh, hell, why not?" He tore off the paper slowly, wondering if what he would find was going to change things. House dared to have hope…

"A bottle of Windex," he chuckled. "A fucking bottle of Windex. Haha, very funny, Julia, you little brat. Where's the make-up gift? There is none! There's a card instead! Well, excuse me for not feeling particularly friendly towards you right now. I really don't want to know what you have to say about this, because it might possibly make me more miserable. It's amazing; I never think you can do it, but somehow you manage to elude impossibility and surprise me once again: you're ruining everything for me!" House stopped rambling and began to sob. "You ruined everything…"

This feels good, he thought in surprise. I should have tried this crying stuff sooner. I guess maybe it can be addictive though…explains why Alma's always doing it.

Somewhere far away, House heard knocking. "Oh, hell, now she comes back from the dead," he muttered, unable to move from where he was, splayed on the living room floor, surrounded by all manner of trash and treasure alike.

The knocking continued, loudly and more urgently with each instance. He didn't care. No one could see him like this, absolutely no one…

It stopped. Good, he thought, wiping his eyes, ashamed of this private display of sorrow he'd allowed himself. He glanced at the bottle of Windex and the lavender envelope in his lap, and looked at the ceiling for help. He bit his lip, wishing he was dead instead of Julia. Let her learn what this feels like…

The door burst open, and House yelled, "Who the hell are you?"

"It's me," Cameron said sheepishly, and he could see she had been crying too. "You weren't answering the door, so I had your landlord let me in," she continued, eyeing the mess on the floor. "What happened?"

"I happened," he admitted, wondering what the hell gave his landlord the right to let anyone he liked into his apartment. There was obviously a reason he wasn't answering the door, and the reason was that he was in no mental condition to carry on a conversation with anyone at the moment…

Cameron kneeled down beside him. "Feeling angry?" she asked softly.

"Yeah, and like I want to be alone too," he mumbled crossly. "Have you ever considered that maybe I need a little solitude? I'm so sick of people."

"Yeah, well, they're not too crazy about you either," she said, smiling sadly. "And yes, I did consider that you needed some time alone, and then I realized that you've had more than enough of that."

"FYI, I hate being told what to do with myself," House informed her coolly. "Thanks for stopping by, though. Have a happy holiday."

"Don't be like this," Cameron pleaded. "Like it or not, you need to talk to somebody. I don't care if it's not me, really. But you need to let it out, House, you really do. This isn't healthy."

"You're a like a poster child for emotional maturity," he said. "I believe it was you that told me everybody deals with emotion in different ways."

"I didn't say everyone did it the right way," Cameron told him. "Now, I want you to be specific. What happened in here to cause all this?" She indicated the mixture of broken glass and the destroyed Christmas tree, which had supposedly been built to last.

House took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down enough to convince Cameron that temporary insanity had caused him to go out of his mind in rage and obliterate his environmentally-safe Christmas tree. He hoped she would fall for him saying that he was mad at death; he didn't think she'd take so well to him being mad at Julia.

"I was angry," he admitted. "It just really pisses me off to know that Julia never got to see this, and I thought, 'Well, if she doesn't get to have a merry Christmas, then neither do I.' I guess I got kind of hostile as I was taking down the decorations."

Cameron regarded him tiredly. "Stop lying," she said. "I don't want to hear some fluffy story about what you think I want to hear; tell me what's really on your mind."

"What's on my mind is that I'm really not interested," he shot at her.

"I don't care! Do you really want to go on feeling like this? If you do, that's just fine with me, because I'm certainly not sticking around to see it," Cameron said. "It would kind of suck if we ended up right back where we started, you spiraling downward into your never-ending pit of misery and me pining away for you so bad I'm willing to jump in with you. It ends now. Understand?"

House could only stare at her and blink his eyes, unable to believe what he was seeing. Was it possible that Allison Cameron was angry at him? "Jesus," he grumbled. "I thought I was vicious. Okay…to be honest, I wasn't mad that Julia didn't get to see her nineteenth Christmas. I was mad at her because she didn't try hard enough to stick around."

"I see." Cameron sat back, relaxed now that she was slowly peeling away his layers of fury. "Go on."

"I woke up this morning, and just the thought of Christmas made me sick, and then I got to thinking how cruel it was of her to practically force herself into my life knowing that it was possible that she was going to die any day now…"

"Anybody can die," Cameron told him. "If you got hit by a bus tomorrow, do you think I would be mad at you because you made me care about you and then just died?"

"Someone would be," House said. "I doubt it would end up being you; you're too nice to get mad at anybody. But someone would think, 'Bastard. I never liked him anyway,' at some point in the days following my demise. Maybe Jimmy or someone."

"Would you want him to feel that way?"

"Of course not."

"Julia wouldn't have wanted you mad at her for skipping out on you at the last second," Cameron said softly. "She really couldn't help it, House."

"But there's more!" he insisted, picking up the bottle of Windex and shoving it at her. He was determined not to let go of the anger yet. "I found this under the tree as I was, uhhh, cleaning up. A bottle of Windex? What kind of sick joke is that?"

Cameron couldn't help but smile. "A pretty funny one," she admitted. "House, that's not all there is. Read the card."

He shook his head adamantly. "I don't want to."

"Do it," she insisted. "You won't understand if you don't."

House rolled his eyes but obediently began to tear into the lavender envelope. He pulled out a card with a picture of Jesus on the front. He opened it and a little paper fell out. House unfolded it and gasped. "What the…" He turned to Cameron, his mouth wide open in surprise. "You knew about this?"

She nodded. "She told me when we went shopping that day for presents. Believe me, I asked her if she was sure, and she said yes. She said no one deserved it more than you."

"Ten thousand dollars? What'd she do, rob a bank?"

"Well, kind of," Cameron admitted. "She closed her account that day."

"What's it for?"

"Read the damn card, and maybe you'll find out!"

House rubbed his eyes furiously as he studied Julia's flowery handwriting. "Dear Dad," it read, "I hope you love the Windex, or at least that it didn't piss you off too much. After you finish reading this, you'd better take it for a test drive; I noticed the other day that your bedroom window is getting so that you can't see past the bird poop and pollution piling up onto it. Anyways, onto the good stuff: $10,000, all for you! Since you insisted on taking care of the hospice yourself, I thought you deserved a little compensation, but more importantly, it's to leave my mark on you. $10,000 probably isn't a lot to a brilliant doctor like yourself, but this is my life's savings we're talking about here; it took me five years of restaurant work to earn that much. I was pretty proud of that number; it always used to seem so huge to me. Then I found out I was dying, and that kind of dwarfed being 'rich,' as it were. Money couldn't have saved me, so I thought, 'What else do I want more than anything?' I want you to know how much I love you and that there is life after death. Not mine necessarily, but yours. Don't throw it away yet, okay? I don't know what you'll want to do with this. Save it for a rainy day, let it sit in the bank and rack up interest, give it to the first homeless person you see – I don't care as long as it makes you happy. Like I said, it's not a lot, but it's a start to whatever you desire. Merry Christmas! All my love, Julia."

Cameron was sobbing, House couldn't do anything but try to breath, and somewhere in the background – probably from Mr. Dodd's apartment – it was being crooned that chestnuts were, in fact, roasting on an open fire.

"Ten thousand dollars is 'not a lot'?" House finally said. "Who does she think I am, Bill Gates?"

Cameron laughed. "Maybe now you understand," she said.

"Did she get this extravagant for everyone?" House wanted to know.

"Not really," Cameron decided. "She got everyone some nice stuff, though."

House winced, remembering the crash he'd heard as he had thrown Julie Wilson's gift into the garbage bag. "I see," he said slowly. "Wow…So once again, I underestimate my daughter. Even when she's not around, she still never ceases to amaze me. Ten thousand dollars…"

"What are you going to do with it?" Cameron asked him, wondering if this was a rude question. "I mean, you know, if you feel like telling me."

"I don't know," he admitted. "I honestly don't. The possibilities are endless."

"Don't spend it all on new games for your Gameboy," she teased gently.

"Yes, Mother," House said. He paused, then asked, "So what brings you here?"

Cameron shrugged. "ESP? Somehow I just knew you were going to end up doing something like this, maybe?"

"Really."

She sighed. "I was lonely, you were lonely. I figured maybe we could be lonely together."

House gave a snort of laughter. "Oh my God, that's hilarious."

Cameron blushed. "But it's true."

"Maybe so, but stating the obvious wastes time," he said. "'Lonely together,' huh? That's a beautiful picture. What exactly does that involve, this 'lonely together' business?"

"I don't know," Cameron answered. "Whatever you feel like, I guess."

House thought for a minute. "Let's go sledding." It was Cameron's turn to laugh. He stared at her thoughtfully. "You're laughing, but I'm serious. It snowed yesterday, all the families with little kids are still inside trying to free all the toys from the ten thousand layers of plastic they're wrapped in, and it's a very Christmas-y activity that will certainly bring tidings of great joy. Come on, what do you say?"

"Where are we going to get a sled?" she asked.

He shrugged. "We could steal one." Cameron, horrified, punched him in the arm. He wouldn't have known she did it if he hadn't watched wield her fist. "Pathetic," he said, smiling. "Of course we're not going to steal one, genius. You don't have one laying around somewhere?"

"No."

"Time to get creative, then." House thought for a moment, then grinned. "You know anyone with a trash can?"

Half an hour later, Cameron and House were sliding down a hill on the lid of James Wilson's trash can, feeling more alive than they ever had before. The air was freezing, the make-shift sled was a little bit uncomfortable and quite crowded for the two of them, but God, was it great to cry out in joy instead of anger and grief for once. Only when the sun began to set and neither could feel their limbs did they decide to call it a day. House retreated to his home, Cameron to hers, and somehow it didn't feel quite right this way.

House considered the check Julia had written out to him. "Ten thousand dollars," he chuckled, still unable to believe it. He shoved it into his pocket and began to pace, thinking. It began to burn a hole in his pocket; at least it felt that way. What does one do with such generosity?

He was all set to invest it in Julia; maybe a nice urn for her to rest in, or he could donate it to some cause she would have deemed worthy. One thing stopped him. There is life after death. Yours. Don't waste it; do whatever makes you happy. Her letter had been explicitly clear, and he wasn't about to ignore good advice. Three days since he'd been truly happy; certainly it was time to get the feeling again.

Happy, huh? he thought. When was the last time I felt happy, even for a moment? It surprised him, even shocked him, when no memories of Julia surfaced right away. The image of Allison Cameron came to mind instead; her tumbling into the snow, her face rosy and smiling, the sound of her laughter…Oh, God. House rolled his eyes and pulled out the check. He studied it mournfully.

"It's not a big screen t.v. or a vacation home in North Carolina," he observed, picturing his future purchase in his mind, "but hell, it'll make me happy."

House, having promised Allison that he would return it to James and Julie, grabbed the trash can lid, headed to the garage, got in his car, and drove to the Wilsons' home. He knocked on the door and waited impatiently in the cold for them to answer the door.

"Hey, House," James said, surprised to see him again so soon.

"I have your trash can lid," House said, handing it to him as he walked into the foyer. No need for an invitation – hell, they were practically brothers after going through so much together, so why couldn't he come in? "I need to talk to Julie."

As if on cue, she floated into the room, positively giddy from her Christmas day. The grin on her face and the honey in her voice irked him, but he needed her help.

"Greg," she said happily. "Good to see you again so soon. Did you and Allison have fun with the trash can lid?"

"We had a great time, thanks," he said hurriedly. "Listen, I need to ask you a few questions."

"About what?" James asked. "What's going on?"

"Relax, I'm not leaving you out of the fun either," House told him. "You can listen if you want, but you'll find it boring. It's a girl thing."

James stared at him strangely, wondering what went on in his friend's mind.

"Look, Julie," he said, not quite knowing how to phrase everything on his mind concisely and without losing his cool. "I need to know…where I can find a nice engagement ring."

I hope you liked that; I'm writing this at midnight, I've been working like a dog between getting ready for school and working, and...no more excuses. I give up; I'm a bad writer. :P Thanks for reading.