Father House Chapter 27: Beautiful, a house, m.d. fanfic

Wow, I'm sorry that took so long! School went insane on me – the second I got back, I got slammed with four projects in addition to two hours of homework a night! Can you believe it, I've already missed an assignment, which certainly does not bode well for the future of my junior year. I was supposed to get all As this year, too…Oh well, that's what I get for pestering my teachers to put me in advanced level classes.

But then, this isn't supposed to be my life's story, so I'll move on. :P

I've got to keep the personal response thing abbreviated today – sorry – so these are the things I wanted to say to just a fraction of my multitude of my fantastic reviewers!

Godsbane: Sorry about the lack of correspondence! School's been crazy, like I said, and I think I accidentally deleted the message when I finally got a chance to get on and check my mail! I'll try to email you sometime soon, and we can continue our discussion on…hmmm, what was it, favorite movies and actors and fun things like that?
Alison Cameron/reitashnehelena: So...you changed your penname? That's cool, just making sure...
SimpleRiter: I'm sorry if the swearing bothers you, but if you read a little more, you'd certainly see that I toned that part down a little bit, not to mention that I'm sorry, but it's impossible to convince me that if the characters on House, MD were real people, they would not occasionally let a few words slip. Not to mention that these are pretty extreme circumstances...Secondly, I realize I do get a little OOC, but it's my first fic ever, and I think I got a little better as I went along. Thirdly, I never said he was Italian, so I'm a bit confused. Where did you get that? AND, my name is house-of-INsanity. :) Sorry, that kind of got to me a bit...
Kris Wright: That's so spooky, we had the exact same idea about the engagement ring!
Gothblood: Hmmm, Cameron with Cuddy, that's an interesting one...I don't like Cameron much either, I must admit, but I don't think I could kill her off...House might have something to say about that. :P
runswithsissors: Sorry about the broken glass!
Mollisk: Hopefully the Emmys will be a little more sensibly chosen than the Teen Choice Awards. Also, sorry about the House/Cam-ness in the last chapter; I know you like Huddy fics. :) I think I've got a little bit of an idea for that pairing, and hopefully I'll get it written in a few weeks. With school, though, you never can tell...
Charmed-angel4: I know the House/Cam-ness of the whole thing seemed to go a little quickly, but this whole story took place over a matter of months, most of which they spent getting to be really good friends...that could involve more kissing than the IHOP episode, right:P Sorry, I was raised by a pair of uber-Christian maniacs who emphasized courtship rather than dating, developing good friendships over gettin' physical, etc. That kind of rubbed off on me, even after I swapped the religion in exhange for the joy of being rebellious and the leper-like status I now possess in my own home...But whatever. :P

This is the last real chapter of this story – I might be able to post an epilogue within the next week, depending on whether:

A) My teachers decide to stop being cruel and lighten up a little on the homework.
B) I get smarter and don't have to devote so much time and energy to school, which would be oh-so-nice but entirely improbable.

But I think I should be able to handle writing something short and sweet, don't you?

Here's chapter 27!

The first thought that pierced House's mind when he woke up on December 28 was, I hate funerals. Five days later, and he was already being forced to declare to whoever thought Julia was important, "She's dead!" It didn't seem fair, but he very well knew having the whole affair hanging over his head would make it worse. He got up and dressed. House looked at himself in the mirror and grimaced. "I could never be a goth," he mumbled, straightening his tie. "I look terrible in all this black."

He mentally scolded himself as he got into his car and drove to the church. House knew it would take some time to stop thinking about her, but he would have thought that after five days he might at least remember that she wasn't going to talk back. Speaking out loud served no purpose anymore, not when there was no one to hear him.

Scratch that. The reality was that plenty of people were ready and willing to listen to him if he wanted to talk. The problem was, none of them were Julia. All he really wanted was to know what she would have said to this, whether she would have laughed or not at that, how she would have felt about one statement or another. He could imagine, sure, but it was never quite the same.

House pulled into the parking lot of the church and went inside. He was greeted by Alma and the pastor who would be conducting the service.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. House," the pastor said, shaking his hand warmly. "It's a shame it had to be under these circumstances."

House wondered how many times he had heard that in the past few days. He nodded briskly and glanced at Alma with a look that most clearly meant, You do the talking.

Thankfully, she understood and took over whatever fragments of a conversation could be construed. "Pastor Stone – "

"Please, such formality," he said. "Call me Richard."

"Richard," Alma said, "let me see if I have this whole thing straight. When the service begins, we're going to all sing a hymn."

"'Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,'" Richard confirmed, nodding. "Exactly."

"Then an opportunity will be given for Julia's family and friends to share with those in attendance any stories or memories of her they wish to recall?"

"Yes."

"And then you will speak."

Pastor Stone held up a packet of papers roughly the height of Mount Everest. Clearly, the man had done his homework on Julia's short but full life. "Yes, ma'am."

"And after that…"

"You all will go to the cemetery where Julia's ashes will be interred," Richard Stone said somberly. "And that will be that."

House mentally rolled his eyes; that would most certainly not be that. He wasn't sure, but grief seemed that it would take a lifetime to overcome. Things like this didn't just suddenly up and disappear into thin air; they were always hanging in the shadows, waiting for the just the right moment to sneak up on you and devour you.

"Excuse us," he said, taking Alma's arm. "We need to discuss a few things. Perhaps you could go and practice your speech a little bit before we get started."

Richard nodded his agreement. "Yes, sir," he said dutifully, climbing behind his pulpit. He began to talk, and House was pleased; his voice was loud and captivating. Not only would the pastor not hear what he was about to say to Alma, but during the service, it was doubtful anybody would hear House if he happened to break down again.

"Alma," he hissed, "where did you find this guy?"

"There's nothing wrong with him, Greg," she hissed back. "You're talking like he's a clown we hired for some four-year-old's birthday party."

"Julia would have just as soon been wrapped in a blanket and thrown into a dumpster than have her funeral delivered by that moron!"

"I'm sorry, but that's the best I could do, given the circumstances. Do you know anyone who would have been more capable?"

House pursed his lips and shook his head. He didn't tend to frequent churches, therefore he didn't know which pastors in the area would have done it for him, so to speak.

"Exactly," Alma said. "Sure, he's a little blasé about the whole matter, but he's a good man. Plus, whenever we actually bothered coming to church here, he was very kind to us. Knew our names, shook our hands, asked us how we were doing."

"That's fine; he knows how to socialize," House grumbled. "He'd make a perfect Miss America, but he's not right for this."

"Well, what do you want me to do about it now?"

A door opened; light flooded into the dimmed chapel. Allison Cameron, whom House decided on the spot looked far better in black than he did, walked in. "Hello," she said. "I know I'm early."

"That's fine," Alma said, hugging her. "We're glad you came."

"How could I not?" she wanted to know. "How are things looking?" She had directed the question at House.

"Fine," he mumbled. "Things are going just fine." He studied her left hand silently; she wasn't wearing the ring. That was fine with him, seeing as he hadn't offered it to her yet. It was too soon to propose such an idea, and inappropriate with Julia still on everyone's mind. He had every confidence she'd say yes, though. He figured maybe on New Year's Eve, at the stroke of midnight – something romantic and sentimental like that. "What time is it?"

Alma checked her watch. "Nine-thirty," she announced. "The service starts at ten."

Within minutes, people started showing up. They appeared like leaves on trees during the spring: not there one moment, then suddenly they seem to be taking over. Among the attendants were Chase, Foreman, Cuddy, and the Wilsons, who were all privileged with sitting with the immediate family in the very front of the chapel. House looked around anxiously, hoping there would be enough seats. His hopes were dashed as he watched the pews fill up. There were close to five hundred people packed into the small church; obviously Julia had been something of a celebrity in the town. The thought pleased him, because she certainly deserved the recognition.

"Good morning," Pastor Stone said, his voice donning a fake, god-like quality that let them know he was in charge. "We are here to celebrate the life of Julia Peterson, who has passed on to be with our Lord and Savior. If you will please turn in your hymnals to page 311, we're going to begin the service by singing 'Amazing Grace.'"

The congregation obediently turned to the correct page and began the song. Everyone was secretly wondering if Julia, wherever she was, was laughing at them; she'd never been much for organs and raising a joyful noise unto the Lord. They were of the impression she would have preferred something more modern (maybe a little hip-hop?).

At last, the thousands of verses the song seemed to consist of were finished. Pastor Stone stood up again, an angelic, peaceful expression on his face. "I'm now going to allow Julia's mother, Alma Peterson, to speak."

Alma stood up; the room was silent as she took her place in front of them. "Good morning," she said nervously, not being much for public speaking. Keep it together, she told herself sternly. This is your daughter you're up here talking about. Tell it like it was: beautiful. "I'd like to give you all an opportunity to share your stories and thoughts of Julia in a little while; indeed, that's the greatest thing we can do because it will keep her alive in our hearts. However, I'd like to talk for a few minutes first. As Pastor Stone said, I'm Julia's mother, Alma. Julia was my only daughter – my only child, in fact, and it makes sense, because any mother lucky enough to give birth to an angel like her can't follow something like that up." A few polite laughs floated through the congregation, and it put Alma at ease. "She had just turned 20 years old on November 7, legally an adult. She looked like one, she thought like one, and most of the time, she acted like one. But even as I say it out loud, it's hard to think of her that way: a full-grown woman. That's strange, you know. I think of her as a child, but as I'm sure most of you know, more often than not, it was Julia taking care of me. It's so easy for me to look at her short life and think that it's just not fair. She never got a chance to have fun; she was always busy preparing for a future that it turned out she never really got to experience in full. But my memories of her contradict that."

Alma paused and looked at everyone, Greg, especially. He looked nervous for her, like he was afraid she was losing her cool up there. She twitched the corners of her mouth upward for just a moment to let him know she was doing fine. "I'd like you all to close your eyes right now and think for a second about your memories of Julia," she requested. "Conjure up a picture of her in your mind. Is she smiling? Laughing? Enjoying herself? Nine times out of ten, every image that remains of Julia will be one of joy. Her life was pretty tough, but she was tougher, and even as we tell her good-bye today, we know that she didn't lose. We lose. We lose if we choose to focus on everything that happened to her, and not what she did about it. We lose if we forget that she always somehow managed to turn things around for herself and for us. Whether you believe that we're here for a reason or we're just wasting time on earth, I think Julia's story can help us to live life a little more happily. It's not for me to decide what will help you learn to pick up the pieces of your world when it's shattered; you use your memories, I use mine. But ultimately, I believe she's taught us all that your circumstances can rob you of time; that's why you've got make up for it in everything you choose to do. Julia chose to make the remaining time in her life fun, and as a result of that, we've got many different stories of this beautiful girl that make this whole ordeal a little less painful and a little more fulfilling. I'd like to give you an opportunity now to share those stories if you so desire. If you'd rather keep some to yourself as a few precious moments that were just between you and Julia, feel free to do that as well. After I leave the mic and sit down, you may come and take my place to speak. Thank-you all for being here today."

As she stepped off the stage and walked back to her seat, Alma began shaking violently. How in hell did I manage to say all of that and not cry? she wondered as she took her place beside House and buried her face in her hands.

"You okay?" he mouth.

She nodded fervently, not trusting her voice.

A girl named Alex, one of Julia's best friends, stood up and talked about her memories of their first day at elementary school. After that, Alma's sister, Sally, remembered the holidays that the Petersons had spent with her family (she carefully omitted the less pleasant aspects, such as all of the fiascos involving Len). Julia's first boyfriend, a tall, gangly kid with red hair and glasses named Ryan, recalled their first date: miniature golfing and ice cream at the age of twelve. Robert Chase gritted his teeth and managed to keep his cool; it was all House could do not to burst out laughing, as was the situation for everyone else in the row. It was amusing, yes, but it would be frightfully irreverent to acknowledge it as such. Eventually the ducklings decided that Julia would have wanted them to reminisce about the cross-dressing episode, and all three stood up and told the story. This earned them a thunderous standing ovation from several of Julia's high school friends (mostly guys, as Chase suspiciously observed), giggling from her girlfriends and extended family, and embarrassed smiles from the children in attendance, who didn't understand the whole concept of dressing opposite from one's sex but found it entertaining to think that these men had experienced the indignity of doing their hair and painting their nails, all the same. Even House, who had initially found the incident preposterous at best, cracked a smile. When it was clear that the pace was beginning to slow ever so slightly, Pastor Stone stood up and shooed a few people away from the microphone. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "We're running out of time so quickly."

Yes, we are, House thought sadly. It was so strange and foreign to him; it seemed that these days, everything he took out of context could be related back to Julia. How long would it take to rid himself of that habit?

"Before I speak, Julia Peterson's family has asked that a song be played in her memory. It's a bittersweet song, perfectly describing how such a tragedy can be a blessing in disguise. Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, this is 'Beautiful,' sung by the lovely Amy Grant and her husband, Vince Gill." Richard Stone stepped into the shadows on the stage, trying not to detract from the powerful message the song would surely bring about.

He sounds like Ryan Seacrest, House grumbled to himself. This isn't a pageant!

House had known Alma desperately wanted this particular song to be played at the funeral. He'd given the lyrics a fleeting glance without paying much attention and decided he didn't care whether she went ahead with it or not. Music, for him, was a release that he needed to participate in, not merely listen to. If it could help the rest of the simpletons – damn, there was that cynicism he was trying to rid himself of again – in the crowd find closure, that was fine, but it was going to take something more vibrant and real to reach him.

I'm looking for a way to feel you hold me,
Feel your heart beat, just one more time.
Reaching back, trying to touch the moment,
Each precious minute, that you were mine.
How can you prepare, when you love someone this way,
To let them go a little more each day?

The entire congregation had started out listening to the song slouched in their chairs, not wanting to face the more serious aspects of the reason why they were there. Now everyone was sitting up straighter, more alert, curious as to what else there was to be said.

The stars we put in place,
The dreams we didn't waste,
The sorrows we embraced.
The world belonged to you and me.
The oceans that we crossed,
The innocence we lost,
The hurting at the end.
I'd go there again, 'cause it was beautiful.
It was beautiful.

House shifted in his seat uncomfortably, Alma began to tear up and rummaged around in her purse for tissues, James and Julie Wilson held each other's hand as they listened, and Cuddy buried her face in her hands and tried, unsuccessfully, to muffle her sobs. Cameron, Chase, and Foreman were more subdued in their reactions, but all their thoughts were every bit as real and piercing as the ones the others were experiencing. Chase blinked rapidly, Cameron swallowed hard, and Foreman uncrossed and then re-crossed his legs.

Some days missing you is overwhelming
When it hits me: you're not coming back.
And in my darkest hours I had wondered,
Was it worth it, for the time we had?
My thoughts get kind of scattered, but one thing I know is true:
I blessed the day that I found you.

Oh, no, House thought. Not again. He glanced at his friends, and, seeing that they were all in the same predicament he was, breathed a sigh of relief and released a tear or two. When did I turn into such a moronic sap? he asked himself, dismayed.

The rules we stepped aside,
The fear that we defied,
The thrill of the ride,
The fire in our hearts that burned,
The oceans that we crossed,
The innocence we lost,
The hurting at the end.
I'd go there again, 'cause it was beautiful.
It was beautiful.

Cameron, who was sitting on his left, leaned over to him and whispered, "It's like it was written for her."

"Tell me about it," he replied quietly, looking away so she couldn't see the cold, wet tracks of his fallen tears. "That was a little too close for comfort, but it was…ummm…"

"Beautiful?" Alma supplied tenderly.

House nodded. "Exactly."

It was cold outside and everything was still white from the snow on Christmas morning, but the sun was the only celestial presence in the sky, completely unadulterated by clouds, as Julia's family and close friends trekked through the cemetery to the columbarium where Julia's ashes would rest forever. The sermon given by Richard Stone was a blur to them all, especially House, but no one felt they'd missed anything important.

The director of the cemetery, a Mr. Joseph Black, thanked them all for coming. Maybe twenty-five people in total were in attendance, a stark but strangely welcome contrast to the five hundred or so at the service. Indeed, this was a number they all could handle, and having so many familiar faces made the gathering more intimate and friendly – at least, as intimate and friendly as a funeral could possibly be.

Mr. Black gave yet another speech in addition to the rest that had already been heard that day, and although he wasn't as nearly as informed as Pastor Stone had been about Julia Peterson, it certainly seemed more genuine than anything the pastor had said. "And now, Mr. House, I see that you are holding the urn," he observed as he ended his speech.

"I am," he replied, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"Julia Peterson was your daughter?" Mr. Black asked kindly.

House swallowed. "Yes."

"Would you like to be the one to put her ashes to rest?"

This time without hesitation, he nodded briskly and said yes.

Mr. Black nodded to his assistant to set up a footstool and then pointed at a cubby-hole covered by a small green curtain in the columbarium. "Take your time," he said quietly so no one else would hear. "I know this is hard."

Gregory House positioned his cane against the stool and slowly stepped upward. He pushed the curtain aside and held the urn tight to his chest for a moment before placing it inside. "I'm gonna miss you," he mumbled, his hand resting on top where her name and dates of birth and death were etched. He ran his fingers across her name. Julia Louise Peterson. A beautiful name, a beautiful life.

House, worried that if he stood there anymore, he might begin to wish to die himself so he could stay with her forever, pulled the curtain over the hole and stepped off the footstool. He took his cane in his hands, but it did nothing to stop him from stumbling as he blindly made his way back into the crowd, hoping the ambiguity of a larger gathering would not be lost with so few people there to hide him. But instead of anonymity, he fell into a circle of friends, all as broken and wounded as he was. They all came closer to him and blended into one huge, mournful mess of all manner of weeping. Alma Peterson, Lisa Cuddy, James and Julie Wilson, Allison Cameron, Robert Chase, Eric Foreman, and Gregory House embraced each other, and it was impossible to tell where one person ended and another began. Even as grief overcame them and drained them of every last drop of water, air, and sorrow in them, it was clear that things were already getting better. In places that no one, not even the most brilliant doctor could see, they were healing.

Thanks for reading! The last bit of Father House will be up shortly! I hope…

Also, the song I used, "Beautiful," is by Amy Grant, as said in the story. Normally, I don't listen to her that much, but my mom was playing it in the car one day, and I was all, "Hmmm, that's a really pretty song. I wonder what I could do with it..." And this is what happened.

And to say that I've been disclaiming faithfully...I don't own House.