Disclaimer: I don't own House. I'd say that I'd sell my soul to own it, but I'm getting a little nervous of that phrase.

A/N: Almost done. (Good thing, too – these multi-part stories make me nervous!) Thanks again to all the great reviewers out there, and to all those who read. Credit as always to the great Christopher Marlowe, without whose genius I'd never have been able to think of titles for all this.

I'm also looking for inspiration for my next story, so if anyone has any suggestions, please do send them my way.

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Mephistophilis: But tell me, Faustus, shall I have thy soul?

It was some time after the crash – long enough that House guessed the two events weren't connected – when the knock sounded on his door. It was a little strange to hear a knock, but it was so quiet and tentative that he immediately decided it must be Cameron, resorting now to more direct methods of checking on him.

He debated ignoring it, longed to ignore it. Then he had visions of Cameron, Wilson, Cuddy, and possibly several large orderlies all coming in rapid succession to pound on his door and push their way in, and decided to try and nip that in the bud.

"I'm fine," he called, sounding anything but. It was almost too much effort to speak up enough to be heard. "Go make yourself useful in the lab."

But the door opened instead, and he blinked in faint surprise. "You're not Cameron."

Cuddy stood in the doorway, shaking her head. "No. Never studied immunology. I could go down to the lab, but I think that would only make the technicians nervous."

There was a tense pause, then she stepped further into the room. She shot a curious glance at the books on the floor, but she knew it was better not to ask too many questions. Cameron had, of necessity, been vague about the details, but it was impossible not to realize just how shaken the man before her was. "I—I'm sorry, House."

He made a face. "Is the whole world revolving around your guilt again? You really should stop that. Not healthy."

Cuddy made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Thanks."

"For calling you unhealthy?"

She shook her head. "No. For—for still being you, I guess."

There was another pause, this time slightly less tense. "I knew you'd grow to love my abuse."

Now she managed something more like a laugh, and rolled her eyes, because this was almost, almost the moment of sheer, blissful normality she'd needed. "Oh, yeah. Everyone loves having their authority flouted."

She hesitated, studying him for a moment. It was too dark to see his face, but his voice was flat and exhausted, and he'd hardly moved. "I'm calling a board meeting tomorrow morning."

"Won't matter."

"But it's worth a try."

"I mean that it won't matter any more by tomorrow morning."

Cuddy froze, and House caught her sudden panic. "Relax. You won't have to call the police."

She relaxed a fraction. "Promise?"

House sighed, hesitating just long enough for Cuddy to grow tense and nervous again. But when he did speak, his voice was definite. "Promise."

There were several snide comments on the tip of her tongue, but she some instinct stopped her from saying them. "I'm holding you to that," she said in her best hospital administrator voice, and then she turned and left.

House stared at his empty glass until the click of her heels faded into nothing. They sounded more confident now, he noticed. Ironic that he could restore confidence to anyone right now.

He considered chasing after Wilson and harassing the oncologist until he got his lost scotch back. He considered going in search of Cameron so he could spy on her and see how she liked it. He considered everything except the one possibility that was most on his mind: going back to Oswin's room.

Of course, all these possibilities required that he first get up and retrieve his cane. It had found an unlikely landing spot, wedged between the bookcase and the wall, and the last thing he wanted to do was limp over there and wrestle with it. But asking for help wasn't going to happen, either, and he was running out of time.

He made one last, fruitless effort to find some more alcohol at the bottom of his glass, then pushed his chair back and prepared for the trek to the other side of the room. It doesn't have to hurt anymore. He stopped, closing his eyes briefly. Then, he caught a faint sound that he hadn't heard for a while, and the door to the conference room opened.

"Ah, the head nursemaid," he said, flicking a quick glance in Cameron's direction. "I thought you'd finally forgotten about me."

This sort of comment would normally have made Cameron blush, or perhaps snark back, but not this time. From that door, she had an excellent view of both the books and the cane that had dislodged them, and her eyes flickered over to them now. Wordlessly, she walked over and carefully untangled the cane, then handed it to him across his desk.

"I wasn't just watching you for your sake. It was for mine, too," she finally said.

"What happened?" He'd taken hold of the cane, but had forgotten to keep moving as he studied her pale face, and now they each stood still, holding one end.

She shrugged. "Maybe nothing. I don't know anymore." Gently, she pushed the cane towards him a little, and he finally took it and rested it across his knees.

Now he knew where at least some of her fear was coming from. A doctor without trust in her own judgment was no doctor at all. But he could hardly blame her for doubting when it came to this patient.

"What happened?" he repeated, with unusual patience.

"I—I was ready to forgive him. I felt sorry for him again, completely out of nowhere, and I wanted to forget everything he'd done to you and to Chase and just do whatever I could to help him."

She paused, grimacing faintly. "Maybe you don't think that's anything weird for me. But it is. I wasn't… thinking like myself."

House almost matched her grimace. "No, I know. It wasn't your fault."

He planted his cane on the floor and hauled himself out of the chair, taking a moment to let his leg adjust. "Come on. You can wait outside again."

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Cameron's protests were useless, and her questions about exactly what he intended to do got the answer she'd expected, which was no answer at all. "House, he's getting to all of us, one way or another. Don't give him another chance at you," she pleaded.

"One way or another, he won't be a problem by tomorrow morning."

"But how can you—"

"Just trust me. Would I lie to you?"

"Repeatedly." She spoke matter-of-factly, with a hint of a nervous smile.

"That's my girl. You're learning." He slowed a little and looked over at her. "But I'm not lying now."

She considered this for a moment, studying his eyes. "All right. But let me help you, please."

He started to wave off the idea, then reconsidered. "There is something you can do. Watch out for Hekyll and Jekyll. I asked around, and it looks like they didn't leave the hospital. If you see them, knock twice.

She desperately wanted to ask why, and what he thought they might be up to, but she only nodded. "Be careful."

"Always." He paused, staring at the door for a moment, then looked back at her. "Cameron…"

The pause dragged on until she could stand it no longer. "What?" she murmured, her voice shaking.

"It'll be okay," he said, and turned quickly, opening the door and stepping inside before she could protest.

Earlier, she'd hurried back to the conference room because she felt stronger there, more herself. And it had helped to know that House was in the next room. Now, the defenses she'd built up were crumbling again.

She'd seen hesitation, even fear, in his eyes.

Her heart pounding, she took up the same spot near the door where she'd waited earlier.

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"Everybody lies."

The words threw House off-balance. For once, he wasn't the one speaking them. "Guess it's time to renew my copyright," he said, not quite as glibly as he would have liked.

"It's a very apt motto."

"Especially when talking to you," House shot back.

"You're still not sure. You don't trust me any more than you trust anyone else, and why should you? I'm the bad guy."

Now Oswin turned and looked at House for the first time, and the younger man was shocked at the change. He looked every day of his eighty years, his face deeply lined, his hair thinner, the fire gone from his sunken eyes. But no, House realized as he hobbled closer, the fire was still there. Now it was the fire of unreasoning fear, the primal urge to survive.

"You're desperate," House said flatly. "This is your last day, isn't it? Your eightieth birthday, according to your file. You finally figured out that medical science can't help you, and now you've only got one chance left. Just like every big businessman, you need a scapegoat when the deal goes sour, someone to take the hit for you. But you made a big mistake looking here."

"Did I? You know what you can gain from this deal. Can you honestly say you don't want your leg back, more than anything? More than your friends, your family, your job—"

"Don't keep saying you know what I want." His voice was a growl. He hardly knew what he was saying, but he knew he had to keep Oswin from talking until he had his equilibrium back. "I don't care what the hell you wished for, you don't know what's in my head. You're losing, you've already lost! Look at yourself!"

Oswin flinched. "You can save me. You can save us both." He was pleading now, but for once, he'd tried the wrong tactic.

"If you can't even get to Cameron with your damn pity party, what the hell makes you think it'll work on me? We both know you're running out of time. I can outlast you."

The tired eyes, in that moment, were tired no longer, and House knew he'd been wrong to say that Oswin couldn't tell what was in his head.

"Can you?" he asked mildly.

Then House was falling.

It'll be okay. Promise. I'm fine. No more pain. I want to help you. Your leg back, whole, just as it was. What do you think of the boy's bargain?

He clung to his cane, that hated, beloved companion, and knew that he was upright, but he was still falling.

Then, like the ringing of distant bells, he heard two clear knocks.

Be careful. Let me help you.

Cameron.

And his feet were under him again, and he was back in Oswin's room.

So, he then realized, were the two assistants, though he didn't recall hearing the door open. In fact, it couldn't have opened, or he would certainly have heard Cameron making some sort of fuss about not letting them in. But the fact was, they were there.

They did not look at their erstwhile boss, but at House, as though waiting for his orders. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about either of them; an ordinary business-suited man and woman that you might see walking down any street or hallway. They studied him neutrally, expressionlessly.

And something about them made the most primal part of House's brain demand that he run.

He looked at Oswin. The billionaire, who could seize rival companies, manipulate the stock market, and possibly crush small countries, was now small and old and wasted, too weakened even to move. He stared at the two new arrivals, his eyes now filled with the blankness that follows terror too great for the mind to comprehend.

"It's almost midnight," House told Oswin.

Then he steeled himself and glanced back at the others, not quite meeting their eyes.

"He's all yours."

He turned and limped from the room as quickly as he could, his hand white-knuckled around his ever-present cane.

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A/N: Final chapter/epilogue coming soon. Please review and/or throw ideas my way.