Disclaimer for the entire story: I do not own House.

Warning: Character death

Parts: 6 … possibly 7

Reviews: are love. Make my day!

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A.D.: Part I

I backed away slowly, trying to look anywhere but at the hard, cold box in the middle of the room. People were still in their seats, some talking softly, but mostly silent. As my eyes were unwillingly fixed on the box, it came as a surprise when my foot contacted the threshold, jerking me back to my senses. He wouldn't have wanted me to be a coward. In fact, he was always pushing me to stand up to him. He enjoyed watching me get annoyed.

The room was grew silent as I walked slowly up the aisle, face hardening into a blank and unreadable expression. I paused slightly before I reached the mahogany wood box in the front of the church. I had worked for him for years … and now that he was gone, what would I do? My foot shot across the final step of its own accord. I had to say goodbye for the last time.

It was the hardest thing I had ever done – to look into that box and see him lying there. His face, so blank and expressionless in life just like yours now was calm and peaceful. His piercing stare was gone – his eyes were closed instead. But worst of all was that House, who had so much to say against life, was silent in death. (did you expect anything else?) He wasn't clutching any flowers, and roses did not adorned his last resting place. Instead, he lay there, cane by his side – silent. (The dead speak not and snark not.)

"Hey." I whispered. As I looked down into his silent face, I could almost imagine him listening to me. Maybe he was. How would I know? (House always liked surprising people.) "Hey, it's me, Foreman." I paused, not knowing what to say. I had never done something like this before. At my brother's funeral, I cried from a distance, because my father hadn't wanted me to be there. At my grandmother's funeral, my father had conceded, and let me sit in the back of the church. I cried from that distance, because she had been my rock when I was younger. I had never thought that House would die. He had always been there, solidly, snarkily present. Sure, perhaps he had been dying, but dying was different from death. It happened to different people. People who weren't strong and bitter like House.

Maybe it was House's bitterness that kept him alive for so long. People who held a grudge against life as he did, struggled to stay alive, to prove that they could live. Or maybe I had been around House too long and was already starting to think like him. It was entirely plausible.

On an impulse, I glanced down at my shoes, and then back at the box, wondering if he was still wearing the same shoes. House wasn't as predictable as he'd have liked to think. You could always count on him to be unpredictable, but in essence, he was always the same. Always rude, always abrasive, always there. But not anymore.

I remembered the time when I had tried to 'help' him on his date with Cameron. (Some relationships just aren't meant to be). He had seen right through me then, and perhaps he could see even clearer now. He had understood everyone's motives, relished in his understanding … but perhaps that was what killed him. He understood too much, had seen too much and knew too much. He knew how screwed up life was … and that was what killed him. Because he knew there wasn't any point trying. But …

"You were wrong." I told House firmly. "You are wrong. Life isn't that screwed up. It's what we make of it that matters. And now I know somewhere you're mocking me for sounding like Cameron, but heck, you should have listened to her more. She …" (loved; hated?) " … was the only one of the team who implicitly trusted you. All the time."

I glanced over my shoulder at the remaining people. Most of those who hadn't really known House had left already – most were just (appalled; intrigued?) there to watch House make his final journey. He was a legend. No, he was The Legend. And some even had the audacity to offer us jobs. Chase had glared, I had snarked (like House, you're just like House) … and Cameron had turned away. Now, I could see Wilson leaning against the wall, eyes politely averted from me, but obviously waiting. Chase was still sitting a pew, head bowed and eyes closed. Cuddy was pacing by the door, but Cameron … Cameron had already left, which surprised me. (She had had too much experience with death, too much exposure to death.)

"I don't know why she's gone now." I told House, shrugging. "Maybe you do. You were always good at reading her … all of us. Maybe you shouldn't have tried so hard." Resting my hand on his brown box, I gave a half-smile. "You were good, House. But maybe you would have been better if you had trusted as much as Cameron did." I tilted my head to its side, considering that statement. "Nah, House … you were great. You couldn't have been a better doctor, just a better person. Maybe you can't be both … only one or the other. I don't know. But I sure aim to find out." ("You're perfect just the way you are." His mum is supporting, smothering and loving him all at once.)

I took one last look at my boss ex-boss, ex-boss and turned around. With each step I took from him, I could feel that door closing. (Stop the door, stop the door, bring it all back, this isn't what I want! )

Goodbye.

The word echoes in my head endlessly.

Like a voice without a sound.

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End Part I