A/N: Sorry for the delay. Yes, this story will be finished. Yes, there are more in my series, too. I'm not starting them until finishing this one, though. Certainly don't have time to have two in the process of posting. Life is simply crazy, and that applies seven days a week at the moment. I'll get it posted as I can.

By the way, I made a mistake back in Verdict. I greatly simplified the process and shortened the time frame on the journey to trial. Eight months between event and formal trial was amazing, blazing speed, apparently, and never would occur. With the murder case involving my relative this year, we've already had four various types of hearings, another one coming up soon, and the prosecutor says that it takes about two years to get to full trial, at least with first-degree murder charges. I'm not sure if lesser things go faster, but the justice system in general moves ponderously. If you're ever writing a murder trial, at least double your original estimate of the time involved from crime to verdict for realism.

Anyway, here is another chapter of Phantom, and we actually are getting very close to done with this story. More as I can. Thanks for the reviews.

(H/C)

Brenda arrived early as usual to prepare to open up the clinic. The residents assigned would come in a little later, but the nurses, as usual, handled more of the hard details, and in this case, the clinic was most definitely her baby. She was proud of running it efficiently or at least as efficiently as things could be with people involved.

Today's efficiency score took an immediate hit as she skidded to a dead stop right after unlocking the clinic office, her planned agenda blasted clear out of her mind. Gregory House sat at her desk, focused on the computer with the utter burning intensity that had marked him as a resident. He didn't even hear her come in.

Brenda with an effort closed her mouth and attempted to find her voice. She couldn't believe it. He had hated the clinic back when he had to work here, and in the ten years since the murder, he had never made any effort to leave his self-imposed prison. She had tried over and over to interest him in fighting the charge, then in something else, anything else. Now here he was abruptly doing computer work in her small office.

Her voice, as shocked as the rest of her, finally creaked back into life. "House. House! HOUSE!" He jumped on the third repetition and looked over at her. She received her second jolt of the morning added to the surprise of his presence. She had seen his eyes in many moods over the last ten years on her supply runs: Pained, depressed, resigned, hopeless. Now all at once, they were again sharp and focused. He was on a trail and running it down, his mind not only in high gear again but his body going along with it. My God, she thought, he's alive again. He actually cares about something again. She had no idea what the catalyst was, but she was grateful. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Working," he replied, as if the answer was obvious. "Needed a more powerful computer and better speed than my little laptop."

"What are you working on?" she asked tentatively. "Are you trying to solve the murder case?"

He flinched at the mention of the normally forbidden topic, but he didn't waver. "No. Working on something else."

"Something else?" What could be more important than proving his innocence? She applauded his decision to finally leave hiding, but having taken that step, he had better start promptly proving his innocence before he was recognized and captured. "You realize that people are going to be arriving soon to start work. Somebody besides me is going to see you."

He looked at the clock, startled. "Hadn't realized it was that late."

She sighed. "I'm glad to see you over here. Really. But you have to do something to fight this thing, or you're likely to be arrested. There are still some people around who remember you, and even the ones who don't would notice a stranger in the clinic office using the computer. They would talk. Word would get around."

"I need to finish this up first," he replied, his eyes zeroing back in on the screen. "Got to get all the data involved. You need to change your password, by the way. That one was way too easy."

She sighed again. "House, you're going to have to move. You can't be here when the clinic opens. It's too obvious." She thought quickly. "Dr. Randall is on vacation this week. He's the head of gastroenterology, and he's got all the latest electronic equipment. Maybe you could use his office today, but you've got to get down to your problem pretty quickly."

He looked at the clock again, then reluctantly pushed the chair back. "You're probably right. Too many distractions here when the clinic opens, anyway. I can't research effectively with a cacophony of idiots in the background."

Brenda had to grin at the description. "Come on. Let's get you set up before the rest of first shift gets here."

House stood up, then winced, grasping his thigh with one hand and the back of the chair with the other as he gasped. Brenda knew better than to make any move to help or any comment. Finally, his frantic fingers clawed the spasm out. He took a careful test step with his cane, and she led the way, trying to move as quickly as possible but not too quickly.

By the time they reached Dr. Randall's office, House was sweating with the effort. "Here we are," she said. "Door's locked, but I doubt that will bother you."

"No more than your password did," House replied. "If you know his password, don't tell me. I'll just count it as a warm-up exercise."

Brenda rolled her eyes. "Just be discreet as you're working. Remember not to let people see you. Keep the blinds drawn, and Dr. Randall has a private bathroom. I'll be back in a few minutes with breakfast."

By the time she returned, the door was unlocked, though the blinds were drawn. House was nose deep in the computer already. She set the tray from the cafeteria on the desk and spoke loudly enough to penetrate his research fog. "Eat this now, and you'll get a hot meal for once. And lock the door behind me. Here's a bottle of Tylenol and a heating pad." He grunted some vague response, and she quietly withdrew.

Once back down in the clinic office, she looked at the computer screen, but he had cleared it when he stood up. What was he doing? Whatever the current research question was, it apparently had brought him back to life, and while she was worried about the police, she still couldn't suppress her smile.

(H/C)

Cuddy spent the day with residential duties, but that evening, once she had a chance to go to the roof, there was no response. She was tired and a bit cranky; she had tossed and turned instead of sleeping most of last night, torn between thoughts about Wilson's surprise proposal and about her father and about House, the Maestro. Who apparently was MIA tonight, as he had been last night. She really had wanted to talk to him, even if not about anything more than a case, just to hear his voice and feel his presence tonight, even if with a fence between them.

"Cuddy." The voice at her shoulder seemed an extension of her thoughts, and it took her a moment to remember that she had already left the roof and was heading out through the lower halls of PPTH. She jumped in delayed reaction, startled not by him but by encountering him here.

"Maestro. What are you doing here?" She turned to face him. There he was, right in the hall, in her world for once. "Someone might see you!" Despite the caution, she was smiling broadly. He was here. He was here.

"Doesn't matter. I had to talk to you. I've got some information you need." He pulled her into a small waiting room for families, empty at the moment, with a few vending machines.

"What information that I need?" A bit suspicious, Cuddy still followed him willingly. "And what do you mean, it doesn't matter if people see you. Do you want to get yourself arrested?"

He took a deep breath, and his answer was a few moments in coming, but it was firm enough when it arrived. "No."

She gripped him by both arms, enjoying the chance to do so. He was real. He was here. And somehow, she knew from his expression that he really was with her this time, that he had found something to fight for. "We can solve that case. I know it. Especially with you working with us."

"Us?" His lightning-quick mind grasped the word. "You told Wilson about me?"

"Not exactly." He was progressively if subtly shifting his weight off his right leg, and she sat down on a couch and patted the cushion next to her. After a brief hesitation, he joined her. "He doesn't know about you now, where you are, that I talk to you. None of that. He only knows about the case because he read my notes and copies of news stories one night while I was on the phone. I hadn't expected him; they were left out, and then the phone rang right then. It was an accident, really, Maestro. But he has been helping me try to work on this case."

"I'm sure he's a lot of help. Bet I could guess his real motive, too." House's tone was bitter, but then it changed to urgency, and that new intensity, the intensity she had previously seen only on a tough case, was still in his eyes. "Cuddy, you need to know a few things about him that I don't think you do."

It was her turn to retreat a little. "What do you mean? I do know him. He was a childhood friend."

"And how many years ago was that? Oh, I'm not saying he's a bad person. In fact, he seems like a great guy in many ways. I'm sure he is a good friend to a lot of people. But he has a huge weak point, and that weak point is spelled w-o-m-e-n. I heard him last night."

She jumped. "You were there?"

"Yes. And today, I borrowed Brenda's office and then Dr. Randall's to do a little research."

She shook her head. "You are going to get yourself caught. You've got bigger problems than James Wilson, and you need to focus on them, especially if you're going to reenter the world."

"All in due time, Cuddy. There was something more important first."

"What? James Wilson? You think investigating him is more important than your problems?"

"No. But you are." She stared at him, first feeling out and then leaning against the sincerity in that reply. "I don't want you to get hurt, Cuddy. I've watched him around the hospital from my camera eyes. I knew he was good with women - that's plural, by the way. Most definitely plural. More than that, he knows that he comes across well with women, and he's proud of it. So I checked out his background today. Do you know that he has three prior wives?"

The number jumped out of his words at her. Three. Although she hadn't known about even one. "No," she admitted. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. The divorces are legal records. Look them up yourself. I'll give you the locations and dates if you want. He's still young, Cuddy. Still young, and he's up to three. That's way beyond just incompatibility. That's a character flaw. He's charming, I'll admit, but he's apparently unable to make a long-term commitment and keep it. He proposed to you without telling you you'd be fourth in a line, too."

She shook her head. "How could he - I had no idea."

"I'm sorry, Cuddy. But you needed to know."

"Did you know before today?" she asked.

"No. I knew from watching him that was his weak point. I suspected he had been around the track several times, whether formally or not. But it wasn't worth really digging into until today."

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you." Both of them jumped and looked up. Wilson stood in the doorway of the waiting room, and a second later, he jumped himself as he took in her companion. "Gregory House."

House raised his head bravely. He was trapped more than physically in this little room. If Wilson wished to call the police, there was no way to prevent it, and he knew it. "James Wilson," he returned steadily.

Wilson turned to Cuddy. "You - it's him? I thought there might be somebody else you were seeing now and then, but all this time, you've been aiding and abetting a criminal?"

"I'm just a person of interest officially. I haven't had a day in court," House pointed out. "Which is more than I can say for you."

Cuddy stepped firmly into the conversation. "James, he's innocent. You know it. We've looked at that case enough by this point to find holes in it."

Wilson still looked shocked. "So where has he been for 10 years? In the hospital all along? Who all knows about this?"

"That doesn't matter," she said. "James, is it true that you have three prior wives?"

He flinched, but then held firm. "Yes."

"And you never told me?"

"I would have," he insisted. "Really. That's the truth, Lisa."

"When? After we were married?"

He looked at his shoes guiltily. "I was afraid if you knew before you'd turn me down. I just hadn't found the right one yet, Lisa. But I have now."

"Don't pull that line on me. You didn't just find the wrong one three times. I'll ask you, although I'm sure he knows, so don't lie to me. What were the grounds for divorce each time?"

Wilson's shoes became even more interesting. "Unfaithfulness. It wasn't always just on my part, though."

"Not always? As in you broke your vows every time, but they did once or twice?" She sighed. "I can't be a number in a line, James. I'm sorry."

"I am, too. I really do think it could be different next time." That had the ring of truth, and looking at him, she realized that he really did believe that.

"I hope it is. But that will depend a whole lot on you, not just on your choice of number four. And whoever number four is, it won't be me."

Anger started to push in alongside the guilt that still remained as Wilson answered. "So you're getting together with him, then? Someone wanted for murder? I at least never killed anybody. In fact, I ought to call the cops right now." He pulled out his cell phone. House and Cuddy sat motionless, silent. Wilson's finger hovered for a moment, then moved away from the screen. "No. I can't do it. She's right, House; I do believe you're innocent by now. I may be a cheating scoundrel, but I can't turn somebody in who doesn't deserve it. And since you're innocent, there's still a cold-blooded murderer running around out there, and he needs to be stopped. In fact, what I wanted to talk to you about tonight, Lisa, why I was looking for you. I had a new idea on this case today."

It was House's turn to look stunned. "Why would you still want to help me?"

Wilson gave him a tentative smile. "Because you could use a friend."

After a moment, Cuddy's expression softened, too. "Come sit down, James. Let's have a differential. And this time, Maestro, with you helping us, we're going to crack this thing."