A/N: We're very, very close to the end now. I just want to take up a little space here and say thank you so much to everyone who is reading and reviewing. It really does make my day to hear from you guys!

Chapter 43

The Wedding Night?

Cameron sat in bed, her back leaning against the headboard and a book in her hand. Her bedside lamp was on, providing a warm glow of light. The light was the only warm thing in the room at the moment. Although she'd been sitting with that book for nearly an hour, she had not read a single word. The book was a prop designed to discourage House from speaking to her. In reality, Cameron was seething with a cold, indignant, fury.

Thoughtless, insensitive bastard she had learned to accept as House's defense mechanism. It had taken her years to see through it and tears to break through it, but she had. Heartless, cruel bastard she would never accept. She'd known that House had the capacity for almost crippling cruelty, but he was rarely cruel. He knew only too well how much that sort of cruelty stung, and kept it carefully restrained, unleashing it carefully.

Tonight it had escaped its chains and lashed out at Wilson before House could rein it in. Cameron was incensed. She could scarcely believe the vitriol that had spewed from his lips. Even now, her eyes trained on an ink smudge a third of the way down the right hand page of her book, the memory caused her to grit her teeth in rage.

House stood impatiently tapping his cane while Cameron and Cuddy fussed over Wilson. He felt badly, sure, but there wasn't anything he could do or say that would change what had happened. He'd never really understood why people felt the need to try to calm and soothe grieving anyway. What was there to say?

Wilson let them fuss over him for another minute or two before he sighed resignedly.

"I'll try to get a flight tonight so I can be there in the morning," Wilson said to Cuddy. "I don't want to be gone more than a day or two."

"James, there's another three weeks until my due date. Don't rush this for me," Cuddy said to him.

"I'm not. Believe me, there's going to be plenty of other arrangements to be made. The sooner I can down there and back the better," Wilson said.

"Are you sure you should be doing this alone?" Cameron asked. House winced. He could already see where this was going, and he didn't like it.

"I don't have a lot of choice," Wilson said ruefully. "Lisa can't fly now. And if she should go into labor while I'm gone, you need to be here for the hospital."

"It's only a day or two, Jimmy," Cameron said in her quietly persistent voice. Wilson just shook his head no. House knew exactly what she was going to say next. "Greg could go with you."

Wilson didn't respond. He looked at Cameron and then at House. There was nothing in his expression to indicate he was asking or expecting House to agree.

"I never even met this brother," House said. "Not going to be a big help identifying the body."

Wilson closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck vigorously. That was pretty much the reaction he'd expected, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"Greg," Cameron hissed. "How can you say that?"

"Look, he's dead. There's nothing I can do about that. Besides, Wilson should be grateful," all three of the others looked at him incredulously, "at least now he can be done waiting for this phone call."

"Thank you, House," Wilson said stiffly as he stood from his chair. "It's somehow comforting to know that no matter what happens in my life, I can always count on you to be a complete bastard."

He walked off without giving House a chance to respond. Cuddy glared at House menacingly before following Wilson toward the parking lot.

"Still mad," House said as he walked back into the bedroom. He'd been sitting out in the living room since they'd arrived back at the apartment, unable to handle the cold waves of fury pouring off Cameron's body. He was disappointed to see that she'd already changed out of her dress and into her pajamas. Still dressed in his suit, House removed the jacket and went to hang it in the closet.

He looked back at Cameron as he loosened his tie. She hadn't moved her eyes. He removed his tie and hung it on the closet doorknob. He stood there for a minute, uncertain what to do. Not that it was really different than any other night, but he really didn't want their wedding night spent arguing.

He finally took off his dress shirt and pants. He tossed them on the chair in the corner and limped to bed. He lay down beside her. Never in her presence had the bed felt so cold. It felt like he was sleeping in a refrigerator and despite himself he shivered and drew the covers up to his chest. He lay and stared at the ceiling in silence while Cameron pretended to read her book.

"How easily could that be me?" she asked him finally. She let the book flop onto her lap, but didn't look at him.

"Cam…" he began.

"No," she interrupted. "You know what? I don't want to know. I think I'll be happier not knowing how tenuous this whole thing really is. Ignorance is bliss, right?" She turned off her bedside light and slid down to lay on her back.

Hours later, Cameron was awakened when the front door banged shut. She sat up in confusion. The other side of the bed was empty. The floor was littered with single socks and the dresser drawers seemed to have exploded. Cameron got up and immediately tripped over an older pair of House's sneakers. Cursing under her breath and trying to rub the shin she'd whacked on the side of the bed, Cameron hobbled out into the living room.

It too was deserted. His iPod and PSP were gone and her laptop had been left running on the coffee table. Cameron leaned over to power it down and saw that she had a new email. Sent at 2:17am? Cameron checked the clock on the cable box. It was 2:20. She clicked the email open.

Flight at 4am. Back day after tomorrow.

H

It wouldn't be that easy.

House limped through the airport terminal, precariously carrying a tray holding two coffees in his left hand while trying not to let his bag slide down his shoulder and knock the cane out of his right. He spotted Wilson sitting alone in the row of uncomfortable and ugly plastic seats against the wall, his head leaned back and his eyes closed. He stopped in front of him and held out the tray of coffees, waiting for its aroma to do its work.

Cinnamon hazelnutty tendrils of steam curled their way toward Wilson's upturned face. Catching a whiff of something that decidedly did not smell like airport, Wilson cautiously opened one eye. Seeing House, he registered mild surprise, but opened the other eye and sat up straighter. House wiggled the coffees dangerously and Wilson took the tray before House could decorate his lap with the beverages.

Wilson removed one of the cups from the tray while House flung his pack onto a nearby chair and sat next to Wilson. Wilson handed him the coffee and House took it silently. Wilson then removed the other cup and deposited the now empty tray on the chair on his other side. The two men sat quietly sipping their coffee for a few minutes, neither looking at the other.

"Thanks," Wilson said.

"Blame Cameron," House said.

Wilson nodded, and the two men sat quietly a few minutes more. House slurped his coffee and tapped his cane and was otherwise annoying until Wilson spoke again.

"How'd you carry the tray all that way?"

"Strong arms," House replied. Wilson snorted. "I do lots of push ups. Mostly at night, if you …"

"Everyone knows what you mean, House," Wilson stopped him. House looked at Wilson complacently and then slumped back into his seat, waiting impatiently for their flight to be called.

"You weren't wrong," Wilson said. House turned slightly and raised an eyebrow. "I've been waiting for this call for more than ten years." House nodded. "I just wasn't sure who it would be."

Wilson looked at House and House looked back for as long as he could stand it. He dropped his eyes and nodded. A few years ago, it could have easily been the Princeton PD calling Wilson about a body.

"Both calls I've been dreading for the past ten years resolved at once. Quite a day for me," Wilson said quietly, staring down at the now empty coffee cup in his hands. He stared at it for a long time; so long House began to become a little uncomfortable with the silence.

"You don't have to blame Cameron I suppose," House said stupidly.

"House …thank you."

"Welcome," House said and nodded. The attendant called their flight.

House and Wilson trudged through the airport tiredly. Wilson would have appreciated a nap on the flight down. Unfortunately, House's airplane behavior was not conducive to sleep. There was tapping, of the regular and drum-riffing variety. There was humming, singing, air piano and guitar. There was cane bouncing, drink slurping and peanut crunching.

By the time their flight landed in Miami, Wilson was feeling slightly edgy, at best. Thankfully they had only their carry-ons, so there was no baggage claim to deal with. Wilson haltingly suggested a taxi but stopped midway through when House glared. He sighed, but followed House dutifully to the nearest rental car counter. Wilson hated to admit it, detested it really, but every so often House's bitter cripple routine paid off. A mere forty minutes later House was fiddling with the radio in the mid-sized sedan he'd had Wilson rent.

"All that time waiting to tell you they can't tell you anything," House whined from the passenger seat of the sedan.

"House, please," Wilson begged wearily. He'd just spent most of the day waiting at the police station; only to be told where he really needed to be was at the medical examiner's office. They spent another several hours waiting there before finding out that the toxicology report was not yet completed and until it was they couldn't release his brother's body.

It was now 8pm. Not late, by any means, unless you'd been up since 2am and spent the entire day with House. Wilson was exhausted. He pulled the car into the entrance of the third hotel they'd been too, looking for a room.

"You think they'd have mentioned the toxicology report when they called," House continued his grumbling. "You could have waited and flown down tomorrow morning."

"If they'd known the report wouldn't be ready I'm sure they would have said so," Wilson answered. "Now," he turned and presented House his best 'please be reasonable' face, "I'm going in there, alone. You're going to sit here and behave. It will be much easier to get a room without you making doe-eyes at me."

"This is Miami, they shouldn't have a problem with us," House said smugly. "And I know that last place had rooms available. They just didn't want to rent a room to a gay couple."

"We're not a gay couple!" Wilson shouted in frustration. "It's not the 'us' they have a problem with. It's the vivid detail with which you describe precisely how we'll be defiling the room. They wouldn't rent it to you if you were going to do those things with a woman either."

"Homophobes," House grunted. Wilson closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, House smirked at him but nodded. Wilson got out of the car and House leaned his head back on his seat. At the first hotel it been wickedly funny watching the desk clerk's face pale as House went on and on about the myriad of exploits he had planned. At the second, he'd done it again just to torture Wilson. The look of utter embarrassment was priceless. But now he was tired and hungry.

"Mary and Joseph had an easier time finding a room," Wilson muttered as he opened the door and got behind the wheel. He turned again to House. "They only have a single available."

"If you can contain yourself, so can I," House said, eyes twinkling.

"I'll manage," Wilson said dryly.

Wilson snapped his cell phone shut and picked up another french fry from this plate. It was cold and gummy by now, but Wilson was starving and it was still food. He turned to tell House he'd finally arranged a flight for the following afternoon. He wasn't surprised to see House in bed, atop the sheets, fast asleep with the TV on mute. Wilson smiled. If not exactly a comforting presence, House was normal. Other than the fact that it was a hotel room bed and not his couch, it could have been any other night.

Wilson finished his meal and debated calling Lisa. It was already after 11pm, and he knew she would likely be sleeping by now. The last few weeks had been really taking a toll on her, and he decided not to call and wake her.

Instead he found a spare blanket in the closet and covered House. Then he changed into some pajama pants and crawled under the sheets to get some much needed sleep. Tomorrow would be another long and tiring day.

Cameron entered the Diagnostic Department mid-morning on Monday. She'd been at work for a few hours and had yet to hear from Cuddy. She was very concerned; it was unlike Cuddy to be late but it was unheard of for her not to call. Cameron had called Cuddy's house and cell but she hadn't answered. Cameron reasoned that she wouldn't answer her home phone if she'd already left and could even believe that her cell phone could have died. However, when Cuddy didn't answer her pager, Cameron began to panic. Cuddy never ignored her pager.

"Need a favor," Cameron said by way of a greeting. Price and Jasper looked up, surprised by the tension they heard in her voice. Jasper knew from Chase how attached Cameron seemed to be to the little boy they had consulted on and she assumed the worst.

"It's not Devon?"

"No," Cameron replied, even smiling a little. "He's doing fine. Dr. Cuddy's not in this morning. She's also not answering her phone or her pager." Jasper and Price both registered surprise and concern. "There's a board meeting in …" Cameron checked her watch. "Half an hour. Do you think you could…"

"We'll need directions," Jasper interrupted. Price was already putting on his sport coat.

"Dr. Cuddy?" Jasper called out tentatively. Cameron had told them where to find the spare key and instructed them to enter. She would deal with any repercussions later. They heard a soft moaning from upstairs. Price and Jasper exchanged nervous glances. Jasper climbed the stairs quickly and found Cuddy in the bathroom, slumped against the tub wearing her pajamas.

"Oh god," Jasper breathed. "Price, get up here!" she shouted.

"I'm not sure it's really appropriate," Price called back uncertainly.

"Price get your prim British ass up here now!" Jasper yelled as she got to her knees beside Cuddy. "Dr. Cuddy, are you okay?"

Before she could answer, Cuddy leaned forward and heaved over the toilet. When she leaned back, Jasper noted her pallor with alarm. Price arrived at the room's threshold and stopped.

"Oh god," he sighed. He took his cell from his pocket and began dialing.

"I heard Allison calling," Cuddy said weakly as Jasper checked her pulse. "I just couldn't get out of the bathroom to answer the phone."

"How long have you been vomiting?" Jasper asked.

"Few hours," Cuddy replied. "No ambulance," she said in Price's direction. Price looked at Jasper and she nodded her agreement.

"All right, no ambulance," Jasper agreed. "But you're dehydrated. It could cause pre-term labor. We're taking you to the hospital. No arguments. Dr. Cameron will have our heads."

Cuddy nodded and smiled slightly. The idea of Allison Cameron having anybody's head was amusing.

"Dr. Cameron is waiting for us. She paged Dr. Huntley, everything will be ready for you when we get there," Price said. He and Jasper exchanged concerned looks while Cuddy heaved over the toilet once more. Where was Dr. Wilson?

"You know," Wilson commented, "it's sort of surreal walking into a police station with you."

"Clever," House replied. "How long did it take you to think that one up?"

"Not long," Wilson answered, holding the door open for House. "But I've been saving it for years. Wasn't sure I'd ever get the chance to use it."

House stood back while Wilson approached the desk. He cast an interested eye around the waiting area. It had been quite some time since he'd been to a police station. Actually, he hadn't even been in about a ticket in … a year? Damn Cameron.

One police station looks pretty much like another. House spotted an angry wife clutching her purse in a vice-like grip and tapping her high-heeled shoes on the floor forcefully. A few seats away was an equally angry dad, being calmed, or at least contained, by a tense mom. And just a seat away from them was a Wilson. The best friend, resignedly worried, rubbing his neck as if to ward off a headache. House felt an unexpected pang of guilt at recalling how many times Wilson had sat in that exact position for him.

"House?" Wilson's voice interrupted him. "Would you rather wait out here?"

House turned and looked at his friend, then back at the 'other Wilson'. "No," he answered slowly and turned to follow.