Insert usual disclaimers and stuff here. Don't own the House characters, just the OCs.

# # #

October, 2009, The Adirondacks, New York

I pick up my packet at the registration table, nodding politely as I move on to check in to my room. It's been a long drive from Ann Arbor, and I'm exhausted mentally and physically.

Kenneth would have scolded me for driving instead of flying, but truthfully, I've always enjoyed driving. It clears my mind in a way few things do, and I've needed this drive for a long time.

I was scheduled for this medical conference months ago, long before Kenneth got sick. As he started to steadily decline, I wanted to back out of it, to stay with him until the end. It was one of our regular arguments.

"Doctor James Wilson is speaking, sweetheart." He would remind me. "You've admired him for years. How many chances are you going to get to speak to him face to face?"

As it turned out, the decision was made for us long before I was ready. Kenneth passed away in early September after a mercifully brief battle. It was one of the few 'good' things one could say about pancreatic cancer.

I brush the tears away as I find my way to the small cabin that will be my home for the weekend. These last couple of months have been an adjustment, to say the least. No one is waiting for me when I arrive home at the end of a long day, no one is there to regale me with tales of his young art students.

The nights are the worst. Our bed is so empty and cold without him there. I can't imagine anyone else in that bed after so many years with Kenneth. Twenty-five years we were together, longer than many straight couples we knew, long enough to watch my friend Kay go through three marriages. Last time I spoke to her, she was working on number four. "Fourth time's the charm, Julian!" She told me cheerfully when she told me of her recent engagement. "You're going to be there to give me away, aren't you?"

"Perhaps you should get your last ex-husband to do the honors." I had snapped back, in no mood for her antics. "Passing the torch, if you will."

"Julian." She had sighed patiently. "Some of us don't get it right the first time. You and Kenneth were lucky."

Lucky indeed. I push the memory out of my mind and lay down on the bed, idly flipping through the conference schedule. Patient Perceptions Of Complications In End-Stage Chemotherapy, presented by James E. Wilson of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

My stomach does a little flip at the topic, my mind going back to the last month of Kenneth's life, when he was still in his right mind, when he refused another round of chemo. "Just drug me up." He had told his doctor. "I'm done."

The doctor in me knew he was right, that there was nothing logically to be done for him but make him as comfortable as possible to ease his suffering. The end was coming, and there was nothing anyone could do.

The man in me fought and screamed and railed at the unfairness of it all. Typical drama queen behavior, Kenneth would tell me. I didn't care. I was losing the man I loved. I had been sure we would spend the rest of our lives together, until death do us part.

Little did I know how soon that death would come.

I toss the program guide aside and push myself off the bed, swinging open the French doors that lead out to the deck overlooking the mountains. Fall is in full swing, the leaves bursting with color, and the air has just a bit of a bite to it. It's my favorite season, always bringing to mind my days at the University of Michigan, when I was too damn busy working my ass off to enjoy it.

I'm lost in reverie when I hear a pair of voices on the deck next to me. Two men are deep in conversation, and I keep hearing bits and pieces, but not enough to put together what they're talking about. Just as well. It's none of my business.

One voice persists, however, and I can't place it, but it seems vaguely familiar. If I go back far enough in my memory, I can almost trace it. I tune in a little closer.

The voice is gravelly with age, but unmistakable. I wander over to the side of the deck to get closer, just making out the outlines of their figures in the dusk.

They're still arguing, and one man throws his hands up in the air. "I'm through talking about this, House."

I freeze. This can't be. After all these years, what are the chances of being at the same medical conference as Greg House? I start to panic a little until I realize that not only can't he see me, he's not paying the least bit of attention to me.

All his attention is focused on whoever he's yelling at, his arms waving as he continues his tirade. I can't help but smile a little. Some things never change.

The voices fade as the two men retreat inside their cabin, and suddenly I'm curious. The air gets chillier as the sun drops, and I finally decide to go inside.

I immediately find my phone and call Kay. She answers on the third ring. "Julian! It's about time."

"Greg House is at this conference." I blurt out.

"Really?" She sounds surprised. "That's…um…wow. Really?"

"Really." I tell her firmly. "He's right next door."

There's a long silence. "Look, I know you've been having a hard time ever since Kenneth died...are you sure it's really him?"

"Of course I'm sure." I snap. "I'm not imagining things."

"Okay." She replies without much conviction. "Well…if you see him, tell him I said hello." Another pause. "Are you okay?"

"Okay enough." I answer with a sigh. "I'll talk to you some other time."

"Bye." With that we end the call, and I go through my usual bedtime ritual before pulling out the photo of me and Kenneth at our commitment ceremony so many years ago. I give it a quick kiss before setting it on the bedside table.

"I love you." I whisper. "Good night."

Exhaustion pulls me under almost as soon as I turn out the light and lie against the pillows. For some reason Greg's voice floats through my dreams that night instead of Kenneth's.

# # #

I awaken the next morning still groggy, but unable to sleep any longer. It's a pattern I've regrettably fallen into over the last few months, habitually attuning myself to any unusual noises that might mean Kenneth needs my help.

Of course, he no longer needs me, but my body hasn't quite gotten the message yet.

I push myself out of bed and force myself to shower and dress, picking up the program to scan over the day's schedule. There's not much of interest, although I can't help noting that there's an 80s dance this evening.

A chuckle escapes my mouth. Kenneth would have had a blast. He could tear up a dance floor back in the early days of our relationship, when we would make road trips to Detroit nearly every weekend to hit the gay bars and make utter fools of ourselves. "You will loosen up, and you will have a good time, so help me God." He would tell me before every road trip, and of course, he was right. We would leave at the end of the night, sweaty and exhilarated, our lust for each other oddly renewed by the contact with all those equally hot and sweaty bodies on the dance floor.

My thoughts drift to Greg. He wasn't much of a dancer, if I remembered correctly. I wonder if he'll make an appearance tonight. What would I say if I ran into him? What if it's not him at all, just my sleep-deprived and grieving brain filling in the blanks?

I have to be reasonable. Even if it is Greg, it's unlikely he'll make any friendly overtures if we run into each other. After that night at the bar, when he had told me there was nothing between us, I never saw him again. What made him disappear, I had no idea.

Nothing, my ass. There had been something, even if neither one of us were willing to admit it at the time. It was something that went beyond mere lust and mutual physical satisfaction. Perhaps if I hadn't met Kenneth, it would have developed into something more.

I would never know, and did it really matter anyway? No, no it did not. Things might have fallen apart between Greg and me anyway, for all I knew. Better not to dwell on the past.

I make my way to the lobby for the buffet, slipping through the crowd and filling a plate before finding an empty spot at a table. I'm sitting across from a dark-haired woman in a casual business outfit with a young girl seated on her lap. She's encouraging the child to eat, but the child seems more interested in what's going on around her than whatever is on her plate.

"Rachel, honey." Her voice is soft, though an exasperated note seems to creep in. "Would you like some pancakes?"

The child spots me, and I give her a little wave. She curls into the woman's chest, and the woman looks up at me with a warm smile. "She's a little shy around strangers."

"I understand." I tell her. "I'm much the same way."

We eat in silence for a few minutes until the child squirms again, obviously bored with breakfast and ready to move on. The woman sighs and prepares to leave.

"Oh, you don't have to leave." I find myself saying. "Sit, enjoy your breakfast."

"She's getting fussy." She explains. "If I don't get her out of here soon, the entire conference will have to witness her meltdown." She laughs a little. "And quite possibly mine."

I pat the chair next to mine. "Set her here. We'll chat while you eat."

She looks a little alarmed, cautious, and it occurs to me that I haven't so much as introduced myself. I extend a hand. "Julian Morris, MD. University Hospital, Ann Arbor."

Her expression has changed to one of curiosity. "Ann Arbor? I went to school there." She extends a hand to meet mine. "Lisa Cuddy, MD. Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Princeton, New Jersey. I'm the Dean of Medicine."

She seems young for such a position of power. "I went there as well." I tell her as we shake hands. "Med school class of '86."

Her eyes crinkle a little in amusement. "I'm afraid I was a few years behind you. Class of '92."

So, not as young as I thought she was, but still young for such a position. "I'm impressed. Dean of Medicine is a difficult job."

"It's not easy." She answers. "But I love it."

I nod towards the young child. "It must make parenting her quite a challenge."

Her face changes, her lips pressing together slightly. "It does. Fortunately, I have skilled help…most of the time. I didn't think I'd need the help this weekend. Obviously I didn't think this one through." She tilts her head at me. "Do you have children?"

"No." I shake my head. "My partner and I didn't have any."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Oh! I'm sorry. I just assumed…well, you know." She laughs nervously.

"It's fine, Doctor Cuddy." I assure her. It still throws me after all these years that there are people in the world that apparently lack gaydar. "He was an elementary school art teacher. Used to tell me that all his students were like his children."

"Was?" Doctor Cuddy regards me with a worried expression.

"He died." I blurt out. "Pancreatic cancer. About two months ago now."

"I'm so sorry." She speaks in soothing tones.

"Yes." I answer softly, already feeling the emotion building. "Me too."

We finish breakfast in somewhat awkward silence, and even Rachel has managed to settle down for a few bites of pancake. As she gets up to leave, she gives me another once over. "Doctor Morris, what's your specialty?"

"Orthopedics." A bit of pride swells up in me. "I've been heading up the department for the last couple of years."

She nods thoughtfully. "The head of orthopedics at Princeton-Plainsboro has been talking about retirement for ages. One of these days he might actually do it." She smiles again. "I'd like to look over your CV, if you're interested in sending it to me."

I'm a little baffled. "And why would I want to work for Princeton-Plainsboro?"

The smile fades. "I just thought…perhaps…you would be interested in a change of scenery."

"I'm fine where I am." I tell her with a confidence I don't quite feel. "No change of scenery necessary."

She extends a hand to me, no small feat considering that she's still holding on to Rachel. "If you change your mind, e-mail me your CV. I would love to talk to you further."

They walk away, and I'm left contemplating cold pancakes and even colder coffee. I'm left with a very odd feeling about Lisa Cuddy, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

I shake off the thought and finish the coffee before dumping the pancakes and heading on to the presentation.

I lose track of the topic inside of five minutes, distracted by my prior conversation. Perhaps I shouldn't have dismissed Doctor Cuddy's offer so quickly. What harm could there be in simply discussing things with her? It's not as if I would have to take a job if it's offered.

On the other hand, what's left for me back in Ann Arbor? A house filled to the brim with memories, a few friends, patients that I hardly ever have real contact with anymore. Maybe I'll take a glance at my CV when I get home from the conference. Sending it to Princeton-Plainsboro probably wouldn't be the worst idea.

The sound of a crying child behind me catches my attention, and I turn to see Doctor Cuddy shifting Rachel around and preparing to leave the presentation, murmuring apologies as she does so. I've long since lost interest in the presentation, so I impulsively rise and leave the room after her.

"Doctor Cuddy!" I call out as she attempts to soothe Rachel.

She turns to face me, her tense expression relaxing into a smile as she seems to recognize me. "Doctor Morris." She holds Rachel a little tighter as the child's tears continue. "Sorry. This is a little embarrassing."

I gesture for Rachel. "There's no need to be embarrassed. I was bored to tears, too."

This time Doctor Cuddy seems less anxious as she hands Rachel over, and the little girl wraps her arms around me, burrowing her head into my chest. It brings to mind all the times Kenneth and I took care of his seemingly never ending parade of cousins, nieces and nephews. While they were no substitute for our own children, I always enjoyed the experience.

Once Rachel settles down somewhat, I draw in a breath before speaking. "So…you mentioned something about sending you my CV?"

She nods, clearly interested. I debate internally for a moment before nodding in response. "I think you might want to watch your e-mail over the next few days."

Doctor Cuddy's face lights up in a smile. "Wonderful! I'll look forward to reading it over."

Rachel lets out a shaky little sigh, her breathing evening out. I pat her back and give Doctor Cuddy a little smile. "I think she fell asleep."

"Thank goodness." Doctor Cuddy sighs in relief and takes Rachel as I hand her over. "She didn't sleep very well last night. Change bothers her."

I can relate on both counts. "Well, it looks like she's getting some rest now. Maybe you can, too."

"I wouldn't count on that." She laughs softly, holding Rachel close. "Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome, Doctor Cuddy." I answer. "I'm glad I could be of assistance."

With that she strides away again, speaking to Rachel in soothing tones, and I suddenly feel my load lighten, just a little. Simply voicing my interest in moving on seems to make it feel more possible. Whether I'm truly ready to do that is another matter, but it's not something I have to decide right this moment. Instead, I decide to go back to the presentation. If nothing else, it'll kill time until lunch. I'll have plenty of time for internal debate later.

# # #

Thank you for reading, as always. Feel free to leave a review on your way out.