A/N: First, thanks for all the well wishes. The life celebration service for my friend was a beautiful one, full of his own style (he prearranged it) and lots of laughter and memories as well as his own video final words. There were young kids there, by the way. Yesterday's visit to Mom was better than last week, and she is healing from her latest claw-herself-up fit.

Down to the world of fiction, this chapter is not the last word on the funeral. We will get a few retrospective looks later at what was going on in different quarters and what others were feeling, including Cuddy, girls, etc., to add to House's numb and rigid impressions at the time.

Enjoy is probably the wrong word for current events, but this chapter is a necessary step before the next one, so here it is.

(H/C)

He had to hold it together for them.

That thought possessed House as they were getting ready for the funeral. He wasn't going to ruin it for the rest of his family. If they needed this funeral for whatever bizarre reasons, they would get it, but he had to hold himself together for the next hour. As they were piling into the van - seven with two car seats worked but was a tight fit - House did what he had decided he had to.

After climbing into the front passenger's seat, he pulled out his Vicodin bottle under cover of the others getting the girls buckled in and getting set, and he took not a Vicodin but the two Ativan he had tucked in there earlier while sorting out his morning pills. His prescribed dose was 0.5 mg to be used for panic attacks, but that was a quite-small dose, and he knew how it affected him. He would still be functional at 1 mg, just with a chemical wall to lean against. Never before had he doubled the dose, and he hadn't planned originally to drug himself for Blythe's service, but after deciding to take the girls, the precaution made sense. If he lost it at the funeral in front of them or if John suddenly sprang to the attack mentally, they would just be frightened all over again. No, this was the best way. Cuddy was keeping an eye on him and staying reassuringly in sight, but there was nothing odd about his Vicodin bottle to catch her attention.

They finally got the passengers all stowed, and Cuddy started the van. House sat almost upright in spite of the pills, his back not even touching the seat, and tried to steady his breathing and not think about what lay ahead. Just get through it. Forget Cuddy's 24 hours; his sole goal in life at the moment was to survive the next one.

Marina was talking to the girls again behind him. "We're going to go say goodbye to your grandma now. You might see people crying there, like I said, but that's okay. It's all right to cry for her."

Jensen spoke up from the rear seat. "You're good with this, Marina," he said approvingly.

"Growing up in a big extended family gives you lots of practice," she replied. "I've been to funerals from the time I was a little girl. They're sad, but they don't have to be scary." She caught Rachel and Abby's hands as she was sitting between their car seats. "You're being such good girls with all the traveling. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you so much again for coming along with us," Cuddy said.

"You needed me," the nanny answered simply.

Rachel looked around at the cityscape passing by. "Lots of people there?"

"Yes. All her friends will be there. The people who cared about her. We're her family, and they were her friends. You have lots of friends just like that, too, people who care about you all around you. Like Dr. Wilson or Dr. Jensen."

"Thomas?"

House tightened up even more. The Ativan was taking effect, but he wished it were even stronger. Maybe he should have taken three. No, probably that would be too noticeable by the others, even the girls. He especially didn't want the girls to think anything was off with him.

Marina looked at Cuddy, and Cuddy met her eyes in the rear view mirror. She knows, Cuddy realized. Well, that had been inevitable. House had given it away himself. "Thomas will be there," Cuddy said. "He was a friend of Grandma's."

"Is he our friend?" Rachel persisted. Cuddy debated. The van was silent for a moment, all the others deferring to her except House, who wanted to avoid the question altogether. But Rachel wasn't likely to give up.

"He's our friend," Cuddy confirmed after a moment. That was the cover story, after all, and even more, it was the truth. He had been such a friend and more to them the last few days, so much love and support there. She hoped her husband would soon just let himself accept it instead of questioning its motive.

Rachel smiled. "I wanna be his friend."

"Of course," House muttered. "He has a horse." Rachel had never met anybody before who actually had one, and the animal had lure just because it was beyond the everyday world of dogs and cats. She loved all animals, but it made sense that a rarer one would have extra appeal. It wasn't like her opinion was an assessment of Thornton. She would probably like Hitler with a horse just as well.

Wilson dutifully tried to distract her. "Look, Rachel. There's a horse." He leaned forward over the back of the middle seat to point it out to her. House couldn't resist looking himself, as they were in the middle of the city, but sure enough, there was a life-sized horse sculpture standing in a sort of park. It was even crazier colors than red, and Rachel and Abby both stared at it as the van slowly went by. "I wonder how Belle is doing," Wilson said. Rachel took that bait and started wondering aloud if Sandra was taking care of the cat adequately. Wilson promised to let her talk to Sandra later for a personal update.

The van finally pulled into the funeral home after a short but eternal journey. The number of cars startled House. The whole lot next to the building was just about full, much more so than it had been for John's funeral. There were even a few other cripple cars in the disabled slots before the rental van joined them. The various doors started to open, but House sat still for a moment, wondering if it would all go away if he refused to get out. It wouldn't, of course. Stupid to indulge in wishful thinking. Besides, the girls would notice. He had to do this. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Abby leaned over to him from Wilson's arms as soon as she was freed from the car seat. "Up, Dada!" she demanded. He took her left handed, wondering how much longer he would be able both to carry a girl and walk. Abby was still small, but she would only grow. He did take a moment to test his balance carefully on the cane before he took a step while holding her. He was okay. He could definitely feel the Ativan, numbing him out, smoothing off the edges a little, but it wasn't enough to affect his walking.

Rachel wiggled her way down, and Cuddy captured her hand firmly, but her daughter was only going as far as her father. She hugged his good leg, and he looked down at her. She looked puzzled. Abby, too, was watching him in concern. Damn it. Had to hold it together; he couldn't ruin this for them. "Come on," he snapped, sharper than he had intended.

They slowly entered the building, everyone else matching his pace. Once in the lobby, they turned toward the door of the room where Blythe's funeral obviously was. A river of conversation flowed out from it, inviting them in. The funeral director exited his office just then, coming across the lobby, and noticed them. "Gregory House." He came up quickly but didn't hold out a hand. House realized that having both Abby and a cane could pay unexpected dividends. At least he wouldn't have to be pawed at by a hundred people. He steeled himself for the trite words I'm sorry, but they never came. "And these must be your girls. I'm glad you and your family could make it. Such adorable children." He smiled at Abby and Rachel and then greeted the others in turn, but he stopped short when he came to Wilson. The professional front tightened up, and his eyes shifted toward another room off the lobby, then back to the oncologist. "I remember you, Dr. Wilson."

Wilson squirmed. This wasn't fair, damn it. To this man, looking back on John's funeral, House had been the respectable if grieving son, and Wilson was the dangerous loose-cannon friend who had thrown a bottle through a stained-glass window. He was supposed to be the safe, socially acceptable one. "Nice to see you again," he lied. He could almost see the thought bubble over the director's head, wondering what disruption Wilson might cause in his realm this time. "Come on," Wilson urged, taking another step toward the funeral. "They'll be starting soon."

The director gave Wilson a firm look. "There's a row for the family reserved about half way back on the right. Mr. Thornton didn't think you'd want to be all the way down front." He then went on into the room, leaving the family to enter at their own pace.

House faced the door. Breathe. In, out. Had to keep it together for the next hour. He took a step, his legs both much stiffer suddenly. That wasn't the effect of the Ativan; that was pure dread. Cuddy switched to holding Rachel's hand with her right hand and put her left on her husband's arm, tightening the grip firmly, almost painfully, but he didn't mind. She was here. He knew he'd never be able to tell her adequately how much that meant, but she, even more than Ativan, gave him the strength to take another step forward.

They reached the doors. House stopped again in them, and the other three stopped in front of him as a shield. He gave one quick scan of the crowd, looking for Thornton, finding him alongside the wall. His father was looking straight at him. House quickly turned away.

Right leg, left leg. Two more steps. The people were all around, talking, someone down near the front laughing. He hadn't expected laughter. This might almost have been a social event, stories and knots of conversation filling the room.

Just then, they were spotted. Here came the crowd, surging up but trying not to run over them even so. Everyone was talking about the girls. Leaning on Cuddy as much as the cane, House made it down to the reserved row for them. Everybody slid in except Jensen, who said something about being back in a minute and headed for the casket at the front. Gratefully, House collapsed into the seat, Cuddy on the far end of the row on his right still with Rachel in tow. Wilson sat down on his left and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "This is so mixed up. That funeral director is wondering what stunt I'm going to pull next. Remember the bottle?" House gave him a weak smile, but it felt like his face fractured on the effort.

People. So many people. House was just waiting for the words, but to his amazement, they never came. Nobody said they were sorry. Not one person brought up the past. Several mentioned memories of Blythe, but they were good times, fond moments. Much of the conversation was on the girls. Rachel was pulled into answering their comments, though she still looked back at her father now and then. Abby hugged him tightly on the left, still looking concerned. Cuddy from the other side looked just as concerned and kept a tight grip on his arm. Jensen returned and sat down on the center aisle next to Marina.

After several minutes, the cluster around them dispersed, people finding seats for themselves, and House sat bolt upright, leaning against Cuddy and the Ativan, and focused everything he had simply on hanging on. There was a low hum audible in the back of his mind, like a distant swam of bees, but Cuddy kept his hand, and John was silent. His stomach started to hurt, a deep, twisting pain inside him, trying to break the stiffness and double him over, and he set his teeth against it.

Looking back, he eventually was to remember details from the funeral, like watching a home movie, as if his mind had been recording all the while from another position at the side and getting the big picture, but at the moment, he was only aware of Cuddy's hand, the threatening hum that he managed to hold at a distance, and the girls drifting in and out of his focus.

But the memories would surface later to fill in the gaps. The flowers. Incredible array of flowers, all colors, and the smell of them hovering in the room.

The eulogies, first a few formal ones, then opening up the floor to whomever wanted to share. People from the senior citizen's center. Patsy, the neighbor. Fellow volunteers. People from her travel club. Two children of roughly 6 and 8 from the adopt-a-grandparent program.

Nobody mentioned the past. No one mentioned John. But the stories about Blythe, her last few years, the influence she had had and the friend she had been, were alive.

The music. Abby perking up slightly and asking if he wanted to play the piano, too. The comment was audible for a few rows around, but nobody seemed annoyed at it.

Rachel sniffling against Cuddy's shoulder, and several tears running down Cuddy's own face.

The memories.

Finally, the service ended. The others drifted out respectfully with a few final words tossed their way, hands on his shoulder, other comments on the grandchildren. Thomas was last out besides their group, and House, turning to watch him leave, saw his worried look back as their eyes met briefly.

Then they were left alone. Alone besides Blythe at the front, that was. Cuddy leaned over to ask if he wanted to see her, and he shook his head fiercely. After a moment's hesitation, she passed him Rachel and said she would be right back, though she did give a few worried, guilty looks back on her way down the aisle, making sure the others stayed right there. She stood at the casket. A minute later, Rachel squirmed away and ran down the aisle by the wall to join her, and Cuddy picked her up and gave her a hug. House couldn't hear what Rachel said, but the tone would come back to him later. She didn't sound frightened or traumatized. She sounded like Rachel. Cuddy gave a low reply, and they came back to join the others.

House lurched painfully to his feet. He didn't want to see her, was determined that he would not see her, not for the last time, but he couldn't help one quick look from their row halfway back. He could just see her hair and the edge of her face. She looked peaceful. He turned away so quickly he nearly lost his balance, and Cuddy and Wilson both gripped him to steady him. "Let's get out of here," he demanded harshly.

Abby, standing on the seat, reached up for him, and he picked her up, letting her hug him. She buried her face in his shoulder for a moment, then raised it to look toward the front herself as the group filed out of their row. "Bye bye," she said softly. Pain like a knife stabbed through House's stomach, but he managed to stay upright, managed to hold that hum at a distance.

Slowly, the group left the room, and House took a deep breath as they exited the building and reached open air. The crowd had dispersed quickly, granting them privacy, and there was only Thornton left as an anxious sentinel just outside. House sucked down the oxygen greedily and fought the urge to throw up.

He had made it.