A/N: I really LOVE this chapter! We're getting into some deep stuff here so be prepared. I just realized too that December will be two years since I started this fic. I was intending to wrap it up around 100 chapters but I can't tell you if I'll be able to do it by then. It has to happen when it happens. So it might or it might not. I won't drag it out but I won't wrap it up before its natural conclusion either.

Thank you to:

Cherokee Jedi for taking a peek.

Anne & Deletta for helping me through a tough time this week.

The Readers for your comments, they mean the world to me.

All the other fic writers for plugging away with your fics and keeping our ship sailing!

Disclaimer: I don't own House, Cuddy or any of the original characters. I'm just borrowing them to make things right!

"I'm..." he sighed. "I can't make it this weekend."

"Oh," she said, trying to hide her disappointment. She knew he hadn't wanted to promise Rachel he'd be at her recital but when he told her he'd try, Rachel had been so excited.

"I'm going to see mom. I'm sorry, I forgot. I was talking with Nolan about my dad and some things came up and I just felt like I needed to see her."

Cuddy was actually relieved to hear his reasons. Deep down there were times she still dealt with the fear that he might have second thoughts about their relationship. It was something she knew she had to work through and she suddenly cursed herself inwardly for automatically thinking the worst.

"It's okay," she said, reassuring him. "I'll tell her something came up."

"You thought I'd changed my mind, didn't you?"

"No."

"Cuddy."

"I'm sorry House, I guess old habits die hard," she confessed, biting her bottom lip in frustration.

"I really did forget."

"I know you did. I understand."

"Good. Now quit biting your bottom lip and feeling guilty."

Cuddy shook her head and laughed out loud. He always knew, always.

"I'll make it up to her." House felt bad. Though he knew he hadn't made a promise, he had intended to attend Rachel's recital.

"You don't have to, I'm sure she'll understand."

For him it wasn't that easy, he remembered all too well how it felt to be disappointed by a parent. Suddenly what he'd thought hit him. Did I just say that? Parent? Before he could rationalize it, he heard Cuddy's voice again.

"House? Are you there?"

He quickly returned to the present. "Yeah, sorry. Just thinking." Before he could continue, his pager went off. He looked at it and cursed out loud.

"Shit, I gotta go before the kids kill the patient. Can I call you in a few minutes?"

"Actually, I'm going to dinner with some colleagues."

"Oh," he said, sounding disappointed. Quickly he added, "Yeah well I better let you go then."

Cuddy sensed his abruptness. "Call me later?"

"I'll try. I'll probably be working late so we'll see. You go and have fun," he said before hanging up without warning.

Cuddy stood there staring at the phone in her hand wondering what the hell just happened. She shrugged and decided to discuss it with him later. For now, she had to hurry up and meet her colleagues.

Meanwhile, House's mood had fouled somewhat as he limped painfully to the patient's room where he'd been paged. His leg hurt like hell and he found that he was peeved about Cuddy going out with her colleagues for dinner, though he didn't know why. It never bothered him before and he wasn't jealous. He rounded the corner and as he entered the patient's room he bellowed,

"Okay which one of you asshats paged me?"

Wilson found House passed out in the Eames chair in his office around four-thirty Friday morning. He was supposed to be at House's apartment at four o'clock to take him to the airport for the first flight out but when he got there, House wasn't home. After finally tracking down Chase, he was told House spent the night in his office after the grueling case they'd been working on. Apparently the diagnosis was Tularemia and after notifying the CDC they began treatment. House had mumbled something about "goddamned patients not giving complete and accurate history" before he'd ambled into his office and passed out.

Now, Wilson stood before his disheveled friend. He gently nudged him.

"House?"

"Hmmph," he grumbled.

"Come on, we have to go."

"Don't wanna."

"You can't stay here."

"Fuck you Wilson, go away."

"I'll drive you home." Wilson held out his hand and knowing he wasn't going to take no for an answer, House accepted it and let his friend help him to his feet.

Fifteen minutes later they were at House's apartment and Wilson packed a duffel bag while House showered. An hour later, House was fast als on a plane bound for Lynchburg. Wilson watched from the window as the plane took off.

"Good luck, buddy," he said, watching as the plane disappeared in the distance.

Blythe House was in the kitchen cooking Frikadellen, one of her son's favorite meals, when his cell phone rang. Someone had been trying to call him for the last hour and she hadn't wanted to intrude upon his privacy by answering. But now, she thought maybe it was important and decided to answer it.

"Hello?" She said.

"Mrs. House?"

"Yes."

"This is Lisa...Lisa Cuddy."

"Well Lisa dear how are you?"

"I'm very good thanks. And you?"

"Better now that my son is here."

"I'm sure. Is he...doing alright?"

Blythe smiled. "Well he just got here a couple of hours ago but he looks to be doing well, better than I've ever seen him. I'm guessing you have something to do with that?"

Cuddy blushed on the other end of the line. "He's done a lot of the work himself."

"Yes he has, but I think we both know it's more than that."

"I'm so happy that he went to see you, he needs this. I know he's had a lot of things weighing him down."

"He has and I couldn't be happier that Greg has finally found the strength to come home. But I'm assuming though you didn't call to talk to his mother."

"Oh I don't mind. Is he um...is he there? I've been calling but he wouldn't pick up."

"So that was you," Blythe chuckled. "He forgot his phone when he went out. I'll tell him you called."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that," she said. "I guess I"ll let you go."

After few seconds of silence, Blythe spoke again. "Lisa, I hope I'm not being too forward but...why don't you come down and spend some time with us?"

Cuddy was taken by surprise by the invitation. "Oh I couldn't intrude. You need some time with your son."

"Oh honey, I have plenty of time with Greg and it would be nice to have you here. Why not? You could bring your daughter with you."

"I don't know, I mean I'm not sure how House would feel about that."

"Actually, I think it would be good for him. He's dealing with a lot right now and you being here...and Rachel, I think that's just what he needs. In fact, I'm sure of it."

Cuddy thought about it a moment. "If you're sure you don't mind."

"Of course not. Now...you could be here in a few hours, if that's not inconvenient. You can fly into Lynchburg easily, then rent a car. I'll give you directions."

"You think we should surprise him?"

"I think that would be wonderful."

House was sitting at the counter in the Sheridan Livery Inn, an old restaurant in historic downtown Lexington. He was reading the paper and chewing on a toothpick when a man approached him.

"Excuse me, you're Gregory...John and Blythe's boy, right?"

"That's me." He eyed the stranger suspiciously.

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" The tall, balding, elderly man asked.

"I've got some." He pointed to his mug.

"How about breakfast?"

"I'm good," he showed the man an empty plate.

"So you are. Listen son, it's good to see you after all this time."

"And you are?" House asked, perplexed.

The man laughed heartily. "I'm sorry. The name's I'm Allen MacGregor, but you can call me Mac," he said holding out his hand.

"Mac...Mac MacGregor," he said, pursing his lips, squinting a little trying to access the archives in his brain. Finally, it clicked. "Rudy's dad?"

"Yep." Mac smiled. "You mind if I have a seat?" He asked, politely. House motioned his hand to the seat next to him.

"I haven't seen you since you graduated from high school. I don't know how much you remember but your dad and I joined the Corps together."

"So you stayed in touch all these years?"

"On and off. I hadn't seen or heard from him for some time until I ran into him at a reunion of guys from our outfit after I retired. I told him my wife and I were thinking of Virginia since we're both from here. Well, the rest is history. I saw you at the funeral, heard the eulogy. I wanted to talk to you afterwards but you'd left abruptly."

"About that..."

Mac put his hand on House's arm. "Son, no need to explain. You didn't say anything the rest of us didn't already know."

House looked surprised and Mac attempted to put him at ease. "I knew your dad, I saw him at his best and his worst. I know how hard he was hard on everyone, including you." He saw how House looked at him with a curious expression and he continued. "John House was a rough guy and he'd never deny it. He liked a schedule, he required order. Everything had to be done his way or no way. He hated excuses. He said a man had to work for what he wanted, if it was handed to him he'd never appreciate it. He said if that way of life was good enough for his old man, then it was good enough for him."

House finished his mug of coffee. "Yep that's Colonel House, alright."

Mac motioned the waitress over and asked for refills. Looking at House again, he said, "Your dad and I were old school, we came from a different world."

"Dad's world was all about rules, black and white, no room for gray. Life isn't like that but he didn't get it."

"That's why the Marines were perfect for him, that's why he stayed in so long. Their way of life was his way of life."

"I guess it was."

They were quiet a moment until Mac spoke again. "So, are you still a famous doctor?" He asked with a sly smile.

House smirked. "Something like that. I work in Princeton, just here visiting mom."

"I'm sure she's glad to see you. She's been so lonely since John died. She used to talk about how much she wished you'd visit."

"Yeah. I haven't been a very good son these past few years."

"Shit happen Greg, you do the best you can with what you have. Things haven't been easy for you have they?"

"No, but a lot of it was my fault."

"Maybe, maybe not. Like I said, shit happens, we do the best we can. From what I remember, you were a pretty good kid. Oh you were feisty and energetic and goddamn did you love to argue-but you never got into any real trouble, not that I recall."

"Mom and dad would get a call from the school at least once a week. Most of my teachers were tired of me arguing with them in class. It used to piss them off." He smiled at the memory.

"Yeah, I remember your dad telling me he took away your motorcycle until you quit doing that."

"That was my first bike too. I shut up for a whole week to get it back."

"I remember the week you graduated from high school, your dad told me he was selling that bike since you wouldn't need it anymore. He asked me if I thought Rudy would want it. Did you know Rudy wouldn't ride that thing till you left for college?" The old man chuckled a moment as he reminisced. "He knew how much you loved it so he waited till you left to ride it."

"I really loved that bike," he said. "So what's Rudy up to these days?"

Suddenly Mac's face became somber. "He's...dead."

House was caught off guard by his answer. "I'm sorry."

Mac nodded. "He was a Marine just like his old man. Always wanted to prove to me he was the kind of man I wanted him to be. The thing was, he was every bit that and more, I was just too damn stubborn to tell him. Rudy was a good kid but he always had his head in the clouds. I told him that maybe joining the military would help him find some direction, help him find his goals in life. When he graduated and joined the Corps, he found something he really enjoyed, being a mechanic. He was a hands-on guy, liked to take things apart and put them back together again."

"What happened to him?"

"Roadside bomb in Iraq back in two thousand four."

"Damn," House said quietly. Rudy MacGregor was only forty-four when he died. He still had his whole life ahead of him. House found it difficult to believe the likeable, friendly, red-headed kid he'd known in high school was really gone.

"Sometimes I wish I hadn't pressured him into joining."

"You didn't kill him."

"No, I didn't but sometimes I feel guilty that I pushed him so hard. Maybe he would've chosen another path and-."

House cut him off without letting him finish. "Do you think you did a good job raising your son?"

Mac looked at him with an odd expression, clearly taken back by House's question. "I'd like to think my wife and I did the best we could but I do look back and think there were times I could've done better."

"Don't do that," House said, sternly. "Don't take that away from him...the right to choose his own path and make his own choices. If you respected him you have to give him that. Rudy chose to join the Marines and make it a career. Did you force him to stay in?"

"No," he said resignedly. "It was something he wanted."

"There you go," House said, confidently.

"You're pretty smart aren't you?" Mac asked with a raised eyebrow.

"At some things, others not so much."

"You're dad called you a smartass, he was right." He laughed again, heartily. "Don't worry, he said other things too...good things."

House swallowed hard. This he was not expecting.

"I take it that surprises you. He wasn't the kind of guy to talk about anything too personal but there were times he talked about his son, the brilliant athlete who could earn straight A's without even trying. The son who was a party animal and spent too much time with girls." House smiled at that. "There were times he thought you were too big for your britches and needed to be knocked down a peg or two but then...he did that to everyone didn't he?"

House nodded in agreement.

"I watched him drop precise bombs on the enemy taking care not to hurt a single civilian. I saw him put his own life at risk and lower his chopper into VC infested rice paddies to pick up a half dozen guys who'd been separated from their pack. He never even thought twice about it. He wasn't always easy to get along with but I respected him. He was always so goddamned guarded that it was hard to know what he was thinking at times. But there was this one time, in Nam...we'd just come back from dropping napalm on some godforsaken fields full of VC. We needed to talk about something good, something to remind us the world was still a good place. So we talked about our kids. I remember him bragging about how smart you were and that you'd started reading when you were three."

House swallowed hard. "He did?"

"Yeah. That night we got back to camp and he got a letter from home. Sometimes he'd read bits of them to me, sometimes not at all. Just depended on his mood. Anyway, he opened that letter and there was a picture with it. I'll never forget that moment when he sat there looking at that picture and there were...tears rolling down his cheeks. I'd never seen it before and not after.

House sat there, shocked by the revelation. "What happened?"

"He never told me. Must've been something though because nobody made John House cry."

An hour and a half later, after a bit more conversation and coffee, House limped through the cemetery searching for his dad's grave.

There was a bench at the foot of John House's grave. He smirked at the coincidence. Painfully, he sat down and stared at his dad's simple marble stone. It was cold and windy which made the pain in his leg worse. He pulled his coat around him and pulled his woolen hat down low. He let out a long sigh and thought about the conversation he'd had with Mac.

Nobody made John House cry.

In all his years, he'd never seen his dad cry, at least not that he could recall. He'd also never seen his dad show pain or fear. He'd learned to hide both very well. House was beginning to realize that he was more like his father than he ever imagined.

"You once told me once I didn't realize how good I had it," he said out loud as he tapped his cane in the brown grass under his feet. "You were wrong. I knew but I wasn't used to having anything good and it scared the shit outta me." He looked up at the blue sky, then down at his father's grave again. "I want to hate you but the older I get, the harder it gets. I remember the times you treated me like shit and then I remember the times when we had fun, when things were good. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel. I just know I can't keep on like this."

He rose painfully from the bench and limped over to his dad's headstone, wiping off some leaves that had covered it. He stared down at it as he spoke.

"You once told me I didn't care who I hurt and that I enjoyed spreading misery but that's not true. I just didn't know how to deal with my pain. Long before my leg, I hurt. I fucking hurt and you had something to do with that!" He said, a bit more loudly than he'd intended. It was just that he wanted to tell his father now all the things he never had the chance to say. He could feel the need to release it. Holding it in only made him bitter. He knew all too well how destructive it was for him and others around him when he kept his feelings hidden. He rubbed his hand on the rough marble and kept going.

"People think I'm some kind of heartless bastard. I'd do something halfway decent and they'd make some comment about me showing my human side...like I was some kind of monster. I'm not a monster. I have feelings. You were wrong about me. I felt it. I felt every fucking bit of it. I just didn't know how to stop it. So I kept on lashing out at everyone and hurting them and pushing them away. But the more I did that, the more I hated myself! I fucking hated myself. Do you hear me?" He yelled again, this time his voice created an echo carried away by the wind.

Suddenly, he took his cane in both hands and raised it over his head, ready to smack his father's headstone but he stopped himself in mid-swing. He looked at the cane then back at the stone and then he yelled as loud as he could and threw his cane as far as he could, hearing it land somewhere in the grass yards away.

Without his cane, he had to lean against his father's headstone for support. He caught his breath and then in a much softer tone, he said, "There were times...a long time ago when I thought it would be so much easier not to feel anything. I was wrong though. It's harder to not feel, to turn it off. It actually hurts more. And now I can feel again and I like it. I don't want to lose that, dad. I used to think I didn't deserve it but now I know that I do. I'm not a bad person right? I just fucked up. I mean...everybody fucks up, everyone makes mistakes. Even you. But you'd never admit it."

The wind blew a strong gust through the cemetery and sent chills through his heavy coat. He shivered a moment and continued talking out loud.

"I never thought I was a violent guy. I never initiated a fight, never threatened anybody. But I was angry at Cuddy when I rammed my car into her house. I could've killed her...her family...her kid." He felt his eyes get moist, his heart beating fast but he continued the confession to no one listening. "I committed an act of domestic violence against the woman I loved more than life itself." He paced a few steps as best he could without his cane. "I don't know dad, I don't know. I was so angry and so hurt, it felt like she'd ripped my heart out. I just...I just snapped." Suddenly it hit him. He turned back to the headstone.

"Is that how you felt when you found out what mom had done? You were hurt...and angry too, weren't you? But was that the reason you were so damn hard on me?" He paused as if waiting for an answer. "The truth is dad, I hate that you hurt me but I don't think I can hate you anymore. Maybe you did the best you knew how to do. Maybe you did have regrets and just didn't know how to make things right. I forgive you for not being a better dad. If you were here would you forgive me? For not being the son you wanted me to be?"

In the distance, House heard the crunching of leaves and turned his head to the side. There was a small figure standing about fifty yards away, coattails flapping in the breeze. He watched as the figure moved toward him and his eyes widened when he realized who it was. Cuddy smiled as she approached.

"How did you know?" He asked, completely taken by surprise.

"Your mom. I called your cell phone a few hours ago and she picked up. We talked a little while and she invited us here for the weekend. I hope you don't mind."

"But how'd you get here so quickly?"

"Helps to have friends in high places. I went to see Sanford after I got off the phone with your mom. I wanted to reschedule a meeting we had this afternoon, told him I needed a few days off. It was an important meeting so he asked me where I was going. I told him the truth and explained how important it was to be here...with you." She looked down sheepishly, then back to him again. "Then he mentioned he had a friend with a charter jet."

"That was nice."

"Yes, it was. I think he understands what we're trying to do here. Sometimes he treats me like I'm one of his kids."

"And sometimes it pays off."

"Yep." She held her hand up to shield her eyes from the winter sun.

"What about the recital? You missed it to come here."

"There'll be other recitals."

"She should've been there. It's a big moment in her life," he said, feeling guilty.

Cuddy stepped forward into his personal space and tried to reassure him. "Stop feeling guilty. She'll have other big moments House. It's just a recital. Besides, Rach made the decision."

"Rachel?"

Cuddy nodded. "When your mom invited us, I told Rach the truth, that you had a lot going on and you needed to see your mom. I asked her what she wanted to do, go to the recital or go see you. She chose you." As an afterthought she added, "You're not upset are you? I mean, maybe you wanted to deal with this alone?"

He looked at her with complete sincerity. "I'm not upset, I'm glad you're here." He took a careful step forward and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her resting his chin in her hair. "Speaking of mini-you, where is she?"

"Your mom is teaching her how to bake."

"Oh God, another Blythe House in the making."

"She's even teaching her the named of the dishes. I think by the time we leave here, Rachel will be fluent in German." She smiled against his chest as he held her. "I missed you," she said.

"Me too." He rubbed his hands up and down her back to warm her.

Cuddy noticed House's cane was missing. "Where's your cane?"

"I tossed it somewhere over there," he motioned with his head.

"Why on earth-"

"I was angry and I was going to smash it against his headstone. But I stopped myself."

"House," she said in a worried tone.

"I was so angry but then I realized violence doesn't solve anything. Ever. In the end it wouldn't have solved anything and it wouldn't have made me feel better."

"You've never had a temper House, not in all the time I've known you. But when a person holds things in indefinitely, it takes its toll. You've always held so much in especially about your dad. You never had a chance to talk to him and resolve this."

"I wish I'd learned this lesson before I drove into your house."

"Me too but you learned it and that's what matters. Are you okay?"

"I think so."

They held each other, swaying just a bit with the strong breeze that overcame them.

"I told him I forgave him."

Cuddy looked up at him with love and pride in her eyes. She squeezed his biceps reassuringly. "House, that's wonderful."

"Nolan was right you know. He said when I was ready, it would feel good. It does...a little."

"I'm so proud of you. I wish I'd told you that more often in the past. I was then and I am now." She placed her gloved hands on either side of his face and gently caressed it as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. A moment later he opened his eyes and looked at her. Cuddy shivered, for he wasn't looking at her as much as he was looking through her. He cupped her face and leaned down slowly and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. He didn't go any further, he just leaned his forehead against hers. Cuddy felt him shift uncomfortably, she knew his leg was bothering him.

"Hey," she whispered. "Let's sit down."

Without his cane, House had to lean on Cuddy for support as they moved to the bench and sat down. She reached for his gloved hand, holding it tightly in her own. Neither said a word, but then again words were not necessary as their ability to communicate with touch conveyed much more than words ever could. Just as another gust of wind came through, House sighed deeply and his breath hitched a moment. Cuddy glanced at him sideways and saw a tear rolling down his cheek. Instinctively she put her arm around him and drew him to her and he rested his head on her chest as he wept. He wept for himself and his father - all the wasted years, missed opportunities, unspoken words and moments never shared. And as she held him close and comforted him in his grief, Cuddy wept for all of them.