A/N-I know it's been a while, but here is another post-series, reconciliation-style short story. My intention isn't to delve deep into their history or exhaustively explore their issues here, so forgive me if it seems some issues really aren't dealt with in detail in this story. I'm not trying to "fix" anyone, just explore some of the possible complications of meeting again. This one is one of my less fluffy stories.

This story came from a prompt from aussiefan12. (I'll put the prompt at the end of this chapter.)

(Sorry to those of you waiting for a Too Lost sequel…everything I try to write in that universe just doesn't quite come out right.)

-Bargaining-

House's sense of victory lasted for only a few hours after they began their road trip. The truth was grim and unavoidable: Wilson was dying. It was easy to forget that Wilson was terminal sometimes, although as time went on, signs of deterioration did show. Wilson had accepted his fate with little anger and set out to enjoy his remaining time with his friend. House was focused on making every viable second count for them before Wilson was gone, but it seemed a lot like a countdown to doomsday. He didn't tell Wilson that. House answered each question with sarcasm or misanthropy and they fell into the same pattern they'd always enjoyed.

They had been on the road for nearly four months. They shuffled out of their sparse, cheap motel room and went across the puddled parking lot to the only diner in sight. A waitress, young and disinterested, approached with a pot of coffee and filled their mugs while she texted. "Eating?" she asked.

"Geez, could we?" House retorted as he shut his menu and dropped it onto the table. "Short stack and bacon."

"Oatmeal and fruit," Wilson added while he looked out the window.

The waitress disappeared as House glowered, "Fruit? Are we watching our cholesterol?"

"We've been eating junk for so long that it's really losing its appeal."

Wilson still seemed distracted by something outside.

"What are you looking for?" House complained while he tapped the filter of a cigarette on the table before pinning it between his lips.

"Nothing, I…" Wilson scowled in disgust as he waved away the smoke that floated over toward him, "Do you really need another vice?"

"I'm trying to collect them all."

"Why do you need to smoke that around me, why do you need to smoke that at all?"

"Don't worry, you'll be dead before the second-hand crap catches up to you."

"What about your first-hand crap? Is this time-released suicide? Are you trying to get cancer?"

"I'm hosting a competition to see if my liver or lungs can take me out first. The lungs have a lot of catching up to do."

"This is my last hurrah, House, not yours. This is just one trip out of the many you can still take. You need to consider a future," Wilson advised before he turned to the window to scan the parking lot yet again.

"I didn't fake my death to sit around and talk about your impending real one. I…OK, now you're starting to make me feel paranoid. What in the hell are you looking for?"

"I thought I saw a…grey car."

"Oh my god, no! Anything but a grey car."

"Don't be an ass. It seemed like there was one specific grey car, the same one."

"No one is following us. No one knows we're here…" House studied Wilson as he thought. "Unless you know something that you're not telling me."

"No. One car just seemed familiar. I guess I'm still not used to being on the run."

"Did you tell anyone where we are?"

"Definitely not," Wilson defended adamantly.

"No one is following us. Even if they were, you didn't really do anything wrong, so technically I'm the only one on the run. Stop worrying and—" House was interrupted by the clatter of Wilson's bowl on the table.

The waitress returned a few seconds later with another plate that was included with Wilson's meal. She had to bring one plate at a time since her other hand was still clutching her phone. House pulled her phone from her fingers and offered, "I'll hold that for you until you bring all of our plates over and refill our coffee. At this rate, we'll still be here for breakfast tomorrow."

The waitress scowled but retreated to bring the rest of their things before she grabbed the phone back from House. "Anything else?"

"Leave the whole pot," House demanded, "that way we don't have to interrupt your important 'LOL' and smiley face exchange for a refill."

After breakfast they gathered their modest belongings, packed up the bikes and got ready to leave. Just as House pulled on his helmet, he saw a grey mid-sized car drifting quietly behind the motel and out of sight. He blamed Wilson for the momentary flash of paranoia before he dismissed any concern as unnecessary.

Wilson had to admit it, he was having fun since they'd run away from reality. He truly felt free. This whole trip was crazy, ill-planned and reckless, and exactly what he needed. When it started to rain again, they continued riding. Wilson proudly ignored the feeling that they should get off the road. As the rain came down in fatter, faster drops, he began to question the decision to continue. The drops were slapping exposed skin with surprising force, something that always stung more than he thought it should, and the bike really was harder to maneuver on the slick blacktop.

House pulled into the pocked gravel parking lot of a bar where only half of the signs were properly lit. Another cheap and barely sufficient motel was located behind the bar, and it felt like a day best enjoyed through the bottom of a glass.

Only a few patrons were inside the dive. There was a woman sitting at the end of the bar, her forehead propped on her hand, who didn't seem to move except when she needed another sip. At the other side of the room, a group of men were playing poker. House and Wilson took two spots at the bar and began to tinker with an electronic game in front of them while they drank.

They were there for a few hours, wasting small bills on the game they were playing, when a louder group barreled through the door. Ignoring the chaos behind him, House said to Wilson, "Want to go to Vegas next?"

"Vegas?"

"Legal prostitution, gambling, dancing girls…we could hit a few spots on…," House stammered and shook his head for clarity as he realized something wasn't right. "Did you…slip me something?"

"Why in the hell would I do that?"

"That's what I was going to ask you," House said, fighting to maintain alertness.

"Come on," Wilson said, standing and trying to relocate his friend.

Before Wilson could get a good grip on House's arm, the drugs had taken effect. Wilson's eyes darted about while he felt for House's pulse, trying to figure out who had perpetrated this. The bartender was immediately on the phone with someone, and Wilson could only hope it wasn't the police. Although the bartender whispered, Wilson could hear her say, "He's ready."

Wilson's heart pounded rapidly at the woman's ominous words. There was only one thing to do: he had to get them out of there. He couldn't help but wonder what law enforcement agency or cunning mind could have set up this trap and why. House was on the run, but he certainly wasn't a career criminal on any most-wanted lists.

The door opened and a figure approached. "There is something so satisfying about revenge, isn't there, James?" Arlene Cuddy asked.

"What are you doing here?" Wilson asked. "Did you do this? Did you drug him? Why?"

She paused to speak to the bartender before returning her attention to Wilson. "You and I are reasonable adults. He is not. I knew we could have a more productive, rational discussion without him interrupting all of the time."

"A rational discussion about what?"

"I need your help."

"I'm not getting in the middle of whatever this is."

"It pains me to hear that, James. I'm trying to help Greg. I'll need your help to do that. If I don't have your help, I guess…I'll have to notify the authorities so that perhaps professionals can help him. I hear they have group therapy in prison, maybe that would help him with his obvious substance abuse problem. This is the first time I've seen him in years and I find him passed out at a bar before lunch."

"Because you drugged him."

"Don't be ridiculous. He was already passed out when I got here. Everyone knows what a terrible drug problem he has."

"This is…," Wilson looked around and lowered his voice, "this is blackmail."

"I'm a concerned mother. He was practically part of the family."

Wilson took a deep breath before he asked, "You're really serious about this?"

"Do you think I'd be here if I wasn't serious?"

"Fine. What is it you want from me?"

"Help me get him to the car. We'll go for a drive and have a little talk."

Arlene found help in moving the heavy, slumbering House out to the car; he was too unwieldy for Wilson to drag alone. The bartender certainly didn't want an unconscious patron taking up a seat at her bar. Once House was sprawled across the back seat of Arlene's burgundy vehicle, Wilson noted, "Hunh. So you weren't the grey car. I thought we were being followed by a grey car."

"I'm certainly not paying full price if he was so inept that you were able to spot him."

"You've had us followed all this time?"

"Oh please. I tracked that cheap cell phone I gave you. It would have been really helpful if you would have turned it on more often. When you got close enough, I hired a PI."

"Wait," Wilson said worriedly while he looked around, "where are our bikes?"

"They're taken care of. I think you parked in a no parking zone."

"No we didn't."

"Well…they've been towed. And I'll be more than happy to help you locate them once I have what I want."

"House and Cuddy are not getting back together. I'd think after everything, you'd see that's for the best."

"I don't want them to get back together. I want them to get over the past."

"If I were you, I wouldn't get involved."

"Well, you certainly aren't me and you aren't a mother. He's running away, hiding, showing his cowardice. Lisa's acting like absolutely nothing ever happened…like she's impervious. And you...you're the worst of all."

"Wait, what? Me?"

"You're running from life, sitting on some overpriced attempt to assert your masculinity while you're waiting to die. I've sat back and allowed you all to make your own decisions. I've given you all plenty of time to sort this out on your own. You've failed for long enough. Time for you two to drop the Bonnie and Clyde act and remember that this is your last chance to get it right."

Wilson watched buildings zip past his window while they drove in silence. After nearly an hour, he turned around to check on House and said to Arlene, "Wonder when Bonnie will wake up."

House noticed his empty stomach, throbbing leg and pounding head as soon as he began to return to consciousness. He sat up, feeling his pockets for a pill bottle. Leaning his head on the cold glass window, he allowed his memory to come creeping back as he finally dropped a pill in his mouth.

"Feeling OK?" Wilson asked from the front seat.

"What the fuck happened? And who the hell are you?" House griped.

The blond driver turned when she was stopped at the next traffic light and warned, "Have a little respect. I could have been your mother-in-law."

House's eyes seemed to hesitate before they came into focus, and disbelief competed against the pain for his attention. "I hope you're taking me back to prison, because I'd rather be there than have to see her," he answered.

"She doesn't want to see you either, believe me," Arlene answered.

"It's not very often that she and I actually agreed on…well on anything, so if we agree about this, it should be a huge sign for you."

"I've been doing some research. You're both addicts. Why should I trust either of you?" she asked. He was silent and even more confused, so she explained, "You have your pills, she has her work. You're both single-minded and stubborn. You're a pair of ostriches hoping to find something better, but all you ever do is stick your heads in the same sand time and again. Then you're surprised when nothing ever gets any better."

"Arlene Cuddy: armchair psychiatrist. A little information can be very dangerous."

"Ignorance is always dangerous."

"How did you find us?"

Wilson and Arlene shared a look and then Wilson said, "I think Arlene may be on to something. You should hear her out."

Arlene stopped the car to refuel. "Don't try to leave. I'd hate to have to turn you in…or try out my new taser."

House leaned up to Wilson and asked, angrily, "How did she know I was alive?"

"She…was at your funeral. When she saw me leave, she was suspicious, stopped me before I could go. I was almost out the door and she grabbed my arm and glared and said, 'He's alive. I know he's alive.'"

"But how'd she find us here?"

"She ambushed me at the first stop of our road trip, gave me a cheap cell phone and told me to call if I needed anything…if I became too ill. Like a safety net. She said she'd feel better knowing that I had a backup plan. Apparently she was tracking it."

"We're fucked," House moaned. "Maybe we can bargain…I'll promise to turn myself in after you—"

Arlene opened the door and sat down, "Thank you for cooperating, gentleman. Now, James, did you tell him about our little agreement?"

"What agreement?" House groaned.

Cuddy had just stepped back into her shoes and was gathering the things she needed for an evening meeting when the doorbell rang. She squinted through the peephole and, when she saw Wilson, threw the door open. She felt a little unsteady on her feet as she realized he was really standing in front of her. Stepping out onto her porch, she threw her arms around Wilson's shoulders and said, sadly, "I'm so relieved to see you. When he died, I knew how much it would hurt you, but I never expected that you would run off like that."

She was wiping a relieved tear from the rim of her eyelid before it could escape when she saw the look on Wilson's face.

"Wilson? Are you alright? Do you need to sit down?"

"It's really great to see you."

"You too, but," Cuddy paused as she saw her mother's car in the driveway and looked back at Wilson for answers. "What's going on? Are you alright?"

"I have to tell you something, and it might not be easy to hear, at first, but just promise me you'll hear me out."

Cuddy's lips pressed tightly as she thought, and then she answered with a complete lack of emotion, "He's not dead. Is he?" She shook her head, like it was something she thought she should have known all along, and then took Wilson's arm. "I don't want to waste any more time on him. Did Mom bring you here?"

"Sort of. She brought…us here."

Cuddy shook her head, "Wilson, you are welcome here at any time. You are welcome. He is not."

Wilson turned and waved to Arlene as he said, "Just hear her out."

"I have to get to a meeting. I want nothing to do with whatever she is planning. I'm not going to be involved in this reunion or whatever the hell this is supposed to be."

Cuddy's words trailed off as she saw House pull himself out of the car, plant his cane on the surface of the driveway and begin to limp over. Arlene followed him, like a guard watching over a prisoner. Cuddy felt anger burning in her chest as she saw them approaching and found that she didn't even want to look at House, as if maybe he would disappear again if she refused to really see him. She didn't feel his eyes on her for even a second.

She held out her hand and said, "He's not coming in my home, Mom, so take him back to whatever whorehouse you found him in."

"Look, dear, we need to talk," Arlene said.

"You could have called."

"All of us need to talk. You can spare a half hour."

"He doesn't get another minute of my life."

"I understand that. But this isn't about him, it's about James."

Cuddy folded her arms over her stomach, "I have the feeling that I'm about to be manipulated, and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

"I really think it would be best to move this conversation inside, away from watchful eyes."

Cuddy cleared her throat, shaking her head more and more slowly before she said, "Fine, the garage."

"The garage?" Arlene asked.

"I don't want him standing in my home…looking at my things, making observations and judgments. I'll open the garage door, we can talk there." The visitors began to walk to the driveway and Cuddy added, "You know the garage, right? It's the one spot in the house that it's actually OK to drive into."

The garage door opened a few seconds later. Cuddy watched the pairs of feet emerge as the door lifted, seeing House's sneakers and cane and wondering what in the hell she was doing. They stepped inside and she pushed the button to lower the door.

"Don't get any closer. Stay over there," she ordered. Cuddy was standing in the doorway to her house, determined to keep all possible distance between them. "Let's get to business and then you can leave. Wilson, you're interested in finding treatment or at least care? Is that what my mother's trying to use to manipulate me? I can talk to our oncologist. She's one of the best. You're welcome to stay here, with Rachel and I, if you want. As long as you visit with your friend somewhere else."

"Lisa dear, James and I were talking," Arlene said. "We think we came up with an agreement that will work for everyone."

"I need to leave here in five minutes, so get to the point."

Wilson answered quickly. "We think that you and House need some time to work through things."

Cuddy laughed with loud astonishment, "We will never, ever, under any circumstance…have some sort of reconciliation."

"Believe me, that's the last thing I want," Wilson answered. "You're both stuck. Your mother and I think that you may be able to put some of this behind you so you can both get a fresh start without all of the baggage of the past."

"Look around, Wilson. I did start a new life. I have a new job, a new home, new employees. That life…is a long way behind me. I can't even see it in the rearview anymore. If House is stuck in the past, that's his problem."

"I'm talking about closure," Arlene said. "I spoke to someone about the difficulties you're having and he thinks that is what you need."

"Me? I am not having difficulties. At all. I'm great. And there is no such thing as closure for what happened. I learned from it. I did what I had to do. Cut all ties, and left it all behind me."

"Part of you is still trapped in the rubble back in Princeton. That's what Michael said," Arlene argued.

"Mom, how many times have I asked you not to discuss my personal life with strangers."

"He's not a stranger, he's a trusted friend."

"Could we get to the point?" House bellowed.

Cuddy turned suddenly, for some reason the sound of his voice was harder to ignore than the rest of him. "Don't come into my home and tell me what to do."

"Technically we're in your garage."

"Still part of my home. And don't speak to me, you've lost the right to speak to me," she said as she started charging toward him, propelled enough by her anger to forget about the space she wanted to leave between them.

When she was close enough, he finally looked right at her. It was the first time their eyes had met in over two years. They both stared forward aggressively, neither willing to show any weakness.

He finally spoke again, "I'm just trying to limit the overall number of minutes that we have to be near each other. Let her get to the point."

"You have a lot of nerve coming in here and telling me what to do."

"Fine. Keep arguing with her. The longer you ramble on, the longer my pleasant ass is going to be standing here in your home. Maybe that's what you secretly want."

He caught his thumbnail between his teeth, realizing that he had been chewing on it for so long during the ride that most of it was gone, and what remained was actually softened.

Cuddy turned back to Arlene and said, "What possible motive could you have to put me through this again? Can't you just let it die?"

"You're exhibiting certain worrisome behaviors. I want you to be able to make some peace with the past. If you don't make peace with it, you'll either spend the rest of your life alone or you'll make anyone who is willing to be with you completely miserable."

"You want us to sit down and have a chat about the past? The time for peaceful conversation is long gone."

"A moderated discussion. Michael has offered to facilitate conversation between you and perhaps guide it a bit."

"You want House and I to go talk to a rabbi that you are friends with? This is the solution that you think will work?"

"What's going on right now isn't working either. I was willing to allow you time to work through things on your own, and you've failed. If it's a rabbi…he can't be forced to testify against Greg and he won't call the authorities…he's a spiritual advisor."

"If you agree," Wilson added, "I'll go for chemo each time you both attend a session. That is…if chemo is still a possibility for me. I guess I'll find out tomorrow."

"Michael's son is an oncologist. James spoke to him earlier on the phone. They're doing some tests tonight and meeting with him tomorrow to discuss possible treatment," Arlene said.

"Are you sure you want this, Wilson?" Cuddy asked, skeptically.

"I think it's for the best," he answered. "Maybe you could call each other once a year and say hi…or not. It would be great if you didn't have to hate each other. I supported a relationship between you…hoped for it even. I'll always regret that."

"It's not your fault, Wilson," Cuddy assured. "No one blames you."

"I also don't want your mother to turn him in. And she will."

"So you're blackmailing all of us?" Cuddy asked her mother.

"Enough with the melodrama," Arlene replied. "I wouldn't say blackmail. You all think you're so smart, but you're obviously not when it comes to yourselves. Try this. See if helps. It can't do much more damage, can it?"

Cuddy nodded hesitantly and then said, "One visit for each treatment?"

Arlene answered with victory, "And one during the consultation tomorrow."

"And I don't have to see House at all otherwise."

"Of course not."

"And he won't come near my home?"

"Trust me," House answered, "I don't want to be near you or your garage."

"Tomorrow isn't a lot of notice," Cuddy added.

"Take a long lunch. Isn't that supposed to be one of the benefits of being the boss?" Arlene argued.

Cuddy glanced at House. His shoulders were hunched and his body seemed heavier than normal as he focused on a spot on the cement floor. She turned to her mother and said, "Could you and Wilson give us a moment?"

Everyone stared at her with awkward pause until she opened the garage door and gestured for them to leave. After Wilson and Arlene stepped outside, House and Cuddy stood in silence. The former couple couldn't even seem to look at each other. She stood a little closer to him, but not too close, resting her palm on the top of her car as she gazed out the door.

"You're willing to do this?" she finally asked.

"Apparently," he answered, gruffly.

"If I get the slightest feeling that you, or any objects under your control, are about to in any way attempt to do me harm—"

"If I do something stupid, Wilson won't continue chemo. And I'm pretty sure your mother would call the cops."

"I'm doing this for Wilson."

"So am I. Don't read anything else into it. This isn't about you."

"I'll go, but I'm planning on saying as little as possible."

"You'll have hours to tell a captive audience everything I've ever done wrong. I'd think you'd love that," he answered as he turned and left with as much speed as possible.

Cuddy walked out of the garage and nodded at her mother, "Fine. We'll do it."

A/N2-aussiefan12's suggestion was a story based on what would have happened if Arlene would have showed up at House's funeral.