Disclaimer: Well, don't know about the rest of you, but I own nothing.

A/N: A oneshot that came to me after watching The Notebook. It's a fairly loose inspiration, though. I hope you like it (even if you weren't a fan of the movie; I wasn't too big a fan, but my muse was).

A/N: Thanks to Melissa, possessor of magical powers, for beta reading.

For Kara. Thanks for always making me laugh - and for not eating my beloved beta.

I am that warm voice in the cold wind, that whispers
And if you listen, you'll hear me call across the sky

As long as I still can reach out, and touch you
That I will never die

-Josh Groban, Remember Me

It was an unusually cold night for September.

The frigid wind blew leaves off the trees despite the fact many of them had not yet lost their green hue. Icy rain fell from the sky, assaulting the roof with bullet-sized splashes. The room they lay in was dark; the storm had long since knocked down the power lines. It seemed the noise had woken them both, for he could tell from her uneven breathing that she, too, was awake beside him.

"Hold me," she whispered.

He hesitated for a brief moment before moving closer to her. Since being diagnosed with dementia nine months ago, she was not always aware of who was next to her. There were good days, where she recognized him and it was almost like before, when the two of them would spend hours doing meaningless things to pass the time. Then there were the bad days, where she seemed trapped in a world that only she could see; days where nothing in the outside world, the real world, the world he lived in, meant anything to her. In the middle of the night, it was impossible to tell which day she would have.

"I can't feel you," she complained.

Her words jolted him from his thoughts, and he wrapped his arms around her. Hope swelled inside; she had been lucid enough to remember her request and realize he had not yet fulfilled it. He knew it was a tiny victory, insignificant at best, but it felt like a victory all the same. He ran his fingers through her hair, and though he could not see it, he knew that her once dark strands were now almost completely white.

"What do you think of the rain?" he asked quietly, a brave stab at conversation.

"It's loud," she responded. "I think that's why I couldn't sleep."

"Hmm." He, too, had been kept awake by the rain. "Think of the bird bath. All the rainwater will collect there, and the birds can have a dip in the pool tomorrow."

"Birds can't swim," she said stubbornly. "And I hate that old bird bath. It's ugly."

He sighed. "I know." The stone bird bath had been her idea, he reflected; it had been one of the first purchases they had made upon moving to this house.

"I had a dream," she announced suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

"A dream?" he repeated. He had to admit he was surprised. Usually she didn't offer any information about what she was thinking; if he wanted to know what was on her mind, he had to ask himself. He took this as another encouraging sign. "What was it about?"

She didn't respond right away, and he wondered with a twinge of fear if he had lost her again. But then, so quietly he almost missed it, she said, "A doctor. And her husband, he was a doctor, too. And another doctor."

"So three doctors," he summarized in a low voice. He fought to keep the excitement from his voice. He could not dare to let himself believe that she had remembered anything; the devastation he would feel later if it turned out he were wrong felt like almost too much to bear.

"Three doctors," she continued. "One was a woman, and she was young. The others were men, one old and one young. She loved them both."

"She did," he confirmed quietly. In spite of himself, he felt his hopes rising. "What happened next?"

"Nothing," she said, and he felt disappointment settling in once more. Then she added, "I woke up before she could choose."

"Choose?"

"She loved them both, but she could only marry one," she clarified.

"Of course," he breathed. "Do you know who she chose?"

"I already told you no," she answered, noticeably irritated. "The dream ended, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," he conceded. The flame of hope flickered and died. Maybe it truly had been a dream. Maybe there were no memories that she could draw upon; perhaps they were simply unobtainable, locked forever somewhere inside a mess of nerves and electrical impulses.

"Which one would you have picked, if you were her?" she asked him unexpectedly. "The old one?"

He was so shocked she had continued the conversation that he almost forgot to respond. "I'm not sure," he replied slowly. "Which one did she love more?"

"I don't know." She sounded thoughtful. "She loved them both differently."

"What do you mean?" he dared to ask.

It was a while before she finally answered, "She loved one of them because he was brilliant. Damaged, but brilliant. And she loved the other because he was neither."

This time he could not help himself; hope swelled in his chest and he unconsciously held her tighter. "I see," he murmured. "You remember more than you think."

He could feel her frowning. "What's there to remember? It was all just a dream."

"I meant about the dream," he amended quickly. "You remember more thank you think about the dream."

"Hmm, I guess," she admitted.

He swallowed hard. A dangerous idea had just crossed his mind, one that he was finding very hard to let go. He knew that she couldn't be pushed to remember, that he shouldn't try, but he could not help but think that if she remembered this much, she was a lot more lucid than the doctor seemed to think. Doctors are wrong all the time, he reminded himself. And if there was a chance, if there was even the slimmest of chances that she hadn't forgotten her life, well….he had to find out.

"What if you were the woman?" he asked. He felt her shift and pictured her look of confusion. "I mean – imagine you were the woman. You were young once, you know." There was more truth in those words than she could ever know.

"She did kind of look like me," she reflected. "I guess I could imagine myself as her."

"Okay," he continued, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Okay, so you're the woman. You're young and beautiful. And there are two men, two doctors, who she loves. She loves them differently, one because he's damaged and brilliant and the other because he's not. But she can only marry one of them, so she has to choose. And…" he broke off as another thought crossed his mind. He knew he shouldn't push her, for either of their sakes, but he wasn't sure he had the nerve not to ask. He had to know.

"And what?" she prompted him.

He smiled, pleased by how well she had been listening. Her mind really wasn't as lost as everyone thought. He took a deep breath as he made his decision. "And one of the doctors was me."

She didn't even hesitate. "I would've chosen you," she whispered fiercely. "I love you." He hardly dared to believe her, but it seemed almost cruel not to. Through the vague light of the moon, he could see her eyes blazing as they stared into his. She looked so sincere. He leaned forward and kissed her gently.

"I love you, too."

She tightened her embrace. "I remember all the time we spent together. I remember all the cases and all the diagnoses and all the patients we saved - and all the ones that died," she said in a rush. "I remember dates and wines we hated and loving you and losing you, and-" She suddenly broke off as tears filled her eyes. "Losing you," she repeated. "I never want to lose you again."

"You won't," he promised her.

"Don't leave me."

"Never."

She smiled, happy with his response. She reached up and touched his cheek. He covered her hand with his as she leaned in to kiss him. He felt elated. He had broken through to her. The dementia hadn't destroyed her mind completely. She still recognized him; she still loved him. There was still hope.

She softly brushed his cheek as she murmured the name that wasn't his. "Hold me, House."

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please review; I would love to know what you thought.