22.

Everything took on a surreal, déjà vu quality as House was readied for surgery. None of the staff spoke to him and since he himself had nothing further to say, the room remained eerily quiet. After awhile, he was wheeled through the hall for the last time to be positioned in the pre-op area.

But this trip to the operating room was different from the one before. House was no longer shouting or fighting. He lay there quiet and still on the table amongst people who were, for the most part, strangers to him. House felt more alone than he ever had in his entire life.

But he guessed this was somehow what he deserved. He'd finally succeeded in pushing everyone he knew and more importantly, everyone he loved away, out of his life. It was in one way or another appropriate then that he should be deserted, abandoned and so wholly alone at the moment of his death.

This then was right. This was justice.

He didn't have long to wait before he was taken through the double doors to the operating theatre itself. Surrounded as he was by the masked and gloved figures of his surgical team who would be the lead performers in this needless final drama of his life, House found them not dissimilar to the players in the Kabuki theatre he'd once seen as a kid while his father was stationed in Japan.

He was a little scared. But not as much as he thought he'd be. In fact, he was less afraid of his own demise than at the prospect of further pain.

He felt himself disengage from the discussion going on amongst his surgical staff as if they weren't talking about him and his surgery at all. Their voices began to fade into the background, becoming less clear and comprehensible. All of his senses in fact grew dull and slower. Maybe it was the drugs dripping into his bloodstream through the needle in his arm.

But House decided that drugs had nothing to do with this new sensation. For this was how it always was right before impact. This was how the dying were able to face death, their struggles over. This was how a bull elk felt when it was brought down by a pack of hungry wolves. Like the elk, House felt an overwhelming sense of disconnect that quieted his thoughts as surely as his physical reactions all in preparation for his final end.

The anesthesiologist approached him with a plastic mask held tightly in one hand. She brought it close to his face.

"Now breathe deeply Dr. House and count backwards from ten."

"Wait!"

The mask had not yet covered his nose and mouth. He could hear the sound of the gas, almost like the sound of the sea as the doctor raised the facemask up and away from him.

She was looking toward the door. In fact, everyone's attention was on the door. Or more exactly on the person who had lately entered through that door and shouted across the room.

House slowly turned his head in the direction the others were facing. He knew who it was before he even heard her, saw her. He had more than half expected her not to show.

But there she was, walking toward him. She was wearing a mask and surgical garb but he still knew her, knew the way she moved, recognized her eyes, everything about her.

He always had.

"Ah," House said as she walked over to stand next to him. "Why Dr. Cuddy. Or should I say, et tu boo-tay? I was just laying here wondering if you were going to make an eleventh hour hail Mary pass. Did you pay 30 pieces of silver for a last minute court injunction? Or were you just waiting until I was fully under sedation? Yes, that's your usual modus operandi for betrayal isn't it?" There was no concealing the bitterness in his voice as he said this last.

Cuddy said nothing. She silently reached out and took hold of House's hand.

"What?" he said. "No clever come back? I still haven't changed my mind you know." He paused to look around at the surgical team. "If ANYONE takes a saw to ANY of my limbs, against my EXPRESS permission, I will get the best damn lawyer to sue not only this hospital but all of you personally too. You'll all be out of work so fast your heads will spin like Linda Blair in the Exorcist."

"And you," he said, turning to look again at Cuddy, "You'll never be able to work here or anywhere else again for the rest of your pathetic career. You'll be lucky if they even let you administrate an Afghani brothel which in my opinion has always been your true calling from the very beginning."

She was crying again. Her face mask pressed close against her face as she breathed in, puffing out on her exhalation. The mask moved in and out more rapidly as her breathing quickened in juxtaposition with her fast-moving tears.

House was quiet for a few moments watching her in fascination as she cried.

"Cuddy? What?" House repeated. "Kind of busy here. Need you to tell me what you came here for so we can get this show on the road."

Cuddy blinked slowly, unable to stop the tears from falling.

House continued to look at her. Subtly, gradually, an overwhelming compassion for the woman he loved, who he still loved even after all this time, after all that had happened, shone in his eyes.

"What do you want Cuddy?" he said, his voice low and quiet. "Tell me."

"Just . . . just to be here . . . with you." She choked, a huge sob interrupting her speech, racking her breath. She held his hand more tightly in both of her own so that even through the sterile gloves, House could feel the heat of her skin, almost feel the softness of her touch.

"I didn't want you . . . I don't want you to be alone," she said. "Not now. Not ever. So I'm here House. I'm never leaving you. Not ever again."

House blinked slowly but his gaze never waivered.

"But . . . but I'm leaving you," he said.

She nodded. "I know. I know," she said gasping. "And I can't stop you. But I can stay with you. I'll stay with you until you . . . until you go."

"You came here . . . you're not going to try and change my mind? You're not going to force me to have the amputation? You're not going to make me stay? You came here only to . . ."

"Only to stay with you. For as long as you want. For as long as you need. For as long as . . . for as long as it takes."

House never took his eyes off her, his eyes so large and luminous, sapphire and beautiful, filled with love and finally, understanding.

"For as long as I want? Even if what I want is an end to all this . . ." House took his hand and placed it above his leg. "And this . . ." He raised his hand again and laid it on his breast over his heart. ". . . all this pain?" he said, his voice breaking.

Cuddy nodded again. "What you want House. For you my love. Whatever you want. Not for me, for you. Only for you."

The hot tears pushing themselves forward made House close his eyes. How had this happened? How had they gotten here?

And how, knowing how it felt to carry a heart forever shattered within his chest could he break her heart? How could he intentionally hurt the woman whom he would go through the fires of hell for, do anything in fact to keep her from harm?

Now that he held her heart in his grasp, how could he do the same thing to her as she'd done to him? Now that he saw what his death would do to her, how could he crush her in such a way? Even if his own death meant a release from all his pain and suffering?

House opened his eyes again and saw her quietly weeping, still resolutely clutching his hand.

It was very quiet in the operating room. The anesthesiologist finally spoke up. "Are you ready Dr. House?"

House closed his eyes as if in submission.

Just as he felt the mask come close to his face he said, "No."

The mask was taken away a second time.

"What?" asked the doctor.

"I can't" House said. He opened his eyes to look once more at Cuddy. She had raised her eyes to his, her tears momentarily forgotten in her surprise.

"I won't," House said. "I can't. Not this. Not to you." Closing his eyes again he said more loudly, "I give my consent."

"What?" several voices raised in response to House's statement including Cuddy's.

"I consent to . . . I give my authorization for amputation." House swallowed hard, opening his eyes to search for the head surgeon. When he found him, he said, "If you can't save my leg, save my miserable life. Do you understand?"

The surgeon, apparently dumbfounded, merely nodded his head. Finally he said, "Dr. House, are you sure?"

"I'm not sure," House said, "Do what you can . . . for my leg. But don't . . . don't let me die. If you can help it that is."

The surgeon nodded again and then said. "Are you ready?"

House felt Cuddy squeeze his hand very tightly as he relaxed his head back onto the gurney. Unable to speak, he merely nodded his head.

The surgical staff moved closer again.

"Oh and Cuddy?" House said quietly. "Don't grip my hand so tight. If you cut off the circulation, they might have to amputate that too."

A few of the staff members chuckled. Cuddy relaxed her grip and succeeded in giving him a very watery smile.

"Okay Dr. House," the anesthesiologist said. "Let's try this one more time shall we? Once I put this over your nose and mouth, I want you to breathe deeply and start counting backwards from ten. Okay?"

House took a deep breath and nodded. But when he felt the mask begin to clamp down, a cold fear gripped him and he tried to jerk his head away.

"Easy, easy," the doctor said motioning for a nurse to come help her hold House's head still. Speaking to the nurse, the doctor said, "He's more nervous now than he was before when . . ." and then she let the rest of her thought sift away like sand blown away by a strong wind.

Cuddy took one hand and gently touched his face. "Look at me House. I'm here. Just keep looking at me."

At her touch, House quieted almost immediately as the mask was held to his face.

"Remember to count backwards from ten Dr. House."

House's large blue eyes looked up at Cuddy. She felt herself tear up again at the raw fear she saw there and at something else. For it was there in his eyes she saw a love so strong, so all encompassing for her and her alone; a love so powerful that House would rather face the prospect of even more pain and mutilation rather than risk causing her even a tenth of the hurt he felt, that she had caused him.

House shuddered violently. Cuddy kept her hands on him, instinctively trying to calm the tremble she felt beneath her left hand still holding his fingers and through her right that was now gently stroking his forehead.

"Ten," House said gasping. He hadn't even realized he was holding his breath, unintentionally fighting the anesthesia.

"I'm here House. I won't leave you," Cuddy said almost in a whisper.

"Nine," he said. For a moment, he looked past Cuddy to the observation balcony. Wilson moved forward into the light. A sad smile crossed his handsome features as he put his right hand up to the glass. House blinked his eyes in recognition and then he looked back at Cuddy and the rest of the room, the rest of the world all fell away from him leaving nothing but her, only her.

"Breathe deeply Dr. House. Yes, that's right. Better," said the doctor still holding the mask tightly to House's nose and mouth.

"Eight . . . Cuddy?"

"Yes House. Yes my love."

"I'm . . . afraid," he said slowly. The nurse holding his head stepped away as the anesthesia began to take effect. His head had stopped jerking and was now only twitching in fear.

"Keep counting down please Dr. House."

"Please," House said. He was slipping beneath the ether now, falling down, sliding under.

"Count."

"Sev . . . en . . . Please . . . ," he said again.

"Please what?" Cuddy asked. "I'm here House."

"Please . . . don't . . ."

House didn't realize he was still speaking much less who he was speaking to. It could have been Cuddy. It could have been his father. It could have been his pain. It could have been life in general.

"Don't . . . hurt me . . . anymore." And with a last groan, House let the darkness take him.

A/N: This may very well be the end of this story. Have not decided as yet.