Hi everyone! As I'm sure some of you did, I really missed seeing Cuddy in the series finale. This story will act as a follow up to the series finale and go from there, exploring House and Cuddy as they try to mend their broken relationship. I've been working on this for about a month, and have about seven chapters completed. I envision that the story will be about 10 chapters total, so most of the work is done. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters-but they own my soul.

House glanced down at the watch on his wrist; it was 7:03. He'd been sitting in this bar for over three hours. He took another sip of his drink, the alcohol burning down his throat as he swallowed. He set his empty glass on the bar, motioning for the bartender to refill it.

The man behind the bar gave him a wary look. House simply glared back at him, daring him to deny him the liquid. He wasn't drunk, but he was numb. The alcohol simply added to the numbness. He'd lost everything in the span of a year, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

Wilson had died earlier in the week. Cuddy had disappeared form his life over a year ago. Technically, Gregory House didn't even exist.

He was nobody, and he had no one.

Eventually, the bartender made his way over to where House was seated and refilled the glass in front of him. House nodded in appreciation, unwilling to speak a word to him.

Wilson's funeral had been earlier that day. He hadn't gone of course, but he had watched from a bar across the street. He saw the masses of people walk in; previous patients, past girlfriends, co-workers, family and friends lined the church pews.

The irony of it all was almost laughable. The doctor who could nurse cancer stricken patients back to health couldn't save himself.

In the end, House has ended up "killing himself" so he could really live for the next five months; so he could be there for the one person who had always been there for him.

They had rode their motorcycles from state to state, stopping in crappy diners and rest stops along the way, staying in lavish hotels and wasting money on booze and food. No medicine, no cases; just the two of them, enjoying what little time they had left.

When the cancer had gotten bad, House had pulled a drip of morphine from his jacket pocket. He had stolen it from the hospital before they left, hoping Wilson would choose to forego the pain and suffering that lying in a hospital until the very end would bring.

House had sat with him when he had done it, when he had finally let the pain disappear from his life. He held his hand as he went, a single tear running down the side of his face. He had officially lost everything.

House took another sip of his drink. He looked back down at his watch; a mere four minutes had gone by.

He glanced around the room, taking in the crowd. There were several under-aged students milling around and making bets on who could consume the most amount of beer in forty-five seconds. A group of women in their mid thirties were seated towards the back and appeared to be complaining about their jobs, husbands, and seemingly uneventful lives.

He would give anything to have that sort of normalcy in his life.

House almost fell out of chair when he saw her. She was standing outside of the bar with one hand on the door, her feet planted firmly on the ground as if she couldn't decide if she wanted to go in.

He looked down at his glass, noticing that he hadn't finished it yet. Surprisingly, he hadn't taken an unusual amount of Vicodin today. He looked over again, confirming that she was in fact there.

This wasn't a hallucination.

He saw her take a deep breath as she walked through the door, their eyes meeting for the first time in over two years. She looked down as she walked, afraid to look at him.

House was at a loss. This was clearly no coincidence, but he wasn't sure he was ready to face her after the day he'd had. He'd been living under the assumption that they would never have any type of relationship again, and that in all likelihood, their paths would never cross again.

He wanted to get up from his seat and avoid her altogether, but his feet refused to budge. He couldn't escape her if he wanted to. Eventually, she would catch up.

"You're supposed to be dead," said Cuddy, throwing her purse on the bar next to him.

" And we were never supposed to see each other again. Looks like we're even."

House looked over to where she stood, taking in her presence. Her arms were folded across her chest and she had this look of utter disappointment on her face. But she looked good. She always looked good.

"Wilson called me about a week before..it happened," Cuddy began, as she pressed her fingers to her forehead and rubbed her temple, her eyes closing as she spoke. "He told me what you did. You're an ass."

House simply stared down at his drink, taking it into his hand and swirling it around.

"People are incapable of change. Something you figured out quite well if I recall," snapped House.

He glanced up at her and tried to ignore the brief wave of sadness and pity that seemed to come over her.

Cuddy didn't respond. Instead she sat down in the seat next to him, raising her hand to get the bartender's attention.

"Grey Goose and Tonic," said Cuddy as he walked over to her. "And uh..keep 'em coming," she whispered.

The bartender poured her drink and set it down in front of her. She gave him a small smile in appreciation.

They sat there silently for a few moments, both afraid of what they might say if they dared to open their mouths. Cuddy played with the straw that had come in her drink, casually stirring the ice around.

She picked up the lime that lay sliced on the rim, gently squeezing the juice into the mixture.

He watched her intently as she played with her drink. He could tell she had no idea what to say. He had thought of this moment every day for the past year. He'd imagined that they would fight mercilessly at first, slinging insults from left to right, placing blame on one another for everything that had happened. They would meet again as enemies, but hopefully part ways as friends. Of course, that was simply something he imagined.

But now, none of it seemed right. He didn't want to yell at her, or blame her for his problems, or even talk to her really. Knowing that she was sitting next to him was enough.

He glanced down at his watch. It was 7:21. Wilson had been gone for three days, six hours, and 17 minutes. Cuddy had been sitting next to him for fourteen minutes. So far she'd insulted him once and finished her drink; he thought they were making progress.

He watched as the bartender refilled her drink, the man's eyes conveniently landing on her chest. They lingered there for a moment until Cuddy raised her eyebrows suspiciously at him. House smirked as he took a sip of his drink.

"Why did you do it?" asked Cuddy as she turned her head towards him.

"Which "what' are we talking about here?" asked House

Cuddy glared at him, clearly not wanting to put up with his games. "Don't be an idiot, you what I'm talking about it. Why not just stay at the hospital working with Wilson until it was time for you to serve out your sentence?"

"But then we wouldn't have gotten to ride our motorcycles off into the sunset together. What's the point of having a motorcycle if you can't do that?"

"What's the point of having a life if you don't appreciate it?" Cuddy spat back, clearly angry at the decision he made.

"Why do you care what I do?" asked House. "It doesn't really affect you in any way. Why are you even here? You're clearly still angry with me, and it doesn't look like you want to be here. So please, enlighten me as to what you're trying to do or just go home."

"You think I don't have a reason to be angry at you?" asked Cuddy in disbelief. "What, did you expect me to walk in here and instantly forgive you?"

"Didn't say that. I'm still trying to figure out why you're here in the first place." said House

"I told you, Wilson called me." said Cuddy. She glanced down and ran a hand through her hair, something she always did when she wasn't sure what to say.

"That's not really an explanation. Actually, it's not an explanation at all, more like a restatement of an event that previously occurred."

Cuddy sat silent for a few moments, trying to choose her words carefully.

"I just didn't want you to feel alone." Cuddy looked over at him, a small frown on her face. She looked as if she was willing herself not to cry.

House didn't say anything back. He didn't want to admit that he's felt alone for a long time, even before Wilson died. Wilson was his best friend, his confidant, his most trusted ally.

But he wasn't her.

"I'm glad you came Cuddy," said House softly so only she could hear.

Cuddy reached across the bar and placed her hand on top of his. She squeezed it lightly.

About an hour later Cuddy was three drinks in. Their conversations had started to get lighter, and it almost felt like they were back to the way they were before they started dating.

From the outside looking in, it would have looked like two friends catching up.

"No!" exclaimed Cuddy, throwing her head back in laughter. "What about the time you got shot, or the time we thought you were going to die from Small Pox?"

"Go big or go home, that's what I always say." House smiled over at her. "What are you doing now, anyway? Finally found your true calling and decided to be an exotic dancer?" House asked with a smirk on his face.

Cuddy glared at him, tilting her head to the side with pointed eyes. " I don't want to talk about work. "

"I'm going to take your refusal to answer as a sign that I'm right."

"I'm still a doctor, House." Cuddy began fidgeting with the bracelet on her left hand, looking for a distraction from the conversation.

House looked over towards her, his eyes resting on her delicate hands that lay haphazardly on the bar.

"Are you nervous about something?" he asked, his gaze never leaving her.

"No," said Cuddy, a confused look forming on her face. " What gave you that impression?"

"You always play with your jewelry when you're nervous," House stated simply. "You did it before every meeting you went to, every time you left me alone with Rachel or when you were talking on the phone with your mother. It's one of your tells."

Cuddy removed her fingers from the bracelet, looking down in embarrassment. "I was never afraid of leaving with Rachel with you." Cuddy looked up at him as she took another sip of her drink.

"No," began House. "But leaving her with alone with anyone always made you a little nervous. "

"She's my daughter, what can I say?" Cuddy lifted her right hand in the air, taking a sup of her drink with the left.

"How is the little rugrat anyway? Bringing any boys home yet? Knowing her mom she'll probably start early," said House, a sarcastic tone in his voice.

Cuddy was taken aback by his question. The insult she was used to, the insult she could handle, but she hadn't expected him to inquire about Rachel.

She wasn't sure she was ready to talk about Rachel. Talking about Rachel would lead to talking about the one thing she had been trying to avoid talking about all night.

The thing she referred to as "The Incident". She knew that they would eventually have to talk about it; she wanted to talk about it. Just not right now, not when they were both overstricken with guilt and sadness, neither knowing what they might say.

"She's fine, trying to adjust to her new school and make new friends. It's been kind of hard these past few months,"said Cuddy softly.

House looked down at the floor. He hadn't met to bring up Rachel so soon.

"She's a smart kid, she'll be fine." House paused, watching the look on Cuddy's face change from sadness to what he seemed to be a look of pride. Rachel meant the world to her, and you could tell.

She appreciated the sentiment and wondered just how far she wanted to take this conversation. It was as if the minute they saw each other they entered into this unspoken agreement; they wouldn't talk about anything in their past of it was going to hurt the other.

They were both in too much pain already; there was no reason to dredge up the past.

"You know, " began Cuddy, fiddling with the lime once more, trying to squeeze every last bit of juice into the glass. "She asks about you sometimes. Especially when that idiotic pirate cartoon comes on television."

House closed his eyes. He had hoped that the kid would just forget about him entirely. He already felt guilty for driving them out of their home; he didn't want to be responsible for Rachel losing a friend at the same time.

" What did you tell her?" he asked, curious if she had been told the whole story.

"I told her that you had to stay here in Princeton while we moved. She didn't understand why you couldn't come with us and was constantly badgering me with questions about what you were doing, and why we no longer talked on the phone, or you never visited." Cuddy paused, a lump in her throat forming. She hadn't meant to tell him all of this.

She had told herself that she wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of watching her miss him, even though he was only inches away.

Cuddy began to speak again. " I told her that sometimes adults have to be away from the people they love, even if it's just for a little while."

He didn't respond for a few moments. He turned his head towards her, their eyes meeting for what seemed like hours.

He glanced down at his watch; it had only been a minute and a half.

"That was very Mommyish of you."

Cuddy smiled at him, glad he was able to make light of the situation. She wasn't sure she could deal with much more darkness.

"What about you?" asked Cuddy, "How's your Russian-rent-a-wife?"

He let out a small laugh. He had missed her condescending sense of humor.

"She's gone. She got a little scared when our fake marriage turned into a hostage situation."

Cuddy tilted her head to the lift, giving him a look that he was all too familiar with.

He took another sip of his drink. "I wasn't exactly honest about when her green card came through. She found out and left, I have no idea where she is."

"Why did you hide it from her? You clearly cared about her well being," said Cuddy

She regretted it the moment she said it. She hadn't meant to throw the word "care" into his face.

House swallowed before he spoke. "I didn't want to face losing anyone else I guess."

They were both silent for a few moments. Cuddy was becoming restless, and she was afraid of what might happen is she sat at the bar any longer.

"Can we get out of here? If I sit here any longer bad things are going to happen." said Cuddy.

"I don't know about you, but I kind of like the idea of bad things happening."

Cuddy rolled her eyes at him as she grabbed her purse from off the bar and took one last sip of her drink. She dug through her purse and left some money on the table.

She stood there for a few moments and tried to regain the balance that the alcohol had altered. She finally composed herself and reached out her hand to help House get up form the chair.

He handed her his cane instead, gripping the edge of the bar to hold himself up instead. He swung his leg over to the other side of his chair, his feet landing on the ground.

He held out his hand and motioned for the cane, a look of frustration upon his face. Cuddy obliged, handing him his cane.

They slowly made their way out of the bar, they had been sitting there for so long that they had begun to sober up, although neither were in any state to drive.

Instead they just started walking. They didn't say a word to each other as they walked, choosing instead to stare at the ground as their feet pounded the pavement.

After about ten minutes Cuddy spotted a bench across the way. She looped her arm through House's, nodding in the direction of where the bench sat. She guided him over, afraid that if they kept walking his leg would begin to act up.

House was glad for the pause in their impromptu stroll; his leg was beginning to hurt. He laid the cane one the side of the bench, rubbing his leg as he sat down.

Cuddy shot him a sympathetic look and placed her hand on his shoulder, trying to provide a little bit of comfort to him.

After the silence became too much for her, Cuddy turned her head towards him and began to speak. "Can I ask you a question?"

House nodded at her, silently telling her to continue.

Cuddy took a deep breath before she spoke. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer to this, but she knew she had to ask.

"How come you could be there for Wilson through all of that; the pain, the suffering, the inevitable downfall. But you couldn't muster up the strength to be there for me?"

"Those were two completely different situations."

"No," Cuddy shook her head before he had the chance do go on. "You don't get to do that, you don't get to pick and choose when you're going to be a good person."

"Actually, that's exactly what I get to do. I'm a big believer in that whole free will thing." House turned to look at her, his eyebrows rising as he spoke. He was baiting her, trying to get her angry enough so that she would on longer want to discuss it.

Because the truth was, he had no idea why he couldn't be there for her when she needed him most.

"Stop trying to rationalize your way out of this and just answer the damn question." She was growing frustrated with every passing moment. She had been suppressing these feelings of anger and sadness towards him for too long.

She loved him with all of her heart, she really did. But she hated him; hated what he did to her and the their relationship ended, she hated the way she ran away from it all because she no longer felt safe around him, she hated that she desperately wanted to forgive him even though he didn't deserve it.

She folded her arms across her chest, moving her hand up and down her arm to warm herself up. The night air was crisp on her bare shoulders.

House looked down towards the ground. "I don't know why I treated you the way that I did."

The air was silent between them. There were two birds chirping in the distance, one immediately after the other. It seemed to go on for minutes.

"I have one weakness," she stated, the words beginning to pour out of her mouth. "My whole life has been a series of successes, but there is just one thing I can't get rid of, no matter what I say or do. It always comes back to me."

"You talk to your ass? Even for you, that's a bit vain," joked House

Cuddy let out a small smile. "You're always going to be in my life, House. Even in times when I wish you would just go away."

She looked over at him as she spoke. She laid her hand on top of his like she had done earlier that night.

"He's gone Cuddy," he said, using the same tone he would use as if he were telling her that the sky was blue.

" I know," she responded softly. She still hadn't removed her hand from his.

Their eyes met for a brief period. They could practically feel one another staring into their souls. House usually felt intruded upon in times like this, but with Cuddy, it was different.

It had always been different with her.

"I'm miserable," he said, a sense of finality in his tone.

"Well," began Cuddy, squezzing the hand that lay beneath hers. "They say misery loves company."

He laced his fingers through hers.

A few moments later, the two birds that had been chirping earlier flew past them, their songs now in perfect harmony with the other.

That's it for now! I really hope you guys enjoyed this and are excited for what's to come. I know I am! Leave a review to let me know what you thought! Compliments and critiques are always welcome.

-Alison