I don't own House, Wilson, Cuddy, or Rachel, or the rest of the gang, and this fiction is not intended to violate the owners' copyrights. How did Cuddy come back into House's life, post Season 8? This is a sequel to my story "To Err, to Forgive" and a prequel to "Writer's Block" and "Visiting Day." It is episodic and will be posted two chapters at a time. I won't post until it is all written, because I have left at least one story hanging in Airwolf fan fiction and my muse has deserted me (mea culpa, mea culpa). David Schiff is an original character.

At Last

I. Cuddy in Full Armor

The intercom from the loft's lobby buzzed, right on time. Wilson pressed the button. "James, it's me, Lisa."

"Come on up, Lisa," Wilson told her, as he pressed the button to open the door.

House sat at the organ and played some Bach, because it seemed appropriate to the organ. A non-alcoholic beer rested on top of the organ on a coaster and his cane leaned against the wall. He stopped and rose, waiting for Cuddy to sweep through the door. He had hoped she would bring Rachel with her this time, but she had begged off, explaining that she had to attend a meeting. He was breathing a little harder than usual, in anticipation of her visit.

She was in full armor, four-inch heels, gray wool business suit, ivory silk blouse, pearls. Her earrings, also pearls, were conservative as well. Wilson stepped forward to greet her, kissed her on the cheek, and took her hands. "Ah, that's the Doctor Cuddy I remember," he said.

"And you're looking so much better. I was so relieved to hear that your surgery went well."

"It did. So far no sign of metastises. I'm back to work for a few hours a day."

"Oh, thank God," she murmured fervently. She walked over to House and stood on tiptoes as he leaned down so she could kiss his cheek. "And thank you."

Wilson gestured to the chairs and sofa. "Sit. Kick off your shoes. We're both still staying away from the good stuff, but I can get you a glass of wine or beer, if you'd like."

"I'll have whatever you're having." Cuddy settled herself in an armchair with her shoes off, feet curled under her like a schoolgirl, despite the pencil skirt.

Wilson carried the ginger ale, and of course, another coaster, to Cuddy, before settling on the far end of the sofa.

House carried his non-alcoholic beer and coaster to the sofa and set it on the end table before sitting down. Wilson had domesticated him. Well, it was worth it just to have Wilson around and fussing.

Cuddy began, "I have news."

"We can tell it was quite a meeting," Wilson observed.

"Great power suit," House interjected, earning a dirty look from Cuddy that somehow was also a little coy.

"So what's your news?" Wilson got them back on track.

"You are looking at the new Director of Princeton General Hospital."

"You mean you're coming back to Princeton?"

"In about a month. I have to give notice at NIH, put my place in Maryland on the market, and find a place to rent here."

"Lisa, congratulations!" Wilson exclaimed. "That is absolutely wonderful. I have missed you." He stood up and took her hands.

"Thank you. I guess I've felt that Princeton was home for a long time. It's good to be coming home."

"Will you move back into your house?" Wilson asked. House winced.

"My renters have a lease," she explained smoothly. "They just signed on for another year."

"You could stay at my apartment," House offered, "until you get a permanent place. I could leave the furniture and piano and move the portable stuff out of there. I don't think having you and Rachel there would violate conditions of my bail."

"My sister might have me committed."

House winced again. "Your sister might put out a contract on me. If you find my cooling corpse by my motorcycle, ask Julia."

"Don't say that!" Cuddy barked at him. "Besides, it's winter. Why are you riding around on that death trap?"

"Cuddy," House said gently, "I'm not allowed to buy a car right now."

"Oh."

"Between Foreman and Chase and me, we see that he's not out on that thing in bad weather," Wilson interjected. "Thirteen, too. And Cameron is back. She drives him around sometimes when she isn't running home to her husband and baby."

"Thank you," Cuddy said fervently. "You can't pretend no one likes you anymore," she told House. He grimaced and she looked at that wonderful, mobile, scruffy face and laughed. "Sorry, you ruined your street cred with what you did for Wilson."

"I'm working on getting it back," he muttered.

HWC ~ HWC ~ HWC ~ HWC ~ HWC ~ HWC ~ HWC

II. Rachel Returns

The intercom from the loft's lobby buzzed, right on time. Wilson pressed the button. "James, it's me, Lisa."

"Come on up, Lisa," Wilson told her, as he pressed the button to open the door.

Rachel skipped into the room in front of Cuddy. "Uncle James!" she called. Wilson bent down and she threw her arms around his neck. He picked her up and whirled her around.

When Wilson set her back on the floor, Rachel stopped and stared at House. "Do you remember Doctor House, Rachel?" Cuddy asked.

The little girl stared at his cane for a moment. Then her eyes widened. "Captain!" she shouted.

She remembered him. House found himself tearing up. He bent down and said, "It's my matey. Are you keeping the pirate code?"

"Aye, aye, Captain, you bloody scalawag," she told him. She looked at his cane and scrunched up her eyes. "You got hurt. My Mama and me, we, we…" She couldn't think of the word for what must have been a traumatic event in her young life. House remembered all the blood in his bathtub. Rachel stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his good leg. "House," she said, as if she hadn't said his name in a great while. Well, she probably hadn't. "Mama and me, we wrote you a get-well letter."

House bent down and rested his forehead on her hair. "I still have your letter, Rachel. It made me feel better."

Wilson cleared his throat, obviously moved that Rachel remembered House. "If we're going to get House's stuff out of the way and get you moved in for now, we'd better get going."

House straightened. "Yeah. I'm on a short leash, time-wise. Our helpers should be at my place in a few minutes."

House talked Chase and Thirteen into helping him move some of his personal things to Wilson's loft to make room for Cuddy. They left the furniture but moved House's clothes and any portable musical instruments. They packed up the books and moved them to a storage unit.

"You sent me some piano music for Rachel, remember,'" she told House. "Do you mind if we use it?"

"No. I know you'll take good care of the piano. Maybe I can show her a few things. A bad teacher can wreck learning an instrument."

"She'd love it."

In the afternoon, House helped Rachel and Cuddy to unpack, mostly by distracting Rachel. They sat on the floor of the office that had been converted into her bedroom, listening to the flurry of activity in the apartment beyond the door. They played with her Gameboy and with her pirate doll. They practiced their pirate lingo. Rachel showed him her dolls and her toy horses and toy cats and toy dogs and legos and her pirate hat and pirate sword. Five-year-olds are exhausting, even to themselves. Eventually, he slid into a corner and pulled Rachel into his lap when she began to get sleepy. They dozed together and he woke up slowly to find Cuddy taking pictures of them with her cell phone. "Don't show that to my team," he begged her.

"Too late. They've seen you. Like I keep telling you, your cover is blown."

He snorted. Rachel woke up and jumped up, unintentionally pushing off his belly. He gave a very loud, "Oof!" She giggled.

"Mama, we played pirates, House and me," she said proudly, waving her plastic cutlass.

"This is all your fault," Cuddy told him with mock sorrow. "My daughter wants to be a pirate princess. Whatever that is."

House grinned. "I was gone for two years. Someone must have been reinforcing it." He groaned. "Give me a hand up."

Wilson peered over Cuddy's shoulder. "Slacking off, again?"

"I was keeping the munchkin busy."

"Yes, I see that," Wilson drawled. He pushed past Cuddy and reached a hand out to House. "Come on. I ordered pizza. Then you have a curfew. We have to get back to the loft."