Okay, here I am with the last update, sorry for the delay. It wasn't originally planned, but as I wrote the story I realized the ending I had in mind wasn't happy enough... hence, this. If it disappoints you, feel free to ignore it and pretend I never wrote it!

I don't think I'm going to write an epilogue, although I'm tempted, but unfortunately I haven't had much free time since I moved! So I think this is it.

Thanks to all of you who read this crazy thing! Enjoy :)

"I love you" he repeated, once again, his eyes closed in passion "I love you Cuddy"

Then, he opened his eyes, but in front of him there wasn't Cuddy.

There was an empty pillow, and an annoying light, that made him want to turn away.

He wasn't with Cuddy. He wasn't in a wheelchair. He wasn't in San Francisco. He was lying in a bed, and he had an urgent need to pee.

October 20th, 2013, Princeton, USA

It took him a couple of seconds before the reality of things hit him hard.

He took his phone and looked at the time on it. It was past 12 pm. He'd been sleeping for more than twelve hours.

He'd been sleeping.

His journeys around the world, Rachel, Cuddy, it had all been a dream. It had felt damn real though.

He could still feel in his stomach the warmth of Cuddy's kisses, of her closeness. It was a beautiful feeling.

But it wasn't real. It was just the result of tiredness and morphine. He actually should have understood it sooner. First, there was no such thing as fate in the real world, so no way he could have met Cuddy all those times just like that. And that was also why adult Rachel looked like her mother so much. It wasn't love. It was his mind messing around. Then all those times in which he felt unable to walk or move, those were signs of unconsciousness too.

All those time in which it felt like a dream… it was because it was a dream.

As he went to the bathroom to pee, finally, he thought about it again. Had his mind tried to tell him something? Was really that the kind of life he was going to live?

And Cuddy… she was unexpected. He thought he'd moved on. He thought he'd forgotten her, after more than two years since their break-up. And instead there he was, dreaming of being with her again, dreaming of telling her he loved her, dreaming of making love to her.

Maybe he did love her, still.

He didn't know. He couldn't understand. What he did know was that in that precise moment, he would have loved to call her, to talk to her, for real. Maybe he would do so, later.

What he did right there and then, instead, after a nice shower, was to call Stacy.

She'd left him her business card the evening before, she wanted to help him get his life back.

After the dream he'd made that night, he decided to give this a shot, call her and just hear what she had in mind. The feeling of loneliness he felt that night was enough for the rest of his life.

"Greg! Nice to hear from you" she said on the phone.

"Yeah… listen, about that thing you told me yesterday, I thought about it… and I'm free tomorrow for lunch to talk"

He could almost hear her grin.

"Why not tonight for dinner?" she asked.

"I have plans with Wilson later" he replied.

He hadn't, of course, not real plans. He just wanted to spend a little more time with him.

He drove to the cemetery later on, while he started reconsidering his own actions, as the feelings and emotions that came from his dreams started to fade away slowly. Maybe calling Stacy was a bad idea. He didn't want to go back to prison. Maybe he could have a fun life, being dead and all.

He also realized there was no point in contacting Cuddy. This was the real world, a world where she hated him, where she hadn't come to his funeral.

A world where their relationship had miserably failed, and their friendship too.

As he approached Wilson's grave, however, he noticed there was someone standing in front of it.

It wasn't just someone. Cuddy.

House pinched his arm trying to wake up, but this time it didn't look like a dream. He knew he was awake, and he couldn't explain why, even here, he would bump into Cuddy just like that.

Maybe it was fate. Maybe it existed, after all.

He had to make a choice now. Talk to her, or walk away, hide somewhere until she was gone. The latter was the option he preferred, otherwise he would have needed to tell her the story, and pray she wouldn't call the police.

In his dream, so many times she walked away from him, without acknowledging his presence. Now, it was his time to walk away from her without her noticing.

But, just as he was going to slowly walk away, she turned around and saw him.

At this point, he would have expected her reaction to be like the one she had in his dream, in China (had he really dreamed of seeing her in China? God how much morphine did he actually take?). Instead, after a second of surprise, a half smile appeared on her lips. It didn't look like she was seeing a ghost at all.

"Hey" she said.

"Hi there" he greeted back. He didn't really know how to feel about this.

Apparently, she didn't know it either.

"I'm not dead" he said after a few seconds of embarrassing silence.

"I can see"

"Did Wilson tell you too?"

"Yeah… he did"

He rolled his eyes. Had Wilson told everyone they knew?

"I'm sorry for your loss" she said.

He nodded. He started feeling the same way he felt with Stacy the day before. He wanted her to leave. He wanted to be alone with his grief.

Or maybe having her so close and so far away at the same time was more painful than not having her at all.

"How are you?" she asked, much to House's surprise. He could understand that Wilson had contacted everybody who could possibly help him, but he couldn't see why she, of all people, would care.

"Right, because we are friends again now… I mean, it's not like you didn't even come to my funeral" he replied, somewhat upset.

She looked down. "I'm sorry about that… I just couldn't"

He felt something soften inside him. "Why?"

"Because… for months I wished you to suffer, to be in pain, to pay for what you did… and then you died… I just couldn't"

"So you don't hate me anymore, just because I was dead?"

"Death changes things" was her simple answer.

He could hardly hide the disappointment he felt inside. He thought she'd changed his mind about him. Instead, it was just good old hypocrisy, the hating-the-living-loving-the-dead thing.

"Right" he said.

She took a few steps towards him. "But it's not just that"

With those words, she took a white envelope out of her coat pocket and handed it to him.

"He told me what you did… for him" she explained softly, while he took out a letter out of the envelope and glanced through it. It was Wilson's handwriting.

He started reading, word after word, and suddenly he found himself drowning in memories. It was the story of their road trip, of the places they visited, the weird people they met, the fun anecdotes they shared. It was never written explicitly, but those were the words of a person that enjoyed every minute of his time.

House had to fight to not start crying right there and then. He missed his friend so much.

He almost didn't notice that nowhere in the letter Cuddy was directly asked to rescue House. Never. It just said to take care of herself and Rachel.

After one last effort to blink back tears, he looked up at her.

"He didn't ask you to take care of me" he stated.

"He didn't"

"So this is just you"

"It's just me" she repeated.

He wanted to ask why, but he didn't. It didn't really matter after all.

He limped past her towards the grave, and sat next to it. She sat with him.

"You didn't answer my question… how are you?" she asked again.

"I'm okay" he answered.

"What are your plans now?"

"I heard Brazil has hot bitches and cool beaches" he replied, considering the idea for real. It could work out much better than in his dream.

There was a moment of silence.

"New York is a nice place too" she said.

He turned his head to look at her, and met her eyes.

"You live in New York now, don't you?" he asked. During the last couple of years, for various reasons, he never tried to contact her. He just read the address on the envelope Wilson sent her.

She nodded. "I do, yeah"

He tried to process that information. Why would she possibly ever want him to live in her same city again, when she had moved there specifically to avoid him?

He thought he could read something in her eyes, not quite forgiveness though, but she wanted to allow him back to her life. She wanted him close to her again, maybe not physically, but he believed whatever she wanted could be enough.

"Why?" was all he could ask.

"Because I care about you. I wish I didn't, but I can't help it"

He'd already heard those words somewhere.

"What's your husband going to say?" he asked.

"My what?"

"Your husband, or boyfriend, or whatever. The guy sitting next to you yesterday"

She almost laughed. "Mike? He's just a friend! A very supportive one, but just a friend"

"I could see his arm around your shoulders, you know"

"If you looked better, you could have also seen his male partner sitting on the other side"

He couldn't help being happy at the news. So, she was still single.

He didn't know if he actually had a chance with her or not, he wasn't even sure he wanted one, because of how things ended the last time.

But they were both alive. They were young. They were healthy.

He could still have the life he unconsciously wanted.

He felt something new inside him, something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

They remained there, sitting in silence with Wilson, a little longer.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, some time later.

"A little" he replied. And he was. For the first time in days, his body craved food.

They left the cemetery together, walking side by side, their hands randomly brushing against each other.