Author's Note: well, its the final part. I can't tell you how much fun I have messing with the Wilson / House / Cuddy combination. Thanks to all those who have read / sent reviews. Catherine5 - I do hope your head doesn't explode when you get to the end!

Part 7

The hospital does not burn down when she takes a few days off – and the reflection that she is not indispensable to its continued existence would be an uncomfortable one, if she didn't have enough other things to worry about.

It is snowing in Boston as the great and the good gather for Julia Dean's funeral and Cuddy is only marginally surprised to find herself among them. She sits outside in the cold, unwilling to take her place amongst the assembled congregation – unwilling to accept that she is running out of time to make a decision.

She has been agonising over this for four days – and still she can not decide. She knows that House is right, if she stands up and tells the truth it will not just be Julia's reputation that is damaged. Such an action is just as likely to bring the house of cards down on her – but still there is something compelling about the idea of confession.

She has always thought of herself as a practical woman – this tendency to martyrdom is something she is uncomfortable with – and yet, looking back it seems she has been in flight from this for a very long time. Perhaps now is the moment to stop running.

'Cuddy,' she turns at the sound of his voice and then has to blink in disbelief, hoping her vision will clear, hoping he is a figment of her imagination. But he doesn't disappear and there is something very familiar about the way he uses his cane to poke angrily at the snow.

'What are you doing here?'

'The grieving husband asked Wilson and I to attend,' she looks past him and sees James standing just out of earshot. His expression says he wants to talk to her too but she can't handle that, she can barely handle this conversation with one of them.

'That doesn't mean you had to accept. You're supposed to be in the clinic – Wilson has patients.'

'And yet here we both are – what does that tell you?'

'That you've succumbed to morbid curiosity and the lure of free alcohol.'

'Or else that we are both trying to stop you from doing something monumentally stupid.' She shouldn't be surprised that he told James; she hadn't asked him not to and she is sure the temptation is one he didn't even try to resist.

'I'd be touched by your concern if I weren't sure that this is really still all about you. You're just worried that if this ends up costing me my job whoever replaces me might not turn out to be so tolerant of your idiosyncrasies.' He is not stupid enough to try to dispute her analysis.

'I can be both self-absorbed and right. The only person you are going to destroy is yourself – if you're determined to do that I can't stop you, but there are easier ways to go.' It is on the tip of her tongue to say that this is something he'd know all about, but she looks, really looks at his strained posture, the grimace of discomfort on his face and lets the words remain unspoken, certain that they lie between them anyway.

'I know – but can't this be a chance to lay the past to rest?'

'The truth is, things happen and we live with them – for most of us there's no escape, no selective amnesia, just the hope that we won't screw things up even more tomorrow. Professor Dean did something wrong, she put you in an impossible position – and here you are, the person created from that experience.'

'I'm not sure I know who I am any more,' she says quietly.

'Hell of a way to find out.' She feels the tiredness pull at her, feels the weight of his words and knows that James is watching them, waiting to see what she will decide.

'I have two versions of the eulogy – one is the truth, the other is probably closer to what they are expecting to hear.'

'And there's nothing in between?'

'There's you – and Wilson.' For the briefest moment he meets her eyes, the emotion that flickers across his face is one she doesn't want to recognise, but still she feels its pull – like being caught in an undertow.

'Well,' he says quietly, 'we'll just have to hope that's enough. '

Women of science do not have religious funerals – although there is a distinct sense of worship in the attitude of those collected around her. Cuddy sits through the first 20 minutes of the funeral sill in a fog of indecision, still sure that the only way to free herself is by confession. When the low buzz of sound fades she looks up and finds that everyone is looking at her – waiting.

She sees House and Wilson standing at the back of the room, James is trying very hard to be invisible whereas House's body language screams irritation and impatience. She almost smiles at what an incongruous pair of mourners they are, before realising that in the midst of a funeral smiling would probably be an inappropriate response.

She closes her eyes and takes a breath – there is a heartbeat left to make her decision.

'I expect some of you are wondering why I am standing here to talk about Julia Dean; you probably don't know that once upon a time I was one of Julia's residents. We didn't part on the best of terms – so, when I found out she'd asked that I give her eulogy I was surprised. I've been trying to work out why she asked for me, what it was she was hoping I'd say about her. Part of me thinks that she asked me to do this because she hoped our conflict meant I saw her more clearly than other people, meant that I saw beyond her achievements – that I wasn't dazzled by her. She was wrong about that – I was awed by her intellect, by her approach to problem solving. I don't think there is anyone I have been more desperate to impress. But she wasn't perfect – she forgot the human balance sometimes.'

As she pauses Wilson looks up from his perusal of his shoes, House's eyes haven't left her since she started to speak – as though he could will her to say the right thing by some form of mind control. She takes a shaky breath and refuses to be distracted by their gazes, by the expressions on the faces of people who have no idea what she is struggling with.

'I sometimes think the hardest thing about being a Doctor is those days when you have to weigh the balance between one life and the lives of hundreds or thousands. Such days don't come along very often, but the truth is if we forget the value of one life, even for the chance to save hundreds, then we are on a path to forgetting the value of every life – and we are all the poorer when that happens. Julia Dean saved hundreds if not thousands of lives and her contributions to medicine are well documented. But she wasn't perfect, she made mistakes; sometimes she became too intent on the goal. I used to think she was a great Doctor – but I know the difference now and the truth is, she was damn good at some things and less than wonderful in other areas. She wasn't a super-hero – she was a woman of superb intellect, driven to succeed, driven to make a difference – the world of medicine is poorer for her passing.'

Her hands have been shaking for all of the time she has been speaking – but now, as she steps down from centre stage they stop. She walks out of the building; head held high and does not look back.

The cold hits her after just a few steps, the biting wind robbing her of breath and making her eyes sting. When she blinks the tears fall and she rubs them away before she can think that it is ironic not to shed a tear for Julia, but to be forced to cry by the cold, having just walked out of her funeral.

Walked out into the freezing cold without her bag or coat she reminds herself; a gesture that is certain to be undermined when she is driven back inside to retrieve them. She is saved that indignity when someone drapes her coat over her shoulders and pushes her bag into her hands. As she shivers James rubs his hands up and down on her arms, all the time muttering about hypothermia and the lunacy of walking off without anything more than a thin jacket to keep her warm. 'You're a maniac,' he observes as she leans closer to the warmth emanating from his body. He tightens his grip on her, just a little, and when her head feels heavy she lets it fall to his shoulder.

'Well, that was quite an exit.' The ironic tones can only belong to one person. When she looks up House is watching them with a carefully neutral expression. As she steps back from James and pulls her coat on he adds, 'I'm glad you chose to survive.'

'You mean you're glad you won't have to break in a new Chief of Medicine.'

'That too,' he concedes. 'You OK?' It is an interesting question, one she takes time to reflect upon before responding. She meant everything she had just said about Julia. She ought to be relieved that, with a little nudging from House, she had found a way to tell the truth without actually telling the truth; had been able to respond to the challenge without further compromising herself. But Julia's reputation is going to remain untarnished; no one else will ever really know what happened. Can she live with that?

'I'm not sure. I'm glad its over, I don't regret what I said, but I wish I could have told the truth. I should have done more at the time, should have tried harder to make people believe me. Now, I have to live with the fact that I didn't and the fact that I didn't use this opportunity to put my ghosts to rest.' She glances over at House, expecting some sharp come back, but is surprised when he says softly,

'We all live with ghosts.'

'So, what do we do now?' It is Wilson who asks the question, breaking the silence that threatens to engulf them all.

'Well, I'm guessing after Cuddy's little performance we probably aren't going to be welcome at the after funeral drinks. I say we find a bar and get drunk.' She might be cold and emotionally drained but there is no way she is going to allow him to get away with that.

'How about going back to the hospital and actually treating some patients?'

'My idea's more fun – come on Cuddy – don't tell me you couldn't use a drink?' Agreeing with House is one of the things she tries not to do more than once a day and she is well over her quota for the week already. She glances over at James who looks like he thinks a drink isn't such a bad idea. It could be she owes them for whatever whim dragged them here in her wake. It also could be that under the present circumstances combining the three of them with alcohol is what passes for a dangerous prospect. Still, she is freezing and a decent scotch would be very welcome about now.

'All right – lets find a bar.'

'Excellent choice.'

As they start to walk she glances at the two men beside her and wonders what on earth she is going to do about the volatile chemistry between the three of them. Her natural inclination is to do nothing at all, to let things return to normal and not worry about what has passed between them over the last week. That would be the mature, responsible thing to do and Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine, is the epitome of maturity and responsibility.

It is not a simple situation – she is not entirely sure how she found herself here and has no clear idea where 'here' is. As if that wasn't enough, House has a grudge against the world and Wilson is a man who, she suspects, finds it difficult to tell the difference between love and every other emotion. More telling is the fear if she doesn't leave this alone she may damage their friendship with each other. Since both men value this, perhaps above all else, she is fairly sure she will never forgive herself if this happens.

James is married, House is insane. These are factors that, as far as she is concerned, mean the prospect of getting involved with either of them should be marked with a large red cross and labelled 'no entry.' She pushes her hands deeper into her pocketsand glances to her left to find she is being scrutinised. His expression is speculative and as she meets his eyes she realises that what happens next is not entirely up to her. In this case her instinct for self-preservation, no matter how strong, might not be enough.

The End