Disclaimer: [H]ouse is not mine and never will be.

Story is verrrrrrry open-ended. Feel free to interpret it as you wish.

Um, just in case...you might want to grab a few tissues before you start.

Enjoy.

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No one saw it coming. Unfortunate events, coupled with tongue-sharpened words, concluded with calamitous results.

A prescription pad with two words written in House's hand served as his abdication announcement.

Nobles and knights dispersed over the land, and Camelot fell into ruin.

He removes his reading glasses and rubs his eyes. The file gives new meaning to the word, boring.

A whisper of fabric in the doorway catches his attention. He raises his eyebrows at the sight. After years of darkness Lancelot has tracked him down. Stripped of armor, paler and leaner, with an almost imperceptible pall of humble weariness, Wilson waits for a sign of welcome before entering the office.

A tilt of his head, and the formerly loyal knight sinks into a chair. House detects the earthy scent of equid untainted by stripes wafting across his desk. He fleetingly wonders if Wilson is here to talk treatments, but shoves the thought aside, chalking it up to his old age.

Wilson clears his throat, "I wasn't in the neighborhood—"

"—but you made it your business to drop by."

Wilson's demeanor remains a somber mask except for the single twitch at the the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, something like that."

Their conversation remains on cruise control. House leans back in his chair as he lets down his guard. It's a mistake.

Old hurt shines from the dark eyes. "House, what happened back then, it's not what you think."

House answers with a curt nod. "I know." He knew back then too.

"I was always—" Wilson licks his lips. "Always…"

House dips his head and returns to the folder. With a conscious effort to steady his hand, he slips the paperwork into the envelope and seals the flap.

Yours.

Wilson is gone when he looks up.

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Thank you for readng. Comments are always welcome.