A/N-Here's the epilogue. Thank you to all of you who read the story and to those who commented on the last chapter: IHeartHouseCuddy, jkarr, BabalooBlue, OldSFfan, JLCH, linda12344, ikissedtheLaurie, LapizSilkwood, Huddy4Ever, Guest, Suzieqlondon, KiwiClare, bladesmom, MrsBock, lenasti16, BakerstreetBlues, Abby, CaptainK8, HuddyGirl, IWuvHouse, Alex, freeasabird14, housebound, LoveMyHouse, Boo's House, chebelle, grouchysnarky, Jane Q. Doe, Huddylovelover, Maya295 and Mon Fogel.

I really appreciated all of your comments during the course of the story and your patience as well.

-The Rules of Heirloomery-

-One year after House's release from prison-

When they picked up Rachel at the playground, Cuddy couldn't help but notice that several children were staring at House with wide-eyed interest. She wondered as she approached if Rachel had been bragging about House's genius or the lives he had saved or some other interesting little fact about the man. Rachel hurriedly grabbed her things and joined them, ready for a few days away.

The three were all in the car, and Rachel said from the back, "It worked! Aiden is leaving me alone."

"Finally. That counselor I spoke to assured me they'd take care of this," Cuddy exclaimed with relief, "was it the peer group or the counselor that finally got through to that bully?"

"Nah. He didn't care about that stuff."

"What finally got through his head?"

"House."

"What did House do?" Cuddy asked nervously, her eyes finding her child in the rear-view mirror.

"I didn't really do anything," House interrupted, "so Rachel, how did that Math test go?"

"What Math test?" the girl asked.

"History?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't have any tests at summer camp."

"House was trying to change the subject, Rach," Cuddy supplied. "What happened that finally got through to Aiden?"

"I told him to leave me alone because my dad was the leader of a biker gang and was in prison…twice," Rachel announced proudly.

"You threatened him?" Cuddy asked.

"No. I just sort of told him about House and then Aiden left me alone."

Silence fell on the car as Cuddy continued to drive.

Rachel, with the greatest admiration, added, "House…you're the best. Thanks."

"Sure, kid," he answered, avoiding the scowl he expected Cuddy had prepared for him.

When he suggested going back to the cabin, it seemed only fitting. Cuddy sat and watched her family from the porch. There they were, House and Rachel. House occupied a strange role between friend and father to the little girl. There were a few uncertain weeks between them at the beginning, but after several months, the admiration between them became irrepressible.

Cuddy was relieved when Rachel happily volunteered to fish with House. The two of them, the oldest and youngest, starkly contrasted in nearly every physical way, made a fascinating pair. His tall, lean, rough form sat next to the girl's diminutive, energetic, graceful body as their long-neglected fishing lines disappeared into the water. He handed her an ice cream sandwich, which the girl fastidiously opened to make sure that no paper was left behind that she'd have to pull out of her mouth covered in soggy chocolate cookie and melted ice cream. Just as she was ready to eat, he took it from her hand and finished it off in a few bites. Cuddy watched with both amusement and sadness, acknowledging just how much he still missed Wilson. The little girl stood up, her hands on her hips while she griped at him for stealing her food. She marched around him to get the second treat from the bag, complaining the entire time.

When Rachel sat back down next to him, holding on tightly to her snack, she was a little closer than she had been a few minutes earlier. He reached out, poking the girl's side with his elbow. She returned the gesture, the two of them going back and forth a few times, like a hug they could share without having to make their affection known because on the surface it appeared confrontational.

Cuddy strolled to the edge of the water, where she heard House retelling some of the greatest pranks he ever played on Wilson.

At the very first moment they were alone after Rachel went to bed, House argued, "I didn't tell her to call me her dad."

"Hunh?" Cuddy countered, shaking her head.

"When I told her how to handle that bully…I didn't tell her to say that I was her dad. I've never said that. I didn't suggest it or offer…that was all her."

"You think I'm upset about that?"

"It's fine, I get it. You've taken care of her for years…she's your kid. No one's taking that from you."

"I'm not upset about that. I wasn't even for a second. You cook for her, tell her stories, help with homework. You've been there almost every night before bed and every morning at breakfast since you moved in with us. No matter what the papers say…you're her de facto dad. What should she have called you, 'the guy who's like one of my parents, but I don't have the paperwork to back it up, so I can't actually call him my dad'? That's a little wordy to work into an argument. If actions matter…you act like one of her parents. I would think that would make perfect sense to you."

"Like you weren't upset about that."

"I was not upset about that. I was upset that you were teaching her that gangs and prison are cool, and that intimidation is the way to stand up to a bully. Remember how I told you when we sat in Wilson's old office that we were no longer remembered for all of the amazing things that we did…we were remembered by the worst of our moments? You've done a lot things, amazing things, I don't want that to be what you're known for."

"I'm not worried about what I'm known for. She was getting picked on every day. I sat there while they tried talking and outreach, while they tried to do things the 'right way.' I gave them a chance, exactly like they asked us to, but it didn't work. It was either that or keep her home from camp because I'm not going to drive her there so some older, bigger bully can jerk her around. I won't do it. I saw that look in your eye. It took every bit of your self-control not to go and destroy him yourself."

After sitting in thought for a few moments, she said, "You know, you very rarely talk about prison."

"Weird. I should be recounting my days there…doing a 'time of my life' retrospective."

"But you told Rachel to use that. You brought up the subject."

"What else was I supposed to do, Cuddy? Rachel fights back, and she gets suspended. You want me to go beat up a ten year-old? I hate to tell you…given the kind of shape I'm in…the ten year-old might take me."

"You know I didn't mean that."

"That would really help Rachel…her mother's crippled old man threatening a minor. Even if I just tried to talk to him, there's a good chance I'd go back to jail."

"I'm trying to tell you that I know you don't brag about prison. You hated your time there. But yet…you didn't care if she used it to defend herself. So what I thought was you pulling some kind of macho prison bullshit…was actually you talking about something you don't even like to think about, so she wouldn't get picked on."

House spun the hot glass globe around a lantern, watching the flame at the center, but remained silent.

"She is so lucky to have you," Cuddy finally said. "As messed up as it is…it worked. I'm glad he's leaving her alone. So thank you."

He nodded, answering gruffly, "Prison was finally good for something."

"Seriously though? A biker gang?" she asked, grinning.

House nodded, "Wilson and I…nearly dead and disabled, the gang inspiring fear in the hearts of elementary school children years after we disbanded."

They spent the rest of the weekend doing some of the things House remembered Wilson talking about years earlier. This trip wasn't overshadowed by worries of Cuddy's health or the anger between them. Having a kid present who was always ready for fun changed the entire atmosphere, and House seemed like he was finally having the tribute he'd imagined.

Their last night there, House disappeared for a few hours after saying he needed a walk. Cuddy worried, although she tried not to let it show; he needed time to mourn. Relief coursed through her body when he returned and climbed into bed with her. He pulled her arm around him and placed her hand on his head. Her fingers worked comfortingly against him. There was something about him, seeking such basic reassurance in the form of a nurturing touch, that both highlighted the pain that he felt and made her realize how much he trusted her. When she didn't freeze up or ask any questions, she felt him settle against her as his breathing slowed, and he calmly slipped into sleep. He didn't seem drunk or high, just wounded. She ached on his behalf, felt the loss in him seep through her skin while she tried to find sleep as well.

It was in those early hours that the evidence of what had changed became clear to her. She trusted enough not to doubt or push for answers that he couldn't bear to give yet, and in his moment of despair he trusted enough to turn to her, to return to her side and seek that tiny modicum of comfort even in the worst moments.

In the morning when they woke, they bickered over whether or not they needed to clean the cabin before they left. The normalcy of it all felt great.

"Happy You're-Not-Dead-iversary!" House announced when Cuddy walked through the door of their home after work the next Tuesday. He was on the sofa, arms sprawled across the back, with a gift-wrapped shirt box on his lap.

"Happy what?" she inquired, walking cautiously over to him and dropping her purse on the coffee table.

"You really don't know what a 'You're-Not-Dead-iversary' is? I kind of thought it was self-explanatory."

"Kind of macabre."

"It would only be macabre if it was a 'Glad-You're-Dead-iversary.' "

"We couldn't just celebrate a normal anniversary?"

"We've never made it to a normal anniversary before. I don't know if we know how to do that."

Smiling somberly, she stood in front of him, arms folded, "I guess we haven't, until now."

"I don't even know which date we'd pick for a normal anniversary. I figured…why not celebrate this because, really, this is still the greatest proof of my near perfection. Say it for me…"

"Again?"

"Yes. Say it. You said you would say it whenever I want."

"Fine, you were right."

"I was right. If not for me, your lusciously re-plumped girls would be lost to the world forever."

"You want me to share them with the world?"

"Preferably clothed and at a distance, but yes. I'm not that selfish."

"I feel so treasured."

"The second reason to choose today is because this is the day we realized you were going to keep living, and…you decided to keep me around in that life…seemed worth remembering."

Her head tilted and eyes softened, and she shook her head, "Thank you."

"And I chose not only to acknowledge today, but I also got you a present, and I wrapped it…or had someone wrap it. It's wrapped. Technically you could probably say it's our anniversary too, but who wants a plain, old, boring anniversary when they can have a 'You're-Not-Dead-iversary' instead?"

She moved next to him on the sofa, reaching a soft hand to the side of his face and bringing him closer for a kiss. He pulled back after a second and added, "Before you get all distracted by my hotness…well, by my hotness and my extremely romantic gesture, well…before you get distracted by my hotness, my gesture and your unquenchable desire for-"

"Let's sum up…before I'm distracted by the total package that is you…"

"The total awesome package that is me."

"Yes," she nodded, smirking, "of course."

"Open your present."

She looked down in his lap, "Lingerie? Sex toys?"

"Damn. I wish I would have thought of that. Now that would have been romantic. I guess I'm just not that good at this."

Rolling her eyes, a smile still in place, she opened the package. There was a medical journal with a bookmark holding a place. When she opened the journal to the correct spot, she practically gaped, "You wrote an article?"

He nodded.

"All of those years, I had to beg and barter to get you to submit anything," she continued.

"So you found that nagging me doesn't produce the intended results…what a useful thing to learn! Anyway, I needed something inspirational enough to write about."

"Autoimmune Pancreatitis was interesting enough?"

"It's my new favorite autoimmune disorder."

"I can't believe this."

"I know…you'll never recover from the disappointment that there wasn't a see-through nightie or a vibrator, but hopefully this is not too much of a letdown."

"I love it," she marveled as she began to read.

"You can read it later…you already know how it ends."

She continued reading and he coughed obnoxiously, taking the box and pulling back a piece of paper at the bottom to reveal a smaller, flat box. She looked up at him, "What's that?"

"It's your present, I'm not going to do all of the work for you, you have to open it all by yourself."

She picked it up, opening it slowly to reveal a necklace and looking more stunned than happy, "This is for me?"

"No, it's for me, I wanted you to see it before I put it on."

"You…got me jewelry," she asked as she picked it up, realizing that the piece was very old, "it's beautiful. Where did you get this? Your mother's?"

"Grandmother's. I asked Bell for it before he sold Mom's place."

"I love it," she interrupted, surprised that still, after all of their years of knowing each other, things that were heartfelt seemed to make him uncomfortable, as if he was prepared for rejection. "I can't believe you're giving me a family heirloom."

"That's a nice way to say 'hand-me-down' jewelry," he explained.

"More meaningful than something you could buy. Thank you."

"If you choose to wear it, it also means that you aren't allowed to dump me any time soon. I think that is part of the rules of family heirloomery. More binding than marriage, so you've been warned."

"Is that a fact?"

"Yup. Very well-known fact."

He absently spun the ring on his finger with his thumb, and she wondered if he even realized he was doing it. She pulled her hair up, "Help me put it on?"

Reaching around her, his nimble fingers drew the chain around her neck and clasped it. When she faced him, she saw a look in his eyes that was nervously hopeful, but always somewhat aware of the mercurial nature of good times.

"Will you be upset if I only got you lingerie to celebrate a night on our own? Or since we're celebrating unconventional anniversaries, it could be for the one year 'Happy You're-Out-Of-Jail-iversary' from last week."

"Depends, is it for me to wear or for you?"

"Me."

"In that case, it's the perfect gift. Gifting is about knowing the receiver of that gift."

Cuddy stood, reaching a hand out to him. He looked up questioningly and she explained, "Since we have all of this time to ourselves, we should have sex before dinner. A nice prelude to sex after dinner."

His uncertain look evaporated into a leer, "Your indecency disturbs my polite disposition."

"You want sex now or not?"

"Always, but you'll have to reason with my disposition first." She took off her work jacket and tossed it on the sofa, put her hands on her hips and stood there expectantly. After a few seconds, House conceded, "Well, it appears my disposition is on board."

"Good. Then quit messing around and come get your present," she ordered as she walked down the hall.

As he followed her, he shouted, "You always know the perfect ways to say 'I love you.'"

-The End-