The door opened a moment later. “Thanks for coming, Dr. Chase. Next time, just knock--Doc doesn’t like the bell.” Clarence stepped back to let him inside.

There was going to be a next time? “Sorry.”

“No problem.”

House’s apartment was on the ground floor of a large brick building. It had a large, bright living room, with an archway through which he could see a small dining room and, beyond that, a kitchen. Some of the furnishings--like the leather couch and baby grand piano--looked similar to what he’d had in his old place, before prison--but Chase wasn’t familiar enough with House’s things to know if they were the same items, or near-duplicates.

House sat in a large armchair, with a plaid rug over his legs. His arms rested on pillows on his lap. He should have looked like a helpless cripple, but instead, he somehow gave Chase an impression of quiet authority. “Have a seat,” he told Chase. “Clarence, we’ll have coffee.”

“Sure thing, Doc.” As Chase took a seat on the sofa--hadn’t the original one appeared on the news, spattered with Cameron’s blood?--the nurse disappeared into the kitchen.

They sat for a few moments. Chase was just trying to decide how to break the silence when House said, “So.”

“Um,” Chase responded.

“How’s work?” House’s falsely-casual tone telegraphed that he hadn’t called Chase here just to ask him that.

“It’s fine,” he answered cautiously.

“Any interesting cases?”

“We’re not working on anything right now. Our last one was a young guy with MS. Kind of an unusual presentation.” It wasn’t the kind of case House would consider interesting, but it was typical of what they were getting, these days. “He showed up in the clinic with muscle weakness and difficulty breathing, but then--”

“Interesting,” House said dryly.

“It’s not the same,” Chase said, embarrassed. “The department, I mean.” Sometimes it surprised him how much he missed the old days--not just Cameron and House, but the work, too.

“You don’t say.”

Clarence returned with two cups of coffee on a tray. “Help yourself to cream and sugar,” he told Chase, setting the tray down on the low table in front of them. Chase’s was a china cup on a gold-rimmed saucer. House’s, which Clarence settled carefully in his gnarled hands, was and insulated plastic mug with a wide base, only half full. “Need anything else, Doc?” he asked after House had taken a sip and nodded approval.

“Not right now, thanks.” When Clarence had left, House got down to business. “You want to know why I asked you to come here.”

Chase nodded, then remembered House couldn’t see him. “Yes.”

“I’m coming back to work.”

Chase slopped coffee down his front, but he didn’t much care. “You are? That’s great! When? Are you going to be department head again? Is Evans leaving? Does Foreman know?”

House held up one hand to stop the flow of questions. “Nobody knows, yet. Except Wilson and Clarence, and now you.”

For a moment, Chase was pleased and excited to be one of the first ones in on the secret. Then he spotted a flaw in what House had just said. “And Cuddy, right?”

“Nope. Not yet.”

Chase’s hopes plummeted. If Cuddy didn’t know House was coming back--well, he wasn’t really coming back. Not for sure, anyway. “Oh,” he said sadly.

“That’s where you come in,” House continued. “She’ll want to give me my job back, of course. But she won’t do it until she sees that I still have it.”

“It?” Chase asked blankly.

“It. Mad skillz. My mojo.”

“Oh.” Chase took another sip of his coffee, considering the next question. It had to be asked. “And you…do?”

“Of course I do.”

Good enough for him. “Okay. So what do I do?”

#

“Bring me cases. Good cases. None of this MS crap.” He clutched the thermal coffee mug in both hands. Having a new person in his home--even if it was just Chase--was about as stressful as he’d expected. He’d get used to it, in time. He had to. But for now, he’d better wrap things up quick.

“We’re not getting the referrals we used to,” Chase warned him. “The MS case, the woman with toxic shock syndrome…those are actually the best cases we’ve had in a while.”

He’d hoped it wasn’t quite that bad. Cases like that wouldn’t let him show off his abilities very well. “Do the best you can. We used to get interesting ones from inside the hospital, every now and then. I don’t need a case every week--two or three good ones by August should be enough. Call me when you have something.” He hoped Chase would read that as a dismissal.

Of course, he didn’t. “What about Foreman? And Devi? Do I tell them you--”

“No. It’s a secret. You can keep a secret, right?”

“I guess. I mean, yes, of course. But what about Evans? If the department’s treating these patients, he’ll have to know about them.”

“Right,” House agreed. He had no idea how much of an obstacle Evans might be, or the best was to work around him. “You can handle him,” he said dismissively.

“I can?”

Better lay it on thick. “I believe in you. Now--get back to work. Get in touch when you have a case for me.”

As soon as the door closed behind Chase, House slumped forward over his knees, burying his face in the pillows that were there to support his arms. After taking a few deep, shuddering breaths he mumbled, “Clarence?”

“I’m right here, Doc. What do you need?”

“I want to lie down.”

#

Chase wished he’d known before he left that his business with House was a secret. He’d told Foreman and Devi where he was going on his lunch break, and now they were sure to ask him what House had wanted.

He delayed the inevitable questions by stopping in the emergency room on his way in. Would House be impressed if he found a case for him on his very first day of looking? Or would he think Chase was too keen?

It didn’t matter, since there was nothing worthy of House’s attention. He continued upstairs.

Devi and Foreman were clearing up some paperwork, and Evans was nowhere to be found--probably in a meeting of some kind.

“House just wanted to catch up,” he said quickly, before the others even had a chance to ask.

Foreman looked up at him. “Okay.”

“Is Doctor House recovering well?” Devi asked.

“Oh, sure. He’s doing great.”

“I’m glad. He sounds like a fascinating man.” She smiled at him before bending her head back over her work.

“He was a lunatic,” Foreman said. “A cold, arrogant son of a bitch. But he was brilliant.”

“He’s not dead,” Chase said sharply.

Foreman glanced up at him again. “I know he’s not,” he said almost gently.

“I’d like to meet him someday.” Devi tried to defuse the tension in the room.

“Maybe you’ll get a chance to.” Chase hoped he wasn’t giving away too much by saying that.

Foreman snorted.

#

Wilson watched House out of the corner of his eye. They were eating supper in front of the TV--ziti and meatballs (House couldn’t manage spaghetti) and a new episode of South Park. House always turned his face toward the TV, even though he couldn’t see it.

“You do anything fun today?” Wilson asked during a commercial, after taking a sip of wine.

“Same old, same old.”

Wilson had a feeling House wasn’t telling the complete truth, but he decided not to pursue it. House had almost no physical privacy, since he still needed a lot of help with bathing and dressing. It was no wonder he wanted to have a few secrets.

“You?” House asked.

“The board met to select Evans’s tenure review committee. I managed to get a spot on it.” He hadn’t been too worried--tenure review wasn’t a popular job, and even if he hadn’t managed to get on the committee, he expected it would be obvious, once all the evidence was in the open, that Evans needed to go.

“Good. You’re gonna torpedo him, right?”

“I’m sure the committee will make a fair determination of his suitability for tenure,” Wilson answered primly.

“Which means he’s going down,” House translated.

“All the way down,” Wilson agreed.

#

House had Wilson put him to bed shortly after dinner. It had been a long day for him. He fell asleep quickly and, after a while, he dreamed.He was limping through the darkened halls of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Or was it PPTH? In some ways, it looked more like the place where he’d done his residency, an old building with actual friezes on the exterior. Asclepius and things. But then he’d turn his head, and it would be the ultra-modern glass of PPTH.

He was upright--leaning heavily on his cane, but walking. It felt like he had been walking for a long time. He couldn’t remember how he’d started, or why. He’d bee walking so long he didn’t remember where he was going anymore. His breath was loud in his ears, and the tap of his cane on the linoleum--the scuffed and battered hardwood--echoed behind him.

Or did it? Maybe somebody was following him. He quickened his steps. The echo quickened too--but had it sped up instantly? He took the next turning he came to.

He wished he remembered where he was going. How would he know when he got there?

And would whoever was following him catch him when he did?

After limping along for what felt like several hours more, he suddenly knew that he couldn’t outrun what was behind him and, what’s more, he shouldn’t. He had to turn and face his pursuer.

He turned. Behind him, out of the gloom, emerged a blue-eyed wolf. Massive and grizzled, it paced along on three legs, silent but for the tapping of its claws on the floor. Its tongue lolled from between long white teeth. The wolf came closer, until its breath was hot on his thighs. He was unafraid.

Suddenly, more figures stepped out of the gloom, surrounding them. They were Thompson and his goons, they were his father and uncles, they were the prison guards--their faces and clothing were indistinct and shifting, but their attitudes of menace uniform and unmistakable.

The wolf’s ice-blue eyes met his in a moment of perfect accord before they both whirled into action. The wolf lashed out with teeth and claws, rending flesh and crunching bones. House swung his cane like a club, felt skulls cave in like rotten pumpkins. The men kept coming, two more stepping out of the shadows to replace each one that he and the wolf brought low, but he knew, somehow, that they were going to succeed. All they had to do was keep standing, until all of Them were gone.

He woke, breathing hard and shaking--but this time, from excitement and exertion, not terror. For a moment, he remembered being fearless, inhabiting a body that was strong and nearly whole.

Then the dream started to slip away. He struggled to hold onto it. They had come after him, at the hospital. There had been a…a dog, or something. It had protected him. And he’d fought back.

He trembled. He knew what They would do if he fought back. “Wilson,” he breathed. If he didn’t go quietly, if he didn’t take what They decided he had coming to him, They’d go after Wilson.

“’Sokay, House,” Wilson mumbled from up on the big bed, not really awake. “Jus’ go back to sleep. ‘Sokay.”

#