Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed this story. Some kind/crazy people asked for a second chapter and I can only apologise at the delay in getting it written. Hopefully it won't disappoint. I'd love to hear your comments. It hasn't been beta'd I have literally typed it and posted it so apologies in advance for any mistakes.
There are butterflies in her stomach as she wends her way through the excited crowds and she can't help smiling to herself as her mind replays the first, and last, time she attended a monster truck rally. It's almost exactly as she remembers it. The smell of gasoline in the air mingled with the scent of French fries and the sweet tang of cotton candy. She feels closer to him just by being here and then laughs at herself when she imagines his response to such a thought. Her eyes scan the crowds, searching for a glimpse of him, watching for that familiar face with the devastating blue eyes and sardonic grin.
By the time she reaches her seat the disappointment is starting to set in; along with the doubts she hadn't allowed to cloud her thoughts previously. What if it's not real? What if it's all some form of sick joke? What if… and then the air around her changes and she feels the seat beside her shift as a warm and familiar masculine smell washes over her. He's here.
She turns and looks at him. Sees the same ruggedly handsome face that she loves looking back at her, sexy smirk and trademark stubble still firmly in place. His long legs are splayed out casually in front of him as he leans back in the chair with an air of arrogance that she has sorely missed but one look at his eyes tells her that he is hurting. She can see the same pain in his that has been in hers since he 'died' and she knows now that Wilson is dead and that House was there with him. It's the most selfless thing she's ever known him to do and whilst she has been hurting without him she comes to realise how much he loved Wilson. His best friend. His only friend.
"Miss me?" It's more of a demand for knowledge than an actual question and it finally sinks in that this is real. He is real and he's right next to her. She can hardly breathe let alone speak as her emotions bubble over and tears spill silently down her cheeks. She bites her lip to try and stop the sob trying to escape her throat and finds herself able to do little more than nod wordlessly.
She sucks in a sharp breath as he reaches out and gently swipes her tears away. "I'm sorry," he says softly, holding her gaze, "I never meant to hurt you."
"I know you didn't," she whispers, finding her voice again as she gazes at him. "You were with him?"
He nods once. "Til the end."
"You did the right thing," she tells him. She believes it too. Oh, she knows he went about it all wrong, and most likely if he hadn't behaved so much like himself there would have been no need for such cloak and dagger antics but she can't help thinking that he did the right thing. Wilson died and he was there. She doubts he held his hand or made his last moments peaceful but he was there for him despite the tremendous personal cost to himself.
"That's my girl," he says, approvingly. There is a hint of possessiveness mixed with his teasing tone and it makes her heart beat faster.
She lets out a sound which is a half sob, half laugh. This man, this impossible man, never ceases to surprise her. Only he could get away with this. She imagines that she is probably the only one who would forgive him for it.
"Always have been," she confirms, not caring how pathetic that probably makes her sound.
"I know," he says, wistfully, and she can hear the regret in his tone. A regretful House is not something she is used to but it pleases her to know that he regrets their missed opportunities as much as she does. She decides, then and there, that there will be no more regrets for either of them. She reaches for him and seconds later she feels the warmth of his lips pressed against hers.
"I love monster trucks," she sighs happily as their foreheads rest against one another, panted breaths mingling together.
He laughs softly. "Gravedigger never disappoints."
She smiles at the shared memory.
"What happens now?" she whispers, unable to stop the words from forming. She winces and wonders at her need to push him. She expects nothing less than a sarcastic deflection and is surprised when he looks at her seriously and mutters "That's up to you."
"I have a lot to tell you. Where I've been, where I'm going, who I am..." he tells her, quietly, confident that the noisy crowd around them are not paying any attention to them, "if, after all that, you still want me then..."
"Then what," she prompts.
"I'm all yours. For as long as you'll have me.
She knows now, without a shadow of doubt, that she will follow him wherever he has to go. She's spent the last six months grieving for him, there's no way she's letting him go.
"How does forever sound?"
"Lame," he says, smiling widely, and she knows him well enough to read between the lines, "but I think you like lame."
"I do," she says, easily, as she pulls him in for another kiss "I love lame."