Fic: Family, Friends and Other Complications, Part Nine
Title: Family, Friends and Other Complications
Chapter Nine: When Days Were Good
Author: Namaste
Rating: Gen, strong House and Wilson friendship, PG
Summary: Blythe is certain that Greg is finally happy. Wilson isn’t so sure.
Previous chapters are here:
When Blythe Met Wilson
When Greg Got Sick
When Greg Went Home
When Stacy Left
When John and Blythe Moved
When Blythe Didn’t Meet Julie
When Days Were Bad
When Greg Got His Department
When Days Were Good
Blythe stepped out of the train station, blinking as the sunshine hit her full force. She held her hand in front of her face to block the glare and looked down at the concrete as she waited for her eyes to adjust.
She saw the tip of his left shoe first -- the dark blue nylon contrasting with the white sole -- then the right shoe. Then the dark wood and black rubber tip of the cane.
She squinted and looked up at Greg. “I wasn’t expecting you,” she said.
“You want me to leave?” He turned but she grabbed his arm before he could step away.
“Of course not,” she said, and laughed. “You just surprised me.”
Greg shrugged. “I wasn’t busy, and I wanted to get some fresh air. I thought I could save you the cab fare.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Greg,” she said, ignoring the rolling of his eyes.
He took a few steps toward his car and Blythe watched him for a moment. He moved easily, not leaning as heavily on the cane as he had during the spring. Maybe James was right, and Greg was improving.
“Not improving,” James’ voice reminded her as she recalled their last conversation, “at least not like you’re hoping. He won’t grow back that missing muscle, but he can learn how to use what he has a little bit better.”
“But if he’s moving better, doesn’t that mean that he’s not in as much pain?”
“Not necessarily. He may be adapting, or he may have finally found the right dosage on his medication.”
But Blythe watched Greg moving now, stepping from the shade of a tree out into the full force of the sun, and wondered why it was that James still worried so much. Even if he was right, and it was just a matter of Greg adapting or learning how to adjust his medication, that was still a good thing.
“I just ... I just don’t want you to get your hopes up,” James always warned her.
Now Greg was studying her again. “Is something wrong?” He took a step back toward her and she shook her head.
“No, nothing,” she said. “Just daydreaming, I suppose.”
Blythe walked up to him and fell in step beside him. His car was parked in front of the station, in one of the wide spots set aside for the handicapped. She still hadn’t gotten used to that, and didn’t think she ever would.
Greg had joked about it once, saying it was the one thing he gained. “Great parking,” he’d said, but the tone in his voice hadn’t matched the smile on his face.
She waved him off when he stepped toward her side of the car. “I’ve got it,” she said, and opened her door. She wondered for a moment if she’d done the right thing, if she’d hurt his pride by not letting him open her door, but he just walked around to his own side.
Blythe got in and tried not to notice the way he used one hand to support his leg as he settled behind the wheel. He started the car and backed out of the space. She saw him check his watch before he turned left at the end of the lot, away from the hospital.
“I thought we’d take the scenic route,” he said. “You’re not in a hurry to get back, are you?”
“No,” she said. “Your father can always warm up some leftovers for dinner if I miss the next train.”
Greg had the window open and a warm breeze blew through the car. Blythe caught the scent of roses as they drove past the botanical gardens, and newly mown grass as they passed a park. The sounds of a soccer game drifted through the window when he came to a stop at an intersection.
He didn’t move forward after the traffic cleared and Blythe looked over at him. Greg was watching the game, boys and girls no more than six or seven years old running around the field, parents watching and yelling from the sidelines.
Greg turned to her and smiled. He pointed to one of the men on the field shouting at the kids and at the refs. “That one would be Dad,” he said.
Blythe shook her head. “He’s not loud enough,” she said, and Greg chuckled. It was good to hear him laugh when he talked about his father, and Blythe let his good mood seep into her own emotions and ignored James’ warnings.
He drove ahead, then turned to follow the river. “Remember when the coach banned him from football practice?”
Blythe laughed. “Only for a week,” she said. “You should have seen how red he’d get when he had to keep quiet after the coach let him come back.” Greg had only been fourteen then, a second string running back. John had been convinced the coach should have had him playing quarterback and starting the game.
“He only had to put up with it for a couple of months,” Greg said.
John had been transferred not long after that, well before the end of football season, and Greg found himself another sport when they moved, then another in the next town, and another after that in another town.
“He should stick to one,” John had complained after Greg traded his track uniform for lacrosse. “He’ll never make first team in anything if he keeps changing. He looks undisciplined. The coaches are going to think he’s not dedicated.”
“He’s having fun,” Blythe pointed out. She didn’t bother trying to argue that they were never in one place long enough for Greg to really settle onto a team anyway.
Blythe looked out car window at the river. She could see two boats with single rowers near the far bank. A runner broke out of the trees moving toward them, his t-shirt soaked with sweat. She saw Greg glance at him, then turn his attention back to the road.
He took the next turn to the left, away from the river and toward the hospital. “Wilson’s waiting for us,” he said. His voice didn’t seem as light as it had a few minutes earlier, but when Blythe looked over at him, his expression hadn’t changed. He even smiled when she caught his eye. “He’s wearing the tie you sent him for his birthday.”
“He didn’t have to do that,” Blythe said, though she was happy to know that he did. It was a simple navy blue with red stripes that had caught her eye when she was shopping one afternoon at home.
“You never gave me a tie,” Greg said.
“That because you’d never wear it, dear.” James always dressed like a doctor, Blythe thought, with his dress pants and ties and white lab coat. The classic pattern on the tie she’d found seemed to match him, and she’d bought it without a second thought. She wondered why Greg never bothered dressing up any more. He used to, even though his white coat always seemed rumpled, and his ties were more colorful than anything that James would wear.
Blythe looked over at him now -- jeans, a white button-down shirt that he hadn’t bothered to tuck in, and beneath that a dark t-shirt. He’d only worn tennis shoes since he got sick, claiming that they were more stable than his dress shoes.
She reached over and tried to smooth the wrinkles on his shirt sleeve. “At least you could iron,” she said.
Greg shrugged and turned into the parking lot. “I didn’t have time this morning,” he said.
“Or any other morning?”
He smiled but didn’t answer.
Greg pulled into his parking spot and turned off the engine, but he didn’t get out. He checked his watch. “So Dad’s doing all right?”
“Yes, he’s fine.”
“Good. What about Aunt Sarah, have you heard from her?”
“We talked a few days ago. She and Tom are planning a trip to Las Vegas next month. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.” Greg checked his watch again. He grinned, then opened his door. “I’m hungry,” he said. “Let’s find Wilson.”
----------
Wilson glanced up when his office door swung open. He saw Blythe enter first, then House. “Cuddy’s looking for you,” he said. “She said you missed your meeting.”
“Meeting?” House stood next to the open door. “I don’t remember anything about a meeting.”
“The one at eleven,” Wilson said.
“You told me you weren’t busy this morning.” Blythe stared at her son and shook her head.
“I forgot,” House said. “I’ll go and track her down now.”
“She had another meeting at eleven thirty,” Wilson said, and checked his watch. It was ten minutes past that.
“I guess I’ll just have to catch up with her later,” House said. He glanced at Blythe, then turned away again as she shook her head at him. “So ... lunch?”
They ended up outside on the patio, Blythe and Wilson with salads, House with a sandwich and fries carefully balanced on his tray. House sat in the sun, laughing with his mother as she talked about House’s first day at school.
“He left during recess,” she said. “He said he’d already learned everything.”
“I had,” he said. “First grade was a waste of time.”
“That’s what he said about ninth grade too,” Blythe said. “And tenth grade and eleventh grade ...”
“You forgot about junior high.”
Wilson glanced around, recognizing a few of the doctors and nurses, but more than half of the people at the tables were visitors -- friends and family of patients. With his cane stashed under the table, House was anonymous to them: nothing to identify him as a doctor, nothing to give the slightest clue that he’d ever been a patient.
Even the pallor that had seemed to seep into his skin was gone. He’d been getting out more, even if that just meant sitting outside watching others pass by, and House had tanned to a light brown, looking more like the man he’d been when they met. He’d even gained back some of the weight he’d lost.
House chuckled again at some comment Blythe made, and Wilson smiled. It was good to near House laugh, even if his good mood didn’t last. It never did.
Wilson heard the sound of Cuddy’s high heels on the pavement a moment before she spoke.
“House,” she said, making his name sound like an accusation.
“Yes?”
“I rescheduled our meeting twice,” Cuddy said. She stood next to the table between House and Wilson, hands on her hips. “You still missed it.” She glanced over at Blythe. “Hello, Mrs. House.”
“I forgot,” House said. He took a drink of his iced tea and tried to look innocent. It didn’t work.
“Walters wants to quit,” Cuddy said.
House shrugged. “Let him. He doesn’t know anything anyway.”
“He’s here to learn. This is a teaching hospital. Teach him.” Cuddy leaned down onto the table. “And that means more than teaching him to cover your clinic hours.”
“Gee Cuddy, do you think this is the best place to discuss personnel issues?”
Cuddy stood again. She crossed her arms over her chest. “No,” she said. “My office. Now.”
“But my Mom is here,” House said, nodding toward Blythe. “And she came all this way ...”
“I’m fine, Greg,” Blythe said, and put a hand on his arm. “I should head back soon anyway.”
House groaned, but leaned down for his cane. He kissed Blythe on the cheek. “See you later,” he said, then followed Cuddy inside.
Blythe watched him go, then turned to Wilson. “I’ve met her before, haven’t I?”
Wilson nodded. “She was Greg’s doctor. Now she’s the dean of medicine.”
Blythe took a few more bites of her salad. She was smiling. She’d been smiling since she walked into Wilson’s office. He wondered if she’d heard some good news. She leaned toward Wilson, looking like she had a secret to share.
“He’s happy,” she said. Her voice was quiet, almost as if she was afraid to say the words out loud.
Wilson glanced in the direction House and Cuddy had gone. “Not right now,” he said.
“No, I mean ...” Blythe paused and seemed to consider her words. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Her smile faded as she looked out toward the line of trees at the edge of the parking lot.
“When he was a boy,” she finally said, “my mother always used to say he never laughed. Greg was always serious. He’d find something that interested him for a while -- a book or a sport or some new piece of music -- something that he enjoyed, but she was right. He was never really happy. Not for long. I thought it was because we always had to move, but that wasn’t it.”
She paused again and finished her coffee. “When he went to college, I thought he’d be happy to be on his own, to finally settle someplace for a few years. Then I thought he’d be happy when he became a doctor. For a while I thought he was happy with Stacy. Maybe he was, for a while.”
Blythe turned to Wilson. He noticed that her smile had returned. “But he’s happy now, I think. He’s got his job, he’s healthy again,” she put a hand on Wilson’s arm, “he’s got a good friend.” She nodded. “It’s just good to see him happy.”
Wilson looked down at the table. He wanted to agree with her. He wished he did. House had been happy today, but those days weren’t frequent enough. Most days he’d stay in his office, where no one saw him, and he had his books and his television to distract him.
But Blythe smiled again, and squeezed Wilson’s arm briefly before letting it go. At least she was happy, and that was a good thing. Wilson smiled back and her and nodded. There was nothing wrong with letting her be happy for at least a little while. Maybe she was only seeing what she wanted to see, and ignoring the rest. Or maybe he’d become so accustomed to seeing the worst, that was all he could see.
Maybe she was seeing something he couldn’t.
He shrugged and drained the last of his own coffee. “I hope you’re right.”
Chapter Nine: When Days Were Good
Author: Namaste
Rating: Gen, strong House and Wilson friendship, PG
Summary: Blythe is certain that Greg is finally happy. Wilson isn’t so sure.
Previous chapters are here:
When Blythe Met Wilson
When Greg Got Sick
When Greg Went Home
When Stacy Left
When John and Blythe Moved
When Blythe Didn’t Meet Julie
When Days Were Bad
When Greg Got His Department
When Days Were Good
Blythe stepped out of the train station, blinking as the sunshine hit her full force. She held her hand in front of her face to block the glare and looked down at the concrete as she waited for her eyes to adjust.
She saw the tip of his left shoe first -- the dark blue nylon contrasting with the white sole -- then the right shoe. Then the dark wood and black rubber tip of the cane.
She squinted and looked up at Greg. “I wasn’t expecting you,” she said.
“You want me to leave?” He turned but she grabbed his arm before he could step away.
“Of course not,” she said, and laughed. “You just surprised me.”
Greg shrugged. “I wasn’t busy, and I wanted to get some fresh air. I thought I could save you the cab fare.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Greg,” she said, ignoring the rolling of his eyes.
He took a few steps toward his car and Blythe watched him for a moment. He moved easily, not leaning as heavily on the cane as he had during the spring. Maybe James was right, and Greg was improving.
“Not improving,” James’ voice reminded her as she recalled their last conversation, “at least not like you’re hoping. He won’t grow back that missing muscle, but he can learn how to use what he has a little bit better.”
“But if he’s moving better, doesn’t that mean that he’s not in as much pain?”
“Not necessarily. He may be adapting, or he may have finally found the right dosage on his medication.”
But Blythe watched Greg moving now, stepping from the shade of a tree out into the full force of the sun, and wondered why it was that James still worried so much. Even if he was right, and it was just a matter of Greg adapting or learning how to adjust his medication, that was still a good thing.
“I just ... I just don’t want you to get your hopes up,” James always warned her.
Now Greg was studying her again. “Is something wrong?” He took a step back toward her and she shook her head.
“No, nothing,” she said. “Just daydreaming, I suppose.”
Blythe walked up to him and fell in step beside him. His car was parked in front of the station, in one of the wide spots set aside for the handicapped. She still hadn’t gotten used to that, and didn’t think she ever would.
Greg had joked about it once, saying it was the one thing he gained. “Great parking,” he’d said, but the tone in his voice hadn’t matched the smile on his face.
She waved him off when he stepped toward her side of the car. “I’ve got it,” she said, and opened her door. She wondered for a moment if she’d done the right thing, if she’d hurt his pride by not letting him open her door, but he just walked around to his own side.
Blythe got in and tried not to notice the way he used one hand to support his leg as he settled behind the wheel. He started the car and backed out of the space. She saw him check his watch before he turned left at the end of the lot, away from the hospital.
“I thought we’d take the scenic route,” he said. “You’re not in a hurry to get back, are you?”
“No,” she said. “Your father can always warm up some leftovers for dinner if I miss the next train.”
Greg had the window open and a warm breeze blew through the car. Blythe caught the scent of roses as they drove past the botanical gardens, and newly mown grass as they passed a park. The sounds of a soccer game drifted through the window when he came to a stop at an intersection.
He didn’t move forward after the traffic cleared and Blythe looked over at him. Greg was watching the game, boys and girls no more than six or seven years old running around the field, parents watching and yelling from the sidelines.
Greg turned to her and smiled. He pointed to one of the men on the field shouting at the kids and at the refs. “That one would be Dad,” he said.
Blythe shook her head. “He’s not loud enough,” she said, and Greg chuckled. It was good to hear him laugh when he talked about his father, and Blythe let his good mood seep into her own emotions and ignored James’ warnings.
He drove ahead, then turned to follow the river. “Remember when the coach banned him from football practice?”
Blythe laughed. “Only for a week,” she said. “You should have seen how red he’d get when he had to keep quiet after the coach let him come back.” Greg had only been fourteen then, a second string running back. John had been convinced the coach should have had him playing quarterback and starting the game.
“He only had to put up with it for a couple of months,” Greg said.
John had been transferred not long after that, well before the end of football season, and Greg found himself another sport when they moved, then another in the next town, and another after that in another town.
“He should stick to one,” John had complained after Greg traded his track uniform for lacrosse. “He’ll never make first team in anything if he keeps changing. He looks undisciplined. The coaches are going to think he’s not dedicated.”
“He’s having fun,” Blythe pointed out. She didn’t bother trying to argue that they were never in one place long enough for Greg to really settle onto a team anyway.
Blythe looked out car window at the river. She could see two boats with single rowers near the far bank. A runner broke out of the trees moving toward them, his t-shirt soaked with sweat. She saw Greg glance at him, then turn his attention back to the road.
He took the next turn to the left, away from the river and toward the hospital. “Wilson’s waiting for us,” he said. His voice didn’t seem as light as it had a few minutes earlier, but when Blythe looked over at him, his expression hadn’t changed. He even smiled when she caught his eye. “He’s wearing the tie you sent him for his birthday.”
“He didn’t have to do that,” Blythe said, though she was happy to know that he did. It was a simple navy blue with red stripes that had caught her eye when she was shopping one afternoon at home.
“You never gave me a tie,” Greg said.
“That because you’d never wear it, dear.” James always dressed like a doctor, Blythe thought, with his dress pants and ties and white lab coat. The classic pattern on the tie she’d found seemed to match him, and she’d bought it without a second thought. She wondered why Greg never bothered dressing up any more. He used to, even though his white coat always seemed rumpled, and his ties were more colorful than anything that James would wear.
Blythe looked over at him now -- jeans, a white button-down shirt that he hadn’t bothered to tuck in, and beneath that a dark t-shirt. He’d only worn tennis shoes since he got sick, claiming that they were more stable than his dress shoes.
She reached over and tried to smooth the wrinkles on his shirt sleeve. “At least you could iron,” she said.
Greg shrugged and turned into the parking lot. “I didn’t have time this morning,” he said.
“Or any other morning?”
He smiled but didn’t answer.
Greg pulled into his parking spot and turned off the engine, but he didn’t get out. He checked his watch. “So Dad’s doing all right?”
“Yes, he’s fine.”
“Good. What about Aunt Sarah, have you heard from her?”
“We talked a few days ago. She and Tom are planning a trip to Las Vegas next month. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.” Greg checked his watch again. He grinned, then opened his door. “I’m hungry,” he said. “Let’s find Wilson.”
----------
Wilson glanced up when his office door swung open. He saw Blythe enter first, then House. “Cuddy’s looking for you,” he said. “She said you missed your meeting.”
“Meeting?” House stood next to the open door. “I don’t remember anything about a meeting.”
“The one at eleven,” Wilson said.
“You told me you weren’t busy this morning.” Blythe stared at her son and shook her head.
“I forgot,” House said. “I’ll go and track her down now.”
“She had another meeting at eleven thirty,” Wilson said, and checked his watch. It was ten minutes past that.
“I guess I’ll just have to catch up with her later,” House said. He glanced at Blythe, then turned away again as she shook her head at him. “So ... lunch?”
They ended up outside on the patio, Blythe and Wilson with salads, House with a sandwich and fries carefully balanced on his tray. House sat in the sun, laughing with his mother as she talked about House’s first day at school.
“He left during recess,” she said. “He said he’d already learned everything.”
“I had,” he said. “First grade was a waste of time.”
“That’s what he said about ninth grade too,” Blythe said. “And tenth grade and eleventh grade ...”
“You forgot about junior high.”
Wilson glanced around, recognizing a few of the doctors and nurses, but more than half of the people at the tables were visitors -- friends and family of patients. With his cane stashed under the table, House was anonymous to them: nothing to identify him as a doctor, nothing to give the slightest clue that he’d ever been a patient.
Even the pallor that had seemed to seep into his skin was gone. He’d been getting out more, even if that just meant sitting outside watching others pass by, and House had tanned to a light brown, looking more like the man he’d been when they met. He’d even gained back some of the weight he’d lost.
House chuckled again at some comment Blythe made, and Wilson smiled. It was good to near House laugh, even if his good mood didn’t last. It never did.
Wilson heard the sound of Cuddy’s high heels on the pavement a moment before she spoke.
“House,” she said, making his name sound like an accusation.
“Yes?”
“I rescheduled our meeting twice,” Cuddy said. She stood next to the table between House and Wilson, hands on her hips. “You still missed it.” She glanced over at Blythe. “Hello, Mrs. House.”
“I forgot,” House said. He took a drink of his iced tea and tried to look innocent. It didn’t work.
“Walters wants to quit,” Cuddy said.
House shrugged. “Let him. He doesn’t know anything anyway.”
“He’s here to learn. This is a teaching hospital. Teach him.” Cuddy leaned down onto the table. “And that means more than teaching him to cover your clinic hours.”
“Gee Cuddy, do you think this is the best place to discuss personnel issues?”
Cuddy stood again. She crossed her arms over her chest. “No,” she said. “My office. Now.”
“But my Mom is here,” House said, nodding toward Blythe. “And she came all this way ...”
“I’m fine, Greg,” Blythe said, and put a hand on his arm. “I should head back soon anyway.”
House groaned, but leaned down for his cane. He kissed Blythe on the cheek. “See you later,” he said, then followed Cuddy inside.
Blythe watched him go, then turned to Wilson. “I’ve met her before, haven’t I?”
Wilson nodded. “She was Greg’s doctor. Now she’s the dean of medicine.”
Blythe took a few more bites of her salad. She was smiling. She’d been smiling since she walked into Wilson’s office. He wondered if she’d heard some good news. She leaned toward Wilson, looking like she had a secret to share.
“He’s happy,” she said. Her voice was quiet, almost as if she was afraid to say the words out loud.
Wilson glanced in the direction House and Cuddy had gone. “Not right now,” he said.
“No, I mean ...” Blythe paused and seemed to consider her words. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Her smile faded as she looked out toward the line of trees at the edge of the parking lot.
“When he was a boy,” she finally said, “my mother always used to say he never laughed. Greg was always serious. He’d find something that interested him for a while -- a book or a sport or some new piece of music -- something that he enjoyed, but she was right. He was never really happy. Not for long. I thought it was because we always had to move, but that wasn’t it.”
She paused again and finished her coffee. “When he went to college, I thought he’d be happy to be on his own, to finally settle someplace for a few years. Then I thought he’d be happy when he became a doctor. For a while I thought he was happy with Stacy. Maybe he was, for a while.”
Blythe turned to Wilson. He noticed that her smile had returned. “But he’s happy now, I think. He’s got his job, he’s healthy again,” she put a hand on Wilson’s arm, “he’s got a good friend.” She nodded. “It’s just good to see him happy.”
Wilson looked down at the table. He wanted to agree with her. He wished he did. House had been happy today, but those days weren’t frequent enough. Most days he’d stay in his office, where no one saw him, and he had his books and his television to distract him.
But Blythe smiled again, and squeezed Wilson’s arm briefly before letting it go. At least she was happy, and that was a good thing. Wilson smiled back and her and nodded. There was nothing wrong with letting her be happy for at least a little while. Maybe she was only seeing what she wanted to see, and ignoring the rest. Or maybe he’d become so accustomed to seeing the worst, that was all he could see.
Maybe she was seeing something he couldn’t.
He shrugged and drained the last of his own coffee. “I hope you’re right.”