Fic: Family, Friends and Other Complications, Part 13
Title: Family, Friends and Other Complications
Chapter Thirteen: When John Took Blythe to Paris
Author: Namaste
Rating: Gen, strong House and Wilson friendship, PG
Summary: Blythe and John wanted to spend just a few hours in Princeton, but nothing seemed to work out the way she had hoped.
Sample:
Wilson figured House had ridden off somewhere in the night to try and clear his mind. He’d left the hospital headed for home himself, but instead pulled off into a park near the river and watched the way the moon played on the water.
He thought about fishing trips with his father and how they’d sit next to the fire they built on the lake shore and talk into the night. They’d talk about life, about sports, about school. Wilson’s father told him about the first time he met his mother on one of those nights. It was on a night like this that Wilson had first told his father he wanted to be a doctor.
Wilson couldn’t picture John House ever sitting alongside his son on a quiet dark night -- at least not without a lesson on military tactics or a lecture on how to set up camp properly. He wondered if House even knew what he’d missed.
Find links to previous chapters inside.
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
When John Retired
When Greg Went For A Visit
When They Weren’t Together
When John took Blythe to Paris
Blythe was setting the table for dinner when she heard John’s voice at the front door.
“I never knew the charm of spring.” She looked up and stepped out into the living room to stare at him. Every time John attempted to sing it came out more as a slightly less monotone version of his speaking voice.
“I never met it face to face,” he continued. He had a wide smile on his face. “I never knew my heart could sing.”
“You can’t sing, dear,” Blythe said with a smile. “I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to try again.” John wrapped an arm around her waist, and took her hand.
“I never missed a warm embrace,” he sang, and pulled her close. He stepped forward with his right foot, leading her through a simple box step. “’Til April in Paris.”
“It’s May in Pensacola,” Blythe said.
John ignored her and kept singing. “Chestnuts in blossom.”
She gave in to his mood and laughed as he guided her around the table.
“April in Paris. This is a feeling, that no one can ever reprise,” he said, and released one hand to let her spin out toward the living room. When she twirled back toward him he pulled an envelope out of his back pocket.
“Happy anniversary,” he said, and kissed her.
“It’s not our anniversary until next month.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
Blythe opened the envelope. Inside were reservations for a flight the next week and confirmation for a hotel room near the Champs Elysee.
She looked up at him.
“Surprise,” John said. “It’s one place that neither of us has ever been. I thought we could explore it together.”
Blythe hugged him. “I love it,” she said.
John pulled away slightly. “That’s not the only surprise.” He pointed to the flight arrangements.
Blythe read over the first page, seeing the morning flight out of Pensacola, a change of planes in Atlanta, then ... she smiled even wider. “We’ve got nine hours in Newark,” she said.
John nodded. “That’ll give us plenty of time to meet Greg for dinner,” he said. “I know you’ve wanted to see him.”
“Of course I have,” she said. “And I know you have too.”
John’s smile faded slightly. “I don’t know if he’ll want to see me. We’ve barely spoken lately.”
Blythe refused to listen to the part of her mind telling her that John could be right. She was happy, John was happy, and she told herself that Greg would be happy too. “I’ll call and let him know.”
Greg did sound happy when she told him about Paris.
“I used to think about going there,” he said, but he was silent when she brought up the layover in Newark.
“You could meet us there,” Blythe said, “or we could drive over to Princeton. We have plenty of time.”
“I’ll have to check my schedule,” Greg said. “I may have something going on that week.”
Blythe tried to hide her disappointment. “It’s only for a few hours,” she said. “Surely you can get away.”
“I’ll check,” he repeated. She noticed that he never promised to try and make it.
Blythe didn’t tell John that she was worried it wouldn’t work out. She just let him think that it was just a matter of making final plans. She wasn’t sure if he’d blame himself or blame Greg, but either way she couldn’t face the thought of seeing the disappointment on his face, the sorrow that he’d try to hide in his eyes that he’d let things get so bad with his son.
“Call Wilson,” John said, when he asked for a schedule, and she told him they didn’t have one yet. “He’ll come up with something.”
But she didn’t call James. He’d seemed to be taking on so much lately. He already had a full work load, and then had promised her last month that he’d keep at eye on Greg for her now that Stacy was back in town.
“Don’t worry,” he’d said. “She spends most of her time with her husband or in her office.”
Blythe hadn’t said anything about how worried she was for Greg, about how she knew how hard it had been for him when she left, about how she lay awake some nights wondering if he was managing to sleep knowing that Stacy was just a few miles away, lying alongside her new husband.
James knew her concerns as if he was reading her mind. Or maybe he had the same worries.
“It hasn’t been easy, but he’s handling this better than I’d thought he would,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“You always do,” Blythe said.
It didn’t seem right to go to James now, to ask him to intervene again. Greg and John would have to learn to live with each other. Greg wasn’t a little boy anymore. He hadn’t been for a long time. Maybe it was time to let them find their own way to work out their differences.
Three days before their flight, Greg said he couldn’t make it. “Look, I have a business dinner on Thursday night I can’t get out of,” he said.
“Honey, are you sure?” There was something in the tone of his voice that Blythe couldn’t quite define, something that didn’t sound right. “We haven’t seen you for more than a year.”
“I know, I really wanted to see you too,” he said, then apologized and said he had to get off the phone.
Blythe stared the phone and told herself that she wasn’t going to cry. Greg hadn’t rejected them -- hadn’t rejected her, she told herself. He simply had something else he needed to do. He had a reason why he couldn’t make it. But then he always had something else, some excuse to avoid her, avoid them both.
She wondered what would happen if she told him she would come alone. What John would think if Greg said yes then. She wondered if she’d be forced to choose -- or if she could choose between them at all.
Blythe had always chosen John when Greg was young. John was her husband. They went where he went, following him without question -- and she’d even enjoyed each move. It was harder on Greg. It always was, and she’d seen him cry when he had to move away from friends when he was little, and then struggle to make new friends. By the time he was a teenager, he seemed to give up on friends completely, and satisfy himself with music or books or sports.
“It’ll make him tough,” John would say whenever she worried that their life was too hard on him -- or that John was too hard on him. “It’ll be good for him. You’ll see.”
She still wanted a sign that John had been right -- and that she had been right to trust him. But Blythe knew she couldn’t change the past. Now, staring at the phone, still hearing Greg’s words, she wished again that she would have done something different, that she would have changed something.
Blythe felt a tear roll down her cheek and wiped it away.
She was pouring herself a cup of coffee when the phone rang.
“Blythe, it’s James.” She smiled when she heard his voice. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “How are you?”
“Fine,” he said. “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming up?”
Blythe shook her head and wondered how long James had known. “I didn’t want to bother you. It’ll only be for a few hours, but it looks like we won’t be stopping by after all.”
“That’s why I was calling. You really should come.”
“I thought Greg had a meeting?”
“He does,” James said, and hesitated for a moment. “We both do. But I can rearrange things so we can squeeze you in.”
“That would be wonderful, but I don’t want to be a bother.”
“I insist on it,” he said. He had a playful tone to his voice that made Blythe think there was more going on that she didn’t know about. “But, you might have to put up with some extra people at dinner.”
“That’s fine.” Blythe knew she should insist that James didn’t need to change anything, but she didn’t. “Who?”
“Greg’s team,” he said. “And maybe a few others.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He chuckled slightly, and Blythe wondered what he was planning. “Just send me your flight information, and I’ll make all the arrangements.”
James first sent her the directions for a restaurant between Newark and Princeton, and wrote her that the dean of medicine would be joining them. “Dr. Cuddy,” he wrote. “You’ve met her.”
Just before they headed for the airport he called with a change of plans. “Greg’s in the middle of a case,” he said. “He might have problems getting away for very long. Do you mind coming all the way to Princeton?”
“Of course not,” Blythe said as John carried her suitcase out to the car. “Should we meet at the hospital?”
“Call me when you land,” he said. “We’ll figure out things from there.”
Nothing improved once they left for Princeton.
John followed familiar roads out of the airport. It was late spring in New Jersey, and Blythe saw lilacs in bloom, more than a month after the blossoms had faded in Florida.
James warned them that the patient was getting worse, and that Greg might not even get out of the hospital.
“But you should come,” he said. “Maybe it’ll do him good to take his mind off his case for a few minutes.”
“How bad is the case?”
James sighed. “Bad. He’s just a kid, and he’s not going to make it.”
Blythe felt her heart ache for the patient, for his family and for Greg. “Is there anything that could have been done for him?”
“No, not really. I don’t think so.” He paused and Blythe watched the scenery pass by her window, and saw the signs for the Princeton exit. “He was my patient first. I referred him to House.” His voice was quieter, and Blythe noticed he hadn’t called him “Greg” for her benefit. She was reminded that James must have seen dozens of patients die. Maybe hundreds. She wondered how hard that must be for him.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I know.” He was silent for a moment longer. “Greg should be in his office when you get here. I’ll try and catch up with you before you leave.”
“Won’t you be able to join us?”
“I need to check in with ... with another patient,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
Blythe thanked him again, then hung up.
An hour later, sitting in the cafeteria, she wondered if the trip had been a mistake. Greg had gone silent -- his usual defense mechanism when he was upset. Blythe wanted to believe it was just about his patient, but she knew better.
“I’d like to see your bike,” she said, and Greg just nodded. “I remember the scooter you had in Japan.”
“The one Dad made me sell?”
Blythe nodded, but rubbed her hand along his arm. “You knew you couldn’t bring it back with us when you bought it,” she reminded him.
It had been one of the few times that Greg had fought back against his father, arguing that he’d take a job that summer to earn the money to pay for shipping it. John had refused to even consider it.
But by the next summer, Greg had thrown himself into something new, announcing he wanted to become a doctor and reading up on every science book he could find at the library.
“Good,” John had said. “The Marines need medics.”
Greg hadn’t argued with him, just made his own plans, far away from the military life -- away from them.
Blythe found herself remembering every time she’d said goodbye to him, even as she sat next to him in the cafeteria. “I’ve missed you,” she said softly, and Greg turned to her.
“I know,” he said. He didn’t return the comment, but she saw his eyes soften when she smiled.
“We’ve spent more of our lives apart than together,” she said. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now.
Greg nodded and turned away.
Blythe heard John’s voice. She felt Greg’s arm stiffen under her hand, and saw him tighten his hand into a fist, then release it. She smiled when she heard James’ voice answering John.
“Hi,” James said, and bent down to kiss Blythe’s cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”
Greg ignored his father. “How’s the kid?”
James didn’t take a seat, just stood next to Greg. “He’s out of surgery, but ...” He shook his head. “Another bleed, and his white count is still falling.”
“What about the Dad?”
He shrugged. “Physically, he’s responding to treatment. Emotionally?” He shrugged.
“Is Chase up there?”
James nodded and Greg pushed himself up. “I should go check on them.”
“Already?” Blythe winced at the desperate tone in her voice. “You’ve barely eaten.”
Greg picked up his plate. “I’ll finish it later.”
Blythe stood and hugged him. “Have fun in Paris,” he said.
“We will,” John said. He stood at the end of the table, but didn’t move toward Greg. Greg glanced at him once, then nodded.
“I’ll walk them out,” James said.
“You don’t have to do that,” Blythe said. “We know our way around.”
“I know,” James said.
Greg hugged her again, his right arm reaching around her back. Blythe felt his cane bump against the side of her body as he allowed it to hang loosely from his fingers. He didn’t say anything, just let her go, turned and walked away.
---------------
Wilson checked his watch. It was nearly 11 o’clock. Blythe and John’s flight would have left Newark an hour ago, and House had left the hospital nearly an hour before that. House hadn’t shown up at home yet.
He buttoned his coat against the spring evening chill and leaned back against the brick. He should have been home hours ago himself, but he didn’t feel like going home. Wilson told himself that he wanted to see House for himself, to know that he was all right, but knew that Julie would put her own spin on it.
“He’s more important to you than I am,” she’d say -- if she bothered to wait up for him.
Wilson knew that she was probably right, but somehow he just didn’t care.
He shook his head and wondered if that was the same thing John had told himself, that he didn’t care what his son thought of him. Wilson had spotted him standing in the hallways outside the cafeteria, looking through the doorway toward his wife and son.
“Guess I stuck my foot in my mouth again,” he’d said when he saw Wilson.
Wilson had seen the set of House’s shoulders as he sat at the table. They were stiff, and even Blythe’s hand on his arm didn’t seem to take off the edge.
“What did you say?” Wilson had guessed it could have been any of a dozen topics.
“It doesn’t matter. Everything I say is wrong.” He’d shook his head. “Maybe I should learn to keep my mouth shut.”
Wilson thought to himself that John House wasn’t the sort of man who was willing to keep his mouth shut, but he didn’t say anything, just watched John as he watched his family. A few years ago he might have encouraged him to go inside, to speak to his son, to try and make everything right.
But Wilson knew it would take more than words to fix what had been broken. He wondered if it was possible to repair their relationship at all -- or if there had ever been anything between them worth repairing.
Wilson had watched House go, though he didn’t actually expect House to go near the patient’s room. Cameron told him later that House had been sitting alone, and she couldn’t understand why. Wilson wasn’t sure if he’d explained it at all -- or whether Cameron could even begin to understand how screwed up things could sometimes get in a family.
He sometimes had a hard time understanding it himself.
Wilson figured House had ridden off somewhere in the night to try and clear his mind. He’d left the hospital headed for home himself, but instead pulled off into a park near the river and watched the way the moon played on the water.
He thought about fishing trips with his father and how they’d sit next to the fire they built on the lake shore and talk into the night. They’d talk about life, about sports, about school. Wilson’s father told him about the first time he met his mother on one of those nights. It was on a night like this that Wilson had first told his father he wanted to be a doctor.
Wilson couldn’t picture John House ever sitting alongside his son on a quiet dark night -- at least not without a lesson on military tactics or a lecture on how to set up camp properly. He wondered if House even knew what he’d missed.
Wilson had heard the call of an owl, its voice echoing through the dark, then heard another one answer it from somewhere nearby.
He’d turned the car around and headed to House’s place.
He’d sat on the front step for about fifteen minutes by the time he heard the motorcycle’s high-pitched engine, then saw the single headlight round the corner into sight.
House brought the bike to a stop and turned off the motor. He flipped up his visor, but didn’t move. “The bus stop’s on the corner,” he said.
“I’ll keep that in mind if we finish off your Jameson’s tonight.”
House swung his leg up and over the bike, then reached for his cane. Wilson thought it looked like he’d smoothed out the motion just in the past few days. He took the five steps over to where Wilson stood. He stared at him, and Wilson thought maybe House would tell him to go home.
“I don’t feel like talking.”
“Neither do I.”
House nodded slightly and slipped his key into the lock. Wilson followed him through the door. He unbuttoned his coat and tossed it onto a chair.
“You eat?”
Wilson shook his head and House tossed him a bag of chips.
House took two glasses out of the cupboard and put them on the table, then opened another cabinet. He paused with his hand in the air, then took out a bottle and put it on the table next to the glasses.
Wilson stared at the half-empty bottle of rum. “I thought you swore that stuff off after last time.”
“Last time,” House said as he poured the rum, “was purely medical. I needed death row guy to get really drunk, really fast.”
“And this time?”
“Same reason -- minus the death row guy and medicine.” House picked up his glass and held it out.
Wilson picked up his and tapped the rim of his glass against House’s.
“To family,” House said, and drank.
Chapter Thirteen: When John Took Blythe to Paris
Author: Namaste
Rating: Gen, strong House and Wilson friendship, PG
Summary: Blythe and John wanted to spend just a few hours in Princeton, but nothing seemed to work out the way she had hoped.
Sample:
Wilson figured House had ridden off somewhere in the night to try and clear his mind. He’d left the hospital headed for home himself, but instead pulled off into a park near the river and watched the way the moon played on the water.
He thought about fishing trips with his father and how they’d sit next to the fire they built on the lake shore and talk into the night. They’d talk about life, about sports, about school. Wilson’s father told him about the first time he met his mother on one of those nights. It was on a night like this that Wilson had first told his father he wanted to be a doctor.
Wilson couldn’t picture John House ever sitting alongside his son on a quiet dark night -- at least not without a lesson on military tactics or a lecture on how to set up camp properly. He wondered if House even knew what he’d missed.
Find links to previous chapters inside.
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
When John Retired
When Greg Went For A Visit
When They Weren’t Together
When John took Blythe to Paris
Blythe was setting the table for dinner when she heard John’s voice at the front door.
“I never knew the charm of spring.” She looked up and stepped out into the living room to stare at him. Every time John attempted to sing it came out more as a slightly less monotone version of his speaking voice.
“I never met it face to face,” he continued. He had a wide smile on his face. “I never knew my heart could sing.”
“You can’t sing, dear,” Blythe said with a smile. “I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to try again.” John wrapped an arm around her waist, and took her hand.
“I never missed a warm embrace,” he sang, and pulled her close. He stepped forward with his right foot, leading her through a simple box step. “’Til April in Paris.”
“It’s May in Pensacola,” Blythe said.
John ignored her and kept singing. “Chestnuts in blossom.”
She gave in to his mood and laughed as he guided her around the table.
“April in Paris. This is a feeling, that no one can ever reprise,” he said, and released one hand to let her spin out toward the living room. When she twirled back toward him he pulled an envelope out of his back pocket.
“Happy anniversary,” he said, and kissed her.
“It’s not our anniversary until next month.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
Blythe opened the envelope. Inside were reservations for a flight the next week and confirmation for a hotel room near the Champs Elysee.
She looked up at him.
“Surprise,” John said. “It’s one place that neither of us has ever been. I thought we could explore it together.”
Blythe hugged him. “I love it,” she said.
John pulled away slightly. “That’s not the only surprise.” He pointed to the flight arrangements.
Blythe read over the first page, seeing the morning flight out of Pensacola, a change of planes in Atlanta, then ... she smiled even wider. “We’ve got nine hours in Newark,” she said.
John nodded. “That’ll give us plenty of time to meet Greg for dinner,” he said. “I know you’ve wanted to see him.”
“Of course I have,” she said. “And I know you have too.”
John’s smile faded slightly. “I don’t know if he’ll want to see me. We’ve barely spoken lately.”
Blythe refused to listen to the part of her mind telling her that John could be right. She was happy, John was happy, and she told herself that Greg would be happy too. “I’ll call and let him know.”
Greg did sound happy when she told him about Paris.
“I used to think about going there,” he said, but he was silent when she brought up the layover in Newark.
“You could meet us there,” Blythe said, “or we could drive over to Princeton. We have plenty of time.”
“I’ll have to check my schedule,” Greg said. “I may have something going on that week.”
Blythe tried to hide her disappointment. “It’s only for a few hours,” she said. “Surely you can get away.”
“I’ll check,” he repeated. She noticed that he never promised to try and make it.
Blythe didn’t tell John that she was worried it wouldn’t work out. She just let him think that it was just a matter of making final plans. She wasn’t sure if he’d blame himself or blame Greg, but either way she couldn’t face the thought of seeing the disappointment on his face, the sorrow that he’d try to hide in his eyes that he’d let things get so bad with his son.
“Call Wilson,” John said, when he asked for a schedule, and she told him they didn’t have one yet. “He’ll come up with something.”
But she didn’t call James. He’d seemed to be taking on so much lately. He already had a full work load, and then had promised her last month that he’d keep at eye on Greg for her now that Stacy was back in town.
“Don’t worry,” he’d said. “She spends most of her time with her husband or in her office.”
Blythe hadn’t said anything about how worried she was for Greg, about how she knew how hard it had been for him when she left, about how she lay awake some nights wondering if he was managing to sleep knowing that Stacy was just a few miles away, lying alongside her new husband.
James knew her concerns as if he was reading her mind. Or maybe he had the same worries.
“It hasn’t been easy, but he’s handling this better than I’d thought he would,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“You always do,” Blythe said.
It didn’t seem right to go to James now, to ask him to intervene again. Greg and John would have to learn to live with each other. Greg wasn’t a little boy anymore. He hadn’t been for a long time. Maybe it was time to let them find their own way to work out their differences.
Three days before their flight, Greg said he couldn’t make it. “Look, I have a business dinner on Thursday night I can’t get out of,” he said.
“Honey, are you sure?” There was something in the tone of his voice that Blythe couldn’t quite define, something that didn’t sound right. “We haven’t seen you for more than a year.”
“I know, I really wanted to see you too,” he said, then apologized and said he had to get off the phone.
Blythe stared the phone and told herself that she wasn’t going to cry. Greg hadn’t rejected them -- hadn’t rejected her, she told herself. He simply had something else he needed to do. He had a reason why he couldn’t make it. But then he always had something else, some excuse to avoid her, avoid them both.
She wondered what would happen if she told him she would come alone. What John would think if Greg said yes then. She wondered if she’d be forced to choose -- or if she could choose between them at all.
Blythe had always chosen John when Greg was young. John was her husband. They went where he went, following him without question -- and she’d even enjoyed each move. It was harder on Greg. It always was, and she’d seen him cry when he had to move away from friends when he was little, and then struggle to make new friends. By the time he was a teenager, he seemed to give up on friends completely, and satisfy himself with music or books or sports.
“It’ll make him tough,” John would say whenever she worried that their life was too hard on him -- or that John was too hard on him. “It’ll be good for him. You’ll see.”
She still wanted a sign that John had been right -- and that she had been right to trust him. But Blythe knew she couldn’t change the past. Now, staring at the phone, still hearing Greg’s words, she wished again that she would have done something different, that she would have changed something.
Blythe felt a tear roll down her cheek and wiped it away.
She was pouring herself a cup of coffee when the phone rang.
“Blythe, it’s James.” She smiled when she heard his voice. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “How are you?”
“Fine,” he said. “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming up?”
Blythe shook her head and wondered how long James had known. “I didn’t want to bother you. It’ll only be for a few hours, but it looks like we won’t be stopping by after all.”
“That’s why I was calling. You really should come.”
“I thought Greg had a meeting?”
“He does,” James said, and hesitated for a moment. “We both do. But I can rearrange things so we can squeeze you in.”
“That would be wonderful, but I don’t want to be a bother.”
“I insist on it,” he said. He had a playful tone to his voice that made Blythe think there was more going on that she didn’t know about. “But, you might have to put up with some extra people at dinner.”
“That’s fine.” Blythe knew she should insist that James didn’t need to change anything, but she didn’t. “Who?”
“Greg’s team,” he said. “And maybe a few others.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He chuckled slightly, and Blythe wondered what he was planning. “Just send me your flight information, and I’ll make all the arrangements.”
James first sent her the directions for a restaurant between Newark and Princeton, and wrote her that the dean of medicine would be joining them. “Dr. Cuddy,” he wrote. “You’ve met her.”
Just before they headed for the airport he called with a change of plans. “Greg’s in the middle of a case,” he said. “He might have problems getting away for very long. Do you mind coming all the way to Princeton?”
“Of course not,” Blythe said as John carried her suitcase out to the car. “Should we meet at the hospital?”
“Call me when you land,” he said. “We’ll figure out things from there.”
Nothing improved once they left for Princeton.
John followed familiar roads out of the airport. It was late spring in New Jersey, and Blythe saw lilacs in bloom, more than a month after the blossoms had faded in Florida.
James warned them that the patient was getting worse, and that Greg might not even get out of the hospital.
“But you should come,” he said. “Maybe it’ll do him good to take his mind off his case for a few minutes.”
“How bad is the case?”
James sighed. “Bad. He’s just a kid, and he’s not going to make it.”
Blythe felt her heart ache for the patient, for his family and for Greg. “Is there anything that could have been done for him?”
“No, not really. I don’t think so.” He paused and Blythe watched the scenery pass by her window, and saw the signs for the Princeton exit. “He was my patient first. I referred him to House.” His voice was quieter, and Blythe noticed he hadn’t called him “Greg” for her benefit. She was reminded that James must have seen dozens of patients die. Maybe hundreds. She wondered how hard that must be for him.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I know.” He was silent for a moment longer. “Greg should be in his office when you get here. I’ll try and catch up with you before you leave.”
“Won’t you be able to join us?”
“I need to check in with ... with another patient,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
Blythe thanked him again, then hung up.
An hour later, sitting in the cafeteria, she wondered if the trip had been a mistake. Greg had gone silent -- his usual defense mechanism when he was upset. Blythe wanted to believe it was just about his patient, but she knew better.
“I’d like to see your bike,” she said, and Greg just nodded. “I remember the scooter you had in Japan.”
“The one Dad made me sell?”
Blythe nodded, but rubbed her hand along his arm. “You knew you couldn’t bring it back with us when you bought it,” she reminded him.
It had been one of the few times that Greg had fought back against his father, arguing that he’d take a job that summer to earn the money to pay for shipping it. John had refused to even consider it.
But by the next summer, Greg had thrown himself into something new, announcing he wanted to become a doctor and reading up on every science book he could find at the library.
“Good,” John had said. “The Marines need medics.”
Greg hadn’t argued with him, just made his own plans, far away from the military life -- away from them.
Blythe found herself remembering every time she’d said goodbye to him, even as she sat next to him in the cafeteria. “I’ve missed you,” she said softly, and Greg turned to her.
“I know,” he said. He didn’t return the comment, but she saw his eyes soften when she smiled.
“We’ve spent more of our lives apart than together,” she said. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now.
Greg nodded and turned away.
Blythe heard John’s voice. She felt Greg’s arm stiffen under her hand, and saw him tighten his hand into a fist, then release it. She smiled when she heard James’ voice answering John.
“Hi,” James said, and bent down to kiss Blythe’s cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”
Greg ignored his father. “How’s the kid?”
James didn’t take a seat, just stood next to Greg. “He’s out of surgery, but ...” He shook his head. “Another bleed, and his white count is still falling.”
“What about the Dad?”
He shrugged. “Physically, he’s responding to treatment. Emotionally?” He shrugged.
“Is Chase up there?”
James nodded and Greg pushed himself up. “I should go check on them.”
“Already?” Blythe winced at the desperate tone in her voice. “You’ve barely eaten.”
Greg picked up his plate. “I’ll finish it later.”
Blythe stood and hugged him. “Have fun in Paris,” he said.
“We will,” John said. He stood at the end of the table, but didn’t move toward Greg. Greg glanced at him once, then nodded.
“I’ll walk them out,” James said.
“You don’t have to do that,” Blythe said. “We know our way around.”
“I know,” James said.
Greg hugged her again, his right arm reaching around her back. Blythe felt his cane bump against the side of her body as he allowed it to hang loosely from his fingers. He didn’t say anything, just let her go, turned and walked away.
---------------
Wilson checked his watch. It was nearly 11 o’clock. Blythe and John’s flight would have left Newark an hour ago, and House had left the hospital nearly an hour before that. House hadn’t shown up at home yet.
He buttoned his coat against the spring evening chill and leaned back against the brick. He should have been home hours ago himself, but he didn’t feel like going home. Wilson told himself that he wanted to see House for himself, to know that he was all right, but knew that Julie would put her own spin on it.
“He’s more important to you than I am,” she’d say -- if she bothered to wait up for him.
Wilson knew that she was probably right, but somehow he just didn’t care.
He shook his head and wondered if that was the same thing John had told himself, that he didn’t care what his son thought of him. Wilson had spotted him standing in the hallways outside the cafeteria, looking through the doorway toward his wife and son.
“Guess I stuck my foot in my mouth again,” he’d said when he saw Wilson.
Wilson had seen the set of House’s shoulders as he sat at the table. They were stiff, and even Blythe’s hand on his arm didn’t seem to take off the edge.
“What did you say?” Wilson had guessed it could have been any of a dozen topics.
“It doesn’t matter. Everything I say is wrong.” He’d shook his head. “Maybe I should learn to keep my mouth shut.”
Wilson thought to himself that John House wasn’t the sort of man who was willing to keep his mouth shut, but he didn’t say anything, just watched John as he watched his family. A few years ago he might have encouraged him to go inside, to speak to his son, to try and make everything right.
But Wilson knew it would take more than words to fix what had been broken. He wondered if it was possible to repair their relationship at all -- or if there had ever been anything between them worth repairing.
Wilson had watched House go, though he didn’t actually expect House to go near the patient’s room. Cameron told him later that House had been sitting alone, and she couldn’t understand why. Wilson wasn’t sure if he’d explained it at all -- or whether Cameron could even begin to understand how screwed up things could sometimes get in a family.
He sometimes had a hard time understanding it himself.
Wilson figured House had ridden off somewhere in the night to try and clear his mind. He’d left the hospital headed for home himself, but instead pulled off into a park near the river and watched the way the moon played on the water.
He thought about fishing trips with his father and how they’d sit next to the fire they built on the lake shore and talk into the night. They’d talk about life, about sports, about school. Wilson’s father told him about the first time he met his mother on one of those nights. It was on a night like this that Wilson had first told his father he wanted to be a doctor.
Wilson couldn’t picture John House ever sitting alongside his son on a quiet dark night -- at least not without a lesson on military tactics or a lecture on how to set up camp properly. He wondered if House even knew what he’d missed.
Wilson had heard the call of an owl, its voice echoing through the dark, then heard another one answer it from somewhere nearby.
He’d turned the car around and headed to House’s place.
He’d sat on the front step for about fifteen minutes by the time he heard the motorcycle’s high-pitched engine, then saw the single headlight round the corner into sight.
House brought the bike to a stop and turned off the motor. He flipped up his visor, but didn’t move. “The bus stop’s on the corner,” he said.
“I’ll keep that in mind if we finish off your Jameson’s tonight.”
House swung his leg up and over the bike, then reached for his cane. Wilson thought it looked like he’d smoothed out the motion just in the past few days. He took the five steps over to where Wilson stood. He stared at him, and Wilson thought maybe House would tell him to go home.
“I don’t feel like talking.”
“Neither do I.”
House nodded slightly and slipped his key into the lock. Wilson followed him through the door. He unbuttoned his coat and tossed it onto a chair.
“You eat?”
Wilson shook his head and House tossed him a bag of chips.
House took two glasses out of the cupboard and put them on the table, then opened another cabinet. He paused with his hand in the air, then took out a bottle and put it on the table next to the glasses.
Wilson stared at the half-empty bottle of rum. “I thought you swore that stuff off after last time.”
“Last time,” House said as he poured the rum, “was purely medical. I needed death row guy to get really drunk, really fast.”
“And this time?”
“Same reason -- minus the death row guy and medicine.” House picked up his glass and held it out.
Wilson picked up his and tapped the rim of his glass against House’s.
“To family,” House said, and drank.