TM: 208
Four.
[Hotel room in Atlantic City, New Jersey.] GABE, an older man who was in a coma just a day earlier before being woken by HOUSE, is standing near the window. It's raining. WILSON is standing behind the couch. HOUSE sits in an armchair. GABE has just offered his heart to his son KYLE, who is dying and needs a heart transplant. All three are silent, then:
HOUSE: Wilson, get out.
WILSON: [guesses what House is is going to do] No.
HOUSE: You've lied to the cops enough for me. [beat] Maybe I don't want to push this until it breaks.
WILSON: [looks at Gabe, then at House, then nods and leaves the room, taking his jacket and House's cane with him]
HOUSE: [once the door is closed, voice steady] [to Gabe] Pills are the simplest. [beat] Hanging has less chance of damaging the heart.
GABE: [thinks for a moment] I'm okay with pain.
HOUSE: Strangulation's better than breaking your neck. Which means this'll be slow.
GABE: [sighs] I wouldn't get to see him even if we got in a car right now and broke the speed limit, driving back, would I?
HOUSE: [barely shakes his head] No.
GABE: [nod] Tell him... [long beat] I don't know what to tell him. [sighs] Think it's my turn to ask a question, isn't it?
HOUSE: I don't think so. 'Cause you just asked me that thing about the speed limit.
[Gabe gives House a 'humor me, please' look and House relents]
HOUSE: What do you wanna know?
GABE: If you could hear one thing from your father, what would it be?
HOUSE: [quickly, without emotion or eye contact] It wouldn't help you.
GABE: Try me.
HOUSE: [after short pause] I'd want him to say, "You were right." [looks up to meet Gabe's eyes, and his voice wavers just slightly] "You did the right thing."
GABE: [smiles] Yeah, it doesn't help.
[House chuckles and then looks at Gabe, and both smiles disappear, before Gabe nods slowly.]
[cut to black]
Okinawa, Japan
He had been standing in the kitchen and listening to his father talk about something that didn't matter to any of them except for the fact that if his father spoke, he listened. Only he was getting sick and tired of listening to the man go on about his poor performance in the school he was attending. It wasn't like it was his fault.
"Well what do you expect, dad? I'm seventeen and I've lived in a dozen different countries. We can't stay put long enough for me to get comfortable at a school because of your God damn,"
"Don't swear at me, Greg."
"I'll swear at you if I want to, you don't get it, do you dad? We move and you expect me to just learn all over again. We're in the middle of fucking Japan and I'm supposed to learn--"
"The teachers are highly trained--"
"They're trained but they don't love what they do." He was very close to crossing a line that he never should have ever crossed but he was too pissed off to care. He was tired of it. "They'd rather be out in the jungle pumping lead into fucking Viet Cong and bombing villages, women and babies and that's where you wish--"
The punch threw him off guard and split his lip, for being older the man was still a Marine and he knew how to throw a mean right hook. The next memories burned into his brain as they happened. His dad grabbed him by the collar and shoved him into the wall, and his mother stepped in and caught a backhand as he shouted at her not to interfere.
That did it.
"Don't you dare touch her, you fucking son of a bitch!"
The next punch caught his dad off guard, and so did the feeling of his father's nose cracking beneath his knuckles as the blood poured out and stained the front of his clothes. The boy shoved the man, hard, and then took his mother by the arm.
"We're leaving."
"Gregory, sweetheart, I'm all right..."
"We are leaving."
She never protested again. House practically pulled her out of the kitchen and he hurried upstairs to grab his jacket and wallet and the keys to the car. He took her to dinner and they ate noodles and drank hot tea and spent the night in a hotel room. She took the bed and he slept on the couch and refused ice for his lip. His father had always told him that scars were a thing of pride.
The next day when they went home, his father pretended as if it had never happened. And if not for the fresh bruise on his face and the way he stared at his son, it very well could have been a dream.
It wasn't.
Beaufort, South Carolina
He stood waiting on the sidewalk outside the airport, guitar bag slung over his back and his duffel bag sitting on the curb at his side. He couldn't help but bounce a little on his feet to the tune in his head, as he watched the cars drive by and waited for the familiar vehicle to make the move from main lane to the pickup area. It wasn't busy and he grinned a little when his mother waved at him. His father was driving. His father always drove.
It was back at the house and over dinner that the conversation came up.
"So I have something to tell you guys."
His mother turned and smiled. "What is it, Gregory?"
"We made a record. We put some demos out for some stuff we recorded awhile back and it turns out that this producer heard some of the songs we'd put together and he asked us to come into his studio. It's a blues record," he explained. "I did the guitar and some of the keys, Crandall did the horns and Jimmy did the drums, it came out really great."
"Why, sweetheart, that's wonderful!"
"With the record out we can go on tour. Get our name out there...I'm really excited. We've already done some shows in some clubs downtown..."
"I'm so proud of you, Gregory."
"Thanks Mom," he grinned and then looked at his father.
"I still think that your time would be better spent learning a skill that will get you somewhere in life, but if this is what you want to do with your time, I don't have the energy to argue with you anymore, boy," his father replied. Then for the sake of being polite (or just pissing his son off) he added. "Congratulations."
House nodded slightly. "Thank you," he managed, and he kept his temper in check. It wouldn't do to ruin things on the first day he was home for the visit.
East Lansing, Michigan
They had called his name and given him the diploma, it was a huge ceremony and it took forever, but it was worth it, even if being an 'H' left him in the middle. He sat and looked at the paper and read the letters.
M.D.
There was work to come. He'd end up spending the next five years getting through his residency and passing his boards, infectious diseases and nephrology as his specialties, but for now, this moment, this degree meant something.
His mother had hugged him when he'd finally found her in the crowd, and his father had offered him a handshake. They had gone to dinner that night and then he'd sat up in the living room of his apartment (he lived on his own a few miles from the campus) with the both of them, telling them about the schools he was planning on going on to and where he was applying to do his residency.
"Columbia, I think. I'd really like to come up to New York. New York's busy, and if you can learn to treat people in New York, or out in Los Angeles, you can learn to treat people anywhere. And with how high I was in my class, I really think I've got a good shot at being accepted."
"You're a smart kid, Greg," his father spoke up. "And I'm sure you'll make a fine doctor. You know the Marines are always looking for men and women who are trained in medicine."
"I don't want to join the Marines, dad."
"Your grandfather was a Marine."
"I know."
"And his father was a Marine. You're a House. We come from a long line of soldiers, son."
House shook his head. "I'm not a soldier. I'm not a fighter like that. I want to help people." He turned to his mother. "Columbia's got a great program for community outreach. When I was down in New Orleans, I met a lot of great people who didn't have enough money for healthcare, and New York is going to be the same way. I really think I can do some good."
His father just sighed and then rose from the chair. "It's been a long day, I'm going to turn in."
His mother looked up and nodded. "I'll be in once Gregory and I finish our talk," she smiled. "Goodnight, John."
"Goodnight, Blythe," then. "Goodnight, Greg."
"Night, dad."
Without another word he walked away. House just watched him as he walked into the guest room in the apartment and then shut the door. He managed to hide the disappointment and it was easy enough when his mother leaned over and reached for his hand. "You know he means well, he's just, set in his ways..."
"Does he really?" House turned and looked at her. "Or am I just one disappointment after another to him?"
Blythe House reached for her son's face and held his gaze. "Don't ever think that. Your father loves you. He just...you know how he's been since he got back from Vietnam all those years ago."
"Yeah." House gave her the barest hint of a smile. "I guess I do know." Only you don't know what he did to me when you weren't home. But I'll never tell you because it would break your heart. He's already a bastard in my eyes, I'm not going to ruin your life too because of his actions. "I guess I do."
He knew all too well.
Princeton, New Jersey
They were sitting in the cafeteria at the hospital. It was late. Dinner.
It was always dinner.
Maybe the fact that it was the time when a family should come together and be together when in reality it was nearly impossible for them to get along. Small talk was...difficult, at best.
"So, besides work," his father spoke up. "What have you been up to?"
"Not much," House replied.
"You always say that. Not much."
"It's always the answer." House took a bite of the sandwich (reuben, dry) and chewed it. If he could get through this sandwich he could get back to his case and he could get away from his parents.
"Any new babes you might want to tell me about?"
"Leave him alone, John."
House swallowed and briefly contemplated talking about the latest hooker. Maria. She was hot and when you pulled her hair she let out this groan... "Got a new motorcycle. You might have seen it out front, it's orange with a gigantic scrape."
His father arched an eyebrow. "Is it the one in the handicap parking?"
"Yeah," House took another bite. "Looks like crap but it drives great."
"You'll be careful, right?" His mother asked. House nodded and gave her a bit of a smile as he chewed.
"Last I checked, you still have two legs."
House turned his head and met his fathers gaze. "Actually," he held up his cane. "Three."
The look he got back was of a completely unamused John House. "You know what your problem is, Greg?"
"Shifting gears?"
"You just don't know how lucky you are." The pause was enough to give them both time to stare at each other. "Where's the head?"
House jerked his head to motion to the back of the room, and once his father had walked off, he snorted, amused. "Well, good thing we got that cleared up."
"Oh, he was just trying to help." His mother replied.
"I don't need help," he commented, as he looked up at her. He didn't need the help. He was older. Wiser. And he was alive. Wasn't that the important part, in it all? He'd survived the infarction and he'd managed to get back on his own two feet.
His mother smiled. "I know. You're absolutely perfect the way you are."
House smiled at her, but the hollow pang in his chest didn't fade away. He didn't think it ever would.
[Operating room, Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Princeton, New Jersey] The doors fly open as two teams of medical personal push two gurneys into the room. On one gurney is KYLE, attached to life support. On the other gurney is GABE, with an obvious red ligature mark on his neck. HOUSE stands outside the OR doors and watches without expression, then reaches for his Vicodin and dry-swallows a pill, before he turns to go and runs into:
CUDDY: [who knows] They found an open bottle of Aspirin by the body. Lucky he had a headache. Reduced trauma to the heart in transit.
HOUSE: [nods, again without expression] Lucky.
[Cuddy knows better than to antagonize House and walks off]
[Cut to a recovery room, where Kyle is awake and House is standing near the bedside]
KYLE: That can't be all.
HOUSE: Well, you got a heart out of it. How many organs do want from the guy?
KYLE: I mean, my father must have said something. He couldn't just...he must have given you some kind of a message for me.
HOUSE: [pauses for a beat] He said you were right. You did the right thing.
[House turns to leave but Kyle stops him]
KYLE: [confused] Right about what? What does that mean?
HOUSE: How should I know? He's your dad.
[House leaves the room and Kyle is quiet for a moment, before he sniffles and fights tears of apparent happiness mixed with the sadness of losing his father.]
[cut to black]
Dr. Greg House
House
Word count: 1717
Note: WC does not include script style episode text from 3x09 'Son of Coma Guy'.
[Hotel room in Atlantic City, New Jersey.] GABE, an older man who was in a coma just a day earlier before being woken by HOUSE, is standing near the window. It's raining. WILSON is standing behind the couch. HOUSE sits in an armchair. GABE has just offered his heart to his son KYLE, who is dying and needs a heart transplant. All three are silent, then:
HOUSE: Wilson, get out.
WILSON: [guesses what House is is going to do] No.
HOUSE: You've lied to the cops enough for me. [beat] Maybe I don't want to push this until it breaks.
WILSON: [looks at Gabe, then at House, then nods and leaves the room, taking his jacket and House's cane with him]
HOUSE: [once the door is closed, voice steady] [to Gabe] Pills are the simplest. [beat] Hanging has less chance of damaging the heart.
GABE: [thinks for a moment] I'm okay with pain.
HOUSE: Strangulation's better than breaking your neck. Which means this'll be slow.
GABE: [sighs] I wouldn't get to see him even if we got in a car right now and broke the speed limit, driving back, would I?
HOUSE: [barely shakes his head] No.
GABE: [nod] Tell him... [long beat] I don't know what to tell him. [sighs] Think it's my turn to ask a question, isn't it?
HOUSE: I don't think so. 'Cause you just asked me that thing about the speed limit.
[Gabe gives House a 'humor me, please' look and House relents]
HOUSE: What do you wanna know?
GABE: If you could hear one thing from your father, what would it be?
HOUSE: [quickly, without emotion or eye contact] It wouldn't help you.
GABE: Try me.
HOUSE: [after short pause] I'd want him to say, "You were right." [looks up to meet Gabe's eyes, and his voice wavers just slightly] "You did the right thing."
GABE: [smiles] Yeah, it doesn't help.
[House chuckles and then looks at Gabe, and both smiles disappear, before Gabe nods slowly.]
[cut to black]
Okinawa, Japan
He had been standing in the kitchen and listening to his father talk about something that didn't matter to any of them except for the fact that if his father spoke, he listened. Only he was getting sick and tired of listening to the man go on about his poor performance in the school he was attending. It wasn't like it was his fault.
"Well what do you expect, dad? I'm seventeen and I've lived in a dozen different countries. We can't stay put long enough for me to get comfortable at a school because of your God damn,"
"Don't swear at me, Greg."
"I'll swear at you if I want to, you don't get it, do you dad? We move and you expect me to just learn all over again. We're in the middle of fucking Japan and I'm supposed to learn--"
"The teachers are highly trained--"
"They're trained but they don't love what they do." He was very close to crossing a line that he never should have ever crossed but he was too pissed off to care. He was tired of it. "They'd rather be out in the jungle pumping lead into fucking Viet Cong and bombing villages, women and babies and that's where you wish--"
The punch threw him off guard and split his lip, for being older the man was still a Marine and he knew how to throw a mean right hook. The next memories burned into his brain as they happened. His dad grabbed him by the collar and shoved him into the wall, and his mother stepped in and caught a backhand as he shouted at her not to interfere.
That did it.
"Don't you dare touch her, you fucking son of a bitch!"
The next punch caught his dad off guard, and so did the feeling of his father's nose cracking beneath his knuckles as the blood poured out and stained the front of his clothes. The boy shoved the man, hard, and then took his mother by the arm.
"We're leaving."
"Gregory, sweetheart, I'm all right..."
"We are leaving."
She never protested again. House practically pulled her out of the kitchen and he hurried upstairs to grab his jacket and wallet and the keys to the car. He took her to dinner and they ate noodles and drank hot tea and spent the night in a hotel room. She took the bed and he slept on the couch and refused ice for his lip. His father had always told him that scars were a thing of pride.
The next day when they went home, his father pretended as if it had never happened. And if not for the fresh bruise on his face and the way he stared at his son, it very well could have been a dream.
It wasn't.
Beaufort, South Carolina
He stood waiting on the sidewalk outside the airport, guitar bag slung over his back and his duffel bag sitting on the curb at his side. He couldn't help but bounce a little on his feet to the tune in his head, as he watched the cars drive by and waited for the familiar vehicle to make the move from main lane to the pickup area. It wasn't busy and he grinned a little when his mother waved at him. His father was driving. His father always drove.
It was back at the house and over dinner that the conversation came up.
"So I have something to tell you guys."
His mother turned and smiled. "What is it, Gregory?"
"We made a record. We put some demos out for some stuff we recorded awhile back and it turns out that this producer heard some of the songs we'd put together and he asked us to come into his studio. It's a blues record," he explained. "I did the guitar and some of the keys, Crandall did the horns and Jimmy did the drums, it came out really great."
"Why, sweetheart, that's wonderful!"
"With the record out we can go on tour. Get our name out there...I'm really excited. We've already done some shows in some clubs downtown..."
"I'm so proud of you, Gregory."
"Thanks Mom," he grinned and then looked at his father.
"I still think that your time would be better spent learning a skill that will get you somewhere in life, but if this is what you want to do with your time, I don't have the energy to argue with you anymore, boy," his father replied. Then for the sake of being polite (or just pissing his son off) he added. "Congratulations."
House nodded slightly. "Thank you," he managed, and he kept his temper in check. It wouldn't do to ruin things on the first day he was home for the visit.
East Lansing, Michigan
They had called his name and given him the diploma, it was a huge ceremony and it took forever, but it was worth it, even if being an 'H' left him in the middle. He sat and looked at the paper and read the letters.
M.D.
There was work to come. He'd end up spending the next five years getting through his residency and passing his boards, infectious diseases and nephrology as his specialties, but for now, this moment, this degree meant something.
His mother had hugged him when he'd finally found her in the crowd, and his father had offered him a handshake. They had gone to dinner that night and then he'd sat up in the living room of his apartment (he lived on his own a few miles from the campus) with the both of them, telling them about the schools he was planning on going on to and where he was applying to do his residency.
"Columbia, I think. I'd really like to come up to New York. New York's busy, and if you can learn to treat people in New York, or out in Los Angeles, you can learn to treat people anywhere. And with how high I was in my class, I really think I've got a good shot at being accepted."
"You're a smart kid, Greg," his father spoke up. "And I'm sure you'll make a fine doctor. You know the Marines are always looking for men and women who are trained in medicine."
"I don't want to join the Marines, dad."
"Your grandfather was a Marine."
"I know."
"And his father was a Marine. You're a House. We come from a long line of soldiers, son."
House shook his head. "I'm not a soldier. I'm not a fighter like that. I want to help people." He turned to his mother. "Columbia's got a great program for community outreach. When I was down in New Orleans, I met a lot of great people who didn't have enough money for healthcare, and New York is going to be the same way. I really think I can do some good."
His father just sighed and then rose from the chair. "It's been a long day, I'm going to turn in."
His mother looked up and nodded. "I'll be in once Gregory and I finish our talk," she smiled. "Goodnight, John."
"Goodnight, Blythe," then. "Goodnight, Greg."
"Night, dad."
Without another word he walked away. House just watched him as he walked into the guest room in the apartment and then shut the door. He managed to hide the disappointment and it was easy enough when his mother leaned over and reached for his hand. "You know he means well, he's just, set in his ways..."
"Does he really?" House turned and looked at her. "Or am I just one disappointment after another to him?"
Blythe House reached for her son's face and held his gaze. "Don't ever think that. Your father loves you. He just...you know how he's been since he got back from Vietnam all those years ago."
"Yeah." House gave her the barest hint of a smile. "I guess I do know." Only you don't know what he did to me when you weren't home. But I'll never tell you because it would break your heart. He's already a bastard in my eyes, I'm not going to ruin your life too because of his actions. "I guess I do."
He knew all too well.
Princeton, New Jersey
They were sitting in the cafeteria at the hospital. It was late. Dinner.
It was always dinner.
Maybe the fact that it was the time when a family should come together and be together when in reality it was nearly impossible for them to get along. Small talk was...difficult, at best.
"So, besides work," his father spoke up. "What have you been up to?"
"Not much," House replied.
"You always say that. Not much."
"It's always the answer." House took a bite of the sandwich (reuben, dry) and chewed it. If he could get through this sandwich he could get back to his case and he could get away from his parents.
"Any new babes you might want to tell me about?"
"Leave him alone, John."
House swallowed and briefly contemplated talking about the latest hooker. Maria. She was hot and when you pulled her hair she let out this groan... "Got a new motorcycle. You might have seen it out front, it's orange with a gigantic scrape."
His father arched an eyebrow. "Is it the one in the handicap parking?"
"Yeah," House took another bite. "Looks like crap but it drives great."
"You'll be careful, right?" His mother asked. House nodded and gave her a bit of a smile as he chewed.
"Last I checked, you still have two legs."
House turned his head and met his fathers gaze. "Actually," he held up his cane. "Three."
The look he got back was of a completely unamused John House. "You know what your problem is, Greg?"
"Shifting gears?"
"You just don't know how lucky you are." The pause was enough to give them both time to stare at each other. "Where's the head?"
House jerked his head to motion to the back of the room, and once his father had walked off, he snorted, amused. "Well, good thing we got that cleared up."
"Oh, he was just trying to help." His mother replied.
"I don't need help," he commented, as he looked up at her. He didn't need the help. He was older. Wiser. And he was alive. Wasn't that the important part, in it all? He'd survived the infarction and he'd managed to get back on his own two feet.
His mother smiled. "I know. You're absolutely perfect the way you are."
House smiled at her, but the hollow pang in his chest didn't fade away. He didn't think it ever would.
[Operating room, Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Princeton, New Jersey] The doors fly open as two teams of medical personal push two gurneys into the room. On one gurney is KYLE, attached to life support. On the other gurney is GABE, with an obvious red ligature mark on his neck. HOUSE stands outside the OR doors and watches without expression, then reaches for his Vicodin and dry-swallows a pill, before he turns to go and runs into:
CUDDY: [who knows] They found an open bottle of Aspirin by the body. Lucky he had a headache. Reduced trauma to the heart in transit.
HOUSE: [nods, again without expression] Lucky.
[Cuddy knows better than to antagonize House and walks off]
[Cut to a recovery room, where Kyle is awake and House is standing near the bedside]
KYLE: That can't be all.
HOUSE: Well, you got a heart out of it. How many organs do want from the guy?
KYLE: I mean, my father must have said something. He couldn't just...he must have given you some kind of a message for me.
HOUSE: [pauses for a beat] He said you were right. You did the right thing.
[House turns to leave but Kyle stops him]
KYLE: [confused] Right about what? What does that mean?
HOUSE: How should I know? He's your dad.
[House leaves the room and Kyle is quiet for a moment, before he sniffles and fights tears of apparent happiness mixed with the sadness of losing his father.]
[cut to black]
Dr. Greg House
House
Word count: 1717
Note: WC does not include script style episode text from 3x09 'Son of Coma Guy'.