Fic: Tickling the Ivories
Title: Tickling the Ivories
Author: Nemesis (Nems)
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Warnings: I would suggest not finding out what they are, but if you INSIST, they are here
Summary: The music plays, Wilson knows, even if his hearing is going and he can't hear the notes for sure. House is always there to tickle the ivories. Belongs in the Laurenverse
Disclaimer: Okay. *munches some popcorn*. I'm watching the credits now... Wouldja look at that! They don't say "Nemesis" anywhere near there. Not even in the random tech stuffs. Guess it's not mine then!
A/N: Whew. This fic wins the award for the most people looking it over. So, credit! omfg_yaoi_squee and lurker_of_note were very helpful, and I thank you for it. My sweet, wonderful wives, 1lostone and Cris, much love as always for putting up with me and looking over my fics! My husband, the incomparably talented benjimmy, gets much love for dealing with me and looking over this fic. And, a special thank you to deelaundry, for your extremely helpful comments throughout the versions of this fic. And to all of you for helping with a title!
Dr. House is being forced would like to take this time and space to remind you that "puppies shouldn't be kicked, Chase is a whore, and reviews are love. Can I have a week off Clinic duty now?" Dr. Wilson would like to add, "Favorite lines are much appreciated, I'm told. Ditto for concrit."
“Greg, the music’s too soft again!” Wilson called. “I can barely hear what you’re playing.”
A loud ringing distracted him. “Oh, fuck.” He waited a few seconds for House to stand up and get the door, but he didn’t hear House clambering to his feet. Or House calling that he would get it, or the door opening and House greeting their visitors.
“Fine, Greg, I’ll get it. Although, you know, you’ve been walking with a cane longer than I have. You’re a hell of a lot faster at it than I am.”
He opened the door and smiled brightly. “Hi, Lauren,” he greeted.
Lauren stood in the doorway with her daughter, Elizabeth. She was struck again, painfully, by how old her mother looked: Wilson was leaning heavily on his cane, his face pale and heavily wrinkled. His hair was gray and thin, and his hands trembled. He personified ‘old, decrepit man.’
“Hi, Mom,” Lauren greeted.
“Hi, Grandma,” Liz said brightly.
Wilson stepped aside and let them both in. “I’ll get some coffee,” he said immediately.
“Mom, I’ll do it,” Lauren said loudly. “You just sit.” She knew Wilson would start the coffee and then leave it there for hours on end. At least she didn’t have to worry about him leaving the stove on for hours; the staff would keep him safe. Lauren had searched for ages for a great assisted care facility for him and House, one where they were left mainly to their own devices but had help available if they needed it. She'd been so pleased when they'd settled here years ago.
Wilson nodded absently, going and sitting down. “Lauren,” he said, addressing Liz, “aren’t you going to tell me about your day?”
Liz frowned for a moment, but smiled again. “Well, Daddy took me to the zoo earlier. We saw lions and tigers and bears!”
As Lauren returned with the coffee, Wilson offered, “It’s very nice of you to bring Lauren here. I’m sorry, though, my memory’s just not what it used to be. I’ve forgotten your name entirely.”
A look of sorrow crossed Lauren’s face. “Mom, I’m Lauren.”
“How odd,” Wilson smiled. “My little girl’s Lauren, too. She’s a beautiful kid. She has her daddy’s eyes. Well, given genetics, her mommy’s eyes too, I suppose, but I don’t know her mother.”
Lauren swallowed past the lump in her throat. “How… uh, how old is your daughter?” she asked cautiously.
“Lauren’s eight now,” Wilson answered with a broad smile. “Apple of my eye. I’m very proud of her. So’s her dad. You should meet Greg. Not sure you’d like him. He’s a sarcastic sort. I’ll go get him anyway. He should see his daughter. And he’s been banging away at that piano all day. I don’t know why; I can’t hear it, and I don’t think he can either, but there you have it.”
Lauren took a shaky breath and laid her hand over Wilson’s. “Mom. Dad’s dead.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Wilson said immediately. “I didn’t know your father died. And me saying I want to bring Greg out here to see his daughter must’ve brought back memories.”
“Mom. Greg’s dead.”
Wilson paused, his face becoming heavily lined with pain. “Greg? My Greg’s dead? No, it can’t be… He was playing piano just half an hour ago.”
Lauren shook her head. “He’s been dead for three years. He died in his sleep three years ago, remember?”
Wilson thought hard for a few minutes, trying to remember. He did remember, sort of. Greg had gone to bed early. Wilson had gone to bed not much later and curled up next to him, like they had most nights for decades. And when he woke up, Greg wasn’t breathing.
“Greg,” Wilson whispered brokenly. “My Greg’s dead.”
Lauren clasped his hand. “He was 78 years old, and you always said that it was a miracle he lived as long as he did.”
***
“Mommy?” Liz asked on the way home. “Why does Grandma call me Lauren?”
“Grandma’s senile, honey. He forgets things very easily, especially recent memories. He doesn’t remember you, and he thinks you’re me. He doesn’t know that I’m grown up now.”
“And who’s Greg?” Liz asked, catching her mother’s eye in the rear view mirror.
“Greg was my father. Your Grandpa. Don’t you remember him? He walked with a cane and he made lots of funny faces. He played piano for you sometimes, but it hurt his hands after a while.”
Liz remembered vaguely the phone ringing, and her mom starting to cry. Then her father had taken her out of the room, and that had been all - she didn’t know what was going on until much later, when Mom said that Grandpa was dead.
“Liz, you have to be very patient with Grandma. Don’t make him feel stupid because he can’t remember you or me. It’s a disease called dementia. It’s not something he has any control over.”
***
Wilson sat in the chair and thought hard. House was dead. How could House be dead? House wasn’t supposed to be dead.
Well, technically, he was supposed to be dead, he was supposed to have died hundreds of times, but Wilson didn’t know what to do with himself. His husband was dead. How did he not know that? Why couldn’t he remember that House was dead?
A flash of lucidity came to him. The woman today was Lauren, not the little girl she brought with her. The little girl must’ve been his granddaughter then. Elizabeth… some form of Elizabeth. Beth or Betty or something like that. No… wait, it wasn’t Elizabeth. It was something beginning with L. He remembered with a smile. Lisa. Maybe after Cuddy.
He went to his lonely, cold bed, tears forming in his eyes at the thought that House was dead.
***
“Greg! Why don’t you ever get the door?” he grumbled loudly. His hearing was bad, so House’s had to be worse.
He opened it and smiled. “Lauren!” he cried. “And Lisa.”
“Mom, her name’s Liz,” Lauren corrected gently. If Wilson at least remembered that Liz wasn’t Lauren, then it was a good day.
“Liz? Oh. I thought it was Lisa, after Aunt Lisa, you know. Well, these things happen. Getting old, I guess. Still, still, it’s not that bad. Greg’s been doing well, you know. I’ll just get him. He’s been reading in his study for hours. I’m sure he’d love to see his daughter and granddaughter.”
Tears sprang to Lauren’s eyes. She hated having to break the news to him every week, trying to get him to remember where he was and what was going on around him. Sometimes, she wondered if he wasn’t better off just thinking House was alive. Then she wondered what happened when he went looking for House and didn’t find him.
“Mom, when you go to find Dad, what happens?”
Wilson smiled brightly. “Honey, what do you think happens? I find him.” He patted her hand. “Don’t worry about him, hon. Greg’s doing just fine now. Can you believe it? Seventy-seven and still going strong. Always thought he’d kill himself by now. He leads a charmed life.”
***
“How was it at your mother’s?” Lauren’s husband, Tom, asked.
Lauren sighed heavily and sat down. “Mom doesn’t remember Dad’s dead. He keeps looking for Dad, keeps saying Dad’s here or there. He told me today that he goes and finds Dad.”
Tom hugged her silently.
“And he doesn’t always remember me. He thinks Liz is me, Tom. What am I supposed to do? My mom doesn’t remember who I am. Sometimes… sometimes, all he remembers is Dad.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she said, “Sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, he forgets he married Dad.”
Tears gathered in Lauren’s eyes again, and Tom rubbed her back gently. “There’s nothing you can do, darling,” Tom said softly.
“That’s the worst,” Lauren muttered. “Watching it and not being able to do anything. Worse torture hasn’t been discovered.”
***
“Lauren! Hi!” Wilson cried as he opened the door. “Come in. And Lisa, nice to see you again. Thanks for taking Lauren to the movies.”
Lauren considered this for a few minutes. She supposed she did kind of look like Cuddy, but it was only a passing resemblence.
“Greg’s at the library,” Wilson said as he sat down again. “Running out of things to read. He went through his home library years ago. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thanks, Mom.”
“How about you? Juice?”
“No, Grandma.”
Wilson sat back with a smile on his face. “Well, okay then. How’s work?”
“It’s very busy. Rogers quit, so we need to find another cardiologist. I was reviewing his case files, and he’s been doing shoddy work for months. I’m not sure which of his cases are serious and which aren’t, though.” Lauren had gone into medicine, too, to no one’s surprise. Like her father, she had a double specialty: infectious disease (of course) and endocrinology. Until House’s death, she had shared the more interesting cases with him and had called him in for consults.
House, meanwhile, had called her in for consults whenever he had a case that she could offer some insight in.
“And you, Mom?”
“Oh, I’ve been great. The neighbors have been helping me with the shopping - Greg’s had trouble with it for years, and you know, with a cane, it is hard to get shopping done. I should’ve recognized it sooner. I’ve still been cooking though.”
There was a slight pause in conversation. Lauren bit her lip and said nothing about the neighbors. It wasn’t the neighbors who did the shopping for Mom; it was the staff at the facility. Lauren turned to Liz and asked, “Would you like to play the piano?”
Liz nodded enthusiastically. Lauren nodded towards House’s piano, kept perfectly dust-free and tuned by Wilson, who still didn’t realize House wasn’t around to tickle the ivories.
Wilson watched Liz play Fur Elise with a smile on his face. He turned to Lauren and said, “Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thanks, Mom,” Lauren said.
“How about you? Juice?” Wilson asked Liz.
“No, Grandma.”
Wilson shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. How’s work?”
Lauren took a fortifying breath. “It’s been busy. Rogers quit unexpectedly, so we need to hire a cardiologist. He’s been doing shoddy work for months, though, I found when I was reviewing his files.”
Liz started playing Ode to Joy, and Lauren was transported to another time, another place. She had been four years old, and Dad, still fairly young, still fairly healthy, still his usual self, had sat down and taught her Ode to Joy because it was Mom’s favorite piece. And it was Mom’s birthday, so she played it that night as a present.
Wilson listened with a smile on his face. “I love that piece,” he declared. “Always need to be joyous.” He turned to Lauren. “Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thanks, Mom,” Lauren said patiently.
“How about you? Juice?”
“No, thanks, Grandma.”
Wilson smiled anyway. “Oh well. It’s okay, I’m not sure I could carry two cups in here anymore. How’s work?”
***
“We had the same conversation seven times today,” Lauren sighed into her hands.
Tom looked up from his newspaper. “What was it?”
“He asked me if I wanted coffee, I said no. He asked Liz if she wanted juice, she said no. He said something along the lines of ‘okay then,’ then asked me about work. And he called me Lisa.”
Tom put the newspaper down and squeezed Lauren’s shoulder. “Maybe, if he’s lucky, it’ll be over soon.”
Lauren shut her eyes. “I feel so guilty. I don’t want it to be over. I mean, I don’t want him to suffer, and it’s clear that he misses Dad a lot, but I don’t want to lose him too. I don’t want Mom to die. And I know he’s suffering and in pain and probably, he’s frustrated by his loss of memory, if he realizes that he can’t remember things, but I just… I can’t handle the thought of him dying.”
Tom chewed on his lip for a moment. “Dear, it’s not strange that you don’t want your mother to die. You’ve known him your entire life. It’s perfectly normal that you want to have him with you always. But you don’t need to feel guilty over this. I’d be more worried if you were here, plotting his death.”
“In a way,” Lauren confided, “I want him to die. I mean, I don’t want him dead, but he’s got nothing left. What kind of life does he lead? He talks to my father’s ghost. He has trouble reading because the books are too heavy and his eyes are too weak, trouble watching TV because his hearing is bad, trouble cooking and doing household tasks himself. He’s bored. But… I mean, how can I want my mom to die? What…”
“Shh… You don’t want him dead. You want him not to have to go through the worst parts of this illness, when the real pain starts.”
Lauren nodded.
***
“Greg? Why don’t you ever get the door?” Wilson muttered. He remembered suddenly: House was at work. Well, of course he didn’t get the door then.
Wilson stood up and started for the door, nearly falling. “That’s odd,” he said. Then he spotted a cane next to his chair. “Do I walk with a cane already?” he mused. “Must be Greg’s. Doesn’t matter, I’ll just use it to get to the door. I’m sure he won’t mind.” He hobbled to the door and opened it.
“Hi, Mom,” Lauren greeted. This time, she hadn’t brought Liz with her.
Wilson beamed and let her in. “Why, you’ve grown so big! I knew letting you go to Baltimore for college was a bad idea! I never see you any more. Now, I’m sure you want to see Dad and tell him all about the courses you’re taking and discuss the medicine you’ve learned, but he’s at the hospital. Big case. He’s been working on it for days. I wish he’d come home, though. He’s not young anymore.”
Wilson looked at her critically. “But you don’t have any of your stuff with you! Aren’t you going to stay here?”
“Mom, I’m not in college anymore. I finished. I have my medical degree, a job in medicine. I have my own house now. I’m married, and I have a kid, Liz. Don’t you remember this?”
“Of course, of course.” He didn’t, actually, but he was supposed to, and if he really thought about it, he did kind of remember. Wilson sat down, propping the cane up against the armchair. “I don’t really need it,” he confessed. “Just, stood up right now and was a little dizzy, and I grabbed Greg’s cane to steady myself.”
Lauren sighed heavily. “Mom, that’s your cane. Last time you tried to walk without it, you fell down and couldn’t get up again.”
Wilson surveyed the cane critically. “You know, it looks just like the one Greg used to have. He had a lot of canes, though. Are you sure it’s not his?”
“Positive, Mom.”
Wilson shrugged. “Well, if you say it’s mine, it’s mine. After all, who’s the doctor here?” He smiled brightly. “Did I ever tell you about your father’s more interesting cases? I’m sure he’s told you some of them, but I doubt he’s told you all of them. I just remembered one.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“It was… well, early 2000s that we had this case. Before you were born, actually. He treated John Henry Giles. Giles came in with pneumonia, which everyone thought just fit with his ALS. Giles signed a DNR and then went into cardiac arrest. House shocked his heart and went to jail for a few days for assault. But then, they found a tumor somewhere - I have to admit, I forget now - and they took it out, and voila! Cured. Giles walked out on his own two feet.”
Lauren sighed again. She had heard the story a hundred times before in the past three - almost four - years since House’s death, and never the right way.
***
“Greg? Greg? Greg?” Wilson called, slowly going through the house, looking for House. “Greg, stop hiding. It’s not funny.”
Then he remembered. House was dead.
He sat down on their - his - bed and cried.
His husband was dead.
How was he supposed to live now?
***
James Evan Wilson died alone in bed January 13. In a fairy tale, it would be the anniversary of House’s death, and he would’ve died with a smile on his face, knowing he would see his husband again. The gates of heaven would open, and next to St. Peter would be House in a white robe with wings, walking unaided, looking as young as ever, and with a smile on his face. Wilson would run up to him and embrace him, laugh loudly and even people down on Earth would swear they could hear the laughter of two lovers reunited.
This wasn’t a fairy tale.
January 13 was a date that meant nothing in particular to either House or Wilson.
Wilson got into bed the night of January 12. His hand searched fruitlessly for House’s body, frowning as he found nothing but empty space. House had said he was going to bed early; he should be here already.
But no.
Wilson frowned, trying to remember if House had said anything else.
He shook his head slightly to clear the thoughts. House would be by soon enough. He was probably playing some light music to ease his mind. Even in old age, House had insomnia.
Wilson shut his eyes.
As he drifted off into sleep, he remembered: House is dead.
Tears gathered in Wilson’s eyes and flowed down his face as he fell asleep.
His eyes never opened again.
Epilogue
Lauren looked at the tombstones in the cemetery. “In loving memory, Gregory House” and next to him, “In loving memory, James Evan Wilson.” A brief epitaph and the dates of their birth and death. Side by side even in death, like they had been almost all of their lives.
She had her suspicions about Wilson’s death. There had been no autopsy, naturally. There was no reason to think anything but natural causes. Wilson had been nearing 80, and his heart wasn’t in the best shape.
But Lauren was suspicious anyway. It was a vague, half-formed notion in her mind, but it was definitely there. When all was said and done, she wondered if Wilson hadn’t taken something to end his misery.
If he hadn’t realized that House really, truly was gone and just couldn’t bear the thought of forgetting that again, of thinking his husband was alive when he wasn’t… She wasn’t sure exactly what would have bothered him the most about it - forgetting and looking for him fruitlessly, never finding, or being cursed with remembering suddenly that House wasn’t, in fact, alive.
She wondered if Wilson died knowing House was dead or not.
In loving memory… she read again. In loving memory.
Author: Nemesis (Nems)
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Warnings: I would suggest not finding out what they are, but if you INSIST, they are here
Summary: The music plays, Wilson knows, even if his hearing is going and he can't hear the notes for sure. House is always there to tickle the ivories. Belongs in the Laurenverse
Disclaimer: Okay. *munches some popcorn*. I'm watching the credits now... Wouldja look at that! They don't say "Nemesis" anywhere near there. Not even in the random tech stuffs. Guess it's not mine then!
A/N: Whew. This fic wins the award for the most people looking it over. So, credit! omfg_yaoi_squee and lurker_of_note were very helpful, and I thank you for it. My sweet, wonderful wives, 1lostone and Cris, much love as always for putting up with me and looking over my fics! My husband, the incomparably talented benjimmy, gets much love for dealing with me and looking over this fic. And, a special thank you to deelaundry, for your extremely helpful comments throughout the versions of this fic. And to all of you for helping with a title!
Dr. House is being forced would like to take this time and space to remind you that "puppies shouldn't be kicked, Chase is a whore, and reviews are love. Can I have a week off Clinic duty now?" Dr. Wilson would like to add, "Favorite lines are much appreciated, I'm told. Ditto for concrit."
“Greg, the music’s too soft again!” Wilson called. “I can barely hear what you’re playing.”
A loud ringing distracted him. “Oh, fuck.” He waited a few seconds for House to stand up and get the door, but he didn’t hear House clambering to his feet. Or House calling that he would get it, or the door opening and House greeting their visitors.
“Fine, Greg, I’ll get it. Although, you know, you’ve been walking with a cane longer than I have. You’re a hell of a lot faster at it than I am.”
He opened the door and smiled brightly. “Hi, Lauren,” he greeted.
Lauren stood in the doorway with her daughter, Elizabeth. She was struck again, painfully, by how old her mother looked: Wilson was leaning heavily on his cane, his face pale and heavily wrinkled. His hair was gray and thin, and his hands trembled. He personified ‘old, decrepit man.’
“Hi, Mom,” Lauren greeted.
“Hi, Grandma,” Liz said brightly.
Wilson stepped aside and let them both in. “I’ll get some coffee,” he said immediately.
“Mom, I’ll do it,” Lauren said loudly. “You just sit.” She knew Wilson would start the coffee and then leave it there for hours on end. At least she didn’t have to worry about him leaving the stove on for hours; the staff would keep him safe. Lauren had searched for ages for a great assisted care facility for him and House, one where they were left mainly to their own devices but had help available if they needed it. She'd been so pleased when they'd settled here years ago.
Wilson nodded absently, going and sitting down. “Lauren,” he said, addressing Liz, “aren’t you going to tell me about your day?”
Liz frowned for a moment, but smiled again. “Well, Daddy took me to the zoo earlier. We saw lions and tigers and bears!”
As Lauren returned with the coffee, Wilson offered, “It’s very nice of you to bring Lauren here. I’m sorry, though, my memory’s just not what it used to be. I’ve forgotten your name entirely.”
A look of sorrow crossed Lauren’s face. “Mom, I’m Lauren.”
“How odd,” Wilson smiled. “My little girl’s Lauren, too. She’s a beautiful kid. She has her daddy’s eyes. Well, given genetics, her mommy’s eyes too, I suppose, but I don’t know her mother.”
Lauren swallowed past the lump in her throat. “How… uh, how old is your daughter?” she asked cautiously.
“Lauren’s eight now,” Wilson answered with a broad smile. “Apple of my eye. I’m very proud of her. So’s her dad. You should meet Greg. Not sure you’d like him. He’s a sarcastic sort. I’ll go get him anyway. He should see his daughter. And he’s been banging away at that piano all day. I don’t know why; I can’t hear it, and I don’t think he can either, but there you have it.”
Lauren took a shaky breath and laid her hand over Wilson’s. “Mom. Dad’s dead.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Wilson said immediately. “I didn’t know your father died. And me saying I want to bring Greg out here to see his daughter must’ve brought back memories.”
“Mom. Greg’s dead.”
Wilson paused, his face becoming heavily lined with pain. “Greg? My Greg’s dead? No, it can’t be… He was playing piano just half an hour ago.”
Lauren shook her head. “He’s been dead for three years. He died in his sleep three years ago, remember?”
Wilson thought hard for a few minutes, trying to remember. He did remember, sort of. Greg had gone to bed early. Wilson had gone to bed not much later and curled up next to him, like they had most nights for decades. And when he woke up, Greg wasn’t breathing.
“Greg,” Wilson whispered brokenly. “My Greg’s dead.”
Lauren clasped his hand. “He was 78 years old, and you always said that it was a miracle he lived as long as he did.”
***
“Mommy?” Liz asked on the way home. “Why does Grandma call me Lauren?”
“Grandma’s senile, honey. He forgets things very easily, especially recent memories. He doesn’t remember you, and he thinks you’re me. He doesn’t know that I’m grown up now.”
“And who’s Greg?” Liz asked, catching her mother’s eye in the rear view mirror.
“Greg was my father. Your Grandpa. Don’t you remember him? He walked with a cane and he made lots of funny faces. He played piano for you sometimes, but it hurt his hands after a while.”
Liz remembered vaguely the phone ringing, and her mom starting to cry. Then her father had taken her out of the room, and that had been all - she didn’t know what was going on until much later, when Mom said that Grandpa was dead.
“Liz, you have to be very patient with Grandma. Don’t make him feel stupid because he can’t remember you or me. It’s a disease called dementia. It’s not something he has any control over.”
***
Wilson sat in the chair and thought hard. House was dead. How could House be dead? House wasn’t supposed to be dead.
Well, technically, he was supposed to be dead, he was supposed to have died hundreds of times, but Wilson didn’t know what to do with himself. His husband was dead. How did he not know that? Why couldn’t he remember that House was dead?
A flash of lucidity came to him. The woman today was Lauren, not the little girl she brought with her. The little girl must’ve been his granddaughter then. Elizabeth… some form of Elizabeth. Beth or Betty or something like that. No… wait, it wasn’t Elizabeth. It was something beginning with L. He remembered with a smile. Lisa. Maybe after Cuddy.
He went to his lonely, cold bed, tears forming in his eyes at the thought that House was dead.
***
“Greg! Why don’t you ever get the door?” he grumbled loudly. His hearing was bad, so House’s had to be worse.
He opened it and smiled. “Lauren!” he cried. “And Lisa.”
“Mom, her name’s Liz,” Lauren corrected gently. If Wilson at least remembered that Liz wasn’t Lauren, then it was a good day.
“Liz? Oh. I thought it was Lisa, after Aunt Lisa, you know. Well, these things happen. Getting old, I guess. Still, still, it’s not that bad. Greg’s been doing well, you know. I’ll just get him. He’s been reading in his study for hours. I’m sure he’d love to see his daughter and granddaughter.”
Tears sprang to Lauren’s eyes. She hated having to break the news to him every week, trying to get him to remember where he was and what was going on around him. Sometimes, she wondered if he wasn’t better off just thinking House was alive. Then she wondered what happened when he went looking for House and didn’t find him.
“Mom, when you go to find Dad, what happens?”
Wilson smiled brightly. “Honey, what do you think happens? I find him.” He patted her hand. “Don’t worry about him, hon. Greg’s doing just fine now. Can you believe it? Seventy-seven and still going strong. Always thought he’d kill himself by now. He leads a charmed life.”
***
“How was it at your mother’s?” Lauren’s husband, Tom, asked.
Lauren sighed heavily and sat down. “Mom doesn’t remember Dad’s dead. He keeps looking for Dad, keeps saying Dad’s here or there. He told me today that he goes and finds Dad.”
Tom hugged her silently.
“And he doesn’t always remember me. He thinks Liz is me, Tom. What am I supposed to do? My mom doesn’t remember who I am. Sometimes… sometimes, all he remembers is Dad.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she said, “Sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, he forgets he married Dad.”
Tears gathered in Lauren’s eyes again, and Tom rubbed her back gently. “There’s nothing you can do, darling,” Tom said softly.
“That’s the worst,” Lauren muttered. “Watching it and not being able to do anything. Worse torture hasn’t been discovered.”
***
“Lauren! Hi!” Wilson cried as he opened the door. “Come in. And Lisa, nice to see you again. Thanks for taking Lauren to the movies.”
Lauren considered this for a few minutes. She supposed she did kind of look like Cuddy, but it was only a passing resemblence.
“Greg’s at the library,” Wilson said as he sat down again. “Running out of things to read. He went through his home library years ago. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thanks, Mom.”
“How about you? Juice?”
“No, Grandma.”
Wilson sat back with a smile on his face. “Well, okay then. How’s work?”
“It’s very busy. Rogers quit, so we need to find another cardiologist. I was reviewing his case files, and he’s been doing shoddy work for months. I’m not sure which of his cases are serious and which aren’t, though.” Lauren had gone into medicine, too, to no one’s surprise. Like her father, she had a double specialty: infectious disease (of course) and endocrinology. Until House’s death, she had shared the more interesting cases with him and had called him in for consults.
House, meanwhile, had called her in for consults whenever he had a case that she could offer some insight in.
“And you, Mom?”
“Oh, I’ve been great. The neighbors have been helping me with the shopping - Greg’s had trouble with it for years, and you know, with a cane, it is hard to get shopping done. I should’ve recognized it sooner. I’ve still been cooking though.”
There was a slight pause in conversation. Lauren bit her lip and said nothing about the neighbors. It wasn’t the neighbors who did the shopping for Mom; it was the staff at the facility. Lauren turned to Liz and asked, “Would you like to play the piano?”
Liz nodded enthusiastically. Lauren nodded towards House’s piano, kept perfectly dust-free and tuned by Wilson, who still didn’t realize House wasn’t around to tickle the ivories.
Wilson watched Liz play Fur Elise with a smile on his face. He turned to Lauren and said, “Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thanks, Mom,” Lauren said.
“How about you? Juice?” Wilson asked Liz.
“No, Grandma.”
Wilson shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. How’s work?”
Lauren took a fortifying breath. “It’s been busy. Rogers quit unexpectedly, so we need to hire a cardiologist. He’s been doing shoddy work for months, though, I found when I was reviewing his files.”
Liz started playing Ode to Joy, and Lauren was transported to another time, another place. She had been four years old, and Dad, still fairly young, still fairly healthy, still his usual self, had sat down and taught her Ode to Joy because it was Mom’s favorite piece. And it was Mom’s birthday, so she played it that night as a present.
Wilson listened with a smile on his face. “I love that piece,” he declared. “Always need to be joyous.” He turned to Lauren. “Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thanks, Mom,” Lauren said patiently.
“How about you? Juice?”
“No, thanks, Grandma.”
Wilson smiled anyway. “Oh well. It’s okay, I’m not sure I could carry two cups in here anymore. How’s work?”
***
“We had the same conversation seven times today,” Lauren sighed into her hands.
Tom looked up from his newspaper. “What was it?”
“He asked me if I wanted coffee, I said no. He asked Liz if she wanted juice, she said no. He said something along the lines of ‘okay then,’ then asked me about work. And he called me Lisa.”
Tom put the newspaper down and squeezed Lauren’s shoulder. “Maybe, if he’s lucky, it’ll be over soon.”
Lauren shut her eyes. “I feel so guilty. I don’t want it to be over. I mean, I don’t want him to suffer, and it’s clear that he misses Dad a lot, but I don’t want to lose him too. I don’t want Mom to die. And I know he’s suffering and in pain and probably, he’s frustrated by his loss of memory, if he realizes that he can’t remember things, but I just… I can’t handle the thought of him dying.”
Tom chewed on his lip for a moment. “Dear, it’s not strange that you don’t want your mother to die. You’ve known him your entire life. It’s perfectly normal that you want to have him with you always. But you don’t need to feel guilty over this. I’d be more worried if you were here, plotting his death.”
“In a way,” Lauren confided, “I want him to die. I mean, I don’t want him dead, but he’s got nothing left. What kind of life does he lead? He talks to my father’s ghost. He has trouble reading because the books are too heavy and his eyes are too weak, trouble watching TV because his hearing is bad, trouble cooking and doing household tasks himself. He’s bored. But… I mean, how can I want my mom to die? What…”
“Shh… You don’t want him dead. You want him not to have to go through the worst parts of this illness, when the real pain starts.”
Lauren nodded.
***
“Greg? Why don’t you ever get the door?” Wilson muttered. He remembered suddenly: House was at work. Well, of course he didn’t get the door then.
Wilson stood up and started for the door, nearly falling. “That’s odd,” he said. Then he spotted a cane next to his chair. “Do I walk with a cane already?” he mused. “Must be Greg’s. Doesn’t matter, I’ll just use it to get to the door. I’m sure he won’t mind.” He hobbled to the door and opened it.
“Hi, Mom,” Lauren greeted. This time, she hadn’t brought Liz with her.
Wilson beamed and let her in. “Why, you’ve grown so big! I knew letting you go to Baltimore for college was a bad idea! I never see you any more. Now, I’m sure you want to see Dad and tell him all about the courses you’re taking and discuss the medicine you’ve learned, but he’s at the hospital. Big case. He’s been working on it for days. I wish he’d come home, though. He’s not young anymore.”
Wilson looked at her critically. “But you don’t have any of your stuff with you! Aren’t you going to stay here?”
“Mom, I’m not in college anymore. I finished. I have my medical degree, a job in medicine. I have my own house now. I’m married, and I have a kid, Liz. Don’t you remember this?”
“Of course, of course.” He didn’t, actually, but he was supposed to, and if he really thought about it, he did kind of remember. Wilson sat down, propping the cane up against the armchair. “I don’t really need it,” he confessed. “Just, stood up right now and was a little dizzy, and I grabbed Greg’s cane to steady myself.”
Lauren sighed heavily. “Mom, that’s your cane. Last time you tried to walk without it, you fell down and couldn’t get up again.”
Wilson surveyed the cane critically. “You know, it looks just like the one Greg used to have. He had a lot of canes, though. Are you sure it’s not his?”
“Positive, Mom.”
Wilson shrugged. “Well, if you say it’s mine, it’s mine. After all, who’s the doctor here?” He smiled brightly. “Did I ever tell you about your father’s more interesting cases? I’m sure he’s told you some of them, but I doubt he’s told you all of them. I just remembered one.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“It was… well, early 2000s that we had this case. Before you were born, actually. He treated John Henry Giles. Giles came in with pneumonia, which everyone thought just fit with his ALS. Giles signed a DNR and then went into cardiac arrest. House shocked his heart and went to jail for a few days for assault. But then, they found a tumor somewhere - I have to admit, I forget now - and they took it out, and voila! Cured. Giles walked out on his own two feet.”
Lauren sighed again. She had heard the story a hundred times before in the past three - almost four - years since House’s death, and never the right way.
***
“Greg? Greg? Greg?” Wilson called, slowly going through the house, looking for House. “Greg, stop hiding. It’s not funny.”
Then he remembered. House was dead.
He sat down on their - his - bed and cried.
His husband was dead.
How was he supposed to live now?
***
James Evan Wilson died alone in bed January 13. In a fairy tale, it would be the anniversary of House’s death, and he would’ve died with a smile on his face, knowing he would see his husband again. The gates of heaven would open, and next to St. Peter would be House in a white robe with wings, walking unaided, looking as young as ever, and with a smile on his face. Wilson would run up to him and embrace him, laugh loudly and even people down on Earth would swear they could hear the laughter of two lovers reunited.
This wasn’t a fairy tale.
January 13 was a date that meant nothing in particular to either House or Wilson.
Wilson got into bed the night of January 12. His hand searched fruitlessly for House’s body, frowning as he found nothing but empty space. House had said he was going to bed early; he should be here already.
But no.
Wilson frowned, trying to remember if House had said anything else.
He shook his head slightly to clear the thoughts. House would be by soon enough. He was probably playing some light music to ease his mind. Even in old age, House had insomnia.
Wilson shut his eyes.
As he drifted off into sleep, he remembered: House is dead.
Tears gathered in Wilson’s eyes and flowed down his face as he fell asleep.
His eyes never opened again.
Epilogue
Lauren looked at the tombstones in the cemetery. “In loving memory, Gregory House” and next to him, “In loving memory, James Evan Wilson.” A brief epitaph and the dates of their birth and death. Side by side even in death, like they had been almost all of their lives.
She had her suspicions about Wilson’s death. There had been no autopsy, naturally. There was no reason to think anything but natural causes. Wilson had been nearing 80, and his heart wasn’t in the best shape.
But Lauren was suspicious anyway. It was a vague, half-formed notion in her mind, but it was definitely there. When all was said and done, she wondered if Wilson hadn’t taken something to end his misery.
If he hadn’t realized that House really, truly was gone and just couldn’t bear the thought of forgetting that again, of thinking his husband was alive when he wasn’t… She wasn’t sure exactly what would have bothered him the most about it - forgetting and looking for him fruitlessly, never finding, or being cursed with remembering suddenly that House wasn’t, in fact, alive.
She wondered if Wilson died knowing House was dead or not.
In loving memory… she read again. In loving memory.