rp for dr_greghouse_md

[semper_fi_house]

John had just come in from mowing the lawn in the backyard. Seemed spring had finally started -- it felt like summer out there. He poured himself a beer and sat down in the living room arm chair, reaching for the newspaper off the end table next to it. There was a note lying on top of the newspaper, from Blythe, explaining that she'd gone out for

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[dr_greghouse_md]

On the TV, Triple H was dripping with sweat and was sporting an ugly, dramatic expression of rage on his face as he stared at The Undertaker. WWE Smackdown always proved to be endless Saturday afternoon entertainment when House had little else to do - no cases, couldn't be bothered doing the laundry he had piled up in the laundry basket, dishes overflowing in the sink which he kept putting off. His cleaner wasn't due in until Monday and House wasn't really about to do a job his cleaner was paid money to do - which was clean.

He stifled a yawn as he shifted on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table, his eyes feeling a little heavy. He didn't sleep very well at nights - some nights not at all because of his leg or because of side effect complications his drugs gave him - and tended to get sleepy during the day, especially when he wasn't doing anything. His eyes grew heavier as the minutes went by and pretty soon House's eyes had drooped shut and his head started to loll to the side as he fell into a doze.

Until the phone rang. He jerked awake with a groggy, startled look on his face and looked around the room in disorientation for a moment before he realized the phone was ringing. God damn it.

Sighing in annoyance, he stretched his arm over towards the phone and snatched it up from the cradle, pressed 'talk' without bothering to look at the caller ID to see who it was because he assumed it was Wilson, and pressed the phone to his ear.

"This better be good," he said in a grumpy tone.

[semper_fi_house]

John blinked at Greg's greeting.

"Excuse me?" he asked, affronted.

He shifted slightly in his seat, leaning forward in agitation. Talking to Greg was always impossible. They had barely said a word to each other, and already John was losing patience. But this was important - it was for Blythe. "Is that how you generally answer the phone?"

John held in a belch, knowing that Greg would take that little distraction and run with it.

"I'm wating."

He heard Greg sigh on the other end, "How long have you had indigestion?"

John raised his eyes to the heavens and tried not to grip the phone, "Does that really matter? I asked you a question, Gregory."

"I answer in a way the befits whomever I know is on the other line. Key word: know. How long have you had indigestion, sir?"

"I just drank some beer is all. Let it go."

John listened to Greg sigh again and then he began to fiddle with something. "I'm sorry, sir. Is there a problem with Mom?"

John nearly sneered, but held it back. "Interesting that you should ask about your mother, son. You know her birthday's coming up now, yet we haven't seen hide nor hair of you. As usual."

This time, Greg was completely silent. "I haven't been in the country, Dad."

John raised his eyebrows at this news. "And they don't have phones anywhere, you don't have a cell phone -- I find that hard to believe."

"I have a cell phone, it's just that having one really doesn't matter when one is in quarantine."

John felt his mouth fall open, but forced himself to get it together. "You were in that ebola mess, but you work here in the States!"

Greg sighed, again, and John could hear his grip tightening on his phone. "Which matters very little when one is an infectious disease specialist and when those are in very high demand. It's basically like the eradication of smallpox in India, sir -- if nobody goes to treat it, said eradication doesn't happen. Also, people die. A lot."

John had shot to his feet after hearing just what Greg had been doing, "But you have a bum leg, why would they ask you to help?"

Greg chuckled darkly, "Funny how my leg is suddenly something to deal with now. It doesn't matter, sir -- "

"STOP CALLING ME 'SIR'!"

Blythe came rushing in the room, yanking her gardening gloves off. "John, what the devil are you going on -- "

John ripped the phone away from his ear, "Did you know Greg was in that Ebola mess?"

Blythe sighed, "He sent me an email about Médecins Sans Frontières before he left. He wasn't really given much time. Have you been yelling at him about it?"

John frowned in shock, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Blythe exhaled gustily, "Because you take a cluck and fuss and turn it into an lion's roar. Greg promised me he'd take every precaution, including his quarantine when he came home, and I told him I loved him and he went. He got back home the night before last. Would you have wanted him to call at four in the morning?"

"Yes!"

"You say that now," Blythe dismissed, gently taking the phone from him and speaking calmly, "How are you sweetheart? You haven't had any suspicious symptoms, have you?"

"Non, maman," Greg said heavily. "I am getting bored. I've read all my books, but you knew that."

Blythe held back a smile, "And I told you to buy yourself some new ones before the trip so that you wouldn't run into this. It's not like you can't afford it. If you're bored, it's your own doing."

Greg pretended to whine like a puppy, "Cuddy took all my new books and said she was putting them in my office for safe-keeping so bacteria didn't colonize on them, but I think that was just an excuse to throw them out."

Blythe rolled her eyes, "Now why on earth would she do that?"

Greg hesitated, "I may have played a certain prank involving her desk drawers...and gravity."

Blythe looked away from the phone and shook her head, "Then you get what you get, Greg. Stop playing pranks on your boss and you wouldn't be bored right now during a very necessary quarantine."

Greg sighed again and finally asked, "Has Dad calmed down yet?"

Blythe glanced at John, who stared worriedly back at her, "Well, no, sweetie, he worries about you. Just like I do."

[semper_fi_house]

Greg grumbled something and Blythe's expression firmed slightly, "That is not true, Gregory, and don't ever think that again. His reputation and getting his way do not mean more than you do, you two are just too much alike. It's not a crazy notion."

"...Okay. Back to my consignment, then?"

"It's only three weeks," Blythe soothed, "You've been grounded longer -- and no one's taken your things from you this time. Here's an idea, learn how to cook. It'd probably save you a mint."

"You're the only one I want to cook with," Greg pouted and Blythe outright laughed. "I love you, too, sweetie. If you're good, maybe I'll send you a care package. Good-bye."

"Bye, Mom," Greg managed to pout even further. "Happy birthday to you."

"Thank you, my greatest gift ever."

Blythe laughed at Greg's surprised silence and handed the phone back to John, "Try to remember he was out doing good and keeping people safe."

"At his own expense, every damned time," John was frowning now. "He'd've been safer joining up."

"No way!" Greg's voice sounded from the phone. "I'd've been blown to pieces and you know it."

"You don't know that," John countered, snuffing indignantly. "Look, behave during your quarantine and maybe I'll send you somethin'. Some books or something. I have to think about it."

"...Really?"

"Yes, really." John sighed, "I love you, son."

"...I love you, too, Dad."

The line emptied, filled with a dial tone, and John looked at Blythe as he hung up. "Please tell me if Greg goes to Africa again and it's not Egypt. I don't want to not know that."

"Duly noted," Blythe settled, coming to give John a hug. "You have to know that Greg won't ignore us without due cause -- like exposure to a life-threatening infectious disease."

John guffed again, "Does he ever spend any time on physics?"

"Of course he does. Now calm down and we'll hear from him when we're supposed to." With that, she took her gardening gloves and returned outside.

John finally sat back down and nursed his beer. "My invisible, visible son," he whispered, gazing out the window.

END