A god awful tie... (ch 13/?)
Title: A god awful tie... (ch 13/?)
Pairing: House/Cuddy, Foreman/Cameron
Author: Alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG-13ish
Summary: House treats some odd diseases, but even he doesn't know the cure to the one affecting PPTH
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Notes: Reviews and flames alike are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast) sorry it's been so long... life and other stories took over...
House glanced up from playing go-fish with the kids, as a knock sounded on the door to the differential room.
He blinked, surprised, and waved for his mother to come in.
“Greg... did something happen to you?” she asked, taking in the fading bruise on his jaw, and the wheelchair he was sitting in.
House shook his head.
“Not like you mean; a... patient got a bit out of control and hit me, and I tripped and sprained my ankle.”
Blythe sighed, relived that only one of the two members of her family were seriously hurt.
She paused then, taking in the four children sitting on the floor.
“Hi.” said Cameron.
Blythe smiled, nodding to her.
“Hello.”
Cameron smiled.
“I’m Cameron. I talked to you last year.”
Blythe nodded again, remembering.
“You must have cut your hair since then. You look a bit different now.”
Cameron giggled.
Wilson, still very shy of strangers-even relatively un-strange ones like House’s mother-climbed up onto House’s lap, curling into a ball and sucking his thumb.
Blythe watched him, feeling an unexpected rush of happiness and pride. Of course, it wasn’t as though they were *actually* his children, but... that he was looking after them was a wonderful thing to see none-the-less.
“So... how is John doing?” she asked, smiling as Chase decided he didn’t want to be left out of the lap-occupying, and climbed up next to Wilson.
“His vitals are stable. He should be able to go to surgery in a few hours.”
Blythe sighed.
“Right.”
House shrugged.
“You asked how he was doing. That’s how he’s doing.”
Blythe tilted her head a little, narrowing her eyes.
“What did he do?
“What he always does.”
“Not what he always does. He did something out of the ordinary.”
House grimaced, picked chase up, handed him to Cuddy, waved for Cameron to move the deck of cards so he wouldn’t run it over, and called foreman out of the differential room.
Wilson climbed down out of his lap when they reached the door, stumbling back towards foreman and the other kids, who had resumed the game.
“Well?” asked Blythe, as soon as they were out the door.
House sighed, continuing to roll himself until they were around the corner.
“He asked me if he might die. I said yes. He apologized. I told him to stuff it, got up. My leg hurt, I had to sit down. He noticed. He told me I finally learned to hide my pain. I exploded. I ended up punching the side of an elevator repeatedly and falling asleep in a closet. I didn’t twist my ankle, I wore myself out hitting the elevator, and got stuck in this because I told four mini-doctors that I sprained my ankle to avoid explaining what really happened.”
Blythe nodded calmly.
“That’s not nearly as bad as I was expecting. You still look tired dear, are you sure you’re ok now?”
House nodded.
“Kids couldn’t sleep cus of all the stuff they saw helping out. Ended up staying up late reading them a story.”
Blythe smiled.
“The snow queen?”
House blinked.
“How’d you know?”
Her smile widened.
“Don’t you remember, Greg? That used to be you favorite. You would cry every time Gerda did.”
House turned bright red.
That was the thing about parents. They knew who you used to be, not just who you were. Maybe that was what made it so hard for them-or at least for Mom-to watch him be miserable like he was.
He did remember crying over that book. The first time they had left the country, he had tried to go and find his best friend of the entire four years he had been alive-Sarah-but they had been in some South American country, and it had turned out to be a rather useless endeavor, given Sarah was still in Ohio. Dad had yelled at him that it was stupid, Mom had packed him lunches for his mid-morning treks-only allowed to occur after he made his bed, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and read three pages of a book out loud, in Spanish or English, his choice.
“Greg, dear, are you ok? Greg? Gregory?”
He blinked.
He had spaced out, remembering.
“Sorry.”
She looked a little confused, but nodded.
“That’s quite alright.”
He sighed, looked furtively around, and pushed himself out of the chair, stretching languorously.
Blythe smiled, watching him.
“It’s ridiculous, but still easier than explaining.” he said, leaning against the wall.
“I can imagine. Who was that other fellow, shorter than you....”
“And black?” asked House, raising his eyebrows and smirking at Mom’s typically extreme inoffensiveness.
“Well, yes.”
“That’s Foreman. Been here two... two and a half years.”
Blythe raised her eyebrows.
“You never told us, dear? Why didn’t you introduce us when we were here a year ago?”
House shrugged.
“He and Chase were with our patient most of the time you were here.”
“Oh, that cute young man is still here?”
House snorted.
“Yes, Chase is still here. Well, at the moment, he’s only sort of here. He’s the one who climbed up after Wilson. He’s three.”
Blythe nodded.
“Are they all three? Some of them, the girl not named Cameron especially, seemed older?”
“Chase’s three, Cameron and Wilson are both four, Cuddy’s five.”
Blythe blinked, smiling.
“So the other girl was your boss?” she asked.
“Yep. Though not right now.”
Blythe laughed, smiling, happy.
Greg might not know it, but despite the apparent troubles, he seemed very much happier than he had in the last six or so years, and for maybe twenty before eleven years ago-before he had met stacy.
She had been so glad when he had met that wonderful girl, Stacy, and had been so happy and vibrant, like he had been as a young child.
But of course, that had changed, and he had gone even deeper than he had been before Stacy.
Now... now he seemed happy. Very, very happy.
Maybe that was what he had been missing all this time; a person who really depended on him, looked up to him, and did not judge him. Maybe that responsibility was what he needed to make him happy.
She just wondered if he would ever realize it.
She was startled out of her thoughts by House’s pager going off, and his mild curse.
“What?”
Greg looked at her, silently.
“Oh god. It’s John, isn’t it?”
House nodded, glancing back towards the hallway and kids, then looking back at her.
“What... what happened?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She bit her lower lip, looking around as though for something to tell her what to do.
“Mom.”
She looked at Greg.
“Calm down.”
She nodded, wiping her eyes.
House pulled his cane off the back of the chair, pushed it into a storage closet, and turned back to her.
“Foreman will have gotten the page too, he’ll watch them.”
She nodded, following him down the hall.
When they reached John’s room, they found it empty, the bed gone.
“Oh god. He’s dead.”
Blythe gripped her son around the waist, crying into his shoulder.
House grimaced, awkwardly patting her on the back.
“If he died straight off, he would still be here. They only move the beds when they’ve still got living people in them.” he said, shifting uncomfortably.
Blythe pulled back, wiping the tears off her cheeks and looking slightly apologetic.
“I’m sorry.”
House shook his head.
“We’ll check with the nurse’s station, they’ll probably know what happened and where he is.”
She nodded, following him again.
The nurse’s station looked empty when they reached it, so House leaned over the counter, looking for anyone, tiny or not.
Brenda was sitting there, looking bored.
“Where is everyone?”
She looked up at him, blinking.
“They had to take the guy in that room,” she pointed to John’s room, “down to neuro, he was having a stroke.”
House blinked.
“Oh. Ok.”
He looked back at Mom.
Then he looked away, back at Brenda.
“I don’t suppose there’s an empty spot for clinic duty today?”
Pairing: House/Cuddy, Foreman/Cameron
Author: Alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG-13ish
Summary: House treats some odd diseases, but even he doesn't know the cure to the one affecting PPTH
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Notes: Reviews and flames alike are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast) sorry it's been so long... life and other stories took over...
House glanced up from playing go-fish with the kids, as a knock sounded on the door to the differential room.
He blinked, surprised, and waved for his mother to come in.
“Greg... did something happen to you?” she asked, taking in the fading bruise on his jaw, and the wheelchair he was sitting in.
House shook his head.
“Not like you mean; a... patient got a bit out of control and hit me, and I tripped and sprained my ankle.”
Blythe sighed, relived that only one of the two members of her family were seriously hurt.
She paused then, taking in the four children sitting on the floor.
“Hi.” said Cameron.
Blythe smiled, nodding to her.
“Hello.”
Cameron smiled.
“I’m Cameron. I talked to you last year.”
Blythe nodded again, remembering.
“You must have cut your hair since then. You look a bit different now.”
Cameron giggled.
Wilson, still very shy of strangers-even relatively un-strange ones like House’s mother-climbed up onto House’s lap, curling into a ball and sucking his thumb.
Blythe watched him, feeling an unexpected rush of happiness and pride. Of course, it wasn’t as though they were *actually* his children, but... that he was looking after them was a wonderful thing to see none-the-less.
“So... how is John doing?” she asked, smiling as Chase decided he didn’t want to be left out of the lap-occupying, and climbed up next to Wilson.
“His vitals are stable. He should be able to go to surgery in a few hours.”
Blythe sighed.
“Right.”
House shrugged.
“You asked how he was doing. That’s how he’s doing.”
Blythe tilted her head a little, narrowing her eyes.
“What did he do?
“What he always does.”
“Not what he always does. He did something out of the ordinary.”
House grimaced, picked chase up, handed him to Cuddy, waved for Cameron to move the deck of cards so he wouldn’t run it over, and called foreman out of the differential room.
Wilson climbed down out of his lap when they reached the door, stumbling back towards foreman and the other kids, who had resumed the game.
“Well?” asked Blythe, as soon as they were out the door.
House sighed, continuing to roll himself until they were around the corner.
“He asked me if he might die. I said yes. He apologized. I told him to stuff it, got up. My leg hurt, I had to sit down. He noticed. He told me I finally learned to hide my pain. I exploded. I ended up punching the side of an elevator repeatedly and falling asleep in a closet. I didn’t twist my ankle, I wore myself out hitting the elevator, and got stuck in this because I told four mini-doctors that I sprained my ankle to avoid explaining what really happened.”
Blythe nodded calmly.
“That’s not nearly as bad as I was expecting. You still look tired dear, are you sure you’re ok now?”
House nodded.
“Kids couldn’t sleep cus of all the stuff they saw helping out. Ended up staying up late reading them a story.”
Blythe smiled.
“The snow queen?”
House blinked.
“How’d you know?”
Her smile widened.
“Don’t you remember, Greg? That used to be you favorite. You would cry every time Gerda did.”
House turned bright red.
That was the thing about parents. They knew who you used to be, not just who you were. Maybe that was what made it so hard for them-or at least for Mom-to watch him be miserable like he was.
He did remember crying over that book. The first time they had left the country, he had tried to go and find his best friend of the entire four years he had been alive-Sarah-but they had been in some South American country, and it had turned out to be a rather useless endeavor, given Sarah was still in Ohio. Dad had yelled at him that it was stupid, Mom had packed him lunches for his mid-morning treks-only allowed to occur after he made his bed, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and read three pages of a book out loud, in Spanish or English, his choice.
“Greg, dear, are you ok? Greg? Gregory?”
He blinked.
He had spaced out, remembering.
“Sorry.”
She looked a little confused, but nodded.
“That’s quite alright.”
He sighed, looked furtively around, and pushed himself out of the chair, stretching languorously.
Blythe smiled, watching him.
“It’s ridiculous, but still easier than explaining.” he said, leaning against the wall.
“I can imagine. Who was that other fellow, shorter than you....”
“And black?” asked House, raising his eyebrows and smirking at Mom’s typically extreme inoffensiveness.
“Well, yes.”
“That’s Foreman. Been here two... two and a half years.”
Blythe raised her eyebrows.
“You never told us, dear? Why didn’t you introduce us when we were here a year ago?”
House shrugged.
“He and Chase were with our patient most of the time you were here.”
“Oh, that cute young man is still here?”
House snorted.
“Yes, Chase is still here. Well, at the moment, he’s only sort of here. He’s the one who climbed up after Wilson. He’s three.”
Blythe nodded.
“Are they all three? Some of them, the girl not named Cameron especially, seemed older?”
“Chase’s three, Cameron and Wilson are both four, Cuddy’s five.”
Blythe blinked, smiling.
“So the other girl was your boss?” she asked.
“Yep. Though not right now.”
Blythe laughed, smiling, happy.
Greg might not know it, but despite the apparent troubles, he seemed very much happier than he had in the last six or so years, and for maybe twenty before eleven years ago-before he had met stacy.
She had been so glad when he had met that wonderful girl, Stacy, and had been so happy and vibrant, like he had been as a young child.
But of course, that had changed, and he had gone even deeper than he had been before Stacy.
Now... now he seemed happy. Very, very happy.
Maybe that was what he had been missing all this time; a person who really depended on him, looked up to him, and did not judge him. Maybe that responsibility was what he needed to make him happy.
She just wondered if he would ever realize it.
She was startled out of her thoughts by House’s pager going off, and his mild curse.
“What?”
Greg looked at her, silently.
“Oh god. It’s John, isn’t it?”
House nodded, glancing back towards the hallway and kids, then looking back at her.
“What... what happened?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She bit her lower lip, looking around as though for something to tell her what to do.
“Mom.”
She looked at Greg.
“Calm down.”
She nodded, wiping her eyes.
House pulled his cane off the back of the chair, pushed it into a storage closet, and turned back to her.
“Foreman will have gotten the page too, he’ll watch them.”
She nodded, following him down the hall.
When they reached John’s room, they found it empty, the bed gone.
“Oh god. He’s dead.”
Blythe gripped her son around the waist, crying into his shoulder.
House grimaced, awkwardly patting her on the back.
“If he died straight off, he would still be here. They only move the beds when they’ve still got living people in them.” he said, shifting uncomfortably.
Blythe pulled back, wiping the tears off her cheeks and looking slightly apologetic.
“I’m sorry.”
House shook his head.
“We’ll check with the nurse’s station, they’ll probably know what happened and where he is.”
She nodded, following him again.
The nurse’s station looked empty when they reached it, so House leaned over the counter, looking for anyone, tiny or not.
Brenda was sitting there, looking bored.
“Where is everyone?”
She looked up at him, blinking.
“They had to take the guy in that room,” she pointed to John’s room, “down to neuro, he was having a stroke.”
House blinked.
“Oh. Ok.”
He looked back at Mom.
Then he looked away, back at Brenda.
“I don’t suppose there’s an empty spot for clinic duty today?”