Keeper (Agnates in Elysium), 7/10 (R)
Posted to house_wilson and betteronvicodin
Title: Keeper (Agnates in Elysium), Part 7/10
Author: Dee Laundry
Rating: R
Summary: House and Wilson's son Jack passes one of life's crossroads and makes an unexpected connection.
Note: Part One began in June 2033. Sequel to My Fathers' Son, set in an AU that crosses over with simple__man 's Churchverse, which began with Brilliant. Grateful appreciation to daisylily for beta and to simple__man for creating something wonderful and letting me play with it.
Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six
Mary, Jer, and Church made it to the restaurant only a few minutes late, and by the time the appetizers were served, Jer had relaxed back into his chair and was smiling and nodding to Mary's anecdotes about her work.
Jack leaned slightly toward Church and spoke behind his hand. "What did she say to him?"
"Don't know. They made me stay in the car." Church popped a shrimp in his mouth and then grumbled, "But with all the gushing Jer's doing over her, I'm starting to get jealous myself."
Stifling a smile, Jack reached for the bread. For anyone else, Jer's demeanor with Mary would be considered barely above cordially polite. Based on everything he'd heard, though, for Jer it was effusive - and probably done on purpose to get Church's goat.
"OK, OK, OK," Church declared, clapping his hands to get their attention. "We are here tonight to celebrate the engagement of two very special people. And by special, I mean short-bus special-needs special."
"Hey," Jer grumbled warningly, but Mary placed a hand on his arm, forestalling him.
"Now, Church," she said, "it's been obvious since day one that your hatred for Jack knows no bounds, but me? I thought we had a good thing going."
Church stretched across the table, narrowly missing the candle, and took Mary's other hand. "You, my dear, have always enchanted me with your loveliness and charm. But you dealt me a cruel blow by accepting a ring from this twit, and I have been forced to reconsider."
He pulled back grandly and reached into his pocket with a flourish, as the other three looked on in various stages of amusement and bemusement. "Nonetheless," he continued, pulling out a piece of paper, "marriage is a blessed institution, or so I was informed by my disgustingly committed parents on their twenty-fifth anniversary. Therefore, I have written for you, my sweet, a poem."
"A poem?" Jack asked, flabbergasted. He looked to Jer, who shrugged, looking puzzled as well.
Beaming, Mary took the paper and unfolded it. "Church, you are a darling, and I'm flattered beyond - oh." She gave the smirking man across from her a long look, but pulled the sheet closer to her chest when Jack tried to sneak a look.
"I shall recite," she said, and drew herself up regally. Jack was vaguely confused; Church, still smirking smugly, leaned slightly in towards Jer, who sighed.
Mary held their gazes for a brief moment and then began speaking.
Some roses are red;
Violets aren't always blue.
You must be knocked up,
So when are you due?
Jack wasn't even surprised, but he covered his face with a hand anyway.
"What?" Church asked mock-defensively, and even with eyes closed, Jack could feel the looks Jer and Mary were giving him. "It's not like there's anything to be ashamed of. Plenty of couples find themselves forced to marry when a bun unexpectedly shows up in the oven."
"Like your parents," Jer noted.
"Exactly," Church replied. "And they're still going strong. Nothing to be ashamed of at all."
Jack shook his head in confusion. "Wait a minute. So you were unplanned?"
Church looked almost offended. "Oh, no, I was most definitely planned."
"Just unwanted," Jer noted, and Church glared at him.
"Aren't you verbose tonight? You don't have to say every damn thing that comes into your mind, you know. Yes, that is most definitely an insult, but take it slow trying to cogitate through exactly what it means. I hate it when the smell of burning metal wafts from your ears." Scowling, he turned emphatically away from Jer and toward Mary and Jack. "Anyway, I was saying that I was very much planned. During the pregnancy, my dear biological mother rightly concluded that she wasn't the right woman for the job, and Mom stepped in, dragging Dad along to take full responsibility for what his genes had wrought. It all turned out fine and well, and I wish the same for the two of you and your as yet nameless sprog. If you want the ultimate in timeless sophistication, I'd suggest Christian."
"Jer's like Jack and Mary put together," Jer noted, causing Church to begin to sputter.
Jack chuckled, earning Church's scorn, and Mary leaned over to pat Jer's arm. "It's a lovely name, and I'll definitely keep it in mind. However, not yet, because I'm not pregnant."
"Seriously?" Church queried, and turned to Jack. "You're going to voluntarily marry someone you met at age twenty?"
Smiling, Jack reached over and hugged Mary. "Given that it's me, does that really surprise you at this point?" he asked.
"I suppose not," Church said, and they were interrupted by the arrival of the entrees. Then there was eating, and general chit-chat, and somehow the conversation came back around to pregnancy and birth. Jack found out that Church's parents also had kept video of him being born, and that it was every bit as graphic and un-amusing as the tape of Jack's birth. Church was several sentences into describing explicit details of his crowning when Mary interrupted.
"I think this may be making Jer uncomfortable. Let's change the subject. I know; we can talk about colors for the wedding."
All three men looked at her with abject horror. "I'd rather hear about vaginas," Jer mumbled.
An amused smirk crept onto Mary's face. "Priceless. Of course I don't mean it."
The relief was palpable, and then all four of them were laughing together.
"I do have a lot of planning to do, though," Mary sighed.
"Know who you could talk to?" Jer asked.
Church and Jack opened their mouths in the same millisecond. "Mom." "Pop."
Mary smiled at them as Jer shook his head. "Cassie," he clarified. "Our wedding planner friend."
"Ah, Cassandra the Fair," said Church. "She'd be perfect."
Church told a few amusing tales about Cassie's clientele, Mary related some bridesmaid horror stories, they ate dessert, and soon the evening was winding down.
Just as Jack was about to call it a night, Jer slid an envelope across the table to him. He looked at Jer quizzically; Jer nodded, as if he'd made up his mind after long deliberation.
The envelope was a smooth cream color, and heavier than typical in Jack's hands.
"Not a poem," Jer reassured him with a small smile on his face. Church had pulled his chair closer to Jer and was resting a hand on Jer's thigh; he looked, oddly enough for him, content.
With Mary's head tucked onto his shoulder, Jack opened the envelope and pulled out a plain cream-colored card. His heart swelling, he read out loud the words Jer had written in clear, bold script: "It's said that we only grow through adversity, tribulation, and pain. May you never be any bigger than you are at this moment."
What a gift it was, Jack thought, to have such remarkable people in his life. All he could do was say, "Thank you," and hope they heard the deep gratitude behind the simple words.
***
Standing behind the counter at the pharmacy, Jack looked down aisle seven fondly. He was doing his best to remain composed and professional for the remaining eight minutes of his shift, but it was difficult when his Pop was standing right there, waiting for him.
Church wandered by, and Jack leaned over the counter and grabbed him. "Guess who's finally come to town?"
"The Great Pumpkin?"
"No," Jack replied briskly. "My father. He's right over there browsing the aisle; look."
Church stared for a long beat and then asked, "Wow, who'd your dad eat?"
"He's my Pop. And if you tease him about his weight, I will kick your ass," Jack growled. "He's been depressed since Dad died, and last year he got dangerously thin. So overweight is fine."
"Overweight? If his beard and hair were white instead of silver, he'd look just like Santa Claus."
"Stop," Jack warned. "Seriously."
"I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it," Church said, holding his hands up in surrender. "In fact, there's a sizable portion of the gay community that likes fat and hairy. Bet your father's getting more poon than he can handle."
Jack rolled his eyes. "If you're going to use obsolete slang, you could at least use it properly. 'Poon' means female genitalia."
Leaning lazily back against the counter, Church replied, "Didn't you say your dad's bi? So he'd be happy getting female genitalia."
"Yes, but it doesn't follow logically from what you were saying before. You said that certain gays would like my Pop. Getting poon would thus mean he's having sex with gay women."
"Which would be hot."
Jack shrugged and said, "Yeah, I guess so."
Church's expression immediately turned smug. "You're imagining your dad having sex!" he gloated.
"No, I'm not! Asshole."
Church smirked and made a show of wiping his hands. "My work here is done."
"Chris! Stocking!" called the out-of-sight night manager.
"Dilweed wants someone to lick his stockings," Church muttered, but he started walking toward the stock room.
"Come back and I'll introduce you," Jack called. He ignored the one-fingered wave Church shot him, dismissing it as pure irritation at being ordered around, and switched his work coat for his fall jacket. Business was slow, and he was eager to spend time with his Pop. A few minutes out from the counter and on the floor would be fine.
He caught Pop's eye as he stepped out from the back. His stride might've been a little fast, but Pop never commented, only caught him up in a warm, familiar hug. "Missed you, sweetheart," sighed Pop, and Jack had to smile.
"I missed you, too." Jack let go but stayed close. "I want you to see our apartment, and Mary, before you have to go to the hotel, but let's stay here a few more minutes so you can meet Church."
"As long as we're together, I don't mind where it is. Wish I could spend the whole evening with you and Mary instead of having to go - I tried to get them to move the rehearsal for my presentation to tomorrow morning instead of tonight, but it just wasn't possible. With a conference like this, they have a lot of moving parts to organize."
"No problem at all. And I took tomorrow off, so after your presentation is done, we'll have plenty of time."
They had drifted as they talked and were now standing by the end-of-aisle display. As Jack chatted with Pop, he heard Louis assisting a customer in the next aisle over. "They're down there, sir," Louis said tightly.
"What kind of moron drugstore stocks knee bandages on the bottom shelf? Nobody considered the fact that knee problems might limit a person's ability to, say, bend down?" Ignoring Louis's mumble, the customer demanded, "Are you going to get me one or what?"
Jack felt a cold shock spreading through him at that familiar voice. He didn't dare to look around, seeking out his Pop's eyes instead. Every bit as stunned as Jack was, Pop whispered, "It's not him."
"I know; it can't be him," replied Jack, even as his heart begged for the miracle.
He heard Louis say, "Here you go," and then the man laughed.
"The cliché is not knowing your ass from your elbow; usually people can distinguish knee and elbow. Try again."
Emotions were running through Jack in quick succession - shock, hope, disbelief, excitement, fear, love - and he was starting to shake. "It's not him," Pop repeated, voice strong but eyes pained, as he took hold of Jack's hand and squeezed reassuringly. "It can't be."
"Let me just look," Jack said, taking a big step back but keeping Pop's hand in his.
Pop tightened his grip and began to plead with his eyes. Jack was past the edge of the display; if he turned his head to the right, he'd be able to see the man with the voice of his Dad, but Pop had locked his gaze.
"Don't, Jack," Pop begged. "You don't need the disappointment, believe me -"
He wanted to listen to Pop's wisdom, he did, but the lure was too strong. A subtle shift of his head, a further turn of his eyes, and suddenly his heart caught in his throat. Joy suffused him, and he couldn't help grinning as he reported to Pop, "Sure looks like him."
"It can't be," Pop repeated, jaw clenched. He was getting angry, but his tune would change when he saw, Jack knew it. Jack pulled him forward, turned him forcefully toward the lanky, scruffy six-foot-two genius they'd both missed so much.
Pop staggered and then froze. "House?" he called in disbelief.
"Yeah, what?" the man snapped, turning toward them, and Jack started to laugh. His Dad was here, in a shabby little pharmacy in Nowhere, New York. Pop had been wrong, oh so wrong, and the coroner's report was obviously falsified. That fake body in the morgue had been a damn good simulation, all the details of Dad's appearance captured, and very life-like, or rather human-albeit-dead-like. Jack had fallen for it all, and Dad was going to give him so much shit for it, but he didn't care. Not now that Dad was here.
Bent over with laughter, he felt a hand clap him hard on the back. "What's so funny?" Church asked, leaning over and looking into his face.
"You know this guy?" asked Dad, and the joy surged even higher, pushing Jack into even louder guffaws. Church was going to get to meet his Dad. What could be better?
"Jack?" Pop asked, one strong hand on Jack's neck. Jack was confused at Pop's tone; he should've sounded excited, gleeful, but instead he sounded concerned. Nothing to be concerned about; Dad was back with them, where he belonged.
As he gasped for breath in between chuckles, Church tugged him upright. Dad was there, an appraising cast to his eyes. He looked really good, though. Healthy, fit, a few more wrinkles that only added more character, standing tall and proud. Something off about his stance, Jack thought and then realized Dad wasn't leaning on his cane as much as normal. An interesting detail, but one that was swept away at Dad's next words.
"Your friend's going into shock. Got any place we can have him sit down?"
Jack looked over at Church, alarmed. Church in shock? What for? He checked Church out quickly, but didn't notice any of the typical signs. The concern on Church's face was abnormal, for Church, but other than that… For Dad to mess up a simple diagnosis like that was weird, and Jack looked to Pop for confirmation.
Pop was smiling - finally, he was responding to Dad being back. Not really the right kind of smile, more gentle and reassuring than joyful and relieved, but still, smiling. "It's OK, Jack," Pop said, and that started the laughter back up again, because in the history of understatements, that was the understatedest ever. Which was probably not a word, but whatever.
There were hands on Jack, holding him up, and his feet were moving. He tried to look at them - his three favorite men, the men he loved, together in the same room - but everything was starting to blur, and it occurred to him, as he was plopped into a chair, and his head was shoved between his knees, that passing out at your place of employment was highly, highly unprofessional.
He looked toward Church - Pop was seated next to Jack, his hand warm and gentle on Jack's neck again - to see if he had ever done it, because Church reveled in the unprofessional, and was surprised to see him standing that close to Dad.
No matter. "It's so good to see you," Jack said to Dad, smiling, waiting for him to smile back. He could feel his heart rate slowing down; funny that he hadn't noticed it beating fast to begin with.
"Church?" Dad asked out of the side of his mouth, lips barely moving.
Church shook his head. "I dunno."
They were talking to each other. Why were they talking to each other? It could only mean one thing. "You've met!" Jack cried happily.
"Uh, yeah, Jack," Church replied, rolling his eyes. "He's my Dad."
Jack was instantly angry - Church lied from time to time, but never over something so important. "He's not your Dad!" Jack protested, and Pop's arms tightened around him.
"Since birth," Church replied, as if it was the most natural thing instead of a mean, horrible lie. "Or conception. Depends on how you count. What the fuck's up with you, Jack?"
"Jack," Pop said sadly, gently tugging on Jack's chin until their eyes met. "That's not him. Sounds like him, looks like him - looks a hell of a lot like him - but it's not him. It can't be, sweetheart, because your Dad died."
"But it is him!" insisted Jack. Pop had to see sense. "You called him House and he responded."
"Well," Pop began, but he was interrupted.
"Of course I responded; that's my name."
Pop's eyes grew wider, and something that might've been hope flashed in them as he turned. "Really? Jack's Dad, who as you've realized looked amazingly like you, was a House, too. You must be a relative we never knew about; that's so incredible. Jack, isn't that incredible?"
A relative. A cousin, or an illegitimate brother, or something. That made sense, much more reasonable than a faked death, but Jack couldn't buy it. Couldn't, wouldn't, couldn't. He felt a tickle at the back of his throat and a warmth in his eyes but ignored them, watching dumbly as Pop rose from his chair.
"Where are my manners? We should do introductions," Pop said, extending his hand. "As you've no doubt guessed, I'm Jack's Pop, James Wilson."
Eyes widened, Church and Dad (Cousin House or Uncle House or whoever, and even the realization that that probably meant Jack and Church were cousins wasn't enough to ease the ache) exchanged looks. "That's weird," Church said.
"James is a fairly popular name, as is Wilson," House replied before finally shaking Pop's hand. "Interesting coincidences today; you share the name of Church's other father. I'm Greg House." He tried to pull his hand away, but Pop clung to it tightly.
Pop's eyes flicked from Church to Jack and back to House. "That's eerie," he said, and then leaned closer, searching House's face. "House?" he whispered, and Jack's chest felt tight.
Confusion grew on House's face as he peered intently at Pop. "Jimmy?" he asked, a note of recognition in his voice.
Jack was gasping for air in his overwhelming delight when Church exploded. "That's not Jimmy!"
"Shut the fuck up, Church," Dad said, guiding a shocked-looking Pop to the nearest chair.
"Am I dead?" Pop asked. "I would've assumed heaven had better carpeting."
"You're not dead," Dad scoffed. "You've got a pulse, haven't you?"
"Well, that's hardly conclusive evidence. Even on a purely spiritual plane, we might still experience ourselves as corporeal -"
"Shut up!" Church yelled. "You can't do that; you're not my Mom!" Jack blinked, and Church was rushing toward him, shoving him, nearly knocking him out of his chair. "Get your Pop away from my Dad!"
It was all too much, everything, overflowing into fury, pure and clean. Close enough to kiss, he shouted, "Fuck you, Church! Don't I give you enough, you have to take this too? I lost my Dad twice and you want to tear him away a third time!"
"Whoa," House said, thrusting an arm between them, pushing until there was enough space between them to breathe. Church looked ready to spit, and Jack could feel the snarl on his own face. "When I imagined handsome young men fighting over me, it was not to establish paternal lineage." He nudged each of them again. "Neutral corners. Now."
Church retreated to the far side of the break room, kicking the fridge as he passed. House followed and spoke quietly to him; Jack tried to push away the pang he felt when House's hand dropped onto Church's shoulder.
Pop was by Jack's side now, rubbing his back. "We'll figure it out, Jack. It's going to be fine."
"I just don't understand it at all." If Jack's tone was almost a wail, he knew Pop would forgive him.
"Neither do I. But if he's anything at all like the Greg House we knew, then we've got the best possible mind to help us puzzle it through, right?"
Jack sank into Pop's warm eyes like into a mattress stuffed with feathers. This was crazy, utterly insane, but at least Pop was here to steady him.
"OK," House said, striding back to the middle of the room. Jack marveled at how strong his gait was; the cane was almost an accessory. "Everyone under the age of thirty, out."
Jack's head snapped up, and he and Church protested at exactly the same time, "What?"
"Wilson and I are going to talk this over, so you two get lost." House aimed a thumb at the door as Pop nodded. "We'll find you when we're done."
Fists on hips, Church interjected, "He's not -"
"Yes, yes, World-Revolves-Around-Him. Mister Wilson and I; does that make you feel better? Get out. And don't kill each other."
A shove and a clang, and Jack found himself on the other side of the steel break room door with Church. Louis spotted them and came stomping over, but either Church's glare or Jack's serious head shake warned him off, and he abruptly changed direction toward the front registers.
Jack tilted his head toward the back door of the store, and Church nodded his agreement.
"Well, now I know that's not Mom," Church said as they walked, "because my parents never kick me out of the room so they can argue."
"Arguments, sure. They ever say anything important around you?" Jack looked Church in the eye and was relieved to discover that the anger he'd felt earlier had dissipated. This was Church, the best friend he'd ever had, and no amount of insanity should ever negate that fact.
"No," Church admitted. "You?"
"No." Jack pushed open the heavy black door to the back alley. It wasn't pretty, the dim yellow lights hardly illuminated a thing, and it kind of smelled, but at least it was private.
"Then again, your parents weren't together for most of your life, so…"
What an inane thing to say. Jack threw a disapproving glare Church's way. "They were still both my parents. They had me to discuss."
"Self-centered much?" Church replied through clenched lips as he lit a cigarette.
Disapproving to exasperated was a short, easy slide. "Thank you, Mr. Pot, sir; may I have another?"
"Fraternity hazing paddle fantasies, mmm. No, you may not, Johnny Upright, but you can have this." Church passed the cigarette over and started lighting another one.
Jack rolled the cigarette back and forth between his thumb and index finger. "Sorry for yelling back there."
Church snorted, which blew the lighter flame out. He glared at the lighter; Jack laughed and snatched it away, swiftly lighting Church's cigarette and dropping the lighter into his own pocket. Church took a drag and then replied, "I'm not. Nobody fucks with my family. Not even you."
"I'm not fucking with your family, Church. I just… miss my Dad. I didn't get enough time with him."
"Because your dads split up."
"No, that's not it. Dad only moved a few miles away; I lived with him on weekends and saw him just about whenever I wanted. By more time, I mean more years. I have things to go through, events in my life to come, for which I'd so much like to have him there."
With the alley's lighting, the smoke rings from Church's mouth were an odd color. Jack had tried over the past few months but never mastered the feat, so he simply watched as the rings floated into the darkness.
"You said in the break room," Church said quietly, his head tilted toward the ground, one foot scuffing the blacktop, "that you didn't want to lose your dad a third time. I don't want to lose mine even once. I don't want to lose anyone in my family."
Standard comforting words came quickly to Jack's tongue and began leaping off before he could stop them. "Church, I -"
"Mom had brain tumors."
Feeling like he'd been slapped, Jack stammered, "What?"
"A couple of years ago. Operable; they got everything. But I'd had this feeling that he wouldn't make it, and it tore me up. Then in the middle of it all, before Jimmy was even out of the hospital, this ex-girlfriend of House's came around with a gleam in her eye. I shut that shit down fast, but it still rankles." Church lifted his head then, and his face was as solemn as Jack had ever seen it. "That's my mother, and House's Jimmy, and there's no substitution."
"Yeah," Jack replied, nodding. He stubbed out his cigarette and held his hand out for another. When Church passed the pack, Jack let his hand slide across the back of Church's before taking the cigarettes, let his thumb stroke down Church's fingers before pulling away completely. Church turned his head away, and Jack knew that Church had understood.
After zipping up his jacket - even in the protection of the alley, the autumn air was chilly - Jack lit them both a new cigarette. As he passed Church's over, he asked, "Why do you always call him Mom?"
"Because he's my mother."
"Not technically. Technically, he's your father."
The dumbass glare was just as effective while blowing out a stream of smoke. "Since I can remember, every book Jimmy read to me, every show and movie I saw, that had a mother and kid in it - Dumbo, Bambi, Penny in Pigtails - that was Jimmy and me. People would say to me, 'That's your mother,' and point to the woman who gave birth to me, and it didn't match, didn't make a damn bit of sense. Jimmy and me, that made sense. He's my Mom."
Jack nodded. "Guess it's something like the way that even though I never had a brother, I know exactly how it feels."
They locked eyes for a moment, and Jack sent up a silent word of gratitude to the universe.
Then the right side of Church's lips quirked up. "You're really pumping out the estrogen tonight, Gallant No Balls."
"Uh huh." Jack raised an eyebrow. "I'm not the one boo-hooing over a family member who didn't even die, and empathizing with a lonely outsider pachyderm."
"Putz."
"Girl."
Standing around, even with the distraction of smoking, was making Jack antsy. He wondered what Pop and House were talking about, and how much longer they'd be, and then another thought occurred to him. "Hey," he called to Church, who looked over slowly as if pulling himself out of deep reflection. "Why's your father here? You never mentioned he was coming to town."
Church shrugged. "I wanted it to be a surprise. He's here with Jimmy, who's speaking at a conference tomorrow."
"Ethical Factors in Oncology Research?"
Narrowing his eyes, Church asked, "How did you know?"
"Pop's giving a presentation at it."
"Two James Wilsons at one conference. Hm. Wonder how often that happens."
Jack couldn't believe how dense Church was being, or was trying to be. "You really think the fact that you and I have fathers with the same exact names is a coincidence? Even though both Wilsons are oncologists and both Houses are doctors too?"
"Your dead father was a doctor?" asked Church.
"Not after he died. But yes, while he was alive he was a doctor. One of the best diagnosticians in the world."
Church closed his eyes. "It has to be coincidence. What's the alternative?" He sighed and ground out his cigarette with more force than was necessary. "What the fuck, Jack? What the fuck?"
"I don't know." After passing the pack and lighter back to Church, who immediately lit up again, Jack flicked his cigarette against the wall to watch it bounce. It hit at a strange angle, and the ember arced away from him in an orange streak through the shadows. Conscience kicking in, Jack chased it down and stomped it out.
Church rolled his eyes, and Jack frowned back, and that was when Pop and House emerged from the pharmacy door.
Spotting Church immediately, House made a tsk-tsk sound. "So unhealthy. Weren't you raised by an oncologist? Give me that." House snatched the cigarette away and put it to his own lips, sucking in a long drag.
Pop gave House a disapproving glance before reaching out to pat Jack's arm. "House and I had a good talk, and everything's fine. He's not your father, but he's - kind of a twin. He'll explain a bit more to you, because I have to go. I'm sorry, but the conference organizer called and they need me there right now."
What, now? After Dad's same-name twin had walked into their life, and Jack had almost had a nervous breakdown as a result? "Pop," Jack pleaded, but Pop simply hugged him and then pulled back.
"You're fine, Jack. I'll call you tonight when my rehearsal's done and we can talk. Tell Mary, too, that I'm sorry I missed her but I'll see her tomorrow. Goodbye, everyone." The door to the pharmacy creaked as Pop opened it.
"See ya, Wilson," House called, and Pop smiled wistfully before walking out of sight.
"Pop," Jack repeated and tried to follow until a cane struck him across the chest, pushing him back.
He stared at House in disbelief. His own father had never touched him with his cane, ever; it felt almost like a violation.
"Let him go," said House, and Jack thought fiercely, who the hell are you to tell me what to do with my own father?
Drawing his cane back, House repeated, "Let him go. He needs to go."
"I'm sure the organizers could wait a few minutes," Jack protested.
"I'm sure they could," House replied. "In fact, they're going to have to."
Fuck this. Jack grabbed the door handle and pulled, until House's voice stopped him.
"He doesn't want to break down in front of you."
Refusing to turn back, Jack replied, "We're family. We support each other."
"You're his baby." Jack glanced over, not yet committing to staying. Church was twisting to take the cigarette back from House, and Jack could see where House's hand lay on Church's back. "He doesn't want you to see him like that."
"I've seen him like that before. You made him like that before." It wasn't true because he wasn't Dad, but it seemed to sting House nonetheless.
"Dad's not -" Church angrily began to accuse, but House quieted him with a yank to his arm. It was interesting to see Church so quickly acquiesce.
"No matter how many times Jimmy indicates otherwise, not everything in the world is about you, Brat." He nodded toward Jack and the door behind him. "Now shut that. I've got a story to tell you, and I don't want all the imbeciles inside to hear."
Disconcerted, Jack did as he was told. There was entirely too much going on here. He'd been up and down, and round and round, and now he was alone with a not-truly-stranger wearing his father's face. Who happened to be Church's father. Who Church apparently took after, and if that was true, they both were extraordinarily like Jack's father, and Jack couldn't fathom why he'd never noticed that about Church before. Except he had, hadn't he, without realizing it? Gestures, faces, phrases, and tones. Ways Church couldn't fool him because he'd seen it before.
Same posture, even, and Jack found it hard to repress a smile at the sight of the two of them slumped against the wall together. "Pull up some brick," House called, and Jack took the spot next to him.
After checking to see that both Jack and Church were listening, which for reasons beyond Jack's understanding required a cuff to the back of Church's head, House began.
"The story starts, as near as we can tell, one fine sunny day when a comely, if no longer fresh-faced, lass named Lisa Cuddy became pregnant."
Surprised, Jack twisted to look at him. "Aunt Lisa?"
Church lifted his head from the wall and looked past House toward Jack, equally surprised. "Aunt Lisa?"
"It's a story, hush." House waved them both back. "As I was saying, Lisa Cuddy became pregnant, and then apparently wandered into a yellow wood. When she emerged on the other side -"
"Yellow wood?" Church asked. "Reference to Asian schlong?"
Jack rolled his eyes and replied, "Reference to Frost's poem. That's where two roads diverged."
"OK, Dee and Dum," House interjected. "You want to hear this story or not?"
"Yes," said Jack.
"No," said Church.
"I like the sound of my voice so Jack wins. Gestating Lisa Cuddy emerged from the yellow wood twice. On Path One, she had a miscarriage. On Path A, she hatched the Antichrist. And then you boys know the rest. The end."
Jack was beyond annoyed. "That's a crappy story!"
House turned and regarded him, lips twisted in a half-smile. "Listen to the mouth on you. It's like you were raised by an utter ass."
"Wait a minute," Church insisted, pushing off the wall and starting to pace. "You're saying Lisa had a miscarriage before she had me."
House snorted. "I've known you for a long time, Squirt, so I'm going to assume you're being willfully lunkheaded here. What I'm saying is Lisa Cuddy had a miscarriage instead of you, where Jack grew up."
Still pacing, Church shook his head as if to clear it, and asked Jack, "Where did you grow up? Why haven't we ever talked about that?"
"Princeton, New Jersey, and I don't know." Jack turned toward House. It was a fantastical idea, but he couldn't come up with anything else that would fit. "Alternate universes, that's what you think? Then why are we both here?"
"Yes, and I don't know. Do I look like a physicist?" House smirked.
Church flung an arm towards Jack, narrowly missing his nose. "You can't have grown up in Princeton!" he insisted as he passed by. "I grew up in Princeton!"
"Alternate universes, Church. Which reminds me, if your dads are named House and Wilson and your mom - birth mom - is Cuddy, where did you get the name Bayith?"
House laughed. "Bayith is Hebrew for House." He looked toward Church. "Any particular reason you're playing Witness Protection Program?"
"It's not a big deal, but you don't want to know." Another route around a nearby trash can and then Church stopped. "Why are we still in this damn alley? I need a drink. Or several."
As they made their way toward the street, Jack felt strangely calm. Another Dad and another Pop, who had a different son, who met up with Jack at a crappy drug store in a random town that happened to be a nexus between universes. And Jack the cautious, Jack the settled, who didn't much like change, was prepared to buy it, lock, stock and barrel. Not something he would've predicted, but here they were.
Still, he felt compelled to make one last feeble gesture toward normalcy. "You're sure it's that?" he asked House. "It's not just a strange coincidence, or distant relatives, or…"
"Wilson and I went through everything. Birth dates, birth places, family history, work history - all the same up until your Cuddy lost that baby. She'd actually lost one before, but that was the same for both of us. But after the later miscarriage, or non-miscarriage in our case, existence split." House gestured toward Church and Jack on either side of him. "Door A, Church House. Door B, a little further down the road, Jack Wilson."
"And now the universes are back together?"
House followed Church off to the right, in the direction of the bar Jack and Church had first swapped stories in months ago. "Not exactly," he said. "Dr. James Wilson, Oncologist Extraordinaire from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, is scheduled to speak tomorrow morning. The conference organizers have a photo of him on their web site. Look it up on your Pop's phone, it looks like him. Look it up on my phone, the photo looks like our Jimmy."
"But if they're the same person, how can you tell?" Jack asked, trotting to keep up to Church's accelerated pace.
Snorting, Church leaned across House to reply, "Mom shaves and isn't eating himself to an early grave."
"Shut up, asshole," Jack retorted and shoved Church's shoulder, earning them both smacks from House.
"One more thing," House said when he had them separated again, "which I am only mentioning now to avoid potential future explosions from Lucifer here: I told Jack's father about Jimmy cheating on me."
Jack felt a twinge. He'd never considered the idea that his parents might have cheated on each other. Sure, Pop hadn't been faithful to Jack's stepmother, but that was different because… Jack didn't want to think about it any more.
Church's gait turned to a stomp and he asked angrily, "Why would you even bring that up?"
House glanced at Jack and then calmly regarded Church. "Wilson was disappointed, feeling his relationship was rockier than mine, so I threw him a bone. Sometimes people say something just to make a person feel better."
"People do that, yes. But you don't."
"Except when it's Wilson."
"He's not Jimmy!" Church insisted.
"But he is, somehow, Wilson," House said, and Jack was pleased to hear a gentle note to his voice. "And apparently this other version of me was a moron and hurt him. So why not make it up to him a little?"
Church's skepticism was etched across his face. "You don't believe in the afterlife, but you believe in an alternate universe?"
"I'm a man of mystery, my son."
"You're a man of -" Church muttered, but was cut off when House's expansive gesture toward the nearby building hit him across the chest.
Jack snickered at Church's grumblings and opened the door to the bar. "How do you think the intersecting-universe thing works?"
Church merely glared at him and walked through the doorway, but House stopped and looked at him for a moment. Such a familiar face, but different too. "Do you want to discuss theoretical quantum physics or hear embarrassing stories of Church's childhood?"
"Oh, the latter, definitely," Jack laughed, and they stepped into the bar.
(Continued)
Title: Keeper (Agnates in Elysium), Part 7/10
Author: Dee Laundry
Rating: R
Summary: House and Wilson's son Jack passes one of life's crossroads and makes an unexpected connection.
Note: Part One began in June 2033. Sequel to My Fathers' Son, set in an AU that crosses over with simple__man 's Churchverse, which began with Brilliant. Grateful appreciation to daisylily for beta and to simple__man for creating something wonderful and letting me play with it.
Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six
Mary, Jer, and Church made it to the restaurant only a few minutes late, and by the time the appetizers were served, Jer had relaxed back into his chair and was smiling and nodding to Mary's anecdotes about her work.
Jack leaned slightly toward Church and spoke behind his hand. "What did she say to him?"
"Don't know. They made me stay in the car." Church popped a shrimp in his mouth and then grumbled, "But with all the gushing Jer's doing over her, I'm starting to get jealous myself."
Stifling a smile, Jack reached for the bread. For anyone else, Jer's demeanor with Mary would be considered barely above cordially polite. Based on everything he'd heard, though, for Jer it was effusive - and probably done on purpose to get Church's goat.
"OK, OK, OK," Church declared, clapping his hands to get their attention. "We are here tonight to celebrate the engagement of two very special people. And by special, I mean short-bus special-needs special."
"Hey," Jer grumbled warningly, but Mary placed a hand on his arm, forestalling him.
"Now, Church," she said, "it's been obvious since day one that your hatred for Jack knows no bounds, but me? I thought we had a good thing going."
Church stretched across the table, narrowly missing the candle, and took Mary's other hand. "You, my dear, have always enchanted me with your loveliness and charm. But you dealt me a cruel blow by accepting a ring from this twit, and I have been forced to reconsider."
He pulled back grandly and reached into his pocket with a flourish, as the other three looked on in various stages of amusement and bemusement. "Nonetheless," he continued, pulling out a piece of paper, "marriage is a blessed institution, or so I was informed by my disgustingly committed parents on their twenty-fifth anniversary. Therefore, I have written for you, my sweet, a poem."
"A poem?" Jack asked, flabbergasted. He looked to Jer, who shrugged, looking puzzled as well.
Beaming, Mary took the paper and unfolded it. "Church, you are a darling, and I'm flattered beyond - oh." She gave the smirking man across from her a long look, but pulled the sheet closer to her chest when Jack tried to sneak a look.
"I shall recite," she said, and drew herself up regally. Jack was vaguely confused; Church, still smirking smugly, leaned slightly in towards Jer, who sighed.
Mary held their gazes for a brief moment and then began speaking.
Some roses are red;
Violets aren't always blue.
You must be knocked up,
So when are you due?
Jack wasn't even surprised, but he covered his face with a hand anyway.
"What?" Church asked mock-defensively, and even with eyes closed, Jack could feel the looks Jer and Mary were giving him. "It's not like there's anything to be ashamed of. Plenty of couples find themselves forced to marry when a bun unexpectedly shows up in the oven."
"Like your parents," Jer noted.
"Exactly," Church replied. "And they're still going strong. Nothing to be ashamed of at all."
Jack shook his head in confusion. "Wait a minute. So you were unplanned?"
Church looked almost offended. "Oh, no, I was most definitely planned."
"Just unwanted," Jer noted, and Church glared at him.
"Aren't you verbose tonight? You don't have to say every damn thing that comes into your mind, you know. Yes, that is most definitely an insult, but take it slow trying to cogitate through exactly what it means. I hate it when the smell of burning metal wafts from your ears." Scowling, he turned emphatically away from Jer and toward Mary and Jack. "Anyway, I was saying that I was very much planned. During the pregnancy, my dear biological mother rightly concluded that she wasn't the right woman for the job, and Mom stepped in, dragging Dad along to take full responsibility for what his genes had wrought. It all turned out fine and well, and I wish the same for the two of you and your as yet nameless sprog. If you want the ultimate in timeless sophistication, I'd suggest Christian."
"Jer's like Jack and Mary put together," Jer noted, causing Church to begin to sputter.
Jack chuckled, earning Church's scorn, and Mary leaned over to pat Jer's arm. "It's a lovely name, and I'll definitely keep it in mind. However, not yet, because I'm not pregnant."
"Seriously?" Church queried, and turned to Jack. "You're going to voluntarily marry someone you met at age twenty?"
Smiling, Jack reached over and hugged Mary. "Given that it's me, does that really surprise you at this point?" he asked.
"I suppose not," Church said, and they were interrupted by the arrival of the entrees. Then there was eating, and general chit-chat, and somehow the conversation came back around to pregnancy and birth. Jack found out that Church's parents also had kept video of him being born, and that it was every bit as graphic and un-amusing as the tape of Jack's birth. Church was several sentences into describing explicit details of his crowning when Mary interrupted.
"I think this may be making Jer uncomfortable. Let's change the subject. I know; we can talk about colors for the wedding."
All three men looked at her with abject horror. "I'd rather hear about vaginas," Jer mumbled.
An amused smirk crept onto Mary's face. "Priceless. Of course I don't mean it."
The relief was palpable, and then all four of them were laughing together.
"I do have a lot of planning to do, though," Mary sighed.
"Know who you could talk to?" Jer asked.
Church and Jack opened their mouths in the same millisecond. "Mom." "Pop."
Mary smiled at them as Jer shook his head. "Cassie," he clarified. "Our wedding planner friend."
"Ah, Cassandra the Fair," said Church. "She'd be perfect."
Church told a few amusing tales about Cassie's clientele, Mary related some bridesmaid horror stories, they ate dessert, and soon the evening was winding down.
Just as Jack was about to call it a night, Jer slid an envelope across the table to him. He looked at Jer quizzically; Jer nodded, as if he'd made up his mind after long deliberation.
The envelope was a smooth cream color, and heavier than typical in Jack's hands.
"Not a poem," Jer reassured him with a small smile on his face. Church had pulled his chair closer to Jer and was resting a hand on Jer's thigh; he looked, oddly enough for him, content.
With Mary's head tucked onto his shoulder, Jack opened the envelope and pulled out a plain cream-colored card. His heart swelling, he read out loud the words Jer had written in clear, bold script: "It's said that we only grow through adversity, tribulation, and pain. May you never be any bigger than you are at this moment."
What a gift it was, Jack thought, to have such remarkable people in his life. All he could do was say, "Thank you," and hope they heard the deep gratitude behind the simple words.
***
Standing behind the counter at the pharmacy, Jack looked down aisle seven fondly. He was doing his best to remain composed and professional for the remaining eight minutes of his shift, but it was difficult when his Pop was standing right there, waiting for him.
Church wandered by, and Jack leaned over the counter and grabbed him. "Guess who's finally come to town?"
"The Great Pumpkin?"
"No," Jack replied briskly. "My father. He's right over there browsing the aisle; look."
Church stared for a long beat and then asked, "Wow, who'd your dad eat?"
"He's my Pop. And if you tease him about his weight, I will kick your ass," Jack growled. "He's been depressed since Dad died, and last year he got dangerously thin. So overweight is fine."
"Overweight? If his beard and hair were white instead of silver, he'd look just like Santa Claus."
"Stop," Jack warned. "Seriously."
"I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it," Church said, holding his hands up in surrender. "In fact, there's a sizable portion of the gay community that likes fat and hairy. Bet your father's getting more poon than he can handle."
Jack rolled his eyes. "If you're going to use obsolete slang, you could at least use it properly. 'Poon' means female genitalia."
Leaning lazily back against the counter, Church replied, "Didn't you say your dad's bi? So he'd be happy getting female genitalia."
"Yes, but it doesn't follow logically from what you were saying before. You said that certain gays would like my Pop. Getting poon would thus mean he's having sex with gay women."
"Which would be hot."
Jack shrugged and said, "Yeah, I guess so."
Church's expression immediately turned smug. "You're imagining your dad having sex!" he gloated.
"No, I'm not! Asshole."
Church smirked and made a show of wiping his hands. "My work here is done."
"Chris! Stocking!" called the out-of-sight night manager.
"Dilweed wants someone to lick his stockings," Church muttered, but he started walking toward the stock room.
"Come back and I'll introduce you," Jack called. He ignored the one-fingered wave Church shot him, dismissing it as pure irritation at being ordered around, and switched his work coat for his fall jacket. Business was slow, and he was eager to spend time with his Pop. A few minutes out from the counter and on the floor would be fine.
He caught Pop's eye as he stepped out from the back. His stride might've been a little fast, but Pop never commented, only caught him up in a warm, familiar hug. "Missed you, sweetheart," sighed Pop, and Jack had to smile.
"I missed you, too." Jack let go but stayed close. "I want you to see our apartment, and Mary, before you have to go to the hotel, but let's stay here a few more minutes so you can meet Church."
"As long as we're together, I don't mind where it is. Wish I could spend the whole evening with you and Mary instead of having to go - I tried to get them to move the rehearsal for my presentation to tomorrow morning instead of tonight, but it just wasn't possible. With a conference like this, they have a lot of moving parts to organize."
"No problem at all. And I took tomorrow off, so after your presentation is done, we'll have plenty of time."
They had drifted as they talked and were now standing by the end-of-aisle display. As Jack chatted with Pop, he heard Louis assisting a customer in the next aisle over. "They're down there, sir," Louis said tightly.
"What kind of moron drugstore stocks knee bandages on the bottom shelf? Nobody considered the fact that knee problems might limit a person's ability to, say, bend down?" Ignoring Louis's mumble, the customer demanded, "Are you going to get me one or what?"
Jack felt a cold shock spreading through him at that familiar voice. He didn't dare to look around, seeking out his Pop's eyes instead. Every bit as stunned as Jack was, Pop whispered, "It's not him."
"I know; it can't be him," replied Jack, even as his heart begged for the miracle.
He heard Louis say, "Here you go," and then the man laughed.
"The cliché is not knowing your ass from your elbow; usually people can distinguish knee and elbow. Try again."
Emotions were running through Jack in quick succession - shock, hope, disbelief, excitement, fear, love - and he was starting to shake. "It's not him," Pop repeated, voice strong but eyes pained, as he took hold of Jack's hand and squeezed reassuringly. "It can't be."
"Let me just look," Jack said, taking a big step back but keeping Pop's hand in his.
Pop tightened his grip and began to plead with his eyes. Jack was past the edge of the display; if he turned his head to the right, he'd be able to see the man with the voice of his Dad, but Pop had locked his gaze.
"Don't, Jack," Pop begged. "You don't need the disappointment, believe me -"
He wanted to listen to Pop's wisdom, he did, but the lure was too strong. A subtle shift of his head, a further turn of his eyes, and suddenly his heart caught in his throat. Joy suffused him, and he couldn't help grinning as he reported to Pop, "Sure looks like him."
"It can't be," Pop repeated, jaw clenched. He was getting angry, but his tune would change when he saw, Jack knew it. Jack pulled him forward, turned him forcefully toward the lanky, scruffy six-foot-two genius they'd both missed so much.
Pop staggered and then froze. "House?" he called in disbelief.
"Yeah, what?" the man snapped, turning toward them, and Jack started to laugh. His Dad was here, in a shabby little pharmacy in Nowhere, New York. Pop had been wrong, oh so wrong, and the coroner's report was obviously falsified. That fake body in the morgue had been a damn good simulation, all the details of Dad's appearance captured, and very life-like, or rather human-albeit-dead-like. Jack had fallen for it all, and Dad was going to give him so much shit for it, but he didn't care. Not now that Dad was here.
Bent over with laughter, he felt a hand clap him hard on the back. "What's so funny?" Church asked, leaning over and looking into his face.
"You know this guy?" asked Dad, and the joy surged even higher, pushing Jack into even louder guffaws. Church was going to get to meet his Dad. What could be better?
"Jack?" Pop asked, one strong hand on Jack's neck. Jack was confused at Pop's tone; he should've sounded excited, gleeful, but instead he sounded concerned. Nothing to be concerned about; Dad was back with them, where he belonged.
As he gasped for breath in between chuckles, Church tugged him upright. Dad was there, an appraising cast to his eyes. He looked really good, though. Healthy, fit, a few more wrinkles that only added more character, standing tall and proud. Something off about his stance, Jack thought and then realized Dad wasn't leaning on his cane as much as normal. An interesting detail, but one that was swept away at Dad's next words.
"Your friend's going into shock. Got any place we can have him sit down?"
Jack looked over at Church, alarmed. Church in shock? What for? He checked Church out quickly, but didn't notice any of the typical signs. The concern on Church's face was abnormal, for Church, but other than that… For Dad to mess up a simple diagnosis like that was weird, and Jack looked to Pop for confirmation.
Pop was smiling - finally, he was responding to Dad being back. Not really the right kind of smile, more gentle and reassuring than joyful and relieved, but still, smiling. "It's OK, Jack," Pop said, and that started the laughter back up again, because in the history of understatements, that was the understatedest ever. Which was probably not a word, but whatever.
There were hands on Jack, holding him up, and his feet were moving. He tried to look at them - his three favorite men, the men he loved, together in the same room - but everything was starting to blur, and it occurred to him, as he was plopped into a chair, and his head was shoved between his knees, that passing out at your place of employment was highly, highly unprofessional.
He looked toward Church - Pop was seated next to Jack, his hand warm and gentle on Jack's neck again - to see if he had ever done it, because Church reveled in the unprofessional, and was surprised to see him standing that close to Dad.
No matter. "It's so good to see you," Jack said to Dad, smiling, waiting for him to smile back. He could feel his heart rate slowing down; funny that he hadn't noticed it beating fast to begin with.
"Church?" Dad asked out of the side of his mouth, lips barely moving.
Church shook his head. "I dunno."
They were talking to each other. Why were they talking to each other? It could only mean one thing. "You've met!" Jack cried happily.
"Uh, yeah, Jack," Church replied, rolling his eyes. "He's my Dad."
Jack was instantly angry - Church lied from time to time, but never over something so important. "He's not your Dad!" Jack protested, and Pop's arms tightened around him.
"Since birth," Church replied, as if it was the most natural thing instead of a mean, horrible lie. "Or conception. Depends on how you count. What the fuck's up with you, Jack?"
"Jack," Pop said sadly, gently tugging on Jack's chin until their eyes met. "That's not him. Sounds like him, looks like him - looks a hell of a lot like him - but it's not him. It can't be, sweetheart, because your Dad died."
"But it is him!" insisted Jack. Pop had to see sense. "You called him House and he responded."
"Well," Pop began, but he was interrupted.
"Of course I responded; that's my name."
Pop's eyes grew wider, and something that might've been hope flashed in them as he turned. "Really? Jack's Dad, who as you've realized looked amazingly like you, was a House, too. You must be a relative we never knew about; that's so incredible. Jack, isn't that incredible?"
A relative. A cousin, or an illegitimate brother, or something. That made sense, much more reasonable than a faked death, but Jack couldn't buy it. Couldn't, wouldn't, couldn't. He felt a tickle at the back of his throat and a warmth in his eyes but ignored them, watching dumbly as Pop rose from his chair.
"Where are my manners? We should do introductions," Pop said, extending his hand. "As you've no doubt guessed, I'm Jack's Pop, James Wilson."
Eyes widened, Church and Dad (Cousin House or Uncle House or whoever, and even the realization that that probably meant Jack and Church were cousins wasn't enough to ease the ache) exchanged looks. "That's weird," Church said.
"James is a fairly popular name, as is Wilson," House replied before finally shaking Pop's hand. "Interesting coincidences today; you share the name of Church's other father. I'm Greg House." He tried to pull his hand away, but Pop clung to it tightly.
Pop's eyes flicked from Church to Jack and back to House. "That's eerie," he said, and then leaned closer, searching House's face. "House?" he whispered, and Jack's chest felt tight.
Confusion grew on House's face as he peered intently at Pop. "Jimmy?" he asked, a note of recognition in his voice.
Jack was gasping for air in his overwhelming delight when Church exploded. "That's not Jimmy!"
"Shut the fuck up, Church," Dad said, guiding a shocked-looking Pop to the nearest chair.
"Am I dead?" Pop asked. "I would've assumed heaven had better carpeting."
"You're not dead," Dad scoffed. "You've got a pulse, haven't you?"
"Well, that's hardly conclusive evidence. Even on a purely spiritual plane, we might still experience ourselves as corporeal -"
"Shut up!" Church yelled. "You can't do that; you're not my Mom!" Jack blinked, and Church was rushing toward him, shoving him, nearly knocking him out of his chair. "Get your Pop away from my Dad!"
It was all too much, everything, overflowing into fury, pure and clean. Close enough to kiss, he shouted, "Fuck you, Church! Don't I give you enough, you have to take this too? I lost my Dad twice and you want to tear him away a third time!"
"Whoa," House said, thrusting an arm between them, pushing until there was enough space between them to breathe. Church looked ready to spit, and Jack could feel the snarl on his own face. "When I imagined handsome young men fighting over me, it was not to establish paternal lineage." He nudged each of them again. "Neutral corners. Now."
Church retreated to the far side of the break room, kicking the fridge as he passed. House followed and spoke quietly to him; Jack tried to push away the pang he felt when House's hand dropped onto Church's shoulder.
Pop was by Jack's side now, rubbing his back. "We'll figure it out, Jack. It's going to be fine."
"I just don't understand it at all." If Jack's tone was almost a wail, he knew Pop would forgive him.
"Neither do I. But if he's anything at all like the Greg House we knew, then we've got the best possible mind to help us puzzle it through, right?"
Jack sank into Pop's warm eyes like into a mattress stuffed with feathers. This was crazy, utterly insane, but at least Pop was here to steady him.
"OK," House said, striding back to the middle of the room. Jack marveled at how strong his gait was; the cane was almost an accessory. "Everyone under the age of thirty, out."
Jack's head snapped up, and he and Church protested at exactly the same time, "What?"
"Wilson and I are going to talk this over, so you two get lost." House aimed a thumb at the door as Pop nodded. "We'll find you when we're done."
Fists on hips, Church interjected, "He's not -"
"Yes, yes, World-Revolves-Around-Him. Mister Wilson and I; does that make you feel better? Get out. And don't kill each other."
A shove and a clang, and Jack found himself on the other side of the steel break room door with Church. Louis spotted them and came stomping over, but either Church's glare or Jack's serious head shake warned him off, and he abruptly changed direction toward the front registers.
Jack tilted his head toward the back door of the store, and Church nodded his agreement.
"Well, now I know that's not Mom," Church said as they walked, "because my parents never kick me out of the room so they can argue."
"Arguments, sure. They ever say anything important around you?" Jack looked Church in the eye and was relieved to discover that the anger he'd felt earlier had dissipated. This was Church, the best friend he'd ever had, and no amount of insanity should ever negate that fact.
"No," Church admitted. "You?"
"No." Jack pushed open the heavy black door to the back alley. It wasn't pretty, the dim yellow lights hardly illuminated a thing, and it kind of smelled, but at least it was private.
"Then again, your parents weren't together for most of your life, so…"
What an inane thing to say. Jack threw a disapproving glare Church's way. "They were still both my parents. They had me to discuss."
"Self-centered much?" Church replied through clenched lips as he lit a cigarette.
Disapproving to exasperated was a short, easy slide. "Thank you, Mr. Pot, sir; may I have another?"
"Fraternity hazing paddle fantasies, mmm. No, you may not, Johnny Upright, but you can have this." Church passed the cigarette over and started lighting another one.
Jack rolled the cigarette back and forth between his thumb and index finger. "Sorry for yelling back there."
Church snorted, which blew the lighter flame out. He glared at the lighter; Jack laughed and snatched it away, swiftly lighting Church's cigarette and dropping the lighter into his own pocket. Church took a drag and then replied, "I'm not. Nobody fucks with my family. Not even you."
"I'm not fucking with your family, Church. I just… miss my Dad. I didn't get enough time with him."
"Because your dads split up."
"No, that's not it. Dad only moved a few miles away; I lived with him on weekends and saw him just about whenever I wanted. By more time, I mean more years. I have things to go through, events in my life to come, for which I'd so much like to have him there."
With the alley's lighting, the smoke rings from Church's mouth were an odd color. Jack had tried over the past few months but never mastered the feat, so he simply watched as the rings floated into the darkness.
"You said in the break room," Church said quietly, his head tilted toward the ground, one foot scuffing the blacktop, "that you didn't want to lose your dad a third time. I don't want to lose mine even once. I don't want to lose anyone in my family."
Standard comforting words came quickly to Jack's tongue and began leaping off before he could stop them. "Church, I -"
"Mom had brain tumors."
Feeling like he'd been slapped, Jack stammered, "What?"
"A couple of years ago. Operable; they got everything. But I'd had this feeling that he wouldn't make it, and it tore me up. Then in the middle of it all, before Jimmy was even out of the hospital, this ex-girlfriend of House's came around with a gleam in her eye. I shut that shit down fast, but it still rankles." Church lifted his head then, and his face was as solemn as Jack had ever seen it. "That's my mother, and House's Jimmy, and there's no substitution."
"Yeah," Jack replied, nodding. He stubbed out his cigarette and held his hand out for another. When Church passed the pack, Jack let his hand slide across the back of Church's before taking the cigarettes, let his thumb stroke down Church's fingers before pulling away completely. Church turned his head away, and Jack knew that Church had understood.
After zipping up his jacket - even in the protection of the alley, the autumn air was chilly - Jack lit them both a new cigarette. As he passed Church's over, he asked, "Why do you always call him Mom?"
"Because he's my mother."
"Not technically. Technically, he's your father."
The dumbass glare was just as effective while blowing out a stream of smoke. "Since I can remember, every book Jimmy read to me, every show and movie I saw, that had a mother and kid in it - Dumbo, Bambi, Penny in Pigtails - that was Jimmy and me. People would say to me, 'That's your mother,' and point to the woman who gave birth to me, and it didn't match, didn't make a damn bit of sense. Jimmy and me, that made sense. He's my Mom."
Jack nodded. "Guess it's something like the way that even though I never had a brother, I know exactly how it feels."
They locked eyes for a moment, and Jack sent up a silent word of gratitude to the universe.
Then the right side of Church's lips quirked up. "You're really pumping out the estrogen tonight, Gallant No Balls."
"Uh huh." Jack raised an eyebrow. "I'm not the one boo-hooing over a family member who didn't even die, and empathizing with a lonely outsider pachyderm."
"Putz."
"Girl."
Standing around, even with the distraction of smoking, was making Jack antsy. He wondered what Pop and House were talking about, and how much longer they'd be, and then another thought occurred to him. "Hey," he called to Church, who looked over slowly as if pulling himself out of deep reflection. "Why's your father here? You never mentioned he was coming to town."
Church shrugged. "I wanted it to be a surprise. He's here with Jimmy, who's speaking at a conference tomorrow."
"Ethical Factors in Oncology Research?"
Narrowing his eyes, Church asked, "How did you know?"
"Pop's giving a presentation at it."
"Two James Wilsons at one conference. Hm. Wonder how often that happens."
Jack couldn't believe how dense Church was being, or was trying to be. "You really think the fact that you and I have fathers with the same exact names is a coincidence? Even though both Wilsons are oncologists and both Houses are doctors too?"
"Your dead father was a doctor?" asked Church.
"Not after he died. But yes, while he was alive he was a doctor. One of the best diagnosticians in the world."
Church closed his eyes. "It has to be coincidence. What's the alternative?" He sighed and ground out his cigarette with more force than was necessary. "What the fuck, Jack? What the fuck?"
"I don't know." After passing the pack and lighter back to Church, who immediately lit up again, Jack flicked his cigarette against the wall to watch it bounce. It hit at a strange angle, and the ember arced away from him in an orange streak through the shadows. Conscience kicking in, Jack chased it down and stomped it out.
Church rolled his eyes, and Jack frowned back, and that was when Pop and House emerged from the pharmacy door.
Spotting Church immediately, House made a tsk-tsk sound. "So unhealthy. Weren't you raised by an oncologist? Give me that." House snatched the cigarette away and put it to his own lips, sucking in a long drag.
Pop gave House a disapproving glance before reaching out to pat Jack's arm. "House and I had a good talk, and everything's fine. He's not your father, but he's - kind of a twin. He'll explain a bit more to you, because I have to go. I'm sorry, but the conference organizer called and they need me there right now."
What, now? After Dad's same-name twin had walked into their life, and Jack had almost had a nervous breakdown as a result? "Pop," Jack pleaded, but Pop simply hugged him and then pulled back.
"You're fine, Jack. I'll call you tonight when my rehearsal's done and we can talk. Tell Mary, too, that I'm sorry I missed her but I'll see her tomorrow. Goodbye, everyone." The door to the pharmacy creaked as Pop opened it.
"See ya, Wilson," House called, and Pop smiled wistfully before walking out of sight.
"Pop," Jack repeated and tried to follow until a cane struck him across the chest, pushing him back.
He stared at House in disbelief. His own father had never touched him with his cane, ever; it felt almost like a violation.
"Let him go," said House, and Jack thought fiercely, who the hell are you to tell me what to do with my own father?
Drawing his cane back, House repeated, "Let him go. He needs to go."
"I'm sure the organizers could wait a few minutes," Jack protested.
"I'm sure they could," House replied. "In fact, they're going to have to."
Fuck this. Jack grabbed the door handle and pulled, until House's voice stopped him.
"He doesn't want to break down in front of you."
Refusing to turn back, Jack replied, "We're family. We support each other."
"You're his baby." Jack glanced over, not yet committing to staying. Church was twisting to take the cigarette back from House, and Jack could see where House's hand lay on Church's back. "He doesn't want you to see him like that."
"I've seen him like that before. You made him like that before." It wasn't true because he wasn't Dad, but it seemed to sting House nonetheless.
"Dad's not -" Church angrily began to accuse, but House quieted him with a yank to his arm. It was interesting to see Church so quickly acquiesce.
"No matter how many times Jimmy indicates otherwise, not everything in the world is about you, Brat." He nodded toward Jack and the door behind him. "Now shut that. I've got a story to tell you, and I don't want all the imbeciles inside to hear."
Disconcerted, Jack did as he was told. There was entirely too much going on here. He'd been up and down, and round and round, and now he was alone with a not-truly-stranger wearing his father's face. Who happened to be Church's father. Who Church apparently took after, and if that was true, they both were extraordinarily like Jack's father, and Jack couldn't fathom why he'd never noticed that about Church before. Except he had, hadn't he, without realizing it? Gestures, faces, phrases, and tones. Ways Church couldn't fool him because he'd seen it before.
Same posture, even, and Jack found it hard to repress a smile at the sight of the two of them slumped against the wall together. "Pull up some brick," House called, and Jack took the spot next to him.
After checking to see that both Jack and Church were listening, which for reasons beyond Jack's understanding required a cuff to the back of Church's head, House began.
"The story starts, as near as we can tell, one fine sunny day when a comely, if no longer fresh-faced, lass named Lisa Cuddy became pregnant."
Surprised, Jack twisted to look at him. "Aunt Lisa?"
Church lifted his head from the wall and looked past House toward Jack, equally surprised. "Aunt Lisa?"
"It's a story, hush." House waved them both back. "As I was saying, Lisa Cuddy became pregnant, and then apparently wandered into a yellow wood. When she emerged on the other side -"
"Yellow wood?" Church asked. "Reference to Asian schlong?"
Jack rolled his eyes and replied, "Reference to Frost's poem. That's where two roads diverged."
"OK, Dee and Dum," House interjected. "You want to hear this story or not?"
"Yes," said Jack.
"No," said Church.
"I like the sound of my voice so Jack wins. Gestating Lisa Cuddy emerged from the yellow wood twice. On Path One, she had a miscarriage. On Path A, she hatched the Antichrist. And then you boys know the rest. The end."
Jack was beyond annoyed. "That's a crappy story!"
House turned and regarded him, lips twisted in a half-smile. "Listen to the mouth on you. It's like you were raised by an utter ass."
"Wait a minute," Church insisted, pushing off the wall and starting to pace. "You're saying Lisa had a miscarriage before she had me."
House snorted. "I've known you for a long time, Squirt, so I'm going to assume you're being willfully lunkheaded here. What I'm saying is Lisa Cuddy had a miscarriage instead of you, where Jack grew up."
Still pacing, Church shook his head as if to clear it, and asked Jack, "Where did you grow up? Why haven't we ever talked about that?"
"Princeton, New Jersey, and I don't know." Jack turned toward House. It was a fantastical idea, but he couldn't come up with anything else that would fit. "Alternate universes, that's what you think? Then why are we both here?"
"Yes, and I don't know. Do I look like a physicist?" House smirked.
Church flung an arm towards Jack, narrowly missing his nose. "You can't have grown up in Princeton!" he insisted as he passed by. "I grew up in Princeton!"
"Alternate universes, Church. Which reminds me, if your dads are named House and Wilson and your mom - birth mom - is Cuddy, where did you get the name Bayith?"
House laughed. "Bayith is Hebrew for House." He looked toward Church. "Any particular reason you're playing Witness Protection Program?"
"It's not a big deal, but you don't want to know." Another route around a nearby trash can and then Church stopped. "Why are we still in this damn alley? I need a drink. Or several."
As they made their way toward the street, Jack felt strangely calm. Another Dad and another Pop, who had a different son, who met up with Jack at a crappy drug store in a random town that happened to be a nexus between universes. And Jack the cautious, Jack the settled, who didn't much like change, was prepared to buy it, lock, stock and barrel. Not something he would've predicted, but here they were.
Still, he felt compelled to make one last feeble gesture toward normalcy. "You're sure it's that?" he asked House. "It's not just a strange coincidence, or distant relatives, or…"
"Wilson and I went through everything. Birth dates, birth places, family history, work history - all the same up until your Cuddy lost that baby. She'd actually lost one before, but that was the same for both of us. But after the later miscarriage, or non-miscarriage in our case, existence split." House gestured toward Church and Jack on either side of him. "Door A, Church House. Door B, a little further down the road, Jack Wilson."
"And now the universes are back together?"
House followed Church off to the right, in the direction of the bar Jack and Church had first swapped stories in months ago. "Not exactly," he said. "Dr. James Wilson, Oncologist Extraordinaire from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, is scheduled to speak tomorrow morning. The conference organizers have a photo of him on their web site. Look it up on your Pop's phone, it looks like him. Look it up on my phone, the photo looks like our Jimmy."
"But if they're the same person, how can you tell?" Jack asked, trotting to keep up to Church's accelerated pace.
Snorting, Church leaned across House to reply, "Mom shaves and isn't eating himself to an early grave."
"Shut up, asshole," Jack retorted and shoved Church's shoulder, earning them both smacks from House.
"One more thing," House said when he had them separated again, "which I am only mentioning now to avoid potential future explosions from Lucifer here: I told Jack's father about Jimmy cheating on me."
Jack felt a twinge. He'd never considered the idea that his parents might have cheated on each other. Sure, Pop hadn't been faithful to Jack's stepmother, but that was different because… Jack didn't want to think about it any more.
Church's gait turned to a stomp and he asked angrily, "Why would you even bring that up?"
House glanced at Jack and then calmly regarded Church. "Wilson was disappointed, feeling his relationship was rockier than mine, so I threw him a bone. Sometimes people say something just to make a person feel better."
"People do that, yes. But you don't."
"Except when it's Wilson."
"He's not Jimmy!" Church insisted.
"But he is, somehow, Wilson," House said, and Jack was pleased to hear a gentle note to his voice. "And apparently this other version of me was a moron and hurt him. So why not make it up to him a little?"
Church's skepticism was etched across his face. "You don't believe in the afterlife, but you believe in an alternate universe?"
"I'm a man of mystery, my son."
"You're a man of -" Church muttered, but was cut off when House's expansive gesture toward the nearby building hit him across the chest.
Jack snickered at Church's grumblings and opened the door to the bar. "How do you think the intersecting-universe thing works?"
Church merely glared at him and walked through the doorway, but House stopped and looked at him for a moment. Such a familiar face, but different too. "Do you want to discuss theoretical quantum physics or hear embarrassing stories of Church's childhood?"
"Oh, the latter, definitely," Jack laughed, and they stepped into the bar.
(Continued)