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namasteTitle: Family, Friends and Other Complications
Chapter Eight: When Greg Got His Department
Author: Namaste
Rating: Gen, strong House and Wilson friendship, PG
Summary: John House is proud of his son, even if he doesn't know how to say it.
Previous chapters are here:
When Blythe Met Wilson
When Greg Got Sick
When Greg Went Home
When Stacy Left
When John and Blythe Moved
When Blythe Didn’t Meet Julie
When Days Were Bad
When Greg Got His Department
Blythe knocked on the door, but there was no answer. John tried the knob. It was locked.
“You told him we were coming, right?” John asked.
Blythe nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Maybe he’s with a patient?”
“He probably wasn’t paying attention to the time,” John said. He looked at his own watch, the one he’d had for nearly twenty years, the one he checked against the kitchen clock every morning -- the kitchen clock itself checked against the time at the base headquarters every week.
Blythe knocked again. She looked up at the office number. It was the right one, she thought, then glanced over at the name plate and felt her heart catch. It was empty, just a blank holder where the words “Gregory House, M.D.” were supposed to be.
John followed her gaze. “Oh hell,” he said. “I suppose he got himself fired again.”
Blythe shook her head. “No. He would have told us.”
“Like he did last time? Three months later when your letter came back unopened?” John turned and walked down the hall toward one of the other offices, one with an open door.
Blythe glanced up at the name plate there. Maybe the department had been moved to another wing, and Greg had forgotten to mention it, she thought. But the name was a familiar one, Ray Kakarala. She’d even met him once when he paid a short visit to Greg’s hospital room
John knocked on the door. “Excuse me,” he said, and Blythe saw the man’s face look up. “I’m looking for my son, Greg House,” John said.
“He doesn’t work here any more,” Dr. Kakarala said. Blythe felt her heart skip a beat again and closed her eyes so she wouldn’t see the disappointment on John’s face -- and maybe so that he couldn’t see it in hers. “He’s on the fourth floor,” Dr. Kakarala continued, and Blythe opened her eyes. She looked at the man, but couldn’t tell from his expression if the fourth floor was a good thing or a bad thing. She smiled. Good, she thought to herself. It had to be good.
She looked over at John. He still didn’t seem convinced about that. “Where on the fourth floor?” she asked.
“Take the main elevators and turn right. You can’t miss it,” Dr. Kakarala said.
John thanked him and they headed back down the narrow hallway, making their way through the old building’s narrow corridors.
“What the hell is going on? John wondered out loud. Blythe didn’t answer him. She was asking herself the same question.
They followed the directions, going first to the main elevators at the far end of the wing, leaving behind the old concrete and drab gray linoleum floors for the dark wood and glass of the refurbished central halls.
She looked at the directory as they waited for the elevator, still unsure why Greg had moved, and why he hadn’t told them. Nephrology was on the fourth floor, she noticed. Maybe he’d decided to go back into that specialty?
Blythe tried to fight back the worry she was still feeling. Maybe, she thought, nephrology took him back when no one else would.
Two nurses moved aside to make room for them when the elevator opened, and John hit the button for the fourth floor.
“Why didn’t he say anything?” John asked again.
Blythe still didn’t have an answer. “I’m sure he had a reason,” she said.
When the doors opened again they turned right and followed the hallway around a corner. The second room had a wall of glass, the blinds open, and Blythe could see Greg inside, sitting at a conference table.
He was talking to someone with dark hair who was slouched down in a chair. Blythe smiled, recognizing the faint sound of James’ voice.
John opened the door and she walked through. Greg stood and walked a few steps around the end of the table to give her a hug. “You found it,” he said.
“We would have been here ten minutes ago if you’d told us you moved,” John said. “You manage to piss off another boss?”
“You didn’t tell them?” James asked.
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Greg said.
“You didn’t tell them,” James repeated, this time a statement, rather than a question.
“That would have ruined the surprise,” Greg said, then turned toward Blythe. “Surprise,” he said.
He smiled, and Blythe felt herself relax for the first time since they’d found the old office door locked. Greg actually looked ... happy. Maybe it was the light, with the afternoon sun flooding the room from the bank of windows.
She looked into his eyes and smiled back at him. It wasn’t a trick of the light, Greg actually was happy.
Blythe watched him as he stepped away, back toward the center of the room. She tried to remember everything James kept telling her, about watching the way Greg moved, about watching the way he held his cane -- if he had the handle in a tight grip or a loose one -- about watching the set of his shoulders -- if they were straight or hunched -- everything about watching how easily he moved, rather than how quickly.
“Sometimes he’ll move fast because he’s in pain,” James had warned her on one cold winter day when Greg had gone to claim an empty table in the cafeteria. “It hurts too much to be on his feet, so he gets off of them as quickly as possible.”
Now he bypassed his empty chair at the table to stand in the middle of the room and Blythe smiled. It was a good day.
“You got a new office? Is that such a big deal?” John asked. His words were harsh, but Blythe recognized the relieved tone in his voice. He’d been worried, she thought, and she turned to him, to help him calm down, but John moved away. He walked down the length of the office toward the windows at the far side of the room.
“Not just an office,” Greg said. He spread his arms wide, his cane dangling from his right hand. “Welcome to the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital’s Department of Diagnostic Medicine.”
“Greg’s the director,” James said, making a point that Greg hadn’t. James was watching John as John made his way past an empty desk in the corner of the room.
“It’s smaller than your old desk,” John said.
“That’s not my desk, that’s for my minions,” Greg said. He walked over to another glass wall which ran the length of the room, and pushed open the door separating the room from another. “My desk is here,” he said. “In my office.”
Blythe followed him through. There were more books, a lounge chair, a large desk already covered with a slightly chaotic blend of papers, books and unopened mail.
There were more windows behind the desk, and a door that led outside. It was a nicer office than he’d had before -- nicer than even his old boss had. She turned to him to see him standing at the center of the room -- of his office, she corrected herself. Greg was watching her as she took it in and returned her smile.
Blythe stepped up to the door leading out to the hallway, and traced the letters there that spelled Greg’s name.
“This is wonderful,” she said.
“Kind of small for a whole department, though, isn’t it?” John was standing at the door separating Greg’s office from the other room.
Blythe looked over at Greg to see his smile drop.
“It’s a small department, but it’s an important one,” James said, and John turned back to look at him. “He’ll be consulting with everyone. “He’ll get all the tough cases. When no one else can figure out what’s wrong, they’ll call him.”
James was smiling and he sounded proud. Blythe felt her own pride build as he spoke. John turned to look at Greg. He nodded. “Good,” he said.
Greg looked down and shook his head for a moment as James led John over to the far side of the conference room and poured him a cup of coffee. Blythe walked up to Greg and touched him on the arm. “Well I think it’s wonderful,” she said.
He looked down at her. “You already said that.”
“Then I must really mean it,” she said. She tightened her grip on his sleeve. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “I always am.”
----------
Wilson had seen the set of House’s shoulders drop as his father spoke, and he shook his head slightly.
John remained in the doorway, watching as Blythe stepped up to House and spoke quietly to him. Wilson tapped him on the shoulder. “Coffee?”
John turned toward him and nodded. He followed Wilson over to the far corner of the room. Wilson took one of the clean mugs off the shelf and poured a cup.
The Colonel took his coffee black. Wilson wasn’t sure when it was he learned that, but it fit the Marine persona. He smiled a little, wondering if House started taking sugar just to defy his father. Then he remembered that House sometimes took it black as well. He wondered if that was supposed to mean something, if House was trying to punish himself by conjuring up his father’s taste in coffee.
He shook his head and handed the coffee over to the Colonel. Sometimes he understood why it was that House hated psychology. All it ever gave him was questions, and no answers.
“So are you going to be working for Greg?”
Wilson shook his head. “He’ll have his own team.”
The Colonel took a sip of his coffee and turned to look into the other room. Blythe was sitting behind House’s desk now, her son standing behind her, pointing to something on the computer screen.
She smiled up at him, and Wilson could hear her laughter through the open door. He looked over at the Colonel. He had a wistful look on his face, but Wilson couldn’t tell what the man was thinking.
House had complained before that he could never tell what would make his father happy, and Wilson found himself wondering how often the boy that House had been had waited to see some glimpse of joy on his father’s face.
His own father had been quick to smile, quick to praise. He’d hug them when they did well, and when they didn’t. “Good job,” he’d say, or “I know you did your best.”
The first time House met Wilson’s father, he had held himself stiff. “I don’t hug,” he’d said, and his father had laughed. “Not yet,” he’d said, “but you’ll learn,” and satisfied himself with a two-handed handshake.
The Colonel allowed himself a real smile for a moment as he watched through the glass, though Wilson wasn’t sure if it was for his wife or his son.
“You should be proud,” Wilson said. “The hospital created this department just for your son.” The colonel turned toward him. Wilson still couldn’t read his emotions. “He has a unique skill. People from all over come to him for help.”
“What makes you think I’m not proud?” The Colonel looked back toward the other room where House was leading Blythe out onto the balcony.
“Because ...” Wilson wasn’t sure what the man expected him to say, but then the Colonel surprised him again and chuckled.
“Blythe is always telling me I need to relax,” he said. “I guess she’s right.” He shrugged and took a step to the right, closer to the window where he could see Blythe and House. “Old habits die hard.”
He kept looking out the window. “As far as Blythe was concerned, Greg could do no wrong when he was a boy. If he got a B on a paper, she was happy. I was the one to tell him he could do better. If he struck out in Little League, I was the one who had to teach him to keep his eye on the ball.”
The Colonel took another drink and watched as his son and his wife laughed together at something he couldn’t see.
“I’ve always been proud of him,” the Colonel said. “But I always thought he could do even more if someone challenged him.” He looked over at Wilson and shrugged. “Maybe I was right.”
“Maybe you should tell him that,” Wilson said.
The Colonel shook his head. “He’d never believe me if I did.”
“He might,” Wilson said. He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like House, taunting him for believing in the impossible.
They both watched as Blythe and House made their way back inside, and walked side-by-side through the office toward the conference room. Blythe was laughing again. Wilson saw House look up at his father, saw his smile fade.
The Colonel shook his head, and turned away from the office, toward Wilson. He leaned toward him, spoke in little more than a whisper. “No he won’t.”
Chapter Eight: When Greg Got His Department
Author: Namaste
Rating: Gen, strong House and Wilson friendship, PG
Summary: John House is proud of his son, even if he doesn't know how to say it.
Previous chapters are here:
When Blythe Met Wilson
When Greg Got Sick
When Greg Went Home
When Stacy Left
When John and Blythe Moved
When Blythe Didn’t Meet Julie
When Days Were Bad
When Greg Got His Department
Blythe knocked on the door, but there was no answer. John tried the knob. It was locked.
“You told him we were coming, right?” John asked.
Blythe nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Maybe he’s with a patient?”
“He probably wasn’t paying attention to the time,” John said. He looked at his own watch, the one he’d had for nearly twenty years, the one he checked against the kitchen clock every morning -- the kitchen clock itself checked against the time at the base headquarters every week.
Blythe knocked again. She looked up at the office number. It was the right one, she thought, then glanced over at the name plate and felt her heart catch. It was empty, just a blank holder where the words “Gregory House, M.D.” were supposed to be.
John followed her gaze. “Oh hell,” he said. “I suppose he got himself fired again.”
Blythe shook her head. “No. He would have told us.”
“Like he did last time? Three months later when your letter came back unopened?” John turned and walked down the hall toward one of the other offices, one with an open door.
Blythe glanced up at the name plate there. Maybe the department had been moved to another wing, and Greg had forgotten to mention it, she thought. But the name was a familiar one, Ray Kakarala. She’d even met him once when he paid a short visit to Greg’s hospital room
John knocked on the door. “Excuse me,” he said, and Blythe saw the man’s face look up. “I’m looking for my son, Greg House,” John said.
“He doesn’t work here any more,” Dr. Kakarala said. Blythe felt her heart skip a beat again and closed her eyes so she wouldn’t see the disappointment on John’s face -- and maybe so that he couldn’t see it in hers. “He’s on the fourth floor,” Dr. Kakarala continued, and Blythe opened her eyes. She looked at the man, but couldn’t tell from his expression if the fourth floor was a good thing or a bad thing. She smiled. Good, she thought to herself. It had to be good.
She looked over at John. He still didn’t seem convinced about that. “Where on the fourth floor?” she asked.
“Take the main elevators and turn right. You can’t miss it,” Dr. Kakarala said.
John thanked him and they headed back down the narrow hallway, making their way through the old building’s narrow corridors.
“What the hell is going on? John wondered out loud. Blythe didn’t answer him. She was asking herself the same question.
They followed the directions, going first to the main elevators at the far end of the wing, leaving behind the old concrete and drab gray linoleum floors for the dark wood and glass of the refurbished central halls.
She looked at the directory as they waited for the elevator, still unsure why Greg had moved, and why he hadn’t told them. Nephrology was on the fourth floor, she noticed. Maybe he’d decided to go back into that specialty?
Blythe tried to fight back the worry she was still feeling. Maybe, she thought, nephrology took him back when no one else would.
Two nurses moved aside to make room for them when the elevator opened, and John hit the button for the fourth floor.
“Why didn’t he say anything?” John asked again.
Blythe still didn’t have an answer. “I’m sure he had a reason,” she said.
When the doors opened again they turned right and followed the hallway around a corner. The second room had a wall of glass, the blinds open, and Blythe could see Greg inside, sitting at a conference table.
He was talking to someone with dark hair who was slouched down in a chair. Blythe smiled, recognizing the faint sound of James’ voice.
John opened the door and she walked through. Greg stood and walked a few steps around the end of the table to give her a hug. “You found it,” he said.
“We would have been here ten minutes ago if you’d told us you moved,” John said. “You manage to piss off another boss?”
“You didn’t tell them?” James asked.
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Greg said.
“You didn’t tell them,” James repeated, this time a statement, rather than a question.
“That would have ruined the surprise,” Greg said, then turned toward Blythe. “Surprise,” he said.
He smiled, and Blythe felt herself relax for the first time since they’d found the old office door locked. Greg actually looked ... happy. Maybe it was the light, with the afternoon sun flooding the room from the bank of windows.
She looked into his eyes and smiled back at him. It wasn’t a trick of the light, Greg actually was happy.
Blythe watched him as he stepped away, back toward the center of the room. She tried to remember everything James kept telling her, about watching the way Greg moved, about watching the way he held his cane -- if he had the handle in a tight grip or a loose one -- about watching the set of his shoulders -- if they were straight or hunched -- everything about watching how easily he moved, rather than how quickly.
“Sometimes he’ll move fast because he’s in pain,” James had warned her on one cold winter day when Greg had gone to claim an empty table in the cafeteria. “It hurts too much to be on his feet, so he gets off of them as quickly as possible.”
Now he bypassed his empty chair at the table to stand in the middle of the room and Blythe smiled. It was a good day.
“You got a new office? Is that such a big deal?” John asked. His words were harsh, but Blythe recognized the relieved tone in his voice. He’d been worried, she thought, and she turned to him, to help him calm down, but John moved away. He walked down the length of the office toward the windows at the far side of the room.
“Not just an office,” Greg said. He spread his arms wide, his cane dangling from his right hand. “Welcome to the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital’s Department of Diagnostic Medicine.”
“Greg’s the director,” James said, making a point that Greg hadn’t. James was watching John as John made his way past an empty desk in the corner of the room.
“It’s smaller than your old desk,” John said.
“That’s not my desk, that’s for my minions,” Greg said. He walked over to another glass wall which ran the length of the room, and pushed open the door separating the room from another. “My desk is here,” he said. “In my office.”
Blythe followed him through. There were more books, a lounge chair, a large desk already covered with a slightly chaotic blend of papers, books and unopened mail.
There were more windows behind the desk, and a door that led outside. It was a nicer office than he’d had before -- nicer than even his old boss had. She turned to him to see him standing at the center of the room -- of his office, she corrected herself. Greg was watching her as she took it in and returned her smile.
Blythe stepped up to the door leading out to the hallway, and traced the letters there that spelled Greg’s name.
“This is wonderful,” she said.
“Kind of small for a whole department, though, isn’t it?” John was standing at the door separating Greg’s office from the other room.
Blythe looked over at Greg to see his smile drop.
“It’s a small department, but it’s an important one,” James said, and John turned back to look at him. “He’ll be consulting with everyone. “He’ll get all the tough cases. When no one else can figure out what’s wrong, they’ll call him.”
James was smiling and he sounded proud. Blythe felt her own pride build as he spoke. John turned to look at Greg. He nodded. “Good,” he said.
Greg looked down and shook his head for a moment as James led John over to the far side of the conference room and poured him a cup of coffee. Blythe walked up to Greg and touched him on the arm. “Well I think it’s wonderful,” she said.
He looked down at her. “You already said that.”
“Then I must really mean it,” she said. She tightened her grip on his sleeve. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “I always am.”
----------
Wilson had seen the set of House’s shoulders drop as his father spoke, and he shook his head slightly.
John remained in the doorway, watching as Blythe stepped up to House and spoke quietly to him. Wilson tapped him on the shoulder. “Coffee?”
John turned toward him and nodded. He followed Wilson over to the far corner of the room. Wilson took one of the clean mugs off the shelf and poured a cup.
The Colonel took his coffee black. Wilson wasn’t sure when it was he learned that, but it fit the Marine persona. He smiled a little, wondering if House started taking sugar just to defy his father. Then he remembered that House sometimes took it black as well. He wondered if that was supposed to mean something, if House was trying to punish himself by conjuring up his father’s taste in coffee.
He shook his head and handed the coffee over to the Colonel. Sometimes he understood why it was that House hated psychology. All it ever gave him was questions, and no answers.
“So are you going to be working for Greg?”
Wilson shook his head. “He’ll have his own team.”
The Colonel took a sip of his coffee and turned to look into the other room. Blythe was sitting behind House’s desk now, her son standing behind her, pointing to something on the computer screen.
She smiled up at him, and Wilson could hear her laughter through the open door. He looked over at the Colonel. He had a wistful look on his face, but Wilson couldn’t tell what the man was thinking.
House had complained before that he could never tell what would make his father happy, and Wilson found himself wondering how often the boy that House had been had waited to see some glimpse of joy on his father’s face.
His own father had been quick to smile, quick to praise. He’d hug them when they did well, and when they didn’t. “Good job,” he’d say, or “I know you did your best.”
The first time House met Wilson’s father, he had held himself stiff. “I don’t hug,” he’d said, and his father had laughed. “Not yet,” he’d said, “but you’ll learn,” and satisfied himself with a two-handed handshake.
The Colonel allowed himself a real smile for a moment as he watched through the glass, though Wilson wasn’t sure if it was for his wife or his son.
“You should be proud,” Wilson said. “The hospital created this department just for your son.” The colonel turned toward him. Wilson still couldn’t read his emotions. “He has a unique skill. People from all over come to him for help.”
“What makes you think I’m not proud?” The Colonel looked back toward the other room where House was leading Blythe out onto the balcony.
“Because ...” Wilson wasn’t sure what the man expected him to say, but then the Colonel surprised him again and chuckled.
“Blythe is always telling me I need to relax,” he said. “I guess she’s right.” He shrugged and took a step to the right, closer to the window where he could see Blythe and House. “Old habits die hard.”
He kept looking out the window. “As far as Blythe was concerned, Greg could do no wrong when he was a boy. If he got a B on a paper, she was happy. I was the one to tell him he could do better. If he struck out in Little League, I was the one who had to teach him to keep his eye on the ball.”
The Colonel took another drink and watched as his son and his wife laughed together at something he couldn’t see.
“I’ve always been proud of him,” the Colonel said. “But I always thought he could do even more if someone challenged him.” He looked over at Wilson and shrugged. “Maybe I was right.”
“Maybe you should tell him that,” Wilson said.
The Colonel shook his head. “He’d never believe me if I did.”
“He might,” Wilson said. He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like House, taunting him for believing in the impossible.
They both watched as Blythe and House made their way back inside, and walked side-by-side through the office toward the conference room. Blythe was laughing again. Wilson saw House look up at his father, saw his smile fade.
The Colonel shook his head, and turned away from the office, toward Wilson. He leaned toward him, spoke in little more than a whisper. “No he won’t.”