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namasteTitle: Family, Friends and Other Complications
Chapter Twenty When Greg Apologized
Author: Namaste
Rating: Gen, strong House and Wilson friendship, PG
Summary: Knowing that James is there gives Blythe hope that things will get better. Wilson’s faith isn’t as strong, but he believes in Blythe.
Warning and Author’s Note: Spoilers through “Words and Deeds.”
This is it, everyone. The final chapter. I may revisit some of the themes and characters in other fics, but this is the end of “Family, Friends and Other Complications.” Thanks for sticking with it -- all 60,000 words or so. Considering this started out as just something I wanted to explore, I’m amazed to discover it’s become my longest fic ever. Go figure.
Previous chapters are linked inside.
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
When Days Were Good
When John Retired
When Greg Went For A Visit
When They Weren’t Together
When John Took Blythe to Paris
When Wilson Lived With House
When Greg Was Shot
When Blythe Met Steve McQueen
When Greg Got Better
When Greg Got Worse
When Greg Called At Christmas
When Greg Apologized
Blythe didn’t recognize the number on her cell phone’s display, but the area code was 609 and the first three numbers matched the exchange for Princeton-Plainsboro. She stopped her shopping cart on the edge of the aisle and flipped open the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi Mom.”
She sighed. “Greg,” she said, “thank God. I’ve been so worried.”
“I always tell you not to worry.”
“I know, but you were so sick when you called last time.”
Greg was quiet for a moment. “Who told you I was sick? Did Wilson ...”
“James didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.” Blythe wondered for a moment if she’d said something wrong. Greg really did sound better, and she’d hoped that meant that he and James had worked out whatever problem it was that they’d had.
Now Blythe hoped she hadn’t just made it worse again. “Nobody said anything. I’m your mother, Greg. I’ve nursed you through measles and mumps and tonsillitis and the flu. I know when you’re sick.”
“You forgot chicken pox.”
“I didn’t forget, I was just naming a few of the highlights.” Blythe felt her fears ease again at the sound of Greg’s teasing comment. “Should I mention every time you had a cold?”
“No,” Greg said. “And I’m fine now.”
Blythe wished she’d known what had been wrong before, but she’d never pushed him for an answer, afraid he wouldn’t say anything at all. Since Christmas, he’d gone quiet, become a shadow of himself visible only from certain angles, only at certain times.
He’d sent her a short email before New Year’s, saying he wasn’t going anyplace after all, but never responded to any of the ones she’d sent in response.
When she finally called his office a week later, Dr. Cameron answered his phone.
“He’s busy right now,” she’d said. She spoke carefully, hesitating before she said anything at all, as if she was trying to measure the meaning of every word.
“That’s fine,” Blythe said. “I was just calling to say hello. He can call me back later.”
“I don’t know when he’ll have a chance.” Dr. Cameron hesitated again. “He’s got a case.” She reminded Blythe more of the anxious young woman they’d first met on their way to Paris -- the one who was eager to impress her and John -- rather than the confident doctor they’d just seen early last summer.
“Whenever he has time is fine,” Blythe said. She thought she heard the young woman on the other end of the line sigh in relief before she hung up.
Greg had called two hours later. His voice was rough and he spoke quietly, as if there was someone else there that he didn’t want to disturb. He only said a few words, and seemed to spill out the ones he did use in small doses.
“Are you all right?”
“Just tired.”
“I guess you didn’t have time to return the message I left for you at home yesterday.”
“Sorry.”
He was shutting himself down and shutting her out, and she knew that meant something was wrong, no matter what he said. Blythe listened to Greg’s rough voice as Greg insisted he was all right. She heard him breathing fast, as if he had just run in from somewhere, though she knew that hadn’t happened. He was in pain, she realized, and it was worse than normal.
“Can’t I do something for you?” Blythe wiped away a tear from her eye. John had turned the TV off when the phone rang, and now he sat on the sofa, watching her as she stood at the edge of the dining room, one foot on the carpet, one on tile.
“No.”
“I want to help.” Blythe took a step toward the dining room, feeling hard tile under both her feet. Her voice was soft. “Please.”
“I have to do this myself,” Greg said.
“I could come up for a few days ...”
“No.” Greg’s voice was firm.
Blythe listened to him breathing, drawing in air in shaky gasps. “All right.”
She tried to tell herself that at least Greg had called. That had to mean something. She felt a tear rolling down her cheek.
“I hope things get better soon, honey,” she said.
Greg was quiet for a moment. “So do I,” he said, and hung up.
John was standing beside her when she looked up. He held out a tissue. “What’s he done this time?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He won’t tell me anything.”
Blythe wiped her eyes, then stared down at the phone in her hand. She thought about calling James. He would know. He would tell her.
“If it was important, Wilson would call,” John said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “Greg’s a grown man, Blythe. Maybe he needs to work this out on his own.”
She’d nodded and told him he was right, though she wasn’t sure if that was true. But she didn’t call. She decided to give Greg the space he wanted.
She couldn’t stop the thoughts that flashed through her mind, though -- thoughts that Greg’s pain had gotten even worse, that he’d lost a patient, that something was wrong at the hospital.
Thoughts that whatever it was that had driven Greg and James apart had only worsened, and Greg was all alone.
And so was James.
But now, on the phone, Greg’s voice sounded lighter. She was reminded of the days he was in high school and he came home from school after doing well on a test. Or when he was even younger and came home with some new joke and couldn’t wait to tell it to her.
“Dwayne the bathtub, I’m dwowning,” he’d say and laugh with that sweet soprano he’d had when he was a boy, and she’d laugh along with him, not because of the old joke but because he was happy.
She wouldn’t say that he sounded happy on the phone, but it seemed as if some burden had dropped away and he was surprised by the sudden lightness.
“Well, I’m glad you’re fine now.” Blythe angled her cart further to the side to make way for a young women with a toddler making her way slowly down the aisle. “Are you at work?”
“I’m at the hospital,” Greg said. “I’m in one of the lounges and thought I’d call while I had the chance.”
Blythe nodded. That was why she didn’t recognize the number. “I’m glad you did.” She was quiet, just listening to the sound of him on the other phone, saying nothing. His breath no longer came out in rough bursts, but instead had smoothed to the point she couldn’t make it out. Instead she could hear him in motion: the squeak of a chair, the faint tapping of something against a hard surface, something rolling from side to side.
“You still there?”
“Sorry, just thinking,” Blythe said. “I was remembering when you were a little boy, and the teachers could never get you to sit still.”
“Yeah,” Greg said, “sorry about all that.”
“Sorry? What for?”
“All those times you were called into school because I’d screwed up.”
“Honey, you were just a little boy.” The light tone was still there, but Greg sounded as if he was serious.
“Yeah, well, I’m still sorry.” He took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry I make you worry. You shouldn’t have to worry about me.”
Blythe shook her head. “Greg, I don’t understand. Is something wrong?”
“Like that,” Greg said. “You’re worried again, aren’t you?”
“It’s just because I’m confused.”
Greg sighed. “Why does everyone keep saying that like I’ve never apologized to anyone before?”
“Because you suck at it?” Blythe could barely hear James’ voice. It was a soft mumble, but she could tell he was somewhere near Greg, and she smiled to know that they were together.
“Hey, you bought it.” Greg’s voice was slightly muffled as he turned away from the phone.
“Apparently, I must have really wanted to believe it.”
Blythe moved her cart out of the cereal aisle and around the corner. She stopped it next to the bags of cat litter, hoping it would be quieter there, that she’d be able to hear everything from Greg’s side of the line. It was good to hear Greg and James together, their voices falling into the easy patterns that she’d been afraid they’d lost forever.
“That whole believing things worked for Tinkerbell, didn’t it?” Blythe wasn’t sure if Greg remembered that she was still on the phone with him. She didn’t care.
They’re friends again, she thought to herself. Greg has his friend back.
“You’re not Peter Pan,” James said. “You’re not even one of the Lost Boys.”
Greg wasn’t lost, Blythe thought. Not anymore. She laughed a little.
“Sorry, Mom,” Greg said, “I think I was saying something about an apology.”
“And I was telling you that I don’t need one.” Blythe leaned forward on her cart, ignoring every other sound around her in the store. “I’m just happy knowing that things are better. For both of you.”
“It was never that bad.” Greg’s voice was quieter, more serious. “And I’m sorry I made you worry.”
“I know you are,” she said. Blythe didn’t need an apology, but maybe Greg needed to give one. “Thank you.”
She heard another voice from Greg’s side of the connection. She couldn’t make out what he’d said. It didn’t belong to James, and didn’t remind her of either Dr. Chase or Dr. Foreman.
“All right.” Greg answered the man. He paused for a moment. “I need to take care of something,” he said. “Maybe ... maybe we can talk more later.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good. ‘Bye Mom.”
“Goodbye, Greg,” she said. She heard him hang up the phone, then put hers back in her purse.
Greg has his friend back, she thought to herself and smiled. And so does James.
-------------
“You’re paying for pizza,” House said, and tossed his backpack onto the desk.
“I paid for dinner last night,” Wilson said. “And I stocked your kitchen with food two days ago, before you came home.”
“I don’t cook.”
“You think I don’t have anything better to do than cook for you?” Wilson shook his head and watched as House filled the backpack with two new medical journals, his iPod and a notebook he’d been scribbling away in earlier.
“You owe me that much, at least,” House said. “Don’t you?”
Wilson sighed. House knew how to take advantage of guilt. Sometimes it was just easier to give in and let him. It made it easier for Wilson to face himself in the mirror. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”
“In a minute.” House left his bag on the desk. “Gotta pee.” He walked out the door and to the left.
Wilson shook his head and sat at House’s desk. Cameron had wanted to clean it up while House was in rehab. Neither Foreman nor Chase seemed to care if she did. Wilson had stopped her.
“If House wants something cleaned up,” he’d told her, “he’ll have to do it himself. You can’t do it for him.”
“I was just thinking about the reports that Cuddy wanted done,” she said. “I thought if I went over them ...”
“Take them to him. It’ll give him something to do. Or something else to bitch about.”
Now Wilson leaned back in House’s chair and closed his eyes. He reminded himself of his new rules, the ones he’d given himself as he sat in the dark on Christmas night. Rule number one: he couldn’t control House. Rule number two: House couldn’t control him.
He hadn’t told House about them. He wasn’t sure if House needed to know. It was more important that Wilson remember them.
He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling tiles. So what did that say about dinner tonight? Was he just giving in? Wimping out? Letting House make all the rules again? He put both hands against his eyes, then rubbed at his temples. It was too much to think about. He lowered his hands and shifted in the chair, leaning down with both elbows on the desk. Maybe he wanted to cook -- and if House wanted to eat, that was fine too.
He jumped when the phone rang. The conference room was empty. No one was there to answer it. Wilson was about to let it slip over into voice mail when he glanced at the display and saw the number.
He let it ring again. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this. He reached over with his left hand, and picked it up.
“Hello, Blythe,” he said.
“James!” She didn’t sound angry at the sound of his voice. Maybe that meant she wasn’t upset with him for what he’d done. Maybe she didn’t know everything that happened in the past few months. Or maybe she was really good at hiding her feelings.
“I’m so glad to hear your voice,” she said, then paused. “I thought I called Greg’s office.”
“You did,” Wilson said. “I was just here waiting for him.”
“Oh, that’s fine then.” He heard her sigh and wondered again if he should have picked up. “How’s the weather up there?” she asked. “I heard it was supposed to be nice.”
“It is. We’re having a January thaw.”
The sun came out the day House was finally released from rehab, and it had been shining every day since. Wilson was starting to wonder if the fates were trying to tell him something. If they were, he hadn’t figured out the message yet.
“Oh, that’s good. I worry about Greg when it’s cold,” Blythe said.
Wilson smiled. “I thought he said you weren’t supposed to worry.”
“He never said I shouldn’t,” Blythe said. “He just said he was sorry that I did.”
Wilson looked toward the hallway. No sign of House. “I’m sorry too,” he said. He took a deep breath. He and House were stumbling their way back toward something that felt normal again. Hearing Blythe’s voice, he knew he wanted things to feel normal with her too, but he couldn’t as long as his own ocean of guilt stretched out between them. “I ... I haven’t been a very good friend to him lately.”
“James ...”
“I don’t know what he’s told you.”
“James ...”
“I know I’ve told you I’d keep an eye on him for you. I haven’t done a very good job of that either.”
“James ...”
“Maybe you never should have trusted me in the first place.”
Wilson had always heard that you were supposed to feel better after a confession. He never did. It hadn’t felt good to tell his wives, it hadn’t felt good to come clean to House about Grace, and he didn’t feel good now. But he’d always confessed. He wondered what a psychologist would make of that.
The silence from Blythe’s end of the phone wasn’t helping.
Wilson could hear his heart beating, thumping at a faster pace the longer the silence continued.
“James,” Blythe finally said, “I don’t know everything that’s been going on there, and I’m not sure if I should. But you have nothing to apologize to me for.”
Wilson shook his head. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”
He heard Blythe take in a deep breath. “I know that I haven’t been a perfect mother,” she said. “I’ve made mistakes. I’ve wished that I could go back and do things differently. But I can’t. And I know John isn’t perfect, and he wishes he’d changed things too. And I love Greg, but I know he isn’t perfect either.”
She stopped for a moment, as if she was considering her words. Wilson saw two med students walk past the office. House still hadn’t shown up.
“I’m happy that you’re there,” Blythe said, “even if you’re not perfect.” Her voice was still bright, still somehow upbeat, despite everything he’d said. Despite everything she’d said. “I don’t expect you to be perfect. You’re good for Greg. You make things better, and that’s important.”
Wilson shook his head. “Sometimes...” He looked out at the empty hallway again, then swiveled in the chair until he was facing the back of the room, staring instead at House’s collection of books and magazines. “Sometimes I wonder if things will ever get better.”
Blythe was quiet again. He could hear her steps on a hard surface, and he pictured her pacing on the tile floor of her kitchen. “For years,” she said, “I used to have two dreams for Greg. One was that he’d finally be happy.”
“What was the other one?”
“That he have a friend. Someone who understood him. Someone who cared about him,” Blythe said. “You.”
Wilson leaned back in the chair. He didn’t say anything.
“I believe that things can still get better,” Blythe said, “because I’ve already had one of my dreams come true.”
Wilson knew that her words were probably nothing more than a mother seeing what she wanted to see, and believing what she wanted to believe. The same false hope he heard from his patients -- and from their mothers.
He wanted to believe her. To believe that things could still somehow be good.
He remembered seeing House lying on his floor, seeing House after he’d been shot, seeing House when Stacy left the first time, seeing him struggle to walk. He rubbed his eyes again. He didn’t have Blythe’s faith, but maybe she had enough for both of them.
“I hope you’re right,” he said.
Wilson heard the door open and swiveled around to see House walking across the room.
“Thank you,” he said to Blythe. “Greg’s here. I’ll let you talk to him.”
“All right,” Blythe said. “And thank you, James. Always.”
“You’re welcome.” Wilson stood and held the phone out to House. “It’s your mother,” he said. “She wants to talk to you.”
Chapter Twenty When Greg Apologized
Author: Namaste
Rating: Gen, strong House and Wilson friendship, PG
Summary: Knowing that James is there gives Blythe hope that things will get better. Wilson’s faith isn’t as strong, but he believes in Blythe.
Warning and Author’s Note: Spoilers through “Words and Deeds.”
This is it, everyone. The final chapter. I may revisit some of the themes and characters in other fics, but this is the end of “Family, Friends and Other Complications.” Thanks for sticking with it -- all 60,000 words or so. Considering this started out as just something I wanted to explore, I’m amazed to discover it’s become my longest fic ever. Go figure.
Previous chapters are linked inside.
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
When Days Were Good
When John Retired
When Greg Went For A Visit
When They Weren’t Together
When John Took Blythe to Paris
When Wilson Lived With House
When Greg Was Shot
When Blythe Met Steve McQueen
When Greg Got Better
When Greg Got Worse
When Greg Called At Christmas
When Greg Apologized
Blythe didn’t recognize the number on her cell phone’s display, but the area code was 609 and the first three numbers matched the exchange for Princeton-Plainsboro. She stopped her shopping cart on the edge of the aisle and flipped open the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi Mom.”
She sighed. “Greg,” she said, “thank God. I’ve been so worried.”
“I always tell you not to worry.”
“I know, but you were so sick when you called last time.”
Greg was quiet for a moment. “Who told you I was sick? Did Wilson ...”
“James didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.” Blythe wondered for a moment if she’d said something wrong. Greg really did sound better, and she’d hoped that meant that he and James had worked out whatever problem it was that they’d had.
Now Blythe hoped she hadn’t just made it worse again. “Nobody said anything. I’m your mother, Greg. I’ve nursed you through measles and mumps and tonsillitis and the flu. I know when you’re sick.”
“You forgot chicken pox.”
“I didn’t forget, I was just naming a few of the highlights.” Blythe felt her fears ease again at the sound of Greg’s teasing comment. “Should I mention every time you had a cold?”
“No,” Greg said. “And I’m fine now.”
Blythe wished she’d known what had been wrong before, but she’d never pushed him for an answer, afraid he wouldn’t say anything at all. Since Christmas, he’d gone quiet, become a shadow of himself visible only from certain angles, only at certain times.
He’d sent her a short email before New Year’s, saying he wasn’t going anyplace after all, but never responded to any of the ones she’d sent in response.
When she finally called his office a week later, Dr. Cameron answered his phone.
“He’s busy right now,” she’d said. She spoke carefully, hesitating before she said anything at all, as if she was trying to measure the meaning of every word.
“That’s fine,” Blythe said. “I was just calling to say hello. He can call me back later.”
“I don’t know when he’ll have a chance.” Dr. Cameron hesitated again. “He’s got a case.” She reminded Blythe more of the anxious young woman they’d first met on their way to Paris -- the one who was eager to impress her and John -- rather than the confident doctor they’d just seen early last summer.
“Whenever he has time is fine,” Blythe said. She thought she heard the young woman on the other end of the line sigh in relief before she hung up.
Greg had called two hours later. His voice was rough and he spoke quietly, as if there was someone else there that he didn’t want to disturb. He only said a few words, and seemed to spill out the ones he did use in small doses.
“Are you all right?”
“Just tired.”
“I guess you didn’t have time to return the message I left for you at home yesterday.”
“Sorry.”
He was shutting himself down and shutting her out, and she knew that meant something was wrong, no matter what he said. Blythe listened to Greg’s rough voice as Greg insisted he was all right. She heard him breathing fast, as if he had just run in from somewhere, though she knew that hadn’t happened. He was in pain, she realized, and it was worse than normal.
“Can’t I do something for you?” Blythe wiped away a tear from her eye. John had turned the TV off when the phone rang, and now he sat on the sofa, watching her as she stood at the edge of the dining room, one foot on the carpet, one on tile.
“No.”
“I want to help.” Blythe took a step toward the dining room, feeling hard tile under both her feet. Her voice was soft. “Please.”
“I have to do this myself,” Greg said.
“I could come up for a few days ...”
“No.” Greg’s voice was firm.
Blythe listened to him breathing, drawing in air in shaky gasps. “All right.”
She tried to tell herself that at least Greg had called. That had to mean something. She felt a tear rolling down her cheek.
“I hope things get better soon, honey,” she said.
Greg was quiet for a moment. “So do I,” he said, and hung up.
John was standing beside her when she looked up. He held out a tissue. “What’s he done this time?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He won’t tell me anything.”
Blythe wiped her eyes, then stared down at the phone in her hand. She thought about calling James. He would know. He would tell her.
“If it was important, Wilson would call,” John said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “Greg’s a grown man, Blythe. Maybe he needs to work this out on his own.”
She’d nodded and told him he was right, though she wasn’t sure if that was true. But she didn’t call. She decided to give Greg the space he wanted.
She couldn’t stop the thoughts that flashed through her mind, though -- thoughts that Greg’s pain had gotten even worse, that he’d lost a patient, that something was wrong at the hospital.
Thoughts that whatever it was that had driven Greg and James apart had only worsened, and Greg was all alone.
And so was James.
But now, on the phone, Greg’s voice sounded lighter. She was reminded of the days he was in high school and he came home from school after doing well on a test. Or when he was even younger and came home with some new joke and couldn’t wait to tell it to her.
“Dwayne the bathtub, I’m dwowning,” he’d say and laugh with that sweet soprano he’d had when he was a boy, and she’d laugh along with him, not because of the old joke but because he was happy.
She wouldn’t say that he sounded happy on the phone, but it seemed as if some burden had dropped away and he was surprised by the sudden lightness.
“Well, I’m glad you’re fine now.” Blythe angled her cart further to the side to make way for a young women with a toddler making her way slowly down the aisle. “Are you at work?”
“I’m at the hospital,” Greg said. “I’m in one of the lounges and thought I’d call while I had the chance.”
Blythe nodded. That was why she didn’t recognize the number. “I’m glad you did.” She was quiet, just listening to the sound of him on the other phone, saying nothing. His breath no longer came out in rough bursts, but instead had smoothed to the point she couldn’t make it out. Instead she could hear him in motion: the squeak of a chair, the faint tapping of something against a hard surface, something rolling from side to side.
“You still there?”
“Sorry, just thinking,” Blythe said. “I was remembering when you were a little boy, and the teachers could never get you to sit still.”
“Yeah,” Greg said, “sorry about all that.”
“Sorry? What for?”
“All those times you were called into school because I’d screwed up.”
“Honey, you were just a little boy.” The light tone was still there, but Greg sounded as if he was serious.
“Yeah, well, I’m still sorry.” He took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry I make you worry. You shouldn’t have to worry about me.”
Blythe shook her head. “Greg, I don’t understand. Is something wrong?”
“Like that,” Greg said. “You’re worried again, aren’t you?”
“It’s just because I’m confused.”
Greg sighed. “Why does everyone keep saying that like I’ve never apologized to anyone before?”
“Because you suck at it?” Blythe could barely hear James’ voice. It was a soft mumble, but she could tell he was somewhere near Greg, and she smiled to know that they were together.
“Hey, you bought it.” Greg’s voice was slightly muffled as he turned away from the phone.
“Apparently, I must have really wanted to believe it.”
Blythe moved her cart out of the cereal aisle and around the corner. She stopped it next to the bags of cat litter, hoping it would be quieter there, that she’d be able to hear everything from Greg’s side of the line. It was good to hear Greg and James together, their voices falling into the easy patterns that she’d been afraid they’d lost forever.
“That whole believing things worked for Tinkerbell, didn’t it?” Blythe wasn’t sure if Greg remembered that she was still on the phone with him. She didn’t care.
They’re friends again, she thought to herself. Greg has his friend back.
“You’re not Peter Pan,” James said. “You’re not even one of the Lost Boys.”
Greg wasn’t lost, Blythe thought. Not anymore. She laughed a little.
“Sorry, Mom,” Greg said, “I think I was saying something about an apology.”
“And I was telling you that I don’t need one.” Blythe leaned forward on her cart, ignoring every other sound around her in the store. “I’m just happy knowing that things are better. For both of you.”
“It was never that bad.” Greg’s voice was quieter, more serious. “And I’m sorry I made you worry.”
“I know you are,” she said. Blythe didn’t need an apology, but maybe Greg needed to give one. “Thank you.”
She heard another voice from Greg’s side of the connection. She couldn’t make out what he’d said. It didn’t belong to James, and didn’t remind her of either Dr. Chase or Dr. Foreman.
“All right.” Greg answered the man. He paused for a moment. “I need to take care of something,” he said. “Maybe ... maybe we can talk more later.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good. ‘Bye Mom.”
“Goodbye, Greg,” she said. She heard him hang up the phone, then put hers back in her purse.
Greg has his friend back, she thought to herself and smiled. And so does James.
-------------
“You’re paying for pizza,” House said, and tossed his backpack onto the desk.
“I paid for dinner last night,” Wilson said. “And I stocked your kitchen with food two days ago, before you came home.”
“I don’t cook.”
“You think I don’t have anything better to do than cook for you?” Wilson shook his head and watched as House filled the backpack with two new medical journals, his iPod and a notebook he’d been scribbling away in earlier.
“You owe me that much, at least,” House said. “Don’t you?”
Wilson sighed. House knew how to take advantage of guilt. Sometimes it was just easier to give in and let him. It made it easier for Wilson to face himself in the mirror. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”
“In a minute.” House left his bag on the desk. “Gotta pee.” He walked out the door and to the left.
Wilson shook his head and sat at House’s desk. Cameron had wanted to clean it up while House was in rehab. Neither Foreman nor Chase seemed to care if she did. Wilson had stopped her.
“If House wants something cleaned up,” he’d told her, “he’ll have to do it himself. You can’t do it for him.”
“I was just thinking about the reports that Cuddy wanted done,” she said. “I thought if I went over them ...”
“Take them to him. It’ll give him something to do. Or something else to bitch about.”
Now Wilson leaned back in House’s chair and closed his eyes. He reminded himself of his new rules, the ones he’d given himself as he sat in the dark on Christmas night. Rule number one: he couldn’t control House. Rule number two: House couldn’t control him.
He hadn’t told House about them. He wasn’t sure if House needed to know. It was more important that Wilson remember them.
He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling tiles. So what did that say about dinner tonight? Was he just giving in? Wimping out? Letting House make all the rules again? He put both hands against his eyes, then rubbed at his temples. It was too much to think about. He lowered his hands and shifted in the chair, leaning down with both elbows on the desk. Maybe he wanted to cook -- and if House wanted to eat, that was fine too.
He jumped when the phone rang. The conference room was empty. No one was there to answer it. Wilson was about to let it slip over into voice mail when he glanced at the display and saw the number.
He let it ring again. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this. He reached over with his left hand, and picked it up.
“Hello, Blythe,” he said.
“James!” She didn’t sound angry at the sound of his voice. Maybe that meant she wasn’t upset with him for what he’d done. Maybe she didn’t know everything that happened in the past few months. Or maybe she was really good at hiding her feelings.
“I’m so glad to hear your voice,” she said, then paused. “I thought I called Greg’s office.”
“You did,” Wilson said. “I was just here waiting for him.”
“Oh, that’s fine then.” He heard her sigh and wondered again if he should have picked up. “How’s the weather up there?” she asked. “I heard it was supposed to be nice.”
“It is. We’re having a January thaw.”
The sun came out the day House was finally released from rehab, and it had been shining every day since. Wilson was starting to wonder if the fates were trying to tell him something. If they were, he hadn’t figured out the message yet.
“Oh, that’s good. I worry about Greg when it’s cold,” Blythe said.
Wilson smiled. “I thought he said you weren’t supposed to worry.”
“He never said I shouldn’t,” Blythe said. “He just said he was sorry that I did.”
Wilson looked toward the hallway. No sign of House. “I’m sorry too,” he said. He took a deep breath. He and House were stumbling their way back toward something that felt normal again. Hearing Blythe’s voice, he knew he wanted things to feel normal with her too, but he couldn’t as long as his own ocean of guilt stretched out between them. “I ... I haven’t been a very good friend to him lately.”
“James ...”
“I don’t know what he’s told you.”
“James ...”
“I know I’ve told you I’d keep an eye on him for you. I haven’t done a very good job of that either.”
“James ...”
“Maybe you never should have trusted me in the first place.”
Wilson had always heard that you were supposed to feel better after a confession. He never did. It hadn’t felt good to tell his wives, it hadn’t felt good to come clean to House about Grace, and he didn’t feel good now. But he’d always confessed. He wondered what a psychologist would make of that.
The silence from Blythe’s end of the phone wasn’t helping.
Wilson could hear his heart beating, thumping at a faster pace the longer the silence continued.
“James,” Blythe finally said, “I don’t know everything that’s been going on there, and I’m not sure if I should. But you have nothing to apologize to me for.”
Wilson shook his head. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”
He heard Blythe take in a deep breath. “I know that I haven’t been a perfect mother,” she said. “I’ve made mistakes. I’ve wished that I could go back and do things differently. But I can’t. And I know John isn’t perfect, and he wishes he’d changed things too. And I love Greg, but I know he isn’t perfect either.”
She stopped for a moment, as if she was considering her words. Wilson saw two med students walk past the office. House still hadn’t shown up.
“I’m happy that you’re there,” Blythe said, “even if you’re not perfect.” Her voice was still bright, still somehow upbeat, despite everything he’d said. Despite everything she’d said. “I don’t expect you to be perfect. You’re good for Greg. You make things better, and that’s important.”
Wilson shook his head. “Sometimes...” He looked out at the empty hallway again, then swiveled in the chair until he was facing the back of the room, staring instead at House’s collection of books and magazines. “Sometimes I wonder if things will ever get better.”
Blythe was quiet again. He could hear her steps on a hard surface, and he pictured her pacing on the tile floor of her kitchen. “For years,” she said, “I used to have two dreams for Greg. One was that he’d finally be happy.”
“What was the other one?”
“That he have a friend. Someone who understood him. Someone who cared about him,” Blythe said. “You.”
Wilson leaned back in the chair. He didn’t say anything.
“I believe that things can still get better,” Blythe said, “because I’ve already had one of my dreams come true.”
Wilson knew that her words were probably nothing more than a mother seeing what she wanted to see, and believing what she wanted to believe. The same false hope he heard from his patients -- and from their mothers.
He wanted to believe her. To believe that things could still somehow be good.
He remembered seeing House lying on his floor, seeing House after he’d been shot, seeing House when Stacy left the first time, seeing him struggle to walk. He rubbed his eyes again. He didn’t have Blythe’s faith, but maybe she had enough for both of them.
“I hope you’re right,” he said.
Wilson heard the door open and swiveled around to see House walking across the room.
“Thank you,” he said to Blythe. “Greg’s here. I’ll let you talk to him.”
“All right,” Blythe said. “And thank you, James. Always.”
“You’re welcome.” Wilson stood and held the phone out to House. “It’s your mother,” he said. “She wants to talk to you.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-25 11:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 12:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 12:03 am (UTC)You've written a truly wonderful thing.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 12:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 12:29 am (UTC)Anyway, enough rambling. This was fantastic.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 12:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 12:52 am (UTC)I'm sad to see it end, but that seriously ended on the best note! Incredible job, dear! ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 01:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 01:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 01:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 02:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 01:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 02:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 01:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 02:53 am (UTC)I love the way you write, well, everyone. And I adore Wilson for the flawed, messed-up, caring creature that he is, and I truly feel that you got to the heart of him.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 01:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 06:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 01:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 07:59 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 01:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 09:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 01:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 10:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 01:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 12:32 pm (UTC)Please accept my humble offering of e-flower and e-kisses.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 01:34 pm (UTC)I think that I'll continue to picture the relationship between House and his mother continuing on, even without writing it. Just imagine when she finds out he's now got a dog. She'll want a picture.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 12:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 01:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 02:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 04:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 02:30 pm (UTC)In particular, I think your portrayal of Wilson is just wonderful, because you don't err on the side of sweet/cuddly/perfect!Wilson or bastard!Wilson. You don't use him as a plot device, which is more than I can say for the writers.
And the ending? Understated, and absolutely perfect.
I hate that this is over, but hopefully (hopefully) it means you'll move on to writing something else equally beautiful for us to read.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 04:56 pm (UTC)I've had other fic ideas during the writing of this -- and even managed to put a couple of them together during the midst of it -- so it'll be good to play in other sandboxes for a while.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 03:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 04:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 03:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 04:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 04:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-26 04:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-27 12:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-27 04:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-27 02:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-27 04:17 pm (UTC)I hope you are inspired to write more, somewhere, somehow.
You mean more within the "Family, Friends" world? Maybe. I've also thought at taking a closer look at John, since I specifically shied away at using a direct POV for him. I'm not commited to that, though. I think I'll have to wait and see what else comes along and see if there are good chances to get a Blythe visit in there. It was getting a little difficult with so many chapters after a while being telephone conversations, but logistically to do with canon, there was no way to physically place her with House and Wilson.
Otherwise, I'm thinking of playing with some shorter stuff and other characters for a while, just to wrap my head around someone else's motivations for a bit.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-27 10:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-28 04:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-01 01:46 am (UTC)This is, seriously, one of the best sustained pieces of writing I think I've ever seen, and such a great job of weaving together canon and fiction in way that fits perfectly and is so moving.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-01 02:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-01 06:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-06 05:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-06 07:40 am (UTC)You fill in the blanks of canon so well. I have absolutely loved every word of this series (and everything else you've written). Your House and Wilson voices, and how you've beautifully fleshed out Blythe and John, all amazing. Thanks so much.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-06 05:30 pm (UTC)