A/N Many thanks to my brain trust DIYSheep and Priority for their read through and comments. Any errors, either in fact or spelling are all my own, you can't have them. I don't own any of the characters from House MD, I merely take then out like GI Joes and play with them for awhile. Any characters not appearing in House MD are my creation, you can't have them, but ask nicely and I may let you borrow them for awhile.
The first photo was up against the wall, jammed under the hall table. House bit back a curse as he bent down, the pain in his leg keeping time with the pain growing in his head. The edge of his forehead was rapidly turning blue and House could feel the beginnings of a lump forming from where the box had hit him as it fell from the shelf in the hall closet. Reaching as far as he could House's fingers brushed the edge of the photo but it was too far. House didn't even bother to cover his curse this time as his gripped the shaft of his cane, flipped it upside down, and used the head to dig the photo out from its' point under the table. This wasn't what House had planned for his Saturday, playing 52 photo pickup, but here he was, hung over, in pain, and perched on one knee in the middle of the hallway picking up 30 year's worth of photos spread throughout his entranceway. The one in his hand he recognized from a trip his mother and he had taken when they were living in Japan. His father was away, flying cargo re-supply missions back and forth between Japan and Vietnam. His mother decided they would use the summer to explore the Far East. Beginning with their home at Marine Corps Air Station Iwakuni, they traveled first to Miyajima Island, then Hiroshima, Kyoto, and then Tokyo. At Yokota Air Base they boarded the KC-135 bound for the Philippines. Onboard, House had met a young Air Force pilot on leave. The pilot took an immediate liking to Greg and the two passed the long, noisy trip talking about the Philippines. The pilot was on his way to see his fiancé; he had met her a few years prior when he was touring the Philippines, seeing all the sites his father and uncle had fought in years earlier during the war. He told Greg about the raid on the Japanese prisoner of war camp his uncle had participated in and the jump his father took into the walled city of Manila.
"My father was in the 11th Airborne Division. They jumped into Manila to help liberate the city. The Japanese had never seen paratroopers and thought they looked like umbrellas falling down. They called the Americans Rakkassans, and the name stuck."
The photo was taken on the flight line at Clark Air Force Base. The two of them stood their arms casually draped over each other's shoulders as they grinned for Greg's mother. Before parting the pilot gave Greg his address in Vietnam and for months the two corresponded, exchanging letters and jokes back and forth. One day two letters arrived for Greg. The first was from his pilot friend. The second letter had a familiar return address but the name was one he didn't recognize. He opened that one first. In it he learned his friend; Air Force Captain Jerome Davis had been shot down during a bombing run over Hanoi and killed. The second letter was from Captain Davis, his fiancée Amy was pregnant with their child, a son and he was due in two months. As House placed the yellow cracked photo in the box he thought back through the years. He had cried for over a week when he had learned of his friend's death and even after all these years he could remember the sound of Jerome's deep bass voice as he ruffled Greg's hair, "Get a haircut, you freaking hippie." He had laughed, a throaty rich laugh from deep within the chest as he waved and shouldering his duffle bag set off across the tarmac. It would be the first and last time House would ever see him alive.
As House sat back his hand brushed against another photo.
"Let's go to Mongolia."
"What?"
"Mongolia, it's a country between China and Russia."
"I know where it is, I have seen a National Geographic, why would I want to go there? It's a communist country; I don't even think Americans can go."
"It was a communist country; it's not a communist country now."
Indeed Mongolia was no longer a communist country. The collapse of the Soviet Union encouraged satellite countries like Mongolia to declare their independence from the Russian bear and in the 1990's Mongolia had told the Soviet Union they need to get up and go and in the middle of the night, the Soviets did just that, moving thousands of troops and equipment out of the country. The next morning, in the newly created ghost towns Mongolians had found burnt food on top of stoves. So fast was the withdrawal, the troops had not even had time to finish their dinner. Now Mongolia was reaching out to the West, encouraging visitors to the land of Chinggis Khaan. House had read about Mongolia growing up and the news of Mongolia's emerging travel had renewed his desire to see the country. A few weeks later House and Stacy boarded a plane bound first for Seoul South Korea, then a smaller Russian built DC-9 type plane for the Mongolian capital of Ulaanbaatar. Ulaanbaatar was Asian in name only. While the people had the same features of others in the East, the city had a distinctly Eastern Bloc feel to it. For blocks concrete buildings lined the narrow roads, signs advertised wares in Cyrillic and the people spoke a mix of Russian and Mongol. Still, House and Stacy found themselves welcomed everywhere they went. Their guide, a man named Enkhbaatar drove them around in a Russian made jeep, cranking it up before every trip and shutting it off periodically to conserve gasoline. From the city, they traveled to the countryside staying with Enkhbaatar's family in a tradition Mongolian ger. It was July and the ger was comfortable against the cool nights. It was also Naadam, the yearly Mongolian Harvest festival. Everywhere Stacy and House traveled there was dancing, bow and arrow competitions, horse racing and vodka…so much vodka House got sick of the sight of vodka, which was okay, Enkhbaatar had Airag for him, the traditional Mongolian drink of fermented mare's milk. Enkhbaatar's family like many Mongolians was herders and had a fleet of horses, sheep, and camel. The photo in House's hands was from the day Enkhbaatar invited House and Stacy to go riding. The horse was a golden colt, short with sturdy legs. Standing next to him House felt like a giant, a feeling that wasn't alleviated climbing up into the wooden saddle. House had never ridden before but after a quick lesson somewhat more comfortable. The horse however, wasn't having nay part of the man on its back and refused to go where directed. Suddenly, the bit fell out of the horse's mouth and the previously stubborn colt was now Seabiscuit. Horse and rider took off like a shot, picking up speed at an alarming rate. The one lesson everyone forgot to teach was how to stop a racing hose with no bit and through unspoken mutual agreement both horse and rider parted company. House landed with a thud against the steppe his hip and shoulder taking most of the shock of the fall. Limping back to the group everyone was concerned he wasn't too badly injured. He wasn't but his ego took an even bigger kick when Stacy led the now docile colt and her horse back to the pack. The photo showed House towering over the horse, rubbing the back of the horse's ears, a lopsided grin on his face.
For over an hour House collected up photos, stopping to examine each. His whole life was there laid out on photosensitive paper. There were photos from diving trips to Guam, photos from track and field meets in High School, surf competitions in Virginia and California, vacations to Singapore, Thailand, a sunrise photo from atop Mt Fuji, taken the same summer House met Captain Davis. They were all there, the photo from Diamond Head. House had insisted on taking the final 217 stairs in 109 steps. Stacy had caught up to him at the summit. Laughing, she took the photo of the red faced House with the beaches of Waikiki over his shoulder. They were all there, a tangible reminder of what he had done and what he was denying himself now. The infarction made it easy to make excuses, "I'm too busy, I'm in pain." But the reality was there were things he could do that didn't require four walls and a bottle. The photos were proof of that. It would be different now, but not impossible. Placing the last photo into the box House carefully pulled himself up to his feet. He placed the box back on the shelf and fished his cell phone out of his jean's pocket. Flipping it open he dialed the number for information.
"Information, what city and number please?"
"Princeton, I need a number for a travel agent.