For those interested in the "Mia" verse...I'm 22,000+ words into the third in the series. It won't be posted until February, but I AM working on it. It'll be a long one, too. Once in a while a story begs to be written, so here's one such story...
You Did The Right Thing
"You think I should risk my life for Amber's?"
House watched as Wilson nodded after only a moment's hesitation; it was a nod full of hope for Amber's life and a desperate will-do-anything-to-save-her disregard for House's. It was then that House was reminded of another question.
Contemplating what his last words would be to his son, Gabe, the vegetative-state patient brought magically back to life, sat in an ornately decorated hotel room, with a man he had met only hours earlier; a man who was doing everything in his power to save the life of Gabe's son.
Gabe asked, "If you could hear one thing from your father, what would it be?"
"That wouldn't help you," House said, not ready to divulge such a closely guarded secret.
"Try me."
House stared at his hands, trying not to remember the circumstances which caused him to wish his father would say such words. "I'd want him to say," he paused briefly, "You were right. You did the right thing."
Wilson watched House look away, hoping he would agree to the dicey procedure which might just save his girlfriend's life. House was miles away, deep in thought, and as he contemplated Wilson's request, House found himself thinking of exactly why he wanted his father to tell him that he had done the right thing.
"Johnny, why'dja have to bring your kid brother along anyway?" Casey whined as the trio of boys walked along the edge of a river a few days before the end of summer vacation.
"Shut up Casey; you're lucky I dragged your whiney ass along," John Jr. said as he sent a thirteen year old Greg House a smirk of approval.
"So, where'dja leave it?" Casey asked.
"Just over that ridge. I wrapped it in plastic and buried it inside a cigar box."
"Johnny?" Greg asked.
"What G?"
"Did you take them from Dad's stash?"
"Nope."
"You stole them?"
"Nope."
Growing impatient, Casey butted in, "I nicked them from my dad's stash and gave them Johnny to hide."
Greg shook his head, "He's not an idiot; he'll figure it out, especially when you come back smelling like smoke."
"I told you Johnny, we shouldn't have brought your stupid kid brother along."
"Casey, G's right. Your dad's going to skin you alive when he finds out you stole his smokes."
"Yeah, but it'll be worth it," Casey said with a big grin. All three boys nodded in agreement as they laughed in nervous anticipation. They trudged down the riverbank, Johnny flanked on either end by his dead ringer for a brother on one side, and his stubby, blond friend on the other.
"Johnny, dad'll kill us."
"Shut up Gregory," Johnny mocked.
"You know I hate it when you call me that."
Johnny cocked an eyebrow, "Why do you think I do it?"
Sitting up against a battered piece of driftwood, Greg coughed over his first cigarette as Casey lifted a small flask and downed a hefty sip before passing it to Johnny. Johnny took it nervously, chanced a glance at his younger brother and knowing he shouldn't, but not wanting to give in to his younger brother, he tipped his head back and swallowed the fiery liquid with a gag.
"So," Casey started, "You guys are leaving for Japan on your fifteenth birthday, next month?"
Holding the flask out to his younger brother, Johnny nodded. "Yeah, it sucks."
Greg shook his head, refusing whatever alcohol might be in the flask as he ground the butt of the cigarette into the driftwood. "I'll be over there," he said, pointing towards the shore.
"Chicken!" Casey called out.
"Leave him alone, Case. Don't you remember the first time we tried to smoke? You puked everywhere."
"Man, you're the only guy I know who actually likes his little brother."
Johnny watched Greg momentarily before taking another swig from the flask. "He's not so bad." Johnny shrugged. "He makes me laugh."
"Jeeze Johnny, if I wasn't your best friend, I'd think he was."
"If you weren't, he would be."
Greg tossed a feather into the river and watched it drift swiftly downstream. Bored and suddenly weary of the time, he turned towards the sound of raised voices; looking downstream, he saw the pair chasing each other near the edge of the river and Greg broke into a jog to catch up with them.
"Casey!" Johnny yelled.
"He'll kill me; it's his favorite flask."
"The river's too fast. I've got ten bucks saved up and Greg's got six. We'll pitch in for a new one."
"You can't just buy a new one. It was my grandfather's."
As Greg approached, he heard the boys arguing and watched as Casey foolishly stepped into the river, closely followed by Johnny.
"Johnny, no!" Greg cried out.
"Greg, get over here."
Greg rushed to his brother's side and grabbed hold of his hand, trying to help anchor him to the shore, as Johnny reached for Casey. Casey was out too far however, and in an instant, Casey was swept downstream. Johnny broke the connection with Greg, pulling his hand free, and prepared to jump in after his best friend.
Greg grabbed for Johnny's hand, "No, you'll drown!"
"I can't just let him go," Johnny said as he once again pulled free of his brother's grasp.
Johnny began running down the embankment, trying to catch up to Casey who had traveled with the flow of the current, sputtering and yelling for help along the way.
"Are you coming or not? I need your help," Johnny asked.
Greg stood with his feet firmly rooted and shook his head and the boys locked eyes, each willing the other not to go.
Johnny nodded. "Fine. You've made your choice."
Greg watched as his older brother took off at a fast pace; it was as fast as he'd ever sprinted at a track meet, though for stakes far greater than a high school competition. Greg took a few steps backwards before turning around. He ran hard, not quite matching the speed of his older brother, but as fast as his legs could carry him towards home.
Out of breath and knees weak after the long run, Greg burst through the front door. "Mom!" he yelled, a note of fear clearly audible.
"Greg?" she asked, as she came out from the kitchen. "Oh my god, where's Johnny?"
Clutching the stitch in his side he said, "River. Casey fell in. Johnny's trying to get him out and asked me to help but I…." Greg shook his head, ashamed that he hadn't been brave enough to stay.
"Get in the car," she said before making her way to the garage to find her husband.
Five days later, Greg stood next his mother as he watched his father and various other family members carry Johnny's casket into the funeral home. Casey's father marched alongside, carrying a second casket. The ceremony was not one he would remember; he wouldn't remember John House sobbing through the eulogy, he wouldn't remember the flowers or the reassurances that everything would be okay from people he barely knew. He wouldn't remember the long line of cars that trailed behind them on the drive to the cemetary, nor would he remember Casey's father clasping a battered flask.
He would remember the look of disgust his father gave him that evening, he'd remember vomiting in the men's room at the funeral home, he'd remember Casey's little sister being rushed off by her mother after an asthma attack at the gravesite and he'd remember the smelly fat aunts and the slightly drunk uncles who insisted on hugging him before they stuffed themselves silly at the reception. He hated being touched. He hated the tears and the pity. He hated his own guilt.
What he hated most however, were his mother's words. "You did the right thing, Greg."
Greg looked at his mother and motioned towards his father who stood stoically by Johnny's gravesite. "He doesn't think so."
"You listen to me," she said, pulling him into a hug, "Never sacrifice yourself."
"Johnny would have done it for me."
It was the last time Greg House ever spoke his brother's name.
House finally brought his gaze back to meet Wilson's and unwilling to make the same mistake twice, he nodded in agreement. He wouldn't allow Wilson to brave the river alone; he would wade through it with him, because Wilson would have done the same for him.