"You lied!" John House roared at his son
"Everybody lies," Greg House answered. He paused to pick up his coffee before giving his father a challenging look, "Which one are you talking about?" he asked unconcerned as he used the whiteboard for support. His father glared at him furiously. They were always good at rubbing each other the wrong way.
The younger doctors in the room held their breath. This had been brewing all week. House's father had brought one of his friends to see his genius son, the doctor. Things had finally climaxed last night when House had discovered something about his patient, and then used it to his advantage. House figured out the patient's problem, and they were able to begin treatment.
"You said he was …" House's father fell silent, unable to say it. It was just too wrong and disgusting to him.
"Light on loafers?" House asked in his mocking voice. "Bent, queer, a fairy."
"He has a wife!"
"So did Oscar Wilde."
"What!"
"I'm just saying you know… it's possible." House taunted, returning his coffee to the glass table. Deciding he was bored with this argument, he turned back to the whiteboard to ignore his father. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of his attention. "So, people what could cause headaches, fever, renal failure-"
His angry father cut him off, refusing to be ignored, "You lied, and now you have cost him his good reputation that he has spent years working on!"
"He would have been the queerest marine in the graveyard. I thought he might like to live." Greg unhooked the cane from the whiteboard and limped toward his office. All four sets of eyes followed his progress. He didn't want to get into a huge fight in front of his minions; he might say something he didn't want them to hear. He opted for a tactical retreat into his office, hoping his father wouldn't continue.
"Where are you going?" his dad shouted.
"I have a gun in my office; I'll do him now before he gets a bad rep."
The retried marine quickly grabbed his son's right arm, preventing him from moving with a painful grip. House's eyes dropped to where his father held onto the arm muscles he used to hold himself up.
"Let go of me," Greg warned. Bright blue eyes locked on to each other, both sets ice cold and threatening.
House's fellows looked at each other, trying to decide if they should jump in and say something. Their decision was preempted as the retried marine officer loosened his grip on his crippled son.
"You disgust me," the older man spat.
"Don't worry, the feeling's mutual." House broke the eye contact and walked into his office. He picked up his ball in an attempt to diffuse his anger. Again his father followed him.
"You have embarrassed me and your mother; you are a disgrace to your profession. You are a liar and cheat! You manipulate sick people into getting want you want. I am truly ashamed of you."
"You know, it's traditional to thank the person who saves your friend's life," Greg said sarcastically. "Your flattery is unnecessary I assure you!" he said, throwing the ball to the floor in frustration. He refused to get caught in the argument, turning away from his father to look for a distraction.
"You are going to apologize to him and then tell everyone that you were wrong!" John House yelled, determined to have the final word and discipline his only son.
"Now you want me to lie?" House junior laughed in his father's face, "And forget all the lessons you gave me, no way!" House watched his father stew, knowing the melt down was inevitable.
House enjoyed watching his father get angry, if John House wanted to give himself a heart attack that was his problem. It would serve him right for every single time Greg couldn't sit down without yelping in pain, for every time he made Greg stand in the back yard at attention for hours on end, reciting the Ten Commandments. And for every time he came home and bragged to the guys at how many men he had killed on his last tour in some war zone.
House turned away from the old man, suddenly bored by his game. He didn't want to think about it, he just wanted him to leave. Greg turned his attention to signing some papers on his desk.
"You will do it!" John House roared at his son. That his son was ignoring his presence just fed his temper. The retired marine grabbed his son by his shirt, forcing him to his feet. John's hand shook with rage; he was still strong for a man in his late sixties. He forced his son to look at him. Control, he needed to dominate.
The three fellows looked at each other nervously as the argument turned physical. Cameron jumped to her feet ready to break it up.
"Cameron…" Chase called out. "Don't, it's not worth it. Leave them."
"But," she turned to face Chase.
"What you going to do, Dad? Smack me?" House taunted. "I'm not ten years old anymore, you know. You can't slap me into submission."
House never saw it coming, the hard left fist connected sharply with his jaw. Unbalanced, he crashed into his desk before hitting the floor. Enraged, House senior straddled his son and slammed his right fist into his jaw.
"You piece of shit, ungrateful waste of space!" There was an ugly crack as the old man's knuckles broke. Blood flowed onto the carpet, and smeared on the ex marine's fist from where his old West Point ring cut into his son's face.
Greg was helpless underneath his father's weight. His leg screamed at him, the damaged nerves fired off white-hot pain down his right leg and straight up his back.
Darkness finally floated at the corner of his eyes. He welcomed it, allowing himself to fall.
A/N: Loads of thanks go to Padawan Jan-AQ for all the hard work adjusting both my terrible grammar and punctuation.
PH