(Doctor Gregory House and other canon characters featured in this work of fiction belong to NBC/Universal and David Shore. Original characters are my creation. I make no money from writing these stories, it's done for pure enjoyment. All literary passages, quotes and song lyrics are used without permission; I do not own them or make money from using them.)
December 31st
The hearing room was much like the others Sarah had visited over the years, chilly and bleak under harsh fluorescent lights. She shivered and was glad of her new coat. Gene and Greg had chosen well for her.
"So, Doctor Goldman, you think this is the best course of action, having the boy foster out to Bob Gibbs?" The judge leaned back in her chair and toyed with her pen.
Sarah nodded. "Yes, your honor. I believe Jason Bramble has potential. He understands what he did was wrong, and showed concern for my welfare after the accident. He trusted me enough to eat a meal I provided, and he went willingly with the officer when directed."
"And what do you say to this, Mister Gibbs?" The judge gave Bob a slight smile. "Your own son's grown and married with children of his own now. Are you sure you want to take on raising another boy who might bring some heavy baggage along with him?"
"I'd like t'give it a try, ma'am," Bob said. "Sounds like the boy needs a home where he ain't bein' beat up or starved, at least."
The judge glanced at Sarah, brows raised in inquiry. "I saw the bruises on his arm, and he ate most of a large pizza in one sitting," Sarah said quietly. "Even given the fact that he's twelve, energetic and basically an empty stomach on legs, it's my opinion he's being abused and neglected. He was trying to steal groceries, not my purse."
The judge sighed. "I appreciate you trying to put a good spin on things, but the fact is that Jason is a repeat offender and not just for stealing. He's been suspended from school for fighting with students, and vandalism as well as destruction of property."
"I've read through his history," Sarah said. "Mister Gibbs has too. We're aware of Jason's prior actions. What I'd like to know is why he committed them. I think there's a pretty good reason for his acting out."
"I see." The judge looked down at the report. "Doctor Goldman, I take it you're willing to provide counseling."
"Yes ma'am," Sarah said. "I live just down the lane from Mister Gibbs, our properties are side by side. Jason would be set up for several sessions a week as well as his mandated group therapy at the youth center, and he'll be welcome in our home at any time, my husband has agreed it's all right."
"All right then. I want frequent updates on how he's doing. If he gives either one of you any serious grief or anything untoward happens, you're to tell my office immediately, no exceptions." The judge sat up, took pen in hand and signed the paperwork. "In three months we'll review the arrangement if it doesn't blow up before then." She smiled and handed Bob and Sarah their copies. "I believe you can take your young man home now."
Jason waited for them in the hallway. He sat in a hard plastic chair next to an officer, his thin shoulders hunched inside the barn coat Sarah had given him on the night of the accident. She came forward and crouched in front of him. "Hey," she said quietly. "Ready to go with us?"
Jason lifted his face. His dark eyes held wary hope and fear. He said nothing however, only gave a hesitant nod. Sarah got to her feet and glanced at the officer. "Thanks for your help," she said. The man shrugged.
"Just makin' sure he don't trash the place," he said, and stood, then ambled off. Sarah glanced at Jason. He wore an impassive expression, but she could see the shame and guilty defiance there under the surface. She remembered the feeling, that sense that no one ever bothered to see past the label the adults had slapped on her because she'd dared to stand up for herself somehow.
"Bob's waiting for us in the truck," she said. "We'll go to his place and you can hang out for a while, get used to everything, then you and Bob can come over for dinner." She paused. "Is it all right if I touch you?" she asked softly. "It's okay to say no." Jason's gaze skittered to hers, then away. He shook his head. "Okay, that's fine. Let's go." She fell into step beside him as they headed for the door. "Ever ride a horse?"
Jason gave her a startled look. "N-no."
"If you want to learn, I'll teach you." Sarah gave him a warm smile. "But first we'll get you settled in and fed."
[H]
Doctor Wirth poured a cup of coffee and handed it over to Greg. She spared Sarah a humorous look. "I've got hot water if you want tea, heathen non-worshipper of the bean."
"I'm fine, thanks. Just here for moral support." Sarah snitched a butter cookie from the plate on the corner of the desk. Greg glared at them both.
"Could we move past the social bullshit and get to the point?" he snapped. His fingers shook just a little as he gripped the handle of the mug. Wirth nodded.
"Okay, I understand." She sat at her desk and pulled up a batch of papers from a stack on her right. "I have the official report from the examiners. The suspension's rescinded and you're cleared for action, no more supervision or required hours. Your medical license is good to go for the state of New York." She broke into a broad smile. "Congratulations, Doctor House."
"Congratulations," Sarah said past the lump in her throat. She refrained from her natural inclination to give Greg a hug. He would not thank her for what he would see as an emotional outburst in front of his employer.
Greg ducked his head and glanced at Sarah, then at Wirth. "Thanks. Don't think you know what you've unleashed, but that's not my problem."
"Oh, I'm fully aware of exactly what this means," Wirth said dryly, but her eyes gleamed with amusement. "I presume your reign of terror over the nurses will escalate and I'll have to print off another stack of incident report forms?"
"I have only just begun to fight," Greg said as Sarah snorted.
"I'm sure your fellow employees will be thrilled to hear it. So, what are your plans?" Wirth sipped her coffee. "I know you won't stay here much longer. Going back to New Jersey? It wouldn't take too much to get your license reinstated there as well."
"Nope." Greg looked away. "This is my lair now."
"Glad to hear it." Wirth said cheerfully. "Whatever you decide, you're welcome to stay as long as you can stand it, and you'll always have privileges here."
"Thanks." Greg put the cup on the desk and stood. "Back to work. It's a tough job, holding down a chair in ER."
"You could always finish up some forms for me," Wirth said, and chuckled as Greg retreated to the door in haste. Sarah got to her feet and took the papers the older woman handed her.
"Thanks for everything," she said.
"My pleasure. I'll miss him when he leaves, he's livened this place up considerably. Even some of the nurses enjoy his pranks, though they'd never admit it." Wirth shook Sarah's hand, then high-fived her with a grin. "Nice work, Doctor."
"Back atcha, Doctor."
Once in the hallway she found Greg there. They walked together toward the ER bay. "Hope you're done congratulating each other on helping out the wack job."
"Oh, hush. We're allowed a moment to gloat."
"Save me from designing menopausal females," Greg said, and pretended to flinch when Sarah gave him the fish eye. "Oops! Silly me. Make that 'beautiful, dignified and mature women whose ovaries have aged like fine wine'."
"Damn straight," Sarah said, and stopped with Greg at the first bay. "Okay, I'll see you at supper. Bob and Jason will join us."
"Better count the silverware before he gets there," Greg said, and turned to face her. He put his arms down at his sides.
"What's the matter?" Sarah asked, puzzled.
"I know you're dying to hug me, so just do it and get it over with." Greg squinched his face into a look of total martyrdom and closed his eyes. Sarah smiled.
"That's very generous of you," she said, and walked up to him slowly. He opened one eye to watch her as she stopped a foot or so away. "You're sure about this?"
"Yes."
"Positive?"
He shifted a little. "Absolutely."
"You really mean it?" He opened both eyes to glare at her. "Okay," she laughed, and gave him a hug. She held him gently. Slowly his arms came up, returned the embrace briefly, then let go.
"Brat," he muttered, but he didn't really mean it. Sarah gave him a little squeeze and stepped back.
"So proud of you," she said softly.
"Stop it," he grumbled, but he wore a slight, crooked smile that tore her heart to shreds. On impulse she leaned in and kissed his cheek.
"Well done, Doctor," she said. "See you for dinner in a bit."
[H]
Jason glanced at Bob as the older man knocked at the front door of Doctor Goldman's home. It was a nice place, different from the Gibbs farmhouse; older, but someone had rebuilt it here and there.
"Hey, come on in!" Doctor Goldman stood in the doorway, a wide smile on her face. The bruises and scrapes were still in evidence; Jason flinched when he saw them, and remembered how they'd happened. He'd been so sure that car would run her over and all he could do was lie there, frozen with terror, as death nearly took her.
"Supper's almost ready," she said now. "Why don't you get warmed up a little by the fire and then come to the table? No pizza tonight," and she actually gave him a conspiratorial smile, her beautiful eyes bright with humor, "but I promise it won't be yucky stuff."
"Come on, son," Bob said, and they went into the living room. Jason paused in astonishment. This had to be the coolest house he'd ever seen. It was like trees had grown up inside of it or something; there was polished and rough wood everywhere. A big fire blazed in the fireplace too, and there was a tv screen on the wall. The room held comfortable chairs and a couch with a colorful carpet beneath them, and a huge Christmas tree with lights and ornaments. He stared at it all, unable to take it in. He knew some people lived this way, he'd seen the ads on tv and in magazines, but never in person. It overwhelmed him, reminded him he didn't belong here. His own home was a far cry from this one—small, dirty, cold. If they really knew where he came from-
"Hey Bob, Jason." Someone stood up from one of the easy chairs, a tall, lean man with dark hair and strong, angular features. He held game controls in his hand. "Care to join me in a round of Pole Position?"
"You go on," Bob said to Jason, and nodded at the man. "I'll see if I can help out in th'kitchen." He ambled off. The tall man gave Jason a slight smile, and it was reflected in his eyes.
"Come on," he said. "We've got time for a couple of rounds yet. Sarah will let us know when everything's ready." He patted the back of a big chair. "Take a load off."
By the time they were called to supper Jason was hooked. He'd rarely played video games, only when he could scrounge a few quarters to use at the small arcade in the grocery store. Gene—"my full name's Michael Eugene, but no one ever calls me that unless I'm in trouble"—had been patient with him, explained how things worked. He didn't seem to mind that Jason had never played the game before and didn't know how to use the controls. In fact he acted like he enjoyed the chance to show someone else how to play. It was strange. No adult he'd ever known would have taken the time—maybe a teacher, but no one else.
Supper was another revelation. He'd never seen so much food piled up in one place in his life. Barbecued beef short ribs, burgers, chicken wings, fried potatoes, baked beans, cole slaw, applesauce, salad, cornbread . . . He sat next to Sarah with Bob on the other side, filled his plate from each dish and platter as it was passed to him, and fell to. A week's worth of institutional slop made everything taste that much better. He plowed through one plateful, stacked up another helping, and managed most of that before he slowed down.
"Leave a little room for dessert," Sarah said, and smiled at him. "I hope you like pie."
When the table was cleared Bob said "Why don't ya bring in some firewood for Doctor Goldman? It'll settle your stomach."
So Jason put on his coat, took a pair of thick work gloves from the hook by the door, and went out to the cord of wood piled by the back step. He'd just removed the tarp when someone limped into his field of vision—the older man who'd sat across from him at dinner and watched him with piercing blue eyes. Jason had seen him before, in the ER. He'd been angry then, had yelled at Doctor Goldman as if the accident had been her fault. Jason wasn't sure he liked this guy. He was too much of an unknown quantity, too hard to read.
"You almost killed her." Jason tensed, but the man just stood there after he spoke.
"Yeah, I did," Jason said finally.
"Never played that video game before."
"No." He looked at his feet.
"What subjects do you like in school?"
"I don't like school." It was an automatic denial.
"Oh, come on!" The man's voice was harsh. "There isn't one thing—"
"Math," Jason said. "And science. I like science." He'd never admitted that to anyone. To like something and talk about it meant it would be taken away, sooner or later. An admission he liked geeky stuff, math and biology and physics, was even worse. The man nodded.
"Good," he said, and went back into the house. Jason stared after him, puzzled. After a moment he took a couple of logs from the pile and carried them into the mudroom. He turned possible answers over in his mind while he brought in a dozen logs and stacked them with care.
A short while later they did indeed have dessert. Apple, and blueberry and chocolate cream pie, cheesecake and a big box of chocolates that looked like the kind they sold at the bakery sometimes; he had a piece of everything and enjoyed it all. As he finished off the last bite of cheesecake Doctor Goldman brought him something. It was a box wrapped in bright paper with a bow on top, and his name written on a tag. He stared at it.
"Go ahead and open it," she said quietly, and sat down next to him. "It's a little late for Christmas, but better late than never."
He hesitated; then he carefully tore the paper at one corner. The title 'iPod' popped out at him. His eyes widened in disbelief. "No way," he whispered, and looked at Goldman in amazement. She nodded.
"Go ahead."
It was indeed an iPod. He opened the box and examined the contents. As he did so, Gene came up behind Doctor Goldman and held out an envelope. Jason took it. Inside was a note about his new iTunes account.
"You'll have to download here at the house for now under supervision," Gene said, "but you're welcome to do so." He smiled. "You can help us research some new stuff for the band."
"Band?" Jason blinked. "You're in a band?"
"Strictly amateur, but we need some new material. So that's your side job while you're loading up with music, finding good stuff for us to work on," Gene said.
"Cool," Jason breathed, beside himself with excitement. "Uh—th-thank you," he added. Gene grinned.
"You're welcome."
"We know you didn't have much of a Christmas," Doctor Goldman said. "But things will be a little different next year, I think." She smiled at him. "I'm glad we met, Jason."
"You got hurt because of me," he said, confused. "Why would that make you glad?"
"Life's funny that way. Sometimes painful or bad things happen, but now and then something good comes out of it. For me, that was meeting you." She tapped the iPod. "Let's go load some songs into this thing before you have to go home, okay?"
[H]
It's well into the big bash for New Year's Eve at the fire hall, and the Flatliners have just ended their first set. Gene takes the mike as the room is filled with cheers and applause. There are quite a few more people here now than there were on Christmas; the place is packed. Apparently word has spread that there's a live band for gigs in the village, and everyone wants to come check them out and have some fun.
"Thanks," Gene says. "We're taking a twenty-minute break, but before we do there's a little business to conduct first." Greg's eyes widen when Gene points at him.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
Some applause and cheers come up from the crowd on the dance floor. Greg gives Gene an accusatory glower. Gene offers an innocent smile. Singh shrugs, and Jay looks surprised. That leaves . . .
Sarah and Roz. They wave at him from the crowd, both laughing. He glares back, silently defies them to go further with this, but it's too late; a big cake is headed his way with his name and an enormous '39 AND HOLDING' written on the top in bold blue icing. There's nothing he can do except come down from the stage while they all sing 'Happy Birthday'. He's tempted to plant his face in the middle of the stupid damn thing except he'd never get the dye out of his skin. It is pure humiliation and he hates every moment, until Roz comes up next to him and whispers in his ear as she gives him a cake knife. "I left your present at home . . . in the bedroom."
He almost drops the knife. "Hot damn."
"You bet," she says, "now cut the first piece and I'll take over." She kisses his cheek to a round of cheers and hoots, then kisses him again when he completes the task and hands the knife back to her. "Grab a seat at our table, I'll bring you a corner piece."
"I'm sure you will," he leers, and she chuckles as he heads for the table where Sarah sits. She looks festive in a dark green glittery sweater and black jeans, her curls let loose over her shoulders. She is wearing Roz's gift to her, the seashell necklace, and a pair of shell earrings too—one of Gene's presents. Her scrapes and bruises are almost gone; she looks better, more rested.
"Hey birthday boy," she says with a wide smile. He sits down and gives her a stony stare.
"My goodness me, how thoughtful of you. I hate this shit," he growls.
"Too bad. It's an excuse for everyone to indulge themselves in a little teasing and have some cake as well. Be thankful I didn't have Rick put all the candles on, it would constitute a fire hazard."
"Smartass," he grumbles at her. "Wait till your birthday."
Roz comes over with the promised corner piece, covered with loads of fancy buttercream scrollwork, and a second slice for Sarah. She hands them over with two forks. "Chocolate ganache for the filling," she said, "my request," and gives Greg a saucy smile before she returns to the table to hand out more cake and exchange small talk and holiday greetings with the partygoers.
"Oh my god," Sarah says after the first bite. "I'll have to walk for a week to get this off my hips." She licks the fork as Gene comes over to sit next to her.
"Promise to do that to me later," he says. Greg rolls his eyes.
"Gross. Married people are disgusting," he complains. "I bet you do the dip on more than the dance floor too."
"Says the man who actually hung a sock on his door latch last night," Sarah laughs. "I didn't know I live in a dorm."
"It was a dirty sock," Greg points out. He stuffs a forkful of cake and icing into his mouth, and chews noisily.
"We tried so hard to raise him right," Sarah says on a long-suffering sigh. "I can't believe he's gotten his license back and is starting his own practice. Where did we go wrong?"
"Must be soap poisoning," Gene says, and ducks when Greg launches a bit of buttercream at him.
"Do NOT quote that stupid movie!" he says as Sarah laughs.
"Do you have an existing building in mind?" Gene asks, serious now. Greg shakes his head.
"I haven't gotten that far." There's a sizable amount of bread in his account from Cuddy's generous bonus, and what he's managed to save from his earnings at the medical center, but it won't cover things like equipment and any renovation needs, not to mention staff salaries.
"You could ask Roz to look around for you," Sarah says. "She goes all over the county, I'm sure she could find something that might work out."
It's a good idea. Greg nods in agreement and looks up as the subject of their conversation comes to sit beside him. She's wearing a deep crimson silky sweater and a short black velvet skirt over lacy black tights; her newly bobbed hair is sleek and glossy (it took her hours to get it that way, he knows), and the diamond stud earrings he bought her glitter and wink. She looks good enough to eat. With care she leans in, takes the fork and offers him a bite of cake. He accepts it and watches her. When she gives him a kiss she makes a yummy noise against his lips. "Mmmm . . . sweet."
"You two are nauseating," Gene says with a grin. "I'd tell you to get a room but we have to be onstage in ten minutes."
"Plenty of time," Greg says. Sarah shakes her head.
"TMI, son."
"Too late. That's what you get when you plan birthday parties for people who don't want them," Greg says. "Especially parties with no presents."
"You've got the best one of all standing right there," Sarah says, "but I think you'll find a few things waiting for you when you come home tomorrow." She puts her hand on his arm and makes good use of his first Christmas present to her—the permission to touch without asking. "I'm glad you're spending your birthday with us," she says.
Greg thinks back to this time last year, when his duffel still held a pair of socks with a bottle of Vicodin tucked inside. He shivers just a little. Sarah gives him a gentle squeeze.
"You're here now," she says softly. "It's a good place to be. You've done well." She rubs his arm gently, then lets go. "Better get up onstage. Take some water with you, all that sugar will make you thirsty."
"Yeah, okay Mom," he snarks, but he snags some bottled water on the way back up front.
They see the New Year in with 'Auld Lang Syne' of course, and a few more songs after that before everyone heads off into the frozen tundra and the band packs up to go home.
"Best New Year's ever," Roz says as they are on their way to her place.
"We are going to make it better, aren't we?" He speaks in a low, suggestive tone.
"Well I sure hope so, otherwise all the work I put into looking good tonight will be totally wasted," Roz says, and almost drives off the road when he opens her coat and slides his hand under her sweater to cop a feel.
Once inside the house they leave a trail of clothes from the front door to the bedroom, to fall atop the bed and nearly squish Hellboy. Greg chuckles as he watches the cat stalk off in indignation, until Roz captures his face in her hands and gives him a kiss that shoots fireworks through his brain, and other parts of him too.
Soon enough he is settled among the pillows. His hands slide up and down her hips as she rides him, moves in a deep, steady rhythm, her slender body pressed to his. When he feels the first tremors of her climax under his palms he breaks off their kiss to watch her eyes change color from hazel to a deep moss green, her soft moans better than any music he's ever played.
"A whole year ahead of us," she says when they're spent and lie together, her cheek to the join of his neck and shoulder. He trails his fingers over her smooth skin.
"Don't jinx it."
"Hah. So you are superstitious," she says, and he hears the smile in her voice.
"Someone said something like that to me last year about this time, and then you showed up," he teases, and chuckles when she smacks his chest with her palm.
"Smartass."
"I'm going to open my own practice," he says after a few minutes. "Sarah said you could scout a location for me."
"Sure." Roz rubs him gently. "I'd be happy to look around and see what's available. For a fee, of course."
"Oh yeah? You wanna make me pay?"
"And pay, and pay, and p-pay . . ." She giggles as she punctuates each word with a kiss. Greg pulls her down and gives her one back for all she's given him, and considers it cheap at half the price. A new year, a new beginning; maybe this time he might just be ready.