Chapter 4
When Wilson got to his office that evening there was a note lying on his desk. It read;
"Wilson,
Taking a week off. Don't bother coming over because you know who's going to be here and it's not going to be pleasant. I need you to supervise my team. The case isn't complicated, I know what's wrong with her or him, and you guys will get it. If my parents show up at the hospital, tell them you don't know where I am. I'll deal with them.
House"
Wilson shoved the note in his pocket and sat back deep in thought.
HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD
Blythe and John got off the plane, got their luggage and took a taxi to their hotel. Both didn't talk much each deep in thought, and they retired early both tired and upset at Greg.
The next morning, both showed up at the hospital bright and early. They had lunch with Wilson who wasn't really a help much to John's distress and then headed out to Greg's apartment. They walked purposely up the walkway and knocked on the door.
House woke up that morning bright and early, having barely slept the night before. He got dressed and had a cup of coffee popping a couple of Vicodin, and then went into the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, bags under his bloodshot eyes, the pain and misery etched in his face. He washed up, then went and sat down at his piano, waiting for them to arrive. He wanted to be anywhere else when he heard that knock on his door.
When John and Blythe saw their son they were robbed temporarily of speech. Then without warning, John took a step forward and struck his son with all his might. Blythe screamed but House, numb from the Vicodin just let the sting take over him and then turned his face to face his parents. Both stood there staring at him an expression of anger and frustration on John's face and surprise on Blythe's and House just turned and walked back inside leaving the door open for them behind him.
After seating himself on the couch, he didn't look at his parents but stared down at the floor waiting for the explosion that was to come.
"What is wrong with you" John's voice was cold and cruel and he put so much hatred into each word that House actually cringed.
"A lot and you know what? A lot of it is your fault" House finally looked his father in the eye making his mother gasp and his father take a step back.
"How can you say that? We did everything for you Greg! You are so lucky to be alive! But you don't care. You only think of yourself and what happened to your damn leg. You're sister DIED, and you don't even care!" John stared at his son in disgust and Blythe began to cry.
"YOU DID NOTHING FOR ME! You never helped me understand what happened to her you sonofabitch! You never let me see her, never helped me grieve when she died. I was a child for god sakes, I needed you and you completely ignored me. YOU LOST ONE CHILD and you acted like you had none left." House looked down. He had been waiting to say that for so long, and he was so glad he did.
"We were trying to protect you! We didn't want you to remember her sick and ill Greg! We did it for you why can't you see that?" Blythe pleaded as her husband stood holding on to the coffee table edge looking faint.
"It doesn't matter what your motives were. You made a mistake. A bad one. And I'm screwed up because of it. YOU need to realize that. Otherwise, we'll never get along, and we'll never move on." House wasn't yelling anymore. He hoped he could get through to his mother because she was his only hope.
"Greg how can you accuse us of doing this to you?" Blythe cried and House looked down. It was what he had expected after all. Never would they understand. Never would they know that they had made a mistake and how much Greg paid for it everyday of his miserable life.
"Just leave. You'll never get it. You'll never understand that I miss her everyday that I can barely remember my own sister because you never let me see her when I was actually old enough to remember her. You never explained to me her death, and I have to deal with that every goddamn day. And that is your fault. I don't care if you believe it anymore because you are beyond hope. When Sarah died, she might as well have taken me with her. That's how you made me feel. But you won't apologize. The door's that way." House didn't look at his parents, but he let the tears drop once he heard the door slam shut, and he knew it was over for good.
Blythe and John sat in the car in silence. Tears of misery fell down Blythe's cheeks, and tears of frustration and utmost disgust welled up in Johns. House was right, he never would understand. And now, he felt that his son had died. He no longer had a son, and that hurt more than anything.
HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD
Wilson sat at home that night staring at the telephone. He knew that right now, his best friend was probably in pain. Not physical pain, because that was always going to be a problem with his leg, but emotional pain, and worse than usual. Wilson didn't know of course why House was angry at his parent's arrival; he didn't know the whole story with Sarah. But the little bits he did know, gave him enough information to piece it together. Late that night Julie begged her husband to come to bed but he refused stating he couldn't sleep even if he wanted to.
House was driving, despite the alcohol he had consumed and the Vicodin he had needed to put into his system, he didn't even remember how many. He needed to visit her, to feel her presence. He was no longer in control of his body, everything seemed like a blur, the tears continued to fall, and he wasn't trying to stop them. Once he had arrived at the cemetery, he limped somewhat shakily toward her tombstone. He stood there for a moment, looking at the name on the tombstone, and then he muttered "I'm so sorry Sarah" and fell into the blackness that engulfed him.
When House awoke, he was in a hospital. It wasn't PPTH, and he didn't really care anyway. The numbness he felt blocked everything else. He was finally really mourning the loss of his sister. And he had never been in so much pain in his life.
Wilson sat beside House's bed not saying a word. He knew he didn't need to speak. He just sat there, knowing House was so out of it he might not even realize he Wilson was there. He watched his friend struggle with the pain and just sat there, silently supporting him. When he had received the call he had rushed over and now he sat there feeling as though the time was going slower than ever.
HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD
House hadn't spoken to anyone in a week's time; he hadn't seen anybody in a week's time. Wilson was so intensely relieved when his friend asked him to meet him up on the hospital rooftop since House had stayed away from the hospital and everyone since he had been discharged. Wilson walked up the steps trying hard not to take them two at a time and pushed open the heavy door leading onto the roof. House sat there staring out at the buildings below holding a small photograph in his left hand. He turned towards Wilson when the door opened and then turned back waiting for his friend to reach him.
"Hey" Wilson said quietly.
"It's going to be better now" House answered.
"Yeah I know"
"I'll never forget her. And I'll never forgive them." House looked hard at Wilson and Wilson thought a moment, trying to think of a good answer. None came to him. He just patted House on the shoulder, and the two men stood there looking out at the stars.
The end.
