A/N: Thanks everyone for your lovely reviews. I'm sorry I haven't been able to reply personally as I would usually like to do, but I'm traveling right now and time is short. I figure you'd probably prefer I posted a chapter than spent my time on replying . . . But please don't let that stop you doing your usual marvelous job. :)
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House raced for his mother's place, limping and lurching wildly. His t-shirt caught and tore as he brushed against the splintery fence, but he didn't notice. Vaguely he was aware of Emma and Cameron behind him. Somewhere around the back door he threw away his cane, and he was still a long way from the bathroom when he realized what the problem was. Smelled what the problem was.
"Cameron stay outside," he yelled. "Call 911 and get an ambulance. Emma, take a deep breath, hold it and follow me."
House sucked in a breath and made his way into the tiny bathroom. His mother was lying on the floor, a gash over one eyebrow bleeding profusely. He could see blood on the side of the bath from where she'd hit her head when she'd collapsed. Lying in the bath was a tipped-over tub of drain cleaner and a mostly empty half-gallon container of bleach.
Gesturing to Emma, the two of them struggled to grab Blythe. It took longer than House could hold his breath, and both he and Emma ended up gasping in the foul-smelling air. Breathing as shallowly as he could, House half-dragged, half carried his mother out of the bathroom, with Emma struggling to help. In the hallway, Emma gasped for breath and began coughing. House's own lungs were burning with the need to cough and his eyes stung. "Outside!" he ordered.
He and Emma wrestled with Blythe's dead weight, but finally managed to make their way out through the kitchen and into the backyard. Cameron was out there bent over double, coughing. "I called – they're coming," he managed to say between coughs.
House had no idea how he'd managed to lift his mother, but by the time they'd laid her down on the grass, his eyes were streaming, lungs burning, and his leg was killing him. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees, coughing and dragging in deep breaths of air.
Emma sat down on the grass next to Blythe, coughing. "Blythe?" she said raggedly, shaking his mother's shoulder.
"Is she breathing?" House asked. He sank down on his knees next to both women.
"I don't know!" Emma sounded frantic.
House checked Blythe's pulse and forced himself to stop coughing so he could listen for respiration. "She's breathing," he said, knowing it was too soon to be relieved about that. The cut on her head was superficial, House was glad to see, and the blood was already beginning to clot.
As soon as House finished speaking, Emma struggled to stand up and walked over to her son. "Cameron?" Are you okay?"
Cameron didn't answer, instead he turned and vomited into the garden bed.
"Greg? What happened?" Emma asked, her voice panicked as she stroked Cameron's back.
"Mom made mustard gas, basically," House wheezed, not bothering to explain any further. He looked around for a tap, thinking they needed to wash out their eyes, but the wail of a siren came in the distance and he figured it was better to wait until the paramedics arrived with saline. "Cameron, sit down and try to breathe slowly. You too, Emma. Don't rub your eyes and try not to cough."
The next half hour was chaos. Paramedics arrived and attended to Blythe and Cameron – the worst affected. All of them were put on oxygen and, while House and Emma insisted they could walk, Blythe and Cameron were stretchered and rushed to the hospital, Cameron and Emma in one ambulance, House and his mother in the other. House watched out of the window as they pulled away and saw the fire department arrive to take care of the spill in the bathroom. He hoped someone might remember to lock up.
At the hospital, an unconscious Blythe's head was stitched as House mutely watched on. Although she was breathing on her own, she was intubated as a precaution and transferred to ICU. Chlorine inhalation – like smoke inhalation – could cause delayed pulmonary edema and as they had no idea how long Blythe had been exposed to the toxic gas, it was entirely possible it could still occur. House followed, somewhat in shock, ensured she was properly settled and then returned to the ER.
Cameron was propped up in bed with a nebulizer. Emma sat next to him, pale and shivering, occasionally breathing from an oxygen mask that sat on the arm of the chair next to her.
When she looked over and saw him standing there she jumped out of the chair and ran over to him. "Is Blythe okay?"
He nodded. "For now. Unconscious. She'll need to be monitored closely for twenty-four hours though. Her lungs could still be affected. How's Cameron?"
"They think he's fine. He says he wasn't in there long – just long enough to find her, try to help, realize that he couldn't, and then get out of there to come and find us. It's made his asthma play up a bit, that's why they have him on the nebulizer."
House looked over at the kid. He was pale, but not cyanotic. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, his eyes closed.
"How are you?" he asked Emma quietly.
"Terrified," she said. Her voice broke in a little sob and she collapsed against him.
House didn't feel capable of comforting anyone. He wanted to someone to cuddle him and tell him it was all going to be alright. But there was no one to do that.
"It's going to be okay," he said, pressing his mouth to Emma's hair. He kissed her crown and then did it again, just because he could. "He'll be fine." Funny, but as he reached up to stroke Emma's hair he noticed there was a strange sense of reassurance to be had from comforting another person. Maybe he was beginning to see exactly what it was that Wilson jonesed over. He felt Emma's ragged breathing slow down as she tried to bring herself under control. After a moment he led her back to the chairs next to Cameron's bed, and helped her sit down. He took the seat next to her, slouching down into it, exhausted.
"Do you know what happened?" Emma asked quietly. "Did Blythe mix some chemicals? Or was it something from the sewer?"
House shrugged. "She mixed drain cleaner with bleach – it's a dangerous combination that creates chlorine gas." He paused. That was something his mother must have known."It could have been an accident."
Emma gave him a doubtful look. "Or she might have mixed things up."
House nodded. It was what he thought too. Clearly she'd got confused somehow. He wondered if he should have done something about his mother's condition earlier, but anything short of having had her instantly committed into full-time care wouldn't have avoided this. He waited for Emma to yell at him for not believing her, for not doing something sooner about his senile mother. After all, her "confusion" had injured Emma's son. But it didn't come. "Want some?" was all she asked. House laughed quietly when she handed him the oxygen mask. He took in a deep breath. His lungs weren't burning any more, but they felt irritated, as if he wanted to cough. He held down the impulse, knowing it was better not to.
"How are you health-wise?" he asked Emma, lowering the mask. "How's your breathing?"
"Fine. I got the same exposure as you. I'm a little tickly, but nothing I can't handle. The oxygen helps, though."
Emma managed a grim smile before her gaze went back to Cameron. She looked close to tears again and seeing her expression hurt House like a physical ache. He sucked in another deep breath of oxygen and leaned over to Emma and leered at her, clasping the mask to his face, making his eyes go wide and crazy-looking. "Baby wants Blue Velvet," he gasped.
Emma's head whipped around to stare at him, her eyes wide. "You did not just say that."
House did another Dennis Hopper parody. He covered his face with the mask, sucked hard on it and then leered at her. "Mommy? Mommy? Baby wants Blue Velvet. Baby wants to f—"
"Do not finished that quote! Shush!" Emma hushed a furious whisper.
House laughed.
Emma's mouth twitched. "We're in a hospital!" she protested.
House was relieved to see that the tears had vanished from her eyes. "So? I spend most of my life in one."
"And you say things like that?"
"Well . . ." House shrugged.
Emma shook her head, but she chuckled and House felt immeasurably and unreasonably better. "I hated that movie anyway," she said eventually. Her hand snuck over the arm of the chair to grab his. And for a while House was content to sit there, in a noisy ER, holding Emma's hand and sharing an oxygen mask with her.
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By the time it got dark, Emma was exhausted. The chaos of the day, added to the stress of seeing her little boy in hospital, had drained her completely. Greg had been quiet, but occasionally she'd seen a glimpse of the man he must have been in his other life back in Princeton – a quick instruction to the nurse to change something to do with Cam's medication, a hushed and serious conversation, full of jargon, with the doctor who'd come to report on Blythe's condition.
Cameron had fallen asleep a while ago. And Greg had disappeared a few minutes earlier to find out when Cameron was going to be released from the ER. Emma curled up in the chair and prepared herself for an uncomfortable night.
"Hey." Greg's soft voice woke her, and Emma realized she'd dozed off. His hand stroked her hair as she blinked up at him standing over her. It was a disarmingly touching gesture from him – a man who really was virtually a stranger – and Emma found it immensely comforting. She wanted to keep dozing, feeling him nearby, and pretend nothing else mattered.
"I've spoken to Cameron's doctor and Mom's," he said, breaking the spell.
"Any update?" Emma said, coming instantly awake.
"No change with Mom, which is actually a very good thing. Cameron's fine. They just want to keep him on the nebulizer for a while and monitor him, but it's just a precaution. Unfortunately the kid's going to be blaring that sax again soon enough."
Emma nodded and swallowed hard. The relief was overwhelming.
"Once they transfer Cameron into pediatrics for the night, we should go home. You need to get some sleep."
Emma shook her head. "I can't leave."
"They have my pager number and my cell phone. If there's the slightest change in Mom's condition, I've left orders to call me immediately. As for Cameron – he's just gonna sleep through the night. As long as you get here first thing in the morning when he wakes up, he'll be fine."
Emma shook her head again, unsure if her voice would work. As much as she had her ups and downs with Cameron, he was her life, her soul, her very reason for breathing . . .
A nurse and a couple of orderlies appeared a few moments later and Emma followed them as they took Cameron up to the pediatric floor. He didn't even stir, just slept peacefully, looking so young and so much like the little baby she remembered. His room had one other child in it, also sleeping, and a single chair that looked even less comfortable than the one in the ER – if that was possible. Emma went and stood next to her son's bed, watching over him as the nurse reattached the breathing mask and re-settled the pillows under Cameron's head.
That movement woke up him.
"Mom?"
"Cameron." Emma bent over and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"Blech." Cameron wiped her kiss away. He pulled the mask from his face. "Where am I?"
"They moved you to the children's floor. They want you to stay overnight just to make sure your asthma doesn't play up again."
"I'm in the kid section?" Cameron sounded aggrieved. "Geez."
Emma let out a relieved laugh. If which department in the hospital he'd been assigned to was his biggest problem, she had an easier time believing what Greg had said – that her son was going to be perfectly fine.
At that moment, Greg appeared next to her. He was using a crutch to help himself walk – belatedly Emma realized his cane must have still been lying in the yard at Blythe's. At that thought, Emma let out a groan.
"What?" Greg asked.
"We left the house – everything was wide open. My office, the back door to my place, the back door to your mother's place." She grimaced. "My office," she said again. She was insured, but if thieves or vandals – or curious neighborhood teens – got inside, it could easily spell the end of her business.
"The fire department were there," Greg said. "Maybe they thought to close things up."
Emma shook her head. "I can't risk—"
"I'll go," Greg said. "You stay here and I'll go back and check on things, lock up."
Emma was speechless, stunned by the novel feeling of having someone else offer to take care of things.
"Mom, you don't have to stay. I'm not a baby," Cameron said.
"No, I'll stay with you tonight," Emma said firmly.
"You look like crap," Cameron said in his blunt way.
"Thanks very much," Emma replied.
"You should go," Cameron said again. "What if they get in the house? They'll take the X-box for sure."
"Nice priorities, kid," Greg said from beside her. Emma didn't fail to notice that even though Cameron was continuously protesting his adulthood, he didn't seem to have a problem with Greg calling him "kid".
"That guy doesn't have his mom sleeping next to him," Cameron pointed to the other bed. "And he looks way sicker than me."
Cameron was being a pain, which made Emma think he probably was as healthy as all the medical professionals were insisting he was. And the thought of her office having been sitting there, open, all day, was sending tendrils of dread through her. Even if Greg did go and lock up, he wouldn't necessarily notice if anything had already been taken, if it was already too late. Not to mention the fact that she was shattered and sleeping in a chair for the night held little appeal.
"Are you sure?" she said eventually, stabs of guilt hitting her from all sides just at the very thought of abandoning her son in a hospital overnight.
Cameron didn't answer her. Instead he tilted his head to look at the man standing next to her. "Greg? Look after my Mom, okay?"
"Sure thing kid," Greg answered.
Emma swallowed back the tears that had been threatening all day and reached down to hug her son. This time he let her and didn't make any disgusted noise of protest. In fact, his scrawny arm went around her and he hugged her back. It was almost enough to make her lose it on the spot.
"I love you so much, Cammie," she said, allowing herself to use the baby name just this one more time.
"Don't go in my room," he replied.
Emma laughed and pulled back.
Greg took her hand and, with one last kiss on Cameron's forehead, Emma let herself be led towards the door.
"I mean it!" Cameron called out when they reached the doorway. "Don't touch my stuff!"
Despite her desperation to get home, Emma insisted that they visit Blythe before leaving. The woman looked tiny, dwarfed by the bed and all the machinery around her. Emma was horrified, she looked close to death, but Greg didn't seem overly concerned.
"She's on a ventilator!" Emma whispered.
Greg frowned. "I told you they'd intubated her."
Emma gave him a helpless look. She'd watched her share of hospital drama, but hadn't made the link between what he'd said and the fact that a machine would be breathing for Blythe.
"It's not that serious. She can breathe," Greg explained. "They'll take her off it tomorrow assuming her condition stays the same."
"But, why?"
"If the chlorine causes swelling in her trac—throat, they won't be able to get a tube in. So it's better to do it now to be on the safe side and make sure she's getting plenty of air into her lungs."
"Oh." Emma still couldn't believe he sounded so matter-of-fact.
"They keep her sedated so she's more comfortable." He walked to the end of the bed and picked up the chart that was hanging there. He quickly reviewed the top page and then replaced it. "Her sats haven't changed."
Emma gave him a "please explain" look.
He sighed. "The amount of oxygen in her blood. It's good, and it's staying that way. That's an excellent sign. She'll make a full recovery."
"Don't you want to stay here with her?" Emma asked quietly.
He shrugged. "She's going to be unconscious until tomorrow. They're going to page me if there's any edema – that's swelling." He stood still for a moment, staring at his mother. Then he moved to the head of the bed and bent over and pressed a kiss to Blythe's forehead. "Good night, Mom," he said quietly. Then he straightened up, an embarrassed look on his face, and gestured to Emma. "Come on, let's go."
Emma could barely keep up with his long-legged strides as the stalked through the hospital corridors, headed outside and climbed into a cab. He held her hand as they sat silently on the ride home, each lost in their own thoughts.
As the cab drew closer to her house, Emma found her tension spiraling higher. What if someone had already stolen her computer? She fought to remember the last time she'd run a complete backup. Not recently enough. Besides which, the external hard drive that was her back up was in the top drawer of her desk. Unlocked. Dumb. She needed to rethink that.
Greg paid for the cab and as he was handing over the bills Emma jumped out. "You check your Mom's, I'm going to my office," she said, heading off without waiting for him to reply. She dodged the front door and went straight down the side of the house into the backyard. It took a moment for her to work out what was wrong, but when she did, she froze.
Lights were on in both the house and her office.
The sound of the television was clearly audible.
She was too late . . .
"Mrs Porter?" A young man in army fatigues appeared, shadowed by the back door.
Emma just managed to muffle a scream. "Who are you?" she asked instead, her voice a shriek.
"Emma!" Greg's panicked voice called a moment before he appeared around the side of the house. "Are you okay? You idiot! Running back here when there could be—"
"It's okay, it's okay." The guy stepped from her house into the yard, holding up his hands. "Colonel Wright sent me to watch over your place until you got back."
Greg reached her and Emma had to suppress a smile when he stepped in front of her and pushed her behind him. Tall as he was, he was clearly no match for the young, buff marine he was trying to protect her from.
"I'm Lieutenant Matthew Brookes," the guy continued, "my Second Lieutenant, Brad Avery, is next door taking care of Colonel House's place."
Emma put a hand on Greg's shoulder and stepped out from behind him.
"But how did you . . ?" she asked.
"The neighbor on the other side, Captain Benfer, the one who takes care of Mrs House's garden, called my CO, Colonel Wright, when he found out what happened. Colonel Wright and Colonel House served together."
Greg muttered something beside her, but Emma didn't catch it. "So everything's fine?" she asked, still not trusting her eyes.
"Yes ma'am. We got here before the fire department left. I didn't want to lock up anything until you arrived, because I wasn't sure if you had your keys, but I turned on all the lights and I've been keeping watch. No one has been past except for one of your neighbors who wanted to know if I had any update on Mrs House. Is she going to be okay?"
"She'll be fine," Greg said, his voice surly.
"Thank you so much, Lieutenant Brookes," Emma said, rushing forward to grasp the guy's hand. "And please pass on my thanks to Colonel Wright."
The marine didn't say anything, just shook her hand and gave her a polite nod.
"I'm so relieved." Emma let out a huge breath and walked over to her office. She stuck her head inside, just to reassure herself that everything really was okay and was grateful to find that it looked just as messy and full as when she'd run out of there at lunchtime. The keys were resting on the desk, where she'd left them, and after pulling the curtains shut and turning off the light, she locked the door.
Greg and the marine were still standing in her yard, silent.
"Well, if everything's okay ma'am, I'll go next door and check on Avery. Do you happen to have a spare key or anything, so we could lock up Mrs House's place?"
"Yes I—"
"It's okay, I'll take care of it," Greg interrupted.
"Sir?"
"I'm Gregory House," he said.
"Oh." Clearly the marine was surprised, but he covered it fast. "Of course." He gave House another of those spare, military nods. "Your father had quite the reputation. Good man. I was sad to hear of his passing."
Greg rolled his eyes, a gesture that surprised Emma, but she knew now wasn't the time to ask questions.
The three of them walked over to Blythe's house through the fence and Brookes introduced Emma and Greg to Second Lieutenant Avery. Both men were like poster boys for the marines – tall, muscular, chiseled jaws, immaculately polite. If she hadn't been so tired, Emma would have been paying close attention so as to try to sketch them later.
"The fire department cleaned out the bathroom. They left a little mess behind, but otherwise everything seems fine. We found Mrs House's cane out in the yard," Avery offered. "It's in the living room."
"That'll be mine, actually," Greg said bitterly. He disappeared into the living room and didn't come back, leaving Emma with the two marines. Once again she thanked them profusely, suggested they come back some day for coffee with her and Blythe, and saw them out the front door.
After they left, she returned to the living room to find Greg standing staring at one of the House family portraits on the wall, his face like thunder.
Emma walked over to him, but didn't reach out to him. She sighed, but he stayed silent. Her very bones ached from the storm of emotion she'd been through the past few hours.
She straightened her shoulders and composed her face. "My dad walked out on me, my Mom and my brother when I was seven," Emma said, her voice neutral. "He wrote me letters saying he'd bought a ranch, that he'd bought me ponies, that soon he would come and get me and take me to the ranch and teach me to ride and let me buy whatever I wanted. Every Christmas I waited for him. He never turned up. I later found out he died in a shelter when I was about fifteen. Then I married a marine – a man who was never home. And my husband cheated on me when Cameron was a toddler. While we were separated, trying to work on our marriage, he went to Afghanistan and got himself killed." Emma took a deep breath. "I've got some serious daddy issues. Care to share yours?"
He turned to look at her, his expression hard to read. "Not really," he said eventually.
"Fine. Now, are you staying here tonight? Or do you want me to lock up and you come over to my place?"
"Your place," he said, still sullen.
"Right, well, come on then."
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A/N: The Denis Hopper movie House is quoting is called "Blue Velvet", a David Lynch movie which also stars Isabella Rossellini. If you haven't seen it -- read the Wikipedia entry before you race to your Netflix list.