Chapter 7: Silence Like a Cancer Grows


"House, you haven't slept in three days. You need to go to sleep, or at least a nap." Wilson suggested after being alerted to House's sleep pattern change, or lack thereof. "You can't go on living on just Vicodin and coffee."

"You're right." House answered going once more through the Physician's Desk Reference and several research article's published on 'subcutaneous panniculitis-like T-cell lymphoma. "Maybe I should switch to morphine." He smirked.

"House, she's been here a week. She's getting worse. You can't judge what to do by glancing at new symptoms on a chart. You have to talk to her." Wilson practically ordered. House felt a chill run up his spine. He hated to have to admit it, but he knew Wilson was right. No two patients had exactly the same symptoms. He'd have to talk to her to make an interview. If he could, he'd do it by phone. Even by letter if he had that option. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of texting her. Then he realized, he may have to examine her.

House sighed and rubbed his eyes feeling everything was surreal. Well, he thought, now's a good a time as any. Perhaps the dream feeling would serve to his advantage, detached from all emotions. He resigned at last, closing the book and standing up, walking to Wilson to collect Erin's file from his hands. "I know." He got up and followed Wilson out the door, like a lost puppy.

He walked with Wilson for what seemed to be forever as they went into the elevator and landed on her floor not saying a word to each other the entire way, just giving wary glances. House had a short period where he felt that he could contemplate to himself all the emotions running around inside himself. He knew it was coming, he felt it. But no matter how necessary or dire, he couldn't seem to make himself go through with it. He felt scared when he didn't know what fear was. He felt like a kid again having to face his father with a bad report card. He kept all those ghosts away for so long and they always seemed to come back with a vengeance. As soon as one was out of the way, one more would take its place. House's cane clinked on the ground outside Erin's room.

"It'll be alright." Wilson advised. House looked back at him, as they stood outside the door.

"Yeah. But I'm not so sure I will be." House responded. Wilson stared at him with a look of surprise. Could it be House was actually showing emotion? The balloon of hope quickly deflated as House suddenly spoke again. "I may have to molest her for old time's sake." Wilson gave a stern look of disapproval and pointed to the door. House straightened up and felt the smile die on his face as he took a deep breath and turned the handle as quietly as he could.

Once inside, he felt his heart speed up and his adrenaline pumping hard. He saw her sleeping face, angelic and peaceful and admired the rest of her that he could see above the covers. He hadn't seen her in so many years, he was almost positive he was hallucinating. Now that he could stare at her freely, he noticed how much thinner she was then he remembered her being. Her skin was fair like it hadn't seen the sun in years and her arms were bruised badly from the busted veins from where some incompetent person tried to put an IV that wasn't strong enough. How pale she was, he thought as he walked slowly to the beeping machines, grasping the file tightly. He still felt resentment towards her, but for the moment, he felt like it was a lost connection. Someone who he used to feel he knew so well, but now wouldn't know if he was staring her in the face and had a name tag. He set the charts down on the end of the bed and reached his shaking hand out and light as he possibly could, traced the veins on the back of her hand. He marveled at how frail she seemed now., sadly. He traced one long vein to the tip of her finger.

Fragile twigs trapped under ice, he mused. He noticed her IV drip of saline to keep her hydrated. He was suddenly caught off guard when his attention got sidetracked.

"I knew you'd come." House immediately took his hand off hers, hoping like hell she didn't notice. For a brief moment, he had a sudden urge to leave the room quite abruptly.

"Yeah. I jack all the patient's morphine while they sleep and replace it with ice water. But since you're not asleep, I'll be on my way." He remarked limping to the door. Erin sat up quickly, making her head spin and her vision almost immediately blackout.

"Greg, please don't go!" She sounded desperate. He closed the door and came back to her.

"I'm not leaving." He scoffed. She grimaced in pain as she laid back against the half-reclined bed. "But if I am staying, you're going to have to scoot over because 'cause I'm not dragging the chair." She moved over as he sat down on the bed beside her, her eyes fixated on his leg and the cane he hooked on the bed rail.

"See anything you like?" House glared noticing her blatant stare.

"I didn't- I'm sorry." She apologized, sounding ashamed. "What happened to your leg?" Her voice sounded concerned, but he was bound not to fall into this trap of seeming niceness. House reached over towards her legs and casually picked up her file and opened it like a magazine, making it clear he wasn't going to answer her. He licked the pad of his thumb and forefinger before turning a page. He clicked open his pen.

"When did you notice the symptoms?" He asked nonchalantly.

"A year and a half ago." She answered flatly, having recited these responses a hundred times over. She tried to talk to him again using a new approach. "You still hate me, don't you?" House was caught off guard, but even though it was like his brain had been jolted awake, he kept his complacent look and ignored her once more.

"Age?" House asked.

"God damn it, Greg!" She yelled hoarsely. House was surprised by the use of his first name. "You know how old I am! You know everything about me! I'm 44, five-foot-six, one-hundred-and-ten pounds! I got chicken pox when I was four, tonsils removed at seven. C-section in-"

"88." House answered staring off into space. Erin's anger momentarily subsided.

"That's right." She told him. Even though he wasn't looking at her, Erin thought on some level she'd gotten through to him. House just stared like he was entranced by a long hallway that seemed to get longer the more he stared at it. Erin inched closer.

"I missed you." She whispered. House closed his eyes as the tiredness started to affect him and the memories came flooding back along with the pain they caused. "Greg, please say something to me. Don't shut down on me again." She pleaded. House scooted away, set the papers and pen down and turned to look at her.

Those damn eyes, he cursed silently. He'd still never saw another pair quite the same. They evoked memories of Garbo and were the color of the sky just before a storm.

"It's been so long since you looked at me, Please don't look away." Erin commanded and begged at the same time. She was visibly shaking as she sat up to look at him. She was visibly shaking as she sat up more to look at him. "Tell me what I did, Greg." Erin pleaded. "If you won't say anything else to me, just tell me that and I'll leave. I'll go and leave you alone." House sighed and looked at her hand. He didn't even realize when she grabbed his arm. But he was so tired he wouldn't notice a firecracker going off by his head.

"I can't." House said, still looking at her. She finger-combed her hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She drew her knees to her chest. She had lost his attention that way, but at least he didn't look away from her. She would try another tactic.

"Do you ever think of Emma?" She pondered out loud.

"I try not to." House replied closing his eyes.

"I have a nightmare about her all the time, you know." Erin looked at the door. "I hear her calling for me from her room, telling me she doesn't feel good and she cries and all I hear is her being scared and needing me and I can't find her anywhere. I know it's just a dream, but it still scares me to death." House thought of Emma. He envisioned a little 3 year old blonde girl in a green summer dress, her long hair usually done in a high ponytail that curled at the end naturally. Then he remembered the dress replaced by an oversized hospital gown, the little girl lying in a giant, cold hospital bed. Her small, fragile, body attached to machines, invaded by needles and tubes. House glanced back to Erin as a tear rolled down her cheek that she brushed away with her fingertips. "The only reason I believe in Heaven is for her." She looked back at House who didn't even move a muscle. He could see Emma's eyes and face, and remembered the sound of her cries as well.

"I'm sorry, Greg." She swallowed hard. "I know sometimes it has no meaning when it's too late, but I truly am." She hoped with every fiber of her being that he would understand somehow. "I couldn't help you, so I left you alone. But you were already gone." House's attention snapped to her.

"So what do you want from me?" He felt livid. "Things didn't turn out as well as I planned, but hey, Greg, I'm dying so if you forgive me, I'll die happy!" He raised his voice in the otherwise silent room. It was almost four in the morning, nothing else made a sound on the floor and there was no doubt in his mind that everyone could hear everything. "Now it's my turn." Erin looked terrified as his temper blew and he jumped to his feet gathering her file and his cane from the end of the bed, and quickly headed to the door. He walked back to her and looked her square in the eyes.

"I can't help you and I don't forgive you. Die with that on your mind." He all but spit on her as he went to the visitor's chair and reclaimed his leather jacket, before once again proceeding to the door with an angry fervor. Erin didn't shed one tear, but the little light available in the room reflected wavily in the water that had gathered on its own in her eyes, but she refused to let them go in his presence.

"I didn't want your forgiveness." She called quickly across the room. House turned on the spot.

"What did you want then?"

"I just wanted to ask you," She paused and continued feeling herself about to cry, but held off feeling that once she started she wouldn't be able to stop. "I just wanted to ask you to... try not to hate me." Erin's tears fell even though she wasn't blinking. House looked at his hand, poised on the door handle. He wished he could, he honestly did. He asked himself what he wanted more than anything at that moment to help him make his decision on what to do. Unfortunately, the only thing he could think of that he wanted more than anything was to be able to get out of that room. He exhaled and looked back at her as he turned the door handle.

"I'm really sorry, Erin. But I still do." He remarked as he walked out the door and heard soft sobs into a pillow.

Some people say it is scientifically possible to die from a broken heart. Tonight, House was going to test that theory out. He remembered now, as he was walking down the hall passed Wilson, who looked at him bewildered as he passed without a word, why it seemed so impossible talk to her. Erin had Emma's eyes.


A/N: Unfortunately, this is a rewrite I had to do, due to me replacing a chapter for mistakes and clicking the wrong one! It sucked, and I think the first one was written better, but oh well. Hopefully this is acceptable, and if not, please accept my apologies!