Antes de esta Vida
A House, M.D. fan fiction
Rating: K
Chapters: 8 of ?
Appearances by: House, Cuddy, Wilson, Old Team, New Team and probably a stray or two from nowhere.
Disclaimer: I do not own House, M.D. the show, nor the characters, plot lines and everything in between. I only have my imagination.
A/N: This chapter's a bit long. There's some introspection here, maybe fluff depending on the way you look at it. Special guesting by Blythe House and a tiny reference to "Birthmarks".
I'm trying to keep this fic short. Heck, I didn't know writing fan fiction was sooo hard. But I'll try to wrap this up soon and also update regularly. Please let me know what you think of this story. I'm open to criticism (not flaming though; those are two different things) so, good or bad, please review. Thanks!
Chapter 8
Dr. Remy Hadley had been impatiently pacing in the Diagnostics department conference room for the last 20 minutes. Once in a while, she would punch in a few numbers into the phone and then put it down with a bang.
"That idiot! How long does it take a grown man to aim and pee?" She muttered angrily.
Just then, the idiot in question came huffing and puffing into the room.
"Ah…ah…" Panting, Kutner could only lean on the glass table as Thirteen got a cup of water from the corner.
Gulping down the liquid, he finally heaved a big sigh of relief and was about to sit down on a chair when he was suddenly hauled back on his feet rudely.
"Whoa there, cactus! I've been waiting for 2o minutes already! Where the hell were you? We're scheduled to use the lab 30 minutes ago!"
Kutner had never seen Thirteen so wide-eyed, her sculpted cheekbones coming into prominence as she bared her annoyance at him. Heck, she's almost…beautiful.
Whoa, where did that come from?
Because he promised to himself that he'd try to live up to the ripe old age of 70, he had to think of some quick excuse and not tell the truth of what he had done.
"I, uh, had to help out in the clinic to restrain a patient because…" his voice trailed off as he saw Thirteen's raised eyebrow.
"You better come up with something better than that. You said you were going to the toilet so either you have a serious prostrate problem or you're a girl who just got her first period," she snapped.
Man, she's…err, maybe she-slash-he's…
Quickly casting aside any confusing thoughts, Kutner just decided to keep his mouth shut for now. He couldn't afford spilling what he just did, or rather, what he was asked to do. Nobody should know, nobody can ever know.
"Okay, okay! I'm sorry I was late. I'll buy you lunch to make up for it. C'mon, let's go," He hoped that switching into pro-active mode would stop Thirteen from questioning him further.
This time, it was Hadley's other eyebrow that went up.
"O-ho! Now the little man's ordering me around, eh?" She smirked but followed him to the doors and out the corridor.
****
House was once again at the university grounds, taking up a bench in one of the pocket gardens behind the chapel. He figured not even Wilson in all his oncologist brilliance would find him here. House not 50 feet from a place of worship? They should really slaughter the fattened cow now.
However, on this early afternoon (when he should actually be doing clinic duty), he'd been sitting here thinking. For the last three hours, actually.
At this point, he didn't know if he wanted to go ahead with his plans or not. He couldn't talk to Wilson about it. He couldn't talk to…Well, he really only had Wilson – his Jewish mother – to talk to.
His last conversation with his mother had helped a little but still did nothing to make him come to a final, irrevocable decision.
(Flashback)
Muttering to himself about old ladies and their insane rules about being on time, House grumpily got out of his Corvette. Giving a half-hearted tug at his jacket, he looked up just as the front door of the house beyond opened.
"Gregory! So glad you got here!"
Blythe House still retained grace even in frailty and old age. As she waited for her son to approach, she couldn't help but gaze at her only child as he navigated the pathway to the door.
House caught the look of wistfulness and maybe pity in his mother's eyes. It would always be there, he told himself. It's never going to go away.
"It's good to see you, Mom." He kept his voice neutral, composed. Around his mother, he knew he still had to be on his best behavior.
After stooping a little to give his mother an awkward hug, he stepped back a little to look at what Blythe was wearing. As he took in the all-black ensemble –from the gray pearl earrings, to the lace shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and the velvet dress – his eyebrows went up a notch.
"Mom, I told you to avoid the 'Black Widow' look. Wear something nice, remember?"
"But honey, I'm still mourning for your father. It's only proper that I wear black," she replied.
He couldn't help but chuff a little in indignation.
"C'mon, Mom, this is the first time in probably ten years that I've actually invited you to have a decent dinner with me. Usually, you're the one asking and begging me to come," he petulantly said.
"I'm not changing my clothes, Gregory. So let's go and have that dinner you promised me. I told your Aunt Sarah I'll tell her if the food was any good."
Boy, his mother could still shut him up, he groused, as he offered his left arm to his mom while walking to his car.
Two and a half hours after a particularly sumptuous Mediterranean meal, there was an awkward silence as House nursed a cup of strong black coffee while his mother sipped Earl Gray tea daintily.
"Are you finally going to tell me why you invited me to dinner, Greg? Because I do know that it's not because you're missing me," she pointed out gently, a note of sadness in her voice.
"It's…No, mom, of course I do miss you…sometimes," he smiled somewhat awkwardly.
"So is this about your great-grandmother's ring?"
"Yeah. Sort of." He shuffled his sneaker-clad feet under the table while gripping the cane across his lap a little more tightly.
"You didn't pawn it did you, Greg? I gave it to you years ago because I was hoping that…Well, I'm sure you know what I mean." There it was again, that note of wistfulness.
House could only shake his head.
"Then where is it then? I hope to God you didn't get married by Elvis in Las Vegas!" Blythe swore that she would go into shock if her only son confessed to choosing a quickie wedding chapel over a traditional marriage ceremony.
He managed to smirk a little at his mother's shocked response.
"That would totally be the height of coolness, Mom." He allowed the corners of his mouth to lift a little in the semblance of a smile.
There was a lull of about ten seconds as his mother anxiously gripped her tea cup.
"I want to give it to someone, actually," he murmured, looking down into his coffee cup.
"Huh? 'Give it to someone'? In my day, we called it a marriage proposal. Is that what you mean, Gregory?" Blythe could feel the dregs of 77 years of patience slowly drain away as her obstinate offspring chucked out broken replies.
However, she was unprepared when House replied with true honesty:
"Yes. It is a marriage proposal."
They both looked straight at each other then, their gazes piercing. Blythe could see the sudden surge of emotion and clarity in her son's blue eyes as House saw only years of pain, sadness, and yes, hope, affection and love as well in his mother's soft brown ones.
"Is this what you really want, Greg? Will this make you happy?"
A/N: Unbeta'ed so all mistakes are embarrassingly mine. Feedback – good or bad – humbly requested.
