TENDERNESS AND DEPTH OF FEELING
A/N: I read somewhere that 'A/N' actually stood for 'Apologetic Note' and that's what this one's for. I know, I said I'd have this finished by Christmas, but then Christmas came faster than I thought, and my computer broke and I had to get it fixed – but instead of leaving it for next year – here it is. The final three chapters, finishing off this saga of a fic. Thank you to those who stuck with it, thank you to everyone who reviewed and thank you to everyone who read it. Thank you, and Happy New Year.
House peered into the Foreman living room for the second time that night.
"'Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not,'" Peter read aloud from the bible, "'for such is the Kingdom of God. Verify I say unto you whosoever shall not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child he shall not enter therein.'"
Janelle looked up from her knitting, gently rubbing her eyes.
"Ma?" Belinda asked cautiously, "Are you alright?"
"This work," she muttered, "it hurts my eyes – that's better."
The children looked up at her, concerned.
"I just don't want your Uncle to see me in this state, is all," Janelle smiled reassuringly, "speaking of Eric, isn't he supposed to be home by now?"
"An hour ago," Peter corrected, glancing at the clock, "he takes longer than he used to."
"Yet, when he's with…" Janelle cleared her throat and gave them a forced smile, "Tim, he's the first one out the hospital."
"And so am I from school," Peter said sadly.
"And I." A younger girl replied.
"He was so light to carry," Janelle mused, "and for your Uncle, the strong oaf, it was no trouble."
There was a knock at the door and a jingle of keys as Foreman let himself into the house.
"Hey, Uncle Eric."
"Hey guys," Foreman greeted them, taking off his coat.
He gave his sister a hug, then each of the children.
"You're late," Janelle shook her head, "we were getting worried."
"I'm glad you're home, Uncle Eric," Peter said cheerfully.
"Me too," A little girl about seven chimed in, crawling into Foreman's lap.
"Why, you're becoming a little handful," Foreman grinned. He turned to Janelle, his expression serious. "I drove past his grave today – that's why I'm late."
"Today?" Janelle said, surprised.
House watched on, curious.
"I – I couldn't keep away," Foreman admitted, "It's so…peaceful. And green. We should go down on Sunday…I promised every Sunday I would visit…" Foreman hesitated, "My little man. Little, little man…"
"Uncle Foreman, please cheer up," Peter pleaded.
"I'm sorry, guys," Foreman apologized, "I've got you guys – I'm a truly lucky man."
Janelle smiled sadly.
"Do you know who I saw on the street today?" Foreman asked, pouring himself some coffee, "Dr Wilson. He says Hi, by the way. He saw I was upset, or Cameron probably told him. I told him about – about…Tim and he sends his deepest sympathies and…"
Foreman paused, staring into his coffee cup, upset.
"Oh, Eric," Janelle stood up, giving her brother a hug, "Timmy's a part of us all and he always will be. But we can't go on like this, for the children's sake, for our sakes, for his sake. As long as we have each other, and love one another, Tim will always be alive."
"Your mother's right," Foreman turned to his nieces and nephews, "she's always right."
The kids started giggling.
"But remember," Foreman continued, "whenever we're separated, whether it's to go to college or the families you will one day form, I know none of us will forget Tim."
"Never." The children replied in unison.
"And," Janelle added, sniffing, "when we remember how patient and how calm he was…" she laughed, "and how short he was, we will sure as not argue or complain amongst ourselves, for we truly understand the value of family."
"I am grateful," Foreman smiled, "for the happiness you guys bring me."
House stared at the family, no smart remark escaping his lips.
"I asked for tenderness and depth of feeling – and that's what I got," House nodded at the spirit. "There is nothing left for me to see."
The room grew dark.
"Take me home."
In a flash of lightning, House was transported to a graveyard. Thunder rolled in the distance.
"What the hell?" House muttered. He looked around. The graveyard was overgrown, headstones covered in snow. "I thought you were taking me home!"
The spirit walked forward, beckoning him with a finger.
"Your 'come hither' look needs some work," House grumbled, following. "I can't wait until this 'adventure' is over."
House walked through the graveyard, shivering.
"Hey," House called out, "That man, back at the apartment – who was he?"
A bolt of lightning flashed of a specific grave.
He continued walking forward, becoming nervous.
"Answer me this – Ghost thing: have the things you have shown me the definite, cannot be altered future, or just a 'version'?"
The spirit simply pointed to the snow-covered headstone.
House crouched over the headstone, his hand hovering inches away.
"The way we live our lives determines how they end – I'm a doctor, I accept that. A seventy-year-old man with breathing problems who has smoked for the last fifty-five years will have a huge chance of getting lung cancer – again, I accept that. But if that man quits smoking at, say, thirty, his chances of lung cancer are greatly reduced – proving it possible for mere mortals to alter their future." House paused, staring at the grave before him, "What I am going to see – tell me it can be changed."
An angry flash of lightning filled the sky.
House rubbed the snow off the headstone.
Dr. Gregory House.
"Oh spirit!" House cried, "Believe me when I say I can change, no; I have changed. I will not be the man I was before… before this! Why show me…'this' if I'm screwed for…'eternal damnation'! There must be some way to – to reverse this!"
House stared at the ground.
"Good spirit," House sobbed, "say you pity me, you'll show mercy! Say that 'this' can be altered. I, I will respect, if not honour Christmas each year! I'll live in the past, present and future – you three spirits guiding me towards what is right. I will not ignore what you have shown me or the lessons you have taught! Tell me!" House cried, staring, defeated, at the headstone, "Tell me I can wash away the writing on this stone! Please!"
House continued to sob, crying out.
"Please!"
House looked up. He was lying in his bed, in his apartment.
"Oh, thank god!" House looked around, touching various item on his dresser; his gameboy, his i-Pod. He grabbed his bottle of Vicodin and swallowed a few pills.
"I'm alive!"
