Chapter 10, in which the decision is revealed...

Princeton, c.1957

"You know you really shouldn't go Tom. You could be changing people's lives. This is a major decision."

Tom sighed. "I know, I know, you keep telling me that. I just don't put as much faith in those theories as you do."

"No, you put faith in the gospel," Hugh muttered.

"It's my life. I can do what I want."

"But it won't just be your own life you affect! Why can't you understand?"

"We're just students, Hugh! Everything we do or say will be forgotten in fifty years time! Your theories may look good now, but some guy at Harvard might have found alien life or cured cancer! It's irrelevant!"

"Fine. You go ahead. But this is it- your one big decision. The many worlds start here."

"Stop sounding so ominous. Come down to Lexington at the end of the semester- unless I've altered the course of history and destroyed the future by then."

Hugh smiled. "All right. Have a safe journey. See you in the summer."

The two friends shook hands and Tom left Hugh in his small office, alone with his theories and his thoughts. Tom was moving west in search of work; he was a newly qualified minister and wanted to get started. Hugh had just finished his PhD thesis and was sure that his friend was making a bad decision. He just couldn't stop him.

A little under two years later…

"She's married," Tom said mournfully. "And I slept with her."

Hugh groaned internally. "I told you no good could come of you moving down here."

"Her husband's away with the Marines. What happens if he finds out? He'll kill me!"

"Your bigger problem is what happens if she gets pregnant."

The colour fell from Tom's face. He'd apparently been too busy thinking about the end of his own life to consider the start of another. "Oh dear God…"

"He's not going to help you," Hugh scoffed. "He's the one that got you into this mess!"

"Say something helpful, why don't you?"

Hugh sighed. "What can I say? You'll just have to wait and see."

Nine months later…

Blythe looked up from the newborn baby in her arms to study Tom's face.

"What shall I tell John? Does he need to know?"

Tom shook his head. "Don't tell him, please," he begged. "He'll kill me."

Blythe sighed. "He looks like a Greg wouldn't you say? Gregory Thomas House."

Tom swallowed and said nothing.

"John won't be home for a few months anyway," Blythe continued. "I'll write and tell him he's got a strong little boy waiting at home for his Dad. He'll be so proud." She sniffed. "I'm sorry Tom. I just can't leave him. He's my husband."

"I understand." Tom squared his shoulders, kissed his son's forehead and left.

Wilson jolted awake, breaking out of the feverish dream. He smelled of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke. He was in his apartment, half dressed and tangled in the bed sheets, sweating and hot. Since Bonnie's death two weeks ago, he'd gone off the rails in a big way, rivalling House's binges back in his own world. He'd spent every night and a good portion of each day at a bar- Cuddy had given him three weeks of bereavement leave and he was making the most of it. House had driven him home at least four times in the past fortnight, and Wilson knew his out-of-character behaviour was worrying his friend.

Wilson felt like he'd gone through the looking glass; their friendship was completely reversed. He thought he enjoyed this side more. He downed something out of bottle at his bedside, washed it down with something form the one on the floor and promptly fell asleep again.

It was about two hours later when Wilson woke again. His hangover pounded the insides of his skull, but he pushed it to the side, realising the importance of the dream. He'd found the answer. He knew the decision which lead to such huge differences between the worlds. House's biological father had decided to move to Lexington, where House's mother happened to be at the time. They had slept together and House was conceived. At least, that was what had happened in Wilson's world. He had a strong feeling that House had a different history here.

Disappointment crushed in as he realised that the knowledge did nothing; he had not miraculously gone back to his own world, and his personal situation was no better. His wife was dead- it didn't feel like it was just his other self's wife, Bonnie was just as much his, as was the blame and guilt. She had apparently died of a massive brain hemorrhage which Wilson couldn't have saved her from anyway, but he still felt hugely responsible. Luckily he found this feeling was dulled immensely by alcohol. Wilson hauled himself out of bed to scrounge for some food in the bare apartment. He'd question House on his parentage later.