May 12th

Jason entered the code on the back door and slipped inside when the lock released. It was barely sunrise, the light faint and grey; no one should be up—but he smelled fresh coffee the moment he entered the mudroom, as well as the familiar fragrance of cinnamon rolls. Of course Mom would know they'd be on their way early, and would offer breakfast.

She stood at the counter with her back to him as she made a cup of tea. The sight of her brought an unexpected lump to his throat. Bundled in her shabby chenille bathrobe over a sleep shirt and flannel pants, she looked the same as always. It was only when she turned and he saw the impassive expression that he realized she was scared. His own apprehension faded. Whatever lay between them, he wouldn't leave for Boston with this cold distance between them. He set down his duffle and went to her. Her face brightened; without a word she opened her arms and took him to her, held him close. Jason returned her embrace and knew a deep sense of shame. "I didn't mean to stay away so long," he said. "Mom . . . I'm sorry."

"Shh . . ." She gave him a gentle squeeze. "You have enough to deal with, going to Boston. When you come home, we'll talk and get everything straightened out. Right now you just need to be home for a little while." She rubbed his back. "I made you some breakfast."

Jason had taken the first roll out of the pan when Dad came into the kitchen. He looked tired, but better than he had a few days ago. He went to Mom, put his arm around her. Jason was glad to see Mom lift her face for Dad's kiss. They stood together for a few moments; then Dad let her go, took a plate from the rack and came over to the counter where the pan full of rolls waited. He glanced at Jason but said nothing. Up close it was easier to see the lines of worry and sleeplessness, but Dad gave him a slight smile all the same. "You up for this?" he said softly.

"Guess it doesn't matter if I am or not," Jason said.

"If you're not ready to go back we'll work out something else. You have some choice," Dad said, and put a hand on Jason's shoulder as Gordon showed up, sleepy and tousled.

"Now that's what I like to see," he said in a mild tone. "Any hope for a cup of tea?"

Prof took his cuppa with him to his room. For everyone else breakfast was a quiet meal, enjoyed while early morning sunshine crept in and the sky outside slowly brightened. Jason was on his second cup of coffee when he heard the code punched in at the mudroom door. A few moments later House stood in the doorway and glowered at them.

"Good morning," Mom said before House could speak. "Come in and have breakfast. I know Roz didn't feed you, so we can't have you starving to death on the way to Boston."

House raised his brows. "Sarcasm," he said. "Offense, not defense. Nicely played." He came into the kitchen, moved to the coffeemaker. "Booze would make this taste even better."

"You know where the liquor's kept around here," Mom said, and Jason realized this was some kind of game between her and House, a sort of one-upmanship they both needed to play out. "Help yourself."

For answer House grabbed a mug and stumped over to the cabinet where the hard stuff was stored. He rummaged around, brought out a bottle of Jack Daniels. House examined it with a critical eye. "Better than nothing," was his verdict. He opened the bottle, poured a generous amount in the mug, put the bottle—still open—back in the cupboard, and returned to the coffeemaker. Mom stayed where she was.

"I take it Jason's driving," she said. House snorted as he stirred his coffee and took a sip.

"Ah," he smacked his lips. "Nectar of the cheap-whiskey gods." He eyed Mom over his cup. "The car's driving. You know Barbarella's got all the up-to-date fancy doo-dads required by the fascisti in these modern times."

"Someone has to sit behind the wheel," Mom pointed out. "It's not gonna be you if you have a slug of hard liquor in you."

House took a defiant gulp of coffee and swallowed loudly. Jason rolled his eyes.

"I'll drive," he said. "It's not like I haven't done this milk run a dozen times before."

"It's my vehicle, I decide who takes her out," House snapped. He glared at Jason. "We wouldn't be doing this at all if you hadn't been sloppy."

"That's enough," Dad said. It was the first time he'd spoken up in nearly a week. "Either Jason or Mandy does the driving, or we hold a 3D meeting in the living room and the hell with the expense." He gave House a direct look. "You took the drink, stop bitchin'." It was clear Dad meant more than just the alcohol, but to Jason's surprise House relaxed a little.

"I think you've been lying to us all this time. You were an MP in some nice cushy rear-echelon job," he said, but a corner of his mouth quirked up for a moment.

"Yeah, you keep on thinkin' that," Dad said, but Jason heard unspoken humor in the stern words. "Sit down and eat." Even as he said it they heard the front door code. A moment later Mandy came to the doorway with her overnight bag in hand. House slapped two rolls on a plate and took a last swallow of coffee.

"The gang's all here," he said. "Time to go." He sauntered to the doorway, plate in hand, and waited until Mandy moved aside before he continued on. Mandy shook her head.

"Are you ready?" she asked Jason. He nodded. His gut tightened on the knowledge that this was really happening, he was on his way to face a situation that had seemed so easy to deal with in theory . . .

"Jason," Mom said softly. He didn't look at her; a new wave of guilt pushed through him at the knowledge of what he'd put her and Dad through. "Whatever happens, this is your home and we are your parents. We love you, you know that." She hesitated. "Tell the truth and don't let your fear get the better of you. M'chridhe," she said, and the old endearment made his heart ache. "Do your best, and come home to us. We'll be waiting."

Prof waited for them at the front door. "I shan't keep you," he said. "Undoubtedly your very fine parents have reassured you of love and hearth for your return and rightly so. I'll just add this: stand by your actions."

"But you think I was wrong," Jason said.

"My dear boy, it doesn't matter what I think, or anyone else for that matter. You are the one who chose the course. It's up to you to have the courage of your convictions. If you don't, no one else will care to understand why you acted as you did." Gordon patted his shoulder. "Give them your viewpoint, but resist the temptation to argue. I'll see you when you return, and we'll talk then."

Barbarella waited at the top of the drive, pulled in by the front porch. House sat in the middle of the back seat, his head tipped back, hands folded over his middle. Jason took Mandy's overnight bag and his duffle and stowed them in the trunk, then climbed in. The old car was gleamed in the morning sunlight, its paint still pristine. Mandy got in next to him. "Shotgun," she said cheerfully, and took out a pair of sunglasses. She put them on with a flourish. "It's a hunnert an' six miles to Chicago, we got a full tanka gas, half packa cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses," she said in what was clearly intended to be an imitation of Dan Ackroyd's accent.

"Hit it!" House said from the back seat. When Jason looked at him in the rear view mirror, the older man wore sunglasses too. House smirked at him and gave him a little flutter of the fingers in greeting as Mandy chuckled. She reached down and turned on the music link. A moment later Robert Johnson began to sing.

"Jesus H tapdancing Christ," Jason muttered. He eased the car down the driveway and on the road.

'Crossroad', Robert Johnson