THIS CHARMING MAN

House had spent most of the rest of his Saturday reading and eating what passed for food at Mayfair alone in his room. It was his choice. Dr. Fry had informed the staff that House could skip the cafeteria if he wished. He wished. But if Fry thought this was going to make them BFFs, he was in for quite a shock when he showed up the next morning.

"I hope you've enjoyed your breakfast." Fry smiled his way into the small room.

"Do you really?" House brattily replied.

"I do." And he did. Dr. Fry genuinely wanted people to be happy, like him. He thought it was better than the alternative.

House stared at him with disgust.

"I hope you don't expect me to go to church services with you."

"I don't. Actually, I thought I'd come to see you now since everyone else is busy praying." Dr. Fry moved toward the small, cluttered desk. "You're quite a reader."

"Just learned."

Fry laughed jovially. "Is that so?" It was hard to tell if Fry was pulling his leg or not so House chose to assume he was not, which made him an idiot, which worked for House.

"Yep." House popped the last of his grapes in his mouth and chewed it loudly.

"How are you feeling today Dr. House?" Fry pulled the desk chair around to face the bed House was reclining in.

"Better now that you're here." House wondered if Frankenstein's Monster would fall for it.

"That's good to hear." Apparently he had. "No pain in the leg?"

"No, but I'm currently dealing with a pain in the arse."

Fry threw his head back in a hearty laugh. He seemed to laugh a lot. House hated him. "That's good. We must keep our sense of humor." Fry pushed House's limits, to see how long it would take to get to the heart of the man.

"We must do nothing."

"Ah, but that's not true. In order for you to succeed we must work together." He laced his fingers together as an example of their cohesion.

House's own hands were balled into fists beside him and only part of it was the pain. "Of course my leg hurts. I haven't taken Vicodin once in the past eighty-four hours."

"You're keeping track. That's good." Fry was nodding his head approvingly.

House wanted to punch him. He wanted to deny keeping track, just to spite the jovial man sitting in front of him, but the truth was, he had been keeping track. Cuddy had answered his call almost exactly eighty-four hours ago. She flushed all his pills down the toilet over three days ago. And he had been trapped in this hell hole for almost twenty hours, not that he was counting that either.

"So, what would you like to talk about today Dr. House? Or can I call you Greg?"

"Do you really need me to answer that?"

"Dr. House it is." Fry smiled and held a notepad in his hand. House hadn't noticed it until now.

"A note pad? That's rather primitive isn't it?" House was avoiding. Dr. Fry knew perfectly well that he was, but he let him for now. You could learn a lot in a person's avoidance if you pay attention to what they are avoiding and how they go about avoiding it.

"My son got me an iPhone, said I could record on it, but I much prefer this. It's more intimate." He leaned toward House as he spoke then noted in his notebook that House leaned away. "Anyway, where were we?"

"We were nowhere."

"Fabulous. Then we can go anywhere we'd like."

"I know where I'd like you to go."

"Oh, I have a feeling we'd eventually meet again down there." Fry grinned. He was quiet enjoying having a true sparring partner.

"Is this how you help your patients? By telling them their addiction will send them to hell?"

Fry looked deeply hurt. For a moment House thought he might have actually hurt the man's feelings. Not that he cared. "I said nothing about your addiction." He scribbled down a note. House watched it curiously. He was trying to read what was being written. Fry was making no attempt to hide it. But something wasn't quite right with the words.

"What are you doing?" House snapped.

"I'm taking notes." Fry seemed unconcerned.

"You're writing in code."

"Not exactly, no." Fry was tapping his pen against his cheek, waiting for House to tell him something worth writing down.

House narrowed his eyes. "I blame it all on my mother and father." He watched as Fry scribbled from right to left. HA! He'd figured it out. "You're writing backwards!"

"Indeed." Fry looked up at the astute man. "It's called Mirror Writing. DaVinci wrote this way in his journals. Now, about your parents. You don't speak to them much, do you?"

"My father's dead." House said clinically. If Fry had done his research as he claimed, he would already know that and was looking for some emotional outburst that he was NOT going to get.

"And your mother?"

House didn't want to talk about his mother. "Has nothing to do with why I'm here."

"Perhaps, perhaps," Fry nodded his head. "But I'd still like to know how you feel about her."

"I'd like you to be a leggy brunette."

Fry thought about that. "Well, you are quite in luck then, aren't you?" He had long legs, being over 6'4" and his hair, though specked with grey was predominantly brunette.

"I don't talk to my mother." But talking about her seemed better than hearing about what a great catch Dr. Fry was.

"Why is that?" Fry frowned with his formidable brows.

"She prefers to remember me the way I was." House didn't have the heart to let her see the bitter man he'd become.

"Before the Infarction?" Fry had read all about that one.

"Yeah." House hated this stranger knowing so much about him.

"And were you that different?" Fry somehow doubted that.

"Nope." House hadn't thought about the answer. He just blurted it out. But Fry's long and pensive silence gave him a chance to really think about it.

He was different. He had always been acerbic, he had always challenged the norm and questioned everything, but before the infarction, before the Vicodin he hadn't been so bitter. He hadn't been so closed off. He hadn't been cruel.

"What are you thinking?" Fry had noticed his patient go quiet. He saw the distance in House's eyes.

"Of ways to kill you."

"Hahaha." Fry laughed once again. House was growing to hate that laugh. "You'll let me know when you find one yes? So I can make my funeral arrangements?"

"You'll be the first to know." House turned his attention to his window. There was a tree just outside of it. He was pretty sure that on windy nights the branches would scratch against the glass and really freak him out. He was already jittery from withdrawal.

"And how are you handling the lower dosage?" It was as if Dr. Fry had read his mind, until House looked down at his hands and saw them shaking uncontrollably. Fry wasn't a mind reader; just very observant.

"You have to ask?" House held up his trembling hands. Dr. Fry had cut House's Vicodin dosage to one quarter what he had been taking. It wasn't cold turkey, but it was close enough.

"It's my job to ask." Fry smiled weakly. "You know I can't give you more Vicodin, but there are other options…"

"I know the other options." And not one of them appealed to him in the slightest. He wanted his drugs.

"Perhaps some yoga would help to…"

"If you think I'm going to start doing yoga then you might want to take off that lab coat and have yourself admitted because you're off your rocker."

Fry nodded. "That's probably true, but until they catch on I think I'll keep doctoring."

"It's a sweet gig huh?" House was turning the tables. "One patient at a time, no rectal exams…"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that last one." Fry had done his share of rectal exams on patients suspected of hiding drugs. It was his least favorite part of the job. "It's quite a nice day. How about we go for a walk?" Fry stood up.

"You are aware that the chronic agonizing pain is in my leg, right?"

"Physical activity often helps combat the pain." Fry had no way of knowing how well House had figured that out in the past three days.

"I know." House thought back fondly on the curve of her body beneath him, the look on her face as he drove her to ecstasy and the way his pain seemed to melt away every time he thought about her enough to cause a stirring in his pants.

"So a walk?" Fry held out his hand. He didn't expect House to take it and was not disappointed.

"Do I have a choice?"

"You can always leave." Fry was almost daring him to do so. It was a test; a test to see how badly his patient wanted to be there, how badly he wanted to get better. House passed the test.

"I have to be back in time for my soaps." House pulled himself out of bed and grabbed his cane. One nice thing about the regulation jumpsuit was that he didn't have to worry about what to wear.

The two men walked side by side down the colorless hospital hallway. It was late morning and the hall was fairly quiet. "I've done a bit of research on you." Fry held open the door as House passed through to the great outdoors.

"I've noticed."

"You're quite a fascinating fellow." Fry nodded to a colleague who was just passing. "Kicked out of Hopkins for cheating; completed your degree at Michigan. Interesting choice."

"They were the only school willing to take me." It was the truth. No school would touch him after the expulsion from Hopkins, but the Dean of the University of Michigan was an old war buddy if John House. It was the only nice thing that man had ever done for the kid he thought was his son. "Did you find out in all your extensive research that John House isn't really my father?" He really didn't care about keeping that a secret.

"No." Fry stopped in his tracks for a moment. The only research he had done was a medical background check through the AMA and a quick Google search of Gregory James House. "How long have you known?"

"Does it matter?"

"It must. Or you wouldn't have brought it up."

House grimaced. He had walked right into that one. "I figured it out when I was a kid."

"Figured it out? Your parents didn't tell you?"

"Not in words." But John House's actions spoke most clearly. He had hated Greg from the moment he was born. Greg, the constant reminder of his wife's infidelity.

"Then you can't be sure."

"I am sure."

"Gut feeling?" It was odd for a doctor like House to go on gut instincts.

"DNA test." House poked at a squirrel with his cane and watched it scurry up a tree. He felt envious of the squirrel and suddenly wanted to kick it out of the tree, but he refrained.

"Do you know who your real father is?" Fry was genuinely curious. House's emotional detachment to the story was quite interesting.

"No." House looked over at him and made a sad puppy face. "Are you my father?"

"I was a boy myself when you were born." Fry laughed it off. Still, there was something there. Something House wasn't sharing. He wanted to get at it, so he kept picking. "Have you considered asking your mother who your real father is?"

"Why?" House turned and looked at him earnestly. "What difference would it make?"

"Don't you want to know?"

"Do you think it will make the pain in my leg go away?"

"No, but…"

"Then I really don't see the point." House started walking faster. The pain was a little lessened by the exertion. Not as it had been with Cuddy but… that just wasn't an option right now.

"If you ever change your mind…"

House had already put several lengths between himself and the good doctor. He was practically sprinting back to his room. He expected Dr. Fry to chase after him, to give him some platitudes about running from his past or standing up to his fears but Dr. Fry stopped moving all together and watched his patient vanish back into the large brick building.

He had learned a lot today. Not about House's father or his mother's infidelity, but about House and the way he dealt with the things he couldn't control. It was going to be a very bumpy ride for Dr. Gregory House. Very bumpy indeed.