Hi,

So, in this chapter House is back in New Jersey, fighting his parole violation. It's very House-centric but Wilson has a way of insinuating his presence even when he isn't physically there.

After this chapter, only a couple more to go. I hope everyone enjoyed the story so far and will feel the same way for what's to come. You're enthusiastic reviews have been encouraging. Thank you.

.

1992

Suitcase in hand, you asked for my address and phone number, promising with epic sincerity to return the bail money. Swearing we'd stay in touch.

You were gone before I realized you had conveniently forgotten to tell me how to reach you.

~.~

.

.

"Not many attorneys get the chance to drink a toast to their client's continuing good health after their death." Stacy sipped from her glass. In the candlelight the wine shimmered like liquid garnets, the color matching her low-cut dress. "Greg, you hardly touched your steak. Aren't you happy about your legal resuscitation? You haven't smiled since you got here."

"Loosely paraphrasing a friend, living is easy, hard time is slow death." House sliced off a chunk of filet and moved it around the plate. "Said friend conveniently left out the part about wearing an ankle monitor."

"Don't blame James. He didn't know about it. Neither did I. It was Toby's idea. She said it would favorably impress the judge if you struck a temporary deal with the DA when you turned yourself in. She's the criminal attorney, not me. As of tomorrow, I'll join her as second chair, but Toby will be running the show."

Stacy played with her cross, unconsciously running it along the delicate chain. House was intrigued. The tell meant something was on her mind. "And…?"

"I should warn you, Ms. Toby Borland does not make the best first impression, and her courtroom strategy borders on the unorthodox. Don't judge or try to interrupt her if she flies off on a tangent."

"My long lost daughter. Have you warned her about me?

Stacy tilted her head, her hair brushing her shoulder as she regarded him. "I told her what she needed to know, and that you'd be on your best behavior. Don't make a liar out of me."

He poured more wine into their glasses. "Did you pass on my hint that the easiest way to win is by blackmailing the district attorney or the judge?"

Laughing, she shrugged off the question. "Honestly Greg, you haven't changed a bit. How does Wilson put up with you?"

House scratched at an unrelenting itch on his shoulder. "He's coming around to my way of thinking."

"This is as far as I go. Security is straight ahead. Would we combust if we hugged?"

"Greg?"

"What?"

"You keep disappearing on me." She smiled sympathetically. "How's he doing? I can never get a straight answer from him."

Lately, Wilson had shown more stamina, but it might have been because of the longer break between treatments. However, he had stumbled while getting into the taxi at the airport. "He's doing alright."

She took her time nibbling on an unbuttered slice of bread. "That's good."

She had that inquisitive gleam in her eyes. Another question was about to spring from her lips. But her ability to read him almost as well as Wilson meant he better deadhead the conversation. The less time spent discussing his road trip and stay in Arizona the better. "What about the judge who will hear my case. Is he one of the good, bad or ugly?"

"Christmas week paid off. Burkhart can be tough on repeaters but has no patience with insignificant crime." Her mouth expanded into a confident smile. "He's not going to lock you up for clogging a toilet."

House considered the news while chewing on a snow pea. Sautéed lightly in oil and garlic, it retained its sweetness and still had its snap. "But I broke my parole."

"As a first offender you should have been let off with a hefty fine and community service, or at worst, six months in a white collar prison. You did more than enough time. Toby will stress that in court." She reached across the table, and stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. "Place your trust in Toby and me."

.

It's going to take some time to get used to calling you House in public.

"Or by 561443D, my old serial number," House answered lightly. Entertained by Wilson's long distance pillow talk, he toed off his shoes and stretched out on the bed.

It won't come to that…

There was a gentle tap at the door. He had hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign outside the room, but the maid probably wanted to check if he needed more towels. He turned on his side and ignored it.

…As long as you don't blow it by… being you.

"Did you speak to Stacy before calling me? I listened to her lecture during dinner." Again, the knocking, but it was louder and more insistent. He covered the speaker. "If you have mints, family of four here, slide them under the door and go away!"

"Gregory?"

House sat at attention.

It's good advice. For once in your life follow—

"Wilson, you scumbag, did you tell the succubus where I was staying?"

Uh, who?

"Yeah, I thought so." With one hand clutching his cell and the other on his thigh, House went to the door. "You'll pay for this. When you least expect it," he said in his most ominous voice, "I'll…" and severed the call, but not before he heard a snicker hastily disguised as a cough.

He threw open the door and stood rooted to the carpet. "Mom."

"I didn't bring mints, dear." Blythe pulled a plastic bag full of airline-sized bottles of vodka and gin from her amorphous handbag. "Will these do?"

The thick drizzle outside had soaked her coat. She smelled of damp wool and lily of the valley. Her hug was firm but her touch tender. From habit he had an urge to complain when the embrace slopped into overtime, but barbed words escaped him and his will to breakaway fled.

~.~.~

"Sorry I couldn't come to the hearing," she said, pouring more vodka into her orange juice. "Thomas was leaving on a ten city book tour and needed help packing. By the time I arrived at the airport, the only available flight was late afternoon."

"You didn't miss anything." House idly spun his glass on the tabletop, leaving an ever-widening puddle of water. "It was a matter of presenting certified documents. The judge wasn't in a hurry to sign off until Stacy pointed out that reversing my death in the same year that I died was no less than a patriotic act. That way I could file and pay my income taxes on time."

"Stacy was always a smart girl," Blythe said agreeably, a little too much like a matchmaker.

"She's still married to Mark, Mom. Happily."

"Of course, and you married Dominika." Her face crinkled into a hopeful smile. "She spoke lovingly about you at the funeral."

"The grieving widow moved on with her life. She married her boyfriend and got knocked up. Stacy sent a letter advising her to redo the ceremony before she popped out a little Nika or Nike." He hoisted his glass and watched the ice cubes bob in the vodka, thinking of a question to deflect her Harmony Dot Com mindset. "Is Thomas on the road promoting, 'Sermons for Everyday Life?'"

"No. It's a new one." She puffed up with pride. "More Sermons for Everyday Life."

"Catchy."

"Gregory House," Blythe squawked sharply like a ruffled peahen. "Wipe that smirk off your face, it's unbecoming."

That was his cue to cross his eyes. "Is this better?"

She chuckled. All was well. "But let's get serious. How is James?"

He tore open another bag of airline peanuts, pouring the contents into his mouth. His mother waited patiently for an answer.

"He told you I was here. Didn't you ask him when the two of you spoke?"

"He said the chemotherapy wasn't as bad as he expected and changed the subject. I suspect he didn't want to go into details and remind me what John had gone through." She sighed and shook her head. "Poor boy, he worked very hard consoling me and offering advice, telling me to hold onto your apartment as a rental property. And then he spent most of December preparing me for your return from the dead. I burst into convincing tears of joy, which were more from relief. I never had anyone deliver good news that awkwardly."

"Bad news is his specialty. He's a regular Mary Poppins." House smiled slyly. "So, you got my message?"

"I did." Blythe dug in her purse. "It's here somewhere." She beamed triumphantly when she found what she was searching for, a strip of photo booth photos, and placed it on the table. "At nine you still thought it was fun to hang around with your family. You loved our vacation to Virginia Beach.

"I noticed it missing from my photo album after our visit to the hospital. I thought James had taken it. He made such a fuss poring over the photos with Thomas. But when it showed up in my mailbox in an unmarked envelope..." She looked up at the ceiling, apparently thinking. "In May? The bottom photo was missing, and there was no note of apology, which was very unlike James. I crossed him off the list of possible suspects, which left you."

There was nothing remarkable about the pictures, except everyone was happy at the same time. He, his parents and Aunt Sarah were crammed into an arcade photo booth. They couldn't stop laughing as they made funny faces at the lens each time they heard the buzzer. All these years and he hadn't lost the knack of crossing his eyes.

"Did you tell anybody?"

"If you mean, Thomas," her face glowed with a Mona Lisa smile, "no, but I did confide in your Aunt Sarah. You have no idea how she took the news of your death. It affected her deeply."

House continued to study the snapshots. He had kept the fourth tucked away in his backpack, but rarely pulled it out. "She didn't come to my funeral."

"You know your talented, gypsy aunt. She was traveling. Judging a piano competition. She's in Taiwan right now and sends her love."

Talented aunt. He noticed for the first time that Sarah did a credible imitation of strabismus. And while the photos were in black and white, the intense shade of her eye color matched his more than his own… He handed back the strip.

Maybe it was talk about Dominika in the family way that got him thinking. "How old was Sarah when I was born, sixteen?"

"Yes. Both of you practically grew up together. When she visited she treated you like a younger brother," Blythe answered with a too bright smile.

"Why didn't someone tell me Sarah was my mother?"

Blythe's smile disappeared. "I'm your mother, Gregory, and don't you forget it." But her cheeks were flushed and eyes downcast.

House wasn't about to drop the subject, but he said softly, "You're my mom, but not my biological mother."

She nodded, still looking mortified. "When Sarah realized she was pregnant I was the only one she could turn to. Our parents would have thrown her out of the house if they knew. I invited her to California for an extended summer vacation. After five years of marriage, John and I hadn't conceived, and I desperately wanted a baby. Living off-base made it easy for us to hide her condition."

House sat back in his chair, absorbing the news. "What about Thomas?"

"Oh, Thomas." She fluttered her hand. "He never met my sister. Shortly after our brief affair, he went to Germany on a one-year assignment. He never had a clue."

"And Dad? He didn't go ICBM on the idea?"

"He came around when he realized how happy it would make me. Since Sarah was his sister-in-law, he felt a sense of obligation to help her and keep her secret." She tenderly tucked the photos into her purse. "You have to understand it was the fifties. Everything was kept hush-hush."

"Then who is my biological father?"

"I don't know." Blythe picked up one of the peanuts she had poured into a clean tissue. "Sarah would never reveal who he was."

House shook his head. "So my birth was, and still is, shrouded in mystery."

"Much like your death, dear."

He had privately believed all along that Wilson's DNA testing was a scam to take the pressure off Thomas, but that theory just got blown out of the water. "Wait until I tell Wilson the news."

"You and James are really obsessed with each other, aren't you? Every conversation ends up about him. And the same with James." Blythe released an exasperated sigh, and then her face lit up with an epiphany. "You and James?"

House wasn't sure whether he was ready to admit the truth out loud. "Disappointed?"

"No, only in myself for not putting everything together sooner. You were always inseparable. And the way James ogled you when you pulled down your pants in the restaurant. Thomas said it was unnatural."

She exhausted House with more questions until they alternated yawning. When he walked her to the door, she kissed his cheek and cupped his chin. "You were very much wanted by all of us, Gregory."

He must have frowned.

"You were, but you weren't an easy child. You didn't come with an instruction manual."

.

Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he climbed the rain-slicked courthouse steps to where Stacy and his mother stood. When they passed through security, Blythe went to the courtroom while he and Stacy stayed in the lobby. She fussed with his tie and recited her list of warnings one more time.

"Remember, act normal. Not you normal, people normal."

"You mean behave as if I had a frontal lobotomy?"

"Exactly. This isn't a jury hearing, so the only person you need to impress is the judge. Don't speak unless you're spoken to. When you're asked a question, take your time and look at Toby before answering in case she wants to object. Keep your answers brief and to the point, don't embellish. Got it, Greg?"

He mouthed the instructions silently. "Okay, no wait, I can condense that down to, yessss."

"Are you done?" She studied him like his mother had, but there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "All out of your system?"

He bowed curtly.

When she was satisfied with the knot, she led him down a corridor to a stark, polished granite bench. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "One more thing before we go in. When you take the stand Toby's going to be tough on you. Remember, it's better for her to bring up your past than the ADA. Don't lose your cool. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for your mom, James, and me. Is that possible?"

Stacy always knew how to center him. "Yes."

"Alright. Let's go inside and I'll introduce you to Toby."

~.~.~

Halfway through the direct examination his displeasure at that quirky little blonde barracuda, Toby, was only exceeded by his admiration. She was a credit to her fair-haired sisters. If she had been a doctor, he would have relentlessly pursued her to join his team.

He should have known from the start when the ADA eyed her warily. She flapped her pencil and would seemingly drift off, her head in the clouds over Chicago or Wichita when the ADA spoke, and then she'd snap back to the present, firing off down-to-the-marrow questions when she had the floor. She was a younger, prettier, real life, double X chromosome version of Colombo without the crumpled trench coat or cigar.

Her questions were like scalpels, resecting and exposing every misbehavior and misdemeanor. She didn't stop until he had recounted driving his car into Cuddy's dining room. She left him gutted and bleeding out in the witness chair. Stacy's lecture was unnecessary. Under her knife, one-syllable answers were all he could manage.

When he had hit rock bottom, she asked, "Don't you want to refute or explain anything, Dr. House?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it's all true."

"Your acquiescence shouldn't be misconstrued as a boast, correct? Just the opposite?"

Ill at ease, House shifted in his seat.

"Yes or no, Dr. House?"

"Yes."

She scribed a ring in the air with her pencil. "Would you say you were in the same frame of mind or worse when you turned yourself in to the authorities after the collision?"

"Yes."

She punctured the invisible circle with the point of her pencil as if piercing a bull's eye. "You waived your right to counsel and accepted the first deal the DA's office offered? A one year term in a maximum-security prison?"

"Yes."

She swiveled and stared at opposing counsel. "A harsh and unconscionable punishment."

The ADA stood up. "I object, Your Honor. The District Attorney's office isn't on trial here."

The judge, who was fiddling with one of the colorful fishing lures lined at the edge of his desk, didn't look up. "Sustained. Watch yourself, Ms. Borland."

She addressed Burkhart. "My apologies, Your Honor. But at the very most, Dr. House as a first offender and pillar of the medical community, belonged in a minimum-security prison."

"I am inclined to agree with you, but Dr. House did commit a felony and the decision was within the parameters of the law. Please get to the point."

"I will, Your Honor." She faced House. "You've heard the phrase, 'A doctor who treats himself has a fool for a patient?'"

"Yes."

"And you're familiar with a similar one for the legal profession, 'A lawyer representing himself has a fool for a client?'"

He wanted to squirm in his chair. "Yes."

"But you're far from a fool."

House was having doubts.

She pressed on. "You used the correctional system as a form of self-flagellation for your guilt, did you not?"

"Your Honor, I object. The questions are leading. The destruction of personal property was only the first in a line of offenses against the law. On the eve of his parole, Dr. House incited a riot and eight months more were tacked onto his sentence. At the hospital he was cited with felony vandalism for destroying the plumbing."

Toby glared at the ADA. "Tacking an additional eight months onto an already inflated sentence is serving justice, Mr. Franks?" She then faced the judge. "Opposing counsel is getting carried away, Your Honor. We're not interested in rehashing the first event. From the length of Dr. House's sentence, he did his time and then some. As to the riot, Dr. House caused disorder in the prison so he could save a patient. Another example of putting other people's lives before his." She walked up to the bench and spoke with silky softness, "The same way Dr. House risked parole by leaving the state. He wasn't skipping out on his parole. He was fulfilling his dying friend's request to spend quality time together on a road trip."

House cast gimlet-eyed thanks at Stacy for providing Toby with mawkishly sentimental information. Stacy stayed straight-faced except for a barely perceptible blink of the eye.

"As to the DA's charge of felony vandalism, I have a witness who will explain that it should never have been made."

"Ms. Borland," the judge finally set the fishing lure down, "you're grandstanding. Remarks about Dr. House's true intentions are better left for closing arguments, but I'm interested in what your witness," he shuffled through papers, squinting at one of them, "Mr. Donato has to say."

"My apologies, Judge. I'll call Mr. Donato to the stand shortly, but at this time I'd like to introduce affidavits into evidence, attesting to Dr. House's exceptional medical expertise and dedication." Toby fetched a folder from her desk. House rolled his eyes when Foreman appeared among the onlookers, walking toward her with three files under his arm. One was very thick, at least two inches.

The thin ones she handed immediately to Burkhart. "Sworn statements from Dr. Adams who worked at the prison where Dr. House was incarcerated, and Dr. House's friend, James Wilson, testifying to Dr. House's willingness to sacrifice his career for their friendship."

She thrust the heavy binder toward House. "Please look at this before I give it to the judge. They're letters and dictated transcripts from your patients. Do you recognize them?"

The names meant nothing to him, but he recalled each case. The deeper into the binder he dug, the more yellow the paper. And like everything that occurred since he agreed to clear his name, Wilson's fingerprints were all over it. The earliest date was 1998, when Wilson was hired.

While no one was ecstatic with their stay at the hospital or the procedures performed, they all admitted with varying degrees of gratitude that without him, they wouldn't be alive.

"Yes. Those were my patients."

"Were you in any way involved with collecting the information?"

"I didn't know it existed."

She offered it to the judge.

Burkhart put on his reading glasses and solemnly flipped through the pages. "I'd like to read a sampling in my chambers. Let's reconvene in fifteen minutes."

~.~.~

Foreman found him in the crowded hall and dangled House's laminated ID between his fingers. "You dropped this in my office, under a table… leg."

He didn't take it. "If this is your way of offering me my old job, I'm not interested."

"I'm not. The badge is inactivated," Foreman said with a relaxed smile. "No offense House, but Chase is doing a decent job as head of Diagnostics. His batting average isn't up to yours, but the lawsuits are incrementally lower."

Suddenly, the reason for collecting testimonials clicked into place. Each document had a black timestamp with the legal department imprint in the corner. "Wilson was watching my back."

"I didn't know anything about it until Stacy called me. The paralegal laughed when I showed up at her office. She called Wilson your legal biographer. Every few weeks he'd bring a large cup of her favorite coffee and contact information from former patients willing to go on record about how you saved them. He told Cuddy it would cut premiums on malpractice insurance and lessen her stress. I can't imagine how much the insurance would have been without Wilson's help." Foreman crossed his arms. "By the way, how is—?

"He's doing fine," House said, tired of the question. "What about the team? Anybody falling in or out of love or just falling?"

Before Foreman could reply, Stacy was by House's side, tapping on her watch. "It's time."

"Well, I wish I could stay, but I'm already late for a staff meeting." Foreman pulled him into an awkward hug. "Good luck, House," he said with apparent sincerity. "If you get off, call me. I'll check with my contacts and put in a good word."

House nodded and trudged into the courtroom. A thousand affidavits and Wilson's due diligence weren't enough to pull him out of the mess he had created. Burkhart might be sympathetic, but he didn't appear moved by anything Toby said. His freedom hung on what this Donato guy had to say.

Before returning to the witness box, he took Stacy aside. "Is the hearing going the way you anticipated?"

"Greg, stay calm," she answered in her seen-it-all attorney voice. But House could read her face. Delicate worry lines etched her forehead.

"Who is Donato?"

"Toby added him to the list of witnesses during the last break. I haven't—"

The chatter around him muffled as the door to the judge's chamber opened.

"All rise."