Sons and Lovers

Chapter 12

"You go on to bed Cuddy, I think I'm going to play a little while."

"Mind if I listen?" House shrugged his shoulders as he rose from the sofa. She observed him; his gait was so much less steady these days; the pain so much more apparent on his face. House had been quieter, more distant since the ultrasound earlier in the week. Second thoughts, even third thoughts, she was certain reverberated through House's mind and heart.

The piece meandered from minor to major and back; jazz with melismatic flourishes that would have made Mozart sigh. It was intricate and elegant, ambivalently wandering nowhere and back again. "What is it?"

"Nothing. A little of this; a little of that. Nothing." He was restless, she knew. Cuddy approached and sat on the bench next to him; his leg stuttering, out of rhythm with the piece and tapping anxiously on the wood floor. He stopped playing.

"No." He had misunderstood the question. "What is it? What's wrong?" House looked at her, gazing into her eyes, trying to convey his uncertainty; his doubts; his fear. She looked merely bewildered.

"This is real now. Not a game; not a fantasy…I don't know… How the hell does this work now? Do we get married, buy that house with the picket fence that you and I both know I will bolt from at the first possible opportunity? What? How the hell am I supposed to be a partner in this? A father? Something I vowed long ago to myself I would never, ever become?" The worlds spilled out, leaking past House's best efforts to stop them; to prevent Cuddy from hearing them.

"We've been through this, House." She was trying to be reassuring as she touched his right elbow. He forcefully jerked away from her touch, nearly toppling from the bench.

"No, actually, we haven't. Not really. Yeah, you said some things about the 'sins of the fathers,' but it's not just that. I've never…" Cuddy's eyes hardened.

"You want out of this? Fine. Just let me know soon, because with you or without you, this is happening. I just want to know where you deign to fit in here. As far as I see it, this baby is a gift, a miracle, even, if you believe in that sort of stuff. This isn't something that either of us bargained for, but there's no way in Hell that I'm ending it. You want out, that's fine by me. As far as anyone has to know, this was a last ditch in vitro attempt and you're a sperm donor—or it was anonymous. Your choice as to which is to be the 'official' story. Frankly I don't really care which. We can continue this 'friends with benefits' routine as long as my doc thinks it's OK and then it's over. After this child is born, if it's born, I'm not going to have a hell of a lot of time for a casual affair. So, whether it's J-Date or or whatever, I'm gonna be looking for someone who'll be there to…" Cuddy stopped mid-sentence, realizing how harsh she was sounding. She was giving House an ultimatum that she had no right to give him. This wasn't his fault; none of it. He had wanted to find a condom that night, and she had told him…

"That what this is? Friends with benefits?" The words were spat bitterly, but his eyes were devastated, hurt. "Do you think that's what this is about? Because…" His voice was raised, dangerous. Cuddy backed away, standing. She absolutely didn't think it, even if she had said it. Despite her best efforts, she had fallen in love with House. For all of his faults, for all of his insecurities, he was a brilliant, sensitive and beautiful man: none of it conventional, and all of it very, very real in her eyes. She had only hoped to have given him an out; an opportunity—maybe his last—to get out of it gracefully before they were both caught in a relationship that could not be escaped.

"No." It was a whisper as her eyes filled with tears at the despair in his watchful gaze. "House," she began, her voice trembling and teary. "I'm prepared to do this alone. I always have been; you know that. If you want to be part of that, it would mean…it would be…it would be beyond anything I might have imagined. But it's not something you 'have' to do; not something I'm compelling you to do…"

"Like clinic hours?" His lips quirked into a sad smile, causing Cuddy to likewise smile through her tears. She wiped the wetness from her cheeks.

"…It is, however, something we do have to figure out. We hadn't calculated a child into the equation when we began this. My sense, when I was trying for all that time to conceive, was to find a guy at some point who would want, or at least didn't mind, a ready-made family. I like sex; I like men. But I need someone who not only likes me, but wants a family; not just sex…or not just me and sex. House, we can still back away from this; it's not too late. I get to keep the kid, and we don't end up hating each other—or ruining the life of an innocent third party."

What she said made sense to House; he was impressed with her objectivity and her reasoning. Cuddy took his hand, leading him to the sofa; he looked everywhere but into her face. When, he wondered suddenly, had he fallen in love with her? When had, not events, but his own heart, made it impossible to end his relationship with her.

"I remembered something earlier this week; a couple of days ago. A flashback; something. But it was concrete enough that I…there was a hospital name; an event…I was about eight, I think—eight or nine; maybe seven. Not sure. My birthday. He had left me in the ice too long; I…I was in the hospital…I remembered doctors and nurses; something about hypothermia, burns…a terrible burning feeling…frostbite? I don't know…"

"And children don't get hypothermia in June…" she inserted. "I think you're processing this stuff because of the baby; but if it's something concrete, something you can verify as true and not some conflated set of memory fragments, maybe…"

"Maybe I can begin to deal with it?" House looked at his watch, talked out and restless; Cuddy had dark circles beneath her reddened eyes. "You need some sleep. Cuddy," he began, reverting to the previous conversation, "I don't want to back away. I want this; I want you. As far as the baby is concerned, it is what it is. I frankly don't know if I have it within me to be a real father to any kid; but I also know that I can't give you up…"

Cuddy smiled wanly as she let go of his hand and made her way down the hall to his bedroom. "I love you too," she whispered just beyond his hearing.

House heard the soft creak of his bed as Cuddy curled up within the blankets, finally going to sleep. He logged into his computer, Googling his father's name, finding the information he sought. Captain John D. House, Edwards Air Force Base, 1965-1971. Vietnam tour August 1966-August 1968. House would have been seven in 1966, when his dad left for a two-year stint.

To House's mind, Antelope Valley Hospital was the most likely place he would have been treated, if he father hadn't wanted to avoid the inevitable questions he might have been asked had he gone to the base hospital. House glanced at his watch; it was only 9:30 p.m. in California…"

"How would I go about getting into hospital archive files?" He asked the question, in his most charming voice, of the night librarian at the large medical center. "Right. I'm at Princeton; doing research on…no I don't know if…" He cast an eye towards the bedroom. Good question she asked. Were they part of the same research consortium? He briefly thought of waking Cuddy and then thought better of it. "What if I said yes? Right… What's the URL? You've been a big help. Thanks." What was it they said? That you could find out practically anything about anybody on the internet? Now, it would only be too easy if…

Forty-five minutes later, House was in the Antelope Valley file system. "For research purposes only." Right. They were scanned files; names blacked out. "Inclusive dates: January 1965-December 1975," read the archive title. He searched the archive home page for some sort of filtering system so he could at least filter out some of the thousands of patient records in his search. He was only looking for one needle in this vast haystack. It took fifteen minutes to locate the search feature, which wasn't really so much a search feature as category dump. Better than nothing, he thought. He recalled "hypothermia", typing in the term and filtering the files to June and July of 1966. Nothing. House sat back, staring at the screen, hands poised on the keys as he tried to reason through the hospital's filing system. "Pediatrics: June/July 1966, admissions," he typed. "Hits: 200," read back the computer. House sighed, getting somewhere, although he couldn't quite fathom where that somewhere was.

House thought of typing in "Edwards AFB," but then determined that his father, if he'd wanted to keep it quiet enough to go off-base would not have given that info to the hospital admissions desk. "Frostbite" he typed.

"Hits: 15," replied the screen. House hit the "view records" button and waited as PDF files appeared on the computer monitor. House gasped at the first file: "June 11, 1966. Male; seven years old—birdthdate June 11, 1959. Brought into ER with frostbite to lower extremities, lower back and genital area. Body temperature of 91 degrees Farenheit upon exam. Brought in by father, Mr. xxxxxxxxxxx. Father reports that the boy tripped and fell into icy water vat used to cool soft drinks and beer at family birthday party for boy. Boy was missing for an hour before the father went looking for him, finding him shivering and cold. Examined boy for other injuries. None noted. Frostbite is very minor. Will admit to bring up body temperature and observe over night." House continued reading.

"June 12, 1966. Patient refuses to talk; will not describe events that caused frostbite and lowered body temperature. Otherwise in good spirits; curious about machinery, medicine and treatment. Recommend discharge for tomorrow."

"June 13, 1966. Discharge notes: patient seems fine, frostbite resolved with no further treatment; temperature back within normal range; no damage from exposure observable. Discharged 11:00 a.m. June 13, Dr. Phillip Green."

House had been sitting at the computer screen for more than an hour. "Dr. Phillip Green." House wondered if forty years after the fact, Dr. Phillip Green would even be alive, much less remember a seven year old patient, even if he did have hypothermia and frostbite in the middle of summer in the California Desert. "Thank you Lord for Google," House mused as he typed in the name of the doctor along with the hospital name.

"This is Dr. Green." House was impressed. A doctor who answered on the first ring. Cool.

"Dr. Green. My name is Dr. Gregory House. I…"

"From Hopkins?" House was confused by the question.

"From Princeton. I went to med school at Hopkins, but…"

"You're the ID guy. Wrote a great textbook on diagnosing mutated pediatric infectious diseases…"

"Well, it was a long time ago, and there were 14 or 15 other authors, but, yeah. That's me. I was calling…"

"Fabulous book. I still use it. What is it now…15 years since…"

"Something like that…I…" House sighed as Green interrupted again.

"To what do I owe this honor?"

"I was wondering. You were affiliated with Antelope Valley Hospital back in the mid 60s?"

"Yes, I…"

"Good. Then I have the right Phillip Green. This is going to seem like a ridiculous question," House began, feeling somewhat ridiculous himself, after the buildup. "Do you recall…? There was a patient…a kid you treated in 1966…"

"That was my first year at Antelope Valley. I had just finished my peds residency at Illinois. It was my first real job…"

"This was June. Kid had frostbite…"

"Jeez. How could I ever forget that one? One of my first patients there. But why…?"

"What do you remember about the case. Tell me anything. Family, anything out of place…"

"Well, frostbite in June in the desert is pretty out of place for starters. I couldn't say for sure, but I think the kid was a military brat. Maybe air force, something, anyway, like from the base. I thought that it was odd…I assumed the father was some sort of military…the way he talked, his demeanor, the way he carried himself…maybe a fighter jock…anyway. I thought it was odd that he didn't take the kid to the base hospital. Given that the kid was barely conscious. I would have called an ambulance. Kid was quiet. I do remember that. Had these big searching eyes; real blue—almost scary how wary they were, like he was expecting us to do something to him…I don't know…like I said, it was forty years ago. Kid had frostbite on his genitals. Gotta wonder, especially given what we know nowadays…"

"What?" House urged, mesmerized.

"I think daddy was hurting his little boy. Big time. Funny you should call about this case now. I had a case couple of months ago. Kid nearly died from hypothermia when a parent used an made his kid sit in ice to punish her; mom fell asleep; kid was too scared to get out herself. Body temp had gotten down to 87, when dad came home, called 911. I thought about that case back in the day. Wondered about that kid in '66. You writing another book, Dr. House?"

"No. I…." Suddenly, House was embarrassed to have gotten Green to talk under false pretenses. "No, it's personal…I mean…I. That kid? In '66? I think…never mind… Look thank you for your time, Dr. Green."

"It was you, wasn't it? I remember the name now. The family name. House. I'm…Dr. House, I don't know what to say…I had no way…I'm so sorry…" Fuck. There it was. The fucking pity. House heard it in Green's voice seeping around the edges of his words. House was no longer "Dr. Gregory House," famous doctor. He was that kid, the abuse victim. He hung up the phone, looking at his hand, feeling it tremble as he felt anxiety seep from his back as a cold sweat drenched his tee-shirt. His dad had left for 'Nam a convenient two months later. The fucking bastard. House stood up too fast, and crumpling to the floor, as he lost his balance, simply sat on there on the rug, dimly contemplating past, present and future. "How the hell am I going to do this?" he wondered as he shakily rose and made his way towards the bathroom.