A moment of shocked silence followed Wilson's accusation.
John House stood in front of him, face turning red with fury, or shame, or both. The older man seemed at a loss for words for the moment, opening and closing his mouth as if to respond to the accusation, but finding himself without defense. Chase simply stood in the background, his mind racing as he began to process what Wilson had said.
So House was abused as a child? Well… that actually explains a lot…
He had wanted to help bring about some kind of justice for House, when it seemed that he wouldn't seek it for himself. But suddenly, Chase found himself wondering again if he had done the right thing in bringing House's father here to confront Wilson.
If he's as guilty as the man he's supposedly trying to punish… how is that justice?
"You don't know a thing about my family!" John House finally found his voice, and it shook with rage as he pointed an accusing finger in Wilson's face. "You have no right to start throwing wild allegations around. You weren't there! You don't have the first clue what happened…"
"No, but House does," Wilson retorted, a bitter laugh accompanying the words. "He remembers it well. It might be easy to keep a little boy's mouth shut – but did you really think he wouldn't tell anybody once he was grown?"
John was silent. He really hadn't expected his son to ever reveal their family's secrets.
"He told me what you did to him – all of it," Wilson informed him, his voice trembling with a strange note of triumph. "He told me how much he hates you – and he told me exactly why." Wilson had regained his breath following John's initial attack, and now he stalked slowly toward the older man, his defiant gaze locked on John's face as he continued. "So don't you come into my house, and think you've got the right to come down on me for something that you're guilty of yourself. The only difference between what I did and what you did, is that now, as an adult – he's got the option of fighting back."
"Maybe he did." John stepped closer, meeting the younger man's advance. "But you took it from him. Sounds like he told you just enough to be dangerous, didn't he? Just enough for you to twist it and use it against him…"
"Yeah," Wilson sneered, malice in his dark eyes as he spat out, "thanks for that."
Chase nearly flinched at the cruelty the words betrayed, the deliberate way in which Wilson had used House's childhood against him.
At Wilson's words, John struck out, backhanding him across the face with his fist. Wilson staggered backward into the wall, wiping a hand across his bleeding lip as he stumbled upright again, raising his hands to protect himself as John came at him, raining blows on his face and torso.
Wilson took several of them before he caught John's fist in his hand, pushing him back, and returned the blows with a couple of his own. Wilson had gotten a good bit of practice in lately when it came to the art of physical violence, and he knew how to cause the maximum amount of pain, how to incapacitate his opponent with a single move.
The problem was – he wasn't used to an opponent who fought back.
Within minutes, John House had Wilson crouched on the floor, his back to the wall, dizzied by several blows to the head. John had the upper hand, and all Wilson could do for the moment was to raise his arms to protect his face from the other man's attack. Despite the fact that Wilson was down, John continued to kick him, enraged by Wilson's words.
As Chase watched the brutal assault, he found that he felt no sympathy for the young man who had mercilessly done the same to House, when he was far more helpless than Wilson was now. However, as he watched John House vent his rage, Chase couldn't help wondering if all of that rage was really meant for Wilson.
At last, breathing hard with exertion, John stopped hitting Wilson long enough to grab his collar and jerk him to his feet, slamming him forcefully against the wall again. Chase winced, noting the purple bruises that were already forming on Wilson's face, as well as his bloodied mouth and nose.
John's voice was low, threatening, as he leaned in close to Wilson's face. "What I've done or not done to Greg in the past is between him and me. What's done is done, and you've got nothing to do with it. But I'll tell you this, James Wilson, and you'd better listen good…" He shook Wilson, knocking his head into the wall painfully as he continued, barely over a whisper, "If you ever… touch… my son again – ever come near him… I'll kill you. I'll track you down, wherever you try to run to… and I'll kill you."
Wilson did not respond, though Chase thought it was more because he was too dazed and in too much pain to formulate a response than out of any attempt at defiance. John House let go of Wilson's collar with a rough shove, taking a step back and looking at him with disgust for a long moment. Abruptly, he struck one final blow, slamming his fist into Wilson's face with enough force to drive the younger man to his knees on the floor again.
"Come near my son again." John spoke the words as a challenge. "Just try it."
For a moment, the only sound that filled the room was John House's heavy breathing. He turned toward Chase, not quite meeting the young doctor's eyes.
"I'm ready," he muttered. "Let's get out of here."
Chase was silent, giving him an appraising look, and finally John looked up at him in reluctant curiosity.
He was not prepared for the disgust he saw in Chase's expression; it froze him in his tracks as Chase walked toward the door. A moment later, John remembered himself and followed Chase outside to his car.
"It's not like you think," he informed him, inexplicably self-conscious in front of this virtual stranger. "Those things Wilson said…"
"…were absolutely true," Chase finished for him in a cool, mild tone that belied the anger in his eyes. "Just 'cause he's lost it doesn't mean he's lying about everything. And he wasn't lying about what you did."
"You couldn't possibly understand…"
"Save it," Chase snapped as he unlocked the car and got in on the driver's side. He waited to go on until John was seated in the passenger seat. "The only reason you're not walking back to the hospital is I don't want the cops to find you here if Wilson calls them… because I don't want to be implicated. Otherwise I wouldn't let you in my car. And I'd appreciate it if I don't have to hear you speak for the rest of the drive back to the hospital."
John House opened his mouth to respond, momentarily indignant – and then closed it again, at a loss for a defense.
Neither spoke another word until they reached PPTH.
"You're doing the right thing, House." Cuddy's voice was a soft, reassuring murmur as she hung up the phone and turned to face him. "You're doing the best possible thing, for you and for Wilson."
He was quiet as she crossed the room and sat down beside him, waiting until she had reached out to cover his hand with hers before he spoke in a quiet, weighted voice. "Funny," he said. "Because it feels like I'm ratting out my best friend." He paused, shaking his head. "Hard to see where that's good for anyone."
"But… you do see it," Cuddy observed, studying his expression. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have agreed to it."
House let out a weary sigh, nodding slowly. "I do see it," he conceded. "He… he needs help. And… he's not going to do anything to get it on his own. This is… the only option."
Cuddy gently squeezed his hand as she repeated, "You're doing the right thing." She hesitated a moment before adding, "The police station said they'd send someone over right away – within the hour."
There was a soft knock on the door before it opened slightly, and Blythe House peeked around it. "The nurse came and told me it was all right to come back? You two are done talking?"
House smiled at her as he nodded, holding out his free hand toward her, and Cuddy was amazed at the tenderness in his smile, so unusual to be seen on House's face. She realized after a moment that she had automatically withdrawn her own hand from House's, as soon as his mother had appeared, without even realizing she had done it.
She wondered if she had moved her hand quickly enough.
And then, she wondered why it should matter if Blythe saw her simple gesture of comfort toward House.
Her confused thoughts were interrupted by House's gentle words to his mother. "Mom… the police are on their way. I… I need to tell them what really happened, and… and I need to tell you, too."
As House cautiously told her his story – leaving out the worst of the details – Blythe's eyes filled with tears. Cuddy had relinquished her chair – and her position as House's comforter – to her, and she held her son's hand as he doled out the vaguest of details about what had happened.
What he told her was still enough to be upsetting – and enough for her to put together the connection between what Wilson had done to him, and what his own father had done to him so long ago.
"Greg," she whispered at last, when he was finished, "I'm… so sorry…"
"No," he cut her off firmly. "None of this is your fault." His tone was pointed, and he glared at Cuddy over her shoulder, a single brow raised expectantly in her direction.
Cuddy suppressed a sigh, clearing her throat to draw the other woman's attention. "Mrs. House," she began hesitantly, "I… I'm sorry about what I said, before. I had no right to say those things about… your family."
Blythe gave her an appraising look, clearly suspicious. "So… you no longer believe those things you said? About…"
"I believe every word that I said," Cuddy clarified, her voice firm, her jaw set. Out of the corner of her eye she saw House roll his eyes with a frustrated sigh. "I just… have no right to say it. If House doesn't want me to say anything – well, that's his right. It's none of my business."
The atmosphere in the room was suddenly painfully tense.
Well, that attempt at apology was a smashing success… Cuddy sighed to herself, retreating to the sofa across the room to allow House and his mother a bit of privacy.
"Your… your father wanted me to find him, once you were… feeling up to it…" Blythe cautiously mentioned.
"Mom," House hesitated over the words. "I… really don't feel like seeing him right now. I'm… not sure I want him here at all."
Blythe studied his face for a long moment, sympathy and regret and love all mingled in her eyes. "All right, Greg. I… I understand," she replied softly. She hesitated a moment before she added, "I think… I think I should find him, though. It's been… several hours…"
House nodded, understanding. To him, it was not surprising to have his mother choose his father over him – and indeed, that was what it felt like she was doing. He couldn't blame her. In many ways, he felt that she was as much a victim of John House's bullying as he was.
"Go ahead, Mom" he assured her gently. "It's okay." He gave her a soft, ironic smile as he shrugged. "I'll be right here when you come back."
Cuddy stayed with House throughout the difficult police interview, and provided the officers with the details of House's medical case to support his hesitant accusations against Wilson. It took them a long time to gather all the information, but finally, they said they had enough to make an arrest, and left the two of them alone again.
They spent a couple of hours in quiet camaraderie, talking mostly about light topics that didn't matter much, and occasionally about ones that did. House found that it was easier to be open with Cuddy, after that first time in his apartment. He had to admit, despite his tendency to mock her and put her down – she had been there for him throughout the entire ordeal, defending him even against his own parents.
He hadn't exactly appreciated it– but he could admit that her intentions were good.
When Cuddy's phone rang, House looked at the television, not paying close attention to her conversation – until he heard a note of concern in her voice.
"You have got to be kidding me. How could he…? Where…?" There was a long pause. "Well, are they at least looking…?" She was quiet for a long time, listening. "Well, thank you for calling. Please call me back if anything changes. Thank you."
She hung up the phone, turning toward House with worried eyes. He knew he didn't have to ask—she would explain.
"That was the police," she told him, her voice cautious and calm as she returned to his side. "They… went to Wilson's apartment, but… he's not there."
House shrugged. "He will be."
Cuddy shook her head. "Maybe not. They said a… a lot of things appeared to be gone. Clothes, personal items. They think he… somehow… knew they were coming. They think he… he ran." She swallowed hard, reading the uneasiness and fear forming on House's face. "They're trying to find him, but… for now… Wilson has disappeared."