A/N: Here's another chapter. Sorry for the delay, but this last weekend even beat the one prior to that. On the good news for Pranks fans, while I was driving all over the place, I had an idea for another story in the series. This one might even jump in line and come next, just because it's a one-shot, a conversation, and could fit anywhere timeline wise, and the next story as planned is a full-length, complicated one including family and team and case difficulties and has some time left before ready. The one-shot will probably be fully cooked quicker. Title on the intense case one might be "Stayin' Alive," but that's not 100% settled. Title on the one shot is definitely "The Facts of Life."

Hope you enjoy this update. I make no guarantees at all on time line for posting the next chapter, but I'll get it soon as I can. Next are conversations with Kate, the track folks, and the doctor about discharge.

(H/C)

Cuddy's cell phone rang when they were most of the way through breakfast, and she pulled it out quickly, her first thought of the girls. They had already talked to Sandra and to the girls this morning; Abby and Rachel had had a restless but not a panicked night. They were impatient, looking forward to their parents' return. Jensen had also called quite early for an update, making Cuddy wonder exactly when or if the man ever slept. He couldn't have arrived home before the wee small hours of this morning.

The current caller wasn't the girls but Kate. Cuddy fumbled for a brief moment wondering who Katherine Parker was on caller ID, then put it together. They had exchanged numbers yesterday at one point during the wait. She answered. "Hello, Kate. How's Josh? That's wonderful; I'm so glad for you. Yes, they are. Very battered, but they're going to be okay. Hopefully they'll be discharged later this morning. Of course you can. We're in Room 534. See you then." She hung up, then announced to the others, "Josh is awake and talking this morning, and they think he'll be fine. Kate wants to see us before we leave. She'll be up after she finishes breakfast."

"I'm glad he'll be okay," Thomas said. "So the only person who wound up getting killed was the SOB himself."

House watched him, trying to run a differential on the tone and expression. No personal pride there, not basking even privately in the knowledge that it was only because of his own actions that the fatality score stood at one. He just seemed to be happy for the people and relieved that things had turned out well, independent of his role.

At that moment, Cuddy's cell phone rang again. She pulled it out and stared suspiciously at caller ID. The name meant nothing to her. She was expecting all hell to break loose today when the media got hold of House's name, and she was determined to protect him and Thomas from being pestered to death. They weren't nearly in good enough shape for statements yet. She had been careful to specify no information released to the front desk. On the other hand, how would the media get her private cell phone number? Not even during the Patrick episode had that happened. They had camped at PPTH but got no closer to her home or herself than that. She answered, and her "hello" this time was a clear challenge, not a greeting.

"Dr. Cuddy-House, this is Steven Taylor. I'm the manager at Parx Racetrack and Casino."

Cuddy stiffened up. She had demanded contact from the incompetent management of that place during one of her rants yesterday against the security staff. In the rush of relief over the men, she had forgotten about it, but the grudge woke up again now, not much diminished for its sound night's sleep. Her tone shifted into administrative ice. "Yes, Mr. Taylor. I would like to discuss the lapses of your security staff yesterday and how they dismissed a legitimate warning, but. . ." She looked at her husband. He had come to attention, albeit with his left arm bracing his ribs, and looked quite interested in this whole conversation, filling in the blanks. "We can talk about that some time later in the week," she continued.

"I have already spoken to security, and they will hear much more about it, believe me. I am very sorry for what happened. But more important at the moment, how are Dr. House and Mr. Thornton doing?"

She tried to hold all the stiff anger in her voice, but relief softened it a little in spite of herself. "They're going to be okay. No thanks to your employees."

"I'd like to speak with them in person if I could, just to thank them. Are they up to visitors today?"

Cuddy fired up instantly. "No. They are not up to visitors yet. Maybe tomorrow."

House raised his voice, easily carrying across the short gap to her - and to the phone. "Yes, we are up to visitors. Come on now while we're here; we'll be discharged later." Cuddy glared at him. He gave her an innocent smile. "And I DEMAND another model horse from your gift shop. The one I bought broke."

"And shirts," Thomas called out, joining the fun. "We had to use the shirts we bought as bandages. We're in Room 534."

Cuddy firmly hit end, cutting off the call. She pushed her tray aside and came to her feet. "Damn it, Greg. And you, too, Thomas." They both looked back at her, mischief clothed in cuts and bruises, and she didn't know whether to shake them or hug them. "I can deal with the track officials myself. You don't need to be worrying about this."

House shook his head. "I broke Rachel's horse. That was a gift, a present for my daughter. Can't go home without a new one when they're right here waiting to apologize."

"Maybe we could even get jackets," Thomas suggested. "I think a little more than what we lost is fair, don't you, Greg?"

Cuddy sighed - nobody 75 years old and as tall as he was had a right to look so much like a little kid. But her husband's next words distracted her even from her exasperation.

House turned to face his father. "They ought to give you the whole gift shop after what you did to the bomber, and you know it. That whole section would have come down without you."

"What?" Wilson looked from one bed to the other. "What he did to the bomber? You mean besides warning security and then Josh?"

House nodded. "He's the hero. You can have the media this time, old man. I had my fill of them back with Patrick."

Thomas shook his head. "I don't want the press for it. That wasn't my reason. Just let it die down, Greg."

"Hate to break it to you, but the media doesn't quite operate that way."

Cuddy was in between the two beds now. "What happened in there?" she asked Thomas.

He wasn't looking mischievous any longer. While his life had contained plenty of action, it had always been undercover and without public accolades, and the thought of the media wiped the grin straight off his face. In those last seconds before the explosion when he had seized the only desperate chance any of them had, he had merely been a father trying to protect his son. He had protected his son. That much he was proud of, but Greg alive in the next bed was all the reward he really wanted for his actions. The track owed him an apology for dismissing his warning earlier (and shirts, and maybe jackets), but what had happened in the bathroom had nothing to do with them.

"What happened?" Cuddy repeated.

Thomas was silent. House spoke up after a moment. "Oh, he's definitely the hero. You should have seen that; better than a movie. The bomber was walking into the room toward us; he wanted a point-blank explosion with the clerk. Only he grabbed my cane and hurled it at him. Knocked him backwards into the entrance passageway, and then . . ." House abruptly skidded to a stop in his tale. And then the old man had jumped on him, taking him down. He looked across at his father, still bewildered at the memory of that moment. No hesitation, no time for thought. The old man had only been trying to save him, instinctively, even if it cost his own life. "And then the bomb went off," House finished. "Only in the entry, not in the room. If it hadn't had those solid walls that close around it, the damage to the building would have been a lot worse." He didn't add that they would have all definitely been killed. Cuddy was already pale just thinking about it.

Wilson was staring at Thomas, open mouthed. Patterson was silent, but there was a world of frank admiration in her eyes. Cuddy stepped over to the railing next to Thomas. "You . . ." She was trembling slightly. She picked up his hand and kissed it gently across one of the bandages.

"It's okay, Lisa," he told her. Their eyes met silently. She knew why he had done it, that the burning force of that moment had been for his son, even if she didn't know the rest of it.

"The media is going to love this." Wilson finally found his voice.

"That's not . . ." Thomas started to protest, and Cuddy's cell phone rang again. She reached across with her other hand for it so she wouldn't have to let go of Thomas.

It was Kutner. "Hello, Dr. Kutner," she answered.

Kutner sounded almost manic, too excited and worried to speak straight. "Cuddy, is House okay? Is . . ."

"He's fine. Well, he's hurt, but he will be fine. I take it the names got released to the press."

"It's all over the news. Turn the TV on. You sure he's going to be all right?"

"He has three broken ribs and a lot of cuts, and he was held overnight for observation. We'll probably be discharged in a little while. But he will not be working this next week. That's a minimum, could be longer. Neither will I. He needs to rest."

"I'm all right, Kutner," House called. "Just don't barbecue some poor patient before I get back, okay?"

"Did they do a head CT?" Kutner demanded.

"Yes," Cuddy assured him. "He had a thorough workup. Nobody missed anything this time. We need to get going now, but he'll be back in a few weeks as good as new." She hoped. "Meanwhile, don't make any statements to . . ."

"We've done this drill before, remember?" Kutner sounded offended. "I'm not talking to anybody. At least, I'm not telling them anything that matters. I'll tell the team, though. And let House know I said get well soon, okay?"

"I will. We'll update everybody again with a timetable once we're back in Princeton and see how he's healing. Goodbye, Dr. Kutner."

"Bye, Cuddy." He hung up.

Cuddy looked at her hand, still entwined with Thomas'. "We have a problem," she announced.

House hit the remote control, and the TV screen came to life. Dr. Gregory House Again was the title across the bottom of the screen. The reporter was enthusiastic. ". . . from what we understand spotted the bomber and knew instinctively he was dangerous just as he knew Patrick Chandler was. He and another man who agreed with him tried to warn track security. However, when the security office was going through channels first to check out Dr. House before taking action, he then tried to warn the clerk that the bomber was targeting. Thus he got caught in the explosion along with another man and the clerk. All three of them were injured, in addition to the injuries of bystanders outside and above the room where the bomb went off. Although we have no specific reports on Dr. House's status, we are told that the bomber was the only fatality, and an anonymous source has revealed that all others are expected to recover." House hit off, unable to stand hearing it anymore. The whole world in his face again, just like with Patrick, and damn it, this time, it wasn't even something he had done.

Thomas sighed. "I'll talk to the press," he said, reluctantly yielding. House turned quickly, surprised. The old man obviously wanted this about as much as a root canal. "It will take at least some of the heat off you," Thomas continued.

There it was again, putting self interest aside, not just with the bomber but now with the press. Reluctant admiration and gratitude wrestled with the old, scarred-over wounds. "Thanks," House said softly, barely audibly - but Thomas heard. In the next moment, House straightened up a little, his voice stronger. "Being a hero isn't too bad once you get used to it. Once in a while, people recognize you and buy your order at a restaurant or something."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Of course you would translate everything into terms of free food."

Cuddy gave Thomas' hand a squeeze, then stepped back, between the two beds, and almost came to military attention, a sentinel on duty. "You are not going to talk to them today. You've got a concussion, and you need to rest, not be giving press conferences." She looked at Patterson. "They'll have all the hospitals in the city staked out, even if we are on the no-info list. Maybe we could set up a diversion as we leave. Get the hospital to announce a statement in one direction as we sneak out the other."

"Good idea. I'm sure they'll help us. Or we could use a back door, maybe. But speaking of leaving," Patterson said, "I have a suggestion in dealing with the cars and the trip." She had been looking for a chance to bring this up anyway. Of course, she and Wilson could go retrieve House's car from the track while Cuddy waited here with the men, but Patterson didn't think Cuddy was ready to be separated from either of them even for the drive to Princeton, especially after the latest revelations. Furthermore, she didn't think Cuddy needed to be driving any car home. Her attention would be more on House and Thornton than the road. No, she needed to be simply a passenger along with them. On the other hand, packing both patients into any one car available, whether Wilson's, Patterson's, or House's (which even though she had never seen, she had heard Cuddy's opinion of a few times in sessions), would be painful for the men.

Patterson had a better idea, but before she could get to it, House spoke up first. "We can leave my car at the track for a few days," he offered. "Not like she'd let me drive anywhere this next week. We'll work out something later to get it and just all ride home with Wilson. Except the shrink, of course, not that she'd take up much space, but her car wouldn't fit in the trunk of the Volvo."

Cuddy gave a sigh of relief. She hadn't been looking forward to splitting for the trip. But still, one of the men would have to go in back. "But how will we . . ." She looked from one to the other of the beds and worried at her lower lip.

"I have a better idea," Patterson stated. "What about a limousine? I can provide one."

Thomas couldn't hide his grin at the mental image of the tiny woman behind the wheel of a limo. "You drive a limousine?"

Patterson smiled back at him, acknowledging how incongruous that would look. "No. But I have a friend in Philadelphia who owns a limo company. I'm sure he isn't booked up on a Sunday morning. I'll call him, but we should be able to get one for the run to Princeton without any problem, and Dr. Cuddy and our two patients can ride in that. Much more comfortable for everyone."

Cuddy relaxed. "Yes. That's perfect. Limo waiting at one entrance, press diverted to the other, and everything works out."

"One more detail is missing," Thomas said. They all turned to him. "Clothes."

House suddenly looked mournful. "I did love that shirt I had on yesterday. May it rest in pieces." The ER had cut everything off him and presumably off Thomas as well. Besides, those clothes would have needed laundering about twenty times before Cuddy would have even let them in the house.

Wilson turned toward the door, answering the unspoken call to duty. "I'm on it. At least you're both the same size pretty much."

"I'm not sure where my wallet is," Thomas apologized, "but once they get all my things together when we're discharged. . ."

Wilson shrugged. "Never mind. I'm used to this. Back in a little bit." He left.

Thomas leaned back into the pillow. A mistake, as Cuddy alerted like a bird dog coming to point. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Fine," he insisted. In fact, he was getting tired, even if the shakiness of yesterday had left once he had had a few units of blood. He wasn't about to admit it, though. A nap could come later after they were discharged and out of this place.

She came up quickly to take his pulse, then studied him, then her husband again. House also wasn't feeling half as well as he was trying to act. The little lines around his eyes gave him away. "We are not dealing with the media today," she reiterated. "And that's final. You two are going to rest this week and get well."

Thomas was the picture of innocence. "Of course, Lisa. Whatever you say."

"We'll be the picture of cooperation." House took the baton up instantly on the silent pass.

"Yeah, right." Those two looked entirely too much alike at this moment. She eyed them suspiciously, then turned away. "Dr. Patterson, I know you need to call the limo company, but can you be jail keeper for a few minutes first while I go to the bathroom?"

"Of course." Patterson walked up between the beds, assuming the duty station.

The moment the bathroom door closed behind Cuddy, House dropped his voice to a whisper. "Patterson. Quick! Give me your cell phone."

Patterson shook her head. "You don't need to . . ."

"This is something she'd actually approve of except that she thinks even a short phone conversation would be too strenuous right now. Come on!" Time was wasting.

She studied his eyes, trying to get a read on him. After a few seconds, she offered her cell phone but also closed the gap, stationing herself right by his face. "Confidentiality is not guaranteed here."

"But neither is lack of confidentiality?" House clarified. She couldn't help smiling slightly, though the firm core remained unshaken beneath it. House took the cell phone, consulted the Google of his memory, then dialed.