Chapter 36
It was late afternoon, about a week later when Wilson dragged his butt into House's office.
He dropped into the chair in front of the desk. "Gimme a scotch."
House frowned: "This isn't a bar."
Wilson wiggled his fingers at him in a 'gimme' gesture. "Yeah, yeah. You've got a bottle in the bottom right hand drawer, give it up."
House fished the bottle out of the drawer and found Wilson a semi-clean coffee mug. He poured him a shot and asked: "So, who died today?"
Wilson took a gulp and shuddered. "A six-year-old. Already been through three rounds of chemo and did fine. Today he crashed. And Issy was there."
Now House's interest was piqued. "What?"
"He went into anaphylaxis. Issy was the first one in the room when the monitor went off. She didn't panic, did all the right things. Stopped the drip, punched the button to call the code and started CPR. I pushed Epi, Decadron and Benadryl but it didn't help. Nice little kid too. Had been responding well to the chemo, had a decent chance of surviving the cancer."
"But not the allergic reaction to the chemo. Sucks, Wilson."
House poured him another shot and then had one himself. In a casual tone that didn't fool Wilson a bit, he asked: "So, how did Issy take it?"
"You'd have been proud of her. She handled herself really well. She was calm and professional throughout the whole code and afterwards she comforted the other student who broke down after I called time of death. Her instructor came to the floor afterwards and took the two of them off for the rest of the day."
Feeling a prickle of alarm, he asked: "Issy went home early?"
"I don't know. They left the floor around 3:00, but I don't know if the instructor sent them home or not."
He nodded.
Wilson gave him a knowing look. "Why don't you take off? It's almost 5:00, anyway."
"Yeah, think I will."
House picked up the bottle of scotch: "Need another hit?"
"Naw, I'm good for now. Just needed to unwind a bit. I've got a bunch of paperwork to do before I head home. I'll see you tomorrow."
Wilson drained his mug and then walked into the conference and set it in the sink before heading back to his office.
House drained the dregs of his own mug, grabbed his backpack and headed out.
The apartment was quiet when he entered, but he knew she was home as her car was parked in its usual spot. She could be out on her run, but he didn't think so. This afternoon's event would have probably caused significant anxiety and he thought he knew what she would be doing to relieve that feeling. He found her in the first place he looked, in the corner behind the piano. Issy was hugging the dog and drawing in her sketchbook.
He sank down on the piano bench. "Hey."
She looked up at him and bit her lip. He was pleased to see that she didn't look completely terrified at being caught indulging in her hobby. This time, she just looked mildly apprehensive.
Her voice trembled: "H-hey."
"I heard you had kind of a rough day."
She clutched the dog closer and nodded.
He patted the piano bench. "It's hard for me to get on the floor. Wanna come sit next to me?"
She stared at him, wide-eyed, for a moment and then said softly: "OK."
After setting the sketchbook aside, she climbed onto the bench, with the dog still clutched in her left arm.
He put his arm around her. "The first time that a patient dies on you is really hard. You wonder what you could have done differently that might have changed the outcome. It can make you doubt your career choice. I can tell you from experience, that your hide gets tougher each time it happens, but it's never a walk in the park. And when it's a kid."
House let out a deep sigh: "Shit, that never gets easier. Wilson's seen who knows how many kids die in his practice and still today, he came by my office for a shot of scotch."
Her arm snaked around his waist and her head ended up on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and said: "It's OK to cry about it. Do you need to cry?"
"I did that earlier, before you came home."
"Do you want a shot of scotch?"
She looked at him sheepishly: "I did that earlier too. Just one. But it didn't make me feel much better, so I, umm, got my backpack out."
"Did that help?"
She nodded.
He tangled his hand in her hair and pulled her closer. Their lips met and he gave her a tender kiss. "Good. Now I gotta tell you something important."
Issy looked up at him expectantly.
"If you wanna draw, that's fine. I'm not going to get pissed off about it and rip up your drawings. It doesn't bother me that you draw. But what does bother me is you hiding in a corner and sitting on the floor to do it."
Issy opened her mouth but House barreled on: "I understand why you do that, but you don't have to do that in our home. You wanna draw? Fine, but sit on the couch or in the chair to do it. You're not a dog and I don't want you sitting on the floor, OK?"
She stared intently at him. Tears pooled in her eyes but did not spill over. She opened her mouth as if to reply, but then closed it and simply nodded her response.
He caressed her cheek. "You can sit on the couch and draw while I play the piano. It's our home and there are no cruel father figures here to tell us we can't indulge in our little hobbies. We're all grown-up now and we can do what we want."
Issy took a moment to process his words and then asked: "Your father didn't like you playing the piano?"
"Nope. It wasn't manly enough for him. He didn't stop my mother from giving me lessons, but if she weren't around, he'd express his displeasure about my playing. It was definitely better for me to play when he wasn't home."
"That had to suck."
"Yeah, well. It sucked for you, too."
Issy didn't know what to say. It was so decent of Greg to acknowledge her crappy childhood and to tell her that it was fine to draw whenever she wanted. He had said it was our home and we could do whatever we wanted in our home. That made her feel like she really belonged here, even though she knew it was just a temporary arrangement. Issy was really beginning to wish that there wasn't a time limit on their relationship. She had become very fond of Greg. That gruff exterior hid a complex man. He was brilliant, sexy, talented, funny, child-like and loving all wrapped up in one package. Very few people got to see the inner workings of Greg House and she considered herself lucky to be one of the select few. There were feelings that she was experiencing with Greg that she had never had before and she wondered if she was falling in love.
Issy admonished herself for even thinking such thoughts. It was stupid; Greg would never think of her that way. He did seem fond of her and he was very protective after that whole thing with Mancini, but love? No. That wasn't possible. He might be good to her, but he could never fall in love with a whore like her. She needed to keep those little thoughts to herself. He'd laugh in her face if she ever said something like that out loud.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. "I've got a big steak that I was planning to broil tonight and I could make some mashed potatoes to go with it. How does that sound?"
He smiled: "That sounds great."
They shared a few more tender kisses before she hopped off the bench and headed to the kitchen to start dinner. As Issy bustled around the kitchen with dinner preparations, she pondered if she was really in love with Greg or if she was just happy because he was so good to her. She wondered how a person could tell the difference.
Greg reseated himself on the bench so that he was now facing the piano. Issy's dog had been abandoned on the seat next to him as she had hurried into the kitchen to start dinner. He chuckled amusedly at the dirty ragged toy, and then set it on top of the piano for Issy to retrieve later. He didn't want to just toss it on the floor, knowing how attached she was to it. Somehow it seemed disrespectful to do that. House closed his eyes and rested his fingers on the keys for a moment, waiting for inspiration to strike and tell him what to play. Brahms's concerto popped into his head and his fingers responded by hitting all the appropriate keys. As he tickled the ivories, he could feel the stress of the day melt away and a wave of relaxation overtake him.
Issy smiled when he started playing. She was glad that he felt comfortable enough to play in front of her and she loved listening to him. There was a sense of contentment in preparing their dinner while he played. Life was good here, but she was being girlish and silly thinking that she was in love with him. Surely she was just reacting to his kindness and it wasn't really love. She was just thrilled to be living with such a nice man in a lovely apartment after years of hardship and thereby, confusing it with that four-letter emotion.
After putting the potatoes on to boil, Issy wandered over to the couch to listen to him play for a while. She was almost to her seat when she saw it. Greg had placed Pookie on top of the piano. Why had he done that? If the dog had been in his way, why hadn't he merely tossed the smelly thing on the floor?
As she stood there wondering about the ramifications of his actions, House opened his eyes. He gave her a warm smile, the kind that went all the way to his eyes. Issy thought that she would turn into a puddle of goo right on the spot. He pursed his lips, blew her a little kiss and then closed his eyes again as he continued to play the concerto.
A light bulb popped on in her head. He hadn't tossed Pookie on the floor because he was letting her know that it was OK with him that she had the dog, just like it was OK with him that she drew. He didn't mind that she kept a smelly stuffed animal merely because her daddy had given it to her. He accepted it because it was what she needed.
It hit her like a bolt of lightning and she thought her chest was going to explode. She was in love with him. There was no doubt in her mind now. And, boy, was she in trouble.