She sat in the chair beside the bed, reading his pain diary. He stood in the room unnoticed, analyzing her expression. All that he saw there could be summed up in two words: Confirmation and disappointment.
He started to undress. "Come on, Lisa," he said. "Let's go to bed." He tried to remove his shirt slowly, revealing the whole parts first, attempting to catch her attention with his body, but she didn't even look up at him as he disrobed. "Lisa!"
"I'm busy, Greg." Her eyes still hadn't left the diary. Surely the thing hadn't been this long when he wrote it. It looked like War and Peace right now. He limped around to her side of the bed, naked, and peered over her shoulder, speed reading the page with growing horror. Yes, it was his own writing there, but he couldn't remember putting that much in. It seemed to be hundreds and hundreds of pages.
Was his mind failing him now? Were the new meds affecting his memory? This was everything, even things he never admitted to himself, all of it written out in his own hand, and she was reading it.
"Lisa, let's go to bed," he pleaded.
For the first time, she looked over at his naked body. Her eyes went straight to the ugly scar, the wreck of his right thigh. "I guess I have to," she said. "We're married, after all." Dutifully, she stood. In a flash of light, the clothes vanished, and she was suddenly naked herself but so much differently than he was. Every curve of her gorgeous body was on display. He reached for her, and she pulled back. "Let's turn the light out first," she said. "At least I don't have to look at it then. It's easier to distract myself that way."
"Is that what it always was for you? Every time? Just trying not to look at it?"
"No, of course not," she answered. He relaxed a little. "There was college. I'll never forget that night, back when you weren't such a cripple." She climbed into bed, and as he limped laboriously around to his side, she rolled, turning away from him, and instead of turning out the nightstand lamp, she picked back up the diary and continued to read.
"Greg?"
His eyes opened. Light flooded the room, the hour as well as the nightmare disorienting him. What was he doing? It wasn't nighttime. The other side was empty; where was she?
Reality began to shove aside the dream. It was Sunday afternoon, and Cuddy had talked him into lying down for a while after lunch, promising to keep a close eye on Abby for him. The bedroom door was closed, but as he looked toward it, he met four concerned eyes. He was finally getting to the point where he no longer snapped violently awake out of nightmares on the increasingly rare occasions that he had them, but right now, fully awake, he gave the jump he hadn't a few moments before.
Belle sat beside his feet, warily alert - she remembered those waking jolts still - but looking concerned. Next to her, at the end of the bed, stood Thomas.
"Are you all right?" Thomas asked.
House pulled himself up to a sitting position, leaning against the headboard, and resisted the urge to rub his leg. It hadn't liked that abrupt movement. It had been bothering him a little more than new baseline today anyway, as he hadn't remembered until 2:00 a.m. that he had forgotten to take his bedtime dose of methadone. Even with it added, the night had remained chopped-up, with him waking to check on Abby three different times as well as getting up early, and he still felt ragged. As a recharging nap, that one hadn't been worth much.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked. Belle, convinced that he was firmly awake now, walked up him purring solicitously and settled onto his thigh.
"I came over after lunch. Lisa said you'd just gone back to take a nap." Thomas had also called first thing this morning, but with a reassuring report on Abby, he had gone out to the stable, trying to reestablish routine.
"So you came back to watch?" House checked his grandfather's watch, then double checked it. He'd been asleep, if you could call it that, for two and a half hours. "Where is she?"
The old man at least stayed at the end of the bed and didn't approach. That was oddly comforting; John had never lost an opportunity to loom over him when he was lying down helpless. "She fell asleep herself in the living room recliner. I wasn't watching you, Greg; I had come back to check on the girls. They went down for a nap about 30 minutes ago."
House shook his head. "That is called a door. It has two sides. You're definitely on this one, not over there with the girls. Unless I'm still . . ." He trailed off. Was this an extension of his nightmare? He had dreamed before in childhood many times of waking up from a nightmare in apparent safety, only to have that as well shatter.
"You're awake," Thomas reassured him quickly, almost as if he had heard the thought. Maybe he'd guessed it, at least, because he actually backed up half a step, standing beyond the bed now. "Just as I left the nursery, I heard the cat meow pretty loudly. I thought she wanted out, and I didn't want her to wake you up, so I opened the door for her. She was still on the bed, and I swear she was trying to wake you up. Then I realized you were dreaming, so I called you. Didn't touch you, just called you. It took a few times, but it worked."
House looked at Belle, who returned his gaze steadily. The cat had been trying to wake him up? On the other hand, that task normally fell to Cuddy, who hadn't been here.
"Are you all right?" Thomas asked again.
"Fine," House snapped. No way was he about to relate that dream, the gross magnification of his fears last night, to his father.
"I wasn't asking what it was about, Greg," Thomas said. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I'll leave you alone now to get back to sleep if you want to." He turned to leave.
The thought of getting back to sleep for round two was enough to wake him up even more. Automatically shunning the unspoken sympathy, he lashed back. "You can drop the front, old man. I know what you and Lisa are up to now. I've worked it out. Nice scheme; I'll give you credit for that much."
Thomas sighed, then turned back. He didn't look calculating, worried, or guilty; he actually looked resigned. "What alleged scheme are you talking about?"
Damn, the man was good. "The car," House prompted.
"The one I want to give you?"
"You know good and well which car. You're trying to get me to replace mine."
"Yes, I am. At least to upgrade it; you could always keep the one you've got as a memento and just have a new daily driver. But a car for Christmas was my idea; Lisa's not involved. Well, she did advise me to get your input up front when I bounced the idea off her, but that was it." A memory clicked in his eyes, and House saw it.
"That wasn't it," House challenged. "You just thought of something else and stopped yourself from saying it."
"She reacted more strongly than I expected to the idea. I'd figured you'd question me at first, but she caught me off guard. The whole topic seemed to upset her. I'm not sure why."
"You're not sure why?" House snorted. "Come on, old man. Drop the front. I know you talked about it."
"Greg, whatever was bothering her, she didn't tell me. Even when I offered to be an ear if she needed it. She just said after collecting herself a little that I ought to talk to you about the new car. Which, you'll note, I did." Thomas came a little closer, right by the foot of the bed again. "What do you think we talked about?"
House was getting confused. Thomas was a professional, but he should have an Oscar if he was making all this up. "The pain diary," he said, watching every flicker of expression.
Nothing but bewilderment. "She said at lunch a few weeks ago that you were keeping one, but that was only in a brief report of your doctor visit. I can't remember it coming up any other time between us."
"What day was that?" House demanded.
Thomas tracked back mentally. "Thursday. Little over two weeks ago. It was the day she first told me you were thinking about changing the pain management, and you'd just seen the doctor the first time the day before."
"And that's the only time you've even had it come up? You were awfully quick to remember for an isolated conversation two weeks ago."
"That conversation was about you, Greg. About someone who might finally be able to actually help you. Of course I remember it." Thomas' own delayed epiphany hit; House saw it in his eyes. "Lisa read your diary later, didn't she? Is that what you two are mad at each other about?"
"You know good and well she read it," House persisted, though he was feeling less certain than he had a few minutes ago.
"No, I don't. She did not talk to me about it, Greg. So that's what's been eating at her the last week. Poor Lisa."
"She never told you about the entry with the car?"
"No. But if your car was mentioned in your pain diary, why don't you see the need to do something about it?"
House hadn't expected the sudden counterattack. "It's not that bad, damn it."
Thomas shrugged. "If you wrote it, just between you and the doctor at that point as far as you knew, it obviously makes some difference in your pain levels. So you think she told me and we're conspiring to get rid of it."
"To push me into getting rid of it," House clarified. "You know good and well you wouldn't actually give me something like that; you just want me to think you would."
There was genuine pain in Thomas' pale blue eyes for the moment. "Why not?" he asked.
The simplicity of the question caught House off guard. "Because . . . it's too much money."
"I told you, I made a nice profit on selling the house. But even if I hadn't, I'd take out a loan if I needed to. I would love to give you something like that, Greg. Do you realize, up until last Christmas, I had never in my life had the chance to openly give you a gift? Can you imagine? Think of watching Abby and Rachel from a distance, for fifty years, and never being able to give them something as their father. Not once. There was the piano, remember, but you didn't even know that was a gift, much less from whom."
House was silent, trying to plug in that scenario. "That's different with the girls," he said.
"Only because John warped the whole idea of fatherhood for you. I feel toward you just like you feel toward your girls, Greg. It isn't different. And as for the money, that piano wasn't cheap, nor easy. I wasn't making nearly as much then, wasn't anywhere close to my salary later when I retired at twenty years of service. We had to take out a loan for that first lump sum we sent."
Oddly, that thought had never occurred to him in such full detail. That would have been a big drop on someone's monthly budget. "Did Emily object?" he asked, much quieter now.
"No. We talked about it together, of course, but she was perfectly willing. She knew how frustrated I felt and how much I wanted the opportunity of music for you."
"If you just want to give me stuff to make up for lost time, I'm sure I could come up with a list or something."
"A list of what?" A flash of irritation crept into Thomas' tone. "Little things? Trivial things? Nothing at all that might actually be meaningful? I picked the car because right now, that is the most urgent material need I can see in your life. And I had no idea you were having problems with it. As a father, Greg, you want to meet your kids' needs. If Abby or Rachel had shoes that were full of holes, for instance, and falling apart and leaking and making their feet hurt, would you be content giving them a stuffed animal that you picked up at the dollar store? Wouldn't you just be itching to meet that need, the more important one?"
"And it never occurred to you that that car might mean something to me? That I could have replaced it myself easily otherwise?"
"But you haven't," Thomas countered. "Greg, I am not trying to take away whatever it represents. But things don't last forever. Even if whatever is wrong with it acutely weren't an issue, it's wearing out. It would last a lot longer if it were only driven every now and then. Keep it if you want, but as for the idea of giving you a car at Christmas, I'm still planning to."
"I asked you once for yours," House reminded him.
"You weren't serious, just challenging me with something you never thought I'd be willing to do. And I've told you since why that one is special to me and offered you another one of your choosing. But Greg, there's a point where emotional attachment has to meet reality. I loved my last car, and so did Emily. All sorts of memories tied up into it, dozens of trips, but when it came time, we replaced it. When my current one, the last one we picked out together, starts developing problems and aging too much, I'll retire it and get another one. I wouldn't sell it, not after her death, but I'd move on. As for you getting that one, you will, of course, eventually."
"Your BMW?" House asked, just to make sure.
"Yes. It goes to you in my will. Take good care of it and take it out to stretch its wheels now and then. And remember, it will last longer if you don't drive it all the time. I'm assuming, of course, that your inheritance isn't going to come for at least fifteen or twenty years, so it will be old by then, because I have no intentions of dying any time soon."
The question of Thomas' will had never occurred to House, much less what he might get in it, and he was stunned into silence. "I want to give you a new car for Christmas," Thomas repeated. "Because I love you and because you need one. It's not a conspiracy, and it's not something I cooked up with Lisa."
"The car I have isn't that bad," House insisted.
Thomas met his eyes. "Then why did you include it in your pain diary?"
House was scrambling. "I need to check on Abby," he dodged finally, and then realized that the old man would have to see him get up, a process even harder after he had been lying still for a few hours.
Whatever Thomas read in his expression, he didn't push at it. "I'll go check on Lisa, then. Just don't think I'll forget about this, because I'm not going to. As for Lisa, I had no idea that she'd read your pain diary, but try to put yourself in her shoes. Whatever she did, she did out of love."
Then he was gone, the bedroom door closing softly behind him. House looked at Belle. "I'm getting up," he said, and she moved over off his thigh. "Cat, next time you want to wake me up, just keep quiet about it and use a claw or something. See what you got me into here?"
Belle yawned.