A/N: From this chapter on through the end of Wednesday, which is several chapters long, the characters basically divide into two teams, House/Jensen and Thomas/everybody else. I will keep both timelines running concurrently, but occasionally, the scenes do overlap a bit. Glad to be getting to this part. For me, the events of this Wednesday have always been the climax of this story. It is a lengthy day, so if your "what about this?" wondering isn't addressed right away, withhold judgment for a few chapters, and it might well work its way in in due time. Among other things, this day includes the most open discussion yet between Thomas and Cuddy about the girls, where we learn exactly what he has been told about them to date, including that he already knows Rachel is adopted. And House/Jensen have some wonderful moments; like I said, by the end of the story, I doubt people will think Jensen got short shrift in this one.
About a suggestion for House getting an amputation and a prosthesis, I doubt I'd go there, although the muse is in charge. There's certainly no indication of it in preplotting and idea glimmers, as far as I know, although the muse can always surprise me. With all the nerve damage he has, I don't think it would be such a magic cure for him physically, and he would also require a very high cut. I have always suspected that he would be quite likely to have significant issues with phantom pain after all these years. It is an interesting thought, though, and I find it much more realistic as a possible physical solution than the many "all he really needed was some committed physical therapy" plots in fanfic that I've read. I doubt Pranks will head there, but it might conceivably make an independent story someday, although again, I have no control over the muse. Anyway, thanks for chiming in with your thoughts.
Off we go into fic Wednesday, which contains all sorts of action, whether mentally, relationally, psychiatrically, or literally. Enjoy!
(H/C)
The girls were obviously wired today. By the time House finally made it out of the bathroom, Cuddy had her hands full, and their morning greeting for him was much more enthusiastic than usual. He and Cuddy played with them and listened to them for a few minutes, but when they headed out into the main room, an argument erupted almost immediately. Marina, after leaving the girls in their pajamas with their parents, had been selecting clothes for the day, but Abby didn't want to wear what the nanny had picked out, an uncharacteristic complaint from her. Then Rachel got set off telling her sister to shut up, and a contest with the phrase quickly developed. The required make-up hug only came after a few minutes and under extreme duress.
Finally, with peace relatively restored, Cuddy and Marina took the girls into their bedroom to get them dressed. House was slowly limping after - his leg felt better, but he was still on edge, waiting for the pain to ramp up again - when a light knock came on the door of the suite, soft but unmistakable. "Would you get that, Greg?" Cuddy asked, promptly shutting the bedroom door without even waiting for a reply. House stood there in stubborn defiance for a moment, but she had the girls, after all. Stalling would only involve their curiosity more in the package for him. Resigned, he limped to the door and opened it.
Thornton looked like hell. House was surprised; he had expected the old man to be physically tired after his night, but even the physical surpassed his prediction, and he had never expected this level of concern, even unmistakable fear. But had it been fear for himself, would Thornton have the box in his hands now rather than an excuse? After all, he had had the whole flight back to St. Louis to come up with a good one, a last-minute disaster, something like Jensen's broken pipe scenario. Yet here he stood, still in his coat, hadn't even stopped at his own room on the way up. Though obviously hating every second of it, he was here as deliveryman as promptly as he possibly could be.
Thomas in turn was surprised at his son's appearance. Greg reminded him of someone on a medieval torture rack, almost physically pulled in two directions at once, the tension painful. He was also standing more crooked this morning, not trusting his leg even as much as he normally did. Thomas had thought a few times during the flights that at least his son should be getting some needed rest, assuming that he was currently taking the sleeping pills that had been in that long recitation of medicines at the trial. But if he'd had a good night, he certainly didn't look it.
No one else was in sight at the moment. Thomas took a deep breath and offered the box he was holding. The conversation last night with Emily had been annoyingly brief before the alarm clock interrupted; though he preferred mental solutions to physical, he'd actually been tempted to electronic violence as he was rudely yanked into consciousness. But his wife had been in the middle of advising Thomas that he in turn should trust his son, that since there was no way he could turn down the request, all he could do was fulfill it as soon as possible and leave it to Greg to decide what to do with the letters. "Here they are," he said softly, and he choked back the words be careful, though his expression made them loud and clear anyway.
House took the box tentatively. So small a box to contain the past. He could even hold it tucked between his left hand and his body without upsetting his uncertain balance. "That's all of them?" he asked in surprise.
Thomas nodded, then qualified it belatedly. "That's all of the letters left. 128 of them. There were pictures occasionally included, and those are filed separately in an album. I didn't bring them."
House shook his head; he'd probably seen most of those pictures himself anyway while growing up. His prior lifelong distaste for family pictures arose from the fact that almost all he had seen in childhood (and Blythe had been a shutterbug) had been a blatant lie. "I don't care about the pictures." The other man relaxed slightly, and House realized that he'd imagined at some point in last night's journey having that also snatched away from him, even if it would require yet another return trip. The pictures mattered that much to him? On the other hand, he had kept the letters themselves for 50 years, even if he now hated them. The way he handled that box spoke clearly enough of his current opinion. But before the trial, when he hadn't known the truth, he had kept these letters for 50 years. He couldn't have expected this need to come up. Why keep them in the first place?
The two of them stood there, one outside, one in, eye to eye, and the awkward silence lengthened.
Cuddy interrupted the differential by opening the bedroom door. Rachel, clothed for the day now, spotted Thomas immediately and scampered across the room. "Thomas! Hi!" She hooked onto a leg, looking up at him. "You come back."
He smiled down at her. "Good morning, Rachel. Yes, I came back."
Cuddy wasn't too far behind her daughter, and her expression held open concern. "Come on in and sit down. Thomas, did you get any sleep last night?"
"Yes," he replied with crisp Housian brevity. He dodged around his son, who still stood motionless just inside the door to the suite, and moved over to a chair, starting to take off his coat.
Abby, meanwhile, had noticed the box her father was holding. She trotted across to him and stretched up toward it. "What?" she asked.
House came to life as if a switch had been flipped. "It's . . .never mind. It's not something you'd be interested in."
Rachel joined the inspection. "A present from Thomas!" she announced. After all, she had been told that Thomas had to go get something at his house and would be back. Here were Thomas and something both newly arrived, so they must have come together.
"It is not a present." House turned away, retreating to the bedroom, and tossed over his shoulder. "Why don't you ask him if he saw Ember?"
The distraction worked for Rachel, letting him escape, although Abby looked suspicious. "Did you see Ember?" Rachel asked.
Thomas, now sitting down, shook his head. "Ember was already asleep, and I didn't want to wake her up. That was a really fast trip, Rachel. I wasn't there long enough to go see Ember."
"She was in bed?" Rachel asked.
"No, horses don't sleep in beds. She was in her stall. She does have a blanket she sleeps in during the winter, but it's not like your blanket. Hers buckles around her, kind of like a coat, and it moves with her."
Rachel smiled. "Cool."
Cuddy meanwhile had moved over and was standing by the chair, studying Thomas and looking apologetic, guilty, and concerned all at once. He gave her a reassuring smile. "It's all right, Lisa." Only he wasn't convinced it was all right, nor was she.
"Greg?" she called. After a moment, her husband limped slowly, sans box, back out of their bedroom. "I was thinking a few minutes ago while the girls were getting dressed. Let's just order room service for breakfast instead of going down to the dining room." She was afraid of the fish-bowl atmosphere of the dining room this morning. Her husband was almost tense enough to snap, both girls were keying off him and already were on edge, and Thomas was exhausted as well as worried. Privacy was the better choice for this meal.
"Good idea," Marina approved, and after a moment, House nodded.
"What about Wilson and Jensen?"
"Could you call them?" He grumbled but pulled out his cell phone. Cuddy sat down on the couch at the end nearest Thomas' chair. "Are you all right?" she asked very softly.
"Fine," he replied, and the near-identical echo of House in phrase and in expression brought a lump to her throat. Unfortunately, she thought the accuracy of the assessment was another shared trait.
House ended the call and limped over, dropping into the couch next to Cuddy. Abby climbed onto his lap. "They're on the way up."
"Good. All right, what does everybody want for breakfast?" Cuddy asked.
"Pancakes!" Rachel suggested.
House flinched. This was Wednesday morning. Just a week ago, only last Wednesday, the family had been getting ready to go to breakfast at IHOP, and he had gone in to wake up his mother. Once again, the fatal silence of that room gripped him.
"Greg?" He looked up to meet five sets of worried eyes; even Marina was in on the act.
"Pancakes are fine," he agreed quickly, hoping the gap there had only been a few seconds, although he thought it probably was more. Abby was watching him with 2-year-old differential. Really, the kid could look frightening at times in how hard she was thinking, trying to piece the world around her together. Concern was there too, though, and she reached out a hand to touch him.
"You okay?"
"Fine," he told her, and Thomas jumped slightly, obviously hearing the echo himself.
Jensen and Wilson arrived just as Cuddy was calling room service, and Marina let them in. Jensen was looking more like himself than at any point on the trip so far, House thought. Last night's session had at least been a shot in the arm for the psychiatrist, even if he hadn't convinced his patient. He was clearly concerned like the rest of them, but his worries were external today; he had won some sort of peace with himself. Wilson had his worried look on and kept glancing between House and Thornton, as well as a few irresistible looks around the big room for whatever might contain 128 letters.
The group settled around the cluster of seats. Conversation during breakfast was general, nobody speaking their mind in front of the girls, but House was by far the quietest of all. Those mental wheels were spinning at high speed, Cuddy thought, and he kept giving quick looks to his father and then back to her and the girls. She doubted if he even tasted the meal in front of him, though he woodenly ate it. She didn't taste much of her own breakfast. Wilson, Jensen, and Thomas, tired as he was, kept the conversation spinning nicely, and Rachel threw in occasional questions about horses.
They had just finished eating when House straightened up. "Jensen," he said. The psychiatrist looked over inquiringly. "We need to get going."
Jensen checked his watch. It was only 8:45. They had two appointments today, with Blythe's psychiatrist at 11:00 and with her primary care doctor at 3:00. "Okay," he agreed readily, not pointing out the fact.
House set Abby, still in his lap, aside and stood up, and Cuddy saw the hard resolution in him, as well as the fear behind it. His decision on the letters was made, and it scared the hell out of him. "I need to pick up a few things in the bedroom, then we'll hit the road. I'll need the keys to the van." Mutely, she pulled them out and handed them over.
He made all of two steps toward the bedroom before Abby locked onto his left leg, actually hampering his progress. "Dada."
He carefully set his balance and picked her up. "Come here, kid. It's okay." They went into the bedroom, and House closed the door.
Cuddy took a deep breath and turned to Jensen. "Be careful if you can," she said softly, and he nodded.
It was a couple of minutes before the bedroom door opened. Abby was walking now, though still at her father's side, and he was carrying the box of letters gingerly. He plopped them down on the end table, then picked up Abby, deposited her in the couch cushions, and handed her the little music computer, which had been on the same end table. "Play your game, Abby," he told her, switching it on, and she cued up the first song. House turned to his wife. "We might be tied up all day," he told her, and Cuddy's heart sank to her toes. "Don't count on us for meals, but I do have my meds and the heat patches. I'll have the cell phone on, and you can call when you and the girls need to." He picked up Rachel and gave her a hug, then set her back down. "It's all right, Rachel. I'll be back later, I promise." Turning to his wife again, he spoke a little more sharply. "And be sure you watch him today with the girls. Come on, Jensen."
They left the suite, and Rachel stood irresolutely halfway between the front door and the group, looking from her mother and Thomas to the closed door through which her father had disappeared.
Thomas was tired enough that it took him a few seconds to sort through the sting of that last remark to Cuddy and arrive at the hidden invitation. "Did he say with?" he asked.
Wilson rewound mentally. "I definitely heard with."
Cuddy nodded, but her eyes were still glued to the door. "Come here, Rachel." Abby was wrapped up in her music game, but Rachel looked upset. "He'll be back. It's okay." Slowly, very unlike her usual pace, Rachel walked back over to join the group.
(H/C)
Down in the hotel parking garage, House and Jensen climbed into the van, and House placed the box on the seat behind them and then turned on the ignition. "Where are we going?" Jensen asked.
"I'm not sure." House turned out of the parking lot onto the street, randomly choosing left just because the turn across traffic was harder. He looked over at Jensen after a moment, then glanced back at the neatly boxed-up past waiting to be unboxed. "You really aren't going to bring it up, are you?"
"I told you I wouldn't unless you did. It's your choice."
House stopped at the first traffic light and twisted to face the psychiatrist directly. "Your three alternative methods of getting data suck," he stated. Jensen looked disappointed, but he wasn't abandoning ship, no matter what the decision. House waited long enough to be certain of that fact, then continued. "But I'm not going to read them."
Tension went out of the psychiatrist like a balloon popping, the surge of relief visible. "Thank you, Dr. House. That's the right decision. We can work through them one at a time and take several months with it in sessions."
House shook his head, and Jensen saw the quick nervousness in him as he plunged on. "I don't think I can read them. But I need to know. So would you read them instead? Then you can tell me if they had enough info in them to have worked it out."
Jensen stared at him, momentarily speechless at the tribute. House's eyes were steady, although his body was almost quivering as he made himself trust. Still, the tone made it an honest question, not a demand, and the psychiatrist realized that House did understand fully what he was asking. His eyes said it all. Whatever happened with Thornton, whatever happened today, the two of them would be all right.
The light changed, and the car behind them beeped, but House still waited. Jensen smiled at him. "Yes."
