Cuddy gave Rachel a reassuring hug, then stood up, quickly covering the few feet to the chair and kneeling next to Thomas. She could do nothing for her husband right now, but maybe she could help out in other areas. "I want to look at that foot," she demanded.
He pulled it back, but he was seated, limiting evasive action, and she was too fast for him. "Lisa," he protested, "it's fine."
"You mentioned last night on the phone that it didn't like the trip." She was working on his shoelaces. "And you were definitely favoring it walking across the room from the door a while ago."
"I had a long night," he replied. "That's the only thing wrong with me, I promise." The stubborn set of her chin right now reminded him irresistibly of Emily.
Succeeding with his shoe, she set it aside. "If it's perfectly fine, no harm in me looking at it then." She peeled off his sock and caught her breath. The bruise had expanded slightly and had also gone into full-blown technicolor since her inspection yesterday morning. She cringed, carefully running her hands along it, then up to the ankle, checking the pulses.
Wilson got up and came over from his chair, and even Marina was hovering. "Ye-ouch," the oncologist said. "You sure gave it a good whack."
Cuddy moved over a little, yielding to somebody currently in active medical practice. "What do you think, Wilson? It looks worse than yesterday."
"All bruises look worse the second day than the first one," Thomas pointed out. "That doesn't mean anything."
Wilson seized the offended foot himself and carefully checked the pulses, then felt along the toe. "Definitely a bad bruise, but it's hard to tell only feeling it whether there might also be a nondisplaced fracture. I'm not an x-ray machine."
"Greg looked at it yesterday and said it wasn't broken," Thomas put in.
Wilson wished he'd been able to see that exam, just to watch the interaction. House definitely cared about his father, as much as he was trying desperately to keep the 10-foot pole in place. "Well, he'd know better than I would. He practically is an x-ray machine." He pushed on a few of the nail beds, checking capillary refill, then reached for the ankle again. "Pulses are strong, if a little bit slow." He grabbed a wrist, comparing. "You're in good shape."
"I usually walk 4 1/2 miles every day - skipped it yesterday morning after hitting the foot that night and definitely skipped it this morning. I take a ride every day that I can, too."
Rachel was pushing in, worried, and even Abby set her game aside and slid down off the couch to join the others. Rachel reached out to touch the discolored area. "Ouch?" she asked.
Thomas smiled down at her. "I'm fine, Rachel. I just bruised it, but it will be okay in a few days."
"But not like Daddy's leg?"
"No, nothing like that, not at all. This is more like when you hit yourself accidentally on something. It hurts some for a day or two, then gradually gets better."
She nodded, accepting that, and then suddenly leaned over and kissed the toe quickly, then grinned up at him. "That's better?"
Thomas blinked a few times. "Yes, thank you, Rachel. That helped a lot." He looked at Cuddy. "Lisa, I promise, I'm just tired, and this is only a bruise. I'm all right." Getting uncomfortable with the attention, he turned to Abby, who was studying his foot at close range and had just reached out curiously to touch it herself. "Do you like your little music game, Abby?"
She snapped to attention as if reminded of something and promptly abandoned Thomas and headed for the couch, although she did say, "Yes," as she ran. She bounced impatiently a few times in her effort to scramble onto the couch again, and Marina gave her a helpful boost on her rump. Grabbing the music computer, Abby unpaused it and continued to run through songs, staring intently at the screen.
Cuddy reached out to the recliner control, pointedly elevating the footrest on Thomas' chair, then started replacing his sock and shoe. "She absolutely loves it," she told him. "Just as much as Rachel loves her stuffed horse."
Reminded, Rachel spun a circle, looking for it. "Ember!" Spotting the horse, she galloped over and squeezed the whinny ear.
Wilson watched her with a smile, picturing Daniel in a few years, then looked back at Thomas. "Yes, Santa Claus chose well on those two gifts," he stated with the slightest of question marks.
"Of course. Santa Claus has centuries of experience," Thomas replied.
"Did, um, Santa Claus happen to bring anything else this year to the House house? For the big boys and girls?" Wilson asked.
Thomas could look near as enigmatic as House when he wanted to, the oncologist decided. "Santa Claus doesn't tell people what other families got. He wouldn't want them to be jealous." Wilson sighed, and Cuddy managed to keep from laughing only by pretending to clear her throat.
Abby finished the current song and switched the device off, sliding back down. "Mama!" she called and headed toward the bedroom.
Marina was closer and went after her, assuming her destination was the bathroom. "I'll give you a hand, Abby."
"No!" Abby pulled away from her and came back around the corner of the couch. "Mama helps."
"It's all right, Marina." Cuddy dutifully walked over to join her daughter. "What's the matter, Abby? Boy, you're a wiggleworm today." As soon as she was sure Cuddy was coming, Abby had turned around and trotted back toward the bedroom door. Cuddy followed her in to find Abby not heading for the bathroom but trying to climb up onto the bed. "Abby, what -" Just then, Cuddy spotted the piece of paper sticking out partially against the headboard, tucked under the covers and leaving just enough protruding for a clue, easy to miss if you weren't specifically focusing on the bed. She hurried to grab it. In her husband's unmistakable writing, it said.
I'm not going to read them.
O. K.
Cuddy closed her eyes in relief, feeling the tension ebb. Abby was nearly vibrating beside her. "OK," her daughter emphasized. She reached out to trace the two large letters at the bottom, and Cuddy realized that those had been added for her benefit.
"Yes, he is." Hopefully would be, anyway. And he was with Jensen today; they could have some good sessions as well as the appointments and maybe at least start to work through some of this emotional mess before leaving tomorrow. His mother's death plus his feelings about Thomas plus all the turmoil of the past: He had really had a hell of a week. He had taken the letters; not that he would have ever left them behind with the group all day anyway, but maybe they would approach just one at a time like they should, starting today and continuing back in Princeton, or rather in Middletown. "Did he tell you to show me this, Abby?"
"Uh huh. Music first, then OK."
So he could escape without an explanation, which he hated. She wouldn't have demanded one of him anyway, letting him and Jensen go even more willingly with this knowledge, but she didn't blame him for wanting to slip away without a fuss. She picked up her daughter for a spontaneous hug, then sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out her cell phone.
He answered after only one ring, sounding tense but also amused. "How far did Abby hold out?"
"I'm not sure how many songs she listened to, but the last one was Be Our Guest."
"That really is the last one on the first page. Good for her. I told her to listen to all the songs on the first screen and then let you see the note, but I wasn't sure she'd make it all the way."
She heard the clear pride in his voice and shared it, reaching over to ruffle her daughter's hair. For a 2-year-old to keep a secret and hold a process even that long was amazing. "She really is something. Thank you, Greg, for listening to us. And watching and whatever else there was, it doesn't matter why, just thank you. I wouldn't have insisted on an explanation right then if you'd told me on the way out, though."
"I . . ." The tension was back in his voice. "It wasn't that easy. We - there are some things that need to be worked through. But I'm not going to read those letters. Even if we do stay gone all day, you can believe that."
"It's all right. You don't have to give me the details. You and Jensen could use a day together just talking with everything that's happened lately. But again, thanks." She paused. "About it being all day, though, are you sure you picked up enough meds?"
There was fond annoyance in his voice. "Don't worry, Lisa. Besides, you can do an inventory. I'm sure you will before long anyway. How's his foot this morning?"
"How did you know I'd -"
"I figured you'd have to fuss over something as soon as I was gone. You do that when you're worried. And if I wasn't there, he's the next handy victim at the moment, especially when he looks like he rode back tied to the top of the plane. So how does it look?"
"It's a lot more colorful, but the pulses are still strong. Wilson checked him out, too, and Thomas insists that he's only tired. Wilson commented that he is in good shape cardiovascularly. I think it's just a bad bruise."
His tone relaxed. "I told you that yesterday. You're just worrying about nothing again; he'll be fine. Let me talk to Abby for a minute, okay?" She passed the phone to her daughter and listened to their conversation, her smile still there. After that, he wanted to talk to Rachel for a minute, too, and she went back out into the main room, passed Rachel the phone, then handed the note silently to Thomas. He read it and gave a deep sigh of relief himself. Wilson edged over, and she handed it on. Wilson had been there last night at the original demand, after all, knew about the letters now, and was worried himself. Marina read it over his shoulder.
Rachel trotted up to her mother, holding out the phone. "Daddy says bye."
"Thank you, Rachel." She slipped the phone back into a pocket, then let out a shuddering sigh and looked at the note again, then down at Abby. She should have suspected something. Abby had had the same "on a mission" intensity at that music assignment that her father did when he was locked onto a task. "Abby, you could have let that secret slip a little earlier, you know."
Abby grinned up at her, obviously hearing that affection far topped annoyance in her mother's words. "OK," she repeated, reaching up to point to the note.
"You know your letters already, Abby?" Thomas asked.
"Uh huh." She looked annoyed after a few seconds, irritated at the data that was missing. "No."
Cuddy ruffled her hair. "She knows about a third of them. Rachel knows some, too. Greg's been trying to show them when he reads to them."
Rachel shoved the stuffed Ember at him and pointed to a hoof. "T," she started, tracing the word on the bottom. "T."
"T, R, O, T," Thomas read. "That spells trot. That's one gait a horse has." He squeezed the hoof. "Hear how even it is?" Rachel leaned over the side of the chair closer to focus more, and Abby, message delivered, left them, returning to the couch and picking back up her music computer, only this time, she was following the notes, watching the music on the bottom instead of just fulfilling an assignment. Cuddy looked from one to the other of her daughters. Her smile was still there.
(H/C)
Jensen had insisted during the first letter that House stop driving while they did this, since he was as focused on the psychiatrist as he was on the traffic. Grumbling, House had pulled into the nearest Wal-Mart. They both went in to use the facilities, and House bought two Cokes, a large bag of chips, and a little electronic game, but back in the van, he was wrecking his car far more often than usual. He sat in the driver's seat, munching chips occasionally, trying to interpret the other man's expression and get a preview of what the final results would be later on. Jensen read slowly, thoroughly, taking time to absorb them. The letters were neatly in date order, and they seemed to average 2-3 pages long. Most of the time, the expressions House caught flickers of in his eyes at peak moments could have been classified as either anger or sadness, one pushing to the foreground, then the other.
House was glad that Cuddy didn't seem mad at his getaway, but he hadn't been able to share what he planned, not in advance. He also hadn't known if Jensen would agree. But watching the group during breakfast, seeing the clear stress in his family and recognizing it as a reflection of that in himself, he suddenly had known that this was simply too much, both for them and for him. He could not read the contents of Pandora's box, but if he started and hit overload, he wouldn't just be able to reclose the flaps and go on, either.
Jensen was the perfect solution if he could do it; House knew he felt some guilt over this whole thing himself. But a surrogate reader would have to be either Cuddy or Jensen. He didn't trust anybody else to that extent, and Cuddy, while he trusted her more, was too close. She would take almost as much of an emotional hit from reading those letters as he would. No, it was the psychiatrist with his years of professional experience at handling disturbing revelations to help him balance the personal feelings, with his objectivity, his keen analysis, and yet his friendship, who was the better choice here.
But it was hard to sit and just watch. House knew now he could not read them, but he couldn't help trying to follow along from the sidelines.
On the screen, his car spun out of control and wrecked again.
