Disclaimer: I don't own 'House M.D.' or any of its regular characters. So there is no copyright infringement intended, nor do I intend to tick anyone off – so please don't sue me, I'm poor enough already! But I do own the story itself and the characters of Monty/Jess, Mac, Molly and other Non House characters…. :O)
The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien: Just want to say what a great name – obviously very LOTR inspired (I love LOTR almost as much as KA; though I love the books a tad more than the movies – though if the novel versions of Aragorn, Faramir and Eómer looked like their movie counterparts I would not complain!) ;O Glad you liked it, hope this one is as good. Let me know what you think and whether it would be worth more?
SpectralLadyI picked Jess because I like it; it seems a strong name – though I agree about the Jessica. I know what you mean about your name too, all my friends call me Trace, but if I'm in trouble with my parents (bearing in mind I'm 39!), it's still turned back to Tracy! LOL Well, I hope you still like it. Let me know if you want more….
Calliann: Awww…but would I want to be:O) Glad you liked, here is the next one, let me know if you want more….now the background is a little more out of the way, we can get back to Cuddy baiting! YAH!
WARNING: POSSIBLE BAD LANGUAGE, SO READ AT YOUR OWN PERIL.
All reviews, and constructive criticism, gratefully received – but no flaming please; and I will try to update regularly.
'—' signifies thoughts.
"—" signifies speech.
Anyway…chapter Two!
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Kindred Spirits
Chapter Two – Remembrance
House stood and watched Monty eating a sandwich. She stared out of the window into the night, a look of haunted sadness on her face. He sighed and remembered that day….the day she was obviously thinking about too.
It had been a little over 7 years ago now. She hadn't turned up for work, there hadn't been a phone call, nothing to explain; after an hour he had, though he would never admit it to another living soul, become worried.
It was not like her, completely out of character. She would always call, always - even it was just to say she was going to be a little late.
She told him once, when he asked, that it was the product of an over protective mother who worried if she didn't know she was alright – Mac had been the same, and so now she just did it with everyone.
He'd arrived to find her front door ajar, blood everywhere and a strange dead man in her hall. Stepping over the corpse (he didn't know him, he was obviously dead so why bother?) he went through the downstairs of the little house looking for her.
He finally found her and Mac in the bedroom. He remembered as if it were yesterday the feeling that his heart, for a split second, had actually stopped beating.
He then went on automatic pilot and checked the still form directly in front of him; she had lost a lot of blood, had multiple gunshot wounds and some were fairly serious.
But, and here was the shocker, she was still breathing – shallowly, barely…but she was.
He dialled 911…he glanced at Mac and flinched, one gunshot wound was all he had and yet he was very much dead. He would not relish telling her he was gone….
He had rung the hospital, told them what had happened – and then rode with her in the ambulance. He had phoned her parents from the hospital and told them, not thinking to do so before. He sat with them, tolerated the endless pathetic questions; and frequently wondered how such idiotic chattering parents produced such a sharp witted and concise daughter.
He rocked month old Molly in his arms (yes, he did know her name and actually took, though again would never admit it, his God-fatherly duties seriously), and generally put up with them.
It had crossed his mind more than once at the time, that if Monty could see them she would literally have fallen about laughing at his pained expression; as her mother clung to his arm, whilst he tried to extricate himself and balance Molly in the other, and her father keep clapping him on the back saying they owed him a lot for just finding her in time to even try and save her.
When it became clear she would survive, but there would be complications for her, he had accepted the looks from them that pleaded he would be the one to tell her about this - even before their voices had joined the begging in their eyes.
He had to be the one to tell her that the man she had loved deeply had gone. That by some fluke of fate she had survived 5 gunshot wounds, and he'd been killed instantly by only one; to tell her that her life had changed irreversibly and forever. God how he could relate to that……
And he had told her – he had calmly told her that she was permanently brain damaged, albeit mildly; that it would present itself as slurred speech and clumsiness when she was tired, and the inability to speak at all when severely upset or angry.
That she would have a lasting weakness on her left side that would manifest itself in an almost imperceptible tremor in her arm and leg….well, imperceptible to all but her – she would feel it, know it was there. Her eyesight, until then 20:20, was now so bad that she would always teeter on the edge of near blindness….
But she had accepted it all, eyes bright with unshed tears, but accepting. Then he had told her of Mac - pulled no punches, just said it "Mac's dead…one gunshot wound to the back of the head" he'd watched her face crumple then, the tears fall.
He'd let her beat his chest as the frustration of not only losing Mac, but being unable to vocalise it, drove her to fight - to rage against the world that had done this thing to her.
He knew what she was going through, how she resented this rending of her world - an alikeness between them before, this now turned them into kindred spirits.
He'd held her as her fists had stilled, and watched the new wrinkle develop…the fit; no thrashing about for Monty – no, merely a drop down wherever she was. No one had expected that; not many knew of them even now, outside of her family and him.
Molly would merely say, as she got older "Mummy falls asleep Housey. I give her a pillow…." He wondered at the strength of the child; growing up into the image of her mother, and realised only lately that was where she'd got it from…Monty. The saying held true in their case 'like mother, like daughter'. He admired them both.
But she'd survived all of it, and dealt with it. The only time she broke was over Mac; at the memorial his family had held – to let her 'say goodbye' as she'd been 'too sick to attend the funeral' they'd said.
She had not wanted to go, was only just fit enough to be released from hospital after 5½ months and had only been home 2 weeks; he had argued against it, but none would listen. She had said silent thanks with her eyes, but had capitulated in the end. He had gone too, as a friend of them both he'd said, but really it was to ensure she was okay.
He didn't like the new Monty – this one was quiet and pliable. He liked the old one; feisty, sarcastic, quick tempered and not one to back down….ever. The one who loved to laugh and tie him in knots with her dry humour and caustic comments; the one who would have him in fits of barely suppressed laughter at the way she could have Cuddy not knowing which end was up; the one that made him realise they could make a difference to people if the powers that be just left them alone to get on with it.
The one who was like a dog with a bone with patient's illnesses; her motto being a quote from her favourite character, Sherlock Holmes - "When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."
But he did not like this Monty; this one who would just sit silently……eyes vacant.
So he'd gone too – bounced 7 month old Molly on his knee once more, listened to her parents inane, but this time hushed, chatter; but all the time keeping one eye on Monty.
He'd watched her steel herself, saw some of the old Monty flow back in as she stood at the podium and paid tribute to the man she'd loved…..
"I don't know what to say – except I'm sorry I'm here and he's not. Mac was my heart and I loved him dearly. You all knew us, know how we met and how we loved each….…" she took a deep breath to steady herself, she might cry with him – but no one else ever saw her shed a tear then or ever after; about anything.
"so I'll not bore you all with the fluff, as some call it…" she'd looked at him then using his term for her relationship with Mac, and gave a watery smile as the dry joke earned a small ripple of chuckles amongst the otherwise openly tearful congregation "but he was a funny man with a large sense of humour, and he loved me and Moll an awful lot." Another deep breath.
"I know I'm no Scot like Mac….in fact I'm half Irish – but then we're all Celts together I believe, so I wish to give you this blessing Mac –Irish though it is…." She'd looked up at all of them then; fighting back the tears, her broken voice rang out around the church…..
"May
the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your
back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall
soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in
the palm of His hand."
At that she could not say more and so stepped down, the congregation now openly sobbing – her own eyes full, but not weeping. Rigid self control in place – and at that moment, House could not have been more proud of her.
Two days later, she'd slashed her wrists.
0-0-0-0-0-0
It had not been a shock really, in some ways he'd been expecting it. The night of the memorial she had sent everyone home, including him, saying she was fine and not to worry. Of course everyone did, especially him. But he left knowing he did not need to say that he was there if she needed him, she already knew.
At about 2am his phone had rung, when he'd picked it up he'd heard one broken word "Greg".
That had started when she'd first come round; her befuddled and damaged brain trying to compute the man sat by her bedside reading the complete works of Sherlock Holmes – she'd said the first name of his she could remember 'Greg'.
He'd been so pleased she was alright he didn't correct her, in fact he'd held her hand and said, genuinely "it's good to have you back Jess…." And that had been it. After that, whenever they needed each other they would phone and one word would be said – their first names…..and the other would know it was serious.
"I'm coming now Jess…" was all he'd said and hung up. He arrived at her new apartment - she had not been able to stay in the old house, the nightmares were crucifying her as it was - in minutes.
She had clung to him as soon as she had opened the door; surprisingly he had let her – he who was not very comfortable with big displays of affection. They had not spoke; he had merely hugged her – then when she'd stopped crying, he'd made her tea, which she'd laughed at and said even for a Yank he was God awful at making. Then she'd cried again, feeling guilty for laughing when her Mac was lying dead in the cold ground.
He'd gone and fetched Molly so she could feed her, and watched her murmur nothings to the child and tell her about her Daddy.
At 5am he'd left with her hugging him and telling him thanks, that she'd be alright now; but he'd seen the bone-crushing loneliness in her eyes, the depth of despair at the loss of such a boisterous and grounding soul in her life, and he'd worried.
It was at 10am the next day, a Saturday he remembered, that he'd found her in the kitchen in a puddle of blood – a carving knife in her hand. He'd called round as he'd had an uneasy feeling that the night before had merely been a precursor to something more serious; he'd been right, thank God he'd known where she kept the spare key.
So - another 911 call, another ride in an ambulance, and another anxious wait with her now openly irritating parents.
He'd pointed out, none too gently, that this probably would not have happened if she'd not been forced to go to the damn 'memorial' – for God's sake the man had already been buried; even royalty didn't get two bloody funerals.
They petted him like a puppy and told him they were worried too. At that moment, he'd wondered if he could plead temporary insanity if he'd bludgeoned them to death with the 'please check in here' notice for the ER station.
But it was then that he took her in hand, and pointed out what a bloody stupid thing she'd done. That this is not what he would have wanted….
"God?" she'd asked, openly confused – knowing House was not a religious man.
"What? No, Mac…." He'd sighed.
"Same difference…he thought anyway" they'd shared a smile at Mac's regular joke. They would argue –two Celtic tempers in one household would always clash, and Monty would come out with "who died and made you God?"
To which Mac would reply with a grin "No one Lassie, God's already here!" and pat his chest. Any anger would immediately dissipate as they laughed; and, House had to admit, it was always in that moment he envied them.
But he'd read her the riot act and so she'd swore she would never do it again. Of course like him with his vicodine addiction, Monty had found her own way of coping.
Cutting her arms and body was the way she had survived the last few years without Mac and her career; transposing emotional pain for a physical one.
Only House knew the full extent of her own 'addiction', it had dwindled of late, but she still did it occasionally. He never condemned her for it, never judged her - and for that he knew she was grateful.
But how could he? Not only was he in no position to go throwing stones at someone else's glass house when his was barely standing, he understood why she did it; really understood it.
So they went on - each supporting the other, each being there for the other. A comfort and, he supposed to a lesser extent, a crutch – for the last 7 years for her, and even longer for him. Since he'd got sick and Stacy had left him.
That was when she'd stepped up to the plate and become more than a best friend – she'd become his partner. She had always defended him, their similarities had afforded them a rare understanding of each other; but once Stacy had left him she had become someone he knew he could turn to - that wouldn't judge or condemn him….no matter what he said or did. Now he couldn't imagine his life without her in it somewhere.
Still, he remembered that there had been someone called Carl being mentioned more and more lately - he wondered who he was, and decided there was no time like the present to find out.
0-0-0-0-0
Monty was sat eating her sandwich and was indeed thinking about that day. Her thoughts had wandered down similar paths to House, and she had ended up silently thanking God for her eccentric friend. They were a lot alike and she was grateful for that too; he had not only kept her alive, he'd kept her sane. There was no need to pretend to House, he hated that – so she was just herself and they got along.
A form stood beside her and she glanced up to find herself face to face with the very man.
"Hey…." He said, sitting down with a cup of coffee.
"Hey…."
"Nice?" he nodded at the sandwich.
"Not as good as your peanut butter and jelly…"
"Ah, well - you know no one makes PB&J's better than me – it's an old family recipe. The knack's in the way you spread the jelly…."
She grinned "Come on House, what's eating you? We've known each other too long for bullshit…"
"Carl…."
"What about him?"
"What does Molly think?"
"Molly? Why does she have to think anything about him?" Monty was confused.
"Well, if he's around a lot – and you've mentioned him quite a bit over recent months…"
"He's only around when Alex is – in fact I think he might be 'The One'." she winked conspiratorially.
"Ah, well – I'm pleased for you. I hope I get to meet him sometime…" House felt strangely irritated and decided to leave.
"What?" she was still confused, then realisation dawned "Oh my God! You don't think….that we…that me and him!" She started laughing "he's gay! House - for God's sake the man is gay, a surfer type and Alex's boyfriend! Not my type in way, shape or form!"
"But I came round last month for dinner, and you talked about him a lot - you seemed…..friendly; going on about some dance you'd done with him and how funny it was." he muttered sitting once more as she tugged at his arm, but still feeling more than a little rankled at her obvious mirth.
"Right…so every guy I dance with is now automatically a boyfriend? Okay - well, you can sleep safe in your bed at night House…for by the mere fact that you cannot dance, I can never win your heart!" She now began to chuckle.
She stopped when she saw he was looking hurt "oh, don't give me the bottom lip thing – that has never worked on me! Anyway, even if he was a boyfriend, which he's not, what do you care? It's not like it's ever going to affect our friendship!"
"It might - I can't see any 'partner' putting up with this…." He indicated her watch which read 1:25am.
She shrugged "Then he's kicked to the kerb." She put her hand on his "You've been there for me longer than anyone I know. I get to be me with you; no pretending to be happy when all I want to do is scream, no pretending to be serious when I just want to laugh…. I just get to be me.
We got a promise, and I have never broken a promise. If it came to me having to choose between you and some bloke – you would win hands down every time House, remember that….every time." She stared earnestly at him before sitting back.
"But, trust me, it ain't gonna to happen…..I am not 'on the market' I think that's the current phrase. I do not want to get hurt again. Anyway, what's a bloke going to give me that I don't already get? I got you and Molly in my life as well as, for my sins, my parents and Alex. I got plenty of people who care about me, whether they admit it or not!" she smiled at him.
"I don't need anyone else; I certainly don't need the aggravation of being at someone else's behest. As you say; take tonight, I don't want someone giving me static about helping my best friend in the whole world – and if you ever try to use that against me I will kill you." She grinned as he raised an eyebrow. "Alright? Sheesh - insecure much?" she rolled her eyes.
He smiled and went to change the subject but something in her twigged "Warner's been around hasn't she? That's the only reason you get all angsty." she asked darkly "Why? She only contacts you when she wants something…..what was it this time?"
"Her husband was sick – we saved him." House shrugged.
"Of course you did – you see, you care; me? I'd have left him to rot!" She glowered.
"Very protective aren't we? Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside…" It was his turn to roll his eyes.
She stood and shrugged, easily tossing her leftovers into a passing garbage cart "You know it never ceases to amaze me how my hand/eye co-ordination has gotten better since the shooting." Then she sat down and returned her attention to him, to find him staring at her "what? I got a bogey in my nose? Lettuce stuck to my teeth?"
"No - you're just weird…"
"Thanks…right back at you!" She retorted with mock anger.
"Well, you are - why like me? Why stick up for me?" He rested his chin on his hand "That's weird….."
"Okay, granted that is a little weird….." she smiled and sat down again "but consider the evidence – you've always been there for me, you've always supported me, never judged me and we're a lot alike; I like you. Underneath it all I know you're a good man and I like you. Sorry, but there you have it…..I like you because I know you have a heart and you're a very good friend to me.
But don't worry…." She looked around as if making sure they weren't overheard "I won't tell anyone. As far as all this lot are concerned, you are a still a complete bastard and an emotionally frigid arsehole – isn't that what Cuddy called you that Christmas she had too much sherry at the 'meet 'n' greet' for the new doctors?"
"No, I think that was you - one of your more charming insults as I recall that particular yuletide."
"Whatever...you probably deserved it…"
"I've no doubt; under your rules, I always do." He stood and so did she. "I need you to stay on this case Monty; if we have to give her bad news you can do it, I can see her being a problem and I don't…."
"Want to deal with it - yeah, right, whatever….call me and I'll come in. You know the drill."
Their voices faded as they left the canteen.
Wilson sitting, unnoticed at a table near them, smiled. He was definitely going to like her a lot – Foreman, who had been sitting with him for the last part of the conversation, looked surprised "She called him a what!"
"A complete bastard and an emotionally frigid arsehole…..I'd love to know what brought that on!"
As they too left the canteen they saw Cuddy march passed Jess and House. "Swing low sweet Chariot, coming for to carry me home….swing low sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home…" Jess warbled as the other woman went past her; House merely smacked her upside the head, but Wilson and Foreman could hear him chuckling.
"Did he just chuckle?" Foreman asked incredulously. Wilson merely nodded, with a smirk.
Cuddy visibly flinched; stopped, turned as if to say something and then thought better of it as Jess called "Don't bother - you won't win…." Without either breaking her stride or turning.
Earning her another cuff from House "Play nice…." He said, but his two subordinates knew from his tone he didn't mean it.
Cuddy stalked away. Chase wandered up with Cameron, they too, having witnessed the whole exchange. "I hope she sticks around…she's fun." Chase muttered.
Foreman shuddered "So do I….but I wouldn't like to piss her off; she almost makes you feel sorry for Cuddy…"
The other three all looked at him in horror; he held up his hands "Hey, I said almost…"
Still want me to continue? Answers on a postcard please! LOL
