Unfortunately, I don't have eons of time like I usually do to personally reply to my reviews (and, like Miss Manners, I am distraught...or is is Ms.?) So I'm just going to say thank-you, first, to everybody who reviewed; as always, your input is much appreciated and I'm so glad to have you reading! Now, onto the folks, who I wanted to elaborate on my response for justa little bit more...
Dafina: I've tried to write some original stuff before, but I hate doing organized things like making plots and character sketches and all that jazz before I start the actual writing part, so most of my ideas fall through. I'm hoping some time just having fun on this site with characters already created for me will get me slowly into the swing of things. Maybe in a few months I'll go back to the orignal work. Thanks for thinking I could:)
Mollisk, The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien: I know, this is extremely depressing, but I DID go so far as to classify it as angst to warn you all. Shrug I guess I can understand if you didn'tbelieve me, especially after the cross-dressing episode in chapter seven. :P Anyways, sorry to depress you, but it's not going to get much more lighthearted. This will have a semi-happy ending, but I'm not sure if it's going to be the "happily-ever-after" many people expect.
Iscariot: You're absolutely right about not putting into words what the readers direct you to. (Actually, now I'm guilty of what you're accusing me of; what can I say? I aim to please.) My point of view exactly; I'm just very narcissistic in the way that I enjoy hearing people tell me how wickedly talented I am...at any cost. I started this to have fun, though; thanks for reminding me of that goal! (Also, that part about Survivor made me laugh - thanks very much for that!) No, I am not writing from experience, I just have a very overactive imagination and lots of free time on my hands. Glad you're still enjoying the story; I hope it captures you're interest to the end, because you write the best reviews. :P Muah, not only am I a narcissist, but I'm also a sycophant...could this day get any worse?
Here's Chapter 13...A summary would be useless if you're going to read it anyway, so I hope you enjoy it as much as possible, as it's getting sadder and sadder...
House sat in his office for another half an hour, then came out. "Have any of you talked to her yet?" he asked his team. They shook their heads. "Look, one of you go and ask her to call her mother, and come get me when she gets here. I'm going to tell them what's going on. Then you guys can explain treatments and how the disease will progress. Deal?"
Chase nodded grimly and said he'd go and ask her to call her mother. He turned and walked out of the lounge.
"Excuse me," Foreman said, sighing. "I'm going to go and get in my clinic hours."
"How can you think about the clinic at a time like this?" Cameron asked him.
He shrugged. "Work is therapeutic for me. Page me if you need me." He glanced at House. "House, I'll do whatever you want me to. You've just got to ask."
"I want you to oversee her treatments," House said immediately. "You're cleverly distant enough from the situation that you can be objective about it. Very useful thing for a doctor to be. I'm proud of you, Foreman. As proud as I can be."
"Thanks," he said, then turned and left the lounge.
House was left alone with Cameron. "What do you think? Reasonable?"
She nodded. "Very reasonable."
"You're satisfied, then? I don't need to do anymore fatherly things today? I'm really not sure I'm up to it."
"House, it doesn't matter if I'm satisfied," Cameron told him. "For once, I don't want you to think about how I feel. You've got to do what you think is necessary."
"Then it's okay if I go home after work and drink myself to death?"
She stared at him, trying to tell whether or not he was serious. "Most people would consider that unnecessary."
"I'm not most people."
"That's the truth." Cameron paused, then added, "What's getting to you the most about it?"
"About what?"
"The fact that your estranged daughter is dying of AIDS."
"Probably the fact that there's nothing I can do to change it." House shifted uncomfortably. "Cameron, emotions are useless right now. What do you want me to do? You want me to get mad, kick something? Yell at someone? Kill myself?"
"All you need is to function," she said, echoing the words he had spoken to Julia three days ago. "If that's what you need to do, I strongly suggest doing it. Except for that last part."
"Hard to function when you're six feet under."
"Yeah." Cameron stood up and went to the door. "House, if you don't mind, I'm going to go and get in my clinic hours, too. Foreman's right; work is therapeutic."
He waited until she was gone, then laughed quietly to himself. "I'm sure you'll feel that way when something like this happens to you, Alison. I'm sure."
Dr. Chase cleared his throat and tapped on Julia Peterson's door.
"Come in," she said weakly.
He obediently opened the door and stepped into the room, not able to look at her.
Julia smiled nervously and sat up. "What's up, Dr. Chase?" she asked, not sure she was up to having a conversation with him today. Her luck with platonic friendships hadn't been so good lately.
"Julia, Dr. House believes he has a diagnosis," he said. "He'd like you to call your mother so he can tell you both at the same time."
"I see," she said slowly. "Well, you may tell Dr. House that my mother is most likely in the middle of a very dire hangover and she's not going anywhere until she feels better."
Damn. He hadn't thought of that. "Are you sure?" he asked helplessly. "This is kind of an urgent matter. She couldn't even manage to drive herself here?"
"I'm not sure if she could make it out of the driveway," Julia told him apologetically. "Why does she need to be here? Is it really serious?"
"Somewhat," he replied gravely.
"Fatal?" she whispered.
Chase swallowed. "I'm not allowed to discuss it." We follow him like it's written in the Bible. "Thou shalt not defy Dr. House."
"Shit," she said quietly. "That's not good. That's very…troubling."
"Not necessarily," he replied. "He'd just rather be the one to tell you, is all, being your primary physician and your father."
"He told you?" she said, sounding surprised.
"We all guessed, actually," Chase told her, grinning in spite of himself.
"I was gonna say, that doesn't sound like something he'd do," Julia said. "He seems like he wants things kept private. Everyone knows, huh?"
Chase nodded.
"He knows that they know?"
He nodded again.
"Okay." She smiled at him sadly. "Well, I'll give her a call and see if she can make it in. It might take a while, though."
"House," Chase said as he walked into the lounge. "House, we have a problem."
"Problem? Did you botch it?" House was on his feet in an instant. "Chase, come on, I give you one thing to do and you screw it up! I was under the impression you had brains when you were hired."
"Yes, of course," he said irritably. "It's my fault Julia's mother has a monster hangover and can't drive herself over here. All my fault."
"Well, genius, go over there and give her a ride," House suggested.
"I can't leave during the middle of the day!" Chase exclaimed. "Cuddy would never allow it!"
"Dr. Cuddy, for your information, is feeling so sorry for me at the moment that she'd let me get away with murder," House informed him. "Surely she'd allow you to arrange a little carpool so maybe I could get my job done sometime today."
Chase rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. Minutes later, he was on the road with the address to a house he'd never seen and the name of a woman he'd never met.
"Mrs. Peterson," Chase yelled, knocking on the door. "Are you there?" That's it. I'm going to kick down the door. First he tried the knob, and thankfully the door was unlocked.
Robert Chase entered the miniscule townhouse on the bad side of town and winced at the smell. Looking around, he saw it hadn't been cleaned in quite some time. "Mrs. Peterson?" he called.
Chase wandered through the first level of the house, a kitchen, living room, and dining room, and found no sign of life. He glanced down the stairs to the basement and decided no one, not even a drunk, would ever try their luck in staying down there. I'm surprised these people haven't noticed they've got mold coming out of their ears in this place. Then Chase stared up the stairs. Probably, Alma Peterson was in her bedroom, sleeping like the dead, or in her bathroom poised over the toilet, unable to hear him over the sound of her own retching. He came upstairs and looked around. "Mrs. Peterson?" he called again.
"What?" called a voice from the hall bathroom.
Chase pushed the door open and saw Julia's mother kneeling on the floor beside the toilet. Just as we suspected.
She looked at him weirdly, trying to place him. Then a look of horror crossed her face. "Oh, my God. We didn't do it, did we?"
It took him a second to figure out what she was talking about. "Oh…no," he said adamantly. "No." He was smiling on the inside, not sure why he found that amusing.
"Good," she said. "My husband would kill you." She tilted her head to the side and continued. "You look awfully familiar, though."
"You might have seen me at the hospital," he told her. "I'm one of the doctors working on your daughter's case."
Alma squinted. "What'd you say your name was?"
I didn't. "Dr. Chase," he said. "Dr. House, the primary physician on Julia's case, believes he has a diagnosis, and would like you to be present when he tells Julia. Your daughter asked me to come by and make sure you were up to getting there." A little white lie never hurt anyone.
Alma just nodded and reached for the counter to help her balance herself as she stood. "I guess I'm done in here," she said. "I've been sleeping by the damn toilet all night. I might have overdone the alcohol a little bit."
"It happens," he said simply, feeling his heart close. She reminded him of his own mother, always pretending nothing was wrong when in fact everything was wrong.
"I'm so hungry," Alma complained as she walked down the stairs. "Don't I have time to make myself some breakfast? I could even cook you something. I'm a real good cook, you know." She winked at him. "You like scrambled eggs?"
Chase began to feel squeamish. He figured eating something prepared in that kitchen was like licking the bottom of a dumpster after the trash is freshly emptied. "That's quite alright," he assured her, putting a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to steer her towards the door. "Perhaps we could make a stop at the McDonald's drive-through."
"Okay," she said decidedly. "Let me grab my purse."
Five minutes later, they were ordering breakfast. Chase ordered an Egg McMuffin, a pancake platter, and a large Coke for Alma, and a sausage biscuit and a medium orange juice for himself.
"Your total is $8.06," the voice said. "Please drive to the second window."
Chase obediently pulled up next to the second window and took out his wallet, preparing to pay his share.
"Damn it," Alma said as she rifled through her wallet. "I've only got thirty-seven cents on me." She glanced up at him sheepishly, clearly expecting him to yell at her. "Sorry."
"It's fine," he said, pulling out the remainder of cash he needed. "I don't mind."
"You're a nice guy," Alma told him gratefully.
Chase paid the cashier, took the bag of food, and handed it to Alma. "That smells good," she said as she bit into her Egg McMuffin. She chewed slowly and daintily, then gave it a strange look. "I guess fragrances are misleading."
Robert Chase sighed as he unwrapped his sausage biscuit. It was going to be a long ride to the hospital.
House sat at the lounge table, unmoved from where he was an hour ago. Where the hell is Chase? he thought angrily. Surely he can handle Alma. Between the two, I'm almost sure he's the brighter one…
He glanced up as Chase triumphantly walked into the room. "What took you so long?" he asked. "I always had the impression that you were a fast driver and knew how to deal with middle-aged female alcoholics."
"Not funny," Chase told him. "After convincing her that we hadn't slept together at some point in the past 24 hours –" House chuckled sharply " – she decided she needed some breakfast to ease the hangover. It ended up being my treat because someone only had thirty-seven cents. Then we pulled into the parking lot, and she threw up in my car."
House laughed. "Your day has been almost as bad as mine."
Chase had to admit, House still had him beat by a long shot. "She's in with Julia now if you'd like to go and ruin their lives."
"My pleasure," House said as he stood up. My pleasure? 'If you'd like to go and ruin their lives,' he says, and I say, 'My pleasure?' Maybe I'm not getting the hang of this dad stuff. House had discovered sarcasm masked the hurt and had been busy making up cracks like that in his mind since Cameron had convinced him to tell them.
House walked down the hall of the ICU to room 116. He pushed the door open and came in. Alma was sitting on a chair next to Julia holding a plastic tub containing fresh vomit. Julia had a hand on her back and was telling her to take deep breaths. It bothered him more than a little bit to see this. He was reminded of Julia telling him it was like a vacation to be at the hospital because someone would clean up after her for a change. Even in the face of death and uncertainty, she still does her daughterly duty.
"Dr. House," Julia said. "I hear you have a diagnosis for us."
"I do," he replied, business as usual. "Morning, Alma."
"Greg," she said, trying to sound dignified.
"I heard about your adventures with Dr. Chase this morning," House continued, subconsciously avoiding the inevitable. "He said to tell you that he had fun and would love to do it again sometime."
"He told me we didn't –"
"Mom!" Julia said. "Please. Just pay attention, try to focus. I gather that this is pretty important."
"It is," he said, trying to shut out the nagging prediction in the back of his mind that he was going to break her heart. "Julia, I want you to realize that this diagnosis will change your life." Quality and quantity will be greatly diminished, he added silently.
She nodded, absorbing the information. "Okay. What is it? What's it called? Why do I have it? How do we treat it?"
"You ask too many questions."
"You give too few answers. Just tell me!"
He shut his eyes, not knowing how to say it.
"Greg?" Alma said. "Spit it out!"
"AIDS," he mumbled.
"Excuse me?" Alma sputtered. "Did you just say what I thought you said?"
"Yes," he replied, a little bit louder this time. "Julia is dying of AIDS."
Water gathered in Alma's eyes, and she looked at Julia and said, "She can't be dying. I need her."
"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" Julia cried. "I'm not a child anymore! I don't know if I ever got the chance to be! This is my life we're talking about here." She blinked rapidly, trying not to let anymore hateful words spill out. She was sure this would result in another hangover in the morning as it was. "Dr. House, are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?"
"Yes," he said, confident that Cuddy had run the test twice. She wouldn't have wanted to be right, not about something like this.
"Please tell me you're playing some sort of cruel joke on me, House," Alma sobbed. "It's not funny, and I hate you for it, but it's a joke, right?"
House shook his head, feeling a lump rise in his throat that he didn't want to acknowledge as pity…or sadness…or any other identifiable emotion. "I can be an asshole, I agree, but I don't mess around with people's health," he said. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth." He turned to the door.
"Where are you going?" Julia demanded. "You're just going to walk away from me? Because I'm never going to get better and be the perfect, successful daughter you'd want to take credit for? Real mature, House. At least give me something to take the pain away if I'm going to die."
"Dr. Foreman will take care of that for you," House said, looking away. He didn't understand it at all; something about the hopeless expression on her face and the way her arm was outstretched to him for help without her even knowing it was devastating in a way he never thought would touch him.
"You're my doctor," she protested. "You're my…you know." Julia couldn't bring herself to say it. God, she wanted to, but she couldn't. He didn't want her to; it was simple enough to understand. And hell, she shouldn't hurt him anymore than she already had; shouldn't even try.
"I know," he said as he opened the door. "What do you want me to do?" And he walked away, feeling more unsure of himself than ever before. For once, Dr. House wasn't entirely positive he had done the right thing, and wasn't entirely positive he wanted to go through the trouble of changing it.
Reviews are always, always, ALWAYS appreciated. Thanks for reading!