TITLE: The Apple and the Tree
AUTHOR: Stephen King. No, actually, it's me; I just wanted to assure that you were paying attention.
PAIRING: Gen, with allusions to House/OFC
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: Do not run with scissors
SUMMARY: House cleverly has no personal life. At least, that's what he wants everyone to think. But that idea's going to get a shake-up when a new patient arrives at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.
DISCLAIMER: If I owned House, this would be an episode and not a fanfiction.
NOTES: I'm not a doctor, nor do I play one on the Internet. Please excuse any medical misnomers or doctorly deviations found in this chapter (and the rest of the story, for that matter)

THE APPLE AND THE TREE – CHAPTER FOUR

Chase opened the door to Nicole's room. "Hi there, Nicole," he said.

Nicole coughed. "Hi."

"You don't sound too good," Chase said.

"My nose is stuffy and my head hurts," Nicole said. "But I guess the stuffy nose is all that's new."

"Does your head hurt more than yesterday?" Chase put on his stethoscope and placed it on Nicole's chest. "Breathe."

Nicole did as she was told. "Different." The word vibrated in Chase's ears.

"Breathe again," Chase instructed her, moving the stethoscope.

Nicole obeyed.

"Lungs sound clear." Chase removed the stethoscope. "What do you mean 'different'?"

Nicole sneezed. "Like, more pressure than pain."

"Hm," Chase said. "You probably just have a cold. I'm gonna take your temperature and make sure you don't have a fever."

Nicole sniffed. "OK."

Chase prepared the thermometer, wondering if he should mention House at all. Probably not, unless the topic comes up.

"Dad?"

Chase looked up. House was standing in the doorway, leaning on his cane. OK, looks like the topic's come up.

"Hi, Nicole," House said. He looked at Chase. "I'll, uh, come back later."

"I'll be done in a few moments," Chase assured.

"Gosh," Nicole sighed. "He won't leave me alone."

"He's your dad," Chase told her. "That's his job."

"He stopped being my dad a long time ago," Nicole sighed.

Chase paused a second before putting the thermometer in Nicole's ear. He knew that feeling. "He loves you, Nicole."

Nicole snorted a little. "Well, I don't love him. Not anymore. It hurts less. When I didn't expect him to show up at my gymnastics meets and he didn't, I didn't care. When I didn't expect a hug when I got home from school and I didn't get one, I didn't care. When I didn't expect him to talk to me or ask how I was doing and he didn't, I didn't care. It's just easier."

Chase stood unmoving, staring down at the thermometer without registering what it said. That hit too close to the bone. He cleared his throat. "Listen," he sat in the chair next to Nicole's bed. "My parents split up when I was fifteen. My mom died five years later. I was mad at my dad; I didn't see him for years and I thought I didn't care about it. Then one day-"

"He came home, gave you a nice profound little speech, and now everything's all hunky dory," Nicole predicted sarcastically. "Save your breath. I've heard it all before."

Chase shook his head. He wished that had happened. "No," he said quietly. "My dad's dead, Nicole. He died of lung cancer. I used to think that not caring hurt less, too, but I was wrong. It hurts more if you don't care. My dad's gone now, and I'll never see him again. I wish now that I'd at least tried to make things right with him, because then I'd know there was a chance. But I never did." He took a shaky breath. "And now I wonder every day what might have happened if I'd just made an effort."

Nicole was looking at her hands, clearly thinking about what he'd said.

"Someday your dad's gonna be gone, too, Nicole," Chase continued gently. "And when he is, you'll have one of two things: a lot of regrets or a memory that you at least gave it a shot."

Nicole glanced up, her eyes glassy. Chase pretended not to notice. "You don't have a fever," he told her.

Nicole nodded a little and turned her gaze away.

"The dad really kicked you out of the room because he didn't want a black guy treating his daughter?" Cameron asked as she and Foreman walked toward the DM lounge.

"Yup," Foreman answered. "Guess he still hasn't gotten over that little misunderstanding back in 1860."

Cameron pushed the door open. "What would we do if we were all the same color?" She asked philosophically.

"Hate Jews." Foreman followed her into the lounge. "Oh…Dr. Wilson."

Cameron winced internally. "Dr. Wilson! You're…" she racked her brain for a response. "Here." Wow, that was lame.

Dr. Wilson nodded. "Getting some coffee. I wonder: what would we do if we were all Jewish?"

Cameron bit her tongue to keep from laughing at the look of total discomfort on Foreman's face. "Hate blacks?" He asked.

"Uh," Cameron cleared her throat. "We, um, should be getting in there, maybe Chase has something new on Nicole…"

Wilson nodded. "Foreman? I'm not offended. I've heard it before."

Foreman relaxed. "Oh. Good."

Wilson began to walk away, and then turned back. "Oh, and it's true."

Foreman and Cameron stifled their laughter. "I think House is rubbing off on him," Cameron observed.

"How's Nicole doing, Chase?" Foreman was obviously eager to put the whole conversation behind him.

"She wasn't feeling too well when I saw her this morning," Chase started. "Stuffy nose, cough, and sinus headache."

Cameron wrinkled her nose. "Sounds like a cold."

"Her temperature's normal, so probably," Chase said. "We'll monitor her and make sure it doesn't get worse."

"We've gotta figure out what put her in here, though," Cameron looked sat at the table. "We can only keep pumping narcotics into her for so long. We're sure the headache and the cold are unrelated?" Cameron asked.

"No reason to believe otherwise," Chase said. "The headache she came in here with was not sinus-related. Unless she gets worse, we'll have to believe this is a coincidence."

House nervously stepped into Nicole's room. Wilson's constant needling had convinced him to try talking to Nicole, if for no other reason than to appease Wilson.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but this was something House had wanted to do for a long time. He hated having a valley between him and Nicole. She was one of the few people in the world he actually wanted a relationship with. But Nicole was stubborn to the point of boneheadedness, just like her old man. House was more than prepared to get kicked out of the room. "Nicole."

Nicole looked at him. "You're like a horsefly. I step on you and you keep coming back."

Well, this was getting off to a fine start. House bit his tongue to hold in a sarcastic response. "I need to talk to you," he said calmly.

"I don't have anything to say to you," Nicole said simply.

House fought the urge to get annoyed. "Well, I have something to say to you. Will you listen?"

"Once you've said it, do you promise to go away?" Nicole asked.

Those words cut straight through House's heart-if he had one-but he tried not to show it. "If that's what you want."

"Fine," Nicole conceded. "Jabber away."

House sat down in the chair by Nicole's bed. "Listen," he said. "I don't even know where to start." It was true. He didn't know.

"I can think of a place."

"I thought you had nothing to say to me," House said, unable to keep from being a bit amused.

"I just came up with something," Nicole shot back. "Why did you stop loving me after Mom died?"

"I never stopped loving you, Nicole," House countered.

"Then why wouldn't you let me come see you when you had your infarction?" Nicole asked.

"I didn't want you to see me like that," House explained.

"Yeah, your pride was more important to you than your own daughter." Nicole was getting angry.

House leaned forward. "Nicole, that's not true."

"Oh, stop with the BS!" Nicole snapped. "It is true! Mom had been dead less than two months, and I thought you were dying too! I didn't care that you couldn't walk! OK? I didn't care! I just wanted to see you! I was scared! I needed you, Dad! I needed you and you weren't there!"

That was a little more venom than House had been prepared for. He took a moment to recover. "Nicole-"

"Ow." Nicole brought her hand to her head.

"Nicole?" House sat up straighter.

"Ow." Nicole began breathing harder. Her pain was increasing.

"Nicole?" House stood up, concern taking over any anger. "Honey?"

Nicole doubled over in pain, clutching at her head with both hands.

Panic surged through House's system. He hopped/limped over to the door. "Someone get in here!" He barked down the hall. "Now!"

Nicole was now curled onto her side, still holding her head. House hobbled back over to her bed. He wasn't going to abandon her this time. "Nicole?" He asked tentatively, putting a hand on her shoulder. She was shaking-a very bad sign.

"Ow…Daddy…" Nicole whimpered.

"Dr. House, we're going to have to ask you to leave," one of the doctors said.

"What's wrong with her?" House asked, fatherly worry taking over doctorly protocol.

"Please, you need to leave," the doctor said, gently pushing House out of the room.

House stood frozen where he was. He couldn't move. A hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him into the hallway. It was Wilson, but House barely noticed. "Close the blinds." He heard a doctor say.

The beige blinds slid shut. House covered his eyes with his free hand while the other gripped his cane so tightly that its imprint would probably be etched on his hand for all eternity. Wilson cautiously rubbed his back.

"She's gone, House. I'm sorry."

He'd known for a week that he'd hear those words. But that didn't make them any easier to accept. House just nodded, not trusting his voice. Dr. Young gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and left.

House picked his head up and looked into Darlene's room. "Goodbye, Beautiful," he whispered hoarsely. The burn had left Darlene unrecognizable. Even if she'd survived, she never would have looked the same. The acid had burned her eyes and she would most likely have been blind.

He didn't care. She was still his Darlene, whether she couldn't see or couldn't talk or couldn't do anything else. He still loved her.

House sat down on the couch behind him dropped his head into his hands, trying to ignore the burning sensation in his eyes.

"House?"

House picked his head up and saw Wilson standing next to him. The oncologist's boyish face blanched. "Oh, no."

House nodded, tears finally overwhelming him.

"Oh, gosh, Greg, I'm sorry." Wilson sat down and placed an arm around House's shoulders.

House hadn't wept in ages. He honestly couldn't remember the last time something had brought him to tears. He hadn't missed it, either. In a better mood, he might have wondered what exactly it was that teenage girls found so enjoyable about this.

Darlene was dead. Gone. Forever.

Forever.

He'd never hug her again, never kiss her again, never see her smile or hear her laugh. He'd never get home from a bad day at work and watch her listen with a patient smile as he described all the stupid people who'd come through the clinic that day. After every diatribe, she'd do the same thing: pat his arm (or kiss his cheek, if they happened to be sitting down) and say, "I love you, Greg. And don't worry. It'll all look better in the morning." She was such an eternal optimist-a good complement to his sarcasm and cynicism.

Several minutes later, House drew in a ragged breath and slumped against Wilson's shoulder. He didn't feel any better; he just didn't have the energy to cry anymore.

"Does Nicole know yet?" Wilson asked gently.

House shook his head, tears welling in his eyes again. "I really don't want to tell her." He'd encouraged Nicole to go to gymnastics today; she hadn't been since her mother's accident and it would be a good distraction.

"When's her practice over?" Wilson asked. "We could call the gym and I could go get her, if you want to get this over with."

House shook his head. "No." He wiped his eyes. "No. Let her have two more hours of happiness. Wish I did."

They sat there for the next two and a half hours until Nicole got to the hospital. Every time House thought he was OK, he'd think about having to tell Nicole her mother was dead and he'd break down all over again. He'd told dozens of children their parents hadn't survived an illness or operation. Years of medical training told him to be detached; years of being a dad told him that would be impossible. He couldn't just say, "Your mom didn't make it. We did everything we could."

"Nicole's here," Wilson said.

House looked up and saw Nicole, clad in gray sweatpants and a white sweatshirt that read TALL GYMNASTS ARE SEXY across the front in big red letters, wandering through the hall. If she knew, she wasn't showing it. That meant very little with Nicole, though. She had a good game face when the need arose.

"I'll leave you two alone," Wilson said, squeezing House's shoulder and getting up to leave.

House stood, feeling bone weary and dreading what he had to do. "Nicole." His voice sounded harsh and scratchy even in his own ears.

Nicole stopped in front of him. "Mom's dead." It was a matter-of-fact statement, not a question. "Her room's empty, Dr. Wilson left as soon as he saw me, and you're crying."

At least she'd figured it out on her own. House looked at her blankly, at a total loss for words.

"Sh-she is, isn't she?" Nicole's brave front was cracking.

House closed his eyes and nodded.

Nicole covered her face with both hands and shook her head. "No."

"Nicole…"

"No!" Nicole said, louder this time. She backed away, her hands moving to cover her ears.

"Nicole." House lunged forward and hugged Nicole tightly, trying to keep her from backing into some poor unsuspecting candy striper and adding insult to injury.

Nicole buried her face in his chest and began to sob. "Mom…"

House took his hand down from his eyes. The blinds were open, and Nicole was lying still as death on the bed. "What's wrong with her?" House asked the doctor standing near the door.

The doctor-Edwards, House thought his name was-shrugged. "We don't know."

House looked back at his daughter, trying to ignore the terrible feeling in his gut. It was the same feeling he'd had when he learned of Darlene's accident: he was completely, totally, and utterly helpless.