Chapter 30 "Over the Rainbow"

Friday night. House's place. It was late.

They were both in their skivvies.

House stood beside Wilson in the kitchen for awhile, helping him occupy his mind while he cooked a batch of pork chops. (Wilson told House the chops were from kosher pigs, to which House had reacted by laughing and choking and then spraying a mouthful of beer all over the cook).

The late meal was because Wilson needed to take his thoughts off his kid brother by doing something that involved getting his hands very messy and his mind comfortably blanked! Breaded pork chops filled the bill. He didn't feel very Jewish at the moment.

House had peeled a few potatoes while perched atop one of the counter stools, but when his leg started to make him antsy, Wilson chased him into the living room where he now sat noodling around on the piano. A few measures of "Wunderbar" tinkled out of the treble clef.

House was the only person Wilson knew who could carry on a detailed conversation while playing improvisational passages on a piano. But then House was the only person Wilson knew who could do a lot of unusual things! Snark, for instance, accumulated inside his fertile brain and came out his caustic mouth in a never-ending flow of one-liners that would have made Jay Leno covet him as a gag writer. His gifts in the art of healing were nothing less than divine mysticism, although House might have had something to say about that if he knew what Wilson was thinking. He was the closest thing Wilson had ever witnessed to the multi-level mind that Roddenberry had created forty years before with the character of Mr. Spock.

House's voice carried to the kitchen over the lilting strains of "Wunderbar." "Hey Wilson … I've been thinking …"

"Thinking? You? How quaint!" Wilson licked the egg and cracker meal off his fingers, smiling to himself. He turned down the burner under the potatoes. "What?" He had baked corn in the oven and the apartment was a "Mom and Pop's Diner" of enticing aromas.

"I've been known to think once in awhile, y' know … if there's nothing else to keep me amused." Gregg did not miss a beat of the song.

"So tell me!" Their voices echoed back and forth between kitchen and living room, and it put Wilson in mind of an old married couple.

"I'm a little amazed at your decision not to bail your juvenile delinquents out of the hoosegow. Tell me why."

"Really? It was kinda tough, you know. I wanted to protect them, but if I did that, I would just be giving them permission to do something stupid again. Best they know now that I'm not the pushover they thought I was."

"Actually, 'pushover' isn't the word I had in mind. More like … 'Patsy'! But it's none of my business, although I agree with you. I think you're helping them more this way, by making them responsible for their own actions. When are they being arraigned? Did Captain Ford say anything?"

"Probably tomorrow sometime, he said … and I don't even think I'm going. I'm not sure if I trust myself not to interfere. They have to accept what's coming to them … and I'm not hiring an attorney either. Part of the punishment should be putting up with a court-appointed lawyer. Do you think that's too harsh? He is crippled, you know!"

The piano went quiet for a moment, and the volume of House's voice rang true with the surprise of his admission: "So am I, Wilson! So what? I don't steal the livelihood from little old men. If I did, I would expect to pay the consequences."

Wilson turned the heat way down on the pork chops and placed a lid over the pan. He wiped his hands on a tea towel and walked into the living room. Quietly, he sat down beside Gregg on the piano bench and leaned his head gently against his friend's shoulder. "House … I didn't mean to …"

"Shhh! Stop it! I know." Again the long fingers began to dance on the keys and Wunderbar continued, an octave higher. "Here's what I'm thinking … You know how the disabled have become militant about their rights … picketing public buildings for accessibility … ramps … doors that don't take a damn SWAT team push open … lowering thresholds … installing elevators where they're needed?"

"Sure. And they have every right to do that."

"Uh huh. Been there, tried that. But I still run into steps. Lots of steps. And I can't do steps. I guess you've noticed." The music continued in the higher register, and Wunderbar was beginning to sound like Music Box Dancer.

"Yes. So?"

"Cripples want to be treated the same as everybody else. They don't want to be fawned on … pitied … or treated like second-class citizens … or be shied away from, the way Vince Crane shies away from me … but they still have that jealous need for preferential treatment …

"God! It's my biggest pet peeve. 'Don't treat me like a fuckin' cripple! I know I'm a cripple … you don't have to remind me!'"

Gregg stared hard at his hands for a moment as they danced upon the keys, while Wilson held his breath, wondering where this diatribe was going.

"There are some morons with disabilities who still want other people to take pity on them and let them go to the front of the line at the bank … or at the super market … or at the movies."

'Awww … don't inconvenience the 'fucked up'!'

"People let us get away with it, Wilson, because they don't want to look like hard-hearted bastards. Poor us! When you said Roger cried to you that he couldn't walk … that's what made me think of the way cripples try to take the easy way out.

"Sometimes they ignore all the things it really takes to be treated like everybody else! Being honest! 'Hey! You in the wheelchair! Go-the-hell to the back of the line! I was here first!' I'm just sayin' … we can be a total pain in the ass to everybody else! And we take a perverse pleasure in it sometimes."

"Gregg …"

"No … it's true. Remember what I said to you once … that you'd be surprised what people let me get away with? I play the cripple card, and I get away with murder. Then I walk away and laugh at the dumb jerks that let me do it. Roger's been playing the cripple card with you. Whether he gets away with it anymore … or not … rests entirely in your hands." House rolled his striking blue eyes to meet Wilson's, which in turn searched his face with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

Gregg smiled seductively. "You let me get away with stuff, Jimmy, because I'm so damned handsome and sexy and charming! Roger is a whole other story. He's your brother!"

House continued to hold Wilson's rapt gaze with his own, and found Wilson's expression melting, gaze narrowing. His own face scrunched into a fright-mask of smugness as he met the warm brown eyes. He closed his own eyes and sighed, leaning toward Wilson in return, letting his cheek rest lightly on his friend's fine-textured moppy hair.

Wunderbar continued to tinkle merrily.

"Yeah, I know, House," Wilson sighed. "Who can resist you? But don't you ever wonder where all this is going? … this 'thing' between us? You've begun to mean more to me than my next breath … but I wonder sometimes if we'll eventually end up destroying each other. It scares the hell out of me." Wilson nuzzled House's shoulder with his chin, pressing closer, hunched upon himself as though the whole beautiful aura that surrounded them might pop like a bubble and he would wake up to find it had all been a dream.

"Yeah," House said. "I do. A few years from now I'll be a burden to you … the same way I'm a burden to myself now. I don't want that. I want a better future than that for you. You're not the only one who's scared. Trust me! I keep thinking 'smoke on the wind!'"

House shifted himself on the piano bench and pushed against Wilson slightly. The song suddenly faded and he dropped his hands into his lap, fingers gravitating instinctively to his thigh.

"Could you give me a second here … sorry … my leg hurts like hell. I need to get my pills."

Wilson sat up straight and looked down at House's leg, against which he'd been pressed for the last ten minutes. "God … I didn't realize …"

House's eyes went closed.He palmed a Vicodin and swallowed it dry. His knee felt like a cement pillar. He had thrown the brace in the trash at the police station. "Isn't supper about ready by now?" Divert attention. Take the conversation somewhere else. He struggled to his feet and grabbed his cane.

By the time Wilson caught up with him, he was in the kitchen, leaning into the side of the refrigerator, eyes clenched shut in pain. He was listing to the left, right foot easing off the floor. Wilson decided on a compromise, avoid the subject for now. He touched House's elbow gently. ouse4's H

"If you get us each a beer, I'll bring supper in to the coffee table. It'll be very fashionable … dinner at ten. Just like out on 'Lon Gyland'!" The joke fell flat, but House had managed to risk another small smile and reach into the fridge to gather two silver bullets in his hand. He headed back to the living room.

They ate their meal in silence. The pork chops and the cheddar potatoes and the sweet corn were delicious. But the mellow part of the evening had fled. Like smoke on the wind.

Replaced by pain and marred with doubt …

They never got to bed until 1:00 a.m.

Gregg talked Wilson out of going home to that big, empty house on Ridge Road. Everything out there lay scattered where the boys had left it, and the dark parts of James' mind inevitably chewed over the events of the day … and chewed over them. He was sure he would be unable sleep at all, but would be fated to sit up all night long and contemplate "what-ifs".

They did kitchen cleanup together, although House was next to useless and Wilson did not expect him to do any of the traipsing back and forth from table to sink, or anything else that had to do with walking around. He did enjoy House's company though. Gregg was in a strange mood, accommodating and sympathetic, and Wilson kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it never did.

House sat at the table and scraped plates and put the leftover food into covered refrigerator containers. His long face held that deep and thoughtful look he sometimes assumed when his mind was a thousand miles away. He would ask a question from time to time and listen carefully to Wilson's ruminations on the subject of petty larceny. Then he would go back to that thoughtful look again, but James knew his razor mind was processing every word.

Wilson decided that House's efforts to keep drawing him out, also kept Gregg distanced from his pain, so he let himself reminisce at length about Roger and Tom and himself when they were kids. He found himself smiling happily one or two times when one of his childhood memories would remind House of one of his own … and they would relate the stories, seesawing back and forth in brief, concise sentences.

Later, they sat on the couch with their bare feet on the coffee table, close enough to touch shoulders, while a muted Leno rerun provided the only nightlight to interrupt the darkness. The only sound was the occasional rumble of a car in the street outside, and the pull of their lips on the beer bottles in their hands.

Wilson's warm palm rested very lightly on Gregg's sore knee, still a tad swollen, but less so than before. He was gratified that House allowed him the liberty of casual touch. From time to time the skin of his palm registered the tiny spiking of ruined nerve endings in Gregg's thigh, and he knew it hurt. He also knew it was only a matter of time before Gregg asked him for the Vicodin bottle that sat on the end table at his elbow.

That happened five minutes later …

They went to bed together in silence and drew up the covers, also in silence. Tonight it was House who spooned his lean body against Wilson's back in gentle support, cupping the younger man's shoulder with his hand and allowing his warm breath to whisper against Wilson's neck. Neither man voiced further concerns about the uncertain future of Roger and Jules; nor their own, for that matter. Both understood that the unspoken tension between them was a vast, uncharted wilderness that stretched ahead, and it was too fragile an environment to bear much scrutiny right then.

"I love you," Wilson whispered, as though if spoken too loudly, the hand of fate would whisk it away. Smoke on the wind. The reminders were everywhere.

"I know," House whispered in return. "And I love you. Almost from the day we met …"

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The telephone rang at 8:00 a.m. while they were still in bed. It was on Gregg's side. He coughed thickly with the cottony throat of morning mouth and then grunted something incoherent into the receiver. Roused by the disturbance, Wilson listened for a moment, instantly awake, reached across and took the instrument from Gregg's hand.

The caller was Captain Ford of the Princeton Police Department, and Wilson was not at all surprised. He had given Gregg's number to the police also.

"Your brother is asking for you," the man said. "I don't ordinarily do this stuff, but he'd like you to come downtown for his arraignment. Says he and LeBeque have a lot of apologies to make. They need to talk to you and Dr. House."

Wilson frowned. "How very kind of him to think of me!" He snorted sarcastically. "He's a little late."

"Well … yeah …" Ford continued. "What do you want me to tell him?"

Wilson paused at length, but House was awake and listening to the conversation. "Tell him we'll be down," he said softly. "You'll never forgive yourself if you don't. Ask him what time."

Wilson stared at the ceiling for a moment, eyes wide, as though seeking guidance, but he knew House was right. "What time is the arraignment?"

"They're both scheduled for eleven o'clock. We don't normally do this on Saturdays, but our accommodation for prisoners in wheelchairs is very limited right now. It won't take long. They've waived counsel, and there are just the two witnesses other than the Bakers. There were no weapons involved, so it's petty larceny. Your brother will get a fine and community service. LeBeque will probably pull probation. They're going to petition the court to allow them to relocate to Trenton, so they should be out of your hair before too long."

Wilson blinked. "Really?"

"Yes sir. Really. We'll see you at eleven then?"

"Yes. Thank you." Wilson handed the phone back to Gregg, who reached over to hang it up. Wilson touched Gregg's arm briefly. "Hey," he whispered, "thanks."

House pulled a goofy face and smirked. "Yeah … you're welcome. Now you can tell everybody you have an outlaw brother."

Wilson looked over at Gregg and met the other man's eyes. "When hell freezes over!" He grumbled.

"Do you think your parents came to their rescue?"

Wilson shook his head. "Probably not … but Tom may have …"

"Yeah, I forgot about him. Hand me my pills, please."

Wilson's eyes widened again. "Leg acting up?"

"Nah … just wants to know where the hell its breakfast is …"

"Don't keep it waiting."

They drove the Pacifica to the arraignment, which took place in judge's chambers at the courthouse.

Wilson had been right … his brother Tom was there, seated with Roger in the wheelchair and Jules right beside him. Both young men were back in their street clothing, and Roger's crutches were propped across his knees. When Gregg and James walked in, both hung their heads, and Wilson wondered whether his brother would refuse to talk to him again. Never mind that he had "wanted to apologize …"

House and Wilson walked over to them and sat down, nodding in the meantime to the Bakers, Captain Ford, the bright-eyed eleven-year-old they'd heard so much about, and a few people they'd never seen before.

Tom Wilson smiled and reached out to hug his brother and shake Gregg's hand. He was a pleasant-looking man in his mid-forties, a little shorter than James, and was already graying at the temples even more than House.

When Roger still did not speak, Tom reached across and cuffed him on the back of the head. "Remember your goddamn manners, twerp!" He whispered into Roger's ear.

Roger's head came up as though the gesture had jump-started his brain. "I'm sorry, Jimmy … I don't know where the hell my head was. Pulling this shit someplace where you'd never hear about it is one thing. But doing it here, this close to home … was … unforgivable. It wasn't Jules' idea. It was mine. I talked him into it."

Wilson scowled angrily. "Are you trying to say that all the other people you scammed and hurt don't count because they weren't around here? You talk like an idiot. And it makes Jules innocent because it was all your idea? You're both going to have to make restitution, and I hope the judge throws the book at you!"

"Jimmy, I'm sorry! We did it for the thrills, not the money!"

"You can get thrills going to an amusement park and riding the roller coaster!" Wilson felt himself heating up beneath the collar of his McGill University sweatshirt. "I never heard anything so stupid in my life." He backed away and resumed his seat beside House. Gregg looked at him with an unreadable expression and refrained from comment.

The arraignment and hearing proceeded swiftly. The Citibus driver testified to the fact that he had picked Roger up in the residential neighborhood at Madison Street and left him out a half block from the Neighborhood Store.

The Baker Brothers testified that both Roger and Jules had entered the store together, but acted like strangers who had met only by chance.

When Ralph "Jingo" Prozetta got up from the bench where he'd been sitting between his parents, and took the witness chair, the room came alive with avid attention..

"I was up in the tree," he began. "The big maple tree in front of my house. I climb up there a lot. I got this old bottle in my pocket that I was gonna sell to Mr. Ben … 'cause he pays all us kids for old bottles. Anyhow, I'm up there lookin' around … an' this old car pulls over to the curb across from me. I notice the car because Arnie … my sister's boyfriend … has a blue one just like it.

"There's two guys inside, and it's like they're arguing or something. They both got these Yankees baseball hats on … an' I think to myself that I saw these guys before … like earlier … driving around the neighborhood the whole morning … back an' forth an' back an' forth. So I see them take the hats off. Then one of 'em gets out, and I'm thinkin' … 'jeeze! He's on crutches! … and he goes over to the Citibus bench an' sits down. An' the dude in the car leaves.

"And I'm thinkin' … wow! …like … why didn't the dude in the car take him where he was going instead of dumping him at the bus stop? What a creep! So anyhow, he gets on the bus and the bus pulls out.

"I climb down from the tree and take off for Mister Ben's store to show him the bottle. I take a shortcut down the alleyways and get there just as the crippled guy gets off the bus. What the … ? So I hide an' watch. The crippled guy's legs are bent kinda funny, an' it looks like it really hurts him to walk. I felt kinda sorry for him.

"And then I look down the street the other way, and the other guy that was in the car is walkin' up the sidewalk in the other direction, and it looks like they're gonna meet right about in front of the store … an' I'm thinkin' … Whaat? An' they do, an' they pretend like they don't know each other, and the black guy holds the door for the crippled guy an' they both go inside.

"An' I'm thinkin' … 'Whoa! That's nuts!' So they're in there, an' I keep watchin' … and after awhile the second dude … the black one … comes out of the store and looks around. He's got this white bag in his hand, and it's lumpy and something with corners makes parts of the bag stick out … and I'm wondering if it's money … and about that time he takes off running … back down the block the way he came … an' I got this feeling that somethin' aint right!

"I go across the street and walk inside the store, an' the crippled guy is all hunched up in one of the aisles … and it looks like he's cryin' … and Mr. Chris helps him to a chair … but I don't believe his crap for a minute!

"I can see the cash register is set on NO SALE … so I go over an' whack the crippled dude on the ear and call him a jerk … or somethin' like that. An' I tell Mr. Chris an' Mr. Ben that the black dude that's with this guy just robbed 'em blind. Mr. Chris an' Mr. Ben don't believe me at first, but Mr. Ben goes up to check the register … an' it's empty.

"The crippled dude gets all pissed off, but by then they know he's lying, an' they call the cops.

"The cops find the car that the black dude is in, 'cause he's waiting for the crippled dude. I told 'em the kinda car it was and the color … and the license number, see? … 'cause I like to memorize numbers …an' I guess they both 'fessed up after that …

"'Cause here we are …"

Jingo finally took a deep breath and looked up at the judge who was smiling broadly. Actually, everyone in the room seemed to be smiling broadly, except for Roger and Jules, whose heads were down, their eyes averted.

The judge shook her head appreciatively and banged the gavel on her desk with a crash. "I will give this case serious thought," she said. "We are adjourned until one o'clock this afternoon when we will reconvene for the results of my findings." She rose, turned and left the room by a back door.

It was 11:30 p.m. A bailiff appeared to return Jules and Roger to their cells.

When the gavel banged again, it was exactly 1:00 p.m.

"This hearing will come to order!"

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"Guilty!"

No surprise.

Neither one spoke when the word came down. Jules pulled a six-month sentence for doing the actual robbery. He got probation and 500 hours of community service, working with the highway cleanup crew in Trenton, New Jersey. Roger got probation and three hundred hours community service working in Emergency 911 at the police station in Trenton.

Roger and Jules would occupy the remodeled basement apartment in the home of newspaper reporter-photographer, Thomas Wilson and his wife, Suzanne of Trenton, and everybody knew you didn't mess with news reporters! They would receive the "princely" sum of twenty dollars per man, per month from their "princely" salaries until they had made complete restitution to everyone they had scammed. After that they would find gainful employment in the community and pay rent like everyone else … or they could move out.

Captain Ford maintained that they would both be old and gray by that time! Benjamin and Christopher Baker agreed with grins on their faces as their stolen money was returned to them with thanks.

The judge made it perfectly clear that local municipalities would be alerted to the nature of Wilson and LeBeque's scams, and actions to be taken if such a thing ever happened again. The boys both assured the judge … and the Baker brothers … that it would not.

The judge said very sternly that she certainly hoped not!

Ben paid Jingo Prozetta $200.00 for the little "medicine" bottle … which turned out to be a promotional bottle from 1999 that had once been filled with vanilla extract. Ben decided he'd got the better part of the bargain. The little brown bottle found a home on top of the brand new digital cash register at the Neighborhood Store.

Jingo got his fielder's mitt. And the most expensive bike on the rack at Ace Hardware!

Gregg and James said their 'goodbyes' to Tom and Roger and Jules in the parking lot of Appleby's where they had all stopped for a late lunch. There were tearful resolutions and tearful apologies and tearful promises. Tom and his charges were on the road back to Trenton by 3:30 p.m. Some of the "Wilson compassion" had been restored.

House looked at his best friend over the roof of the Pacifica, wracking his brain for something with which to distract James Wilson from the stressful day. "Wanna go over to the impound lot and see if we can liberate your Sundance? I think someone is probably around over there twenty-four-seven."

Wilson glared at him for a moment, then grinned. "Shadow!" He said. "Dodge Shadow … not Sundance. Yeah, let's!"

Gregg pulled another goofy face. "Sundance … Shadow … to-may-to … to-mah-to … same difference! Let's go!"

"Are you sure you can …"

"Wil-son?"

"Alright already … you can!"

Wilson paid the fifty bucks and liberated the Shadow. He wondered what the hell he was going to do with it. Tom did not want it. Those boys would not be driving anywhere for quite some time!

He and House drove to the place on Ridge Road and Wilson parked the little car in its usual spot at the edge of the driveway. They went into the house through the garage, and Wilson looked around sadly for a moment. "So this is where it all ends. And I thought that getting him back after all this time, would be one of the most wonderful things in the world …"

House rounded on him and placed a hand firmlyon a slumped shoulder. "It was, Wilson! It was, and it is. This is nothing more than a bump in the road … a pothole … a whitewashed rock that somebody painted to look like a snowball. It won't melt away, but it shouldn't blow a hole in your oil pan either."

"House, sometimes your analogies blow me away!"

"That's the idea, dummy. I'd like to blow you too … not necessarily away!"

They embraced, laughing, and Wilson did not take the bait. They held each other without further words until they had both begun to relax and put the past several hours into perspective. The last few months had been a strain on both of them, and now all the hoopla was over. They'd hit the brick wall and been dropped dead in their tracks. The upside was that they were relieved of the tension and severed from the trauma. Like a tree whose trunk had been split by lightning, they were past the immediate shock and waiting to see which half might be the first to fall, or if both might weather the storm.

Where would the vagaries of life lead them now? Where could it go, and what would become of their friendship … or whatever it was? Neither man was willing to speculate, so they allowed an invisible wall to rise. Were they now together inside a force field? Or would there be an impenetrable barrier preventing their love from becoming permanent?

"Are you okay?" House finally asked.

"That's my line!" Wilson teased. "I'm not okay now, but I will be. I think I could stand a beer. How about you?"

House smiled tiredly and reached for a Vicodin. "I thought you'd never ask."

"I saw in the TV Guide there's a night race tonight."

"Oh yeah? What time? Where?"

"An hour from now. Lowe's, in Charlotte. You want to watch it?"

"Maybe, if you watch it with me."

"Oh joy! I love watching guys in souped-up cars on a 200-mile-an-hour merry-go-round of left turns … and everybody trying to run everybody else into a wall."

"Wilson, you say the same damn thing to me every time! If you didn't want me to watch it, why'd you mention it? The thing is, we could watch it in the den … if you move the TV in there … and change the bed …"

"You don't ask for much, do you?"

"I'll make the popcorn …"

"You're too generous."

"That's because I care."

"Go make the freakin' popcorn!"

They watched the race originating from Lowe's Motor Speedway in Charlotte, North Carolina. They got to see Tony Stewart knock Kyle Busch into the infield and Jeff Gordon into the wall. Then they saw Elliot Sadler run Tony into the wall so hard that the #20 Chevy looked like an accordion. They laughed when Tony looked mad as hell.

They saw twelve cautions and five pileups. They saw Mark Martin get the Lucky Dog not once, but twice, and Kevin Harvick get fined for driving too fast down pit row.

The only thing they did not see was Carl Edwards take the checkered flag and burn some rubber, and then almost knock his block off doing a summersault from the net-side window of his car …

Wilson woke up at three in the morning and turned off the TV. He pulled the covers up over Gregg House and snuggled carefully under them close against Gregg's side.

The day hadn't been all bad!

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