Chapter 15

Relief.

Sheer and utter relief.

Relief that, for once in his life, he had managed to keep his big mouth in check and had not pissed off the DA. Relief that in a little while, he would be able to return to his own life, whatever shape it would take.

As tempted as House was to head off to the nearest bar to celebrate, he knew there were people waiting to hear from him.

Wilson could wait, he would be at work by now anyway. But Stacy was sure to be on tenterhooks, so he sent her a short text. 'Late lunch? My treat.'

They met up half an hour later at a sushi bar close to her office.

Instead of a greeting, she just wrapped her arms around him and kissed him - on the cheek.

"I'm so glad for you."

He was amused. "You don't even want to ask how it went?"

She let go and sat down in a corner seat. "You offering to buy me lunch is the biggest giveaway of the century. Things must have gone well."

Over lunch of nigiri, tempura prawns and a bowl of miso soup he gave her a quick summary of the morning's events.

"I don't know Rosalyn Mercer personally but professionally she's got a reputation for being a bit of a hard-ass," Stacy mused when he was finished. "I'd say you were lucky."

"Don't know about hard but its size was respectable."

She rolled her eyes. "I assume you didn't tell her that or you'd be in lockup by now."

Ever the lawyer, Stacy then took control of the details. Driving license, passport, medical license - "I'll take care of it," she said.

"My old driving license is still valid. It'll do for the return flight. I can do the rest when I'm back in Seattle."

"You kept your old license? Did you know you'd need it again?"

He shrugged. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't."

She smiled when she realized what it meant. Yes, he had been playing the long game with Wilson, hoping he'd lose the will to die.

Then she dropped her gaze and continued to scribble on a pad she had pulled out of her shoulder bag. "I can deal with the rest then."

He pulled the notepad away and took the pen from her hand.

"Hey!"

"You don't need to do that. I can handle this myself. You've helped enough."

Stacy took her pen and paper back.

"No, I haven't. I know you're stubborn, and I know you can do this by yourself. But it'll be faster and easier if I handle this." She didn't add that it would also be safer and less likely to cause suspicion. "Let me do what I do well. At least I can do something now."

She locked eyes with him in that determined way she had. And she called him stubborn. He had always imagined she'd been quite a headstrong child.

This was about more than a passport and his license. He saw the unspoken 'please' in her look and knew this was her chance to make amends. He understood that she wanted to give him part of his life back because half a lifetime ago she had taken another part of it.

"A sentimental lawyer – I always thought those were mythical creatures," he finally said and stole the last prawn from her plate.

"They are. If you publicly claim otherwise, I'll sue you. And you know I'll win."

Stacy ended the discussion by putting her notepad away and pushing the check towards House.


With Stacy returned to work, House was at a loose end for the afternoon. He got a takeout coffee and sat down across from a bookstore.

Halfway through his coffee, he decided that there was no point putting it off and called the PPTH switchboard, asking to be put through to Dean Foreman's office.

"Make sure it's his direct line, not his lackey's extension." When the receptionist snappily asked for his name, he replied, "Isak Dinesen."

He grinned when she didn't miss a beat and put him on hold.

It took a few minutes before Foreman's voice came on the line.

"Isak Dinesen was a woman. If someone actually sold you a new identity with that name, you're not as smart as everyone thinks, House." He sounded just as stressed and annoyed as two years ago. But House also seemed to detect just a little amusement in his voice.

"You're not as stupid as most people think."

"And you're not quite as dead as most people think."

"Why did you look into the building's maintenance after the plumbing exploded?"

"Whoa, no foreplay, House?"

"Oh, cut the crap. You're just playing for time." He had no intention of making small talk with Foreman. "Why?"

"Because you left a little something in my office, House. I thought you might appreciate not being hauled back to jail if and when you decided to rejoin the living."

Indeed, it had helped. Still. "The question remains. Why?"

There was a deep sigh at the other end. "Maybe I was being nice."

House snorted in reply.

"Okay." Foreman sighed again. "When you apparently passed away, our human resources people went through your file before closing it off. Turns out you had hardly taken any vacation. Ever. Except for a week several years ago, you never missed a day of work. Maybe I thought PPTH owed you."

"Like hell." House didn't believe a word of what he had just heard. "I'm about to hang up. So - why?"

"Because your hospital ID in my office told me it would be a better idea than looking into the fact why I had never noticed you apparently had a cracked upper left lateral incisor."

Oliver Whathisname and he had shared only some very rudimentary physical similarities – there had been no time to take care of the finer details.

"Seems like you learned something from me after all."

"Yeah, seems I did."

There was a pause in the conversation. House considered ending the call after all but he knew there was more to this. But he also knew when to stop digging. Time to change tack.

"So, how's my department doing?"

"It's no longer your department," Foreman shot back. Then, after a moment, "it's going okay."

So this was it.

"Aha." To someone who didn't know Foreman, this would've sounded entirely believable. But House wasn't someone. "You're up shit creek then."

Foreman protested. "How do you get shit creek out of okay?"

House leaned back on his bench and shot a nasty look to an elderly lady who appeared to consider sitting down next to him. The woman hugged her bag tightly against her chest and left hurriedly.

"You love showing off. If things were going well you would've told me. In fact, you would've rubbed my nose in how well it's been going since I left. But instead of rattling off success stories and figures, you go with okay."

Foreman stayed silent.

"So, what's going on?"

A pause.

"I don't know."

"Again, not what a successful Dean of Medicine would reply."

"Look, House." Foreman seemed to pull himself together. "The numbers aren't great. The number of referrals and consult requests has dropped. Chase isn't making any obvious mistakes, as far as I can tell. Maybe it's just the fact that your name is no longer attached to the department..."

House could tell he was trying to make light of something he'd had no intention of discussing with him.

"… but people don't trust the wombat? Donations have dried up? Just a wild guess."

"Maybe." Foreman sounded resigned. "Could you not talk to him? See what's going on? I've tried."

So this was where Foreman wanted his back scratched. He had started the investigation into the plumbing maintenance to make sure he had something to trade if and when House showed up again. Maybe the insurance had required or even demanded it. And when Rosalyn Mercer called with questions about House, Foreman had known the time had come. He definitely hadn't planned on telling House things weren't exactly going perfectly fine. A department not doing well was as much Foreman's problem as it was the department head's problem. He had probably hoped to get him to talk to Chase under some pretense, maybe even arrange a reunion of sorts. He nearly laughed out loud.

House had expected worse. He had half suspected Foreman would want him to come back to work for him. House had no intentions of returning to PPTH. Now that he was away from Princeton, he liked his life just fine most days. Especially since it was bound to become a little more interesting after this morning. Talking to Chase wasn't a high price to pay for not having to go back to prison and Foreman helping him out a little. Besides, knowing something wasn't right made him want to look into things anyway. He might as well pretend he was doing it as a favor to Foreman.

"Okay."

"Really?" Foreman had clearly anticipated more resistance.

"Sure. He still has the same cell number?"

He did.

Just when House was about to end the call, Foreman remembered something else.

"Hey, how's Wilson?"

Clearly almost an afterthought.

"He's fine. Peachy. A little less hair and not as chubby but apparently that's a look the ladies dig nowadays."

"Well, tell him I'm glad he's okay. And you too, House."

"Yeah yeah, save it. I'll talk to Chase. No need to overdo it with the niceties."

House ended the call. Not for the first time that day, he marvelled at the fact how coincidences determine the course a life takes. Stacy knew something about Lorimer who knew something about the DA who remembered the coroner's clerk and decided to talk to Foreman who was a bit of a wheeler-dealer who always needed an ace in his pocket… and as a result of all this, his own life was about to change.

Life was like that. It turned on a dime – and sometimes on several dimes in a row.