A/N: Thanks everyone for your lovely reviews. Sorry I haven't had a chance to reply personally for a little while, life has been hectic.
Just a warning: This chapter contains some sensitive content that might be upsetting to some people.
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"What's wrong with you?" Wilson demanded, striding into House's office and sitting himself heavily into the chair opposite House's desk just as the Spring sunset was about to start blushing pretty colours across the sky. House had a medical text open, his reading glasses on, and was frowning in concentration; he didn't look up even as Wilson leant forward and prodded his arm.
Wilson had noticed that House had been holed up in his office for the entire afternoon, distant and uncommunicative, none of which was that unusual for House. He hadn't necessarily been overly worried. But when Cameron had turned up in his office at the end of the day, her concerned, frowning face told Wilson immediately that something was up and that that something would undoubtedly be related to House.
"First yesterday and now today. Are you just doing one of your I'm-diagnosing-don't-bother-me things, or is something else going on?"
House still didn't answer, simply turned the page in his book and kept reading. Wilson frowned, getting a glimpse of the content of the text.
"Isn't your patient an adult? Why are you reading about neonatal cardiology?"
House sighed and sat back in his chair, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "If I asked you to fuck off, would you?" he asked mildly.
"Depends on how many times you asked," Wilson answered smartly. "What's going on, House?" Wilson was shocked by the look that crossed his friend's face. It was almost as if he was in pain, but this was clearly different to the many other times Wilson had seen him in physical agony. He didn't even know what kind of label to put on it. "House, you're scaring me. What happened?"
House took a deep breath and swallowed and Wilson knew enough to stay quiet for a moment, to let House gather himself together before he spoke. Sure enough after a minute's silence, Wilson's patience was rewarded and the words came haltingly, stumbling, but as if they couldn't be held inside anymore.
"Remember yesterday? I told you Lara Thompson was in the ER – the woman I met at Kimble's wedding?"
Wilson nodded.
"Lara had . . . she had a baby. A girl, seven weeks premature."
House paused, letting the news sink in and Wilson quickly picked up what that meant. His stomach dropped as full realisation hit.
"Oh, House. That means . . . it's yours?"
House nodded almost imperceptibly. Wilson swallowed hard. Of all the things he might have expected House to talk about, this wasn't even vaguely on his radar. House a father?
"Are you sure?"
House picked up a piece of paper on his desk and waved it. Wilson couldn't read it, but it didn't take a genius to work out that it must be the results of a paternity test.
"Did you know?" Wilson asked, although he couldn't imagine that House would know about something like this for months without letting something slip.
"No."
"And have you talked to her? What did she say? Why didn't she tell you? Is this why you faked a trial with Dr Boyd in Maternity? Why did she . . ." Questions swarmed and multiplied in Wilson's head before something more fundamental clicked in. The book in House's hand. He held his breath as he asked, "Is the baby okay? Is she sick?"
"She died. Cardiac arrest. This afternoon. One-twenty-three pm."
House could have been talking about any patient, he could have been talking about the weather, his voice was so flat. Wilson, for once in his life, was speechless. So used to dealing with death, to consoling relatives and helping others deal with grief, this time he had absolutely no idea how to make things better. What do you say to a father grieving for a daughter he didn't know he had?
"House," Wilson whispered on a long, outward breath. "I'm so sorry." The words seemed trite and trivial, but Wilson had no idea what else to offer.
House shrugged, but for once didn't throw the sympathy back in Wilson's face. Wilson expected outrage, drama, anger, railing against the injustices of the world and the dishonesty of women, but instead this quiet, muted, sad version of House was simply heartbreaking. Wilson felt close to tears himself, although he was determined to focus on House and not his own emotion.
"Have you been to see Lara this afternoon?" Wilson asked, deciding to stick to practicalities. "Have you talked about things with her? Do you know what she's going to do about a—" Wilson paused but then decided to forge on, "—about a funeral?"
House shook his head.
Wilson lowered his voice, asking gently, "Have you been to see the baby? Did she have a name?"
"She called her Grace. And yes. I saw her after she was born yesterday and today, when I went to the NICU with Boyd, I was there when it happened, when she . . . when she went into cardiac arrest."
No one but Wilson would have heard the catch in House's voice or noticed that he avoided saying the words, "when she died".
"But have you been to see her since? They say—"
"I know very well what they say, Wilson. I've read Kubler Ross. And all the others that followed in her wake. Steaming pile of crap that it all is."
Wilson wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned that House had finally slipped into the anger that he'd first expected.
"Well, whether or not you believe in it, you'll never be able to go back and have this moment again. Don't you think you should go see Lara? At least go and see Grace again while you can?" Wilson didn't want to push too hard, but he knew that without prompting, House could easily sit in his office for the next three weeks, doing nothing but reading cardiology studies in an effort to work out what killed his daughter.
"I've got a date tonight."
Wilson literally did a double take. "What?"
"What time is it?" House asked, forgetting his watch and looking around as if a clock might magically appear in his office.
"Around five-thirty."
"I think Chelsea's expecting me to meet her at six."
"Chelsea?" Wilson was baffled. "Chelsea Boyd? The OB? Why on earth are you going out with her?"
"She asked," House said simply.
Wilson let his mouth gape open for a moment as his brain tried to process all the conflicting thoughts it was having. House going on a date would, on any other day, be big news. The fact that he was going out with a female, age-appropriate doctor who Wilson thought might just be a good match, was astonishing. But it was just impossible. House could not go on a date just hours after his daughter's death. As strange as the circumstances were.
"House, you need to cancel. You've got bigger things on your plate today."
"Yeah, you're probably right."
"Of course I'm right." Wilson took a deep breath, not sure if he wanted to offer this, but knowing he needed to. "Do you want me to come with you? I could go down to Maternity with you, organise for you to see the baby. I'm sure we could come up with some story without telling anyone—"
House stood up suddenly, grasping for his cane. "No, I need to go see Lara. I have to sort this out once and for all."
Wilson didn't like the set look to House's face, the look that said that everything that was going on was a simple problem of fact and that there was a solution to it, the solution just had to be found. Wilson doubted there was any solution that would make sense, ever.
"I can tell Chelsea that you've been held up – take a raincheck on your behalf," Wilson offered.
"Yeah. Thanks. You can take her out instead if you want. I don't care if you fuck her."
Wilson winced, but forgave the crude remark.
"Give me a call tonight if you need anything."
House didn't answer, his office door closing quietly behind him. Wilson fell back into the chair, blowing out a huge breath. "Oh, crap, House. Crap."
--
Lara sat in her darkened, quiet hospital room, feeling as alone as she could ever remember. Lara wasn't particularly close to her family, had left home as soon as college had called and liked to think of herself as an independent, capable kind of woman. When her father had died a year ago, she and her mother had drifted even further apart. She liked company, loved her friends, but she didn't need to be surrounded by people twenty-four-seven. She'd travelled Europe on her own, stood alone at the top of the Eiffel Tower surrounded by lovers, visited the Taj Mahal by herself. All without regret.
But now, cradling her daughter in her arms, she felt she truly understood the emptiness of the word alone. The nurses had turned the lights low and closed all the blinds as if that would somehow lessen the impact. As if the shadows could hide reality. Grace's face now pale, her body limp and still. Lara had no idea how long she'd been sitting there; half of her dreaded the impending time when they'd come to take her baby away, half of her already wanted this over, wanted her old life back, wanted this whole thing scrubbed out by whatever giant eraser could achieve such a feat. She knew even thinking such a thought was wrong and her guilt almost overwhelmed her loneliness.
She still hadn't cried and she wasn't quite sure why.
She'd cried when Grace was born, but Lara knew that in part her tears had been relief that the ordeal was over. She'd cried when she'd seen House that one, brief time, the tears some kind of hormonal response she had no control over, as if a primal part of her brain had taken over, demanding Where's my baby? Where's my baby? over and over. Why it had been in response to him instead of some random nurse she still wasn't sure. She'd read somewhere that pregnant women instinctively respond to their baby's father; pheromones or something. Perhaps her body had recognised a connection to him, after all, she had incubated fifty per cent of his genes for almost eight months.
Lara didn't look up when the door slid open quietly, refusing to raise her eyes from the bundle in her arms in case the nurse coming in could see in her face that Lara was ready for it to be over. It was the sound of the shuffling gait and thump of the cane that made her look up from Grace, knowing who she'd see and yet still surprised when her guess was right. He was not who she'd expected. She hadn't expected to see him again at all. She was sure he'd know what happened, and with no baby there was no child support claim to worry about. He had no reason to be there.
Except.
His child had died too. All those logical reasons for not telling him – all the ones she'd invented just to cover her own procrastination – swirled through her brain again as they had while she'd been in labour. They didn't make any more sense now than they had then.
"Greg," she said, because saying "hi" or "hello" seemed wrong somehow. Flippant, easy words that had no place in this dark, hated room.
"Lara."
He stood awkwardly, clearly unsure about what to do, where to put himself. There had been anger in his face when she'd first looked up, but it was gone now, replaced by something she wasn't sure she could name.
"Sit down," Lara said, curling her legs up underneath herself stiffly to make space for him on the bed. It would be easier to talk if they were sitting at the same level, she rationalised.
He sat down, lifting his bad leg with a hand to help prop himself up on the bed.
"Are you okay?"
Lara was so surprised by the question she almost answered, "I'm fine, thanks, how are you?". But of course she wasn't. She wasn't anywhere near fine and wouldn't even have been able to find it on a map.
"I called her Grace," she said instead.
"Yeah, I know."
"Have you seen her?"
House nodded. "In the NICU."
"Want to hold her?" Lara didn't give him a moment to even think about his answer, let alone say it, because she could tell that he was going to say no. She leaned forward, almost dropping the baby into his lap, causing him to have to grab for her, the motion instinctively protective. Because of course it didn't matter anymore if she fell. Or if her head wasn't supported properly. Which was probably just as well, Lara thought. She was sure to have done those things if she'd tried to be a mother.
"Ow." Lara wrapped her arms around herself and sank back into the pillows behind her. His elbow had knocked against her painfully swollen breast when he'd grabbed for Grace. He frowned at her. "My breasts hurt," she said with a shrug.
Lara kept her arms tightly pressed around her to keep from thinking about what they were no longer holding. Instead she watched him, wondering for possibly the millionth time what sort of father he'd be, what he'd have said if she'd told him as soon as she'd returned to Princeton after the book tour, what might have happened if she had. All silly ideas now, really, she thought.
For a moment he seemed to forget that she was in the room and she watched as he ran the back of his finger down the baby's velvet-soft cheek. He loosened the white knit blanket that she was wrapped in and looked at her body, a detached, clinical look on his face. After a while his expression softened and he stroked her belly, one finger tracing down the inside of a leg.
"Long legs," he murmured, almost as if he was thinking aloud.
"She would have been tall like you," Lara said, saying the words but refusing to imagine the picture of a tall, gangly, teenage Grace. Maybe she could have been a model.
Her words seemed to wake him from his daze and he quickly – and effectively, Lara noted – re-swaddled the baby, making Lara think that if she'd lived, at least Grace would have had one parent who'd have known how to look after her.
"Are you going to let them do the autopsy?" he asked.
The word made Lara feel physically ill, but she swallowed down a lump of bile that rose in her throat. She remembered at the wedding she'd been attracted by his blunt manner, the way he seemed to speak the inappropriate things everyone else was thinking. It had been fun. Then.
"Why?" she asked.
"We—" He brought himself up abruptly, changing his pronoun use instantly. "You need to know why she died."
"Dr Boyd said it was her heart. She had a heart defect."
"Yes, but what kind of defect? Why wasn't it detected earlier on your sonograms? Could something have been done? Is it genetic? Will it affect any future children you might have?"
Lara nearly laughed at that last question. Instead she covered it with a fake cough, knowing it sounded lame. "If you want to know, fine. You can sign the papers. I don't care. It doesn't matter anyway."
"What are you going to do about a funeral?"
"I was given some brochures." Lara pointed to a pile of papers on the cabinet next to her bed. "But I was just going to go with the standard procedure. She gets taken away and cremated. I can decide later what to do with the ashes."
House frowned. "You seem very . . . pragmatic."
Lara shrugged. She'd been called that before. She figured in the business world it was a compliment. In this situation she wasn't sure, but she searched inside herself for another style of response and couldn't find any.
"I can help with the costs," he said tentatively.
"Thanks, that'd be great. I'd saved up a little, as much as I could once I found out. Guess I can go shopping now instead. I have to call work, find out if I can come back a little earlier than I'd expected. I suppose I can also make some money selling all the baby stuff on EBay." Lara realised she was babbling, going on about ridiculous things, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. He was still holding Grace and the blanket around her had fallen away a little, revealing her face. She was small enough to sit perfectly in the crook of his elbow, small enough to be cradled in both his hands if he'd wanted to. She still looked beautiful, normal, and seeing Grace lying peacefully in her father's arms was doing strange, twisting things to Lara's gut.
Something about her expression must have given her away, because House leaned back. "Are you going to throw up?"
Lara shook her head. "No. Sorry. I'm just—" She trailed off and he seemed to understand that there was no way she could finish that sentence.
"Do you want her back?" he asked, his voice gentler than she'd thought it could be. He held his arm out, offering the tiny body he cradled so carefully.
Lara shrank back in the bed. "No. No. I've had her for hours now. I think . . . I think it's time."
"Okay." He shrugged and she was grateful he didn't make a big deal of it, didn't force her to take her again. "Am I on the birth certificate?" he asked, his voice neutral as he stood up. Lara watched as he laid Grace back in her crib.
"I haven't done it yet. Do you want to be?"
He tucked the blanket around her and then reached over to press the nurse call button beside Lara's bed. "Yeah, I think I do." He sounded surprised.
"Okay."
He sat back on the bed and Lara wondered what happened now. Their names would be together forever on an official piece of paper, a piece of paper that would exist in a database somewhere for as long as records existed. It didn't matter how much Lara wanted to pretend this had never happened, somewhere, somewhere, there was evidence. At least Grace would have a permanent existence on paper.
"Thanks." Lara reached forward and impulsively grabbed his hand. She held it and they stared at each other, but Lara was either too full or too empty – she wasn't sure which – to do more than remember how blue his eyes were and to notice that his eyebrows were lopsided and contained a few long, curly hairs that could really do with being plucked. What his expression might mean, what he might be feeling? They were far too difficult questions for her to answer.
Once again, the door to her room slid open, and the woman who'd been there earlier, who'd sat with Lara for a while after the nurse had brought in Grace, returned. Lara couldn't remember her name, Dr Coggins or Dr Collins, or something, but Lara did recall that she was a psychiatrist. She felt House try to pull his hand from her grasp, but she stubbornly held on, wrapping her fingers more tightly around his, as if keeping his hand in hers would protect her from what was going to happen next.
"Dr House?" The other doctor was obviously shocked to find him there and, what's more, it was clearly an unpleasant surprise. She also took in the fact that they were holding hands and that seemed to add even further to her astonishment.
"Dr Collins," House said, managing to sound simultaneously embarrassed and disdainful.
"I didn't realise you knew Lara. Did Dr Kimble ask you to—"
"Greg is Grace's father," Lara announced. She was suddenly exhausted and didn't have the energy for dancing. House visibly flinched at her words, but for some reason tightened his grasp on her hand at the same time.
"I see." Dr Collins appeared to be working hard to assimilate a stack of new information quickly. "I'm sorry, I wasn't informed that you had a partner, Lara."
Neither Lara nor House bothered to correct her.
"How are you feeling?" She looked over at the crib, giving the baby a small, sad smile.
"Tired."
"Are you ready for Grace to leave?"
Grace is already gone, Lara felt like saying. She was never mine in the first place. Instead she nodded, biting her tongue to keep the bad words inside.
A nurse, who must have been hovering outside waiting for some kind of signal from Dr Collins, appeared and quickly whisked the crib away. Both Lara and House watched until it disappeared out of sight.
Dr Collins cleared her throat before speaking. "I'll leave you two alone again. We can talk later about organising some counselling sessions for you both."
"That won't be necessary," Lara said, pulling her hand out of House's grip and re-arranging herself in bed.
"No," House added, taking his hand back and standing up. "That won't be happening."
"I know it's hard right now, but you might—"
"Can I have a sleeping pill?" Lara asked. "A really strong one?" She looked at both of them, figuring that if the therapist wouldn't give her one, House just might.
"Sure," Dr Collins said. "I'll organise it."
House nodded, as if pleased by the medication order, and then, without a word, spun on his heel and walked out of the room.
Lara sat impassively and watched him go.
"Lara, are you sure you're doing all right?" Dr Collins, asked, clearly concerned. "Would you like to talk some more?"
Lara yawned. "Can we talk tomorrow? I'm really tired."
"Okay. I'll organise those meds for you. Is there anything else you need?"
"Can you call my friend Larissa? She was going to be my birth coach but she's on vacation. I called her yesterday, but she doesn't know what happened today."
The therapist took down Larissa's number and promised to call.
Lara was grateful that the nurse was quick delivering the little pill, and she was wrapping herself up in the white hospital blankets just as the fog began to envelop her brain. Sleep and darkness and peace. For a little while, at least.
--
House went home and did what he figured most people who'd had the kind of day he'd had would do. He drank half a bottle of bourbon and passed out on the couch.