Chapter Five: Depression

Dear Greg,

Your parents called me this morning. I was lying in bed debating if I should even bother getting up and going to work when the phone rang in the kitchen. It's been so long since I've heard the phone ring in our apartment, aside from concerned calls from Cuddy and such, so I got up and ran to answer it right away. It was your mother and she sounded very concerned…your father refused to talk to me…the lover of his only son.

Your mom wanted to arrange a lunch for us to sit and talk. I hesitantly agreed…not really in the mood to sit and talk about you leaving with anyone…besides Dr. Cheryl. Your mother persisted and I agreed to a late lunch that afternoon at the local pizzeria down the street from our apartment. I hung up with a heavy heart after we finished discussing the details, and sat on the bed once more cradling the cordless phone in my shaking hands. I couldn't believe that you've been gone for four months now. The time drips on like sand from an hourglass. If only I could flip it around and stop your death in the first place.

After going to work for a few hours I left for the lunch, half-expecting your mother not to be there. But walking in I saw her…and your father…sitting in at a four person table in the center of the restaurant. They hadn't been there for long, for their glasses were still half-full. If only I could say mine was the same.

I sat down across from them and shook their hands, your mother's warm and firm, and your father's cold and weak. Before I could ask how they were, the cheery blond waitress came over to ask what I wanted to drink. I stuck with the water that was on the table already and smiled. She left leaving your parents and me to begin talking. Our conversation went something like this:

Blythe: Hello James. How are you on this warm afternoon?

Me: I-I don't feel too warm to be honest. (small chuckle)

Blythe: It's still hard for you isn't it?

Me: Yes. Yes it is. (sighs and looks into her eyes)

Blythe: Well. That's what we wanted to talk to you about. Greg was ours too so we know how you feel. We also wanted to tell you that we are here for you. I hope you know that.

John: (looking at me as if studying me and grunts)

Me: Thank you Mrs. House. I appreciate it. (smiles) I am actually seeing a therapist right now. She helped me through my divorces and now she is helping me through this too.

Blythe: That's splendid. Yes, we considered seeing one ourselves, but we are coping through his loss with each other for support. Do you have anyone at the hospital that can help you through it?…Besides your therapist I mean.

Me: I do have my boss, Dr. Lisa Cuddy, and she has always been there for me. I-I just need time on my own to sort things through.

John: (sips his iced tea, still watching me)

Blythe: We understand completely, dear. Loosing someone dear to your heart is a personal process as well as a togetherness one.

Me: (nods and smiles again, this time a bit stronger)

John: (finally clears his throat and speaks up) How long were you living with my son?

Me: (surprised) Um…going on six years actually.

John: Would you say you loved my son?

Blythe: Jonathan! You promised you wouldn't talk about that---

Me: (answers and smiles patiently at your mom) Yes. Yes. I did love your son.

John: (sips his iced tea as if to remove a bad taste from his mouth) Men can't love each other. That's disgusting.

Me: (about to speak up) I-I-I----

Blythe: (stands up) John. Let us discuss this privately. (small apologetic nod at me)

John: (grunts again) I am entitled to my opinion, Blythe. He deserves to know how I feel.

Blythe: Jonathan!

John: (sighs and gets up, living the main eating area with your mom)

Oh Greg, if I had realized how much this would've affected your already strained relationship with your parents, I would have stayed home for lunch and not gone at all. After they talked they returned to the table and the subject was never brought up again. We discussed other things, and the conversation felt empty. But as long as your dad didn't call us disgusting again…I was fine with anything we talked about.

I go to Dr. Cheryl every Wednesday night, and I have to admit that it is helping a lot. Sure, I still wake up in the morning with a sad heart and a glance at your side of the bed. You still haven't returned to me yet.

Some days the Prozac doesn't work. I wake up, take the pills with my breakfast, and by the time I get to work, I don't feel any better. I just stare at the ceiling of my office and let the tears fall. Sometimes I get phone calls from Cuddy's office during these sad times. We talk, she promises me everything will work out, and asks if I need anything. I try to strengthen the sound of my voice with an image of your smiling face and reply, "I'm fine. Thanks though," She hardly never ever believes me and ends up walking into my office to give me a hug a few short minutes later.

You would be proud of both your teams too. They frequently come to visit and talk to me in my office for hours at a time. Also, the other day I found a fruit basket and a teddy bear on my desk with a simple card signed "The Ducklings Part One and Two". I smiled and remembered all the good and bad times we both had with your teams. They were good to you…whether you admit to that or not.

Love you Greg,

James

A/N: What do you think? Yeah I know it's been a while…I am sorry. I am going through a lot right now with my life and writing angst is not what the doctor ordered. I much rather write happy love stories so my other House/Wilson story has been updated more than this one. Either way…I hope you liked it. Please rate and review and have a great day. Thanks for reading!