Chapter 19

Sergeant Doyle

I finished my banana and mango smoothie and was about to start rounds when Susan popped through the door, closed it and sat down.

"I'm going away for three weeks."

"Three weeks?" I was shocked. "Why?"

"I have a one week seminar in Hamburg and then I have a chance to do some spring skiing in the Alps with Cara." Cara is Susan's second best friend, the British cousin who has a boatload of money just like Susan.

"What about Greg? Is he going?"

She shook her head. "He can't ski and doesn't think sitting waiting for me to finishing skiing each day would be much of a vacation. Wilson tells me he doesn't really like to travel much for vacation."

"Have fun."

She sighed, "I hope to, but I wanted to ask a favor."

I sat back in my chair, wondering if she expected me to take over her patients. What did I know about pediatric oncology? "What?"

"I want you to check on Greg, make sure he's okay. I'm still worried about his heart."

"He's a big boy. I'm not his babysitter. Besides, Wilson is just a few stories down, it's his job. I look in on you when House is gone; Wilson looks in on House when you're gone."

"Wilson isn't a cardiologist."

"He's a doctor."

"Finley, please?"

"Fine. I'll check in on occasion. You better give me your keys so I can sneak in and figure out what he's up to."

"I had a set made for you. Here." She handed the set of keys over to me. "Thanks Fin, I love you."

"When do you leave?"

"Thursday."

"Great." I said it with all the enthusiasm of a dental patient.

Susan, dressed in her pink polka dot scrubs, skidaddled off to peds while I picked up my charts and started making rounds. I had just finished the west wing and was about to examine my overnighters when I heard footsteps running up behind me. It was Wilson.

"I'm going to Germany for a seminar and wanted to know if you would watch my flat, get my mail, you know…all that."

"Same seminar as Susan?"

"Yeah. The board wasn't going to let me go until Susan expressed an interest in going. They can't let her go if they won't let me go, so…"

"You get to go. Congratulations."

"I'm going to take a few days off and fly to London at the end of the conference so I'll be gone ten days total."

"Okay." I said, not really thinking through what this meant. "Why don't you have House do it?"

"You can't really be asking that question, can you?"

"I guess I get it."

"Thanks Finley, I'll get you a key later."

"Fine. Have a good time."

By Thursday morning, I had two sets of keys and instructions on babysitting both Greg and James' apartment. I had no worries about the apartment, but being near Greg was something I needed to avoid. The first night went well, no one called me, James' security alarm didn't go off and I managed to sleep a full eight hours.

Friday's work load was light. I had one operation and three follow-ups and I was out of there. I stopped by the grocery store and purchased tomatoes, peppers, chicken, parmesan, pasta and a lot of other ingredients that needed chopping, sautéing and baking. Around five-thirty the door to Susan's loft opened and he walked in, his cane marking the sound of his entrance.

He walked in wearily, eyeing me as I continued to dice and slice. Putting his keys down and taking off his jacket, he threw it over the chair and shuffled over. His beard was a little heavier than usual and his shirt was a deep brown making his eyes look bluer. He walked warily up to the up to the island and watched as I cut up the red bell peppers.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm…We …are going to make a heart-healthy meal. Do you know how to sauté onions?"

He rolled his eyes at me and grabbed the recipe from the island, read it and walked over to a drawer. Getting an apron out of the drawer, he pulled a knife out of the butcher block and started chopping up an onion. We said nothing for the first five minutes and then he went over to Susan's Bose radio and turned it on.

I started singing along with Marvin Gaye as I put the chopped vegetables into a bowl. We worked like a well oiled machine, both chopping and preparing as if we had worked together in a kitchen for years. Greg began throwing spices into the sauce, spices that weren't on the recipe, but at least they were heart healthy. He even began to sing with me.

"You've cooked before." I said.

"What makes you think that?"

"The speed in which you diced that onion and flip the vegetables without a spatula. You're good."

"I'm not just good, I'm excellent. Here taste this."

I tasted it and felt foolish. Here I had come up to teach him to cook and he was a gourmet. "Why didn't you tell me you were a great cook?"

"Because you'd want me to cook for you."

I grinned at him. "No, because I'd want you to cook for Susan and, more importantly for yourself."

"Let's eat."

I cleared up a little and then put the food on our plates while Greg uncorked what had to have been a very expensive bottle of red wine because it came from bottom shelf of the red wine rack where Susan kept the really good stuff. We went over to the dining table next to the floor to ceiling windows and began handing things back and forth to each other without asking—salad dressing, pepper, the wine, the salad. It felt like we were a couple that had been together years.

"Greg, this is so good."

"Yeah, too bad you didn't have anything to do with it."

I kicked him under the table and he grinned.

"This is a good wine." He said.

"Yeah, probably about $100 a glass."

"What?"

"You took it from the bottom rung, that's where she keeps the 'special occasion' wine. For a Friday, that means $500-$1,000 a bottle."

"I knew it was a good winery, but –" He shrugged his shoulders and took a good chug.

"I know this sounds terrible considering what I'm drinking, but I prefer the hard stuff more. However, this is much better for your heart. In fact, try to avoid the hard stuff and stick to this."

He rolled his eyes at me. "I read the literature, doctor. I'm not an idiot."

"I disagree doctor, you are an idiot if you think you can continue to eat and drink like you used to."

"What, you think switching to wine is going to make me feel better?"

"Yes. This and exercise."

"God, you sound like a women's magazine."

"I tell you what; do this for six weeks. I bet that you can't stay on a diet and exercise program that I prescribe."

"What do I get?"

"What do you want?"

"I want you to stop nagging me. If I stay on this regimen, you promise to slink away into your hole and I never hear from you again."

I think I gasped slightly. It hurt to think that he wanted me out of his life that badly. But, if I could improve his life and that was what it took, then I could stay in my hole. "Okay, if you do this, then I'll go away. I won't bother you again."

"What about you?"

"What about me what?"

"What do you get if you win?"

"You address my med school class about your angioplasty and your inability to stick to a diet and exercise."

"Okay, deal."

I gave him a smile even though it still stung that he wanted me gone. "Just think, in six short weeks you might just never have to deal with me again."

"The idea that your voice won't be nagging me anymore is music to my ears."

"Talking about music, where did you learn to play so well?"

"My mother made me take piano lessons when I was five. My father made my life hell if I didn't practice. When I was fourteen I switched to guitar, but by the time I was twenty I was back on the piano and, to keep from going nuts in med school, I took up several other instruments."

"I hear that you're very good."

"I am. What about you? Do you play anything?"

"Played flute for five years, but gave it up. That's my claim to fame. Would you play for me?"

After dinner, he walked over to the piano that Susan had moved from his apartment and started to play while I cleaned off the table. He switched from genre to genre…classical to pop to show tunes to jazz…he was very versatile and every time I looked over at him I could see that he was in his own world, caught up in the nuance of every note.

I walked over and he looked up as he played and then scooted over just enough for me to sit next to him. It seemed to be a little too intimate, but I sat down, giving us some space between us until he finally came up for air, took a drink of wine and looked over at me.

"Any requests?"

"Yeah, don't stop."

"Is that by Hammerstein?" he joked.

"No, I'm serious, it sounds lovely. You play very well."

We sat at the piano for another hour while I threw out songs and he played. Occasionally, I'd sing along with his playing.

"You don't sing as well as I play, but you have a pleasant voice."

"Gee, thanks. Well, I'm going to go home. You get some sleep, because we start exercising around seven tomorrow."

"Oh no, not seven…I'm barely scratching my genitals at seven."

"Good night Greg, see you at seven."

"Night, Sensei."