Chapter 6: A Voice from the Past
On Thursday, House was remote, unreachable. Their patient had been discharged that morning, and the diagnostics team was happy to leave him alone in his office.
Once again, Wilson was forced to ask a favor of his boss, and once again, to lie to her. "This should be the last thing I need," he said, handing over the request. "I don't want House to know that you know anything about this. He doesn't respond well to pity."
She knew the implications of the methotrexate, and she looked up with concern in her eyes. "Will he be all right?"
"After he gets over the side effects of the chemo, he should improve quickly." Of course she believed him, and it was even the truth. The lie had been unspoken, allowing her to draw her own conclusions about the underlying cause that was being treated. Why else would an oncologist treat someone with a chemotherapy drug? Cancer was the only logical conclusion, for the real reason was completely unfathomable. A lie of omission.
Friday dawned clear and cold, and Wilson was up early for a 7AM department meeting. As House lay in bed eating his morning ration of crackers, he finally remembered the conversation with Kayla. Like a fuzzy image that suddenly comes into focus, he could suddenly remember every word that had been spoken. All morning long, as he sat at his desk, he could hear their conversation in his mind.
His team was ensconced in conference room, occupied with whatever they seemed to do when they didn't have a case. In his office, he ignored all of his usual amusements—the gameboy, the ipod, the red tennis ball. His fingers moved deftly across the keyboard, and the printer began spitting out pages. When Cameron came in two hours later, she was surprised to see most of the surfaces around the desk stacked with papers. "Do we have a case?" she asked.
"No. I am just printing dirty stories out so I have something to read while I am doing clinic duty."
She looked back at him, unsure if he was telling the truth, but then left him alone.
For hours, he sat hunched in his desk chair, head resting on his cane, still trying to work through the muddle of his thoughts. Medical studies, facts and statistics were not offering him the answers he sought.
It was 3 PM, two hours before his appointment with Wilson. He walked out onto his balcony and then awkwardly maneuvered over the low wall onto Wilson's balcony. As usual, the door to Wilson's office was unlocked. He searched around the office until he found Wilson's address book. He turned to the back and found the number he was looking for. He sat at Wilson's desk and picked up the phone and began dialing.
Almost immediately she answered. "James! What a surprise."
Ah, the magic of caller ID. "Stacy. It's House."
"Why are you calling from Wilson's office?"
"Because I wasn't sure if you'd answer if my number appeared on your ID."
"We haven't spoken in over a year. What do you want, Greg?" There was no warmth in her voice, but it wasn't overtly hostile, either.
"I need to see you tonight."
"I don't think so, Greg. Things with Mark are going really well. I just don't think it's a very good idea to see you."
"I don't want to screw with your marriage. I just need to talk to you." There was silence on the other side of the line, and he could sense her skepticism. "I'm seeing someone," he finally offered. "We're, um, living together."
This was news to Stacy. Of course, Lisa and James rarely mentioned Greg. "All right," she finally agreed. "Why don't you come by the house. I usually get home by 5:30 PM." She paused, and then felt compelled to add, "Mark will be there. He only works until noon on Fridays."
"Fine. I'll see you both tonight." He hung up, and began searching Wilson's office again. He found a piece of paper and scrawled a message: I'll be home later tonight. He paused for a moment and then added: Don't worry, I'm OK. It probably wouldn't do any good. Five minutes later, he was walking out of the hospital.
As soon as he arrived home, House started searching through the apartment. One would imagine that it would be hard to misplace something as large as a shoebox, but it was a box that he had tried not to think about for a very long time. He finally found it pushed to the back of the hall closet. He opened the box, and started shifting through the pictures that had been thrown haphazardly into the box.
He finally found the one he was looking for, and he used a magnet to place it on the refrigerator door, where James was sure to see it. He stared at it for a long time, debating whether he should leave it there. It was a memento of a life lived long ago, but it could explain so many things that he was unwilling to say. A thousand words. Maybe it could explain some of the things he had been unable to put into the note for Wilson. Finally, he decided to leave it where it was.
As he drove north on Highway 1 towards Short Hills, he tried not to think, focusing only on the road signs and the Rolling Stones blaring from the car speakers. An hour later, he pulled into a quiet suburban neighborhood. There were huge lawns and large backyards, and trees meant for climbing. It looked like an ideal neighborhood to be a kid growing up in. For a while, he sat in the car, parked in front of their house. He looked at his watch: 5:25 PM. With a sigh, he maneuvered himself out of the car and walked up to the front door. He rang the doorbell, and waited until the door finally opened to reveal Mark with an infant held on his right shoulder.
"House. Come in. Stacy said that you were dropping by. She just called; she's been held up with an emergency meeting with a client, but she hopes to be home soon." He gestured to the sleeping child on his shoulder. "This is Kyle. I'm going to put him down for his nap."
As House followed him down the hallway to the nursery, he noted that Mark didn't seem to need the cane that was in his left hand, and he acknowledged the flash of envy he felt.
He watched as Mark laid the sleeping baby in the crib. "Why don't you go back to whatever you were doing. I'll hang out here." At Mark's inquiring look, he explained, "babies have the advantage that they don't feel the need to make small talk." Mark shrugged, but left him alone.
The baby seemed to sense that he was being abandoned by his father and started to whimper a little. House looked down at the crib. There were two options here: do something about the kid or have Mark come back in. He sighed and hung his cane on the side of the crib and leaned over to pick up the baby. He found himself looking into a miniature version of Stacy's eyes. The kid had Mark's nose. The man and the baby regarded each other suspiciously until the baby broke the staring contest and smiled up at the man holding him. Now what?
He shifted the kid onto his left arm and limped over to a nearby chair. He carefully lowered himself into the glider, and then lifted his leg onto the footstool. With his left leg, he set the glider in motion and found that the top of the footrest was also a glider, so that his right leg was motionless as he rocked back and forth. He looked down and already Kyle's eyes were closing. He shifted the baby into a more secure position and continued to rock. The tension of the last week began to bleed from his body, and gradually the rocking chair slowed as House's eyelids drifted shut.
Stacy checked her watch when she pulled into the garage: 6:15 PM. She hoped that Mark and House hadn't killed each other yet. Mark had clearly been unhappy about the unexpected visit, but there had been an unmistakable thread of desperation in House's voice that she couldn't ignore.
As she set her briefcase on the counter, she could see that the living room was empty. She walked down the hall to the office, where she found Mark working. "Where's House? Isn't that his car outside?"
"He's in with Kyle. Apparently babies don't make annoying small talk."
"Sounds like House."
Mark nodded towards the baby monitor on the shelf. "Kyle fussed a little, but other than that, haven't heard a peep from either of them."
"Thank you for being OK with him coming over. I have no idea why he's here, but somehow I think it's important." She leaned down to kiss her husband. "I love you."
She walked down the hall toward the nursery. She pushed open the door and her eyes immediately went to the glider, where her son and her former lover were both asleep. She looked down at the man, and was amazed at how peaceful he looked. She smiled; only in sleep was the brilliant mind of Gregory House truly at rest. She looked closer at the face of the man she had once loved. The stubble on his face only partially concealed the hollows of his cheeks, and there were circles under his eyes. She decided to let him sleep, but his eyelids fluttered open when she lifted Kyle out of his arms. For a moment she saw the confusion in his eyes before he remembered where he was.
"I see you've met my son." She paused, trying to find the right words. "Greg, I'm sorry. I should have sent you a birth announcement, or told you today on the phone. I wasn't sure how to tell you."
He shrugged, but she couldn't read the expression in his eyes. "I saw the announcement two months ago on Wilson's desk."
"I couldn't find his home address, so I sent it to the hospital. I should have told you myself." House didn't reply, and she tried to think of something to fill the silence. "How is James? I call but he's never home. Is he hiding in his office like he did after the second divorce?"
"No, he's pretty much living at my place."
"Doesn't your girlfriend object to Wilson sleeping on your couch?" Her eyes narrowed. "You were telling the truth when you said you were seeing someone, and not lying so I'd agree to see you?"
House sighed. "I am seeing someone, I don't have a girlfriend, and Wilson isn't sleeping on the couch." Stacy was still looking confused. "Wilson doesn't sleep on the couch because he sleeps in my bed. With me." He watched as her lips started to twitch. "What?"
She was laughing quietly. "You two have been flirting with each other for years, but I never thought either of you were serious! You were with me, and then there were all of Wilson's wives." House was scowling at her. "I'm happy for you both." She thought for a moment. "You know, James is probably the only person in this world that can handle you."
House shot her a dirty look, and tried to change the subject. "Looks like Mark won't be using the cane for much longer."
She smiled. "He's doing really well with his therapy. He mainly needs the cane when he's tired. I get the feeling that you didn't drive all this way to talk about my husband."
"No," House replied, standing up and limping over to the crib, so that he was looking down at the sleeping child. His back was to Stacy, so she couldn't see his face. "Did you ever tell Mark about our baby?" His voice was soft, and his back was to her so she couldn't read his expression.
Of all the things she had expected him to say, this was not it. Even before they broke up, it was not something they ever talked about. She sighed, and decided to answer him truthfully. "Not at first. It was something I never told anyone. Then I found out I was pregnant with Kyle. I was terrified that I would miscarry again. Somehow, I decided that if I did everything perfectly, it wouldn't happen – sleeping a minimum of eight hours a night, eating right, walking at least twenty minutes a day. One night, Mark made dinner, and I completely lost it; I was screaming at him because he had made fried chicken and there was no way I could eat something that unhealthy. I was yelling at him and I couldn't stop crying. I realized I was being completely irrational. So I finally told him. It made things a little easier when he knew it wasn't just pregnancy hormones."
For a while House was silent pondering her words. Finally he broke the silence. "How do you live with it?"
"Live with what?" she asked, confused.
"The fear."
The words were spoken so softly she wasn't sure she had heard him correctly. She was silent for a moment, considering. "At some point, you just have to let go of it. The stress wasn't good for the baby. Just admitting it helped a lot. I went back to seeing a therapist." She looked over at House, but there were no clues in the set of his shoulders. "One thing that really helped was that I joined a discussion board on the internet that was comprised of women with high risk pregnancies, or who had experienced previous miscarriages. It made me feel less alone, being able to talk with others who were aware of the darker side of pregnancy."
She saw him nod almost imperceptibly. As he turned, his shoulders straightened and she was aware that a mask of indifference had settled over his features. "I need to be getting back home. It's a long drive." She could only stare at him in shock. This was what he had driven over an hour for? As he brushed past her, she was again struck at how tired and ill he looked.
"Greg, wait," she called after him. "Why don't you stay for dinner," she suggested.
"No." He seemed to be considering his next words. He smiled thinly. "Thanks." He turned and continued out the front door.
She was aware of her husband coming up beside her, and was surprised at his words. "I wish he would have stayed for dinner."
"You heard?" she asked, amazed at the sincerity behind his words.
"Not intentionally," he explained. "Baby monitor."
She laughed, before turning back to watch House climb into his car. Her smile faded. "I just wish I knew what was wrong."
He nodded. "I know. The whole thing seemed pretty strange, even for House."