A/N: A few omissions were pointed out. Okay, so in addition to Jensen, Abby, and Thornton, I also own Patterson, Sandra, Daniel, Cathy, Belle, and assorted others. That OC list grows in the dark when I'm not looking, I think. However, I still don't own House. Unfortunately. Nor Cuddy, Wilson, the team, et al.

Here's a short update. Possibly more Monday - work expected to be light due to the holiday. Glad people are still invested in this series. This story isn't another Medical Homicide marathon, but it has a long way and a lot of twists ahead of us.

(H/C)

As House drove toward Newark, his mind seemed to be traveling down a highway itself - a mental turnpike, with associated toll booths at regular intervals, the tolls ever increasing at each checkpoint.

What was he going to do about the presents for the girls? They had no idea yet who Thornton even was. Of course, they were also 2 and 3, would not yet be able to read the tags, and would cheerfully accept gifts advertised to be from Santa Claus or space aliens. The content would be what mattered to them this holiday, and the giver could easily be glossed over. But the precedent was the thing. Opening that door now would be one step closer to actually discussing Thornton with them, which was yet another step closer to introducing him to them.

They already had a reasonable set of grandparents in Cuddy's parents, who had just been here for a week, leaving last Monday. Of course, Susan was still a micromanager and worrier - the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree there for Cuddy - and Robert constantly graded the success of the world, but they were improving even in the short few years House had known them, and Cuddy's relationship with them had gotten better. Furthermore, they loved the girls. The girls also seemed fond enough of them, at least in the limited but regular doses provided, although they were also always glad to see them leave, eager to get back to sharing the house with only their parents.

Speaking of which, this next few days would push the limit with Blythe. The girls enjoyed her company in small doses, and Blythe adored them, but the tension would threaten to spill over. He had to be sure to keep things stable for his daughters.

Was Thornton really needed in their lives? What could he add, after all? And did he deserve it? Would he be good for them? House wanted more time, more proof, more testing of the other man before introducing him. He was used to disappointment. His daughters weren't.

But this box was here now. They would love those presents. Maybe this year, gifts could be from Santa Claus, and he would be more certain of things next year with much more evidence from another year's communication to add to his differential. There was already too much going on this Christmas. He didn't need this. They didn't need another element of potential tension thrown into the mix by bringing up Thornton when they were likely to wonder what was going on with him and Blythe anyway.

He sighed as he flipped on his blinker at the exit for Newark. This was Friday, and he should have been heading for Jensen soon. That schedule, too, was disrupted for the next week. He wished he could have a long discussion with Jensen about this, but there definitely wasn't room in the schedule for that. Tonight, the psychiatrist would have his own family coming in for his own Christmas weekend. No long-lost fathers in that family circle. No undertones or anticipation of tension. Just people enjoying each other's company. House didn't need to interrupt things, not even later tonight.

Ridiculous, to truly miss a shrink session. But he was already pushing limits here with Jensen, too. He pulled into a handicapped slot and took out his cell phone, calling Cuddy. She answered on the first ring. "I'm at the airport."

"Thanks for letting me know." She still appreciated regularly touching base with him, and today she was on edge herself in anticipation of next week. He had known she would be worrying to some extent on a back burner about his safety and would be annoyed at herself for it.

"Did you get that box already?" He didn't quite trust Kutner not to go fishing once the team had their patient thoroughly on the road to treatment.

"Yes, it's in my car now. That is a big one." She left the subject hanging.

"Didn't sneak a peak? I'm impressed."

"You did leave the flaps folded closed. So far I've resisted temptation." With difficulty. She didn't say that, but he heard the thought.

"I'll show them to you tonight once we've put the kids and the parent to bed." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I don't know, Lisa."

"Would the girls like what he sent?"

"That's not the point." He looked at his watch and dodged, knowing he was being a coward. "Mom's plane should be landing soon."

Cuddy obligingly backed off. "Call me later if you need to." She had canceled her own session for today, too, just to make sure she wasn't late home. Starting tomorrow, they both had five days off, the weekend and half of next week. By then, they'd probably be delighted to get back to the hospital.

"Might take you up on that." He opened the door, letting in the cold December wind. How appropriate. "Well, here goes nothing."

"It's not nothing, Greg. And I am proud of you." However many times she said it, it never lost the wonder for him. "See you at home. I love you."

"Love you, too." He hung up, feeling a little better. Of course, by the time he limped through the wintery day to the terminal, even just from the handicapped parking, his leg was ramping up again. Today was perfect weather to pick up his mother, cold wind and threatening precipitation, though not yet actually sleeting or snowing, still making up its mind what flavor the coming storm would bring.

Her plane was late, naturally. The airport was crowded with Christmas travelers, though someone in the waiting area at that gate dutifully stood up to give the poor cripple his seat. Tinsel and wreaths were obnoxiously omnipresent throughout the terminal, and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was the background music on the PA. In the seat next to House, a boy of roughly 10 fidgeted.

"Sit still, Bill. It won't be much longer. And be sure you hug Grandma and Grandpa without trying to get away."

The boy twisted away from the thought itself. "She'll kiss me. And he always makes the same jokes every Christmas and still expects us to laugh at them."

House grinned to himself. One loving family reunion, check. He himself wasn't looking forward to Blythe's physical greeting.

At least John was dead and wasn't with her. The whole thought of John ever meeting his daughters was enough to send a fresh jolt of tension sweeping through his leg. Thornton was at least better than John. His girls deserved a bar set much higher than that, though. He sighed again and shifted, running a hand down his thigh and drawing the attention of the reluctant grandkid in the next seat.

"What's wrong with your leg?" the boy asked, looking curiously at the cane.

"Bill!" His mother pulled him firmly back down into his chair, facing squarely front. "You don't ask questions like that of people. I'm so sorry, sir. He's just. . ."

"Flight 634, now arriving." Saved by the PA. House hauled himself up, cutting off the waterfall of apology. Of course, that only meant he got to stand for a few minutes on his leg while the passengers prepared to deplane.

Bill was still close enough behind him to hear. "Why do we have to have them come visit us all the time?"

The father, the one who had given House his seat earlier, replied before his mother could. "Because they're getting old, and they haven't got much time left."

"Bill!" came the shocked protest. Bill, Sr., wasn't earning many more points with his wife than Bill, Jr., had. House grinned. Not tactful but probably the truth.

Getting old. Thornton was now 75. House wondered briefly how many years were left to him, and he shoved the thought away, annoyed. Everybody died sooner or later. Mortality didn't excuse the man from being thoroughly vetted before he was introduced to House's daughters.

The passengers emerged then, and he quickly spotted Blythe, who was in pleasant chit-chat in the line with a couple who were obviously Bill's grandparents, all three heading straight for them. Both of the others did indeed look like they had one foot in the grave, easily in their 80s and neither looking healthy, the woman with the swollen ankles of CHF, the man with the wheeze of a long-term smoker and twitching fingers that were already anticipating that next cigarette after the enforced abstinence on the flight. Of course, with this fresh reminder, House couldn't help notice that Blythe herself was now obviously a senior citizen, too, though younger and in better shape than they were. When had her hair gone gray? Years and years ago, fought off determinedly by coloring at first, of course, but he hadn't really noticed even so. She had always just been his mother, an identity apart from physical changes. Thornton's hair was beyond gray to pure silver now, which it hadn't been at John's funeral, and the stress lines of the last few years since then were obvious, even though he had recognized the man instantly from the stand at the trial. Undoubtedly, Thornton was getting older.

"Greg!" Blythe's smile and voice shook him out of abstraction, and he went forward dutifully to submit to the maternal hug and kiss. Thornton retreated into the back of his thoughts. Right now, there was just his mother. Blythe squeezed him painfully tightly, then stepped back for a look. "You're too thin, Greg. Have you been eating?"

"No, actually, I haven't had a bite at all since the last time I saw you. Months and months. I knew I was forgetting something."

"Oh, Greg." She tucked his left arm under her right, and they started for the baggage claim. "How are the girls?"

"They're great." He couldn't help relaxing a little, thinking of his daughters, their boundless enthusiasm in this month of sequential holidays.

"And Lisa?'

"She's fine, too. You'll see all of them for yourself in another hour or so." Blythe had used a quad cane for slight residual balance issues since her severe car accident a few years ago. Between that and his own third wooden leg, their progress toward baggage was slow, and the suitcases were clearing out by the time they reached the carousel.

"It's the blue one, dear."

"Just one?" House grabbed it, testing. He could probably carry this himself, left-handed. That would save having to round up an airline worker in the Christmas rush.

"Yes. Are you sure that's not too heavy, Greg? Don't forget about . . ."

"I can't forget about it," he snapped, then took a deep breath. He always felt guilty losing patience with her. "Sorry."

"It's okay." She gave his arm a pat. "I do have presents for the girls, but they're small ones, fortunately. I managed to wedge everything in one suitcase."

One heavy suitcase. House forced himself not to react as he limped for the exit, though he could feel the pull against his whole balance, reaching across to include the half-muscle on the right quad. At least they had the close parking spot. "Only presents for the girls?" he asked pointedly.

"Don't worry, I didn't forget you. Or Lisa." Blythe waited until the suitcase was stowed and they were in the car to bring up the subject he'd dreaded. "I'm so glad we're going to go over things, Greg. We've needed this."

"Next week," he said firmly. "First, we're having Christmas. This whole weekend is just for the girls, and nothing about the past is going to come up then. We'll talk next week. Two separate parts to this visit."

"Of course. I understand, dear. I'll wait." She looked out at the city as he pulled onto the road. "It's so gray and cold here."

"It's December in Jersey, Mom. Cold days happen." He unconsciously ran a hand down his thigh again, missing last week's warmer and more barometrically friendly weather.

"Are you okay, Greg?"

"Fine," he insisted. Scrambling for some alternative subject to catch and hold her attention, he picked the first one that came to mind. "I've been. . ." He slammed to a verbal halt a second later.

"You've been what?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me, Greg. What is it?"

He debated for a moment, then tossed it on out, suddenly seeing the possibility of increasing his information. This would no doubt have come up next week anyway. "I've been talking to Thornton the last few months."

She was delighted even if surprised. "That's wonderful. How often do you talk to him? How is he? I haven't heard from him in a few years, not since his wife got very sick. I thought he was all tied up with her."

"She died about a year and a half ago."

"Poor Thomas. He really loved her. I'm glad you're talking to him, Greg. He's a good man. Is that why you asked me back at the trial not to talk to him if he called?"

"Yes. He's been out of the loop, like you said. I didn't want you giving him everything, especially about the girls."

"They're his granddaughters, Greg.'

"I know that. Biologically, at least. But I am talking to him myself, so you don't have to. He's been telling me about the music. You never told me he bought the piano, Mom."

"I couldn't tell you that when you thought he was just a friend, but I did try later, Greg." He looked over at her, surprised. "You didn't want to talk about him. I have tried a few times since John died."

Replaying the past, he had to concede that point. He had cut her off ruthlessly more than once, much as Wilson had with him on the trip to John's funeral. He shifted in his seat. "Anyway, is there anything else he paid for?"

"The piano lessons, of course. He sent me money every quarter. There were a few little things, concert tickets occasionally. It was difficult, because he couldn't actually pay child support, although he mentioned feeling like he should several times. But I couldn't keep any of his money or spend it myself, dear. John would have noticed. He kept close tabs on things."

House's face tightened on the reminder of that, and Blythe noticed and changed the subject. "But let's not talk about the bad things, like you said. At least not yet."

He unclenched a little. She was getting better in ways, the therapy helping her, and even during the bad times, she had at least always been there. Her lack of knowledge had even let him pretend once in a while in moments when they were alone that something was normal, and that brief respite, even if an illusion, had helped him in the midst of everything. She was the longest constant in his life. "Right. We'll get into the past later, but first, this weekend is for the girls. You'll have to hear Abby play the piano. You won't believe it."

Blythe looked at him fondly. "I would believe it, Greg. I saw how you took to it like a duck to water when you started. But yes, I'd love to hear her. So you are talking to Thomas about them yourself?"

House tightened up again, remembering the box in Cuddy's car. That would have to have a decision of some sort made on it this weekend during the two good Christmas days. It wouldn't wait for the planned tensions of next week. "Yes," he said flatly. His tone closed that subject, and Blythe heard the door shut.

"How's Rachel? You said she didn't really want to play the piano as much lately, but is she still crazy about animals?"

Gratefully, he followed her into conversation purely about his daughters for the rest of the drive home.