A/N: Short update. Next up, but probably not before the weekend, is breakfast - and yes, with everybody.

(H/C)

Today was his mother's funeral.

That was his first waking thought, settling down on him like a thick cloud, heavy with unshed rain, lightning flashes throughout. He could feel the danger in the air.

Cuddy had his hand clasped in hers, holding on tightly, and he opened his eyes. She was beside him but still asleep or more likely asleep again. The stress and worry of the last week were plain on her face, and he felt a stab of guilt for all he had caused her. At least she hadn't had to arrange the funeral, too, which would have been her job otherwise. He knew he couldn't have done that. A reluctant gratitude toward Thornton pushed in, and he firmly shoved it away. Even in sleep, Cuddy was holding onto him. The fact still amazed him at times. He would have long since given up on himself.

John's voice at least was stilled; even slumbering company apparently worked. Its absence only gave House room to call himself a weakling, independent of his stepfather's prompting. He knew now beyond a doubt, watching the girls make progress, that it had been right to take them along, that they needed the reassurance of having their parents around, that a several-day absence would have shattered their security at the moment. Yet he had come so close to leaving them behind anyway. Marina's words still stung, the more so because he knew they were right. He had been putting his own needs ahead of his daughters, and the fact that Marina didn't know all of the history and reasons didn't change the truth of her words.

Did they actually need to go to the funeral? The concept of needing to go to a funeral was so alien to him. Yet Jensen and Marina and Cuddy and even Wilson once had talked in the last few days about how good it was to go to a funeral, that it was a step toward healing. Of course, the rules for everybody else didn't apply to him in some areas, but did they apply to the girls? But if they went and were traumatized by this rather than helped, he would never forgive himself. If what traumatized them wasn't Blythe's funeral but his own actions at it, that would be even worse.

Jensen. He had thought it was important enough to come up last night, knowing the timing was awful, knowing they had all had a long day, just to give his opinion, not challenging but stating it politely. And House had absolutely speared him for it. A new fear flared up suddenly on the memory. What if Jensen didn't go to the funeral? What if he had just checked out either last night or first thing this morning, was flying home early, and finally was washing his hands of House and his unsolvable problems? House couldn't blame him. Even with the best psychiatrist, some people are simply too screwed up to be helped. But at the thought, his stomach threw another twist on the knot already there. Getting through today at all would be one of the hardest things he had ever done. Getting through it without Jensen, with the condemnation of his absence instead of his steadying, understanding presence would be impossible. House desperately groped with his right hand for his cell phone on the nightstand, doing his best to avoid moving his left, captured by Cuddy, and he managed one-handed to send off a frantic text. Sorry.

He waited, counting leaden seconds. He knew Jensen would already be up, even though it was early. It was almost three eternal minutes before the reply came. Apology accepted. See you at breakfast. House closed his eyes in relief on the reassurance in the last line. Jensen was staying. He would be there today, and next week, and next month, just as always. Still, it took three minutes. Had he been in the shower or busy with something, or did it take him that long to debate his answer? House remembered the flare of pain deep in those eyes. Accepting the apology was one thing, but the pain the wound had caused was not eliminated by forgiveness.

With a sigh, House replaced his cell phone on the nightstand, and his thoughts raced back to the funeral. What if he ruined it for everyone, as John had predicted dozens of times? What if his girls saw him ruining it for everyone?

Cuddy stirred, and her first thought of the morning was guilt. He could see it written across her face. She had overslept with things to do, responsibilities to meet, details to be worried about. She opened her eyes and met his, and the guilt doubled. "I meant to be awake for you."

"You were there, even asleep." He gave her hand a slight squeeze. "Was everything quiet last night?"

"Yes. I went over twice to check on them quickly."

She seemed to cut off another statement after that one, and his annoyance flared up. "Go ahead and say it. You think they should go too, don't you?"

She sighed. "I do, but I know there's a lot more you're dealing with that even now you haven't told me. I'm not going to condemn you for leaving them here for an hour if you need to do that, Greg. You're a wonderful father to them, and that's not going to change."

"I almost left them at home," he contradicted. "Putting myself above what was best for them. Yeah, that's a great father."

She leaned over to kiss him but didn't prolong it. She knew he wasn't going to relax this morning, no matter what she tried. Better not to make him feel like a failure in additional ways other than just at dealing with death. "Almost doesn't count, Greg. Besides, I knew you'd wind up taking them in the end. I just was trying to protect them in the meantime, but I didn't doubt what your decision would be."

He met her eyes again at that. "Why not?"

"I know you." His puzzled eyes made the silent but automatic protest, and she kissed him again. "I do know you, Greg. Even the parts you think aren't worth knowing. All the pain and the scars don't change a thing. I love all of you. I wish the pain could be less, but that's only for your sake, not mine; I wouldn't change anything about you from my point of view. And I knew that ultimately, you would do this for your girls, because you are a wonderful father, and you are incapable of walking away with them that upset and leaving them back in Princeton. I'd stake everything on that. Because that's the person you are. You have plenty of faults like the rest of us, but loyalty and love are two of your strongest points."

Stunned at the tribute, he stared at her. "But you just said you'd understand me leaving them for the funeral."

"That's not the same as leaving them clear back at home for days and days. I think it would help them to go, but I also think they could deal with having us leave for an hour at this point. They wouldn't be terrified by it. As for your mother, Marina's been talking to them about death, and they seem to be getting a better understanding of it, on a toddler level, of course. I don't think they'd be traumatized by going, and it would be a chance to say goodbye. But if you can't do that, I'll accept your call on it. You don't have to explain, and they aren't going to be scarred for life by staying here playing with Marina. I think going to the funeral is the better choice, but I don't think leaving them behind is an awful one."

He looked at her for a moment, then slowly said, "I have been hearing John's voice the last few days."

She put her arm around him and pulled him closer, as if ready to get in a tug-of-war for him if needed. "I thought you had. But worse when you're alone, right?"

"No," he corrected. "Only when I'm alone."

"You mean just being with one of us is enough to kill it? Even now?" He nodded. She hugged him fiercely, and he could feel almost a joy in her. She thought he was getting better, he realized, thought this was a sign of some great progress. Of course, if she saw him totally lose it, that opinion would correct itself quickly enough. "Greg," she continued, "if he's silent when you're with one of us, then he is not going to be there today. We won't leave you alone, not even for a minute. It will just be a service for your mother. I mean, I'm not trying to downplay that. I know how hard this is going to be for you. But we can keep John away if the key is that simple. You only have to face everything else, not him, too."

He wished he shared her confidence on that. Still, maybe without John's voice, he could manage to keep a lid on everything else and not ruin it for the rest of them. He realized he had been anticipating John's voice and predictions right there in his ear at the funeral, but if the prescription of company continued to help, John in fact wouldn't be there. He sighed again. Without John along, maybe the rest of them could have their funeral in peace. He just wouldn't let himself feel anything there, and then he wouldn't be in danger of falling apart in front of them and distracting from whatever it was they got out of the process.

"I guess the girls can go."

She broke the embrace and looked at him, searching. He tried not to fidget under her intent gaze. "Are you sure, Greg? I meant it; this isn't the same thing as leaving them back home for the whole trip."

He tried to flee to humor. "You just don't want to pack all the junk to take along with them. And we are not taking that damned horse." He wouldn't have to ruin the funeral then; a whinnying and clip-clopping horse could do a great job alone.

She didn't quite look convinced of his decision, but at that moment, there came a soft knock on the bedroom door. "Dr. Cuddy? Are you awake?"

Cuddy gave a quick, obsessive check of the scene just in case it had changed and she hadn't noticed. "Come on in, Marina. We're decent."

The door opened, and the girls surged in, sleep still in their eyes but glad, trusting faces zeroed in on their parents. "Good morning!" Rachel called, and Abby repeated, "Morning!" The nanny walked in behind them and boosted both of them up onto the bed before leaving the room again, giving them a few moments of privacy before the pressures of the day insisted on starting.

House sat up in bed, watching his family as if at a distance, and he tightened up the double-fisted hold he already had on himself. He wasn't going to ruin this day for the rest of them.