A/N: Finally, the conclusion of what I honestly thought would be one chapter. Things often get longer on screen than they were mentally. Back to House next. Thanks for the reviews.

(H/C)

There was silence for a moment. Thomas thought he was making some gains here, but they were grudging gains. The secrecy had hurt them deeply, and Thomas couldn't approach all of that. He knew and they knew that part of the issue that had necessitated deception was their own relationship with Lisa, not merely Greg's desire to go slowly. But they weren't ready to admit their mistakes with their daughter yet, and if they ever were, he knew it wouldn't be to him. To even start to go there now would only result in them freezing up on him completely.

Robert retreated to the bottom line, defined in dollars. "I suppose you never paid child support," he said. "You couldn't without giving yourself away." He acknowledged that fact at least but clearly still thought that it had been very convenient.

"No, I couldn't," Thomas admitted. "I did give Blythe money from time to time for things for Greg, but arranging it was complicated. John kept a very tight eye on the household budget. It had to be under the table; we used a couple of people she trusted as intermediary, but even they didn't know who I was."

"How much?" Robert asked. "Over all the years he was growing up, what was the total?"

Thomas met his eyes directly. "I don't know. I never added it all up."

Both of the Cuddys were taken aback at that. "You have to have some idea," Susan insisted.

"I have a rough idea," Thomas agreed. "But I never kept strict track of it to the penny." That trait was carryover from his uncle, the banker in Cleveland who had distilled everything to its value in exact dollars and cents. Thomas' teen years with him had been a ceaseless recital of the perils of financial irresponsibility, usually with emphasis on his father's poor choice of a practical career and the inevitable downfall that would have led to eventually had he lived. His uncle had doggedly tried to correct those deficiencies in education and train the three new additions to his household in proper financial management.

Thomas, of course, had rebelled. All three siblings had resented it, but he had had the most fight in him when pushed, and he also had had the longest sentence trapped in that house of finance. During his teen years, he was intentionally as irresponsible as he could be with his allowance, spending it on unneeded things, wasting it, sometime even deliberately losing it. (And if he had lost it now and then in front of somebody who truly needed it, that was his own business.) His uncle had tried harder. Thomas had resented it more. His eventual escape into the Marines had been a breath of deliciously unpriced fresh air.

Naturally, he had had to apply budgeting skills once out on his own, and he had learned to and done a good job with it. But he always refused, as a point of principle, to ever have his expenses totally match the budget. Always there would be something, even if small. An extra book. A milkshake. A few extra dollars paid on one bill. Always something not on that monthly list so it wouldn't balance to the cent, a holdover refusal to worship at the budget altar that his uncle had practiced devoutly in front of all his life. Emily, much more bottom-line minded, though just practical and not with his uncle's fanaticism, had understood, bless her. After their first argument on money, once he had explained, she never again in their entire marriage commented on his spending outside the lines - and he carefully went even a shorter if untotalled distance outside them in consideration of her feelings.

To these two facing him now, the idea of violating a strict budget through inattention was offensive. The idea of doing so deliberately would have been even worse, but they apparently had him pegged as only careless there. "What was the rough idea, then?" Robert asked, unable to hide his distaste for the phrase.

"I'm not telling you that," Thomas replied. His tone was still friendly, but there was a firm line there, letting his dug-in heels show. He refused to let these two define him as a dollar amount. "What I could do without John knowing, I did. The total doesn't matter."

Robert's jaw tightened. He didn't like that answer at all, but he recognized a stone wall when he saw one.

Jet chose that moment to emerge, his head popping back out from under Thomas' arm. He watched the Cuddys for a moment, and Thomas stroked him. He gave a short, tentative purr, then was quiet.

Thomas stood, keeping his hold on the kitten. "Come over here," he requested. "I want to show you something." He walked to the piano. Two framed pictures were on the top of it now, the first the one of Greg playing that Jensen had taken last year, the other the concert shot of Timothy Thornton.

They followed him after a brief hesitation. He watched their expressions soften as they saw the picture of Greg. These two really did care for their daughter and son-in-law. Many faults in how they did it, but Thomas had certainly made mistakes of his own, even with Tim, much less his monumental error with Greg.

"He looks so much more relaxed when he plays," Susan commented. She turned to the second picture, and Thomas watched closely. Assuming that Lisa hadn't shown them this same picture already, he was curious whether they would fall into the trap.

They tumbled in without a second thought. "That's a wonderful shot," Susan said. "I hadn't seen one of him from that age."

"That's not Greg," Thomas stated.

Their first reaction was challenge, looking from one picture to the other in disbelief. "Greg is on the left. The one on the right is my father."

Robert picked it up, moving it closer for comparison. After a moment, he nodded grudgingly, but he was still impressed at the stunning resemblance. Thomas felt another twist of regret. The most difference, the easiest way to tell Greg from his grandfather, was the pain lines around the face, and not all of those were due to his leg.

Susan moved closer next to her husband, performing her own up-close analysis. "Lisa said your father played," she said finally. For the first time, he could tell they were accepting the fact of the relationship fully. Those pictures were incontrovertible evidence.

"Yes. He was marvelous at it." Thomas looked at his father's face again, the focus, the intensity, the fierce gentleness as he played. With a new wave of regret, Thomas made himself turn away. "Now over here, this one, this is my other son, Tim." Tim and Greg looked similar, too, but the differences were easier to spot. They merely looked definitely related. Greg could have been his grandfather.

The Cuddys came over to study that one, then moved on, looking at the other pictures scattered around the living room. Thomas stayed quiet, letting the photos speak for themselves. The group shot of his mother, his father, and all three kids at the last Christmas together. A few pictures of Tim. Himself and Emily. Greg, Lisa, and the girls.

Only when Lisa's parents stopped in front of the painting of the mountains did he speak up, reclaiming their attention. "I am here. And that's not going to change. But we don't need to argue about the past in front of Greg and Lisa. That puts too much stress on them."

Robert faced him, trying to return to the business meeting atmosphere. "We have hired a PI," he confirmed.

Thomas wondered how much money they were wasting there, knowing that Greg and Lisa had already covered that. No doubt Robert knew the fee to the cent. "I'm not afraid of what you'll find out," he repeated. "But we cannot add tension for them or for the girls. Even if we aren't friends yet, even if you were kept in the dark, we have to get along now, for their sake. We all want the same thing here, and we all care about them."

He saw the question they would never ask behind their eyes. How are you already closer to our daughter than we are? He knew better than to answer. "I also think that Lisa in particular would only worry if she knew about this meeting. Whatever you tell her is up to you, but I won't be mentioning it."

To his relief, they agreed with that assessment after thinking about it for a moment. Thomas thought that Greg might actually be amused at this encounter, at least once past the initial suspicion, but Lisa most definitely would not. No, she would just chew over all the possibilities and try to form minutes of the meeting on her own.

Robert looked toward the door, and Thomas hid his smile as he fought back an impulse to move to adjourn. They'd done as much here as was productive, and everybody knew it. "We are going to be watching you," Robert promised.

Thomas shifted his grip on Jet and held out his hand. "I do wish things had gone differently in how we met," he repeated. They shook his hand, but there was still no friendliness there. That was all right, Thomas thought. Friendliness could come on its own time, if at all. Cooperation was all that was required for the sake of Greg's family.

As the front door closed behind them, Thomas' shoulders sagged abruptly. Age, he'd discovered, was not a consistent enemy. It preferred to lurk around corners and perform sneak attacks, knocking the fuel tank from well over half clear to empty on no notice. Just now, he felt as wrung out as he ever had by an assignment in the service.

He was careful to keep hold of Jet until after the car doors had closed, petting the kitten and reassuring him softly. Jet predictably growled and ruffled at the sound, retreating a little closer to Thomas. Once the Rolls had pulled out of the driveway, Thomas set the black kitten down in the middle of the floor. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Jet looked back up at him, balanced awkwardly but no more awkwardly than before. "Mow," he replied.

Thomas read the subtext and delivered a cat treat. Then he backed up, placing a treat on the carpet a few feet out of reach. Jet thumped over to it without hesitation, and Thomas watched his gait. Jet was okay, he thought. He would have to do something about the couch to block that retreat, though, and probably also the chairs. There might well be unexplored triggers remaining, and even if it stopped with the ones they knew so far, he didn't want a repeat of that episode with Jet getting hung on the splint trying to find a cave, especially if it happened while Thomas was gone. He tried to set his mind to that problem, but it kept drifting back annoyingly to the past. He knew every mile marker on the road to regret by now.

He walked back over to the piano, looking at the pictures. Greg and his grandfather. How he wished those two had known each other. From there, he moved to the picture of his original family that last Christmas. So many years ago.

In spite of the intervening decades, he could still hear his father's voice and see his hands, could still feel his mother's touch. He had seen them that very morning. They were leaving in the car shortly before the bus arrived and the three kids headed for school. They planned to be back in only three days, one traveling there, then the day of the concert, and one traveling back. His mother had hugged all of them and said she was sure they'd be all right with Tim in charge, but the neighbors were right there just in case. His father had promised to come out to the stable once he got back and see Trigger. Thomas had been working on teaching the horse a new trick, rearing on command, and he'd just been telling everybody over breakfast how well the lesson yesterday after school had gone. His father had made a crack about them being ready for the movies in no time. Then they were gone.

That afternoon, Thomas had ridden his bicycle over after school, putting in an especially intense session with Trigger. He wanted to be perfect for his father, even though he knew he didn't have to be. Tim and Ellie were just fixing the meal that evening with Thomas setting the table and talking about the horse when the neighbor's knock on the door came. One look at the solemn face as they answered had predicted bad news, and in a few short sentences, his childhood had ended.

Thomas sighed. Jet bumped against his ankle and gave an inquiring murmur, and Thomas bent to stroke him. He wished he had somebody more than the kitten to talk to and distract himself just now. The memories were taking advantage of his tiredness. He thought about calling Ruth Patterson to give her an update on Jet, but she was bound to be working. He'd find another time for that some evening. Had to remember that the whole world wasn't retired. Greg and Lisa would be working, too. He considered going over to see the girls, but while Marina wouldn't mind his dropping in with their parents gone, he didn't want to push that point with Greg yet.

He'd call Lewis, he decided. They could finish their conversation that the Cuddys had interrupted. Even as he reached for the cell phone, it rang. Lisa. She obviously had a break in her day right now. Good thing she hadn't picked 15 minutes ago.

"Hello, Lisa," he answered.

"Hi, Thomas." He could hear shielded tension beneath her voice. He wondered how tightly she balanced their family budget and how far outside the lines Greg colored with it. "I wanted to invite you over to dinner tonight."

"Is Greg still tied up on his case?" he asked, prepared to be sympathetic. She probably wanted a buffer to help her with her parents. He could tell she hadn't been looking forward to last night with them.

"Actually, he got the diagnosis today. That's partly why I wanted you to come over. He'll be there, but he'll be tired, and my parents. . ." She sighed.

"Are you sure you two don't want the evening to yourselves and the girls then?"

"Oh, Mother and Dad will be there. They wouldn't stay away." Thomas wondered if they would if she simply explained up front that their son-in-law had been working and was tired, the pure truth, offered as itself. Lisa was so used to expecting problems there. Not without cause, he reminded himself. A relationship without any relaxation in it, even over a simple subject like a meal, could be a minefield. She went on now. "Besides, I want you there. It probably won't go on too long with Greg worn out, but you can help call time on the evening."

For the first time, he picked up on the special emphasis she was trying to hide. She really did want him there, totally apart from the issues with her parents. "Greg told you what today is," he guessed.

She apparently hadn't been going to bring it up unless he did. "Yes. I just . . .you don't need to be alone. Not all evening. And Greg will enjoy having you there, even if he won't say so. You'll help him get his mind off his patient."

"Not a good diagnosis then?" he asked.

"No. We're not sure if he'll fully recover or not. Just a waiting game at this stage."

He hated those. Greg did, too, and on a patient who was obviously close to him, it would be even worse. "I'll come over," he said. "And thank you, Lisa."

"You're part of the family now, Thomas. Are you doing okay?"

"I'm fine." He looked back at the family picture, but the answer was the truth. This year was so much better than last year, alone in Europe, or the one before, so wrapped up in the final stages of Emily's illness that he startled himself by not even noticing what date was on the calendar until a few days later. "Really, Lisa. It was a long, long time ago."

"But it still hurts."

"Yes," he agreed. "It always will, but the good far outweighs the bad on the memories."

A thought came unexpectedly crashing into her mind with such force that he practically heard the resonating thud as it landed. "Thomas, can I ask . . . I mean, if . . . oh, hell. This isn't a good day, but . . ."

He smiled. "What do you want to know, Lisa?"

She took a deep breath. "When did Emily die?"

The smile faded. "June 22nd," he replied. He left off the exact minutes, but that was a bottom line that he knew far too well.

She sounded almost relieved momentarily, though the sympathy quickly flooded back in. "But it wasn't this week, not right together with the other date."

"No. Why?" There was some motive behind this questioning that he didn't catch.

"I just wondered," she lied. "You know, you could have refused to answer the question. If you ever don't want to talk about her, just say so. I'll always respect that. We all would."

"I don't mind talking about her," he said. "Not most of the time, anyway. And when I do, I will say so."

"Good. Just remember that. If we're pushing in too far on something you aren't ready for, tell us."

He tilted his head. "Lisa, what exactly are we talking about here? It isn't only you wanting to know the date Emily died."

"Nothing in particular," she lied again. He waited in skeptical silence, and she caved, at least partway. "You and your son are so much alike at times. Okay, there was a reason, but you'll find it out soon enough. Just keep in mind that you don't have to talk if you don't want to."

Now his curiosity was pushing in, the mystery a delightful distraction from his thoughts before she had called. "What is going on?"

"I'm not telling you more," she asked. "I can't. You'll work it out before long anyway. Just . . . remember, okay? And please, come over to eat with us and the girls tonight."

"I'll be there," he repeated. "And thank you for caring, Lisa."

"You're worth caring about." There was a checking-clock-length pause. "I have to go now; I've got another meeting. See you tonight, Thomas."

"I'll see you tonight," he agreed. "Good bye, Lisa."

"Bye."

She hung up, and he worked through that conversation for a few minutes. She was worried that people might be pushing him too far on emotional topics, he could tell. But why? Not that she needed to; he was quite capable of drawing a line and retreating behind it. No, she definitely didn't need to know about the meeting with her parents. She would hit the roof, and it would only add to the tension already present between them.

He heard a shuffle and looked for the kitten to make sure he wasn't in trouble. Jet was once again flopped out on his side on the living room floor, splint up, playing with the leaf shadows in the sunlight patch as best as he could. Thomas pulled his cell phone back out and took a picture to share with his granddaughters - and his son, who had missed last night's preview - when he went over tonight to eat together with his family.