A/N: Longer chapter as promised. Next one is House/Cuddy talking about a few things and getting to bed, and it will close out Tuesday night.

(H/C)

Cuddy sighed as she drove down her street. Her parents' car was already in the driveway. A quick glance at her watch confirmed what she'd thought; she was early herself. They definitely were ahead of schedule, and they knew what the typical work schedule was. In fact, they had carefully asked about the weekday schedule Sunday night and had adhered to it Monday. She had been glad to see a little more awareness there after their unannounced appearance that had shattered date-night plans last Friday.

She entered the house with chin up and shoulders back. They had to have a serious discussion soon, and her parents needed to return to their own lives. She cringed at the thought that they might just decide to move here as Thomas had, but she really didn't think so. They had routine, orderly lives already established and had lived in the same house for decades.

Of course, so had Thomas. At least as far as living in the same house for decades went; she doubted he had ever been quite routine but had always added just enough spice to keep life interesting.

"Hi, Mother. Hi, Dad. You're early." She looked around. Marina could be heard in the kitchen, but House and the girls weren't in sight.

"We know," Robert replied. "We originally thought we might have a chance for a talk as soon as you and Greg got home, while the nanny was still here, but we've changed our minds."

Cuddy shook her head firmly. "Greg's too tired tonight. And the girls are always excited to see us right when we get home. That's their time. They don't get a lot of it during the week." Marina appeared in the door of the kitchen, and Cuddy turned to her. "Where's . . ."

The question answered itself as the bathroom door opened. The girls trotted out, followed at a much slower pace by their father. "Mama!" Rachel spotted her quickly and ran over. "Hi, Mama!"

"Hi, Rachel. Did you have a good day?" She picked her older daughter up for a hug.

"Uh huh. We went to the park." Rachel, about to continue to the "potted" puppy, poked Cuddy on the arm as she realized that she had lost her mother's attention.

Cuddy was looking at House, who appeared even more tired than he had sounded on the phone. Abby, meanwhile, went to her grandparents instead of her mother, and she stopped in front of Robert and spoke firmly.

"No!"

Robert leaned over to get closer to his granddaughter. "No?"

"No talk tonight. You talk about Thomas later. Daddy's tired."

Added annoyance gave Cuddy another inch in height. "You were trying to talk about things earlier?" In front of the girls?

"No, we weren't," Susan clarified. "And we know your father is tired tonight, Abby. We'll talk later."

Cuddy looked from her parents to her husband, her silent comment only held back because of the girls, but all the adults heard it. What is going on here?

"Abby," House explained. She looked over at him at her name, and he smiled at her.

Rachel, tired of being held while her mother was talking about other things, spoke up at that moment, confident that she knew how to regain Cuddy's attention. "Mama! Daddy says I can have a pony!"

House sat down wearily on the non-Susan end of the couch as Cuddy fought back the first surge of fear and simply looked at him. "Later. I did say later, after she grows a little more."

"I am growing. Grandpa says."

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Cuddy, still on her feet, opened it. "Hi, Thomas."

"Grandpa Thomas!" Rachel leaned over, and Thomas took her.

"Hi, Rachel." He looked past Cuddy, taking in the living room and its occupants in one sweeping survey. "I didn't realize I was late."

"You aren't. Everyone else was early." Cuddy studied him. Thomas was such a good actor that it was hard to read him, but she was getting better at it, and he did seem a little more tightened in general tonight, like he had had a stressful day. He also looked a bit tired, though nothing like his son did.

He stepped forward now, claiming the room as if this were his house. "I was running a quick errand first at Home Depot, but I decided to go ahead and leave. I can finish that up later. The line at the power saw was too long."

He was watching his son as he left the explanation dangling. House felt a brief stab of irritation, remembering those first email exchanges which invariably left bait on the hook for more. Just now, though, the old man had the hint of a request in his pale blue eyes. The party he wanted on the line right now wasn't his son. Curious what he was up to, House obligingly asked the followup question the old man wanted him to. "What kind of power-sawed project did you have in mind?"

"I'm going to be putting a row of landscape timbers around the bottom of the couch. Could saw them myself, of course, but no point when Home Depot does it free to measurements. Jet got stuck earlier this afternoon, tried to go under the couch and got hung on the splint. It makes him just taller enough and inflexible enough on that leg that he didn't quite fit."

Rachel was immediately concerned. "Is Jet okay?"

"He's fine, Rachel. He just scared himself. But I don't want it to happen again, especially not when I'm gone."

House looked from Thomas to the Cuddys, wondering why Thomas wanted them to hear about Jet's misadventure. "Suppose he gets stuck while you're at Home Depot? Or here?" he asked.

Thomas shook his head. "I put the couch cushions and a few pillows in the floor around it. He can't get under there now, but as interior decorating, it doesn't quite work, and the couch is too hard as a bare frame to sit on. I figured landscape timbers wouldn't look bad at all, and I can have the cushions back for myself."

Cuddy remembered abruptly that Marina was still standing there, and she walked that direction, figuring the living room coast was fairly monitored at the moment if her parents did intend to question the girls. They seemed a little subdued by Thomas' arrival. She also wanted the last few missing pieces filled in. "Thank you for starting the meal, Marina." She went on past her as if just intending to inspect the cooking, but once at the far side of the kitchen, she spoke very quietly. "What happened?"

"When they got here, Dr. House was mad at them for coming early, but they did say they wanted to talk to you two, not the girls. And they were surprised how tired he looked. They were trying to back off, but they'd said enough that Abby decided she needed to know what they weren't talking about. They got her set off by telling her she'd understand when she was older." Cuddy groaned softly. "Dr. House took the girls back to the bathroom to explain a little to them."

Cuddy looked back out toward the living room. She could hear low conversation, Thomas in the lead. Gratitude swept over her. He had sized things up and was dealing with it, and he could see for himself how tired his son was. "Hopefully they'll wait. And watch it more around Abby."

"They were trying to change plans once they got a good look at him. I don't think they'd thought it through until then." Marina's lips tightened. "But they knew he was working last night."

"We do need to talk, but not tonight." House needed a quiet night - well, a quiet rest of the night - and then to go to bed early.

"Do you want me to stay longer?" Marina asked.

"No, no point in disrupting your evening more. We can handle it. But thank you."

Marina gave her a smile. "Good night, Dr. Cuddy. I'll go say good night to the girls."

In the living room, both girls and the cat were back in their father's lap, and Thomas was bending over the side of the couch, holding out his cell phone and showing the three humans the picture of Jet. "He's still wobbly and figuring out his balance, but he does really well, and he's improving all the time on walking. And he's got imagination, figuring out a way to play. He's a neat little personality."

House, head tilted, was purely in medical mode now, considering the splint, not the kitten beneath. "Wouldn't mind seeing the x-rays."

"I'm sure I can get those from the clinic."

"Of course you can. You paid for them. Just call up and demand a copy."

"They're probably digital. I'll ask them to email them to me," Thomas promised, though he saw no reason for a demand until a request had failed.

Marina, gathering her purse, spoke up. "Good night, girls. I'll see you tomorrow."

"'Night." Rachel jumped down and went over to give the nanny a hug, returning promptly to climb back up into her father's lap. Abby's reply was almost in stereo with her sister, but she stayed put.

Thomas, meanwhile, had read Marina's expression. She hadn't been here last night to see Jet in person and had probably heard the 2- and 3-year-old version all day, but she didn't want to intrude into that tight three-generational huddle around the cell phone. He walked over and showed her the picture, and she looked at it, then nodded. "Black cats are good luck."

Thomas felt a familiar pang at the words. Damn it, so many things still reminded him of Emily.

"Good night." Marina gave him a smile and turned for the door.

Cuddy looked at Thomas, thinking again that he looked a little tired. House looked far past a little tired. "It shouldn't be too long until we're ready to eat. Maybe twenty minutes."

Abby perked up. "Play, Daddy." She knew that music relaxed and soothed him.

"He's probably too tired, Abby." Cuddy replied before she could stop herself. House, of course, took the statement as a challenge and had to prove it wrong. He moved the girls over and stood.

"I'm fine. All right, 20-minute concert coming up." He limped to the piano and settled into his marvelous therapeutic bench cushion that Cuddy had given him. He wondered now why he hadn't gotten one years ago.

Belle, meanwhile, moved off his lap along with the girls, jumped down and walked over to Thomas, who had just seated himself in one of the recliners. She sniffed his pants legs over thoroughly, verifying at close range the scent she had caught a few minutes ago when he leaned over them with the phone, and she hissed.

Thomas hissed back, matching her tone and pitch precisely. He was an even better mimic than Abby was. The girls both dissolved into laughter, and Belle stared at him, then turned and marched off, tail waving.

House grinned. "She won't forgive you for that."

"Yes, she will; she just will pretend it didn't happen. She'll realize soon enough that he isn't going to live here, but he is going to live with me, so she'll have to get used to it."

"Play, Daddy!" Abby reminded him.

House looked at his watch and started to play. Not much time left, and he was tired, but the piano as always seemed to give him renewed energy in a reverse flow out of the keys. He was feeling better.

He ran through some snappy jazz, then a little blues, still watching Thomas out of the corner of his eye now and then. The old man seemed to be simply enjoying the music. He either had forgotten his son's missteps during their phone conversation this morning or really hadn't held a grudge. It would be so much easier to get to know him if he would stop being confusing.

House glanced at his watch again. His grandfather's watch. It had been today, 64 years ago. Two lives snuffed out like candles that still should have had plenty of wax remaining. His grandfather, so clear in mental picture by now that House sometimes felt that he had known him. All the sweetness mixed with strength that his grandmother seemed to have had. The old man was probably biased talking about his mother, though, the memories viewed through rose-colored glasses. The same could be said for Timothy Thornton's childlike enjoyment of the world and his quirky sense of humor. Hard to tell from this one far-from-impartial source if the stories were entirely accurate - or at least complete rather than just selecting the good moments. The arguments in that household that the old man had described - at his son's request - were so trivial and soon over that House sometimes wondered if larger, unspoken ones still lurked in the background.

His grandfather's musical talent was not a matter of opinion. House had heard that himself. That at least was truth, proven by hard, solid, first-hand data. He looked over at Thomas again and then switched pieces, moving into Timothy Thornton's sonata.

Thomas settled back in the chair and closed his eyes, appreciating the unspoken requiem the more for the pianist. His son's touch on the keyboard was so much like his father's had been. Thomas let the memories flow, not of their death but of the music, literal and relational, of his childhood. His parents.

The sonata ended, followed by brief silence instead of a segue to another piece, and in the next moment, Rachel grabbed Thomas' shoulder and shook it. "Wake up, Grandpa Thomas! You went to sleep!"

Thomas grinned but kept his eyes closed. "I'm old. I'm entitled to go to sleep. In fact, one of the best things about getting old, Rachel, is that you get to take naps if you feel like it."

Rachel shook her head so vigorously that he felt the air stir against his cheek from her agitated curls. "No! When I get old, I'm gonna never go to sleep."

Even the Cuddys got a chuckle out that one. Thomas opened his eyes. "I'll bet you'll change your mind someday."

"No!" She was firm. "Bed's not good." Sensing that none of the adults believed her, she switched to the other part of his earlier statement. "You're not old."

"Yes, I am," Thomas countered. "I'll prove it. Look at my hair, Rachel." He twisted a lock of it for demonstration. "People who have hair that's gray or white are old. That's how you tell."

She moved in for closer inspection. "Really?"

"Yes."

She turned away to take an inventory of the room. "So Grandpa's old, and Grandma's old, and Daddy's half old."

House rolled his eyes. "Half old." Actually, that was better than he felt some nights, including this one. "Thanks a lot, old man."

"See," Thomas told Rachel. "He knows I'm old."

Abby spoke up from the couch, where she was sitting beside Belle, who had reemerged from the land of feline offense during the music. "Is Belle old?" She stroked the cat's white fur.

"No, animals are different. Belle was born white. A gray cat is born gray. That won't change. She's pretty young, isn't she, Greg?"

"At a guess, she was born about the same time as Abby," House supplied.

"Is Dreamer old?" Rachel asked.

"Dreamer?" Thomas didn't follow her for once.

"The pony," she reminded him. "At the barn."

"Oh, yes, Dreamer. No, horses are different, too. If a horse is going to be gray, it will be born another color and then turn gray over the first few years. It doesn't stay the same color, not like cats, but the change doesn't happen because they're old, like people. Dreamer is just in the prime of her life. She's not old."

Rachel was trying to process that explanation, and House spoke up while she was thinking it through. "How do you know? You didn't look at her teeth. She could be old and be gray at the same time."

"No," Thomas said. "Little signs. The main one I was thinking of there is the face. The soft tissue wastes away a little bit around the skull on an old horse. Things aren't as full."

House nodded, granting that. "Happens with people sometimes, too, especially when they're really old."

"And with horses, the spot where it happens most obviously to them as they age is right above the eyes. They start to develop little hollows there, and those slowly get deeper. On a really old horse, you can stick your thumb down in the hole, even. It takes years and years to get to that point, but it hadn't even started yet on Dreamer. On the other hand, she was also solid gray by now, which takes years to get to. So I'd label her right in the prime of life."

"Is Ember gonna be gray?" Rachel asked.

"No, Rachel. If Ember was going to turn gray, she already would have. She'll always be a red horse."

Cuddy, standing in the edge of the room listening, hated to interrupt the moment. Thomas was so good with his granddaughters, and her parents were watching and seemed to be analyzing his words and actions even more tonight. House, too, was impressed, though he was trying to hide it. But he still looked exhausted, even if a little more relaxed from the music, and Cuddy knew that Rachel could cheerfully ask animal questions for another hour unless stopped. "It's ready, everybody. Let's eat."

House heaved himself out of his cushion. He was the last one in the trek toward the table, of course, but Thomas fell back to wait for him, and the old man spoke softly enough that the others couldn't hear. "Thank you, Greg."

House met his eyes, looking again for any lingering resentment or disappointment from this morning, finding none. Thomas reached out and brushed his arm just lightly with the tip of his fingers. It couldn't have even been called a grip, and he moved away immediately, before his son could retreat, and headed for the table. House gave up trying to sort through all the layers of the old man at the moment. He was simply too tired. Instead, he limped on toward the meal, surprised to find that the music - yes, must have been the music - had given him an appetite back and that he was hungry.