Chapter Text
Dr. Gregory House sat in his office, surrounded by the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, lost in thought. Despite his reputation as a brilliant diagnostician, he found himself at a loss with his current patient. Frustration creased his brow as he pondered why his intellect seemed to fail him at this crucial moment.
With a heavy sigh, he rose from his chair, the weight of his uncertainty evident in the way he leaned on his cane for support. Determined to uncover the truth, he made his way to the laboratory, his mind already racing with possibilities and doubts alike.
In the lab, House spotted Cameron, Chase, and Foreman conducting tests on their patient. He entered, attempting to be discreet, but couldn't resist making a dramatic entrance, slamming his cane on the bench. The three of them jumped in response to the sudden noise.
"What have we got?" House demanded, his tone cutting through the tension in the room.
Chase was the first to speak. "Genetic panel is negative, no genetic disorders," he reported.
"ANA is negative," Cameron followed up.
The patient they were treating was a 21-year-old man with neurological symptoms, presenting with confusion and fever.
"It could be Meningitis," Foreman suggested.
Then House's phone rang. He retrieved the offending device from his pocket, tapping and sliding to answer before putting the phone to his ear. “Hello?"
"Greg, it's mom.”
"Mom," House replied, softening his voice as he spoke. Three sets of eyes turned towards him, their attention caught by the conversation.
"It's your dad. He's dead.”
House, as if struck by a sudden force, slid down to the ground, his mind lost in a whirlwind of shock. His relationship with his father had always been complex, and this news hit him hard. As he grappled with the weight of the revelation, he felt a presence beside him and glanced up to see Cameron sitting next to him, offering silent support.
House’s expression remained blank as Cameron retrieved his phone from his hand. He watched as she answered the call, his mother's voice sounding distant and tinny through the device. The attention of those around him shifted towards House, their curious gazes converging as they gathered around him in a silent display of pity.
House despised his father, so why was he feeling this overwhelming wave of emotion? Not since he was a child had he experienced such a strong urge to rock back and forth, as if seeking solace in the rhythmic motion.
So he did, rocking back and forth, his hands instinctively moving to cover his ears as if to block out the world around him. The news of his father's death seemed to unlock something deep within him, allowing him to revert to a coping mechanism from his childhood. The man was dead; surely he wouldn't hurt him for rocking. It was a familiar gesture, reminiscent of the times when he was a kid, seeking comfort in the rhythm of movement when the world felt overwhelming and uncertain.
In the meantime, Wilson sat in his office, expecting House to barge in at any moment for their routine lunch outing. He was engrossed in paperwork when his pager beeped, an antiquated device that seemed out of place in the year 2014. It was a message from Cameron, which puzzled him. Frowning, he stood up, curious to find out why Cameron was paging him instead of House.
He went straight to the lab, but what he saw shocked him. House, usually composed and in control, was rocking back and forth, his discarded cane lying on the floor beside him. Wilson was taken aback by the sight. Cameron sat close by his side, her presence offering support, but she refrained from touching him, respecting his space in this moment of vulnerability.
“Greg!" Wilson exclaimed, turning to Cameron who was also visibly concerned. "What happened?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.
Cameron hunched over, her youthful features etched with concern as she explained, "We were talking about the case, and he got a phone call. He just collapsed and started rocking back and forth." She sighed heavily. “His mom called, his dad died.”
"Oh," Wilson said, extending his arms for a hug, but House moved away. Instead, Wilson retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed Blythe House for details about what he had told his husband. He knew that his husband and his father-in-law never got along, evidenced by House’s surname change to Wilson when they got married.
"Hello," Blythe House answered.
"What did you tell him?" Wilson's tone was not kind towards House's mom. Blythe House's naivety and trusting nature, especially towards her husband, were particularly annoying to Wilson. He believed that her tendency to trust her husband too easily had contributed to Greg's trust issues.
"Nothing, I just told him that he ought to deliver a eulogy. He didn't say anything," Blythe House said, her voice sounding sad to Wilson's ears.
His voice softened a fraction as he replied, "I'll talk to him." He believed it was time to let bygones be bygones; after all, the man was dead. As he hung up, he never would have anticipated the problems they would face in the next couple of months.