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"Rachel," Lisa huffs when she finally spots her daughter in the candy aisle. Because of course. "Don't run off like that. I looked away for one second, and you were gone."
"But Mom," Rachel looks up at Lisa with big eyes, exactly how she would when she was two. Now she's eight, and the habit has never changed. "You said we could get Kinder Eggs after school."
"I said we could get them if you behaved during the parent-teacher conference."
"But I did!"
"You ran around the whole time and lost your homework."
"Oh, just get her the damn chocolates."
Lisa doesn't turn around at first. She thinks she's just imagining the voice — his voice. Because he isn't here. His ashes are somewhere in Princeton, according to the obituary PPTH emailed her five years ago.
But then Rachel's eyes light up with a smile. "See, Mommy?"
Lisa is going to turn around and see a mysterious man who is in no way associated with Gregory House. She will turn around, tell him off for getting into her own business, and that'll be the end of it.
But it's not. It's never the end of it when it comes to House. Even in death, he can resurrect himself just to annoy Cuddy.
"What are you doing here?" She mutters, eyes darting to Rachel, then back at the man in front of her.
"Shopping," he says flippantly, digging in his pocket and extracting a $5 bill. "Here," he holds out the money, "go buy yourself something pretty."
Rachel's eyes light up, but her mother puts an arm out to stop her grabby hands. "We don't need your money."
"Mom—"
"Not now, Rach." Lisa's eyes never leave House's, like if she looks away, he'll disappear into thin air. She takes a step back, bringing a very confused Rachel with her. "We're going home. Now."
"But—"
"C'mon," she turns and speed walks down the aisle, Rachel's hand in hers. Rachel whines but follows along, eventually getting over her disappointment when her mom lets her scan some items at the self-checkout.
Lisa is constantly looking around, nervous and paranoid. She tells herself she shouldn't be that shaken up — House is insane, but he wouldn't do anything to hurt Rachel. Despite all her grudges, she somehow believed that House had made sure to avoid hurting the kid. He cared, in his own twisted way.
Sometimes, she thinks back to her health scare all those years ago. The dreams of a perfect family: a happy husband and the perfect father. Nuclear, safe, painless. Then, that fantasy crumbled around her as she realized he could never be that person. An addict will have relapses, she knows that, but she wasn't prepared to put herself or her daughter through that pain. She couldn't.
As they load the groceries into the car, Lisa spots a motorcycle out of the corner of her eye. In the disabled parking spot, House is there, stuffing a plastic bag into a compartment on his bike.
"Rachel," she takes a deep breath and opens the backseat door. "Can you stay in here? I'll only be a minute. Lock the doors."
Rachel nods, looking up at her mother from the car seat with her big grey eyes.
Lisa presses her lips together, frowns, and closes the car door.
"You're supposed to be dead," she says when she stalks over to the motorcycle.
House turns, helmet in hand, with an almost-shocked expression. He quickly schools it into a cool neutral because the great Doctor House can never show any weakness, of course. "The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated."
"I have a feeling this violates your parole," she crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. "Evading arrest for, what, five years now?"
"Don't forget the identity theft," he grabs a wallet from his pocket and flashes his ID. James Wilson, born 1966.
Lisa squints. "...That says your eyes are brown."
"They change depending on the weather."
"No, they— ugh," she groans — she had almost forgotten how insufferable this man could be. 6 years of peace after 20 years of agitation was a dream come true. "Faking your death— stealing your best friend's identity— how on earth did he even let you do that?"
House shrugs, "Wilson's dead."
Oh.
Lisa splutters, "He's— what? Did you kill him?"
"What? No. I mean— legally, maybe, but he was all for medically assisted suicide, so it doesn't really count."
She's still in shock from hearing that James Wilson, her ex-colleague and friend, is dead. "How— why? When?"
"Cancer. I'm surprised he didn't tell you," he looks down, a rare glint of softness peaking through. "He had 5 months to live."
"Oh. I'm...sorry for your loss, then."
He glances back up, a manufactured hardness in his face. "Yeah. And the only reason I'm still alive is because I told Thirteen I'd kill her when the time comes. So, don't worry, I won't be around much longer."
Lisa takes a breath. "Right."
There's a tense silence, years of grief and open-endedness finally catching up to them. Lisa wants to scream at him, tell him he ruined her, tell him she never wants to see him ever again.
But she doesn't.
Instead, she looks back at the car where her daughter is waiting. "I should go," she says.
"Yeah." House gives a curt nod, but before she can leave, he stops her. "Think fast."
He throws something into the air, and Lisa is momentarily shocked before she snaps into gear and fumbles to catch it.
A Kinder Egg.
"You better not have drugged this," she glares.
"You think so little of me."
"For good reason."
"Tell Rachel I said 'ahoy.'"
Lisa hates the way her face softens at that. She hates it. She hates that she fell in love with House, hates that she let him babysit Rachel, hates that he showed her that awful pirate cartoon, hates that Rachel was so scared and confused when House hurt himself, when he hurt their home, and when he finally left.
She doesn't nod, nor does she shake her head. Instead, she sighs, says "Good luck," (why did she say that?) and walks to her car.
Lisa sits in the driver's seat and forces herself not to slam her face into the steering wheel.
"Mom?"
She sighs, looks back at Rachel, and holds out the chocolate. "When we get home, we're having a conversation about stranger danger."
She thinks that when Rachel grows up, she'll tell her all about him.