"Now don't be upset," she told him calmly, taking his ruined hands and making him meet her gaze. "Everything will work out as it should."

House stared mutely at his mother, seeing the frailty of age overlaying her familiar features. The story she'd just told him was impossible to imagine -- his father had to be the last person on Earth who'd take his own life. He certainly would never get that upset over anything to do with his son.

But his mother had never lied to him ... discounting Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the tooth fairy.

"Mom." He cleared his throat. "You love dad. And you need him. You can't stay with your sister forever, and you can't live alone. Don't throw out 50 years of marriage because of me."

"Don't fret about this, Greg." Blythe smiled and patted his hand lightly. "Your father has problems, and he needs to deal with them. We both know he'll never do that unless someone holds his feet over the fire."

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Wilson's paperwork consisted of a few emails on his laptop, after which he played solitaire for a while as House and his mother talked. He was sorely tempted to eavesdrop but berated himself for such unworthy thoughts -- even though he knew were their positions reversed, House would have no compunctions about listening in.

The beep of his cell phone was a welcome distraction. "Hello?"

"James? It's Lisa."

He relaxed at the sound of her voice, relieved that it wasn't Stacy again. "Hi Lisa. Something up?"

"Nothing urgent." Cuddy's tone was wry. "After yesterday's debacle I thought I'd better come in to work and see how everything's going." She sighed. "Unsurprisingly, things are much quieter when House isn't here."

Wilson laughed. "No reporters?"

"I think the injunction scared them off. But you wouldn't believe the calls I've been getting. The cat's out of the bag for sure. I just finished talking to a producer for "60 Minutes." They want to interview House, and the hospital is the only place anyone knows to find him. Before them it was Newsweek, Time magazine, Oprah's people ..."

Wilson practically choked.

"--Nightline, all the major networks. It's just crazy."

"I'm trying to picture House talking to Oprah," Wilson chuckled.

"Yeah. He's so much more a Jerry Springer kind of guy. Well, just let him know, will you? Who knows, maybe he'll want to talk to Oprah or somebody. It's his choice."

Wilson filled her in on House's reaction to the news coverage, then he told her about Stacy's and Blythe's phone calls. "Right now he's talking with his mom in the other room. His dad didn't come."

Lisa sounded intrigued. "Wonder what's going on? Well, it's for the best if he's not around his father. I'm sure his mom is just concerned that he's coming out of hiding to go back to work. Stay on top of it, James. You're the best House-wrangler in the world."

"And woefully underpaid for it," Wilson said to make her laugh. He heard his name called out from the living room. "Lisa, gotta go. I'm being summoned. Bye."

----------------------------------------------------

When he walked into the living room he found Blythe getting to her feet, barely leaning on the walker. She smiled at him.

"James, if you don't mind I'd like to go lie down for a bit."

Trying to hide his curiosity, Wilson nodded. "Sure. I can come get you for dinner ...?" He went to her, casting an apprehensive look at House, who was slouched on the sofa deep in thought.

"That would be wonderful, thank you."

He walked with her to his side of the duplex and helped her get settled.

"James, thank you for being so good to Greg." She sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "If it weren't for you, he never could have come so far."

Wilson pulled the shades on the windows to dim the light in the room. "He's a strong guy. I can tend to him, but getting better ... he's doing that on his own." Turning back to her, he said, "Is there anything you need? I can bring you some water --"

His hovering made her smile. "Oh, I'm just fine. I'll lie down for a while then I'll be good as new."

---------------------------------------------------------

"Your mom's settled in for a nap," Wilson called as he came back in. House was still on the couch, leaning forward, holding one crutch and lightly bouncing its rubber tip on the floor. Wilson looked down at him. "Everything okay?"

House continued to stare unseeingly at the far wall, bouncing his crutch. "Dad's at the VA hospital in Durham."

"What? Why, what happened?" Wilson sat next to him, worried. "Was it a stroke? His heart?"

House flicked a glance at him, then went back to examining the far wall. "Mom found him with a loaded gun and the beginnings of a suicide note."

"What?! Did he --"

"No. He's on a psych ward under suicide watch."

Shaking his head, Wilson waved a hand in the air, gesturing his shock. "Why in the world would he even consider something like that?"

House dropped his gaze, looking at the floor. "No idea." His lips thinned, and he took a sharp breath. "Guess we oughtta do that PT now."

Wilson was silent a long moment, processing what he'd been told and weighing the sudden change of subject. "No. No PT today," he finally said.

"You're the one always telling me I need to --"

"--Shut up, House." At the glare House shot him, Wilson held up his hands, silencing further protest. "The weather isn't going to clear until tonight. You're pale, your leg hurts, you've got a bruise 6 inches across on your hip, and you're sitting hunched over because you're in too much pain to straighten up. Give me a rating."

House rested his forehead against the crutch grip and sighed.

"Give me a number, House."

"Five," House grunted. Beside him, Wilson made a 'hmm' sound. "Okay, six," House muttered.

With a nod to himself, Wilson got to his feet and went to House's bedroom, coming back with a pill in his hand. "Take this and lay down for a while."

House spared a glance at the pill Wilson offered him. "I told you, those things make me hazy."

"Only for an hour or two. Your mom's going to be resting until dinner. Take this and do the same."

Reluctantly, House palmed the tablet and dry swallowed it.

Wilson took the crutch he was playing with and set it against the wall by its mate. "I'll bring pillows and a blanket and you can bunk here while I start dinner."

---------------------------------------------------------------

Blythe House was suitably impressed with the chicken kiev, haricots verts, parsleyed potatoes and perfectly browned rolls Wilson had laid out on the table.

Her praise embarrassed him and more than made up for her son's preoccupied silence. She was an easy person to talk to, and they began the meal with pleasant conversation. Wilson avoided mentioning her husband, and neither of them pressed House to join in.

Midway through the meal, into a comfortable lull in the conversation, House put down his fork. "I told Wilson about Dad." He didn't look up from his plate. "Except for the ... early stuff."

His mother didn't seem taken aback by the abrupt change of topic. If anything, her smile at her son was one of understanding. "Of course."

"This must be very difficult for you," Wilson ventured. He truly did feel empathy for her -- for everything that had happened to her son, her own illness and recovery, and now her husband of half a century was suffering emotionally. "I understand if you don't want to talk about it."

Blythe shook her head. "I've been married to Greg's father a long time. If I didn't think he'd be all right, I wouldn't be 200 miles away from him here."

"Have you spoken with his doctor?"

"Oh, yes. I have. John hasn't."

House made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort.

Blythe gave him a look. "He hasn't yet, but he will. He's stubborn, but not as stubborn as I am."

Wilson didn't want to pry, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Doesn't he realize how serious this is?"

Her smile at him was rueful. "He won't admit to it. If John doesn't have a solution to a problem, he usually ignores it and hopes it'll go away."

"Sounds familiar," Wilson mused, ignoring House's flinty glare.

Blythe managed to keep a straight face. "It won't be long. John will face his troubles and get it all sorted out. I suppose I should have known it would take a stranger to open his eyes."

Wilson frowned slightly. "What stranger?"

"Not relevant," House interjected.

As if she hadn't heard, Blythe took a sip of her iced tea and said, "John had met someone earlier that day. He'd gone to the VFW and was introduced to a new member, a man who'd just moved into the area. He'd served in Vietnam, spent time as a prisoner of war."

"Mom, none of this matters --"

"Of course it matters," she huffed. "Greg, honestly." She turned back to Wilson and continued. "When John was introduced to him, he recognized the name. He knew about what had happened to Greg. He told John that Greg was a hero, that we should be proud of what he'd done to protect us."

"The guy's an idiot," House muttered, stabbing his fork at a piece of chicken. He missed his aim and the bite of meat splashed into Wilson's tea glass.

Wilson leveled a suspicious look at House, who looked back with all the innocence he could muster.

Blythe merely sighed. "You'd think you were still eleven, Greg."

"Hey, I didn't try to do that."

Wilson got up and got himself a clean glass, pouring more tea. "So, was it something this guy said that did it?"

"I think so. John was --"

House pushed his plate away. "Let me sum this up, Mom. Dad hated my guts for murdering a helpless woman, and couldn't have been happier to have me locked up in prison for the rest of my life to pay for it." He stared at the table, his mouth twisted in a tight line. "When the truth came out, well, the truth didn't jibe with his opinion of me. I don't know what he thought, but he got one thing right. I'm just some jerk who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That doesn't make me a hero."

"You sacrificed yourself for the people you cared about. What does that make you?" Wilson countered.

House looked up, staring at him hard. After a moment he turned his gaze to his mother, saw the love in her eyes as she waited for his answer. The words he wanted to say died before reaching his lips. Here were the two people he cared about most in the world, and they were here, within arm's reach, alive and well because he had done what he'd done. House couldn't say his sacrifices made him a fool or a victim or even an innocent bystander. Such words would lessen what these two people meant to him.

Wilson saw the muscles in his jaw tighten, then House dropped his gaze back to the table. "It makes me stubborn," he answered quietly. Most people would have done as he had, if they had been unlucky enough to come to Robert Thompson's attention. It didn't make him special, only spectacularly unfortunate. "I'm not a hero," he insisted.

Blythe reached out and put her hand over his. "And your father is stubborn, too. Only now, he's beginning to see the bigger picture. Don't worry, Greg. We'll be fine. He'll deal with all those things he's been pushing away and come to terms with it."

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After the meal came coffee and conversation, and by 9:30 Blythe pleaded sleepiness brought about by the excellent food and the fine company. Wilson escorted her to his townhouse and showed her the intercom, turning it on. "If you need anything, just call out and I'll hear you next door. Turn it off once you're in bed, but don't hesitate to use it if you want something."

"Thank you, James. I had a wonderful evening and I'm going to go straight to bed. Don't worry."

He went back to the other side and found House still sprawled in the big club chair, his feet up and his eyes focused on the ceiling. "Weather's cleared. How are you feeling?"

"Just spiffy."

Wilson headed for the kitchen to start cleaning up. "So when do you want to go to Durham?" he called.

"Why, is there a new adult club opening there?"

Even though House couldn't see him, Wilson rolled his eyes. "Uh, no. Just thought you might want to see your dad."

"Why would I want to see him?"

Wilson marched to the doorway and stared his disapproval at his friend. "VA hospital. Mental breakdown. Ring a bell?"

House looked at him mildly. "More to the point, why would he want to see me?"

Wilson windmilled his hands. "Thought he was having some kind of major breakthrough in that department. Obviously there's ... issues he needs to clear up with you."

House shrugged. "The psych ward's crawling with shrinks. There's plenty of people for him to talk to."

Folding his arms, Wilson leaned against the doorjamb and studied the other man. "You know, if he does have a breakthrough and wants reconciliation, how are you going to deal with that?" Cue change of subject, he thought.

Sure enough, House abruptly reached for his crutches. "Gotta go pee."

"A-ha! That idea bothers you, doesn't it?" Wilson crowed, watching House lift his legs one by one off the ottoman and position the crutches. "I mean, what'll you do if your dad suddenly wants your forgiveness?"

House managed to get to his feet, resolutely not looking at Wilson. "Don't stand between a man with a full bladder and his toilet," he advised airily.

Wilson took a couple of steps and did just that, touching House's arm. "You're going to have to think about it, House. It could happen, you know. Your father is not necessarily a lost cause."

Their eyes met. Wilson kept his gaze steady; House's was puzzled.

"I paid the ransom for his life. What the hell else could he want from me?" Shaking his head, House lifted one crutch and made a sweeping motion with it. "Now get out of my way."