Chapter Thirty

In his drunken stupor, Greg pulled out his cell phone and dialed Wilson.


"I know who I called," he started out belligerently.

"House," Wilson looked across the room at Cuddy and family, decidedly lowering his voice. "Are you alright? Where are you?"

Greg harrumphed. "No, I'm not alright. And..." he looked out the window to see if he could figure out where the train was now, "I have no idea where I am."

"Are you safe?" Wilson's free hand was working at the back of his neck.


"You're drunk." James was disappointed. If he was, there was no way to have a coherent conversation with him.


This was bad. House drunk, practically speechless, and sounding very depressed was not a good sign. "Are you sure you're somewhere safe. You're not driving, or riding a motorcycle, standing in traffic...about to jump from the H in the Hollywood Sign?"

"Now why didn't I think of that," Greg snorted.

"You aren't thinking of doing anything-"

"I'm on my way home. Be there in a few days."

"How are you getting here?"


"Why a train? If you're in pain, a flight would have been faster."

"Can stretch out on train. Move around."

Wilson leaned against the counter in Cuddy's kitchen. "House, what happened?"

"I've done something-" he couldn't finish. It was unspeakable. Despicable. Undoable.

"Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as you think." James spoke before thinking. He could imagine horrible things that he wouldn't put past Greg. So far his mother hadn't mentioned him being wanted by the law, so it didn't sound like a legal dilemma.

"Her father is the Reverend."

James misheard him, thinking he just confessed to having an affair with a cleric's daughter.

"I don't want to think about it. Not right now."

"Greg," James rarely used his first name, "can I at least call your mother and tell her you're safe?"

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

Before Wilson could say anything else, House dropped the phone. All that could be heard was snoring.

"Everything okay?" Cuddy had been standing in the doorway listening to the one-sided conversation.

Wilson blushed. "Not sure."

"So there's no dying patient? It's been House all evening?" There was an undertone of anger in Lisa's voice, but she tried hard not to let her emotions affect her for the fact that Wilson was silently suffering.


"House. So what has his perverse pleasure of screwing things up brought this holiday? Did he set another turkey on fire?"

James shook his head. "I think it's a lot more serious than that. His mom said he met a woman. They were getting on very well, which we all know is an anomaly. Then he met her fath-Oh shit!" Wilson lost all composure. He put his hand over his mouth and started pacing the room.

"What? He met her father?" Cuddy was quite concerned that House and Wilson would both be traumatized by that bit of knowledge. "It's not like the man has any power over House."

"I thought he said her father was a reverend."

"It's not a crime to be with the daughter of a religious person. Well, House being an atheist and all, maybe it is."

"He said her father was the reverend. THE reverend." Wilson's eyes were wide as saucers.

"The reverend. As it the Reverend Jesse Jackson? The Reverend Al Sharpton. The Reverend Orel Roberts, Jr.? I'm lost." Cuddy figured House had to be in trouble because he embarrassed himself in front of someone famous, perhaps even notorious.

"Can we go somewhere private?" He looked toward the family room. "Somewhere where no one will hear us?"

"Why, you have a national secret you're going to spill?" Lisa thought he was acting rather strangely. And now that he had some dirt on House's vacation happenings, she couldn't help but be a little intrigued by what he might say.

"If I tell you this, you have to swear to me you'll never let House know I told you." He saw the doubt in her eyes. "Swear to me."

"Alright, alright," Cuddy grinned evilly. Finally, she was going to have something to hold over House's head whenever he pissed her off.

They walked out the back into the laundry room. "Tell me," she said forcefully as she closed the door.

"Where to start...well, you know House has never gotten along with his father."

"Yes," Lisa nodded.

"But you don't know why, exactly."

"Who does?"

"I do. And what started off most of the ill feelings is that John House was not Greg's biological father."

Cuddy's mouth was opened in a sort of surprised "oh".

"House thinks he knows who his biological father is, based on some birthmark he and the man share in common."

"That sounds reasonable."

"At twelve he figured it out. And the whole timeline around his conception."

"Figures," she snorted.

"The guy was a family friend. House's aunt and mother are visiting with the daughter of a family friend. House found out today that he has been intimate with his biological sister."

Cuddy let out a shriek of dismay that was abruptly stopped by James cupping his hand over her mouth.

"Oh my God! Is he…what…"

"He's a wreck. He's on a train, somewhere. Drunk out of his mind. He sounds really depressed," Wilson confessed.

"Is everything okay in there," Cuddy's mom knocked on the door.

"Um, yeah. I just saw a mouse run in here. James is trying to capture it." Lisa shouted through the door.

"If you needed alone time, you should have just told us," Mom shouted back.

Arlene Cuddy was a pistol, but Lisa decided to let her think whatever she was going to think. The latest juicy news on her hospital's top asset was worthy of any amount of familial embarrassment.

"What are you going to do," she asked in a hushed tone in case her mother was eavesdropping.

"What can I do?"