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Faith
by naughtybookworm
Stretched out on opposite ends of the leather sofa, man and boy pawed their way through the Sunday newspaper. Sooner or later, Wilson would finish fussing over the 'ginormous' brunch he was making, and they could eat. It was already eleven when he started, so House had sneaked a couple cookies and a cup of black coffee for them to share while Wilson wasn't looking to keep starvation at bay.
Then, out of the blue David asked, from behind a Best Buy sale ad, "House, do you believe in God?"
House schooled his expression from behind the Society Page. He should have known a question like this from a kid like that would come early. "That's ... an interesting question," House said non-committally.
"I know." David admitted. "That's why I asked you. So what's the answer?"
House tried a circuitous route. "Well, some people believe in a god, some people don't, and some aren't sure yet. Believers, atheists, and agnostics are what they are called, respectively..."
"Which are you?" Sharp arrow, right to the heart of the matter.
"Soup's on!" Wilson called from the kitchen.
Saved, House thought. "Let's eat."
David didn't balk about the interruption. He was hungry. But by the time he'd eaten a few bites, he asked again. "So which are you, House?"
The tall doctor took a deep breath. "Agnostic."
Wilson's eyes narrowed. "If this is about what I think it's about, I think we need a sidebar here."
House sighed. "Let's just eat, guys. We can talk about this later."
David explained to Wilson. "I asked House if he believed in god, and he said there's three kinds, Atheist, Agnostic and Believer."
"I see." He emitted a sigh that sounded quite a bit like House had a moment before.
"So which are you?" David asked Wilson.
"I? Oh. Well.... I am a Believer." Wilson told him.
"Okay." David said. "I'm an atheist." He picked up his fork. "Is that okay?"
"Yes," said House.
"No," said Wilson.
David realized that he was asking a question that might cause the only two people who loved him to disagree, and was instantly sorry. "Never mind," he said quickly. "I was just kidding."
Neither man said anything right away. They were looking at each other as if both had something to say, but were silently agreeing to reserve it for later.
"Please don't fight later," David begged. "I'm sorry, I won't talk about it anymore."
House said quickly, "It's okay, David, eat your breakfast."
At the same exact time, Wilson said, "It's okay honey, eat your breakfast. We're not gonna fight."
David choked down a single silver-dollar sized macadamia nut pancake, washed it down with a couple sips of black coffee, and left the room, calling, "I'm done," as he did so.
"Crap." Wilson muttered half-jokingly. "I slave over a hot stove for an hour, and for what?
Shaking his head House said, "He's very sensitive to our moods. You know that." He helped himself to the other pancake on David's plate. "He gets upset when Daddy and Daddy fight. He's always expecting one or both of us to abandon him at the drop of a hat, anyway. Kid needs a Zen garden."
"Yeah, I know. I just hoped we could have some family time. I like to start my week off peacefully. And I'm not going to see him until Wednesday. So that means he's going to be stressed until then, and frankly, so am I." Wilson usually spent the weekends with them, but most of the week at his own apartment.
House sipped his coffee. "So we'll talk to him about it today, make sure he understands that nobody's upset."
Wilson took his partner's hand. "What are we telling him?"
"Easy," House said, "Just what I was telling him. People believe different things, based on what they think and how they feel."
Shaking his head, Wilson exclaimed, "We can't tell him that. That's like saying, "Believe whatever you want. We don't care."
"I DON'T care."
Wilson was incredulous, "You can't tell a kid that!"
"Shhh! He'll think we're fighting."
"I think we are." Wilson replied tightly. "You can't just tell a kid to make his own decisions about something like that. He doesn't know one thing about faith."
"He knows that he couldn't count on the first real person in his life. Once that happens, faith in something intangible just seems like bullshit." House pointed out. "He's eventually going to decide for himself no matter what we teach him. Anyway, if he grows up to be an authentic and ethical person, then who cares how he gets there? We're already teaching him those things. Basic Golden Rule stuff."
"But..." Wilson spluttered. "We can't DO this. It's our responsibility to provide him with some sort of religious instruction. People without faith DON'T fare well in this life, Greg."
"Pap for the masses." Greg said dismissively. "He's not exactly a member of the unwashed. I think we should deal in tangible facts with David. If he wants to believe in unicorns later, that's his business, not ours." .
"Then we're not even giving him the opportunity to develop a spiritual life." By now Wilson was walking around while he vented.
"Do you propose that we feed him a pack of lies that you only partially believe in, and I don't believe in at all, so he can throw it back in our faces when he's fifteen? And who says a spiritual life has anything to do with believing in God, anyway?" He sipped the last of his coffee. "People who swallow dogma are just sheep. I'd rather teach him to always think for himself, even if might be more painful sometimes."
Wilson sat down and stared into his coffee mug. "I don't know what we should tell him, and I don't like pulling the bullshit that we both grew up with. But I am really afraid that we might be making a big mistake. Who are we to assume we're right after thousands of years of thousands of societies having faith in SOMETHING. It's pretty arrogant to assume we have all the answers."
And so they uncovered a basic difference between House and Wilson. House did the right thing because deep in his heart he accepted it was right, moral, ethical. He'd seen for himself what the wrong course of action had yielded enough times. Wilson did the right thing because it had been dictated to him, and ingrained from early in his life that he should, because someone up there was watching and keeping tabs. Greg gained great satisfaction from following what his gut told him. Wilson sometimes resented his instincts, because he wasn't always sure that they were HIS. Perhaps, he reflected to himself, this explains three divorces and a career in treating the dying. The only rewarding things he'd ever gotten out of being a Boy Scout were House and David. Conversely, Greg's gut instincts alienated a lot of people, but managed to win Wilson and David in spite of that.
David had been lingering around the outside of the kitchen door, and had heard most of this. He popped around the doorsill and shouted at them, tears streaming down his face. "Don't fight! You said you wouldn't fight!" and popped right back around to the other side of the door.
Had their boy not been so distressed, they might have laughed.
"David, come back in." House called. "Everything's fine."
David edged his was in and stood just inside the door.
Wilson extended his left arm, "Over here, buddy."
David went to the kitchen table and no further.
They decided to settle for that.
House opened with, "Religion is a very touchy subject for a lot of people."
"House and I disagree about it a little bit, but that doesn't mean that anybody's angry."
House tapped Wilson's arm. Follow my lead, was what he was trying to convey. "David, do you remember if your mother practiced a religion?"
Engaged now, David scrubbed away his tears with his pajama sleeve and nodded his head.
The two men exchanged a glance.
"What was it?" Wilson asked.
Shrugging, David answered, "It was in a church. You know, you have to go to the church and sit on the bench. Then a lot of talking and yelling. Then music. Then you put your money in the plate up at the front. Then more talking and yelling. Then people get bread and grape juice."
"Sounds dreadful," Wilson muttered partly under his breath.
"It was. That's why I'm an atheist." He glared at them both. "I won't go back there," his voice cracked then, "Not even for you, House. I'd rather get a punishment. Ten punishments."
Where the hell was that coming from? David never DID anything to get punished for. House reached out for the child. "Come here, David."
But David wouldn't come. "They LIE, House. They say god will help you if you pray, then when it doesn't work, it's because you didn't do it just right. Either you didn't pray hard enough, or you didn't say the right words, or god is mysterious his wonders to perform, or it's not in god's plan for you. It's all bullshit. Everything that happens just happens because it happens. Why would god want me to be hurt? I made sure I didn't do any sins." By now, David was sobbing openly.
Wilson and House exchanged glances. Both men had the wild thought that they were dealing with a 40-year-old midget philosopher rather than an 8-year-old, albeit a precocious one.
"Honey," Wilson tried to go to him, take the child into his arms.
"No!" David was angry for the first time, ever. His green eyes, now swollen from crying, looked dark, almost brown at that moment. His face was dirty and wet. "I'm NOT going to be friends if you make me be religious!" He spat at them.
The men exchanged a glance. "Okay," House said. "No religion. You can change your mind about it, but we won't try to change it for you." He looked at Wilson. "Okay?"
Wilson nodded. "Okay."
David backed away until he bumped into the wall. He looked as if he was frightened of his own anger. "I'm sorry,' he choked out.
House had had enough. He limped to his son without his cane, and picked him up. David didn't fight as his dad held him. He went limp and wept. Wilson helped them into a chair and sat close by, waiting it out.
They decided against going out for the afternoon, opting instead to nurse David's upset mood. He didn't seem to want to do anything, as if the anger he had expressed had drained him. He had sat at the piano for half an hour, plinking mindlessly at random keys. House had tried to engage him in a duet, but the boy had pulled away, saying, "I can't play today, House."
House left it to Wilson. Wilson would have made a great mommy had he been born female. He encouraged David to take a nap with him on the sofa, cuddling the child in his arms while House played quiet melodies for them. Once he saw that they were both sleeping, House decided to go for a drive on his motorcycle. He wanted to be alone, to think. 'Went for a ride, back in an hour, love, Dad.' Was the note he left.
Predictably, David had a nightmare, woke up fighting, crying, and gasping for air. Wilson was able to calm him quickly but the little boy didn't want to be held or touched any more. Instead, he sat next to Wilson, endlessly flipping channels on the remote control. Wilson let him do whatever he liked.
"Wilson, where's House?"
Wilson handed him the note.
"They put you under water." David said, out of the blue. "And you better not breathe, or you'll drown."
David had only shared his horrid past with House directly. Wilson supposed he should be glad that the boy was opening up to him for a change. What he really felt now was totally unprepared to hear whatever horror David was trying to relate.
"Who puts you under water?"
David continued flipping channels and staring at the TV. "The church people." He said in a small, lost-sounding voice. "They put you under to wash away your sins. SHE said I had to do it every time we started a new church because I made her sin so much to take care of me."
Wilson desperately wanted House to return. "Come here, baby." He murmured sadly.
David scooted away, further down the sofa from him. "No, Wilson." He whispered. "I don't want a hug. Don't hug me now."
"Okay." Wilson wanted to cry. He had no idea what to do or say. Keep him talking, Greg's voice hissed inside his mind.
"They put you under water to wash away your sins and then what?"
"Grape juice and bread. 'Do this in remembrance of me.' And then the man yells and talks some more."
"David, did your mother ever go under the water?"
David thought about it for a full minute, frowning as he realized, seemingly for the first time, "No, I had to do it. She said it was MY fault..." Then he thought for a moment longer. "That doesn't even make sense."
"No," Wilson answered. "It sounds like a load of bullshit."
David sighed and put the remote down. "I really want Daddy to come home," he said before going to his bedroom.
Wilson text-messaged House's cell phone, "ND U NOW. GT BCK HME." After a minute, House paged back, "ON MY WY. HNG ON." When he checked on David after a few minutes, the boy was lying on his bed, semi-fetal, hugging a pillow to his belly. Noticing Wilson, he asked, "When Daddy comes, will you ask him to come into my room?"
"Yeah." Wilson reckoned that David was extremely upset, in spite of his low-key demeanor. He was shutting down. When House returned half an hour later, Wilson related everything that had happened.
"Jeez," House muttered. "It just never ends. It's a miracle that he's not lying on his back in a psych ward somewhere." He started for the boy's room, then paused to look at Wilson.
"You okay, Jimmy?" He asked.
Wilson shook his head. "No, but I'm way more okay than he is. Go."
Shaking his head, House held out his arms. "C'mere, first." He hugged Wilson for a minute. "I'm glad you were with him. It would have been horrible if this had hit him in school or someplace other than here with one of us."
Wilson held on, but didn't respond. After a minute, he caressed the small of Greg's back, and kissed him gently. "Go take care of him."
David had heard House return and was sitting on his bed next to House's usual spot. House seated himself on the foot of the boy's bed, rested his back against the wall letting his long legs extend across the bottom. He tentatively put an arm around his son.
David said, "You can touch me."
House set his cane down on the floor and pulled David into his lap. He kissed his son's forehead, and began to caress his back and shoulders, attempting to soothe away the pain without words. David relaxed into House and began to weep quietly. House was unaware of the tears flowing down his own face as he felt the sorrow pouring out of his boy.
Quite a long time later, David was calm enough for them to talk.
"Daddy, you said I can make choices about my life sometimes," David said seriously. "I don't want to be religious."
"All I care about," House told him, "Is that you grow up to be a good man."
"Okay."
"Some people think that you have to be religious to do that, but I don't agree."
"Good."
"You've got plenty of time to learn how to be a good man. That's the whole point of being a child, to learn how to be an adult, a little bit at a time."
"Okay."
"I don't care if you never set foot into another church as long as you live. I don't think it's necessary. And Wilson and I can teach you more about being a good person, anyway."
David sighed, relieved. "Okay."
"I'm not talking about being perfectly good or innocent, the way you are trying so hard to be; I'm talking about knowing the difference between the right thing to do and the wrong thing to do. In your heart," he tapped the little boy's chest.
David didn't really understand that yet, but he didn't ask; he was more concerned about the not having to go to church again part.
Wilson, for lack of anything better to do, was roasting a chicken for dinner. It was nearly done, judging by the smells that were wafting all over the apartment.
"Are you hungry?" House knew the boy had to be ravenous; he'd hardly had more than a bite all day.
"Yeah."
House decided to wrap things up for the moment. He was sure that David wasn't done working through this new layer of abuse that they had uncovered. But it was time for a break. He hugged his son close to his chest. "You're a good boy, David. You never caused anyone to do anything wrong. People make their own choices. There are always, always ways not to do the things you don't think are right."
"I didn't make her be a hooker?"
"No," House scoffed. "That didn't have anything to do with you.. She just blamed you. It's easy to blame kids because kids are too young to understand when it really isn't their fault." He held David by his shoulders, firmly. "Don't believe it; it's a lie."
"Okay," David whispered.
House could tell that this would have to be enough, that David wasn't able to talk about this any more. He rose and held out his hand. David took it, and they walked together to get cleaned up for dinner. While they were washing up, their eyes met in the bathroom mirror. House smiled and leaned down to put his arms around David. They regarded their reflection. "We should get pictures done." He suggested. "Look - wouldn't this look great on my desk at the hospital?" He hugged David and nodded towards the mirror. "And if somebody asks me who's in the picture with me, I'll tell them, "Oh, that's MY son, David."
David smiled at their reflection.
House's voice was low and gentle. He tightened his hold on David. "I'll tell them, 'He's a wonderful boy. I love him very much.'"
David smiled more broadly when he recognized the mantra that House intoned every night as he was falling asleep. He did him one better. "I could have one in my wallet." He whispered. "Only with you and me and Wilson." His green eyes brightened. "I could tell people, 'This is MY Dad and MY Wilson.'"
"Yeah," House agreed, as he dropped a kiss onto the boy's forehead. "Let's go eat."
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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