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Thicker Than Water, Chapter Ten
by ParisWriter
Author's Note: Here's a slightly longer chapter to help make up for the wait. My good laptop is toast so I've been working off an older one that doesn't have a word processor that includes spell-checker on it. Also, my beta is still a bit busy - so I apologize in advance for all the glaring errors that are sure to be in here.
Chapter Ten
"Doctor House!"
"What?" House barked as he stopped mid-stride halfway to the elevator. He looked back over his shoulder to see a rather frightened Chase coming up behind him.
"Miriam Sutherfield is in your office," the young doctor informed him, making sure to keep far enough away to avoid any swinging canes.
"What's she doing there?" House asked, his anger starting to abate.
"Waiting for her test results," he told him. "She asked if she could talk to you."
House groaned. The last thing he wanted was to talk to Miriam right now. All he wanted to do was lock himself in a room with some scotch and General Hospital and brood.
"Fine," he conceded with a sigh, tapping his cane on the floor as he spoke. "Make sure you put a rush on those test results."
"Will do," Chase nodded, then continued on his way to the lab.
House turned back to the elevator and pushed the up button, wondering what the hell he was going to say to her once he got to his office.
Our daughter is a moron, and unless you're a match she's toast.
Somehow it just didn't seem the appropriate way to let her down. House hated giving people bad news unless he could use it as a tool to extort a patient into submitting to another test or some sort of treatment they didn't want. Unfortunately, his usual methods hadn't worked on Rachel.
He took his time walking down the hall from the elevator to his office, recomposing himself. If Miriam saw he was upset, she'd know that things weren't going well and she'd end up a sobbing, blubbering mess... not something he wanted to have to deal with. He knew no matter how he let her down, she was going to take it badly. That was the way she had always been - overly emotional.
When he reached the door to his office, he looked inside to find it empty. He was marginally relieved, but upon further inspection he noticed her preparing a cup of coffee in the adjacent conference room. Cameron was there, too, and they appeared to be talking. House groaned to himself, wondering what sort of things Cameron might be asking her about him. That thought alone was enough to set him into motion again. He reached out and opened the door, and the two women stopped talking and turned to look at him.
"Please," he said as he approached the guilty-looking parties, "don't let my presence interrupt your little gossip session." The two women continued to stare at him as he made his way into his office, watching them closely. Miriam was smirking slightly, while Cameron's expression was one of embarassment.
"What did you ask her?" he called over his shoulder as he crossed the room to his desk. "Were you trying to find out if I was any good in bed?"
"I would never--"
"Did you tell her I'm an animal?" He redirected his questioning to Miriam as he sat in his chair and propped is feet up on his desk. He could only see the back of Cameron's head through the glass separating the two rooms, but he could tell her face was turning bright red just from the quickness of her denial. He loved getting to her with innuendo and crude jokes, mostly because she squirmed so easily.
"I'll go check on your test results," Cameron stated and then fled from the room before he could make her feel any more uncomfortable. Miriam watched her go, the smirk turning into a smile as she moved into the office with her ex-husband.
"You're lucky she doesn't file for sexual harassment against you, you know," she said as she took a seat opposite him, sipping her cup of steaming coffee.
"Cameron? She loves me - warts and all. I could kill half of the doctors on the staff right in front of her and she'd never turn me in."
Her smile began to falter and she took another small sip of her coffee before setting it down on the edge of his desk.
"How bad is it?" she asked, changing the lighthearted mood into a decidedly more somber one.
"I never said it was bad," House pointed out.
"Greg... We were married for almost five years. I know you better than that."
"Says you."
"You're making jokes because you're trying to avoid the real issue here."
House studied her face carefully, looking for any sign that she was about to lose it. He didn't want to be alone with her when that happened. He needed someone else in the room, someone he could dump her off onto once the waterworks started.
"Just tell me, Greg," she insisted.
"She's not going to make it a week," he admitted, choosing to refocus his attention to his desk rather than see her cry.
"What about dialysis?"
"She's still refusing," he told her, shaking his head slightly.
"Can't you talk her into it?"
House sighed in defeat. "I tried to scare her into it, she wouldn't cave. Wilson tried to reason with her and she still won't budge."
"She's definitely your daughter," Miriam said with a heavy sigh. "I've never been that stubborn about anything in my life."
House picked up the ball he kept on his desk and started turning it over in his hands as he thought about what she had just said. The reason they had agreed it would be best for Rachel that she never saw him was so that she didn't end up acting like him. Somehow, despite being thousands of miles apart, she had still managed to inherit his charming personality.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?" Miriam asked him, picking up her coffee cup and holding it tightly. "You've done everything you can."
"I'm sorry she ended up like me," he told her.
Miriam shook her head, a small smile returning to her face. "She's not completely like you," she assured him. "Unlike you, she doesn't shy away from showing emotion every once in a while, nor does she shun anything more than basic human contact."
"Leave it to you to rub a man's shortcomings right in his face," House muttered before leaning back in his chair and finally looking up at her again.
"We need a back-up," he told her bluntly. "In case you're not a match."
"What about you?" she suggested.
"I'm A-positive. Besides, the transplant committee tends to frown on using drug addicts as donors."
"How are you even working in this hospital if you're on drugs?"
"Relax," House assured her, pulling out his trusty bottle of Vicodin and shaking it in front of her. "It's a controlled addicition - not like I'm shooting up in the men's room on my lunch break or anything."
"I don't know anyone else who could do it."
"What about your husband?" he asked her, taking a pill out of the bottle and popping it into his mouth before he put the drugs away.
"He's diabetic," she informed him.
"Guess that leaves him out," House decided, knowing the transplant committee might consider using a diabetic donor for a heart transplant, but not for a kidney transplant.
"The step-brother... Brian..."
"Bradley," Miriam corrected him.
"Yeah. What about him?"
"He can't."
"Why? Is he diabetic, too?"
"No--"
"Then why not?"
Miriam looked at him and this time he saw the tears in her eyes.
"Bradley is HIV positive."
Now it made sense - why she had been so calm up until he asked about using the step-brothers as a donor. He was already dying, and if Rachel died it would be like losing two children. Granted, Bradley wasn't really her son, but House knew Miriam considered him her own.
"I didn't know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."
"It's why Rachel became a counselor, you know," she told him. "When we found out Bradley was sick, she didn't take it very well. We went to some counseling, and it helped her accept it and deal with it. Now she helps others accept that they're dying, and teaches them to get the most out of what's left of their lives."
"I guess I should be blaming Bradley for her being such an idiot, then."
"Greg--"
"I know, I'm sorry," House quickly apologized. "I was out of line with that remark. It's just..." He removed his feet from the desk and stood up, then began pacing about the office.
"You don't want her to die," Miriam finished for him.
"No, I don't," he admitted. "If she dies, it means I've failed. They say you can't save them all, but I should at least be able to try. She won't even let me do that much."
Miriam stood as well, placing her cup on his desk before aprpoaching him.
"This has nothing to do with your skill and reputation as a doctor," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder to make him stop pacing and force him to face her. "You don't want her to die because she's your daughter and you love her. Why is that so hard for you to admit?"
House simply stared at her, not knowing what to say. He hadn't seen either of them in twenty years. He wasn't sure it was even possible for him to care about Rachel any more. He didn't know her. The girl he knew was five years old. She liked Fraggles and Cheetos and Tom & Jerry cartoons. She always wore her hair in pigtails and had a laugh that could make even him smile.
"I, uh..." he started, then paused to search for exactly what he wanted to say. Before he could even get those thoughts together, however, the door opened and Chase stepped into the office.
"Should I come back later?" he asked as he took in the scene before him.
"Depends," House told him. "Do you have her test results?" Chase nodded. "Then the answer is no."
House quickly went over to Chase and took the folder in his hand before the younger doctor could say anything. Miriam watched as he opened it up and scanned its contents.
"Well?" she asked him impatiently.
House finally found the information he was looking for and forcefully closed the folder in his hands, uttering a series of curses. Chase remained silent, hands in his pockets, and cast a sideways glance to the girl's mother. She had covered her face with her hands and was wordlessly shaking her head as tears streamed from her eyes.
"AB-positive!" House was roaring as he threw the folder against the nearest wall. Chase watched him as his anger subsided and turned into something else. His shoulders slumped and he rested all of his weight on his cane. His head was bowed, his breathing deep but slightly ragged.
"She's going to die," he said in a voice that wasn't like him at all. Chase could hear the grief he was feeling in those four words and knew he should leave them alone, but he hadn't just come to deliver the bad news about Miriam not being a match.
"I needed to discuss something with you," he said quietly. House turned his head toward him, but didn't look at him.
"Can't it wait?"
"Not if you don't want someone to die."
House nodded and followed Chase into the hallway outside his office. He looked back at Miriam sitting in his chair and sobbing quietly as the door closed behind them. He knew she was going to end up blaming herself for not being able to save their daughter, and no matter what he did or said the loss wouldn't be any easier for her to take.
"House?"
He turned back to Chase and saw him pull another folder from where he had been carrying it under his left arm. He looked at the folder, then back to Chase before taking it.
"What is it?" he asked. The last thing he wanted was to have someone else's whiny clinic patient pushed off onto him.
"I found a donor for Rachel."
House stared at him in disbelief for several seconds before what he said finally registered. He opened the folder and hastily skimmed the results of the tests.
"You already did a full work-up on them?"
Chase nodded. "I knew the blood type was right, so I went straight to the second series of tests. Figured it would be good to have as a back-up in case Miriam turned out not to be a match."
"Good call," House told him as he continued looking over the file. "This match is nearly perfect. Where did you find them?"
House looked up from the file to see Chase examing his shoes in a somewhat uncomfortable manner. He looked down at Chase's shoes momentarily then returned his attention to the man himself.
"You didn't ask their permission before running the tests?"
"I didn't need permission."
House looked at the file again. "There's no name. What did you do, Chase - run the tests on a clinic patient who happened to be the right blood type, thinking if they turned out to be a match you'd somehow talk them into giving up one of their kidneys?"
"It's not like that--"
"Did you tell them you were just testing to make sure they were good and healthy?"
"House--"
"Did you at least ask them if they're an organ donor before--"
"It's me!"
Chase's sudden outburst rendered House speechless once more. "What?" he managed to ask after a moment.
"I'm the match," Chase repeated in a quieter voice. House contined to stare at him, apparently expecting some sort of an explanation. He sighed as he ran a hand back through his hair before speaking again.
"When I saw her blood type was AB-negative, I knew it was probably going to be a problem. Then, when she refused dialysis, I knew it was definitely going to be a problem. I have the same blood type so, like I said, I decided to run the tests to see if I would be a match so we'd have a back-up."
"If you knew you were a match, why bother running Miriam's typing at all?" House asked him.
"Because, as Rachel's mother, she would have been a better genetic match."
House nodded, closing the folder and holding it at his side. "What's in this for you?"
"I beg your pardon?" Chase replied in disbelief.
"I know you, Chase. You don't do anything without a reason, usually a reason that benefits you. So what are you going to get out of this?"
"Nothing," he stated. "Just the satisfaction of knowing I kept a young girl from dying."
"I'm not buying it."
"Fine," Chase conceeded. "I was sort of hoping that if I did this, you'd be willing to put the past behind us. But it's not like I'm going to say, 'No, you can't have this kidney unless you sign a legal document stating will you forget about this grudge you have against me.' Believe it or not, I want her to live. That is my motivation."
House continued staring silently at him. Chase thought he was going to tell him to take his kidney and shove it, but instead he simply nodded.
"Go get a renal scan and once that's done I'll schedule an OR. First, I have to go tell Rachel and her mother she's getting a kidney."
"Don't say from who," Chase instructed him.
"Why?" House asked. "Think they might be prejudiced against Australians? Think they might not want it because they'll be afraid it'll be infected with the wombat flu?"
"I just want to remain anonymous, okay?" he insisted.
"Fine," House agreed. "I'll tell them we found a donor through a national charity or something. Kidneys-R-Us."
Chase nodded and started off toward radiology, but House called after him. He stopped halfway down the hall and turned around to find his boss limping toward him. When House finally caught up to him, they stood facing each other for several seconds as House visibly struggled with what he was about to say.
"Thank you."
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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 Fox Television, 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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