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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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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
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