- Chapter Thirteen –

Confrontation

He kept himself as polite as possible. 'I'm going to need your cooperation,' he'd said. And he'd gotten it. He knew she knew he knew. Confusing – but it was why Cuddy had agreed. Not that she knew knew. No. Just that she knew he'd never just… ask. Important, yes. Mysterious…

No, not mysterious. The lawyers would love this. He'd done everything he was supposed to. Just as he'd promised. Made all the calls himself. Of course, he'd never've let the team do it, but hey. Rationalizations were a dime a dozen today. Especially with the parents expected any minute.

House leaned forwards in his chair and whined quietly. He cast a glance to the side and saw Foreman in the doorway, keeping an eye out. "Give a shout when you see them," he muttered. "I'll need the time."

He searched his pockets for a pen and had trouble finding one. One on the side table. It was just far enough to make him strain to reach it, lifting himself half out of the chair on his bad leg. As soon as he'd trapped it between his fingertips, he dropped back down.

The pen dropped, skittered away across the room. He swore.

"What?"

"It's nothing." He frowned. "…Dropped my pen."

Foreman shook his head, taking a few steps to where he picked it up.

House lifted his arm, hand outstretched. And hesitated. He noticed the slight tremor in his fingertips and turned the hand over, snatching the pen away. "Thanks."

The message he wrote was short, and not nearly as fun as folding it into a paper airplane. It wasn't a bad one, considering the grace with which it landed. The woman who unfolded it didn't look out of place in the corner, nor did she make any sort of response to what he'd wrote. They'd talked before. Nothing to say. Not right now.

"House. End of the hallway."

He pursed his lips. "Great. Oh, and now'd probably not be the best time to go all noble on me. Follow my lead." An empty silence. "It's what I pay you for, isn't it? Now go stand by the door. Welcome them in. And look somber."

House sat there, rehearsing his lines in his head.

To hell with the lines.

"Sorry to call you here like this."

"What's going on?" The father. Tall, middle-aged. Looked nothing like his mental image of him – more like the kind of man who'd feel at home in an office setting.

"Your son is dead. Nurses found him this morning. Gunshot to the head."

"My god." The mother. She was peering past him, her eyes half-glazed. He wondered if she was staring at the pale hand peeking out from beneath the blanket. She looked to be all nerves, glancing between him and her husband.

"Got anything you want to tell me? Something that might be missing from the family history?" He narrowed his eyes, leaning closer. "You did this to him. And I want to know why."

"What are you talking about?" The man wheeled on him. "He's our son! Why the hell –"

"It's obvious you can't play the 'love' card. Those bruises, broken bones. Not from biking – at least, not unless he was playing as a ramp. Makes perfect sense. An abused son, brought to a hospital, threatens to snitch, and you shut him up to keep your secret."

"You're wrong! I'd never kill him!"

House stared at the father, raised an accusing eyebrow. "Interesting choice of words. Not denying the abuse, then?" The man opened his mouth, but he cut him off. "Too late." He watched the body language between the two shift, the air in the room growing thinner. "No worries, she didn't kill him either." With the end of a crutch, he lifted the corner of the blanket. "Oops."

He let them take in the face that was definitely not Kevin. Not enough hair. Too many wrinkles.

He'd expected the swing. He'd also misjudged the man's speed. Sagging against the side of the bed, crutches lying abandoned on the floor, he levered himself into a sitting position and motioned to Foreman. Good man. Already holding the man back. House reached into his pocket and flipped open his phone. "Chase," he muttered. "Need the files, et cetera, et cetera. Call Cuddy and get security down here." Slipping it back into his pocket, he ran a hand over his aching jaw. "Okay. Enough pretending. Tell me your real names."

"Arianne and Andrew Zalinski." The woman was hovering at her husband's side, not sure if she should try and remove Foreman.

"Karen and Michael Westman, you mean. Says so on the firearms license. A license from Vermont, oddly enough. And your adopted son – I mean, foster child, is a little far away from home. You do know you're not supposed to remove them from their state of residence, right?" Silence. "Come on. I want answers. Is what I've said true?"

Karen Westman nodded ever so slightly.

"Thought so. Any parents would have come running when their son showed up in the newspaper with his name and the word 'gun' in the same sentence. You wouldn't. It'd be the end of your story. Want to explain things, or do I have to play twenty-questions?"

"He was sick."

The door slid open. "Police are on their way."

House glanced at Cuddy. "Shut up." He turned to the woman. "Go on." A moment's awkward silence was more than enough to spoil his mood. He scowled at Cuddy once more and then turned back to Karen Westman. "It's going to happen," he said quietly. "People are going to find out. The more you say now, the less dirt they'll have on you."

"You have to believe me when I tell you I loved him. I always wanted a boy, but… my job. There was never any time." Every word spoken, he filed away. A screwed up family, a screwed up life. He was only half-listening to the woman's rationales, the rest of his attention spent unravelling the puzzle inside his head. There were still answers he needed.

"…the recession… I lost my job. Mike only kept his by moving to the new firm. And then the next. And then out of state. Suddenly it wasn't just the job. It was keeping Kevin safe too."

"Safe as in from the police?" Cuddy again.

" We needed the money! Even with the job and the care money we could only –"

House cleared his throat. "I get it. It's a rough world out there. You thought you could make it work. What about the gun?"

"In case they found us."

He turned to face the only person who hadn't spoken yet. The father. The man had anger written across his face, betrayal pouring from the stare he gave his wife. House clapped his hands once, twice. It was as loud as a shot in the small room. He knew everybody in the room had flinched. And in that brief second of surprise, he'd gotten a good look at Michael Westman, seen how he'd almost dropped his thin-lipped anger for shock and guilt.

He slipped off the edge of the hospital bed, bracing himself on the safety rail with one hand. Just enough to take the weight off his bad leg. He'd meant to keep his voice steady.

"So why'd you knock him around? Besides being a morally corrupt bastard, I mean." His lips curled back in a snarl. "Can you give me one good reason? Any reason?" He looked the man in the eyes, and saw a spark of anger reflected back at him. He pushed on. "I'm sure it's just the usual stuff. Rationalizations. 'He looked at me funny.' 'He wasn't a good boy.' 'He needs to learn.' If you had any goddamn clue – "

He broke off midsentence, his own voice ringing in his ears. Security had arrived, gathered outside the room like a black wall. Every eye in the room was on him. And he realized where he'd been going and flushed. He dropped his eyes, a tired wave of his hands asking somebody, anybody, to pick up his crutches for him. Someone pressed them into his hand and he propped himself up, pushing past uniforms and into the hallway.

It felt about ten degrees cooler.

"House."

Wilson stood across the hall, leaning against the wood-panelling of the hallway. He raised his head as House approached.

"I heard you in there."

House half-shrugged, still buzzing with the irrational urge to hit someone. Preferably male and stupid. "I didn't say nearly enough."

"You don't need to." His friend was at his side now, keeping pace as they made their way towards the elevators. "I'm sure your legal witness heard enough."

The image of the woman in the corner came to mind, and he nodded. He remembered their conversation before the meeting, the reports and paperwork laid out on the table…

"Would you..." He took a breath, his eyes meeting those of his friend. "I can take care of the rest when I get back. I just need some time to myself."

"Of course."

He nodded his head, a wordless expression of thanks. It was obvious Wilson saw something. He knew him too well. But House knew he wouldn't ask.

The elevator chimed. He made as if to enter. And stopped. The hall felt too empty, and the memories too sharp. Too much of this anger belonged to somebody else. Someone it could never touch, who would never accept it. Some things never changed.

"Wilson."

He opened his mouth to speak, and in the space of a breath, closed it again. The question was still there, but he saw something else. The familiar concern, the wordless acceptance. Hope. And not too far beneath the surface, pity.

He turned away, crumpled everything down into a single word and left it behind in the silence.

"Thanks."

It would have to do.

A/N - One chapter left. Security draws to a close. I wonder how many of you gave up on me, and to be honest, I wouldn't blame you if you did. But you have my eternal thanks if you were one of those who didn't. It means a lot to me.

Well. It's been a long ride, and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. I went back and read the whole thing from beginning to end, and boy has my writing style changed. And it seems I've taken quite a few liberties, as well as toning down the 'security breach' thread cos it didn't really contribute to the story I wanted to tell. Hopefully you didn't notice , or if you did, you were kind enough to ignore them and continue reading~

And now, to the future... With Security out of the way, I'll continue to work on Will Be and Flip Side, but most of my attention's gonna be focussed on a story I started way before any of the others – an old Doctor Who fic that turned into a full-length novel! I'll be posting that when it's finished, along with a Lie To Me/Doctor Who crossover that I've just begun work on this week.

The final chapter of Security will be up next week.

New computer, new college, new start.

-P'Bantonox