Title: Process of Elimination

Rating: T

Disclaimer: House, Cuddy, Rachel, Wilson, and the old team are not my creations. Jensen, Thomas, Abby, Belle, Patterson, Sandra, this universe's version of Cuddy's parents, the new team candidates, and Jet are my creations, but I am making no money from the story.

Series: This story follows the Facts of Life in the Pranks universe, which veered away from the TV series halfway through the Greater Good.

A/N: Here we go on another long roller coaster with lots of fun, adventure, and angst ahead. Updates will be as I am able. RL is intense, and also, all of my music groups are in full swing right now, with six performances that I know of so far between now and Christmas. Fanfiction must take a back seat when the obligations collide. But the story is all done mentally. Hope you enjoy the ride!

(H/C)

Brilliant sunlight flooded the field, and a light, warm wind played with the young leaves on the trees. A perfect spring morning in early May. A rabbit paused with his nervous ears twitching, then scampered for safety as hoof beats sounded along the trail. He disappeared just before two horses emerged into the clearing, trotting side by side. Thomas sat more deeply and gave the slightest tightening of his fingers against the reins, and Ember obediently dropped into a walk, Houdini doing likewise a second later. Thomas looked at his watch. "We'd better be heading back," he said, and his voice was a blend of anticipation and regret. "I don't need to be too much past noon leaving the city."

Lewis smiled over at his friend. Just now, when Thomas wasn't trying to keep a lid on it, the anticipation definitely outweighed the regret. Oh, he was sure Thomas would miss him and all the others after so many years in St. Louis, but he also couldn't wait to start his new life. "Let's walk them around the field first while we can still talk. We won't be able to back at the stable."

Thomas followed his lead, the two horses walking quietly along. "The last ride," he noted. "I'm going to miss you, Lewis."

"I refuse to miss you, because if you don't stay in touch and give me updates on how it's going with your family up there, I'll track you down in New Jersey." Thomas grinned. "And you'll have to send me a picture of Rachel with her pony when she eventually gets one."

"I will," Thomas promised. "That's one reason it took me so long to pick a stable. I wanted a quality place for Ember, of course, but I also wanted a stable that has a whole age range in their lesson program. When she's ready to start, she can ride right there." His smile widened. "Just think, Lewis, someday I'll probably be taking a trail ride with my granddaughter. Just last year . . ." He didn't finish the sentence. "How things can change."

"You deserve it." Lewis knew how hard the last few years had been on his friend. Thomas had been totally obsessed with Emily's illness. It was Lewis who had managed to keep him from selling Ember; in that last year before Emily's death, Thomas had started feeling guilty for not having enough time for the mare lately and had decided it was better to let her go. Lewis, who had known him twenty years, knew what a release riding was for him and how much he would need that immediately available without obstacles when the time came. Furthermore, Emily had known and admired Ember. Some day, when his friend had emerged on the other side of the inevitable, that fact would mean a lot to him. Besides, he and Ember fit each other like hand in glove. So Lewis had volunteered to keep the mare exercised and filled with her quota of carrots, and whenever Thomas wanted her, she would be right there.

Thomas had disappeared right after the funeral, though he did take time to make sure that Lewis would take care of his horse, would take his car out for a drive now and then to keep it running, and he also told him not to worry if he didn't communicate while he was gone. Of course, Lewis worried. Thomas had been there for him after his own wife's death five years earlier. His friend needed his support system now. Heading off on his own - Thomas hadn't narrowed it down any further than Europe and only gave up that much grudgingly - was the last thing he needed. That whole year, Lewis diligently had tried to stay in touch. He quickly discovered that the cell phone was never answered, but email did not bounce. So he sent email updates, pictures of Ember, tales from the stable, anything every week or two, simply letting his friend know that he was still there without demands, just availability.

Then had come the day after eleven months that Thomas finally replied to an email. Only a few words, not really saying anything about himself, just a question about the horse. Slowly, a few halting words became sentences. The day he came home, he called Lewis and asked him to meet him at the airport. He had been thinner, totally silver-haired now, with lines on his face that hadn't been there before and a smile that was slower to light, but he was back. The next day, they took a ride together.

A few days later, Lewis had found the message on his cell phone one morning when he woke up. "Got to go out of town for a week or so. Take care of Ember." Thomas' voice had frightened him. The pure pain and shock in it rivaled even that when Emily died. He tried calling back, and Thomas eventually emailed him a day or two later, as if afraid to trust his voice in a conversation. He was fine; he'd be back soon. Lewis hadn't believed it, of course, but he knew that trying to dig something out of Thomas that he didn't want to tell was pointless.

Thomas had been different on his return, obviously shaken to the core by some new, undefined crisis. He had never been entirely predictable, but he became even less so. He took long solitary rides with Ember at all hours of the day as well as meeting Lewis for their regular trail rides and lunches. He tried to talk and act as usual, but now and then, in unguarded moments, he would stare into space with inexpressible pain in his eyes, yet sometimes, he would smile to himself, too. His friends noticed, but most of them simply put it down to adjustment to life without Emily. Lewis had known there was something else, something on top of the grief, as if that alone hadn't been enough to carry. Slowly, the new tension had started to relax, though it never left, and now and then, Thomas could be heard humming to himself in his off-tune way; music, he had always said, was his father's gift, not his. During the trip to Lexington for a funeral, Thomas hadn't dropped out of contact nor concealed where he was, though Lewis could tell there was more that he wasn't saying. Then came his "vacation," as he had called it, to the Northeast in March, a trip that could have killed him but left him a hero instead.

Lewis had been relieved to see him return a few weeks later with not only an impressive scar along his temple but a new light in his eyes. "Come over to my place for dinner tonight," he had invited that first day back. "I need to talk to you." Talk he did for over an hour, like a dam with a fresh spillway opened, giving the true back story on the last year. He had been so proud of his new family, showing pictures of his granddaughters and his son and daughter-in-law, and he obviously had been near delirious in the relief of being able to tell someone, even though he made it clear to Lewis that this wasn't yet unrestricted knowledge. But he could finally at least tell his best friend about his son.

His son. Lewis had read up on Greg afterwards in the news of the Chandler trial, refreshing his memory from what had been only a generic media story, inspiring but nothing to do with him. Thomas' son. Yes, looking for it, he could see the resemblance in character and a little in appearance. A lot of past to be overcome, but Thomas was making progress steadily now.

"Lewis?" He looked over.

"Just thinking. I'm so happy for you, Thomas. And I understand why you couldn't talk before, but keep me in the loop now, okay?

"I will," his friend repeated. "It killed me not to be able to tell anyone. Except Ember, that is. She knew."

"Well, she kept your secret." Lewis looked at his own watch as the horses completed their ambling circuit of the field. "We do need to get back. About Ember, you said the estimate was for Thursday?"

"Thursday morning roughly. The shipping company didn't want to call it closer than that this far out. Their route changes too much every time across the country, and they might have a tough loader or something; they take as much time as they need at each stop. But they have Bob's number."

"I'll ask him to call me when he knows they're almost here, and I'll come out and give her a goodbye carrot." He grinned again, an expression he was having trouble hiding the last few weeks. "Let me know what Rachel thinks of her."

"Oh, I will. I'm sure she'll insist on meeting her soon. Abby probably will, too; she doesn't seem to have the horse bug, but she's curious about things in general. Feel free to have a couple of farewell rides yourself next week." Thomas ran an affectionate hand down his horse's neck. "Thank you, Lewis, for everything you've done for her. And for me."

"You're sounding too much like you're heading off into the sunset again. You've hit your quota on falling off the face of the earth, Thomas. This isn't goodbye; it's just a transition. Like changing gaits. Come on, let's trot for a while." Houdini picked up the gait promptly, and Ember surged up next to him, her long legs flashing.

Thomas smiled again. "It's a beautiful morning."

"That it is," Lewis agreed. They trotted on together down the trail.

They walked the last half mile to the stable to cool off the horses, talking or not talking in the comfortable, undemanding way of long-time friends. As they clip-clopped up to the back door of the barn, Thomas stared. Everybody was there, not just the usual Saturday riding coordinated chaos of a busy stable, but everybody, all of them waiting in the aisle in front of a tack trunk serving as a table for a big cake. A 5-pound bag of carrots was beside it, and a sign stretched across the aisle in between two stall doors. Happy Trails, Thomas and Ember! The people poured out of the barn to surround him, familiar faces, old friends, recent friends.

Thomas looked over at Lewis. "So that's why you wanted to delay a little at the field."

Lewis shrugged and dismounted. "Had to make sure they were ready. Come on; there's a cake waiting."

Thomas slipped out of the saddle. The crowd pushed up, enjoying springing their surprise, but everybody knew, too, that the two horses had to be taken care of before the celebration could start. Horses came first; that was the rule of the stable. Once Ember and Houdini were groomed and settled back in their stalls, the party began.

(H/C)

He was running late when he finally got away, but that extra hour had been worth it. He gave Ember a pat, promising to see her in a week or so, and then walked out of the barn for the last time. His saddle was over his arm, his bridle jingling in his hand. Bob walked alongside him. "Enjoy your second retirement, Thomas." That was the official public cover story, that he just needed a change of scene, a place to settle in and start a new life in a place not so permeated with the ones he had lost. "I'll call you to let you know when Ember's on the truck."

"You'd better." They stopped at the BMW, and Thomas put his tack in the trunk. He then turned back to Bob, another old friend. Bob was the same age as Tim, and those two had been inseparable. Thomas had watched him grow up from a teen to a responsible stable manager who had taken over from his father. "Thanks for taking care of my girl, Bob."

Bob nodded. Expressing his own feelings had never been his strong point, though he could talk for hours about horses. "Bye, Thomas," he said gruffly. He reached out for an awkward handshake, then turned away quickly.

Thomas took a last sweeping look himself, soaking up thirty years worth of memories of this place. He would paint it, he decided. That would be a good thank you present to mail to Bob. Then he drove away.

Back at his house, he took a quick shower and changed into comfortable jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. The house felt almost deserted already. The furniture he was keeping had been picked up by the moving company yesterday and was to arrive in Princeton on Wednesday, the day after closing on his new house. Of course, there had been a lot he couldn't take, and sorting through everything the last few weeks had been unexpectedly challenging. He was far from materialistic, but there were so many memories wrapped up in the household. He had a suspicion that even what he had narrowed it down to was going to be a tight fit in the new place, but he could always eliminate a few other things if he had to once he saw it all in place. Meanwhile, the things he wasn't keeping had gone to consignment sellers, to charity, or to good friends. Now, the only things left in the mostly empty house were a few pieces that friends hadn't be able to pick up yet; Lewis would coordinate that.

His footsteps echoing off the empty walls, Thomas took a final tour of the upstairs, pausing for a long time in their bedroom. Nothing was left here, nothing but the memories. The bed, dresser, and nightstands were on the moving company's truck, and he had slept on a couch downstairs last night. He took a last look around, remembering, silently thanking the house. Then he walked back down the stairs, touring the first floor as well, then loaded the last few pieces going immediately with him into the BMW. A suitcase with a few changes of clothes. A rosebush, the smallest in Emily's bed, planted by her five years ago and carefully dug up by him last night. He tucked it in the rear floorboard and blocked it in. One final round, and then he carefully locked up, backed the car down the driveway past the for-sale sign, and turned into the street.

Before leaving the city, he made one final stop. For several minutes, he stood in the cemetery at her grave, looking at the stone he had designed long-distance from Europe after her death. Roses climbed the edge of her side of the double stone and extended across the top, and then at the bottom were lines she had loved from a poem by Conrad Aiken. Music I heard with you was more than music, and bread I broke with you was more than bread. He remembered the utter lostness he had felt after her death.

Reaching into his pocket, he took out his wallet and unfolded a paper he kept in there along with the pictures of his family. He had found this poem in the nightstand after he returned from Europe. Her beloved writing, a bit shaky with illness, but still every stroke familiar. She had always loved poetry, and they often read to each other, but she had not delivered this one personally. Obviously, she had known he was not ready for it during her illness, during the frantic fight when he was determined to save her. Instead, she had written it down in one of the rare snatched moments alone, probably while he was cooking or doing something else for her, because nothing but her had existed for him by the end. She had written it privately and had left it for him, and well over a year later, he had found it.

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye

That author's name carefully added at the end had amused him. So Emily. She was unable to avoid citing her source, even in farewell, even when writing was an effort. "You asked me to promise you to find something else to focus on," he told her. "I didn't want to that day, but I've kept my promise, love." He blinked. "I know you aren't here. You'll always be with me."

His cell phone rang, spilling the tones of the Beatles into the old, hushed cemetery. Here Comes the Sun. With a smile, Thomas answered. "Hello, Greg."

"Hey, old man, did you forget to call or just change your mind? The wife is starting to get down to specific worries instead of general ones." Thomas had promised he would call them when he left the city, though his meandering drive across the country, including a short stop in Ohio on the way at his old hometown, was going to take him clear through Monday afternoon.

"I didn't forget, Greg; I'm just running a little late. They gave me a surprise farewell party at the stable, and it took a while to say goodbye to everyone."

"You've got that many friends there? You know, you don't have to do this."

There it was again, that insecurity buried underneath an increasing sharpness of tone that tried unsuccessfully to cover it. "I want to, Greg. What I'm going to is a lot more than what I'm leaving. I can't wait to get to Princeton and be close to you."

Silence for a moment. "If you're going to be late Monday, be sure to call ahead. That gives me a chance to keep Lisa from worrying so much."

Thomas grinned. "I'll keep in touch all the way so she won't have to wonder about me. I'll be fine, Greg. I enjoy trip driving." True, but he wasn't used to doing it solo.

"Don't forget, I want to see the sacred Beamer, so it needs to be in one piece."

"It will be." He glanced at his watch. "I'd really better hit the road now. That party did throw me off."

""Kay." Thomas heard a toilet flush. "Here, talk to the wife for a minute and let her know you're alive." A door opened. "Lisa!" Greg called, right in Thomas' ear, and he flinched. "He's leaving now."

Her quick footsteps approached, and Thomas listened to them, appreciating how familiar they had become. "Thomas? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Lisa. They had a surprise farewell party for me and Ember at the stable, so I got delayed. I've already left the house, actually. I just had one quick stop to make first, but I'm about to hit the highway."

"You stopped by the cemetery," his daughter-in-law guessed promptly.

"Yes." He looked at the stone again, then down at the poem, and he started folding up the sheet one-handed and putting it away.

"You be careful driving."

"I will. I'll call you tonight from a motel when I stop. Tomorrow is Ohio, and then Monday evening, I'll see you."

Rachel's footsteps, just as recognizable and a lot faster, scampered up. "I wanna talk to Grandpa Thomas!" she demanded.

"Not right now," Lisa insisted. "He'll talk to you tonight, okay? He needs to leave now so he can drive before it gets dark."

Thomas couldn't resist the title that both of his granddaughters used. "Oh, let me talk to her. I won't take long."

She sighed but handed off the phone. "Hi, Grandpa Thomas!"

"Hi, Rachel. I'm on the way there. I'll see you Monday night."

"Yay! But not Ember?"

"No, not Ember yet. Ember can't ride in my car; she doesn't fit in the seat." Rachel giggled at the image. "So she's coming a few days later in a big truck. I can't really talk long now, but I'll be there soon. I promise. Can I talk to Abby?"

"Abby!" Rachel shared her father's style of calling others while holding a phone, and Thomas flinched again. "Talk to Grandpa Thomas. Here. But just for a minute; he's gotta leave."

The cell phone was passed off again. "Hi, Grandpa Thomas."

"Hi, Abby. I was just letting you know I'd be there soon. I'll see you Monday."

"Sunday, Monday." She paused. "Work day."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see. "Exactly. Monday is the first day your parents go back to work after the weekend. I'll see you then, but it will be after they get home from work."

"Okay." Her mother's voice could be heard in the background, and Abby dutifully repeated the message. "Mama says bye."

"Bye to everybody. I'll call tonight." He hit off, then spoke to the tombstone again. "That was Greg and his family. Oh, I wish you could have known them, Em." He put his cell phone away, then reached forward to trace the letters on the granite, but he changed his mind after the E. The letters were cold. She had been warm and alive. She wasn't really here anyway, like she'd said. He turned away, getting into the waiting BMW after a final pretrip stretch and then heading for the highway.

When he passed the city limits, he didn't look back.