A/N: Sorry for the longer than intended delay. Life has been crazily busy.

Updates on the fanfic are probably going to come more slowly now. For one thing, my favorite and most intense musical group restarted rehearsals after Labor Day, and we have two concerts between now and Christmas with that one, plus the other music. For another, I recently switched volunteer work when my old task ran itself down to complete, and the new area, while fun, seems to be trying to run away with me. I'm working on setting limits on that. Of course, there's always my full-time job, my project fixer-upper farm, and Mom. But most likely to compete for writing things down time is my latest book idea.

I have decided to write a book about Mom's illness, both as a tribute to her and encouragement/commiseration for other caretakers out there. This will take precedence whenever I feel up to writing down a chapter on it. It's very much an open-ended project in terms of timeline, since it logically would have to end with her death, but she and I have been walking this road of her disease for 15 years now, so there are plenty of chapters to catch up to present day. That one will be real world published ultimately. The title is C-Sharp Minor.

I don't expect that to totally shove fanfic aside. I tend to work on multiple writing projects mentally simultaneously anyway, and I also expect that there will be plenty of days when I want to write something down but just don't have it in me to approach that. Writing has normally been an unwind/escape/get a breather from life activity for me, and I'm expecting that to be the most demanding thing I've ever written. So the fanfic will still come, but it's going to be sharing my time more than it has.

As for the House stories, this chapter ends Housewarming. And yes, the title has a double meaning. :) Next up is Pain, long and involved. The one after that is building under the tentative working title of Retribution. Beyond that, ideas coalescing. I think there will be another Pranks story, but it's still sprouting. I also have had an idea in the last two weeks for another House story, not this universe but a completely different and much weirder AU, a multichapter work. I'm not entirely sure the muse will grab on that. She is chewing it thoughtfully. It's an odd concept but a lot of potential to play with the idea, I think. We shall see what happens and if that takes hold. If I don't decide to take that idea for myself, I'll put it up for adoption, as it could turn into even multiple fun stories, depending on where different people went with it.

Meanwhile, enjoy Housewarming, part two. And by the end, you will know what my favorite movie is.

Thanks for reading.

(H/C)

"Remember, girls," Thomas reiterated as House turned into his street, "you have to be quiet and move slowly with Jet. Even more than you do with Ember. Jet's been hurt. He's still afraid something else might hurt him."

"Poor Jet," said Rachel.

Abby wiggled in her car seat. "I wanna see his big Band-Aid."

House felt a surge of pride at her diagnostic curiosity. Abby wanted to examine the kitten, to watch him walk and look at him as a case study, as much as she was capable of it. Just like he himself had Thursday. His daughters were so different but each special, Rachel's energy and compassion and Abby's curiosity and analysis.

"You can see him," Thomas told them. "You can probably even pet him after a while, but you'll have to let him get used to having you there first. Just don't run. I mean don't run inside. I know you need to run, but do that in the back yard, okay?"

"Yay!" Rachel strained against her car seat straps as House parked in the driveway. "With a slide! I wanna slide." Thomas' house came equipped with a small play structure in the back yard, a memento from the grandkids of the previous owners. That couple had been delighted that it would still be appreciated now that their own grandchildren had outgrown it.

House opened the car door and exited. Leaving Cuddy and the old man to free the girls, he limped over to the porch, studying the newly planted rosebush in front of it. Emily's rosebush. Blythe's azalea was blooming at his own place. This one had a few buds but no blooms yet. It looked less shell shocked at being transplanted than it had last week as it began to taste the new ground. He looked at the barely cracking buds and tried to decide what color it would be. Nothing definite yet, just very preliminary promises.

Rachel hopped up the porch steps, jumping two-footed from each level to the next. "Let's see Jet!" she commanded, reaching for the door.

Thomas unlocked the door, gripping her hand at the same time. "Gently," he admonished again.

House entered after them, letting Cuddy and Abby bring up the rear. Rachel stopped in the middle of the living room and looked around. "Jet?" she called. "Kitty, kitty."

Not a sound, not even a black whisker. Thomas knew that Jet was in his cave. They had made more than enough noise approaching the house to send him into hiding. Still, Thomas didn't mention that. Having the girls down on the floor trying to climb or reach through the opening wouldn't soothe the kitten at all. "He'll come out when he's ready to meet us. Why don't we sit down for a little while and see if he turns up? Then we'll go outside after that and start the grill while you play."

"Yay!" Rachel ran two steps of a circle and then pulled herself up even before the adults could say anything. She looked around guiltily. "Sorry, Jet," she whispered.

Cuddy smiled. "Come on, girls. Let's go through the bathroom first, then we'll wait for Jet." She headed down the hall with her daughters, having to pry Abby away from an inspection of the piano.

House sat down on the piano bench facing the room, not the keys, and flinched, hoping a moment later that he had concealed it. This bench was hard, no cushion at all, much less his marvelous therapeutic cushion at his baby grand at home. He made a mental note to choose another seat when they settled down after lunch in here for a movie, but for now, he stayed where he was.

Thomas sat down in the recliner, putting himself where he would be immediately visible once Jet peered out. "I ought to get a cushion for that thing." House tensed up, and Thomas went on smoothly. "I was playing it last night myself - trying to, anyway, now that it's tuned - and I was all stiff by the time I got up. I also need to find a piano teacher and sign up for more senior edition beginner's lessons."

The diversion was irresistible, and House slowly moved mentally away from his leg. "I'll check around. See who's an idiot and who's less of one. You sure you want to keep on with it? You're up here with us now." He was relieved that Thomas didn't ask him to give him lessons. Even Rachel's brief foray into lessons had tried his patience sorely. With the old tensions added with the old man that he was slowly working on, he'd be bound to say something too sharp one day out of musical frustration and push things too far.

"Oh, I intend to listen. You and Abby both. But yes, I want to keep on with lessons. That wasn't just because I was away from you all and looking for a substitute connection. I'm enjoying the challenge." Thomas laughed softly. "Wish I'd enjoyed it all those years ago, but it didn't matter to me then. You can teach an old dog new tricks, but it's harder." He glanced sideways, and House knew that Jet had peeped out of his cave.

In the next moment, the kitten retreated as Cuddy exited the bathroom and came back down the hall with the girls.

Rachel looked around at once for the missing kitten. "Jet?"

"Play, Daddy!" Abby said, walking over to him.

He looked down at her blue eyes, a mirror image of his - and of his grandfather's. "I can't play. The keys have vanished," he teased, raising his hands to finger air.

Rachel giggled, but Abby tossed her head impatiently. She enjoyed joking around with her father at times, but music was serious. "Turn over," she instructed.

Thomas chuckled, and House grinned himself at the image. "Turn over?" Yeah, he could see himself doing cartwheels here on the piano bench.

"It's here!" Abby hit a few keys behind him to demonstrate. Middle C, E, and G, House noted. Even impatient, she didn't just bang.

He started to swivel around, slowly as usual, and Thomas spoke up. "What's kitten music, Greg? Maybe you can conjure up Jet for the girls." Thomas also knew that with the girls quiet and focused on their father, the kitten was likely to come out faster.

"Kitten music?" House sighed. "There's Kitten on the Keys, but that's not really a soothing summons."

"Aristocats," Rachel requested.

House started into a medley of songs from the movie, trying to keep it flowing and not too frisky at the moment. Both girls settled down with their mother on the couch, watching their father. From there, he moved over into Memory from Cats, letting the music beckon softly.

Jet had been fascinated by the music on House's visit at lunch Thursday. The kitten had been hiding at first then, too, though he had emerged much sooner than this. He had actually seemed to like House, had sniffed him over thoroughly, cane included, as the two men ate and talked and had only tensed up but hadn't run when House bent over slowly to pick him up after a few minutes, carefully letting Jet see his intentions and not startling him.

But after a physical exam, when House was ready to leave and decided to play something first to test the piano out now that it had been tuned after its trip, Jet had been intrigued. He had sat still in the middle of the floor, staring, and had purred throatily throughout three or four selections. A most appreciative audience. Belle liked music, too, House had often noted. He wondered if it was a universal feline trait. No, there was Mozart, who seemed oblivious to the true purpose of anything going on, reading the whole world of human activity as an attempt to play with the kitten.

House saw Jet now from the corner of his eye before the girls noticed him. The playing never faltered, and they didn't realize he was out yet, still focused on their father. Jet crept out of his cave in almost comical slow motion, trying to sneak and unable to. He looked from Thomas to the other man at the tall music box to Cuddy and the girls. It was the largest group of guests he'd met yet, and he clearly wasn't sure about all this. But there was Thomas, there was the music, and his own curiosity was in a tug-of-war with his fears.

Thomas dropped his hand over the side of the recliner and wiggled his fingers. Jet crept across to him, and Thomas scratched his ears for a minute, then gently picked the kitten up. He wanted to have a good hold on him once . . .

"Jet!" Rachel came bubbling off the couch. The kitten froze and gave one half scramble, and Thomas held him firmly against flight, petting him the whole while.

"Easy!" he reminded Rachel.

She slowed down, walking over flat footed, but her hands were eager. Abby looked from her father at the piano to her grandfather with the kitten, torn between two magnets. House was amused but took pity on his younger daughter, resolving the chord and ending the current song. Released from the music's spell, she slid off the couch and went over herself.

Jet was pulled back against Thomas now, making himself as small as he could. Rachel reached out to him. "Hi, Jet," she said softly.

"Scratch his ears like you do Belle's. He likes that," Thomas told her.

She scratched his ears, and the kitten started to purr softly after a hesitation. Rachel smiled. "He likes me!"

Abby was alongside her sister now, reaching out not for the black ears but for the white splint. "Abby, be careful," Thomas warned.

"I wanna see it," she insisted.

"Which of course requires your hands instead of your eyes." Her father pried himself off the nonpadded piano bench and came up behind her. "Don't pull." He captured her fingers, guiding them gently over the splint. "You don't want to hurt him." Abby felt all around the splint, and only after a few minutes of that did she start simply petting the kitten.

Jet's tentative purr stopped, and he looked back at Thomas. Being trapped in the middle of a huddle of four people, two of whom were small and a bit unguarded in their movements, was getting to him.

Thomas scratched his ears, then took pity on him. "Well, you've met Jet. Now, why don't we let him think about things in here while we go out and start lunch? He needs to get used to the idea of all of us being here. Give him time, and he'll be more relaxed later. Okay?"

"Can he walk?" Abby asked. She had been told he could walk, but she wanted to see it for herself.

"Stand back, everybody, and I'll show you. A little farther back." Thomas waited until they had retreated enough that he didn't think the kitten would bolt, and then he set him down on the floor, holding on for another several strokes and a final ear scratch. Once released, Jet took another uneasily curious visual inventory of the crowd, then limped back across the floor into his cave.

Abby watched his trek intently. Rachel was smiling ear to ear. "Bye, Jet."

(H/C)

Nearly an hour later, House came back in from the back yard for a pit stop. With nobody else inside to see, he let himself smile openly as he crossed the kitchen. The grill had been stubborn about lighting; and he was secretly delighted to discover something that his father didn't do well. After a battle, it was finally resigned, and the burgers had just gone on. The girls, meanwhile, had explored the yard thoroughly, including the slide and swing, which were nicely sized for smaller kids. Rachel had run herself silly, burning off a morning's worth of hard self restraint. Originally, she had wanted to ride Grandpa Thomas like a horse again, but Cuddy had vetoed that, saying he needed more time to heal from his "accident." Always distractible, Rachel had accepted the yard instead. Abby seemed much more relaxed today, enough so that House realized anew how tense she had been while the Cuddys had been in Princeton. He had to remember how observant she was, even at her age.

As he exited the bathroom, Thomas was standing at the end of the hall, purpose in every line of his posture. House warily came to a stop in front of him. "What?"

Thomas looked uneasy, oddly for such a talented actor, but he pushed on without delay. "I wanted to ask you two questions, Greg."

"Which I'm not going to like." House shifted around him to gain the larger living room. Not that Thomas had actually been physically blocking him, just waiting there, but House felt better for some room to maneuver. He limped clear across the room to the far end and stopped in front of the mountain painting. "So, did Wilson get the full story behind this?"

Thomas heard the unspoken followup. While I still haven't? His son had grilled him a few times making sure that he hadn't been the main topic of discussion at Wednesday's lunch. No doubt Wilson himself had come in for some questioning, too. Thomas answered, even though he knew this was just a delaying tactic. "No, he didn't, Greg. He didn't even realize there was any special significance to it. It was just a nice piece of decor to him. About that question . . ."

"Two, you said," House interrupted. "Ask me the one you weren't going to put first."

"There's a tentative date set on the closing on my St. Louis house. It's in three weeks, on a Thursday. I can make it a tight one-day trip, early flight, closing, and then home. But I wondered if you would come over in the middle of that day and eat lunch here and spend a little time with Jet just so he doesn't feel abandoned."

House blinked. "You want me to kitten sit? That's all?"

"That's the question I was going to ask second. He likes you, Greg." Jet at that moment emerged from his cave, checked to make sure the coast was clear, and then limped across to the two men. He reared up and pawed Thomas' jeans leg, and Thomas smiled and bent to pick him up. "Eventually, it won't matter as much to leave him alone all day, but he still needs reassurance at this point. You're the best choice next to me."

House reached out to scratch Jet's ears. "Anybody's a step up from the one who tossed him."

"Cats also are excellent judges of character. He does like you, Greg."

"You'll be getting me into more trouble with Belle, you know." Belle was thoroughly disgruntled at having smelled Jet long distance for several evenings now. She was starting to realize that the kitten wasn't going to live there, but she still flattened her ears and sniffed disparagingly at first and only became sociable after an eloquent pause.

"Belle will get used to the idea. She's already starting to."

House shrugged. "Okay, I'll kitten sit. But you leave the money to order lunch." Thomas grinned and nodded. "What's the other question?"

Thomas tensed up again, and House realized to his surprise that the old man originally had been approaching whatever the harder request was first instead of putting it off as long as possible. This was the source of his uneasiness. "Greg, are you all right?" Thomas asked.

House's hand stilled on the kitten. "Fine," he snapped. He started to turn away.

"Greg." Thomas' voice was a low plea. "Something is different the last few days. I thought you were just tired Wednesday night, but it was still there Thursday at lunch. It's still there this morning. You've been healing up slowly since the explosion, but your leg and your side are bothering you more since Wednesday. I'm not asking all the details of what's going on, Greg, just for reassurance that you know what it is and that you're treating it."

House jerked away from this conversation, limping off a few feet. "You think two months ago wasn't bad enough to still be healing?"

Thomas didn't follow him. "I know it is. I'm not quite 100% myself yet. But there is something new going on this week."

"Ask Lisa," House snarled. "Which you probably already have, so drop the charade."

"No, I haven't. I asked you first."

House looked back in challenge. "First?"

"If you won't give me an answer, I probably will ask Lisa."

"And throw her into the middle of us. Nice going, old man."

"I'm not asking for details. Not you or her. Keep whatever private that you want to. I just want to know, yes or no, if you're okay."

House glared at him, searching for any insincerity. Abruptly, he remembered John the night of that painful dinner in the cafeteria, belittling his handicap, telling him he didn't know how lucky he was. He didn't actually hear John's voice now, but the memory of the words alone was enough to make his jaw clench. He looked away from the old man to the mountain painting. Something hidden there, too. Thomas had no right to protest secrecy. "Tell me what that painting means," he demanded. "All of it."

Thomas turned to face it himself, and his eyes went distant. After a moment, he spoke softly. "That's where I asked Emily to marry me. Perfect day, just like that, even down to the hawk circling. I painted that as a gift to her for our 25th wedding anniversary. Worked on it as a surprise in a friend's house. She absolutely loved it. And . . ." He paused, and House didn't push. "I promised her another one for our 50th. I was going to paint from our honeymoon. We didn't make it to 50."

He stopped again briefly. "We did go back to visit that site a few times over the years. The last time was one of the best driving vacations we'd ever had. Camped out there again, even at our age, and we talked about how wonderful everything had been. It was one week after we got back that she first went to the doctor for what she thought were some minor symptoms, and he ordered more tests." Thomas shook his head. "She wasn't putting things off and ignoring warning signs. Not like Blythe. And we tried everything. It still didn't help. That painting always hung in our bedroom, and during her last few months, we'd use it for pain relief. Distraction. Going back there again."

He came to the end, and House saw the gleam of unshed tears in his eyes. Jet, still in Thomas' arms, arched back, rubbing his head along the old man's chest, and purred. Thomas stroked him as the silence lengthened for a minute. "I did not tell Wilson that," Thomas repeated. "I wouldn't have even if he asked. Haven't told Lisa yet, either. I'll probably tell her someday, but I can't imagine telling all of it to anybody who wasn't a close family member. Right now, you're the only other one who knows how we used it at the end."

House spoke up after a moment. "I'm okay," he said. He left it there almost as a challenge, but it was clearly an answer, not an evasion.

To his surprise, Thomas accepted it without further details. "Thank you, Greg. That takes a weight off my mind." He looked back at the painting, and House remembered again that the old man had lost everybody in his former family. All but Emily had been sudden blows, too. No wonder he'd fought so obsessively for a cure for her; it was the first time he'd been presented with a battle, with some chance, not just a phone call and a funeral. Even then, he had lost.

House was surprised to hear his voice speaking again. "I started a course of PT on Wednesday morning. Just to finish getting back to before the explosion. Three sessions so far."

Thomas relaxed even more. "I well remember PT with my shoulder after I got hurt in the Marines," he commiserated. "Gave me sympathy for people in medieval torture chambers."

There was no more pushing on details on the leg. House watched him petting the kitten. "Had any more parking lot encounters with Patterson?" he asked.

"Not from a parking lot, but I've called her twice this week to update her on Jet. We talked for a while."

At that moment, the back door opened, and Cuddy's voice was heard, as well as the more-distant laughter of the girls. "Boys? It's ready."

"Be right there," Thomas called back. He set Jet back down on the floor. "Thank you, Greg," he said again, then turned and left.

House and Jet looked at each other. "Do I look like a kitten sitter to you?" he demanded.

Jet limped over and sniffed at the cane, and House bent to scratch his ears. "Scram, tripod. I need to leave." He moved off gently, careful not to shake the kitten's balance as he pulled his foot away. He took time for another quick inspection of the mountain painting close up, then headed for the back door to rejoin his family.

(H/C)

After lunch, they wound up back in the living room, House and Cuddy with Abby on the couch, Thomas and Rachel in the recliner, Jet in his cave. Thomas hit the remote and started the DVD.

House quickly realized why the old man had promised that The Man from Snowy River would have something to appeal to all of them. There were plenty of horses for Rachel (and Thomas), a sappy love story for Cuddy, and surprisingly good music for House and Abby. The scenery was stunning. Rachel, tired out enough now to sit still, was delighted when Jet emerged to join the party. He waited warily for a few minutes, watching her, then reared up, and Thomas lifted him into the recliner, raising its occupancy to three.

Abby, settled contentedly in her father's arms, looked back at him as the montage of pure piano music, no dialogue, during the breaking in of the colt ended. "Can you play, Daddy?" she asked.

House had been soaking up the notes like a sponge. Not that difficult but certainly expressive. "I'll play it for you sometime, Abby," he promised.

She nodded, satisfied. "Me, too," she promised.

"Someday, yes. You need bigger hands first." Abby looked at her hands and stretched them out to their fullest extent, and House caught Thomas watching them instead of the screen.

The movie wound on. Cuddy put her arm around House's shoulders and pulled him over more tightly against her when Jim Craig said to Jessica Harrison, "If it was easy to get to know it, it wouldn't be challenging. You've got to treat the mountains like a high-spirited horse. Never take them for granted," and Jessica replied, "It's the same with people, too."

House kept watching the movie, but his thoughts drifted away on a second track. He was sitting here surrounded by his family, enjoying a simple Saturday together. Five years ago, he could never have imagined this.

"Watch this," Thomas said.

Abby was drifting off in House's arms, but she perked up and paid attention again. Rachel, stubbornly fighting tiredness, was riveted as the final scene started. The herd of wild horses, the pounding music and scenery of the chase, the climax when Jim jumped his horse over the edge of the cliff after the mob while all the other riders pulled up. "Wow," Rachel said as the horses arrived on level ground again. "Can Ember do that, Grandpa Thomas?"

"No." House grinned at Cuddy's firm veto joining Thomas' simple answer. The old man looked over at her and smiled. "Lisa, I absolutely promise you that I'll never jump Ember off a cliff. Okay?"

"I know it's silly, but . . ."

Thomas shook his head. "It's not silly. Lots of people are afraid of horses. And I still promise, we aren't ever going to do that."

Cuddy relaxed. House studied the cracking stock whip as Jim delivered the wild herd to Harrison's homestead, and a thought occurred to him for the first time. This whip was nothing like the ones John had used (though he was glad John hadn't been able to find one this size). Furthermore, Jim clearly never touched the horses with it, using it for sound guidance only. House had been relieved to discover that the riding crops out at the stable didn't bother him at all, though he hadn't seen anybody there beating a horse with theirs, either. But he wondered suddenly if John had known that Thomas liked horses even during the old man's horseless military days. Was the use of a riding whip against young Greg another subtle strike at his true father?

Someday, maybe, he would ask. Just now, it was enough that the whips did not bother him. The past was past. Today belonged firmly to the present.

Cuddy gave a happy sigh as Jessica left her father and walked out to Jim, and he tipped his hat to her. "That is a neat movie, Thomas. Thanks for suggesting it."

Rachel, meanwhile, was petting Jet. "He likes me," she repeated as the credits rolled.

Abby turned to her father. "Play like that, Daddy."

House moved her over and stood up. Settling in at the piano, he replayed the memory from the movie, then launched into Jessica's theme. His first piano, he recalled, stroking the keys fondly. He was glad that it was here with his family on this day together. He looked over at them again, his hands unfailing on the keys even as his head turned.

Never take them for granted.

John was wrong, as he had been on many things.

Deep down, House knew exactly how lucky he was.