Chapter Text
"You know, part of having a job as a head of department is that they give you a personal office, a common room and a break room. All of which you're undeserving of, but you can sleep in."
Wilson barely glances at the limp sack of a man occupying his leather sofa as he enters his office and heads straight to his desk, adding another folder to the pile of papers he’s put aside for later that evening.
House stirs, pulls the sports magazine off his face with a loud, fatherly groan and stretches his arms above his head, his yawn becoming a sound just a step away from indecent for anyone outside the office.
"You know, studies show that sleeping next to someone you love shortens the time needed to actually fall asleep. And shorter sleep latency is associated with better sleep efficiency. Which means you're making me very happy."
"I wasn't even in the office."
"Your scent lingers. Sometimes I can still hear your incessant whining echo even after you leave, it's incredible." House sits up, moving his legs from one end of the sofa to the coffee table in front of him. "The naps are so much better here. Comfy couch. Noise canceling walls."
Wilson grabs the cane hooked on the corner of his desk and uses it to push House’s shoes off the table, still careful enough to aim for the left leg.
"I got them installed when Cuddy told me you asked for my office to be right next to yours when I got hired."
"I never asked any of that. Maybe she was just trying to play cupid."
“It didn’t work.”
Wilson turns back to his files before the distinctive, plain ringtone of his phone starts playing. He instinctively reaches for his back pocket, then the breast pocket of his lab coat phone rings, then turns towards the source of the sound.
House smiles at him innocently, reaching for the back pocket of his jeans.
“I needed to beat my record on Doodle Jump."
He justifies himself and holds up the phone for inspection just enough to make out the name flashing on the screen.
Javier Gonzalez
The phone is snatched from his hands.
"It's your nurse friend from Mercy." House explains, watching the expression on Wilson’s face rapidly change from hassled to worried.
"Dr. Wilson." His composure doesn’t reflect the clear and professional tone he adopts. House studies his reactions, trying to discern what the man on the other end of the call could be saying. "Yes, hi. It's me. Yes. Not bothering at all, please, tell me."
He listens attentively for a minute or so until color suddenly drains from his face.
"Oh." House spots the eye fluttering, the nervous swallowing, the hand lifting and pausing in mid-air, his fist clenching softly as he listens. “Are you sure it’s…”
He’s silent for a few seconds, nodding to the phone as if the nurse could somehow see him, House feels compelled to stand up and get close enough to eavesdrop, so he reaches to take the cane Wilson is still mindlessly holding onto.
"Yeah. Yes. I'll... I'll be there as soon as I can. Okay. Thank you."
Wilson hangs up the phone and watches the screen as if expecting another call telling him everything he’d heard was a prank concocted by House. Instead House looks up at him from the couch with a similar concerned look on his face.
"Is Danny okay?"
Wilson seems genuinely taken aback by his honesty and nods again, brows furrowed, struggling to come up with the right words.
"Yeah, he just... there's a thing. I need to go." He hears himself say before he’s peeling off his lab coat and draping it over the chair. "I need my schedule cleared for the day. Could you tell Cuddy? Or my assistant?"
"Sure. I'll tell them you had explosive diarrhea."
Wilson is immune to his attempt at humor and simply nods again and heads for the door, grabbing his messenger bag and coat on the way out.
"Thanks."
He has a hand on the doorknob when House speaks.
"You okay going alone?"
That stops Wilson in his tracks for a few seconds as he ponders, then shakes his head ‘yes’ once more, almost hyping himself up.
"Y-Yeah. Yeah. I hope so." House nods, hand still wrapped around the curve of his cane to push himself to his feet if necessary. Wilson opens the door under his scrutiny and looks back at him one last time. "I'll call you."
"Bring bagels."
With Wilson presumably getting on the first train to New York, House doesn’t have much to do except keep himself busy to avoid thinking about every worst possible outcome. It doesn’t help, because his mind goes straight to Daniel’s possible death but he tries to convince himself Wilson would’ve said something. He would’ve spoken even in the case of a major drop in his health, but he didn’t. He’d stayed silent, which could’ve only meant worse.
Could he have disappeared again?
He comes up with a possible explanation for his new patient’s symptoms, and sends the team to look into the possibility of an arrhythmia manifesting as ear pain because of arterial blockages. Long shot, but his mind is buzzing with more pressing matters.
He finds himself thinking of Wilson, yet again, considers calling him but looks at the watch and realizes it’s not been long, he’s probably still on his way, perhaps in a cab by now.
After alerting Wilson’s assistant as promised, he feels like he’s fulfilled a whole day’s worth of responsibility, so he stretches in his Eames chair and balances the red stress ball on the handle of his cane, throwing it up in the air and catching it with impressive moves, fruit of years of fucking around.
He hasn’t even had the time to get someone to buy him lunch, as his personal unconsenting sugar daddy has decided to flee on his quest to save his little brother from whatever emergency he had.
House has met Danny a handful of times, back when he’d just come back in contact with his brother. They’d visited him together at Mercy; he was wary of House’s presence at first. But, then again, he hadn’t warmed up to Wilson either.
He was taller than Wilson, skinnier, hollowed cheeks that made him appear older than his sibling. He resembled Wilson but in a way that felt off-putting, he’d seen pictures of them as kids and they’d always looked like twins. Seeing him now felt like dipping momentarily into another universe where Wilson was ill, weathered and sadder than he’d even been. The thought made him feel slightly queasy.
Most of their meetings had ended up leaving a sour taste in Wilson’s mouth as well, they’d been awkward and quiet and even House’s humorous quips hadn’t helped.
After a while Wilson told him he could stop going with him, as there was no particular use in tagging along. So he let Wilson go alone. Nothing had changed for the first year or so, but after House had left Mayfield Wilson had mentioned the past visits going very well. Apparently there had been another emergency while Wilson was still mourning Amber and refusing to see House, which explained why he hadn’t told him until much later.
After the emergency, things had gone smoother, Wilson visited his brother monthly so House had only seen his reaction once since he’d gotten back home from rehab, and he was almost happy. He said they’d talked about their childhoods and that Danny was showing enormous progress under a new treatment.
It hadn’t been long. What could’ve possibly happened in a matter of weeks to require Wilson’s presence there?
He’s snacking on a bag of chips when he hears the rapid clicking of heels down the hallway and throws his head back in annoyance. As anticipated Cuddy barges into the office to question Wilson’s sudden disappearance. Everyone in this hospital seems to think every inconvenience is somehow House’s fault. Most of the time they are but, God , give the guy a break.
He answers in earnest but still isn’t taken seriously. He’s never been happier to see Chase, when he walks into the office and interrupts their conversation to report the new symptoms their patient has shown, successfully luring the Head Of Medicine away from the room.
After suggesting beta blockers and sending the Aussie on his merry way, he’s once again left to his grim thoughts.
He leaves the office a couple of times, to help with the case, out of boredom more than anything. The patient’s state has worsened in a matter of hours, he has no choice but to meet with the team in the break room multiple times. He finds himself reaching for his pager or the phone in his pocket repeatedly, wanting to call and seek answers but not wanting to appear desperate. His inner turmoil is put to rest when his ringtone blares through his office at 6:12 p.m.
"House." Wilson’s tone is lighter, but bordering on yelping. He sounds both more relieved and more terrified than earlier.
"How's the schizo bro?”
"Good, I just... I need you to come home. Now. "
"I don’t think it’s possible at the moment."
"House, this is urgent."
"No can do, buddy."
"Why?”
“You insisted on driving me to work, so unless you come here and pick me up, I can’t exactly teleport in our living room-”
“Take a bus. Ask someone on your team to drive you.”
"Is it a matter of life or death?"
"Let's say "yes"."
“That didn’t sound convincing.”
“House.”
"You better be naked and covered in whipped cream when I get there."
"Yes, whatever you want. Just, for the love of God, please, get over here."
"Okay, fine! I'm coming. I just need to find a charitable minion first."
"To do what?"
"To drive me home?"
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry I'm panicking."
"I can hear that." House waits a beat, actually concerned. "Need someone to stay on the line?"
It takes James a moment. "No… thank you."
"You sure? I can ask one of the nurses-"
"I'll... I'll be fine. Just come home."
He hangs up with a sigh and immediately dials Foreman’s number.
"What do you want?"
"It's not me. It's Wilson. He desperately needs me." His tone might’ve come off more theatrical than he intended.
"I'm glad you two figured things out, House, but I do not have the time-"
"He gave me a ride this morning. Not a euphemism. Had a family emergency and left with the car. Now he's calling me in panic and needs me home. I don't know how to get there."
"So you're asking me to drive you there?"
"I'm not asking."
"I noticed."
"He sounded scared. I need to get there before he does something stupid like adopting a diabetic cat or getting hitched to our neighbor."
"If only there was a magic word to get people to do you favors."
"Money?"
"That works too."
"Good, Wilson will take care of that when we get there. Now, can you or can you not-" The door opens to Foreman, still holding the phone to his ear. Uh. The prodigal son still proves to be the most efficient of the four.
"Get your jacket and out the door, will you?"
House rises from his chair, leaning on the desk, grabs his cane, then his jacket and walks past Eric.
"Took you long enough."
Foreman shakes his head with a sigh and a hint of a smile.
The ride home is silent, he realizes now he hasn’t picked the most talkative of the Fab Four, although Thirteen would’ve probably been just as boring after a long and tiring work day (for them).
Foreman parks the car by the entrance of their building, House is still coming up with a way to thank him without actually saying those two dreaded words when his employee gets out of the car before him.
“Where are you going?”
“You said Wilson had an emergency, he’s my friend so I’m checking up on him.” He explains, pushing the door close and clicking on his remote to lock the car.
“He’s not your friend.” House argues, leading the way inside and towards the elevator.
“Colleague, then.”
“You want the money.”
Foreman’s voice gets a pitch higher at the accusation.
“I don’t want- I want to see if he’s okay. He says he needs help and we both know you’re no help at all.”
“Careful you might hurt my tender feelings.”
He wouldn’t admit it but he picks up his pace down the hallway, curiosity and worry getting the best of him. He knocks with his cane as his hand searches for the keys in his various pockets. He might’ve left them home, he doesn’t really bother to get them anymore since he’s started living with the most paranoid man on Earth.
Wilson opens the door, only keeping it suspiciously slightly ajar.
His eyes are wide, he seems to have given into the long awaited manic episode, it was bound to happen.
"You're not naked." House announces, earning sighs from both doctors.
"Yeah, I'll get going." Eric starts but Wilson holds up a hand through the very small, almost comedic, opening of the door.
"I didn't call him for sex. I wouldn't- we're not. This is not a thing! We're not together. We would never!" He’s on the verge of yelling as he flails his one hand.
"I think you got the point across." House says, pressing his mouth into a sneer to avoid laughing.
“Everything okay? House said you had a family emergency.” Foreman persists.
“Yeah, no, I- I’m fine. Things are fine. Just... Thank you for driving him here."
"I told him I'd pay him."
Wilson waits, looks between them, then grabs his wallet with a loud sigh, takes twenty bucks and hands them to Eric.
"You didn't have to. But I deserve them for dealing with your boyfriend on a daily basis."
"He's not my- God. House, just get inside!"
House doesn’t miss his opportunity.
"That's what he said last night."
"Nice." Foreman sighs with a grin and a tilt of his head.
"Bye, Eric. Thank you."
Foreman smiles, nods goodbye. Wilson waits for him to turn around to avoid seeming impolite as he slams the door closed.
"What was so urgent?" House growls as he hangs his cane on the first coat hook, takes Wilson's coat off the second and tosses it over a nearby chair, to hang his jacket on the newly freed hook.
"If you're gonna help me, please, for the love of God, stop giving me that exhausting tone of yours."
"I never said I would help."
"House." He sounds exhausted, looks it, too. He’s shed his jacket, the sleeves of his shirts are rolled up messily and he’s still wearing that God awful tie. He’s fidgety, hand clasped over his fist and tapping his fingers nervously. House wonders what could’ve happened in the span of a few hours to make him this on edge.
"What is it? What's wrong with you?"
Wilson opens his mouth but a sound from the kitchen catches House’s attention before he can say a word. A very distinctive sound, one he would’ve never thought to hear in this condo.
House's brows furrow, as he enters further into the room and spots something terrifying sitting on the marble island.
A baby basket carrier. But most frightening of all, a baby inside of it. He steps carefully towards the kitchen, taking in the sight of the newborn in pastel lilac onesie with a hand in its mouth, watching its surroundings with attentive eyes.
"What's this?"
"A child."
"I can tell. I mean, what the hell is this, Wilson?"
"I-I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?! Did the stork leave it on the doorstep?"
"It's a "she" ." Wilson mutters.
House blinks.
"What?"
"She's a girl. Not an... it."
"Oh, excuse me for misgendering this child that shouldn't be in my house in the first place."
"I know. I know. Oh, God." Wilson wipes a hand over his face, wrapping his other arm around his torso.
"Did you steal this thing?"
"No, I didn't! I... Just give me a second." He says desperately, voice muffled from the hand still pressed over his mouth. House throws his hands up.
"Sure. Take your time. I'm not in a rush or anything."
"It's Danny."
House turns to the baby.
“I remembered him taller.”
“I mean, the baby is Danny’s. She's his daughter. And CPS called me. New York Mercy put them in contact with me because, apparently, the last time my brother disappeared, a year ago, he visited his girlfriend in Manhattan and..."
"Put little Danny to work."
"Got her pregnant, yes."
"She couldn't handle the bundle of joy?"
"She… killed herself three days ago."
" Wow. She really couldn't handle it."
"He met her in his old mental institution."
"Oh. The looney bunch. This kid's family sucks."
Wilson sighs with a hint of sorrow, one of his hands finds its natural habitat on his hip, the other rubs the back of his neck.
"Danny was devastated. I can only imagine what he's going through at the moment."
"Come on, he's barely even attached to reality. I doubt he knows what he's going through." Wilson glares at him, House lets out a sigh. "Danny knew about the kid?"
"She's two months old, I don't think he knew before today. Child Protective Services informed his doctor and he told Danny about the situation, just before they called me."
"To say what, exactly?"
"They... He wants me to-"
Everything clicks into place and House holds his hand up instinctively.
"No. You're not doing this. Suicidal mommy must have a relative."
"No family on the records."
"Then put the kid in foster care! You can't raise a child in your current situation."
"I can't, no."
There’s a terrifying pause after Wilson’s sentence that is louder than words.
"You're thinking about it. I'm telling you now, it's a terrible idea."
"It's a terrible idea." Wilson repeats. "But Danny explicitly asked me to take care of her."
"I'm sure you can visit her future foster parents' house on Hanukkah."
"It's voluntary surrendering of rights by the parent. He wants me to have her."
"And I wanted to win a Grammy! We can't always get what we want in life."
"I'm her only family."
"You're not family, you're a single doctor who's pushing fifty."
"They offered me to foster her for three months, before finalized adoption."
"There won't be an adoption because you shouldn't adopt her."
"I shouldn't." Wilson repeats again. "But... look at her."
House doesn’t even bother looking at the baby.
"Ah, yes, she has her father's schizophrenic eyes."
"House." Wilson pleads, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.
"I'm not enabling you on this. You should put down the offer."
"I should."
"Call them. Tell them to come get this thing back because you're a doctor who barely has time to develop any relationship outside of work, dedicates his own life to his patients and that wouldn't be a present father even if he tried."
"Yes! Yes. I will tell them that." Wilson nods repeatedly, presses his lips into a thin line, then mutters under his breath: "Except, I already accepted custody."
House doesn’t even know why he’s surprised when he should’ve expected it.
"You're unbelievable."
"I agreed to foster. They'll come for regular check-ups until the final one, three months from now, and I'll hopefully get the okay to adopt her."
"You've lost your mind. What about me? What should I do?"
Wilson laughs mirthlessly, throws his hands up.
"Of course you would make this about you."
"Yes, I'm making it about me because I live here. Or so I thought. Are you gonna kick me out now?"
" No! I don't want you to go.” The words rush out of his mouth but he’s not sure what to think or say, he feels a headache already starting to form and tears pricking at his eyes. "I... I don't know what I want."
"I can tell."
"But I know I want you here."
"Spare it." The diagnostician limps back towards the console, grabbing both his house and bike keys and shoving them in his pocket. "I'll go back to my case. I want her gone by the time I come home."
"House." Wilson’s tone is angry the first time he says it, but turns desperate when he repeats it. "House, please."
“This is my house, too.” He keeps walking towards the door, hearing quick steps chasing after him.
“I know, I-” Wilson grabs his arm with enough force to almost send him stumbling and that only irritates him more. He turns to yell at him about tripping a cripple but is met with teary eyes and quivering lips letting out a soft: "I don't know what to do."
House stops for a moment, his expression stern as ever as he takes in the sight of his friend’s hand firmly grasping his forearm.
"You've already made the wrong decision."
"I don't want you to agree with me. I just need you to be there for me. I need you to tell me I'll be a good father."
"You won't."
House tears himself out of his grip, grabs his leather jacket and leaves.
He’s so unnerved and pent up he even takes the stairs, only making it a story before feeling a shooting pain in his thigh. He takes the elevator the rest of the way.
The ride to the hospital is a blur, he’s not even sure what he feels but it resembles betrayal, anger, worry. He wants to find a logical explanation for his reaction but he simultaneously comes up with a hundred and none. It reminds him of how he reacted to the news of Wilson’s third engagement. He didn’t even bother pretending the third time, he simply hung up the phone without congratulating his best friend as anyone else would’ve done.
The wind lashes at his face, he’s driving without a helmet, he forgot to grab it on his way out. It would’ve ruined his petty exit.
He pulls up into the handicapped spot and hurries inside. He barely makes it by the reception when he’s rapidly approached by Cuddy and slapped across the face. "You, egotistical bastard!"
He sighs and rubs the tender spot as he walks right past her and the shocked nurses and interns watching.
"That's what all my exes say."
"You disgust me." She yells after him, clearly enraged enough to make a scene at her own expense.
"I assume he called you."
Cuddy grabs his arm and he finds himself stumbling over his steps for the second time tonight. Now he’s starting to get really annoyed.
"You do not get to treat people this way, especially not the person who's spent time and money and effort to keep you alive for twenty years!"
"He made an irrational decision, I shouldn't support him just because I'm his friend."
"Are you his friend?! It doesn't look that way." House groans and frees himself from her grip, hobbling towards the elevators. "This conversation isn't over."
The clicking of heels follows right behind.
"My patient is dying."
"Your patient is stable, and not thanks to you. Your best friend is suffering."
"He was suffering long before he brought a stupid child into my home!"
" His home, that he bought for you !"
"And that he stole from you ."
"Don't try to put me against him, it won't work."
"He can barely take care of himself. He won't be able to look after a petulant child."
"Oh, really? He's been successful with you so far!" House steps into the closing elevator but Cuddy stops the door with her heel and pushes her way inside. With how crowded it is, one would think it would stop the yelling, but it doesn’t. This isn’t about Wilson. "You make everyone's life a living hell! You crave being the center of attention at all times. First you tried to sabotage me and Joy, now him!"
There it is.
"Because you're both equally inadequate at becoming parents."
Cuddy scoffs at the bold remark.
"You're an asshole!"
"You are." Nurse Brenda chimes in.
House rolls his eyes and storms out as soon as the doors open to his floor.
He hears the furious woman chase after him once again.
“Would you leave me alone?” He yells without turning to face her, rushing straight to his office.
“No, because you don’t deserve to get away with this.”
“What I deserved was to come home to a child-less condo.”
“This isn’t about you!”
House steps inside, rapidly closes the glass door in Cuddy’s face, grabs the key from the bookshelf and locks it in front of her. She stares with her hands on her hips as he makes his way to the desk chair and drops gracefully into it.
She waits for him to be seated to walk into the Diagnostics office and enter House’s through the adjoining door House had hoped to be locked.
“Leave me alone.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because he could’ve bothered to ask his roommate what he thought before inviting a third one that doesn’t even share the expenses!”
“He’s always wanted a family, this is his one chance to get one.”
“He could’ve done that in ten years from now! He can impregnate a random younger floozy in the future if he wants a little brat that bad.”
“As if you would ever let him!”
“He has free will, you know?”
“His life revolves around you . Every decision he makes, he does only if it still leaves space for you . You know he won’t find someone to build a family with because you will always be in the way and trying to sabotage whatever chance at happiness he gets.”
“He is not in the right frame of mind to even be a father!” House finally snaps. “He’s clinically depressed, he pops alprazolam like candy and panics at the slightest change in his schedule. You think dropping a child into the mix will help him?!”
“It could make him happier.”
“Sure! How did I not think of that? He could be happier with a schizophrenic child that will soon be running around in his condo asking where her mommy is, and all her stupid uncle-father will have is his addict roommate who never wanted her in their home to begin with!"
"Pull your shit together, House. Just because you're in pain, doesn't mean you get to treat everybody around you like crap. Especially not James."
“I don’t owe him anything.”
“Oh, don’t make me laugh!” She huffs a mirthless chuckle. "He loves you! And what do you give him in return? More problems! More debts, more worries."
"How sad. Let me fetch my tissues."
"At some point, he will get tired of you. He will get tired of this " push it 'til it breaks " situation and he will actually leave. And you will be alone, like you should be."
"I don't need him."
This time Cuddy genuinely laughs at him.
“Yeah, right.” She pauses, takes a deep breath, heading towards the door, understanding it’s useless to argue with him when he’s like this. “He constantly sacrifices his life to take care of you. You should do the same for him, just once."
He’s not planning to go home. He will stay the night at the hospital, so he settles in his lounge chair, draping his leather jacket over himself and tries to sleep.
He grabs the red tennis ball and starts bouncing it restlessly, until he throws it too hard and knocks a pencil holder off his desk.
Why would Wilson do this to him?
He gets up and storms out of his office, deciding a walk around the hospital won’t help but will certainly distract him. His thigh throbs in pain but he pushes through, until he realizes he’s reached the NICU.
He makes his way to the nursery, stands by the glass, watching the kids deep asleep in their incubators.
Why would he want a child?
The concept of Wilson craving a family of his own isn’t new. He’s mentioned it time and time again, earning the same annoyed response from House every time. He’d never understood the appeal of a family. On an egotistical level he would understand the point of procreating with the sole purpose of having someone change your diapers once the dementia kicks in. Families are worthless, products of societal norms, pointless conventions. Who said you need a wife and kids to be happy? He would’ve been happy just growing old with Wilson.
He’d never felt the need to urge to spawn a tinier, stupider version of himself.
Wilson, on the other hand, had. He’s bonded with nearly every single child patient he’d had. He kept their little gifts and trinkets, even after their premature deaths. The teddy bear in his office, a stuffed replica of himself, the small race car, the crayons, the rubik's cube. He’d kept every single one of them, and if someone had asked, he would’ve been able to tell them who each toy belonged to, along with the child’s hopes and dreams.
He’d always been good with kids, loved by them, adored by their parents. And he had a glee to him whenever he was able to earn a laugh from the pediatric ward with his jokes.
House quits tapping his cane and marches towards the nearest janitor's closet. He rips a large, black trash bag from its roll and folds it under his jacket before he passes by a nightguard.
"It's not polite to stare at a cripple!" He yells, successfully making the guard uncomfortable enough to nod and look away, apologizing under his breath. After that, it’s not hard to find the nursery storage room.
When he gets home, he finds Wilson on the couch, holding the baby to his chest. TV on but silent.
Wilson glances at him, eyes the black trash bag he’s holding, then looks back down at the baby in his arms to avoid making eye contact with his friend.
House drops the bag to the ground. He wouldn't admit it, but he's careful enough to drop it on the carpet, to avoid a loud thud.
"Mazel Tov."
With that, he limps past the couch, his pace imperceptibly slowing down to steal a glance at the newborn, and makes his way to the bathroom.
Wilson tries to ignore the huge bag sitting at the entrance, but when he's sure House has come out of the bathroom and closed the door to his bedroom, he carefully sets the baby in the carrier, and approaches the mysterious bag.
He unties the knot and opens it. It’s too dark in the room so he looks over his shoulder at the sleeping baby, and steps in front of the floor lamp to shield her from the light.
He looks inside and reaches to grab the first box he finds. Formula, the industrial size, the one specifically used at Princeton-Plainsboro. Then diapers, pacifiers and baby bottles in the same quantities and brand. And to end it off, two paisley onesies.
For the first time that day, James feels his mouth turn into a smile. He leaves the bag there to take care of in the morning. He rubs his face with a soft chuckle and goes back to the couch, leaning down and draping a blanket over himself. He turns to face the newborn, finally sleeping quietly in her carrier.
He decides to postpone the panic to the following morning and sleep instead, but the panic never comes. Both House and the baby are still asleep when he wakes up and decides to get breakfast started. Cuddy has already moved his appointments and given him an indefinite amount of time off.
He’s relieved when House joins him in the kitchen with a rather calm expression on his face, some might say even apologetic, but he wouldn’t dare go that far.
He makes House’s favorite, macadamia nut pancakes, in hopes to keep him on his good side. It seems to work as their usual morning banter stays the same even as the little creature starts stirring.
He quickly glances at her then pokes his pancake with the fork nonchalantly as he attempts bringing her into the conversation without causing commotion.
"Lucas came by to drop Rachel's old onesies yesterday. Formula, diapers."
"Unoriginal."
"Technically, he did it first."
"He came here just because he's so far up Cuddy's ass, he started thinking with her mammies."
"Or maybe," Wilson holds up his hands. "he's just nice."
House rolls his eyes and pushes a fork off the marble top.
“House.” Wilson reprimands him with a glare and leans down to pick it up.
"She hasn't been crying. You sure she didn't choke in her sleep?"
"Yes, House, I'm sure. Thank you for not making me any more paranoid."
"She hasn't cried once."
Wilson sighs and looks back at the baby watching them from the other side of the marble island.
"She cried the entire time you were gone yesterday."
"Good. Means she's... healthy."
"Or she just missed you."
" Ha! Hilarious."
He smiles softly as a stupid idea sparks in his mind.
"Do you want to see her?"
"I did see her. I can see her right now.”
"You barely even looked at her. Wanna see her?" He asks excitedly. He’s impossible when he gets like this.
House sighs and shrugs.
"Do I actually have a choice?"
Wilson jumps out of his seat to go get her. She coos as he gently takes her in his arms.
"I named her." House crooks an eyebrow "Riley."
"Lesbian name."
"It would be okay if you grew up to be." Wilson leans down and whispers to her, while fixing the little hair she has on her head.
"Indoctrinating your child towards the rainbow already? I should've known, with that Chorus Line poster."
"I just want her to grow up knowing I'll love her unconditionally."
"It's also a stripper name."
"Still unconditional."
"I'm not bailing her out when she eventually gets arrested in college."
"I wouldn't expect you to." He murmurs as he nears House with caution. "If you don't suffocate her in her sleep, that'll be enough."
The older doctor watches as the baby looks around with an inquisitiveness that is almost comical for a creature so young.
"Her eyes." House mutters.
"She has two of them, yes. I've checked."
"They look like yours." He realizes how pathetic he sounds only after the words have already left his mouth. "I didn't miss Genetics 101 in med school. I'm just saying they're... nice. Big."
Wilson cocks his head to the side with a small smirk.
"You think my eyes are nice."
"Anyone with objective judgment can say they are." James’ smile grows even wider.
"Get on the couch."
"If you wanna have sex from a single compliment, you're even more desperate than I thought."
"If I was trying to have sex, I'd be much smoother about it. 'Though smoothness would be wasted on you."
"Says the man who's been divorced three times."
"Get on the couch."
"Why?"
"Just, do."
House gets up with a groan and without his cane, limps to the couch and plops down ungracefully. He realizes the trap he’s fallen into when Wilson walks toward him.
"If you're gonna drop that creature on me-"
"Just accept it."
"I'm not accepting anything."
"Just hold her for a moment."
The baby is placed in his lap, astride his left leg.
He grabs the thing like one would grab a cafeteria Rueben, lifts her up to avoid any touching.
Her chubby legs are curled up to her stomach, as if playing a version of The Floor Is Lava, where the Floor is an unsettling looking diagnostician and the Lava is affection.
The tiny beast in striped powder blue onesie is staring right back at him with wide eyes, for a moment it feels like they're engaged in a blinking contest.
Ha. She blinked. What a loser.
Oh, she’s blinking because she's yawning. She thinks meeting him, of all people, is boring? Sure. As if she has any interesting conversation to bring to the table.
Big audacity coming from someone who hasn't even developed neck stability yet.
"Was this supposed to ignite my motherly instincts?"
"Just shut up."
The thing reaches out to touch his face. Not a chance in hell. He pulls her further away with a disgusted grimace.
She's not necessarily terrible, he's met worse babies, the ones with infectious diseases, that cry and puke on him during clinic hours, for example. But she's not fun, either.
She just stares, wants to touch his nose for some reason.
His arms are starting to ache. Jesus, babies are heavy to suspend in the air, at an arm's length. He wonders if he could have the strength to toss her in the air. Not in a dangerous way, for fuck's sake, in a fun way. It's what they do in the movies. Maybe she'd find it funny because she's stupid.
Who in their right mind would toss a baby in the air anyway? The little brat could find it hilarious, because she's an idiot, but Shaken Baby Syndrome, possible brain hemorrhage and retinal damage are not worth the giggle.
Why is he still thinking about tossing the baby?
He lowers the bundle of joy, until she's sitting on his left thigh, back where Wilson had so carefully placed her. She's still staring. Nosy bastard.
She's attentive, she stares a lot, she's very awake. Her face is symmetric. Her complexion isn't more yellow than it should be, no discoloration in her eyes. No sign of infant jaundice. She looks healthy.
Her stupid, empty, little melon head looks heavy, should probably be supported. So he does. He places his hand on her nape and moves her awkwardly until her small head is in the crook of his elbow and her hands are reaching to grab the front of his shirt. No way in hell, this is one of his good Freddie Mercury shirts. Who does she think she is?
She makes a small sound.
He watches as the enemy curls up closer to him. She's not that threatening after all. Not that interesting either.
She's all eyes. And smells like flowers. She really resembles Wilson.
Then, he hears a click .
He looks up, Wilson's standing in front of them with his stupid, little digital camera. "You, dick."
"I'm keeping an album of all her important moments. This is one of them."
"Riley's first time being tossed like a rugby ball?" Stop thinking about tossing the baby. "Uncle House's first time being strangled."
"Wouldn't be the first time." Another click.
"Come on, give me a smile."
House complies with a roll of eyes, and very little enthusiasm. Wilson takes another picture.
"Oh, God, no, that's much creepier. You look like you're gonna take a bite out of her." house opens his mouth, his teeth dangerously close to her little arm. "House."
"She probably tastes like crap anyways."
THREE WEEKS LATER - TWO MONTHS OLD
It hasn’t exactly been the easiest couple of weeks for House, but at least he has the privilege of taking a break from baby-time whenever he wishes by simply going to work. He’s even started showing up at 10 a.m. every morning, a personal record of his that has left the team speechless.
It’s not a surprise when he crosses the threshold of their condo, one day, to Riley screaming bloody murder.
"Would you turn that thing off already?" He yells as he hobbles towards the kitchen.
The baby carrier is sitting on the marble top, as it always is these days, there’s papers scattered on the coffee table, onesies draped over the couch, the kitchen's a mess, and Wilson is nowhere to be seen.
He’s finally run away to Canada, he thinks, until he spots feet on the ground, as he approaches the island.
He’s finally killed himself, is his next thought, until he sees his friend in his McGill sweater and still in his pajama pants, sitting on the floor, back against the drawers, head buried in his hands, and shoulders shaking softly.
"She hasn't stopped crying in hours." Is the whine that escapes his lips.
"And you didn't think to do something about it?"
"I tried. I did. She just won't stop." Wilson raises his voice over the screaming, finally looking up. "I don't think I can do this."
"Make a bottle of formula? You're a doctor, for God's sake."
"I-I don't think I'm fit for this." He admits, lower lip trembling as he rubs his face. "I can't take care of her."
"You can't or you don't want to?"
“I want to! I do, I just... I'm tired. And she won't stop screaming. And my assistant called me and I got distracted and burned dinner. Then I burned myself and I-I dropped the pot. And my head is killing me and I'm so tired. I can't. I can't."
He looks worn, his face is sunken in, his eyes puffy and almost dry with how much he must’ve cried. He’s a horrible sight.
House sighs, then suddenly kicks the pot away with his cane. Wilson flinches, fearing he might have made things a lot worse.
Here comes the "I told you so" speech, the "You're an idiot" speech. It's just a matter of seconds.
Instead House grabs the kettle.
He empties it out before filling it up again and sets it to heat it up.
He gets the baby bottle next, rinses it, and sets it on the counter
He grabs the formula box and lifts it up to read the instructions, as he walks towards the vinyl player, he thoughtlessly puts some Ella Fitzgerald on, ups the volume until the cries stop in just a moment.
Riley makes a few cooing sounds, House walks to her, still reading the back of the box and rocks the carrier up and down gently, to the rhythm of Someone To Watch Over Me.
She's stopped crying, soft jazz the only sound filling the air.
Wilson watches silently as his friend takes the kettle and fills up the baby bottle while humming to the song.
He limps to a drawer on his far left and rummages through until he comes back with the temperature gun from his gourmet chef days.
He seems displeased with the number that comes up so he decides to open the fridge instead, then the freezer.
He finds a box of frozen pizza and sighs as he ungracefully rips it open and dumps the disks onto an oven tray, gets some ham and roughly scatters it over one of the two.
With the oven turned on and pizzas in, he limps back to the bottle, shooting it with the temp gun and humming softly before dropping two scoops of formula in. He closes the lid and turns around, pursing his lips, sitting against the counter and looking down at Wilson before vigorously shaking the bottle under his scrutiny.
What could’ve been an attempt at a sexual innuendo falls flat on Wilson, who’s still sitting in the same spot, with House having worked around him to get dinner started and formula prepared.
He tests the warmth with a few drops on his wrist then sets it aside, grabs his cane and goes back to the drawer to put the gun back in exchange for an aspirin.
He rips it open with his teeth and pours the content in a glass, fills it up with water, and gives it a stir with the back of a fork, licks it clean and dumps it in the sink, unafraid of Riley’s reaction to the thud.
He hands Wilson the glass then watches as he slowly downs it with uncertainty and looks back up at him with the same big, puffy eyes. He hands House his glass back, which he takes with a roll of his eyes.
Wilson stands up slowly, still quiet, and finds a baby bottle handed to him.
"Feed her, then yourself, then go to bed. Wake up at your usual masochistic time and do it all over again." House studies his face for a moment. "You want to keep her."
Wilson nods slowly.
"Then get used to this new sleeping schedule. You'll be free in about seventeen years or so."
House proceeds to dump the dirty utensils in the sink and starts singing along softly.
Wilson feeds her, still quiet.
Riley's chin is now on Wilson's shoulder, and she lets herself be pat gently on the back, completely calm, big eyes scanning the room. House stands behind his friend and pokes her cheek with his finger, she coos and frees one of her little hands from holding Wilson's shirt to try and grab it.
He lets her win and she nibbles on it for a bit, until Wilson notices.
"Hey, don't do that."
"I washed my hands. Let her." Wilson's brows furrow, House has never defended her before.
The diagnostician soon sets a full plate in front of him on the kitchen counter and hands him a beer, clinks theirs together before taking a sip and then a bite out of Wilson's pizza as he puts Riley back in her carrier.
He feels much calmer, the aspirin might’ve helped but it certainly hadn’t cooked dinner or played with his baby.
"Thank you." He murmurs genuinely to his friend.
House ignores him, as expected.
"The box says water first, scoops second. You were getting it wrong."
"Oh. Okay. Yeah, I'll... I must've misread it."
"You should come back to work." He announces suddenly. "I hate paying for my lunches."
"I can't leave her here-"
"I called Cuddy's babysitter agency, they gave me a few numbers to call but I couldn't be bothered to talk to more people. I'll give you the list."
"Okay. Thank you."
"And get some new furniture. That couch sucks."
"You bought it."
"For a bit! Now the bit's over, we need to get rid of it."
So Wilson hires an interior designer. The living room gets renovated to be childproof.
There's a new couch, new chairs, new carpets, no light colors to avoid getting easily soiled.
Everything is perfect until House comes back home and whines about the lack of Wilson's personality in the decor. After a strenuous couple of days changing furniture and pondering what could possibly represent his personality the best he settles on a Hammond organ.
He’s never played an instrument in his life but somehow it’s the object he thinks would describe him the best: a gift specifically intended for House.
“I like what this says about you, Wilson.” Is the praise he receives, and that’s enough to put a smile on his face.
He chooses not to reflect too much on what the gesture might mean, it’s just an organ, he tells himself, and simply appreciates its elaborate notes when he comes back from grocery shopping with heavy bags in hand and a chest strap with Riley on his front, House’s music immediately easing his nerves. It might’ve been a good purchase after all.
In the early morning Wilson walks into the living room and finds House already awake and sitting on their new couch. That alone was weird enough to expect the four horsemen, but then he spots Riley in his lap, also awake and nibbling on his fingers. Now he’s truly terrified.
"May I ask, what are you doing with the baby?"
"I'm studying her."
"If you're looking for your enemy's weak points, so far it's solid foods, afternoon nap time and her fontanel."
"Mh. Her hearing's fine." Concerning statement to make.
"Why shouldn't it be?"
"She doesn't get scared of loud noises, she likes when I play the organ. I thought it would scare her but she enjoyed it."
"Did you try to scare a baby?"
"I was testing a theory! She responded well to auditory stimuli and is very observant."
"Did you give her an auditory test?"
"I just snapped my fingers around her head. She's not stupid, just looks that way."
Wilson nods
"Great, now that you've offended my daughter six different ways, could you hand her to me? I need to feed her."
"Bring the bottle here. She likes this couch better."
Wilson is speechless for a moment, then finds himself obeying the command without arguing. He’s about to sit on the couch but House snatches the bottle from his hands.
"Go make me breakfast." He mumbles and pushes him out of the way then, with much more care, brings the bottle to Riley's mouth and starts feeding her, his eyes going back to the soap opera on the flat screen.
Wilson stares dumbfounded, before walking back to the kitchen, forced to come up with an edible mix of the scraps in their fridge.
Wilson finds a babysitter.
Three days later he’s suspiciously deciding to have lunch in the Diagnostics office and pulls out a second tupperware out of his bag, sliding it across the glass table, towards House.
“What’s this for?”
“Does it have to be for something? Can’t I just care about you?”
“What do you want?” He calls his bluff immediately. Wilson sighs, already giving up. What an amateur.
"I need to ask a favor."
"No."
"I'm willing to pay."
"I charge $200 an hour."
"I have a date tonight."
"With me? Are you asking me on a date?"
"I have a date with a woman."
"You're asking me on a three-way?" House leans over the table with his chin in his hands, blinking dreamily at his friend.
"I have a date alone with a woman. You're not invited. In fact, I need you to watch Riley for a couple of hours."
"Didn't you hire a nanny to... I don't know, do just that? Just four days ago?"
"Yeah, um…”
"No way..." House grabs his cane and promptly hits his shin.
"Ow!"
"You, slut!"
"What? She's pretty! She wouldn't stop flirting with me."
"That's all it takes to get a date with you? A little flirting and a pretty face? Then we should be on our eighteenth anniversary by now."
"It's been a stressful couple of weeks. I want to have just one fun night before I dive back into fatherhood for the rest of time."
"You're saying our bro nights aren't fun nights? What's next? Are you gonna break up with me?"
"I'm gonna be away from nine to eleven, probably. You can manage." With that, he clicks his tupperware open, the stench of delicious but awful smelling stuffed peppers hitting House’s nostrils violently.
"Ow, but tonight's my monthly gang meeting. Can I invite them to cook meth in the living room?"
"Sure. Just clean after yourselves."
"And there's gonna be fire. Lots of fire. The guys love fire."
"Good. She needs to be put to bed by nine thirty."
"We're doing lots of cocaine, too. It'll be over any flat surface in our house, even the ones easily reachable by infants."
"Riley's a big fan of heroine. Make sure to get some of that, too."
"What if she starts crying?"
"Give her more heroine, I don't know." He sighs loudly. "There must be someone in the gang that can babysit."
"There's a strict no-baby rule."
"Just one night, could you please just watch her for one night?"
"Can I donate some of her organs to science, at least?" He gets a glare. "Why didn't you ask Lucas? Since you're such best buddies with him."
"He has to investigate this big pharmaceutical company CEO on the other side of town tonight."
The door opens to Thirteen walking in with her very own lunch.
"You seriously asked him before me?"
"And Cuddy, and Bonnie and Julie and my old college roommate and the janitor from Floor Six." He turns to Hou’se employee with a warm smile. "Hi, Hadley."
"Hi, Wilson."
"You asked your ex-wives before you asked me?!" House asks, unbothered by her presence.
James shrugs in response and keeps eating.
"You asked your ex-wives to do what, before House?" She interjects with a smirk.
"Anal sex." House replies harshly.
"Remy, hey. Would you like to watch my daughter for a couple of hours tonight?"
"I, uh, actually have… I have this thing-" House grabs his cane, hauls himself up and walks out of the room, taking the tupperware with him. Wilson chuckles softly, Thirteen blinks. "What's wrong with him?"
"I made him think he was my last choice for babysitting."
"Understandably so." James scoffs and shakes his head. "He's not?"
"First choice. He's surprisingly good with kids. Riley likes him. And, for some reason, I trust him. He would've never agreed without a challenge."
She sits in House’s spot.
"Did he agree?"
"No. But he will. He likes to act all tough and evil but deep, deep, deep inside he's gooey and soft like the rest of us."
"Like, organs-deep?"
"Look, he's been kind lately. It's weird but I really appreciate it. He doesn't give me hell like he used to. He's, dare I say it, even... sweet to me." He says, his voice going softer. "It's nice to know that he cares so much about me. And Riley. He wouldn't be caught dead admitting that, but it's cute nonetheless."
She leans, elbows on the table, chin over her clasped hands, trying to hold in a smile.
"Do you like him?"
"Yeah. Against my better judgment." He answers, waving his fork in the air as he speaks. "I mean, most people hate him, understandably. He can be a pain in the ass. Clearly, not everyone likes him. But I do. He's my best friend, of course I like him. Would be a waste of my time if I didn't."
"I mean, are you attracted to him?"
Wilson flinches away, eyes wide.
"Who? House?! No! No, I- I don't." He sputters, laughing incredulously. "I'm going on a date with a woman tonight!"
Her brows furrow.
"Okay?"
"I know it may look like I phrased it to make myself sound less... gay, but it wasn't my intention. I was just stating a fact. I actually do have a date with a woman. A lovely woman that I'm attracted to. Sexually. And romantically." He stutters. "Look, you know me, I have nothing against... homosexuality. It's just- not me. And I have tried."
Thirteen cocks an eyebrow with a smirk. God, she’s annoyingly similar to House.
"I mean, who doesn't in college?! I'm sure you have! It stuck with you! It didn't with me. I was young, too, once! Had I met him during those years, well, who knows! But now, no. I don't. We're... not.”
He follows her eyes, pointed at his hand and notices his elbow on the table and his wrist fully limp with the fork pointed at her. He sets it down with a groan as words keep rushing out of his mouth.
“I'm not saying he's ugly now! He's not. He's undeniably handsome. In an interesting way. Not in the, uh, homoerotic way. Just objectively. He's fascinating, you know? Like a rare... tumor?"
"It's so entertaining to watch you torture yourself."
Wilson sighs.
"House and I are not a thing. We've told you plenty of times. Now just..." He gestures with his hands, like a conductor silencing an orchestra, trying to shut the argument.
"Okay. It's just, I've never asked you, one on one. Whenever we ask him, he gives answers that sound very different from yours."
"Like, what?"
"Oh, nothing. He usually says you've been dating since you met and that you're deeply repressed, you have a tendency to go around, cheat and be a panty-peeler and you just keep him as your side-bitch. But, mostly, there's a 50/50 chance he says something inappropriate about your ass or something really sweet about your " big, brown eyes". Depends on the day."
"He... can be a lot." He says with a deep breath, gathering his cutlery and placing it diagonally across his food. "What did he say about my ass?"
"That it's very round."
He clicks the tupperware shut and stands up.
"At least someone noticed." He mutters under his breath and walks away.
He retreats to his office, finishes his lunch there and gets back to his scheduled appointments, until he receives a call hours later from within the hospital.
“Dr. Wilson? This is Sarah from day-care. You left little Riley here earlier?”
“Yes. Everything alright?”
“Yes, she’s doing great, there’s just a bit of an issue.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Dr. House is here.” She takes a deep breath, Wilson mirrors her on the other end of the call. “He’s demanding we give him the baby but he’s not technically in the list of guardians so we can’t let him take her unless you say something. We just wanted to make sure you were aware of the situation-”
“Give me the phone. Is he on the line?” House’s voice can be heard, cutting off the poor woman. “Give it to me.”
Wilson sighs deeply and looks up at the older man sitting across from him, gives him an apologetic look and raises a finger up as he excuses himself.
“You left her in day-care because you want to screw the babysitter?!” The diagnostician barks over the phone.
“Lower your voice.” Wilson whisper-yells.
“As a doctor I thought you would know how fast germs spread in baby-prisons like these but apparently it escaped you.”
“House, what are you even doing in day-care?”
“Why am I not on the pick-up permission list?”
“Why do you care?”
“What if you died? Huh? Who would pick her up, then? Would she stay here forever? To catch viruses from these disgusting little brats? Rotting away because you didn’t think to add your best friend’s name to the list?”
“If I died, you would either kill yourself on the spot or dissect my body for fun, don’t even pretend you would care about where she’d end up.” He realizes far too late he shouldn’t be entertaining House’s hypothetical scenarios in front of his patients when a mix of horror and confusion flashes across Mr. Sogliato’s face. “Get out of there.”
“Not until you add me to the list.”
“Why are you picking her up anyway? My shift is over in twenty minutes.”
“Mine is already over. Quick, give her the okay before they escort me out of here.”
“I would love to see that.”
“Wilson.”
“Put her on the phone.”
“How do I know you’re not gonna hang up?”
“I’m not you.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“House, be quick I have a patient.”
“You’re unbelievable, first you call Lucas then you deny me the pick-up permit-” House’s voice grows distant as the phone is handed to Sarah.
“Mr. Wilson?”
“Give him the permit, please.”
“Are you sure?” She asks, heavy hesitance in her voice.
“Yes, I’m deeply sorry for the inconvenience. Please don’t alert the guards. Or Dr. Cuddy for that matter! Thank you. Sorry.”
When his last appointment leaves, he gathers his belongings and walks out of the office, turning around to lock the door. Upon turning once again, he nearly jumps out of his skin when he finds House standing menacingly merely a foot away from him with a hand on his cane and the other on the handle of the stroller.
“They put me on the naughty list of “concerning individuals entering the day-care” .”
Wilson sighs.
“Rightfully so.”
“Why didn’t you put my name in the list?”
“God, it was just one time! I’m not planning on leaving her there anymore, it was a one time thing just because of tonight.” The tired oncologist explains, attempting to take the stroller from House but getting his hands slapped away.
The ride home is exhausting. While House seems to have fallen victim to his cheap manipulation tactic, he also seems to have taken it personally.
When Houses refuses to let go of the stroller even when they walk through the door of their condo, he gives up and heads for his long-craved evening shower. He leaves his roommate to get acquainted with the baby in the living room and, when he comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, he finds House on the couch with Riley asleep next to him, lying flat on her stomach on top of her little sage green blanket as House adds another coin to the collection of quarters placed on her head.
"What are you doing now?"
"Keeping count of my change. She's helping."
"Do you know how dirty coins are? Get those off of her."
"She doesn't seem to mind."
"How long has she been letting you do this?"
"Forty-eight minutes."
Wilson can’t even lie anymore. He’s genuinely impressed.
"Wow. I can never get her to sleep so soundly in the evening."
"It's my magic touch." He groans as he produces a coin from her ear. "Great. She had 15 cents stuck in her ear. God knows how long you've left them there!"
"I want to take a picture."
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
"Look how cute she is!"
"She's drooling on your good couch."
"You've done that too in the past and I haven't kicked you out yet." He calls out as he steps away to get his digital camera, his bare feet padding against the floor rapidly.
"Yeah, but I'm cuter than her." Wilson stops in front of them. "I'm sure you can fit many more coins over me."
"Move closer."
"I don't want to be in the picture."
"That's too bad. You're getting in the picture."
"You probably don't want proof of this, CPS wouldn't like it." He points at the coin-covered infant. "Come on, do a pose."
House stares at him blankly, not moving and earning a groan in response. He rolls his eyes and complies. Wilson giggles happily and walks away, House’s head falls back as his eyes follow Wilson’s figure into the hallway and he steals a glance at his bare, freckled, damp back.
"So much wasted potential." He murmurs and turns to look at the baby once again.
When he appears in the living room once again, he’s got socks and pants on and a half-way buttoned up shirt. He finds House feeding her without any question, he's just leaning against the kitchen counter, holding her formula bottle, shushing her gently, his eyes fixed on an episode of Prescription Passion. Wilson wonders if House became such a stereotypical housewife just to spite Lucas.
When he emerges again from his bedroom, he's fully dressed and House has now gotten closer to the TV, sitting once again on the couch with Riley sitting in his lap, fully awake and seemingly just as captivated.
He's softly bouncing her with his good leg and holding both her hands to balance her. He only looks away from the screen to give Wilson a good head-to-toe look.
"Nice shirt."
Wilson pauses to look down at his outfit, rubbing his palms over the lapels of his dress jacket, smoothing them down as he pouts.
"What's wrong with the shirt?"
"Nothing. You look hot." Wilson’s brows raise at the statement as he blinks, surprised.
"Oh. Tha-Thank you." He stutters. "I wear this everyday."
"Yeah. Because you like to flirt with everyone at work."
"I don't-"
"Lose the tie. It's ugly."
Wilson looks down at his suit once again.
"I like the tie."
"Sure. It's your date, after all." House tugs on Riley’s little hands and turns to talk to her. "Hey, little goblin, what do you think about your father going on dates with every woman that dares to look in his direction?"
"I wish I had a dad with higher standards!" He replies to himself, putting on an annoying high-pitched voice, then gasping and shaking his head. "Ow, Riley!"
Wilson hides his smile and steps closer.
"For your first words, you're starting to sound a lot like this very annoying diagnostician I know, Riley."
"You could've left me to a nanny that can keep it in her pants and taken uncle House to see Monster Trucks live!"
James glares at him.
"Uncle House already gets enough attention from dad."
"You've been a neglectful husband lately!" House whines and tilts his head to look at Riley. "Right?"
"I haven't!" Wilson leans down close to Riley's face and whispers: "Don't put the idea in his head. I can't afford a fourth divorce."
He kisses her forehead and walks away.
"You'll have to pay more alimony, daddy!" House calls after him.
"Never call me that again!"
"Have fun with Bethany."
"Becky."
Wilson walks out the door after giving a third run-down of absolutely everything, the door closes behind him and the realization finally sets in. He has been manipulated into babysitting the creature.
Manipulative bitch. He’s not panicking. Riley’s staring at him with her empty, big brown eyes and gnawing at her little hand, she’s no threat at the moment, but he knows she will be at some point. Something needs to be done about this. He grabs his phone and quickly dials a number from memory.
"Hi, Angel. Yeah. Yeah, no, I have a bit of a different request tonight. Any of you girls good with kids?"
Penelope arrives at 9:15, beautiful, hair long, black and soft as silk. She’s wearing a long leather coat and burgundy stilettos and House would love to let her know how much he appreciates her appearance if only she wasn’t here for other motives. She’s strikingly gorgeous, she smiles politely but most importantly, she’s allegedly great with kids.
He lets her into the condo and finds out, to his dismay, that she’s wearing a lovely black slip-on dress that leaves him stuttering on his words for a moment. They sit on the kitchen stools and House struggles to keep his eyes off her astonishingly long legs as they have a surprisingly heartfelt conversation about how she raised her little sister and how she was a babysitter before her new job.
But he keeps her composure and cooks for her, listens as a gentleman would, watching the lovely woman entertain Riley.
"How's life as a single dad?"
"Not my kid." He stops for a moment, considering his next words. Fuck it. "My boyfriend's."
She seems surprised for a moment, but not in a negative way. A smirk spreads over her plump lips.
" Oh. My colleagues said you were a frequent client. Or do you always have them babysit?"
"Oh, no. I am a very passionate financial supporter of your business. Which is code for, I love to pay for blowjobs." He gets a soft chuckle out of her and he smiles charmingly as he pours them some more water. Boring choice but she declined the red wine as she doesn’t like to drink on the job and House is supposedly still trying to keep his sober streak so, water it is. "James and I are an open couple. And we both swing both ways. Which means, I help him co-parent the little creature and he lets me make out with beautiful women on occasion."
" Wow. You're surely a very unique family."
"We vowed to become monogamous the day he puts a ring on it." He lifts his hand, wiggles his fingers.
She smiles and tilts her head to the side, toying with the rim of her glass.
"You know, I've always wanted to be with two bisexual men."
"He doesn't do threesomes. He can barely manage two-somes." He mumbles into his own glass, shrugs. "'Though we could try to expand his horizons."
Soon Penelope joins House on the couch, carrying the baby monitor with her, placing it on the coffee table.
"She's sleeping like a rock."
House is silent, simply moves his arm to rest on the back of the couch. She smirks, taking the not-so-subtle hint and curls up to his side, her hand warm on his chest.
"I was thinking, since you paid double..."
"Boyfriend's cash."
"Since James paid double," She corrects herself with a soft giggle. "And you're so handsome..."
"Don't make me blush." He feigns modesty, turning to look at her.
"I could thank you for the lovely dinner you made and for this very nice night."
"And I would be an idiot to decline an offer like this, wouldn't I?
“You would be, yes.” Penny languidly moves off the sofa and slides down to kneel between his legs. "Tell me about your boyfriend."
The request takes him by surprise and he finds himself genuinely laughing.
"He blow-dries his hair."
"What does he look like?" She asks in a sultry tone, running her hands over his jeans.
He decides to play along.
At some point in the night, after a very interesting experience, the door opens just before Penny could make her exit.
Wilson walks into the foyer and quickly glances at the room, finding House in the same spot he left him, only this time without the baby.
"Hi, honey." House calls as he sheds off his coat and hangs it up.
"Hey." Wilson replies softly, then spots a woman walking down the hallway, from the bathroom. "Hi?"
"Hi! I'll be out in a second, I'm just collecting my things." She picks up her pace, heels clicking on the floor as she grabs her bag and jacket.
"No rush, don't worry!" Wilson reassures her with a polite smile then steps towards House, while she’s still in the kitchen, and whispers: "Who is she?"
"My leg hurt so I called a girl to help with Riley."
"That seems... like a very responsible thing to do." His eyes keep following the rather attractive woman walking around their condo. "She's the new nanny, then?"
"More or less."
She walks confidently towards them and adjusts the strap of her bag over her shoulder before reaching out to offer a handshake.
"Hi, you must be James!"
"Uh, yes. Hi."
"You're just as handsome as Greg described."
He might as well be sunburnt with how red his cheeks are. He stutters over his words in typical Wilson fashion.
"O-Oh! Thank- Thank you. You look- You're also very... Thank you."
"Riley is such an angel. She's so adorable."
A smile suddenly blooms over his lips at the mention of the child's name.
"Oh, yeah. She is. She's wonderful."
"I'm already full to the brim with my job. No pun intended." She winks, House giggles, Wilson narrows his eyes, confused. "But my girlfriend, Caitlyn, is currently looking for a permanent job. She's a babysitter but the kids are starting to be a bit too old for her to be needed. She's wonderful and kind and loves babies. She used to be a nurse so I'm sure she could help with any meds."
"He's a big fan of nurses." House says with a smile.
"I have a lot of respect for their profession." Wilson corrects
She ignores both their statements and hands Wilson a very plain business card.
"This is her number, in case you want to give her an interview."
"Of course, yes. Thank you. I would love to."
"Is she hot?" House interjects and, before Wilson can say anything, she replies enthusiastically:
"Yes!"
"That isn't necessary for the job. I promise we're both very professional. Well, I am. He tries his best."
"I'm sure she will love you guys. She's a big fan of musicals." She smiles, pointing at The Chorus Line poster, still framed on their wall.
"Well, I think I already like her!" Wilson says genuinely.
"And you won't risk sleeping with her because she's a raging lesbian."
House holds her bag while she wraps her scarf around her neck.
"He's usually very popular amongst lesbians. Must be the haircut." She chuckles softly, House smiles at her.
There’s something off putting about seeing House being so gentlemanly, he can’t help but feel something akin to suspicion, maybe even envy.
"I'll call her first thing in the morning. Thank you."
She produces a random café receipt and a pen from her bag, scribbles the number on it and hands it to Wilson.
"But, if you feel like sleeping with someone, feel free to call me.” She tucks her dark hair behind her ear with a charming smile, then adds: “The offer is only valid if both of you are involved."
Wilson is frozen in place, completely stunned, at a loss for words and watches as she walks down the hallway, towards the door.
"We'll call!" His best friend yells after her, she laughs again.
"Goodnight, House." She makes sure to wave at him as well. "Night, James."
"Goodnight! Take care." House says with a big smile and turns his eyes back to the TV once he hears the door shut with a soft click.
Wilson rubs his face and his hands naturally gravitate to land on his hips.
"She's not a babysitter, is she?"
"Not technically."
"What was that about? The offer to both of us?"
"You heard her."
"Why both?"
"Hey, you're a very attractive gentleman, too. There's no need to put yourself down."
"I meant, why can't the offer be valid without you?"
"Look at me." House wiggles his brows, leaning back into the couch then nods towards his friend. "Speaking of failed two-somes... how was your date?"
"Terrible. She was… so terrifying. She showed me pictures of dogs we could adopt together!"
That brings an immediate smile to House’s lips. Nothing like defeating yet another enemy.
"You've always wanted a Beagle." He teases.
"She was obsessed with me. She knew everything about me. She knew my mother's name."
"Well, I do respect a dedicated stalker."
"Yes! She is a stalker, well said. More than that. I think she looked into my childhood photo albums while we were gone. She talked about moving in with me and becoming a stepmother."
"You could've considered that. We need a hand around here.”
"Oh, no, she wanted you out of here."
House frowns.
"She wasn't even that hot, anyway."
"I forgot how awful the dating world can be."
"Well, you do have a habit of picking the absolute worst people to be around."
"You're proof."
Wilson falls back on the couch with a groan, kicks his shoes away.
"You probably don't want to sit there." Wilson furrows his brows, his hand taps the couch under his butt, finds a wet spot. "Penelope caught what she could with her mouth but-"
"Wha- Ugh, House!" He yells, recoiling. "God, I hate you."
He jumps up to his feet and pathetically storms into the kitchen, House can’t contain his laugh.
"You're just jealous I got laid and you didn't!"
"Rightfully so!" A wet cloth is thrown at House’s face and he giggles again, peeling it off.
"Had you accepted Penelope's offer, you would've added a wet spot of your own." He says, wiping the cloth over the stain and watches as Wilson makes his way towards the bedroom, then yells after him: "Seriously, give her a call!"
THREE MONTHS OLD
A week after the renovations, House has grown comfortable with the sudden change in furniture. Wilson takes advantage of that to add even more new furniture.
His new purchase is a very big, very expensive crib, one that turns out to be extremely hard to build. House had said so as soon as he’d seen the instruction pictures on the giant box in their living room. He refused to help but that wasn't unexpected. He had opened the various bags of tools and pieces and even arranged them all on the carpet. House had simply looked at the number of parts and laughed at him. But Wilson wasn’t one to give up, so he decided to use his day off to prove his point.
He was hoping to finish his project before House would be back from work but instead he finds him sitting on the floor in his sweatpants, socks and (House’s) Queen t-shirt, cheeks flushed with the strain and his bottom lip caught by his teeth as he attentively reads the instruction book for the thirty-sixth time. The diagnostician gives one look at the slanted concoction of wooden slats and bolts.
"I don't like it."
"You don't like anything!" Wilson immediately argues. "You're allergic to change."
"It's defective."
"It's not." He doesn’t even believe his own words. This crib is absolutely awful and he hates it with a passion already.
"It's leaning on one side." It is.
"That might not be a problem, necessarily."
"Sure. If your daughter likes the atmosphere of Pisa."
"It looks strong."
"They said the same thing about the Titanic." House lifts his cane and aims for the crib, a single hit and it immediately collapses on itself, one of the wheels loudly rolling around the both of them in circles, until it finally topples to the ground. "Yeah, no, it looks pretty strong to me."
Wilson sighs and buries his face in his hands. House walks right past him and into the kitchen where he spots Riley’s carrier. He grabs her little foot instinctively and tries to spook her but she simply smiles and reaches out towards him. His eyes are caught by a flashing screen on the marble top.
"Your phone is doing stuff."
“What stuff?” Wilson asks, his face still inches away from the pamphlet, as if proximity would somehow help his engineering skills.
"Missed call. You must've not heard it with, you know, all the hammering and the swearing." House lets himself spy on Wilson’s phone. "Why did my mother call you? Why do you have her in your contacts in the first place?"
"I call her every other week." He replies naturally, giving the answer for granted.
"Why? Are you screwing her?"
"House." He groans
"What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with you ? She wants to know how you're doing. And, since you don't talk to her, I do."
"I wouldn't call your mom."
"Thank God!"
"What do you even talk about? Knitting? Cross-stitching?"
"You." He admits, avoiding House’s eyes. "I tell her what you've been up to. If you happen to be alive or not. You know, since you have a history of being volatile and insane."
"So you just talk about me the entire time?"
"More or less."
"Do you ever think about yourself?"
"I like talking about you." The oncologist says softly, with a shrug and keeps himself busy by moving the B bolts by the D bolts.
"Now, that's pathetic."
"She's just an old woman who misses her dipshit son. I like talking to her. And I like giving her the news that you're outliving us, yet again." He says, almost annoyed. "I was thinking of inviting her over, actually. I told her about Riley and she was very excited. We could fly her over."
"It must be exhausting to always be nice to everyone around you."
"Not that you would know."
The jab hangs in the air for a bit. House knows it’s true and that Wilson shouldn’t feel guilty for saying it but also knows that’s exactly what he’s doing.
"I'll get Thirteen to call your parents. Might as well invite the whole geriatric ward." House accepts defeat. Wilson hides his smiles behind the pages of the manual.
House convinces him to drop his project and instead go get dinner started and he obeys, partially out of boredom. The next day he comes back from work, knowing he will have to face the hellish manual once again but finds the Franken-crib gone, along with its many pieces and boxes. What he finds instead is a huge, rustic wooden crib with small wooden stars dangling over it, blocking the entrance of the foyer.
"Would you mind not banging the door into it like a madman? It took sweat, blood and tears to build that thing." House yells from the couch, crouched over a bowl of milk and frosted flakes. Wilson circumnavigates the crib and stares at it, mouth agape.
"You built this?"
"Of course not, I paid two hunky men to oil themselves up and give me a show."
Wilson pats his back pocket for his wallet. Still there.
"House, you... You bought this? With your own money?"
"I dunno. I always mix up our credit cards. Our last names are so similar." House puts the spoon down to grab something from the coffee table and tosses it in his direction, he barely catches it. "Here. This is yours. You won't need it anymore."
The missing bag of Allen head bolts from the Franken-crib.
They arrange to have their parents flown in over the weekend and have them over for dinner. House is annoyed but also visibly relieved to not have to deal with his father anymore. The evening isn’t all that bad, Wilson knows how much his friend hates small talk or gatherings of any kind but his parents have always loved House and he seems to take pride in charming them. Everything goes smoothly, House had insisted on cooking and had made recipes way too elaborate for his guests but they’d been appreciated nonetheless.
By the end of the night, Riley starts crying, and Wilson and his mother go check on her in the bedroom. Wilson's father is fast asleep on the couch, House is doing the dishes and Blythe is helping him dry them.
"That James of yours, such a wonderful boy." She says softly, breaking the silence.
"It's all a front, he's a conniving bastard."
"He's a sweetheart and you know it." House scoffs and hands her another dish. "Greg, you do know you can talk to me about everything, right?"
He takes a deep breath and braces himself on the edges of the sink, turning towards her with a genuine look.
"I Inherited dad's erectile dysfunction."
"Gregory." She rolls her eyes and gives his shoulder the weakest motherly slap. "I mean it, your father isn't here anymore. We can discuss... certain subjects without... fearing his reactions."
"I never feared his reactions. I deliberately provoked him until he backhanded me and called me a "fag" , remember?"
She smiles sadly at the mention of the word, seems a bit caught off-guard, which was House’s intention but he almost regrets it when he realizes she’s really trying to say something. He’s not sure what to feel but he’s aware his younger self would’ve done anything to hear those words coming from his mother.
"I'm happy for you and James. You deserve this, honey."
"You think we're screwing? Oh, no. He's way too repressed for that."
"He loves you very much." She whispers, placing a warm hand on his back. "He might not say it to your face because he knows you'd belittle him with your usual snark, but he loves you deeply."
"Oh, drop it. You should give him the shovel talk, I already treat him like a princess. He's cheated on all of his wives."
"You three make a wonderful family." She persists. "With you two watching over her, she'll be the smartest little genius in the world."
"Ugh. Stop fantasizing. I'm not giving you a little brat to spoil."
"You already have. I'll be sure to mail her lots of cute onesies."
"He's ruining my beautiful bachelor reputation."
There’s one thing House hasn’t taken into consideration: Riley doesn’t have a place to sleep. Well, she does, the huge luxury crib that has stayed in the living room the whole time. They move it all over the place but, fun thing, it doesn't fit through doors, except for one. The one to House's bedroom.
Wilson is unsure what to do, but he knows the situation needs to be fixed before the CPS visit. She can’t stay in the living room forever. He tries to come up with a plan of action to break the news that they might need to do some more renovation, until one morning House, completely unprovoked, says:
"She should take my bedroom."
"Oh.” Wilson isn’t sure what to say but a small smile grows on his lips. “Greg…"
"I'll take the master. You'll take the couch." Well, that explains it.
"I should've seen it coming." He sighs, keeps poking his breakfast with his fork. "Or we could buy a bed for that useless, empty room."
"That's my thinking room."
"That was my study, which you infiltrated."
"That room is too cold to sleep in."
"We can get the windows fixed and you could sleep there.”
"I want the bedroom that's already there."
"Mine?!"
"I'm giving up space for your little monster and this is how you thank me?"
“Okay, hear this, you take my bedroom, we move the crib to your room and I will take your bed into the study and sleep there.”
“But I want the study.”
“Is there a scenario in your head where I get to give my daughter a room and also get to keep a bed?”
“No.”
They keep arguing over it until Wilson decides his best strategy is to act behind House’s back. He pays two janitors from the hospital to help him move House’s bed to the study and the crib into House’s room. They’re quick to act during lunch break and they’re back to work in less than an hour. The thing Wilson doesn’t take into consideration is that House’s best strategy is to act behind his back. So he really shouldn’t be surprised to come back home, gloating and smiling like an idiot, only to find out the bed in the study has disappeared. The same bed he has moved that very morning. Well, not exactly, he realizes the bed in the study is his own bed and the bed now occupying his room is House’s.
“What did you do to my bed?”
“Sold it on Craigslist. 500 bucks, I bought us a bottle of Macallan.”
“I want to kill you.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
It was a war he could’ve never won. So he gives up, he grabs a blanket and takes the couch. That bastard sold his pillows, too. His grandma had stitched his initials in the pillowcases.
Around two a.m., he finds himself getting up, his limbs aching, his neck clicking loudly. He has a couch pillow in hand and he’s walking down the hallway and into his former bedroom. He’s not sure what he’s doing and at some point even wonders if he’s come here with the sole purpose of suffocating House in his sleep. Now that would be lovely.
He resorts to simply pushing House’s shoulder with force.
"House. My back is killing me."
"Shouldn't have gotten that breast augmentation." He mumbles into the pillow. A few seconds go by and he feels the mattress dip. The enemy is now under the sheets. This is a counter-attack he hadn’t expected. "Get out of my bed."
"It's my bed and I'm exhausted."
"I think I need an adult."
"I'm tired. Move."
As soon as Wilson's head hits the pillow, Riley's crying comes screeching through the baby monitor.
"Karmic justice."
Wilson lets out a sigh that speaks louder than words, clenches his jaw and sits up. "I hate you."
House chuckles victoriously and grabs Wilson's couch pillow, puts it between his legs to accommodate his right thigh and sprawls diagonally across the bed.
He’s about to fall back to sleep, when he catches Wilson's calming whispers coming from the baby monitor.
"Hey, baby. Hey, it's me. Riley." The crying softens a bit.
"It's okay. It's okay, honey. I know. I know." He shushes her softly. "It's gonna be okay, honey. We're gonna be okay, I promise."
Then Wilson starts humming. It doesn’t matter what song, but he’s humming something and House realizes he hasn’t heard Wilson sing in years. He’s never been particularly good at it, he’s mediocre at best but he used to do it often back when he’d just moved to New Jersey.
He hums a tune to Riley and she seems to appreciate it as well. House can’t quite fall asleep after that, so he’s still awake when he hears footsteps approaching the bedroom. Wilson walks to the bed, hands on his hips, looks at House’s state and audibly groans.
He suddenly grabs the pillow from under House's head and yanks it away forcefully, placing it on his side of the bed. He grabs House's legs next, with more care than he should, and manually moves them to House's side of the bed.
"You, asshole. " He grits his teeth and tugs on the sheets, completely snatching them from House. He angrily lies down on his side, facing Greg, the entire mattress recoiling.
House can’t help but break out in soft giggles.
"It's really not funny." The laughing continues and Wilson kicks his left shin. "It's not funny!"
Wilson tries to hold it in but starts chuckling, too, mainly from exhaustion.
They laugh, now looking at each other and, for the first time in a long while, James falls asleep with a smile on his face.
House wakes up first, mostly from the cold, his legs completely bare because of his roommate’s selfishness. He finds Wilson sleeping soundly, drooling on the pillow, wrapped in the sheets that once belonged to him.
He looks stupid. And he damns himself for thinking he also looks kinda pretty.
With his stupid boy-next-door face and his stupid soft, brown hair. He feels the need to reach out and touch it, but doesn't and gets up instead. He’ll use Wilson’s bathtub again just out of spite.
The next night they both sort of find themselves standing by the bed, unsure what to do.
“Just, don’t hog the sheets.” House warns him. And Wilson doesn’t.
The third night Wilson just gets into bed without even asking. He moves the baby monitor to his side of the bed and even adds a book on his nightstand.
House decides he likes sleeping in the same room as Wilson for some reason.
But Wilson hasn’t learned his lesson, he still thinks he can win the war and is still trying to get the study room turned into a bedroom. So he does the next obvious thing, and decides to sabotage every attempt James makes at furnishing the empty room.
First he cancels the order for the new mattress. Then he unhinges the window, making the room unlivable with the cold. He tells the repairmen they’re at the wrong address. The shenanigans go on for a full week and neither of them seems to want to give up, until one night House is on the couch watching Man VS Food, plotting what to do next and Wilson suddenly says:
"House, it's late. Come to bed."
The diagnostician freezes in place, he slowly turns his head to look at the oncologist standing in the kitchen with a glass of water and a hand up.
"I don't know what you have planned and I'm scared to find out. But, in the meantime, you can stay. Just, please, stop destroying my study."