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Transitions
by naughtybookworm
David's first week:
David dried off and put on his new bathrobe. It was a blue terrycloth one, just like House's. He carefully hung up his towel and closed the shower door. Then he went to his bedroom to change into the pajamas he had laid out on the bed earlier. He slipped on the bottom, but put the top away into the dresser, and put on a t-shirt instead, just like House. He liked looking like House; it made him feel good, and helped him pretend he was House's boy.
Then, as he had done over the last three nights, David opened every drawer and looked at all his new stuff. Eight new sets of underwear and socks. Three pairs of pajamas; blue Spongebob ones, striped, and plain red flannel. Two pairs of jeans, three fancy t-shirts. Then he opened his closet - HIS closet - and counted; three pairs of regular pants, and three button-down-the-front shirts. And a jacket to wear outside. Checking in the pockets of the jacket, he felt for the gloves that were still there, still not lost. On the floor, HIS shoes, a pair of black shoes. Oh - he'd left his sneakers out again. He scurried to the living room where House was still watching TV to retrieve them.
"Ready for bed?" House asked without looking away from the TV.
"Almost." David grabbed the goofy red sneakers House had bought him. He loved the sneakers more than any of the other new things he had. When David saw them at the store, he was afraid to choose them. They the most perfect thing ever, in his eyes. Bright red with orange and red flames on the sides, and with a thick white, rubber-covered toe. And the lights in the heels. That was the best part. At the store, he was afraid that, if House knew how much he wanted those shoes, he might not buy them. That's what David's mother would have done. "Too much of a good thing," she would have reminded him, nastily.
When House had told him to pick a pair he liked, the boy had been unable to say anything. But House knew. House had intuition. He limped over to the red sneakers right away, took the representative copy and handed it to the salesman. "You're going to have to measure him," House told the man. After the purchase, House told David to put the sneakers on. Then he took David's disgusting, worn-out pair and threw them into a wastebasket, one at a time.
David meticulously placed his sneakers in the closet next to the regular shoes and closed the door. House had followed him into his room, waiting to tuck him in. David had no memory of ever being put to bed before House, and he knew he didn't need to be, but he would never tell House that. The boy loved these last few minutes of House's undivided attention before he went to sleep. Somehow it helped him sleep better, he thought, like it was a reminder that House was nearby, so that scary things that reared their ugly heads in the night would stay away.
"Did you try the bubble gum toothpaste?" House had never noticed before that they made toothpaste in kid flavors. He had bought a tube just for David, but was secretly just itching to try it himself. He had just been politely allowing David to be first to crack open the tube.
Oh crap... David hung his head. "I'm sorry... I forgot."
House shrugged. "Well, go do it. I'll wait here."
David fled the room as if someone was chasing him.
In the bathroom, David climbed onto the low stepstool House had gotten for him so that he could see the mirror, and got his toothbrush ready. It was a little fuzzy looking because he wasn't wearing his glasses...which he'd left on the sink before he took his shower. "Careless," his mother's voice seethed inside him. "You don't deserve * anything.* House gave you all these nice things, and you go leaving them scattered all over the place, AND you forgot to brush your teeth. Stupid little bastard."
The boy peered into the mirror at his image. Shocked still at how he'd changed in just a few days, he lowered the toothbrush and stared in at himself. His mind lapsed into the fuzzy state that happened for him when he felt very ashamed. The haircut had been the biggest change. House couldn't walk around for a long time, so he got his friend Wilson to take him shopping for clothes, and then to a place where they cut only kid's hair. He'd never had a real haircut before. His mother used to go over his head with scissors when his hair got in his way; she usually made a real mess of it, too.
When the lady at the hair place was done with him, David didn't recognize himself in the big mirror until, smiling, Wilson leaned down next to him and handed him the slick, black, wire-rimmed glasses that they had picked out at Lenscrafters earlier that same day. Next to the handsome smiling doctor, was a really good-looking kid. His hair was trimmed simply so that it tapered nicely all over his head, but he had two odd cowlicks in the front that the stylist had used to his advantage, and made a sort of spiky statement with them. "You look fantastic!" Wilson had said before hugging him. David had had to look away, down into his lap. He didn't know how to be inside a fantastic-looking kid's face.
And now he knew that he wasn't fantastic. House and Wilson had gone to a lot of trouble for him, and he already was messing up. There was no way that House would want to keep him once he saw how screwed up David was. And all the nice things would probably go to some other boy who deserved them better.
"David?" House had come after him. "You okay?" The boy had been gone for nearly 15 minutes. He knocked on the bathroom door and tentatively opened it a little. When David didn't protest, he pushed the door all the way open.
David was standing, vibrating toothbrush in hand, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He was visibly crying, but not making any sound.
House took the toothbrush from the boy and turned it off. He stood him on the floor and sat on the stepstool. "What's going on?"
Shaking his head, David sobbed. "I don't know."
Sighing, House put his arms around the boy and held him until he stopped crying. He felt like he was holding a mannequin. It had been a long day. The kid was decompressing after having been miserable for so long. Maybe House had made too many changes in David's life at one time. He had perhaps been too aggressive at trying to even the score in the boy's universe.
He washed David's face and helped him brush his teeth. Then he led the child to his room and tucked him in. Seated at the foot of the bed, he opened the only children's book he could find in his apartment, Kipling's Just So Stories. He made a mental note to stop by the children's library in the hospital and borrow something a little more modern. Then he started reading a tale set near the "great grey-green greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever trees."
When he knew David was sleeping, he told him, for the first time ever, that he was a wonderful kid. But he doubted that the words got through at all.
**********
David's twelfth week:
After a deep breath to steel himself for the next few moments, Greg House entered Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital through his usual entrance, which was near the handicapped parking spaces, in the front. That act alone ensured that he would call a lot of attention to himself. David bounced along quietly beside him, wearing the school backpack that House had bought him. David had chosen it because it looked like House's backpack; same colors. Other than his flashing red sneakers, David looked a lot like a miniature House in jeans and an un-tucked oxford shirt. The boy wore a blue windbreaker instead of a sport jacket though.
House could practically hear the nurses, almost in unison, saying, "There's that little boy again." And "Y'think House IS his father?" And "Have you seen House's Mini-Me?" And one more: "That's so cute." To add icing to the cake, David had begun to feel a bit nervous, and slipped his hand into the tall doctor's. Sighing inwardly, House led David up to his office in Diagnostics, leaving about forty puzzled, but intensely interested people in their path.
Cameron, as usual, was early and was starting the coffee. She had not seen David before, but had heard all about him through the hospital rumor mill after he'd been in the bus accident. No one had said that the kid was so cute. He was absolutely adorable, dressed like House. A little too skinny. She brought House a fresh mug as an excuse to meet him.
"Cameron, David, David, Cameron." Was all that House would say.
Cameron gushed; David was shy. He found a way to put House between them and uttered a quiet, "Hullo."
Allison Cameron wasn't about to let it go at that. "So, Dr. House - when did you get a child?"
House played dumb. "Few weeks ago. When did you get that blouse?" He leered at her chest. This never worked with Cameron, because she usually dressed modestly, unlike Cuddy, whose rather inappropriate exposure of her chest was always pretty interesting, but also kind of got on House's nerves.
Rolling her eyes, Cameron pressed on, addressing David, "So, are you planning to do any heart transplants today, Dr. David?" she asked playfully.
David met her eyes. "No." he whispered. Then he turned his back to her, sending a clear message: 'I'm done.'
She looked at House quizzically. House's response was to wave her away. She had no choice but to accept the dual message.
Later, in the main room of their department, Cameron observed them surreptitiously through the glass walls and speculated about the origin of House's new charge.
"He's Doogie Houser, come to take all our jobs," Chase joked. He was mildly irritated at Allison's preoccupation with this new development in House's life.
Foreman was indifferent. "I'm going down to the clinic. My brain cells are gonna atrophy while we're waiting for a case."
Incredulously, she exclaimed, "Aren't either of you even slightly curious as to why House would have a CHILD in his care?"
Both men shook their heads. Foreman left as he had planned. Chase decided to go find someone to flirt with. Cameron stayed in their conference room, pretending she was answering House's snail mail. Out of the corner of her eye, every three minutes, she observed the scene in her boss's office.
David eventually wandered out onto House's balcony with the brightly colored ball that he kept on his desk. He practiced throwing it low against the wall and catching it. The rhythm started a pattern in his head. He started to hum to himself. Then the rhythm was broken when he missed and the ball bounced over to the next balcony.
The little boy on his balcony caught his eye immediately. Wilson was doing paperwork, depressing paperwork associated with the two patients he'd lost, one last night, and the other this morning. He welcomed the distraction. Shucking his lab coat, he stepped out onto his balcony.
"Wilson!" David was surprised. "I didn't know you'd be here." He smiled, the equivalent of a broad grin for a happier child.
Wilson spent a lot of time with children, always very sick ones. It was a delight to actually know one who was healthy for a change. He ruffled David's short, thick, brown hair and gave him a quick, one-armed hug. "Yeah, that's my office," he indicated through the glass wall.
David peered in. It wasn't as cool as House's office, but he didn't comment. In a way, he wished that House's office didn't have all that glass. You could hide in here.
"Want to come in?" David followed the oncologist inside. "What's cancer?" was his first question. He had heard that word many times before, but he never knew exactly what it meant, just something not very good. The word CANCER seemed to jump out from all of the books and magazines.
"It's the disease I specialize in," Wilson said simply. No desire to elaborate.
"Oh."
Unlike House, Wilson had lots of goofy trinkets to occupy a kid. He noticed the mini Zen garden right away. "What's it for?" he asked, a puzzled expression on his face.
"People use them to relax." Wilson demonstrated, using the little rake.
"Maybe I should get one. House says I need to relax."
Wilson chuckled, and handed the rake over. "Try it out."
House clambered over the partition between their balconies. He would not give in the perverse urge to look over the ledge, because David WAS in Wilson's office. Which, of course, he was. Playing with Wilson's Zen garden while the oncologist worked on forms. Before either of them noticed him, he climbed back over again, and went back to work. If he needed to leave his office, Wilson would send the kid back over. House went back to his desk and grabbed the folder that Foreman had brought up from the clinic. Entering the conference room next door, he headed to the white board to start the discussion. "Differential diagnosis, people. Twenty-eight-year-old female, presenting with..."
Lunchtime was a trial. House had planned to get Cameron or Wilson to pick up something for them. Cameron had made herself scarce around noon, though. And Wilson talked him out of it saying, "People have already seen you two together. There's no way you're hiding an entire child."
The cafeteria was hard for David. He hated the cafeteria at school. Everyone at his school had assigned seats, but no one wanted to talk with him in his old life. Now that he was more like other kids, at least on the outside, people did want to talk to him. He was surprised to learn that this was even harder, because he was so used to not talking that he never had anything to say. This cafeteria was mostly full of grown-ups. That scared him more, because everyone kept looking at him. He supposed that that was because everyone knew House. They were surprised to see that House had a boy with him. People kept stopping by their table to say hello. David couldn't eat. He sat there feeling miserable because House had spent about five dollars on his lunch, and he couldn't eat one bite. He just couldn't get his teeth to part in order to shovel anything in. So he sat and waited for House or Wilson to be mad at him for being wasteful.
Funny thing, though. After he and Wilson were done eating, House left the table and came back with a Styrofoam box and a bag. He packed up David's tuna sandwich and chips and soda, and they took them back to his office. He was ravenous now. At House's desk, away from everyone, he ate every bite except the few chips that House stole from him.
"Better?" House asked from the overstuffed chair where he watched General Hospital.
David smiled as he threw his trash away. "Yeah." He went to House and stood by his chair. "Thanks, Daddy."
House felt his heart soar again. It was still new, David calling him Daddy. It felt good, so good he found that he didn't care about the odd looks that he knew his team members would give one another if they heard. David sat on the arm of his chair, and House put an arm around him while they watched the soap. David didn't like soap operas, but he sure did like cuddling with his Daddy.
Cameron, who had returned from lunch and was pretending to read over the case they were currently working on, was privately gushing over the little scene. That little boy, David, had somehow managed to work his way into House's frozen, angry heart. Her boss had been nicer over the past couple months. He didn't seem need to snark as much as he usually did. He was still as brutally blunt with the people he worked with; he was still House, but something had eased. He seemed happier. Apparently, Little Greggy House had found himself a suitable playmate. She had no idea that Big Greg House had found one, as well.
She sneaked unseen past House's door and slipped into Wilson's office. The oncologist was up to his elbows in paperwork, but set everything aside right away, as he always would do when he was needed. "What's up, Cameron?"
"Ok, spill it." She ordered. "I wanna know what you know about House's little boy."
***************
David's fourteenth week:
He turned up in the middle of the school day in House's office. House had been facing the white board, idly twirling his cane while he was thinking. Chase and Foreman had gone off to perform a diagnostic treatment on their patient. Cameron was with House, still bandying ideas back and forth. Then out of the blue, David slipped into the room, sat down in Chase's usual seat, and stared at the whiteboard, intently. Cameron just stared at him, bemused, smiling a little.
"Would you like a cup of coffee, doctor?" she asked him.
"What?" House turned and frowned at her. When he realized that she was addressing someone else. Following her gaze, he glanced at Chase - no, not Chase, David.
"What in the hell are you doing here?" House scanned his memory for David's school calendar. Today wasn't one of their all-too-often short days.
"I thought I'd help out here instead of school." David attempted.
House was too busy. He didn't have time to try and figure David out. He pulled out his wallet and retrieved a twenty. "Call Mom's Taxi," he ordered. "Go back to school. You're grounded when you get home tonight. No piano lesson." House turned around and stared back at the white board, fully expecting David to do as he was told.
Cameron, fascinated to get a bird's eye view of House in this role, watched David's reaction. He smiled slightly, took the twenty, and slipped it into his back pocket and sat back down.
House, without turning around, said, "I am not hearing the sound of little red sneakers going out my door. I did, however, hear a twenty disappear."
"I can't go back there, Daddy." David told him simply.
Sighing, House pulled himself away from the board. "Okay, here's the thing, David. I'm REALLY busy right now. And as much as I'd like to give you plenty of time to explain yourself, I can't. Somebody is dying, and I need to do my job." He sat down in Foreman's chair. "So I need you to spill it in the next 30 seconds, preferably in 10 words or less."
David spent five seconds thinking, then responded, "Heat broken. Classroom moved. Near music room. One week." He smiled, proud of himself. "Nine words. About fifteen seconds, total."
House paused for a second. Then he started to laugh. Cameron had never seen House like this. He was ... tickled. Delighted. Then he sent David into his office to "go study or something."
"What did he mean?" Cameron asked House. "I'm not getting the joke."
House, still chuckling, turned back to his white board, already delving back into their problem patient. "Can you imagine what a musical prodigy would go through, spending six hours a day listening to squeaking clarinets, whole classrooms of kids singing off-key, non-stop musical mistakes?"
"So you're not making him go back?" she asked, incredulous. "You're letting him ditch school all week?"
"Yep." When House saw the shocked expression on his face, he added, "Would you rather I send him to a torture chamber for the next four days?"
******************
David's twenty-first week:
David climbed out of the "Mom's Taxi Service" van. He knew that when House sent the taxi to pick him up at school, there was an interesting case at the hospital, and they were in for a long night. He usually hung out in House's office, then Wilson would take him home at dinnertime and stay with him until his dad returned. If they were both tied up, David amused himself all evening, and sometimes ended up sleeping on a sofa somewhere until one of them was free.
He generally liked being at the hospital. House had techie stuff in his office to play with. He could visit Wilson to play with his desk toys. Sometimes he would be allowed to explore around. He knew some of the hospital people, mostly nurses, and they liked him because he was cute. There were places that House had declared off limits - the ER, radiology, and any places where the contagious disease signs were placed. And anyplace that people chased David out of. That never happened though, because David instinctively knew how not to be any trouble.
David was in a sour mood today, though. He didn't want to explore. Another birthday at school. He hated birthdays. Some kid's mom came to his classroom with a box of treats, and everyone sang "Happy Birthday" to him, and the kid got a card that everyone had secretly signed.
Daddy had been so busy that David didn't see him much that afternoon. A few times he popped into his office to look something up, or to think while the other doctors were doing tests on his patient. He hardly seemed to know David was there. David knew not to disturb him now. House sat in his easy chair in scrubs, with the TV on, twirling his cane. He had that stare that meant he was doing some intense thinking.
Finally, he came up for air. "David..." It was as if he'd just noticed his son sitting at his desk, playing air piano to the MP3 he was listening to.
David removed his headset. "Hi, Daddy."
Shaking his head, marveling at how patient David could be sometimes, he beckoned. "Over here, kid." He set his cane down while David joined him, sitting on the arm of the padded chair. House put an arm around him. "Your Dad is * so * smart," he bragged.
"I know," David kidded back at him.
"Watch this:" House pulled out his cell phone, which immediately started ringing. House started talking doctor to Foreman, whom David could tell was saying the exact words that House was saying at the same time. Then his dad started prescribing treatment for the patient. Smugly, House hung up, sat back in his chair, and sighed. He pulled David into his lap. "See?"
David didn't really see, because he didn't understand all the medical-ese, but he did get that Dad had figured everything out before the other doctors had even finished with the tests. His Dad * was * smart. "Cool, Daddy," he told him. "Is the patient cured?"
House shook his head. "No, but he will be. We'll hang around for an hour or so just to be sure. Then House switched gears. "Time to pay attention to the kid," he said, hugging the boy with both arms now. "What was your day like...you know, before the boring hospital part?"
Thinking back to the whole birthday thing, David shrugged. 'Uh oh,' House thought. He knew that shrug. A little more right shoulder than left. It had 'Don't go there' written all over it. Treatment: shut up and let nature take its course. He waited.
"We didn't have music." David reported, sounding pleased with that. We had three tests. I aced them all." (No surprises there, thought House). Then there was a long pause. "One of the kids had a birthday party." David shrugged again, more right than left. "That's all."
Bingo. House imagined that perhaps he'd forgotten the kid's birthday or something, but then realized that he didn't even KNOW when David had been born. They'd never even discussed birthdays. Surprised at himself, House asked, "Hey, when's * your * birthday?"
Shrugging again, David replied automatically, "I don't remember."
House thought for a moment. "You told me about your mother coming back on your birthday when you were four. Do you remember when that was?"
Shrug. "I remember it was my birthday 'cause the foster lady always had a cake if it was your birthday. We ate cake and then the social worker took me back to my mother, but I don't remember the date."
David heard House swear under his breath. He was reluctant to tell about his past. It made Daddy and Wilson angry, or sad, or both. And that ruined everything.
Later that evening, after it was definite that the patient was cured, at home, after House and Wilson thought David was asleep, the boy listened just inside his bedroom door to them talking in the living room. Dad had said that there was some kind of snag about David's birthday, something that's upsetting him, and he says that he can't remember the date.
Wilson said, "Well, we've got to know when the kid's birthday is. He can't go around not knowing."
House answered, "I don't know. He's here. It's obvious that he exists. What does it matter if we don't know the exact date? Anyway, I'm not entirely convinced that he doesn't know. But if it's true we could just assign him one."
In his almost-annoyed voice, Wilson said, "This really matters, House. We need to know the exact date. He needs to know. I'm sure we can find some record of his birth out there..."
"Shhh..." House said. "You'll wake him."
House distracted Wilson then. David heard them kissing. They seemed to think David didn't know what was between them, that they were having a romance, but he did. He wasn't a stupid kid. They were usually quiet in the living room, but he could still hear them once they were seriously smooching. Wilson tended to moan, which David imagined meant that Daddy was a really good kisser. In the bedroom, they obviously forgot themselves altogether, because sometimes they both got quite loud. It didn't bother David. In his short life he'd certainly heard more than his share of people moaning and bedsprings squeaking.
His mother, now, what she had been doing HAD bothered him. She had felt she was doing wrong, enough wrong that she blamed him for it all the time. This had made it seem disgusting to David, and that bothered him so much that she would kick him out of the house when she brought the different men home. David sometimes tried to stop it by getting in the way. Nothing could stop her "business" better than a wistful little kid giving her and the john reproachful looks when they came into the apartment. His mother might have been sleazy enough not to care, but a lot of those men probably had kids of their own, and wouldn't dream of exposing them to something so dirty.
What Dad and Wilson did together was never dirty. It brought them closer together. Whenever David overheard them loving each other in House's bedroom, they would be especially close and gentle together the next day. Sometimes they forgot themselves altogether, and kissed when he was in the next room, or touched and looked at each other funny when he wasn't exactly paying attention. David made himself scarce when that happened. It had seemed very private, but never wrong.
The funniest part was how, in the beginning, they sometimes tried to pretend that Wilson had gone back to his apartment, slept, and then returned in time for breakfast the next day. David was a bright boy; he knew they were sleeping together and deceiving him, but he also believed that they had a really good reason. He knew that people were touchy about two men loving each other that way. Dad and Wilson couldn't help loving each other, but they were trying not to complicate his life. David felt that it was the least he could do to pretend along with them, and not ask awkward questions. They would tell him when they were ready. This was his family; David was happy with them the way they were. He decided to go back to bed and mind his own business.
He had never forgotten his birthday. David felt uncomfortable about that question. It made him sad that, in school, other kids' parents sometimes brought treats to class for everyone on birthdays. In one of his first grade classes, everybody had to say when their birthday was. David had said that he didn't remember, preferring to have everyone laugh at him, than to have the day go by and not have his mom come to school with goodies. A few months later, in the next school, his teacher had checked his school records. When the day was nearing, the teacher gave him a note to give his mother, asking what time she would be coming, and reminding her not to put peanuts in any foods she might bring.
One thing David had been sure never to do was to ask or tell his mother anything. When there had been no response to the note, the teacher finally got the point and said nothing more about it. On his birthday, she had the whole class sing "Happy Birthday," to him anyway. That had hurt David even more deeply than if they had simply ignored it altogether. From that day forward, whenever he started at a new school, or at the beginning of the school year, he would tell his teachers that his birthday was July first. There would be no need to feel bad when his birthday rolled around and there were no cupcakes in school, because there would be no school in July.
It had hurt David so deeply to have every year go by without even so much as a "Happy Birthday" from his mother that he had gotten into the habit of ignoring the day altogether. It was her ultimate way of saying "I don't want you, and I wish you didn't exist." He didn't want to tell House and Wilson when his birthday was because it would hurt even more if someone made a big deal over it now, after all these years. He just didn't want to pull the scab off this wound.
The two men didn't say much else about David's birthday at first. Wilson was always first to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. House went along with it. Maybe David didn't really remember. But he knew his kid. David sometimes could retrieve memories that most people were incapable of recalling, like learning to walk. House's 'differential diagnosis' was that David * did * remember, but that there was yet another nasty little trauma involved that was so painful that he couldn't bear to talk about it.
House surmised that eventually, the boy would come clean when whatever the problem was bothered him too much to keep it hidden. When a couple weeks went by and it was apparent that David was content to remain in a holding pattern with regards to the issue, the doctor started another course of treatment.
House started surprising him every now and then by taking him on a long drive, or for ice cream, a new book, or some frivolous musician's gadget. "Just in case today's your birthday," the man would say. He wasn't trying to make up for 8 years of ignored birthdays so much as he was trying to incubate whatever infection was floating around in his little boy's soul. Wilson began to do the same, though he was blissfully unaware of House's deeper reasoning. He had jumped on the bandwagon just to encourage House's uncharacteristic sweetness, which the man reserved only for David, but sometimes allowed to spill over onto Wilson. The younger man would pop in unexpectedly in the middle of the week to take David to a Disney movie (which House despised), and tell him, "Just in case it's today."
Surprises were not David's strong suit, however. The two men learned to allow plenty of time for him to adjust, because invariably, the boy would run to his room and curl up on his bed to have a good cry. David would have gotten sappy even before his omission, but now he was also ridden with guilt because he hated being dishonest with the only two people who loved him. Deep down, he really didn't believe he deserved so much from them.
House began to believe that the medicine was just a little bit too strong for this patient, and was just about to come clean to Wilson about it, when David cracked, a little bit.
He came to them one evening to say goodnight just after his shower and sat on the coffee table, facing them both. "I don't want any more birthday presents, okay?"
Raising his eyebrows until his forehead wrinkled, House asked, "Are you serious? You're a kid. Kids love presents. Enjoy them."
Wilson asked, "Why not?"
"Because all those days can't be my birthday. I should get only one birthday a year. Like everybody else."
House had a look on his face that said he knew something was up, but he didn't say anything except, "We like surprising you, David. Just enjoy it."
David shook his head. "It makes me nervous." He said.
House looked at him squarely. David couldn't meet his eyes. He knew now that his dad was on to him, but he also knew how to short circuit House's scrutiny. He shrugged. House gave him amnesty. "Okay. Say goodnight to Wilson, go lie down. I'll be there in a minute."
David obeyed. He heard House and Wilson talking, so quietly that he couldn't eavesdrop. He could tell that House's tone was concerned, though. When House read to him, the boy pretended to fall asleep quickly. He wanted his dad to leave him alone, and he didn't feel like he deserved a story tonight, anyway. 'Dad hates lying,' he reminded himself, 'And now * I'm * a liar.'
House closed the book he'd been reading from and moved to sit on the side of David's bed. It was Kipling's Just So Stories. This book was David's favorite for two reasons: one, because House had read his very first bedtime story ever from it, and two, because the stories were always addressed to "O, Best Beloved." David loved that, hearing Daddy's deep voice saying those words.
"You're a wonderful boy, David," House said, as usual, as he stroked David's short brown hair. "Wilson and I love you very much, you know." Then he added something else that let David know his dad was aware that he was faking. "It's okay if you need to keep a secret every now and then." Dad's voice was so gentle now. "You're going to have to tell me or Wilson if something is hurting or bothering you, though. Otherwise, we can't help you." Then he kissed his boy and left the room.
David felt a little bit better. Dad knew he wasn't being honest, but he understood and loved him anyway. He wasn't exactly a liar; he was keeping a secret. David had expected to have insomnia that night, but he actually dropped off to sleep within ten minutes.
David was moody off and on for a few days. Moodiness, for David, was mostly silence, and a loss of interest in his music. Daddy and Wilson were wary around him. By now, David understood that they could see a pattern to his behavior. He'd be moody, then he'd have nightmares, and some awful memory would come back to him, and he'd feel horrible for a while, then a lot better once House and Wilson helped him get through it. David had tried to control what happened during these times, but he found that there wasn't a thing he could do about it. And Wilson had spoken to him since about 'sitting on his feelings.' "Getting things out in the open is the only way you're gonna feel better for good," Wilson had said. "One day, you're gonna run out of the bad stuff, I promise."
And today there was another goddamn birthday. He had refused to sing along with the class, and had thrown the chocolate cupcake away, even though he usually lusted after anything chocolate. No one really noticed, but it made David feel a little bit better, anyway.
*********
David's twenty-second week:
Delores Marshall watched the clock; not her usual behavior. She was very devoted to her third graders. The trouble was that it was looking as though the last 30 minutes of her classroom open house was going to be unpleasant. That nasty Daniels boy had managed to be ill today - she had wanted to talk to his parents. They needed an update on his rapidly backsliding hygiene habits. Then there was little David Walsh. His parents had never shown up for any school activities in the five months that he had been in Ms. Marshall's class. This was the second conference of the year; by now, she knew each parent by name. She'd even gone to the apartment where David's records said he lived, but didn't get any answer.
Now, David was sitting at his desk, the last kid, waiting to be picked up, have his conference, and go home with his mother. Just like the last conference, he would wait there, probably knowing that no one was coming, until she released him with another note. It was too bad. David seemed to be doing extremely well - he aced almost everything. In fact, she got the distinct impression that the boy was doing it effortlessly, and therefore not being challenged. Ms. Marshall knew he was an intelligent kid from day one, but he had come into her class rather disorganized. Apathetic. Unhappy. Patchy school records at schools in several different states. What public health people called an "FLK," or "funny-looking-kid," because something was definitely wrong at home. His clothes had always been wrinkled, dirty, too small. He had a pair of sneakers that looked as though they would fall apart if he took one more step. David's glasses looked as if they hadn't been replaced since he was five or so. He looked as though he'd been cutting his own hair. He had been a major target for bullies early on, but not as much fun as the Daniels kid, so at least he didn't have to deal with getting into fights.
Then there had been a miraculous change in David Walsh. Sometime back in October, he'd cleaned up abruptly. Nice haircut, new glasses, new clothes. He was clean every day. The horrid, torn little plastic backpack had been replaced with a sporty black one with electric purple trim. And his sneakers. Bright red with lights in the heels. David was so proud. It wasn't that he'd said anything - he was as silent as he ever was in class or anywhere else. But he walked ... tall. He wasn't perpetually trying to be invisible, at least not as much as he had been earlier in the school year. When he did speak in class, Delores Marshall felt as if she were hearing from an adult. He consistently gave thorough, well-thought-out answers when he was forced to participate. The other children responded well to him now, especially the girls. David was apparently gearing up to be the strong, silent type. He'd be heartbreaker one day. Delores was sure of it.
If David Walsh was expecting someone to show up this time, and they didn't, it was bound to be a blow to his recovering ego, one that might set him back a few months, which would be a shame after all this progress. On the other hand, perhaps David was just going through the motions, and knew full well that he would be stood up in a few minutes.
Tap-step, step. Tap-step, step. Someone on crutches was coming down the almost deserted hall. "One-twenty-seven," a gentle baritone voice intoned faintly. Ms. Marshall immediately noticed a change in David, who had been slouching while he pretended to do his sustained silent reading from - good grief, what was he doing with a copy of * Lord of the Flies? * The little boy brightened suddenly as he sat up and watched the door.
A tall, man entered the classroom. He was older than most of the parents she dealt with. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt with a sport jacket over it. He looked like he was just starting to grow a beard, or perhaps was merely unshaven for a couple days. And it wasn't crutches, he walked with a cane, a kind of fancy looking wooden one. He peered sharply into the room, looking for someone. When his eyes settled on David, he smiled slightly.
David * beamed. * "House!" He jumped up and ran to the man and hugged him, "House," in turn, placed his free hand on the boy's head, caressed him briefly. "Hey, sorry I'm late."
"That's okay." He grabbed the man's free hand and led him to his teacher. Ms. Marshall was floored. Unused to saying much in class, David stalled. "Uh...Ms. Marshall... this is my dad."
The lights were on and David was home. He couldn't stop smiling. It was as if the sun rose and set behind the tall crippled man.
"Please to finally meet you, Mr. Walsh?"
"Gregory House," he supplied, taking her hand and shaking it briefly.
"Mr. House." She led him to David's desk. "Please sit down."
The tall lame man looked at the impossibly tiny seats in the classroom. "That might be a bit of a challenge."
Miss Marshall chuckled. "Well, some of the moms can manage it, but most of the dads just sit on the desks." As he sat, she retrieved a folder from the top of her desk and rejoined them. David sat on his chair. When she joined them, she sat on another kid's desk. "I have all good news for you and David." She removed a piece of paper from the folder. "This is David's report card - all A's..." She trailed her finger down two columns. "Except ...music." She smiled at them both. "There's a little problem with getting David to participate in music. But I would like to say that it's probably nothing to be concerned about. David may just not be musical."
The two glanced at each other. There was apparently a really big secret, apparently a funny one. Gregory House was smiling, and David was almost, but not quite giggling. Amazing. She didn't know the kid had the capacity for laughter.
She decided not to comment and pressed on. "David's attendance has been excellent, except he missed four days without explanation in... December. Were you aware of his absence, Mr. House?"
"Dr. House," David corrected before House shushed him.
Ms. Marshall's eyebrows climbed up into her bangs. Most of her kids were children of blue collar families. "Oh, sorry. Dr. House."
"I kept him home for that week. I think it was the flu." He poked David. "Wasn't it the flu?"
David gave one of his characteristic shrugs.
"That's fine." She made a note. "You probably should send a note with him in the future, though. The school has been trying to contact you. The phone number I have doesn't work. We've even tried a home visit with no response. I suppose if you're a doctor, you might be away from home at odd hours...?"
"That's probably it."
David was becoming distressed. He had so wanted his teacher to meet his dad, so he could be like all the other kids in her eyes, not a kid with problems. And now it was getting all messed up. "That was a long time ago." He interjected. "It's not House's fault."
Ms. Marshall looked at the two, and started doing the math herself. No resemblance whatsoever. Much older guy than the fathers she had met. Maybe almost fifty. David had just called him "House," and House wasn't David's name. And David was a real mess until five months ago.
"As I recall," Ms. Marshall said slowly, "David disappeared in the middle of a school day, a Monday, and didn't return until following Monday." It had been the week her classroom had been relocated to the spare classroom next to the music room. Right after she'd assigned everyone desks, David had managed to slip away. There was a bit of a furor afterwards, during which she and the assistant principal had attempted to find David. They finally reported him for truancy, and hoped he was okay. Ms. Marshall had made her visit that week, on her own, to David's apartment. There had been no answer. When David had returned to school the following week, he'd said nothing at all about his absence to her or anyone else.
A letter was sent home with him; the family was given a chance to redeem themselves before they were turned in to the authorities. The letter came back signed the next day, by the mother. No explanation, no comment. Delores had gone to bat for David, asserting that, whatever the problem was, he was doing lots better now. She asked for time to work with this student and find out what was going on, rather than intrude and disrupt his tenuous hold on a more normal life. She got what she asked for, but hadn't gotten David to open up at all.
"David didn't have the flu," she thought out loud.
Dr. House sighed. He looked like a man who knew when to cut his losses. "No, he didn't."
"So who signed this?" She held out her copy of the signed letter, and waited.
Taking the note from her, Dr. House inspected the letter, and looked at David. He seemed impressed, somehow.
David was very pale. He didn't speak.
House appreciated that his son had a teacher with more than half a brain. David was very upset now. He lowered his head until his forehead against House's left thigh. He was hiding his face from Ms. Marshall.
"Has David just recently come to live with you, Dr. House?" she asked, "Say about five months ago?"
David looked frightened now. That was odd. Unless there was something weird about him staying with this man. God, she hoped he hadn't kidnapped him. That happened occasionally; parents kidnapped their kids from a spouse, dyed their hair, and tried to mesh themselves into another community in another state. But then again, having been kidnapped might have been an improvement over the way David had been before. She hoped House wasn't some kind of creep. "Dr. House, David isn't your son, is he?"
"Stepson," House attempted. "His mother left him with me five months ago."
Right, Ms. Marshall thought, like a woman who kept a kid the way David had been could actually have snagged herself a doctor. "Okay, so I'm going to need some information from you for his school records," she told them. "There are a few holes in the information we have about him."
By now, David was up, tugging at House's left arm. "I want to go home, House."
House shook his head. "Shhh... Sit down, David. We're busted."
David froze where he stood. Dr. House put an arm around him. Addressing the teacher, he said, "He's upset because he's been through a lot. I'd appreciate it if you would leave well enough alone."
"Who are you to David, exactly?" she asked.
Setting his cane down on the desk behind him, House put both arms around David as he stood between the man's knees.
"It might be better if you didn't know anything about this." House told her. "You have an obligation to your students and I'd rather not force you to fulfill that obligation, because you'd end up making David's life miserable."
"Too late for that," Delores Marshall deadpanned. She told him about how she'd already gone out on a limb for whoever was responsible for David. "So, you see, this has already gone past the point that I'm willing to risk my career. I need you to come clean, or I've got to report this. I can't have a student in my class whose parents I can't contact, who disappears without being accounted for. If that little vacation in December ever gets noticed by anyone down at the Board of Ed, I'm toast, and the vice principal is in hot water as well. If it turns out that something fishy was going on, and I could've done something about it, I could lose my job."
David was crying openly now. "No!" he begged. "You're going to ruin it." He clutched at House. "Please make her stop, House. They're gonna find me, and I'll have to go back to HER!"
Exhaling deeply, House made a quick decision. He quickly formulated a way to turn this whole thing around, make it work to David's advantage. He needed to be persuasive right now. He needed Wilson. He started to talk.
"Ms. Marshall, as you can see, David is very upset now..."
*
When the door opened at 221B, Ms. Marshall was surprised that it wasn't Dr. House, but a younger man, dark-haired. He kind of reminded her of a Jim Carrey on massive doses of Ritalin. Wearing a shirt and tie. 'Oh no,' she thought. This wasn't David's home; they had deceived her just to get her out of their hair for the moment. She'd laid a lot on the line to keep David and his family out of trouble with the authorities. By all rights, Social Services should have been in on this act months ago.
But then David sidled up to the man. "Hi Ms. Marshall," he greeted her, looking very shy after his outburst that afternoon.
Relieved, Delores Marshall said hello to the child.
"I'm James Wilson," the new man said, extending his hand.
"I'm pleased to meet you Mr. Wilson," she replied, "But where is Dr. House?" Then she heard the distinct sounds of House's limping gait down the hallway. He was dressed in the same jeans and t-shirt he had been wearing that afternoon.
"Ah, Dr. House - good evening." She extended her hand again. He looked a little annoyed that he had to switch off his cane hand to shake hers, and then back again.
"I see you've met Dr. Wilson." House nodded towards his friend.
Delores Marshall nodded, noting the title. Two doctors... She wondered what was up with that, two guys - gay? - Dr. House didn't seem that way at all, and neither did Dr. Wilson, even though he did seem to be a bit of a pretty boy. Serious eye candy. She would have pegged him as a lady's man, though. A lady-killer, to be exact. Sexy.
While Wilson was retrieving a drink for her, the adults sat down. David, standing, hovered near House's seat like a gnat until House told him to "Go help Wilson."
Alone with House, Ms. Marshall opened her briefcase, took out pad of paper and opened up two file folders with David's name on it on the coffee table.. "So, Dr. House, what's the big mystery about David?" she asked.
House sighed. She looked like Cameron. Oh, her features were different, but he knew the type, the look. She was going to need to know everything, and after he told her, there were no guarantees that she wouldn't rat them out anyway. House decided to take a chance. He was, after all, a gambling man.
"David used to live across the hall," he pointed towards the inner door of his apartment. "His mother was...a working girl." He paused a bit to make sure she knew what he meant. "She was ... neglectful, abusive, and finally, she abandoned him here. He was living in the hallway before I realized what was going on."
"Five months ago..." she said, nodding. "He was kind of a mess up until then."
"Right." House agreed.
"So you should have contacted CPS." She told him. "You can't just keep somebody's kid without making it official. You could be considered a kidnapper." She shook her head ruefully. "I hope you have a good lawyer."
"I do," House smiled. "Meanwhile, though, I didn't want him caught up in any Social Services red tape, or to end up in foster care with strangers."
Ms. Marshall was impressed. Here was a man who would do what was right and to hell with the silly rules. She wished he was younger...and maybe straight (she wasn't sure about that, yet).
Wilson returned with David and her drink. She noticed that David was holding Wilson's hand. "Ms. Marshall, would you like to see my room?" he said mechanically, as if Wilson had coached him in the kitchen.
Smiling at David, she rose and followed him in. What she saw was totally unexpected. On the left side, a twin bed, made up simple with a comforter and a pillow under that. Simple IKEA furniture. No toys, to speak up, except a PSP. He had an IPOD in one of those plug-in stereo setups. Two shelves with about forty books. On his desk was a copy of Kipling's Just So Stories (she didn't realize that kids were still reading that), and literally tons of sheet music. Sheaves of it clipped together with those giant black-and-silver paper clips. A silver harmonica. And about eight sharp, No. 2 pencils. Sheet music. She recognized David's neat handwriting on the pages. Then she scanned the bookshelves. Not one kid's book in the bunch, except the Harry Potter collection.
She understood exactly what was going on now. The joke about David not being musical came back to her, and she started to chuckle. She turned around and looked, not at David, but at Drs. House and Wilson, still chuckling to herself. Ms. Marshall had hoped that, sometime in her career, she might actually meet a truly brilliant student, and here was one who had been right in her classroom, flying well below her radar for months without even trying.
"Will you play something for me, David?" was all she could say.
David, though smiling, was nervous. "Could my dad play with me?" he asked.
House and David had been learning a four-handed duet on the baby grand which they'd perfected enough for informal company. They warmed up together, doing scales. Already Delores Marshall was completely enthralled.
The two discussed a difficult part of the piece among themselves, then made ready to perform. House closed the booklet and reopened it to the first page. "Ok, let's go full speed ahead this time."
David checked the music and set the metronome, and held his hands above the keys. Being a tin-eared person, Wilson had had no idea how the song was supposed to sound. Suddenly, what he had thought was a ballad turned into a rowdy ragtime tune. It was great. They played it flawlessly, but it was clear that the music was quite a challenge to them both. They were breathless and charged, eyes twinkling, faces glowing with the excitement of their accomplishment. Wilson loved moments like this. House was engaged, excited, and content. The kid was happy. He was happy for them both. And for himself. Wilson adored the image of big Greg next to little David, the way House looked down at their boy, and the way David looked up at his Daddy. Bright eyes, both of them.
In the midst of her shock, Delores noted coolly in the back of her mind, 'Madly in love.' She thought that it was sweet.
Shaking tired fingers, David whirled around on the piano bench. "Break!"
House agreed. "Go. Do kid stuff."
The little boy hopped off the bench and trotted off to his bedroom. He stole a glance at Ms. Marshall. Her mouth was open and she was stunned into total silence. 'Good,' he thought. That was exactly what he'd set out to do.
After she recovered from the shock, Delores Marshall started packing up David's folder into her briefcase. She wrote her name and home phone number on a sheet of paper from her notepad. "I know some people on 25th street," she told House and Wilson. "That's the Board of Ed's headquarters. When you talk to your lawyer about adopting David, ask him to call me and let me know what kind of information I can stick into his school records that might help in Family Court. I'm sure I've got plenty to say about the difference in David over the past five months." She looked up at House, and then Wilson. "And I'll arrange some recommendations to get him into a decent music school. On scholarship, if need be."
House was taken aback. 'Not like Cameron at all,' he thought. He glanced at Wilson, who was grinning broadly. Wilson had known exactly what to do without ever even opening his mouth.
Delores took another file folder for David out of her case, one she had filched from the vice principal's office. "For now, we can fill in some of these blanks; make his record for this year look a little more normal, anyway."
*
Later, after Ms. Marshall had left and David had gone to bed, the two men celebrated with a drink. Wilson rested on the couch while he sipped a brandy, and Greg had a scotch, neat, at the piano. He was toying with a quiet, gentle, jazz piece. Jimmy watched the languorous movements of the other man's shoulders as his fingers danced over the keys. It didn't take much to make him want Greg. 'Down boy,' he thought to himself. 'Oh, House is in SO much trouble next time we....'
As if he'd read Wilson's thoughts, Greg turned around to look at Wilson. Those damned eyes, Wilson thought, those cool blue eyes that, in anger, could freeze a person at ten paces, could also melt when their owner's mind turned to lustful thoughts. His eyes did this * smoldering * thing (And Greg could turn it on and off in a matter of seconds). They could be talking about a fucking jar of orange marmalade, and suddenly that smoldering LOOK would appear, and Wilson would stammer something totally incoherent. Then the look would be gone. Sexy eyes would become smug, laughing eyes.
Wilson had to work a lot harder to get his revenge, and usually only when they were making love. Wilson was a tease who sometimes liked to withhold gratification (from his lovers, not from himself). Greg tolerated that pretty well to a point. Occasionally, though, he would find himself becoming just as incoherent as he could make Wilson. Wilson lived for the few times when he'd dangled Greg over the precipice of an orgasm without releasing him for so long that the older man had practically forgotten his own name. He did fail to recall Wilson's name a few times. House was never one to use silly terms of endearment. But those times, he had stammered, his voice in whisper, "Please, please, um ...uh... ...honey...please." Wilson power-tripped over having such an impact on a tornado like Greg House.
He rose and joined Greg on the piano bench, straddling it so that he was facing him sideways. "I'm want to stay tonight," he told him, as he began to caress the other man's back. Greg didn't need convincing. "Okay." He turned himself around to face Wilson, and also straddled the bench. They came together easily and kissed a few times, but the fit wasn't right in this awkward position. Wilson tugged Greg along after him to the bedroom. "Hey, I'm a cripple," Greg muttered. "Don't rush me. This seduction is not ADA compliant."
Wilson hadn't heard House make a cripple joke about himself in ages. 'Another change for the better,' he thought to himself. "Bring your ass on in here, so I can make you forget all about your damn leg," he told him, as he set out a Vicodin on House's nightstand, just in case they overdid it...when they did IT.
One of the many things Wilson adored about House was that he was nearly as good at lovemaking as he was at diagnostics. He leapt to conclusions about Wilson's physical state, and always seemed to know exactly what to do next to drive his lover deeper into oblivion. It had only been a couple months since they had begun to have sex, but Wilson didn't see how he could ever get bored with Greg House. It stood to reason. House was brilliant, easily bored, and always looking for off-label uses of his toys.
House had stopped into the bathroom before joining Wilson. When he entered the bedroom, Jimmy was lying across the bed, wearing only House's PSP, probably ruining his current game level. Greg sat at the foot of their bed, watching him until their eyes met. * smolder * Jimmy rode the endorphin rush that that look created. "Damn," he murmured. He decided to take the lead tonight. He put the game aside and scooted over to Greg. Easing into the older man's arms, he began to kiss his lips, his cheeks, his eyelids. He suckled House's Adam's apple as he slid his hands under the black t-shirt, then deftly peeled it up and over his lover's head. Greg quickly got his pants and boxer shorts off and tumbled onto the bed in his socks - he was funny about his feet being cold - and laughed over the sheer joy of being with Wilson.
Wilson decided to repay now Greg for his seductive looks. He brought the man to the very edge several times with his hands and mouth, then, just as he was about to release him, he stopped and handed him his PSP. By now, Greg's fine motor skills were temporarily shot to hell. It was a "stupid Greg trick" that Wilson loved to watch. House stared dumbly at the game as the monkey people killed him over and over again. "What...?" he whispered mindlessly.
Wilson cackled with glee. He loved it. Sometimes it didn't work, but tonight was a bingo. Sometimes he would ask Greg a bizarre question, like: "What do you want for breakfast?" And Greg would spaz out, actually try to answer him. His analytical mind failed to process. It was as if he was temporarily incapable of discerning between relevant and irrelevant. He imagined that Greg's brilliant brain going, 'accessing... accessing... error... all resources had been re-allocated to the area just below the belt... please try again post-orgasm...' And on top of all that, afterwards, Greg couldn't so much as get up to take a piss for about fifteen minutes. He got rubber legs, and one of them was already in bad shape in the first place. Wilson would tease him and laugh in his arms later, as they cuddled.
Mercifully, Wilson stopped toying with Greg. He quickly caught up to him, arousal-wise (it wasn't hard; watching an aroused Greg House was pretty erotic in and of itself), and they galloped off together to climax-land in short order.
Later, afterglowing, before either of Greg's legs would work again, he held Wilson and lazily stroked his back.
"Hey, that file that Delores Marshall had on David said his birthday was ..."
"January 27th, yeah, I saw it." House kissed the other man's neck. "I love you," he murmured.
Wilson shook his head, "No, it was July first." He felt his body beginning to say, 'Let's do that again!' while his mind counseled, 'Work tomorrow. And you have to get up early enough as it is to go home and change now.'
House, instantly interested, pulled back, frowning. "I'm sure it was January 27th. It was written out, 1/27/98."
"I saw 7/1/97," Wilson repeated. Your date even has the year wrong. He'd be just turning eight a couple months ago. He'd be in the wrong grade."
"We can check it out tomorrow." House decided, relaxing again, cuddling Wilson.
Cuddling. Now that had been a surprise. That, prickly as he was with most people, House was secretly a total pussycat after they made love. He couldn't fall asleep in mid-cuddle; his leg kind of dictated that, but House didn't really dislike touching as much as he let on. Love, affection, all the soft things in life, were major distractions to Greg House. It was perhaps one of the reasons he distanced himself so much from others. But certainly not the main one. It was undeniable that this new life of theirs, being in love and raising David together, was helping Greg House to take at least a few more steps towards accepting his disability and liking himself.
**************
Wilson placed a call to Ms. Marshall at David's school. When she got back to him later that day, she checked the records. Her classroom file had had the July 1st date. The main office's file held the January date. "But David told me himself that it was July first, so the other one must be a mistake."
"Hmmm." House leaned his chin on the crook of his cane after Jimmy told him about the records. "The game's afoot, Watson."
Rolling his eyes, Wilson groaned. "Oh don't you start. I'm sure if we mentioned both dates, David's memory would be triggered. It's got to be one of them."
David's memory wasn't triggered. Actually, it was - House was sure of it. But the little boy's reaction was to shrug and say nothing except, "I dunno."
They were having pasta and salad for dinner again. It was Thursday, so Wilson wasn't there. Their relationship seemed to be working especially well because of the space they naturally allowed one another.
House mentally forced himself to turn off the internal lie detector that he'd inherited from his mother, and the relentlessness he'd learned from his dad. "Okay." Was all he said, and started eating again.
David wasn't able to eat another bite. He didn't even try to look like he was eating. It had gone too far, and he didn't know how to undo the mess. He sat on the edge of his chair, legs dangling. House noticed that when he sat like that, the tips of his toes would brush the floor.
His boy was growing. Good, but damn, he loved David being little and depending on him. House would soon have to replace those sneakers with another of the five identical pairs he'd bought. David had loved those sneakers so much that House had gone back to the store a month later and purchased several pairs in progressively larger sizes. Funny, neither House nor anyone who knew him had ever considered him a nurturing type. He knew that, in a few years, he would miss this little fellow, the David he was right now, so much.
"Are you done?" House asked.
David nodded.
"Go," he released the boy mercifully.
David went into his room and spent most of the evening there. House checked on him twice. He wasn't doing anything either time, just lying on his back on his bed, looking like he felt miserable. Around eight, a little earlier than usual, David took a shower and got ready for bed. "Goodnight, House," he called from his bedroom door, and turned to go back in.
House was watching television - well, kind of. He was watching his son more than anything else. "Hey," he called, just as David was closing his door. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Going to bed."
"Get over here." House was lying on his back on the sofa. When David crossed the room and sat on the coffee table, House placed a hand on the boy's knee. "What about a kiss for poor Dad?" he asked.
David stared down at his lap, He couldn't look at House. "Sorry." He gave the man a perfunctory peck on the cheek. "Forgot."
"No story tonight?"
David shook his head. "I didn't think you'd want to."
House took David's hand, inspected it. He was biting his nails again. "Have I ever sent you to bed without a story?"
David shook his head.
House waited. If he knew his boy, and he did know him, well, the crack would appear right about ...now.
"I lied, Daddy. I lied to you."
House continued holding David's little hand. "I know."
"January 27th." He said softly.
"I know." House said.
"How?"
"I'm a doctor. You're way too small for almost nine, but your nearly average for just-turned-eight, especially considering the way your teeth are. Everything else about your development is right on track... for eight years old. It wouldn't make sense for just those two things to be off." House stroked the back of David's hand with his thumb. "Plus, July first is way too perfect." He told his son. "Except it does get you out of having to notice it during school..."
David sighed sadly. "My Daddy IS smart." He'd never be able to pull the wool over House's eyes.
"Why all the secrecy?" House asked him.
David didn't know how to explain himself exactly. So House told him about his best ever birthday, and his worst, and some of the ones in between. He and House talked long into the night about birthdays. And by the time David was all talked out, he felt better, and House knew exactly what the problem was. He never did read to David that night, for the first time ever, except times when David fell asleep on the sofa or in the car on the way home from someplace. House lay next to him on the narrow bed after their talk until the boy fell asleep, trying to think of ways to help him heal from this particularly nasty emotional wound.
He went to his own bedroom and called Wilson while he was getting undressed.
Rough from sleep, Wilson's voice crackled through the phone line. "Somebody better be dying, Greg,"
House chuckled. "Me. I'm dying. I'm pining away for you, my love."
Wilson groaned.
"January 27th, 1998." He said simply.
There was a silence while Wilson tried to figure out what that meant. 'He's really sleepy,' thought Greg. He wondered what Wilson looked like right now. He hoped his hair was a mess, and that he was naked. He liked Wilson undone.
"The birthday?" Wilson asked.
"Yeah. Are you naked? You sound like you might be naked."
"Shut up, Greg," Wilson muttered. "So he came clean?"
"Yup. What about your hair? Is it really messed up?"
"What was all the mystery?"
"Is it down in your face? 'Cause I think that's a pretty hot look on you."
Wilson sighed. "Greg, knock it off. What did DAVID have to say for himself?"
"The bitch was really cruel to him about his birthdays. And he's reminded about it every time some kid's mom brings cupcakes to school."
"Poor baby."
House snorted. "What about poor Greg? I am totally unaware of your current physical state. I need answers! ARE YOU NAKED?"
Wilson sighed again. "We're not having this conversation, Greg. It's after one AM. Now focus on the kid for a minute."
"Wait, wait, Jimmy. Do this: Touch your chest for me. You know how you like me to do it, right in the middle, light touch. Just ONCE."
Wilson hung up on him.
Laughing, House popped a Vicodin and tumbled into bed.
Three minutes later, the phone rang. It was Jimmy.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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