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A Life Never Lived
by Mer
House was happily enjoying a morning free of patients, paperwork, and peons, when his pager went off. Clinic. Now. He ignored it and turned up the volume on his portable TV. He wasn't scheduled for clinic duty until the next day and there was a smack-down brewing on Jerry Springer. His pager went off again a minute later. This time the message read, Please.
House was intrigued. If the hospital were to do a poll, he would be the person voted least likely to use the word "please," but Brenda Previn, the duty nurse who had sent both pages, was a close second. This was a puzzle worth investigating.
There was a murmur of surprise in the lobby when he walked willingly through the clinic doors, but House didn't even pause to glare. He had received a third page in the elevator. Wilson.
"Where?" he asked Previn, torn between concern and amusement. For a buttoned-down, generally competent man, Wilson could be a klutz. He'd probably walked into closed door or tripped over a step while flirting with a new nurse or intern. Fortunately House had the perfect cure for a bruised ego.
"Exam Room Two," she replied, holding out a file.
House frowned. It wasn't Wilson's file. He had block-printed "Boy Wonder Oncologist" on the cover a few years back and Wilson had never bothered to replace the folder. House wasn't sure if Wilson secretly liked it, or if he had just decided House would write something worse the next time. "Did you call me down here to see a patient?" he demanded, outraged. Then he saw the name on the file. "No way. I don't care if she's dying. Find someone else."
Previn refused to take the file back. "Read the history and then tell me to find someone else."
House read. And discovered that his best friend's soon-to-be ex-wife was in Exam Room Two for a two-week follow-up appointment after an EVA. He did some quick calculations. Three months ago, Wilson had still been sleeping with his wife. Of course, she had also been sleeping with her boyfriend, so that didn't exactly narrow things down. He pushed open the exam room door and faced the enemy.
Julie Wilson was sitting on the exam table, legs crossed demurely at the ankles. She was flipping through a magazine, looking - to the casual observer - as though she were waiting calmly for a routine check-up. But House had never been a casual observer. He could see the dark smudges below her eyes that makeup couldn't quite disguise. The line of her mouth was thinner and her fingers flicked the pages with slightly more force than necessary.
Despite everything, House almost felt sorry for her. "Mrs. Wilson," he said with faux politeness. "What can I do for you today?" He had to hand it to her. She didn't even blink.
"Why, Dr. House," she replied with faux sweetness. "I was under the impression that you had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the clinic. Perhaps you should check my hearing."
As Wilson's wives and girlfriends went, Julie had been surprisingly tolerable. She was fun, intelligent and caring, and she didn't seem to mind how much time Wilson spent with House. She didn't even seem to mind House. But that had ended the first time House had dragged Wilson away from an important dinner party. As far as House was concerned, she had stopped being tolerable as soon as she stopped being tolerant. Since then, they had enjoyed a love-hate relationship: they loved Wilson and hated each other. House wondered when she had started hating Wilson as well.
"Funny," House mused. "I was under the impression that these two-week follow-ups were generally done at the dead baby factories."
"You're a bastard," Julie whispered, her mask of indifference slipping slightly.
House wished he could take more pleasure in her pain. He didn't think her decision had been easy. He didn't even think it had been wrong. But Wilson held his only loyalty. "And you're a bitch. Does that make us even or should we keep going until we run out of insults?" He shrugged. "I've got all day."
"I don't," she replied, sliding off the table. "I'm leaving."
House blocked her path. "It would be irresponsible for me to let you leave without an examination." He leered at her, trying to ignore the tiny voice in his head shrieking that Wilson would be appalled. "Why don't you get back up there and put your feet in the stirrups." He wasn't surprised at all when she slapped him. "You've been wanting to do that for at least two years," he observed.
"I've been wanting to do that since the day I met you," she replied. "Now get out of my way."
House waved the file at her. "What about the exam? I'll call the duty nurse in if you would feel more comfortable." He smirked when Julie just rolled her eyes. "Of course you didn't really come here for the exam," he continued. "You could have had that done anywhere."
"This is the closest clinic to my office," Julie retorted. "Do you expect me to go out of my way just because James works here?"
It was a good point, but House knew that Julie's GP was only a few minutes further away. "You had the abortion at 13 weeks, not because it took you that long to make the decision, but because you were waiting for the results of the DNA test." He didn't wait for her to confirm or deny. "New guy must have been disappointed to find out it wasn't his. Or was he disappointed to find out that you were still sleeping with your husband? Good idea to keep both oars in," he sneered. "If things hadn't worked out, Wilson would never have questioned the paternity. But then it takes a special kind of idiot to raise another man's child."
"You are a hateful, hateful man," she whispered.
"You know all about hate," he retorted. "You never told Wilson about the abortion. Maybe it was to spare him the knowledge of something he couldn't change. Or maybe you didn't want to take the chance that he could change your mind. But now that it's over, you want him to know. Because it's not fair that you're the only one who's suffering."
She laughed bitterly. "If anyone could understand the impulse to share suffering, it would be you."
"I understand," House replied quietly. "But hurting him wasn't enough for you. You had to humiliate him as well." He took a deep breath to try and control his growing fury. "You were going to let him find out by overhearing the gossip in the cafeteria or at the nurse's station."
Julie brushed a tear angrily off her cheek. "I guess you'll just have to tell him first. And when you do, make sure to tell him it was because it was his."
At that moment, House knew he had never hated Stacy after all. And when he looked up and saw Wilson standing at the exam room door, a tentative but confused smile on his face, he finally understood why Stacy had risked everything to try and save him.
"Tell me what?" Wilson asked, but Julie brushed past him without a word. House saw her face just before she disappeared. Revenge wasn't sweet; it was a bitter pill and hard to swallow.
"Tell me what?" Wilson asked House.
Everybody lied. It was House's mantra, his core belief. He could lie fluently when he wanted, when brutal honesty didn't serve his purpose. But now, when he needed a lie the most, he couldn't find one. He just stared at Wilson, until Wilson stepped forward and tried to take the file from his hand. House held on. He couldn't lie, but he couldn't let Wilson find out from a piece of paper.
"What was mine?" Wilson asked, giving up the tug of war.
"The deep fryer," House said desperately. "It splashed oil on her arm and she threw it away, because she decided it was your fault."
"We didn't have a deep fryer," Wilson replied, holding out his hand for the file.
House shook his head and stepped back, keeping the file out of reach. "Well, you should have," he retorted. "And you should have made sure it scarred her deeply."
"House..." Wilson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why was Julie here?"
"Just a check-up," House said. It was the truth, yet so far from the truth as well.
Wilson's brow wrinkled. "Why didn't she go to her doctor? And what are you even doing in the clinic when you're not scheduled?" He took a step towards House.
"It's a cunning ploy to keep Cuddy off-guard." House shuffled to the side. If he could draw Wilson away from the door, maybe he could make a break for it, and find a shredder before Wilson caught up.
But Wilson's hands were on his hips and he was standing his ground, looking at House suspiciously. "Yes, I can see how actually doing your job would confuse her." He smiled, but his eyes didn't leave the file. "What aren't you telling me? Is something wrong with Julie?"
There were many things wrong with Julie, as far as House was concerned, but Wilson tended to get upset when he listed them. "She's fine. Healthy as a horse. Unfortunately," he added under his breath.
Wilson heard. "Give me the file."
"Patient confidentiality," House protested.
"You only care about confidentiality when it's convenient for you." Wilson stepped forward again. "What are you hiding from me?"
House looked away. He knew if he met Wilson's eyes now, Wilson would be able to read everything in his expression. House knew he had to tell Wilson. He just didn't know how. He let Wilson take the file from him.
House hurried to the door and locked it, not wanting anyone to barge in unexpectedly. Then he tidied up the instrument panel and sorted the lollipops by colour. He heard Wilson turn the pages in the file, knew he had already discovered the worst. When he couldn't hear anything at all, he forced himself to turn and face his best friend.
Wilson was standing with his head bowed, the file dangling from his hand. He lifted his head, as if he could feel House's eyes on him. House couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Wilson look so lost. He was suddenly very afraid.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing the words were inadequate. He had never been any good at offering comfort. He had never wanted to learn.
"It was mine?"
House nodded. He could get the DNA results from the abortion clinic file to prove it, but he knew he was right. It was the only answer that fit.
"And she did it because it was mine."
"She only said that to hurt you," House protested. "She only said that because I hurt her."
"She would have kept it if it had been his," Wilson continued, as if he hadn't heard House.
House couldn't answer that. Mostly because he was afraid the answer was "yes."
Wilson nodded to himself and then stood up. He handed the file back to House, his hand shaking slightly. "Okay." His mouth twitched and he swallowed heavily. "I should get back to the office." He unlocked the door and started to leave.
"Wait a second," House said. "Why did you come down here anyway? You aren't scheduled for clinic duty either."
Wilson stopped and rubbed the back of his neck. "I came to see if you wanted to go to lunch. Someone said you were down here and I thought you might want rescuing. I'm..." He swallowed again. "I'm not really hungry now. Maybe later." He walked away, his movements wooden. It hurt House to watch.
"Wilson!" he called out. "James!" But Wilson kept walking.
Previn was watching the scene with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Normally he would have glared at her and made some cutting comment, but she had given him the heads up about Julie, so he grudgingly admitted that he owed her. "Any time that woman comes in, even if it's just for an ingrown nail, she sees me."
"The next time that woman comes in," Previn replied, "she'll be lucky if she sees anyone at all."
House was pleased by her venomous response. He sensed an ally. "What are the odds that this will be all over the hospital by the end of day?" he asked.
She looked at him disdainfully. "They won't hear it from me." But they both knew the reality of the hospital grapevine. "Half a dozen people saw her come in. Not to mention the novelty of you arriving in the clinic without Cuddy dragging you here." She stared significantly at the file in House's hand. "It won't take long until someone thinks to look that up. Remember Morris in Gynaecology? When he broke his ankle last month, half the hospital pulled his x-rays."
She picked up a stack of files from the in-tray. "I'll probably be on a break by the time you've seen all these patients. Just put the files back in the tray that you're finished with."
House nodded, understanding both the suggestion and the price of her complicity. For once it was a price he was willing to pay.
It took him nearly an hour to race through his penance of snot-nosed kids and whiny adults. Previn was nowhere in sight, so he left the charts - all but one - on her desk and signed out. He went straight across the hall to Cuddy's office.
"I need you to bury this," he stated, when she muttered a quick apology and hung up the phone.
"Do you have a shovel?" she asked, taking the file and glancing through its contents. She looked up sharply. "What are you doing with this?"
House assumed that was a rhetorical question. "I need you to lock this away. Your eyes only."
"Who else knows about this?" Cuddy asked.
"Previn. She called me when the bitch waltzed into the clinic for a follow-up exam."
"You were in the clinic?" Cuddy asked, startled. "Treating a patient?"
"Quit obsessing about irrelevant details and concentrate on the big picture. If this file stays in the clinic, every idiot on staff can get their hands on it. No one else needs to know about this."
"What about Wilson? Does he know?"
House nodded. "Wilson's always had impeccably bad timing. He arrived just in time to hear her tell me she'd had the abortion because it was his child."
Cuddy put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, god. James. Is he all right?"
"What do you think?"
"I think I'd like to find Julie Wilson and make her wish she'd never been born."
House appreciated the sentiment almost as much as he appreciated the way Cuddy's chest heaved when she was upset. It wasn't enough to give her a free pass, though. "You're in no position to judge," he sneered. "You didn't want to have his baby either." At first House thought the expression on Cuddy's face was just embarrassment. Then he heard her office door click shut.
He turned around and for the second time saw Wilson standing in the wrong place at exactly the right time. "Don't you knock?" he snapped.
"I didn't know you were aware of the concept," Wilson snapped back, but he had jammed his hands deeply into his jacket pockets and looked more fragile and vulnerable than House had ever seen him. "I'm sorry," he told Cuddy. "I shouldn't have interrupted." He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "I just wanted to let you know that I was leaving for the day," he added. "Brown is going to sit in for me at the finance meeting. He has everything he needs."
Cuddy stood up and hurried to his side. "Is there anything you need?" She stepped back, though, when he flinched at her approach. "Wilson, I'm sorry."
"What did he mean?"
Cuddy stared at House. "You didn't tell him?"
"You didn't want me to tell him," House protested.
She shook her head. "Since when has that stopped you?"
Wilson glanced between them and then looked away. "Never mind," he said, his voice cracking. "I need to go."
"James, don't. Please," Cuddy said. "Let me explain." She reached out to touch him on the arm, but he pulled away.
"It's all right," he said. "I understand." He managed a faint smile and turned away, slipping out the door at a pace just short of a run.
House thought about following, but Wilson was like a cat when he was hurt, running away to lick his wounds in hiding. He would come to House when he was ready. He always did.
In the meantime, Cuddy looked almost as devastated as Wilson. "Well, that was just perfect. Did you keep it from him just so he could find out at the worst possible time, in the worst possible way?"
"I didn't intend for him to find out at all," House retorted. "What exactly was I supposed to have told him? Sorry, buddy, your swimmers just aren't good enough for Cuddy." House glared at her. "He thought it was a date."
"And of course you had to tell him it wasn't." Cuddy knew him too well. "You told him it was a consult, didn't you. That's why he was so uncomfortable. That's why you two tested me for cancer." She shook her head. "I wish you had told him the truth."
"No, you don't," House retorted. "You wish he had never found out at all."
"And you don't?" Cuddy retreated to the armchair in the corner, curling into the seat, Prada heels and all. "You didn't want me to choose him as a donor."
"That's not true," House replied uncomfortably, because it was.
"Oh, please. You switched into stalker mode when you thought it was just a date. What would you do if I actually had a baby with Wilson?"
House stared at her, wondering just how hypothetically she was speaking. He considered the concept of a Cuddy/Wilson child, tried the idea out in his mind, but it was like dipping a toe into a pool of ice-cold water. It was possible to adjust to the temperature, but who would want to? "Wow," he sneered. "Some women offer a pity fuck. You're willing to offer a pity child. Or were you planning on the two going hand in hand? So to speak."
Cuddy flinched, but didn't look away. "Don't be ridiculous. I made my decision."
Perversely, House felt insulted on Wilson's behalf. "Why? One awkward dinner does not a bad sperm donor make."
She didn't answer at first and House knew that whatever she said would be as close to the truth as she could come. "Because if I have to have a baby by myself, it's going to be by myself." Cuddy tilted her head to one side and studied House, as if assessing his mental capacity. "Do you really think Wilson could stand by and not get involved? Come to think of it, could you stand by and not get involved? More than you already are?"
"Wilson wouldn't make things difficult for you. He'd only want to help." House wasn't willing to make any promises on his own behalf. The water hadn't been that cold.
Cuddy smiled softly and House could see her smiling that way at a baby. At her baby. "I know. But you know it wouldn't be enough for him just to help. It wouldn't be fair to him and it wouldn't be fair to me."
"What about me?" House exclaimed with feigned outrage. "Where do I fit in all this?"
The smile turned into a more familiar glare. "Where you always do - the lowest common denominator and the highest risk of a lawsuit." Cuddy jerked her head towards the door. "Now get out of here and make sure Wilson's all right."
Some orders House didn't have to be told twice. He had his hand on the door when Cuddy called his name softly.
"Tell him I'm sorry," she said. "I never wanted him to be hurt by this."
"I know." It didn't fix anything, but it was a place to start.
Wilson's office was locked and empty when House went upstairs to grab his jacket and backpack. His car was gone as well, so House went home to wait. Wilson would show up when he was ready to talk.
When Wilson still hadn't appeared by dinnertime, House went looking for him. He told himself that he wasn't worried; he was just hungry and tired of waiting.
He tried the hospital first in case Wilson had doubled-back. Wilson's car wasn't in the parking garage or the lot, but House didn't expect him to still be driving at this stage of the evening. But Wilson wasn't in his office, or the chapel, or mooning over the babies in the nursery. He wasn't hiding in any of his usual retreats, or any of House's either.
Nor was he in his hotel room - House made sure by insisting that the manager let him in to check on his "patient." It was time Wilson found an apartment anyway. The hotel bar was lacking in depressed oncologists, as were all the other bars Wilson frequented and a few he didn't. He drove past Wilson's old house, but the lights were off and House didn't see anyone hiding in the best surveillance spots.
Defeated, at least until he could think of a new plan, he returned home. Wilson was sitting outside his front door.
"Why didn't you use your key?" House snapped, jabbing Wilson's side with the tip of his cane.
"You weren't home," Wilson replied.
"I wasn't on the front step either, but that didn't stop you from sitting there."
Wilson sighed and stood up. "I couldn't think of anywhere else to go."
House glanced at his watch. "You don't have much of an imagination," he said wryly. "I just spent the last hour and a half looking for you in all the places you could have gone."
"I couldn't think of anywhere else I wanted to be."
The twinge in his chest was probably refracted pain from his thigh. House pushed past Wilson and unlocked the door. "At least it's not raining," he muttered. "You would have just sat there and then dripped all over my furniture." When Wilson didn't immediately follow him inside, he turned back and pulled him through the door. "Get in and sit down on the couch." He waited until Wilson obeyed and then went directly to the fridge for beer. This wasn't a conversation he could bear without a muting haze of alcohol.
When he walked back into the living room, Wilson had taken his coat and suit jacket off. That was a good start. House handed Wilson a beer and settled on the couch next to him, reaching for the remote. He liked to have both hands occupied.
"Cuddy is trying to have a baby." Wilson's voice sounded flat, dull. "That's what the red clover was for. Not cancer. Not skin lesions." He looked at House, the expression on his face faintly accusing. "You knew. You lied to me."
"Everybody lies."
Wilson nodded, as if he had expected House to say that. "She was considering me as a donor, wasn't she?" He nodded again when House stayed silent. "She decided against it." He took a deep pull of beer, sputtering slightly as he wiped his mouth.
House still didn't say anything. Wilson would talk if he wanted. Nothing he could say would change anything. He turned on the television, but kept the volume low.
"It doesn't matter," Wilson said finally. "I would have said no if she'd asked."
A bubble of inappropriate laughter rose in House's chest. "Oh, please," he scoffed. "You moved in with a patient when she asked you for a ride home. You expect me to believe you're capable of saying 'no' to a woman in need?"
Wilson stood up. "I'm not doing this right now," he muttered, shrugging on his jacket and grabbing his coat.
"Oh, did you finally think of somewhere to go?" House snapped, trying to pretend that this time the twinge wasn't guilt.
"Anywhere far away from you," Wilson retorted, heading for the door.
House thought about letting him leave. It would be the easiest thing to do. But the easiest thing was hardly ever the right thing and House always liked to be right. He got up, his thigh sending out a sharp reminder that some pain was physiological in origin, and caught Wilson before he could get the door open. "You don't have to go," he said. "I'll burn us some dinner."
Wilson leaned his head against the door for a moment. "No," he said, straightening up and turning towards the kitchen. "I'll cook."
House listened for the familiar sounds of food preparation before returning to the couch. He turned up the television, losing himself for the moment in mindless entertainment. He was watching hopefully for a home design disaster when Wilson handed him a plate of pasta. He studied it cautiously. "Where did you find clams?" he asked.
"Shucked them myself," Wilson replied lightly. He twirled a strand of linguine onto his fork. "Are you even aware that you have food in your cupboards? You haven't moved anything since the last time I was over."
It didn't surprise House that Wilson had apparently catalogued his food. He had bought most of it. "I had to isolate my peanut butter from all your sissy food. It was starting to taste funny."
Wilson shuddered. "How do you survive on your own?"
"I have a personal chef." It was the closest House would come to admitting that he needed Wilson, but Wilson was well practiced in interpreting House-speak. Wilson's shoulders relaxed and they ate in comfortable silence.
House waited until Wilson had cleared the dishes and brought back a beer for each of them before he re-started the conversation. "Why would you have turned Cuddy down?"
Wilson sipped his beer. "Because it would be my sperm, but it would be Cuddy's baby. That's not enough." He picked at the label with one well-trimmed fingernail. "I don't want to watch my child's first step on someone else's video file." He sighed, the breath catching in his throat. "At least Julie spared me that."
There was a longing, though, in Wilson's voice that House had never heard before. "You've still got time," he said cautiously. "Lots of people don't start families until later in life these days."
Wilson shook his head. "Three strikes and you're out. It's about time I figured out that I wasn't meant for marriage."
House couldn't argue that. Witnessing one of Wilson's relationships was like watching competitive ski jumping - headlong, exhilarating, and full of promise. Until he misjudged the landing and crashed spectacularly. House didn't enjoy seeing his friend suffer - well, not protractedly - but it was hard not to watch the fall. "There are other options."
Wilson snorted. "Right. What agency in its right mind would let me adopt? I'm never home. What kind of life would that be for a child?"
"You're just making excuses," House pressed. "You could cut back your hours, there's day care at the hospital, and dozens of nurses who would love nothing more than to look after your baby. Hell, there are dozens of nurses who would love to have your baby."
Wilson turned and stared at him. "Why are you arguing about this? One of the reasons I'm never home is because of all the time I spend with you. Don't try and tell me you want to play Uncle Greg. You don't even like children."
House did like children. Or at least he tolerated them. It was just hard to forget that children turned into adults. But he was fairly certain he would like Wilson's child. Assuming it was anything like Wilson. If a child would make Wilson happy, he was all for it. Not that he would ever admit that to Wilson. "Convenient. Blame the cripple for your relationship deficiencies. I'm just saying I would be willing to be a valuable role model for your spawn."
"And that would be the number one reason for me not to procreate." But Wilson was smiling, so House ignored the insult. The smile faded, though, as Wilson contemplated the interior of his beer bottle.
"Kids like you," he observed. "And you like kids. You'd be a great father." House meant it. The qualities that made Wilson the best friend House could ever imagine - patience, loyalty and an endless capacity to give - were everything he'd ever wanted in a father. And a child would be needy enough to keep Wilson happy for years. House thought about getting him one of those black-market babies for his birthday.
But Wilson was happily wallowing in self-pity. "I was a terrible husband. I'd probably be a terrible father, too."
"Now you're just being ridiculous," House scoffed. "You're not a terrible husband. You just don't quite live up to expectations."
A mildly hurt expression crossed Wilson's face before being replaced by one of sadness. House reminded himself that Wilson wasn't up to his usual conversational resilience. "Don't look like that. No one could live up to the expectations those women have of you." He shook his head. "You know why Stacy and I lasted as long as we did?"
"I'd say brain damage on her part, but there doesn't seem to be any other signs of that."
"Funny. It's because I had nothing to live up to, except great sex. She knew I was an asshole the first time we met. But you, you waltz into women's lives like their childhood fantasies come true. Kind, sympathetic, charming, making them feel like they're the centre of your world. Except they're not." House shrugged. "Is it any wonder they get disillusioned?"
Wilson didn't respond and House wondered if he'd pushed too far. But then the younger man sighed. "I don't mean to hurt them," he said in a small voice, sounding like a little boy who had accidentally broken a precious ornament. "I just..." He looked away and rubbed his face. "This isn't how I thought my life would be. I thought I'd be happily married, with a couple of kids, a membership at the country club, and a boat in the marina."
It sounded like a suburban nightmare to House. "Is that really what you want?" he asked incredulously.
Wilson shrugged. "I don't know. It's what I was supposed to want. But I can't imagine any of that with Julie. Or the others." He closed his eyes for a moment, looking lost. "But I can imagine that baby. That little boy or girl who never got the chance to live because I was their father." He finished his beer and stood up. "I should go. It's late and I need to get an early start tomorrow."
It was barely 8:00pm. "Stay. I Tivo'd The Philadelphia Story. Jimmy Stewart won the Oscar for that one, didn't he?" The thought of Wilson heading back to his empty hotel room made House want to scream.
"Maybe tomorrow," Wilson replied. "Thanks for dinner. And for listening."
House had never been thanked for that before. "I wish I could fix this for you."
Wilson turned and smiled sadly. "It's enough that you wish."
But it wasn't, of course. When he was younger, House had wished for a lot of things. Marks in school. The approval of his father. The attention of girls. Professional honours. He had stopped wishing after the infarction, because he knew that it didn't make a bit of difference. Like the God he no longer believed it, wishes were for the faithful. He had learned to have faith only in himself.
He listened until the door closed behind Wilson and then threw the remote across the room. Wilson would be all right, he knew. But all right just wasn't enough.
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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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