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Whatever Might Be
by gena
It started with a fall - not the seasonal kind and not one that involved Romans in any way, this was a run of the mill cane on ice type of fall. It happened to Dr. Gregory House on a cold, and you probably guessed it, icy day. He hated falling, not so much because of the pain, he had really good pills for that, or the fact that he always managed to land on some new and expensive gadget. He hated it because people twittered like friggin' Disney bluebirds. Normally people didn't laugh at cripples who fell, but he was Gregory House and in a perverse kind of cosmic retribution they giggled when he took a header. He never blamed them he would have been right there among the amused masses himself when told some old dude with a stick was trying to navigate a ten foot wide ice slick if it hadn't been him attempting to plot a course across the frozen sidewalk. Still what set this fall apart from previous ones was that over the muffled sniggers he could hear one sarcastic voice piping, "They should sell tickets for these, they could make a fortune. Call it Ice Capripples."
A small crowd had gathered, mostly doctors and nurses making their way inside PPTH but when House looked up his glare landed on a short, slender girl of around fourteen with cascading waves of auburn hair framing a delicate face and setting off the amazing blue of her eyes. There was something familiar about those startling sapphire eyes and it caused House to feel a strange unexplainable pull when their gazed locked. Except it wasn't really strange and it could be explained by Wilson tugging him upright and placing his cane back in his hand. "Who the hell is that?" He demanded, jerking his head towards the girl. Wilson turned to look, his nut brown eyes narrowing as he studied her. She wore artfully torn jeans, a leather jacket over a Muddy Rivers t-shirt, and red Converse and - she was leaning on a cane. "I think - I think it's a Mini-House," Wilson sputtered. His deep chocolate eyes widened and a grin split his face. "It is! It's your niece, Joss Brin Kelsie House!" He let go of plain ol' Gregory House and caught the young girl in an embrace.
"James!" Joss Brin Kelsie House greeted him with a grin. She had a confidence that defied her tender age, a wisdom that show out of her unique eyes, and a attitude reminiscent of her uncle.
"Uh," House carefully made his way to Wilson's side, glaring down at the girl. "Wilson, I don't have a niece," he pointed out. "I have no siblings, no wife with siblings, nothing that would explain this - this," he waved his arm at the girl, "that."
Wilson gave him a bizarre look before turning back to the girl. "What happened to you, Joss?" He asked, tapping the cane she leaned on. "You can't take after your Uncle Greg that much."
"Skateboarding accident," Joss House said with a rueful grin. "I was late for a consult with Skinner in Cardiology, tried to butter a rail and ass planted. Torn ligaments,' she said with a shrug. "I'm in constant pain but I manage."
"Oh let me guess, the kid thinks she's a doctor too," House sneered. Wilson, who should have been beside him performing exclusive Best Friend duty, was still cooing over the girl. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?" House waved a hand towards the crowd of onlookers. "Are the voices only in my head?" He didn't find out because like a miniature Pied Piper, Joss Brin Kelsie House led them all inside. House, alone, wobbled and fell once again. Lying on his back, staring up at a cloudless winter sky, he decided not to move until whatever bad drugs had cleared his system. Ten minutes later, his ass numb and maybe a little frostbitten, House limped into what he thought was his office only to find the Twilight Zone had obviously leaked inside the building.
The - thing - had taken up residence in his chair, his favorite yo-yo, the one Wilson had bought him for his birthday, hung spinning from her finger, executing elaborate patterns in the air much to the delight of his three Fellows and his fellow doctor, Wilson. As House limped closer he heard the child say, "......it's nothing, really. I was Yo-yo World Champion last year." Her audience made appropriately impressed noises, House made a retching sound. "That was before I won the Nobel Prize for my novel, Minha cabea enchida com o leo dos peixes.
"Uh, excuse me," he called loudly, "I hate to be the lone voice of reason in this Utopian Society of Insanity but this is out of control." Cameron exchanged looks with Wilson, who shot Cuddy a worried glance. Chase gulped nervously and cut a sidelong look at Foreman who scowled as he was wont to do. House intercepted a suspiciously troubled look from Chase to Wilson and cut the whole vicious circle off by storming over to his chair and dumping the kid out. "Okay, cut the crap. Who is she?" The girl in question and her miniature cane lay on the floor scowling up at him.
It was Cuddy who broke first. Reaching out to rest a tentative hand on his arm she said, "House you recognize your niece, Joss, don't you?" House gave her his best "you're an idiot" expression. "How many pills have you taken today?"
"No enough," House said and popped open the bottle. He swallowed two before Wilson caught his elbow. "Answers, people."
"Okay," Wilson said gently, "Sit down and we'll go over it." Once House was seated he began, "Joss is your niece."
"We went over this before," House pointed out, "Only child here, makes the whole niece business not just wrong but -"
"She's a genius like you," Wilson went on as if House hadn't interrupted, "graduated college at 12 then entered med school. After 2 years she's honing her specialty of Cardiac-Oncology-Infectious Disease-Hemetology-Pediatric-Orthapedics. She's also the star of our American Skateboard Team going into the Olympics this year, a National Spelling Bee winner, Yo-yo champion, Jenga master and has the number one hit on the Pop charts - Dr. Love." He gave the girl a fond look, "she dedicated that to me on her album."
House placed his hands over his eyes, counted to five and then lowered them but everyone was still there. He didn't feel a subdural hematoma but would he? "I - I have a confession to make," Cameron broke in on his self directed diagnosis. "Joss - Joss isn't your niece!"
"See," House crowed, "I told you -"
"She's our daughter!" Cameron rushed to him, throwing herself into his lap. Normally House would have enjoyed having a woman throw herself into his lap, unfortunately this being Cameron - not so much.
"Our - daughter?" House asked through a mouthful of fluffy dark or maybe blonde hair. "I didn't think it was possible to conceive a child through osmosis. Or have you been drinking after me again."
"I have a confession," Cameron began shyly, "uh, the last time you passed out behind your desk....well, I," she made a vague gesture that could have meant anything from I went through your pockets for spare change to I defiled your body in the hopes of procuring seed for a race of uber children. "Had my way with you. Joss was conceived in a test tube, grown in a petrie dish and educated in a secret lab."
"No wonder I have issues," the issue in question quipped, "not to mention a fondness for glassware."
"Okay, is there blood pouring out of my eyes?" House asked the room in general. "Seriously, that fall must have -"
"It could be traumatic noggin disorder," Joss supplied. She got to her feet, leaning on her cane as she pulled out a small penlight and bent towards him with every intention of performing some kind of neurological test. House swatted her with his own cane. "Or possibly syntax gluten syndrome." His team was staring at the girl in awe. He could have understood that look coming from Chase, he liked them young, and Cameron melted near anyone under the age of - 93 as far as he could tell, and Wilson - well, he was all heart except for that nasty streak he only displayed when they were alone. But Cuddy and Foreman gazing at the child as if she were the most amazing thing they had ever seen made House blink repeatedly while black spots danced before his eyes and his ears rang like St. Paul's on a Sunday morning.
"That's just gibberish, you know that, right?"
"We should take him for an MRI," Foreman declared. House whacked him with his cane.
"I do not need an MRI," he nearly shouted, "I need a dozen tequilas with a Vicodin chaser." He rubbed his head. Maybe he had cracked his skull and was even now lying unconscious in the ER. He had to push this hallucination past the point where his brain could rationalize it. Of course knowing his brain had sort of rationalized stuff up to that point left him with a bad feeling about his sanity and overuse of narcotics. He surged to his feet, "She isn't my niece! She isn't my ill begotten test tube love child with Cameron! That," he swung his cane towards the girl, nearly taking out Wilson's left eye, "is the product of a hideous carnal act perpetrated by Wilson and myself!"
All eyes turned to Wilson whose bottom lip wobbled. "I'm - I'm a daddy?" House stared at him, torn between hysterical laughter and adding Wilson to his list of recently whacked-with-a cane associates. "She has my nose."
"I'll make her give it back," House assured him. Wilson beamed at him, his smile so blinding House had to cover his eyes and look away. It was at that moment he realized something was wrong or maybe right, he couldn't be sure. He was seeing a white light - and - was that a tunnel. God, he hoped this was his mind finally kicking him out of this nightmare or at least some kind of weird sex dream and not an afterlife thingie.
"House? House, can you hear me?" He could feel someone holding his hand, gentle fingers brushing his cheek. He knew it was Wilson, he could tell by the love behind the gesture. His head hurt but knowing his friend was beside him House fought against the pain.
House forced his jaws to work, forced his lips to form one word, "k-ketamine."
"Ketamine? Now friggin' way," Wilson said, "no more drugs." The tender caress ended and House felt something shift beneath him. "Get your ass off the couch and into bed." He cracked his eyes open to find Wilson sitting beside him in his own living room, empty beer bottles and a couple of slices of cold pizza attested to the evenings events. It had only been a dream - a horrible, horrible dream.
"Wilson," he whispered. "Wilson, I have to tell you something." It must have been his tone because Wilson turned from the TV screen and stared at him curiously. "I - if we have a baby I hope it's a moron who can barely spell its own name. And we're not naming it Joss."
"O-kay," Wilson said, brows drawn down in concern but when House leaned in and kissed him his expression cleared and he smiled. "I've always fancied the name Chester anyway."
A/N: The blame for this crack fic can be laid squarely at the feet of the crazy people over at house_mst. Over the past couple of weeks I've read a lot of (cough) fiction and then made the mistake of surfing ff.net and reading a lot of "House's niece/daughter/cousin/stalker comes to PPTH and is just as brilliant/snarky/blue-eyed as her uncle/daddy/stalkee. It has hurt my brain not to mention my eyes (they aren't suppose to bleed, are they?). This was the only way to exorcise those demons.
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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 Fox Television, 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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