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  Child's Play 
 by gena  

 

 "He can not work like this!" Cuddy hissed, her hand tightening on Wilson
's elbow. "We need to run more tests and get him into a room where he
can't hurt himself."

 "No," Wilson pulled his arm away and pressed the heels of both hand over
his eyes, taking a deep breath before dropping his hands and gifting Cuddy
with an imploring gaze. "Just - just let me keep an eye on him until it
wears off. He's scared and he'll be more upset if we admit him and start
poking him with needles every five minutes, you know that." 

 Cuddy rolled her eyes, "Okay, but I don't want any trouble, James. He's
your responsibility."

 "He always has been," Wilson said quietly. She sighed, hating the hurt
look in his eyes. "Thanks, Lisa. I know this is - beyond anything you
should have to deal with but it's not his fault, you know that."

 "I know," she said. "Leave it to House to get dosed with a mind altering
drug and not be the one who instigated it." A blood curdling shriek
drowned out anything else she might have said. "This isn't going to be
pretty, James," Cuddy vowed but Wilson was already sprinting towards the
cubical where the commotion was getting louder. 

 "Foreman! What is going on?"

 "Jimmy!" House, dressed in scrubs and sitting on a gurney, had both hands
fisted around his cane, the very cane Dr. Eric Foreman was trying to take
away from him. For a middle-aged man House had a way of looking like an
abused child when he wanted. Wilson suspected it had to do with his huge
blue eyes, and right now they were very wide and seemed brimming with
vulnerability. 

 "It's okay, House," Wilson said and placed a calming arm around his
friend's shoulder. "Foreman, what the hell are you doing to him?"

 "He'd tried to whack me," Foreman snapped, glaring at House who was now
huddled against Wilson .

 "Do not scare him," Wilson hissed, getting in Foreman's face. The
neurologist fell back a step while everyone else in the room exchanged
startled glances. He turned to House, peering at him with obvious concern.
"Are you okay?" House nodded but didn't let go of him. "Just a bit longer,
House, then we'll go to your office and play games for a while." The big
blue eyes lit up. 

 "You can't do that, Wilson ," Foreman said. "It's a designer drug. It's
obviously keeping his pain to a minimum but we don't know what other side
effects this will have. So far everyone who's come in contact with it has
just been regressed to childhood. We don't even know how large a dose
House got." House, on clinic duty, had been assigned a patient initially
thought to be drunk. Brought in by two friends the man had trouble walking
and had been babbling incoherently when House entered the exam room.
Fifteen minutes later, House staggered out and collapsed at the nurses'
station. He was rushed to the ER. No one knew what had happened inside the
room because the patient and his friends were also discovered unconscious
and when House finally came around he'd been non-verbal. Only when Wilson
got there did he begin to respond but in a decidedly child like way,
unable to form answers to their questions. "We need to keep him under
observation," Foreman pointed out. 

 "I'll bring him back down if there are any problems," Wilson snapped.
"He's scared, Foreman, and I want to get him someplace I can control the
situation."

 Foreman sighed, "That's your MO." He shook his head, "I advise against
it."

 "Duly noted," Wilson said. 

 Cameron and Chase came hurrying into the curtained space. "The tox report
is back on McPherson." She handed it to Wilson who scanned it quickly, his
grim expression slowly fading to one of cautious hope. 

 "Which one is McPherson?" Cuddy asked.

 "The idiot who compounded this crap," Wilson murmured, absently fishing
out a red lollypop from his lab coat pocket and handing it to House. "He's
the one his buddies found mewling like an infant and brought into the
clinic."

 "And they're condition is declining?"

 Wilson looked over at Foreman. "Yeah," the neurologist confirmed,
"McPherson was admitted nearly eight hours ago, the other two must have
absorbed it through physical contact when they hauled him in here, by the
time we began questioning them they were already regressing."

 "And their state now?" Cuddy watched House. 

 "Same as McPherson; mental confusion, regressed behavior, mood swings.
Physically, vitals are depressed."

 "Any idea how long it'll take to wear off?" Chase asked. House's gaze
swung to the Australian. He seemed fascinated by the young doctor's mop of
blond hair and kept staring at him. Chase grinned and reached out to
playfully poke House's ribs. A laugh, muffled against Wilson's side,
erupted from House. 

 Wilson studied the file a moment longer then shook his head. "So far, no
way to tell. All three are showing varying degrees of infantile behavior
with McPherson the most advanced - er, regressed." He shrugged and gazed
down at House. "We'll just have to wait and see." The others exchanged
knowing looks, all of them thinking the same thing - that no matter how it
turned out Wilson would take care of House. 

 "We need to run more tests on him," Cameron said. She gave House a wide
smile and reached out to touch his hair. "We have a magic tube that can
show us what you look like inside," she told him.

 House drew back, and Cameron stopped, her face falling. "Don't like
girls," House said stubbornly. Chase and Foreman started to laugh while
Wilson just looked embarrassed. 

 "That's not nice," Wilson reprimanded.

 "'s true," House insisted.

 "Uh, okay. Cameron," Wilson said, "Keep me posted on the others and if
you think of something, run it by me first. I don't want anyone
approaching House on their own." 

 "So, until we either find something to counteract the drug or it wears
off, he's going to act like a child," Cuddy said. Four sets of eyes turned
to House. 

 "How different can it be," Chase wondered. 

 Wilson shrugged. "Okay, House, you ready?"

 "Go home?"

 "Nope, we're going upstairs and you can play your video games." He put
his hand under House's elbow as House got off the gurney and that was the
moment Wilson realized this version of his friend didn't know he was
disabled. House let out a shriek, the cane falling from his hands as his
right leg buckled under him. "House!" Wilson caught him, holding him up as
House shuddered in his hands. Cameron rushed forward but House howled even
louder and Chase had to step in and help get him on his feet. "You have to
use the cane," Wilson said. He bent to retrieve it and put it in House's
hand. "Hold it like this and when you step with your right leg, put your
weight on the cane."

 "Shouldn't you show him the right way?" Cuddy asked. 

 Wilson shook his head, "No, his body will remember even if he doesn't.
He's used to doing it with his right hand and any other way will be more
difficult." Still he hovered as House seemed to work out the mechanics of
walking with a cane. It took a couple of minutes but soon House was
treating it like a game, vaulting along at his normal pace, cackling with
laughter whenever he managed to stab the cane down on someone's foot.
"House! If you don't stop being a pest I'm going to - to -" Wilson
sputtered to a stop - even annoyed, he couldn't think of some way to
punish House without actually hurting him. Instead he caught his wayward
charge's elbow as House gleefully tried to herd Chase towards the door and
pulled him to a stop.

 "You mean!"

 "So I've been told," Wilson said with a sigh. "Come on, let's get you out
of here." 

 "Me broken?" House asked and for the first time Wilson could see real
fear in his friend's eyes.

 Wilson's smile faded. "You hurt your leg," he explained, "a long time
ago. It's not strong enough to hold you up, but with your cane you get
around just fine." He watched House study him, even with so much stripped
away, House's amazing talent for seeing the truth and knowing when he was
being lied to, remained. With a nearly imperceptible nod House accepted
the fact. "Now, let's go play games." 

 "Be good!" Cuddy warned him with a stern look. House cocked his head to
the side before sticking his tongue out at her. "Why you little -" But he
was already slipping his hand into Wilson's and tugging him towards the
main door.

 "I don't think - we -," Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose with his
free hand and sighed. "Okay, okay, we'll do it your way. I should be used
to the funny looks by now." Hand in hand they left the cubical. To
Wilson's consternation they received very few funny looks and that just
confirmed to him how bizarre his relationship with House really was if no
one took the slightest notice of them wandering the halls like that. House
said very little, but his eyes took in everything with an eagerness that
Wilson knew well. He peered into rooms, stared at patients, and had to be
pulled away from medical equipment before he started pushing buttons.
Wilson knew House had retained some memories, he knew Wilson and the
others, but everything else seemed to be locked far out of his reach. This
was House at his basis, the curiosity and spark of intelligence that had
molded him into the amazing man he'd become. 

 "Hungry," House announced in an imperious tone as they rounded a corner
and the greasy smell of French fries wafted in from the cafeteria. Wilson
decided it would probably be easier to deal with House on a full stomach
and detoured towards the food. As an adult House would eat anything set in
front of him, he could consume large quantities of questionable food
without determent to his health or his slender physique but Wilson's own
inclination was towards healthy eating and he didn't feel right inflicting
junk food on a child - no matter what his real age. However, when Wilson
tried to coax his friend into eating a salad the uproar caused heads to
turn all over the room and his face to flame red from embarrassment. 

 "Okay, okay," Wilson soothed, "hamburger, pudding, and that revolting
sugar drink it is." He paid the cashier, his smile a sickly imitation of
the one he normally wore, and sat with House as his friend gulped his food
down. "You are hungry," Wilson commented. 

 "'s good," House said. He spooned pudding into his mouth even before he'd
swallowed the mouthful of hamburger, grinning at Wilson with chocolate
dripping off his chin but when a reckless elbow knocked over his drink
House froze, horror in the blue eyes locked on Wilson 's face. 

 Instinct kicked in, Wilson laughed and casually tossed a napkin over the
messy spill, ignoring the way House flinched. He finished his meal at a
much more sedate pace and kept shooting Wilson sidelong glances. There was
something to that flash of fear, something Wilson knew he would have to
work to find out but the implications made his opinion of John House sink
just a bit lower than it already was. 

 As House finished his meal, and Wilson couldn't help but picture him,
feet swinging far off the floor, looking like a imp with huge blue eyes
and scheming to get his way. House as a child wouldn't have been any
different than he was as an adult - just shorter. He grinned over at his
friend, almost pacified by the tiny answering smile but a moment later
House's attention had been captured by a shiny Get Well balloon and Wilson
had to tap his arm to get his attention. "Upstairs, Champ." House tore his
gaze from the balloon and slipped his hand back into Wilson's. 

 He'd once accused House of wishing he had autism and while he'd
ultimately rejected that diagnosis in favor of House just being
manipulative and stubborn he'd never been fully convinced House didn't
suffer from some form of developmental anomaly. No one possessing his
amazing intellect, photographic memory and capacity to observe and process
information at the speed of light could be considered "normal" by standard
measures of human development. Couple it with his anti-social behavior,
his inability or maybe just unwillingness to empathize with others, and
his childlike emotional range and you had the standard diagnosis for
autism but leave it to House to be contrary. Even his condition couldn't
be labeled and shoved into a neat little box. 

 Wilson thought all this as he watched House make his way to the elevator.
There was something endearing about him in this state - it took away the
sharp edges to his personality, leaving only the peculiar innocence that
made up the core of his view on the world. "We play?" House asked as they
rode the elevator up to the fourth floor. He leaned against Wilson,
staring into his eyes with guileless pleading. 

 "I have to work, House," Wilson said, reaching out to brush at the
graying hair of his temple. "You play while I work." That pretty much
summed up a typical day for them and it made Wilson smile. House smiled
back. "We'll get your things from your office then go to mine." House
didn't give any sign he understood or even cared that he had an office.
His attention had fallen on the blue silk of Wilson 's tie and he was
attempting to trace the patterns with his finger. "You usually don't like
my ties," Wilson said and couldn't resist running his thumb along House's
stubbled jaw.

 "Wednesday," House said decisively. He looked up then, and the smugness
of his expression was so normal that for a second Wilson thought
everything had been one of House's elaborate jokes but then he rubbed the
silk against his cheek and sighed happily. 

 "Yes, it's my Wednesday tie," Wilson said softly. House looked like House
and sounded like House, but he was affectionate, something House never
was. He stood closer, touched Wilson 's face and hands, smiled at him.
Wilson found himself enjoying it, returning the caresses and the smiles.
"I wish you could stay like this a little bit," he said but House only
titled his head in confusion. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. A
few people looked at them as they exited hand in hand but House seemed to
recognize the area and pulled away, heading for his office. By the time
Wilson got there his friend was plopped down in his desk chair, shaking
his Magic Eight Ball. 

 "Let's get your games and then you'll come hang out with me." Wilson
gathered up House's collection of video games, his iPod and his yo-yo.
House didn't respond and before Wilson could coax him up Chase entered the
room. 

 "We've got the initial results," he said. House looked up as Chase put a
set of CT scans on the light box for Wilson to see. "No swelling, no
spots, nothing that indicates - anything." House got to his feet, moving
up quietly behind Chase, grinning crookedly as he peered at the long blond
hair before reaching out and tugging on it. "Hey!" He ducked behind Wilson
who threw Chase a warning look. "Brat," Chase muttered. 

 "Bad," House said.

 "Yes, you're bad," Wilson said but House's gaze was on the lightbox. He
flicked the switch on and off over and over, watching as the scans
appeared and disappeared before eventually getting bored and wandering
off.

 Chase pulled the scans down with a sigh. "We're missing something," he
said and Wilson nodded agreement. "I wish he could tell us what." His gaze
went to House who was violently shaking the Magic Eight Ball. He yanked
the scans down and tossed them onto the desk. "I better get back there.
We'll keep you updated." 

 "You ready, House?" Wilson asked. House didn't answer, he moved slowly
around the room, gazing at the jazz posters, the oversize tennis ball on
his desk, and his iPod before shuffling through some glossy magazines
laying on his desk. He frowned and shook his head. "Come on, Big Guy."
House gathered a bunch of things off the desk and followed Wilson to his
office. 

 Wilson settled him on the couch but House insisted on a kiss before he
would let Wilson get to work. "Kiss. Kiss. Kiss," he kept repeating
varying his outrageous pouts. Wilson couldn't help but laugh as he bent
down and brushed his lips against House's forehead. House tossed him a
triumphant grin and Wilson shook his head in fond amusement before setting
to work on updating files, making phones calls and doing a little
research. At first the only sounds in the room were the buzz and beep of
House's video game and his occasional laugh or sigh. Wilson wasn't use to
House being so quiet, usually when House was in his office it was to
complain, cajole or confiscate and generally raise a ruckus. After a while
he nearly forgot his friend's presence, the noise had faded and Wilson
looked over to see that House had found a box of crayons he kept for
restless children during long consults, and was busy scribbling all over
something. 

 "Doin' okay?" He asked. 

 House looked up. "No red," he sulked, picking up a pink crayon. 

 Wilson's reply was halted by a sharp knock and then the door opening.
"Sorry," Cameron said, "but we need another blood draw." 

 "How're the others?"

 She shook her head, "Vitals are depressed, organ failure is eminent
unless we find something." She glanced at House who, happily coloring,
paid her no mind. "Do you think he'll let me -" Wilson shrugged. Cameron
produced a lollypop, holding it out towards House. "House, remember when
we looked at your blood? Want to do it again?" She coaxed. 

 His mental state regressed to that of a young child; House had still lost
none of his capacity to register disdain. He scrunched up his face and
looked as if he was about to throw something when Wilson jumped to his
feet. "House, let's go down to the lab and run a few tests." 

 The door opened again and Chase and Foreman walked in. "McPherson's
dead," Foreman said without preamble. His grim expression told the rest of
the story.

 Chase cleared his throat, "He slipped into a coma about an hour ago. It
wasn't long after that. We haven't been able to isolate the compounds yet.
It's something that depresses the autonomic responses but it's nothing
we've ever seen before." He shook his head, "the others are already
showing the same signs. I'd say we only have an hour or so." 

 Everyone looked at House who lifted his head and stared back. "Slugs," he
said with a decisive nod. 

 "Still calling people names," came Foreman's droll observation but his
voice sounded strained. He and House stared at each other a moment. "I
thought he might have been different as a child."

 "Are you kidding," Wilson said with a forced laugh, "At age three he was
already plotting world domination." He smiled at House. "Come on, House,
you can insult people in the halls." He led House down to the lab where he
expected his friend to balk at having more blood drawn but House seemed
strangely subdued. As his team and Wilson debated treatments House began
to fidget, restlessly prowling among the equipment. 

 "It's okay," Cameron soothed, smiling at him. House scowled and went on
exploring. He became increasingly whiny as the tests were performed,
poking at Wilson with the cane and glaring at Cameron. 

 Eventually he retreated to a chair and sat rocking back and forth until
Wilson knelt in front o him. "What's wrong, House?" He asked. House met
his eyes and Wilson could see the frustration. House shook his head, still
rocking, but his hands were on his thigh, pressing and rubbing.

 "Hurts," he murmured. He leaned forward, resting his head on Wilson's
shoulder, his breath hot and moist against Wilson's neck as he fought the
pain. "Hurts, Jimmy," he said again with a sniff. 

 "Ssssh," Wilson soothed. He reached into his pocket for the prescription
bottle he had carried most of the day. "Chase, get some water, please." He
shook out a Vicodin and when Chase returned, laid the small pill in
House's palm. "Here, this'll help." House picked up the pill and stared at
it a moment. "Take it," Wilson ordered gently. The others watched with
varying degrees of trepidation, as if he really was giving drugs to a
child. Wilson held the glass, letting House drink. When House had finished
Wilson pulled him close, fingers spread lightly against his throat.
"Okay?"

 "Hurt," House slurred. 

 "Pulse and respiration are slow," Wilson confirmed, "And his skin is
cool." House's autonomic functions were slowing. "Let's get you in bed,"
he said, swallowing a fear that threatened to overwhelm him. He helped
House to his feet, taking the cane and putting his arm around House's
waist to support him. Foreman moved quickly, steadying House from the
other side and together they got him to a very private room Cuddy had
prepared earlier. Wilson waved Foreman away, unable to face the inevitable
with a witness. It had been nearly twelve hours since the nightmare had
begun, since House had collapsed in the clinic, but to him it seemed only
seconds had passed. Time was moving too quickly, slipping out of his hands
like water. He'd come to believe in last minute miracles, in crazy flashes
of insight and brilliant leaps of logic, but those were House's particular
magic and this time House couldn't help them. He bent down and pressed a
kiss to his friend's forehead and House clung to his hand. "Stay," he said
weakly. Wilson looked at him, heart so full it hurt to breathe.

 "Sure." He kicked his shoes off and draped his lab coat over the end of
the bed before carefully climbing in beside his best friend. House tried
to scoot closer, but lacked the strength. The blue eyes, usually sparkling
with emotion, were dull and sunken. 

 "Tired," House whispered.

 "I know, I know," Wilson whispered back. He pulled House to him, wrapping
him in his arms until he could kiss his hair. "It's okay. I'm here with
you, House. I'll always be with you." House looked up at him, his blue
eyes clouded but free of pain. "Go to sleep," Wilson said, still holding
him. He didn't think he would be able to let go when the time came. "I'm
with you." He tucked House tighter against him, his tears trailing
silently down his cheeks as he held his best friend for the first and last
time. House drew in a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He grew heavy
against Wilson's chest as he slipped into a deep sleep, a weight that some
might have found uncomfortable but one Wilson cherished. He could feel
House's heart beating, feel the warmth of his breath and willed him to
hold on. 

 He'd always feared House would die alone without anyone to hold him and
tell him how much he had been loved. He wasn't easy to love but he was
worthy of love - more so than anyone Wilson had ever known before. 

 "Dr. Wilson!" Wilson opened his eyes to find Foreman standing over him. 

 "House," he said, but Foreman put a hand on his shoulder. 

 "Sssshhh," he jerked his chin and Wilson turned to find House sleeping
beside him. Chase grinned as he pressed his stethoscope to House's chest
while Cameron readied a syringe. House didn't stir; he seemed to be deeply
asleep. "Just sleeping," Foreman assured him, "not in a coma."

 "What's happened?" Wilson eased out from under House's arm and sat up.

 "House figured it out," Chase said. Wilson frowned, looking to Foreman
for confirmation. 

 The neurologist nodded. "He did," Foreman agreed, holding something out.
Wilson recognized the brain scans Chase had brought to House's office.
"Look." Foreman pointed to several pink patches scribbled on the films,
"Slugs." They looked suspiciously like crayon marks. House had shaded the
blood-brain barrier, drawing little green wavy lines half in and half out.
There seemed to be a group of these squiggles holding onto a bunch of pink
squiggles inside the circle with wide, happy smiles on their faces. Some
of the pinks ones, however, lay on their backs, their middles exploded and
tiny X's where their eyes should have been. Wilson stared open-mouthed at
the films. When he met Foreman's gaze he could see grudging admiration and
affection. "It's a metaphor." He tapped the dancing squiggles. "This drug
mimics Alzheimers, allowing autoantibodies to adhere to brain neurons,
overwhelming the astrocyte which rupture and disintegrate. House knew.
Even under its influence, he knew."

 "How are the other two?"

 Foreman shrugged. "We gave them an inhibitor. If we got it to them in
time their bodies will be able to metabolize the drug before anymore
astrocytes are destroyed. I can't predict how much of their intellect will
remain but they'll live."

 "And - House?" He asked, ashamed that as a doctor his voice sounded
tremulous and weak. 

 Foreman raised both brows, his expression uncertain. "We'll have to wait
and see." 

 Wilson turned to look at House. Cameron stood beside the bed, her eyes
also on House. "What will you do?" She asked, quietly meeting Wilson's
gaze. 

 "Whatever I have to," Wilson answered truthfully. He would, no matter
what. He knew instinctively that House's parents would defer to him. John
House wasn't the kind of man to devote his golden years to the care of a
handicapped adult son and Blythe would do whatever John asked of her. "Go
check on your patients," Wilson told the three doctors. He watched each
member of House's team give his friend a searching look and then turn and
leave the room. 

 Alone with House, Wilson settled back down on the bed beside him. House,
child-like and affectionate should be a horrible, scary thought and yet it
filled him with a rush of guilty tenderness. How many times had he longed
for House to show him some little affection, to give back just a bit of
the devotion Wilson gave him? But it wasn't right. House was abrasive and
arrogant and selfish, he couldn't change, he didn't need to change because
he was the way he needed to be to function. Being friends with House had
always made Wilson feel - good. He felt like he was doing something
important, he'd become a doctor to save lives and by being House's
touchstone, his confidant, his protector and his connection to the world
meant he counted for something, that he had value and importance in the
world. 

 "House," Wilson called softly, afraid of what he would find when his
friend woke. "House," he called again, leaning down to touch his forehead
to House's, "You awake?" He waited, heart hammering his ribs, blood
pounding in his ears as House's eyelids fluttered and opened. For just a
moment the child remained, his innocence and joy and loving heart shown
within the sapphire depths and Wilson smiled down into the unguarded eyes.
"Love you, Champ," he whispered to the retreating child. The long lashes
swept down, like a closing door and when House's eyes opened again, jaded
and cynical, Wilson knew that part of House had fled back to the safety of
adult emotions and grownup walls.

 "Why are you in my bed?" House asked.

 "You were lonely," Wilson said with a smiled, heartened by the fact the
child still existed and that he might be able to coax him back out to
play. 

 "You just noticed," House said and his twinkling blue eyes shown with the
mischievous light of someone much, much younger. 

  
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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.