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  Nightmares 
 by Naughtybookworm  

 Desperados: Nightmares

Wilson removed the patient's chart from the foot of the bed and scanned
the data that had been collected by the 11-7 shift nurses. This poor
little kid had really suffered during the night. Fever, nausea, vomiting,
dizziness. The leukemia had been too far advanced before he had been
brought to PPTH. The chemo was too much for his severely compromised
constitution. Wilson wasn't sure it would have a chance to work on him.
The kid didn't seem to have much fight left in him. 

For some reason, Wilson couldn't recall this child's name right away. He
usually was able to recall all of his patients' names, both the living and
the newly dead, like the back of his hand. Stupid that he didn't recognize
this boy's name, but then he DID look like all the other little bald chemo
kids. Weak, pathetic, miserable - even more so than most. With all the
same little plastic ports plugged into them so that they could be poisoned
repeatedly in hopes of extending their painful little lives for a few more
months. 

There were lights under the white sheets and blankets on this kid's bed
for some reason. Curious, Wilson un-tucked the covers from the bottom of
the bed, with one hand, and threw them back enough to uncover the kid's
feet. Bright red sneakers with flashing lights in the heels. Oh God. 

Wilson closed the chart and looked at the name. House, David W. 

Oh God. 

Terrified, he moved to the head of the bed and peered into the patient's
face. His skin was pale and papery-looking with tiny, spidery blue veins
showing through. His hair was mostly gone, but there were a few ugly tufts
of very short, thin, dark-brown hair clinging to his scalp. 

David's eyes opened. They appeared flat and lifeless, as if Wilson's David
just wasn't in there at all. "Wilson?" A dull voice rasped. "Wilson, where
are you? Wilson? I think I'm dying. You're a doctor...you're supposed to
take care of me. Where are you? Why won't you save me?" Then suddenly the
child's heart monitor emitted a continuous flat beep, even though he was
still talking and his eyes were still open.

*

House snapped awake. Wilson was yelling something in his sleep, and
thrashing around wildly. Before House could wake him, Wilson slugged his
chest, his shoulder, and then his leg, the bad one.

"Holy crap! Wilson! Wake the fuck up!" House grabbed and shook him
violently. "Wake up."

Wilson stared at him blindly in the darkness. "Greg..."

"Wake up, you just hit my goddamn leg. Christ..." He started massaging
what was left of his shredded right thigh muscle.

Wilson fumbled his way out of bed and turned on a lamp. 

"Oh good," Greg muttered. "I get to be lame AND blind now."

"Where is he, Greg?"

House raised both eyebrows. "David?"

Then Wilson really woke up. It sometimes took him a while to shake off
dreams, even good ones. "He's alright?"

House grabbed his bottle of Vicodin from his nightstand and popped it
open. "This is gonna throw me completely off schedule now." He looked up
at Wilson, who was hovering near their bedroom door. "He's in bed. He's
fine. What in the hell did you dream?"

Wilson left the room. House heard him pad barefoot down to David's room
where he checked on the boy briefly. Then Wilson used the bathroom, got
some water from the kitchen, and returned to House. He handed the water to
him. "Wash it down." He hated House's habit of dry-swallowing the pills.
It was bad for his esophageal lining, plus it made him give bitter kisses.
Wilson suspected that he had some kissing to do after what he'd just done
to House's leg.

While House sipped his water, Wilson removed his sweaty pajamas and dried
himself off with them. He then sat naked on the edge of the bed, very
close to Greg, and gently massaged the aching thigh. "David was one of my
chemo patients. I dreamt he was one of my little balding chemo kids. He
was dying and begging us to help him..." Wilson shook his head. 

"Wow..." House set the glass down and took Jimmy into his arms. "We're not
having whatever the hell it was we had for dinner again," he joked as he
held Wilson. "Just a dream," he said softly. "Was bound to happen at some
point or other. You're seeing kids like that all day, every day. I'm
actually surprised you haven't had this one sooner."

Wilson nuzzled House's neck. "Have you? Ever dreamt about David being sick
and not being able to cure him?"

House paused for a second. "Yeah, I have." Actually, House had the dream
about once a month, especially when he was working on a difficult case.
Sometimes it was Wilson instead of David. He'd chalked it up to
free-floating anxiety that probably most doctors had, and just dismissed
the dreams when they happened. 

House pushed Wilson away. "Lie down, Jimmy." While Wilson walked around to
his own side, Greg took both their pillows and propped himself up. Wilson
got in under the covers and snuggled up close to him, resting his head on
the other man's chest. 

"Hmmm..." Wilson reached up, feeling for the short stubble of Greg's face,
which he liked to stroke sometimes, particularly the dimpled place on his
cheek. As they cuddled, House rubbed circles on Wilson's bare back until
he felt him relax and start to drift back to sleep. It was then that Greg
allowed himself to whisper his most private nickname for Wilson. "G'night,
Sweet Jimmy..."

In the next room, David opened his eyes and felt around for his IPOD. He'd
been listening to it off and on all night. Then he heard Wilson yelling,
then Daddy yelling, so he snatched it off and pretended to be asleep until
after Wilson came in to check on him. At first, David thought that they'd
been arguing, but it sounded more like Daddy was calming Wilson down.
Wilson must have had a bad dream. David was exhausted now because hadn't
slept at all. He hadn't wanted to sleep, because he was trying to avoid a
nightmare of his own. He knew that when it did come, it was going to be an
especially scary one.

************

David came to the breakfast table in his pajamas. House was making coffee,
but hadn't set out the cereal bowls yet, just in case Wilson was in a
macadamia nut-pancake-making mood. 

"Good morning," House greeted him. Then he noticed how the boy was
dressed. "Hey, it's not Saturday, buddy. Go put your clothes on.
Chop-chop."

"Can I have coffee first?" 

House raised an eyebrow at that, and looked at his son. He looked like he
hadn't slept at all. Again. The kid was exhausted. "Okay." Even though
David could probably drink espresso without ever seeming hyper, Wilson had
been routinely cutting their coffee with increasing amounts of decaf for
months. House wouldn't get the good stuff until he got to work.

"Thanks, Daddy." He sat in his usual place at the small table, propped his
forehead on his hand and waited for the coffee to brew, looking for all
the world like a little stressed-out businessman.

"Rough night?"

David nodded.

"Worried about getting a receding hairline? Gas prices? The ozone layer?"
David shrugged and said nothing.

Wilson came in, bright-eyed, as usual. The man could get three hours of
sleep and still wake up on time, with a smile on his face, if he had to.
He was dressed sharply in his blue suit with the blue sweater vest, and a
plain white shirt underneath with an ordinary striped tie. "Good morning,
guys! What's for breakfast?" Then he got a good look at David. "Jeez," he
said, ruffling David's uncombed hair. "What is this, the St. James
Infirmary?" he chuckled at his reference to the old blues tune that
contained the teasing nickname that House had bestowed upon him years ago.
"One of you is still in his jammies, and the other is rather noticeably
unshaven." 

"David, I think he's talking about you; better go shave," House kidded. He
accepted a quick kiss from Wilson. "To answer your question about
breakfast, we're having whatever you'd like to cook."

"Then I guess it's air." Wilson hugged David. "We're having air...and
coffee. Because I'm not cooking." 

House set a cup of coffee in front of David and set out two cereal bowls.

Incredulously, Wilson griped, "So you're excluding me from breakfast?" 

"Oh, I thought you fill up on the air..." House joked. 

Wilson laughed. House set out another bowl and got out the cereal boxes.
David sipped his coffee.

Over their meal, Wilson watched their boy. He didn't actually eat
anything; he just picked over the few tablespoons of cereal in his bowl. 

House had been quietly brooding over the scene as well. Finally he spoke.
"David, if you're done, you'd better go get dressed. Wilson's taking you
today, and you know how obsessive he is about being on time."

Wilson looked up at him, surprised, but didn't mention that they hadn't
made any plans for him to drive David to school. He followed House's lead.
"Get a move on, little man." He added cheerfully.

Then David looked alarmed. "Daddy takes me on Tuesdays."

House nodded. "Usually, but I'm busy. So Wilson's doing it. No big deal."
He sipped coffee and waited. 

David got up and started to leave the room, but hesitated by the door.
"Could you take me instead, Daddy? I want you to do it today. Okay?"

Playing his part to the hilt, House frowned a bit. "Hey, you're going to
hurt Wilson's feelings. What's wrong with him taking you?" 

David clammed up at that point, after hurling a "Sorry..." in Wilson's
general direction. Then he trotted off to his bedroom.

House propped his elbow on the table and tugged at his lower lip
thoughtfully. "He's afraid of something at school. Something outside," He
deduced. "Maybe a bully...?"

Shaking his head as if to clear it, Wilson asked, "How did you get that
out of wanting you to take him to school?"

Wilson's hand was resting idly on the table. House took it in one hand,
spread it out and started tracing over and over the other man's lifeline
absent-mindedly. "What does a kid do when he's scared to death?"

"Run like hell?"

House nodded. "Seeks shelter. Protection." He played with Wilson's
fingers. "Daddy for protection, Mommy for comfort." He smiled teasingly.
"You're his comforter, I'm his protector. Right, Mommy?"

"House, we both comfort him, we both protect him. Don't be silly."

"Not silly. Of course, nowadays both parents can fill either role
interchangeably, but traditionally, Dad is the spear, and Mom is the
vessel. I'm better at spear stuff, and you're better at ...vessel stuff."
He smiled at Wilson, a teasing twinkle in his blue eyes. "Have I not
always said you were a girl?"

Rolling his eyes in disgust, Wilson took his hand away. 

"Anyway, the whole point is that when I take David to school, I'm with him
until he enters the building. Once he's inside, I don't see him. If
whatever this thing is was inside, it wouldn't matter which of us went
with him. He'd be doing something else to avoid whatever's got him
spooked."

Wilson sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. He
decided not to entertain the whole spear/vessel thing; that would just
encourage House's snarkiness. But House did have something there. David
was scared, and when he was scared, he cried out for House, his Daddy.
When he was sick or sad, he usually wanted his Wilson to kiss him better.
And if he wanted House now, something was scaring him, for sure.

**********

David had known all along that SHE would eventually get around to looking
for him. Eventually, she always came back, because with a kid you could
get free money, and free money was what she needed when there wasn't any
other way to buy the crystal rocks she smoked in the little glass pipe.
This had been the very best time that he had been away from her. House and
Wilson seemed to feel so strongly about him, to really love him so much
that he got lazy, and forgot to keep his vigil for her. He made himself
pretend that the bad times would never come back. Perhaps David had begun
to believe it. He knew now that he'd been such a fool. 

He kept hoping that it was just his imagination. Last Friday and
yesterday, he saw her standing around near the playground at school. At
first, David hoped that his mind was playing tricks on him, like it did
when he thought he could smell her nasty perfume sometimes. Or that it was
a woman who just kind of looked like her, not HER. Surely. She kept
watching all of the kids playing on the tarmac. David pulled the hood of
his jacket down low over his face, and kept his back to her until the end
of free play. 

Inside his classroom, David broke the point of his pencil so he'd have an
excuse to go to the sharpener, which was mounted near the window that
faced the playground. Now that he was safer inside, he would take a good
look to prove to himself that this was just some strange lady, or his mind
fooling him again. But it * was * HER. SHE was still there, watching as a
new group of kids ran and played on the equipment. His heart began to
pound in his chest, hard. He felt as if his legs would collapse from
underneath him. His brain was disengaging from the rest of his body. He
couldn't move. The school smells, the white paste, paper, pencil lead,
chalk dust, and floor wax disappeared, and everything, EVERYTHING reeked
of Chanel No. 5.

"David, sit down and get back to work." Ms. Marshall reminded him gently.
She was always especially gentle with David. She tried to stay somewhat
detached from her kids, but she always failed and ended up loving them all
by summer. There were always a few that she loved even more, usually
because they needed it.

David didn't answer, nor did he return to his desk. To him, everything was
moving in slow motion. Ms. Marshall's voice didn't make any sense because
it seemed as though each word took about 30 seconds to reach his ears.

"David?" Ms. Marshall called again. Now she was kneeling right in front of
him instead of speaking from her desk.

Then he realized that time had passed. It seemed as though the positions
of the clouds outside had changed a little, but that somehow he'd missed
it. And the whole class was looking at him now. Ms. Marshall was kneeling
in front of him. "David," she passed a hand in front of his face. When he
blinked, she took his shoulders. "What's the matter, David?"

He couldn't tell her. Even if he were capable of speech at that moment,
David couldn't say the words, because saying the words would mean that it
really was true, that his mother had come back for him. Back to call an
end to the few months of happiness that he'd had living with House and
Wilson. She would be furious if she knew he'd been happy and secure
without her. She'd take him back and punish him by making his life go back
to the way it used to be, the way she said he deserved to live. Then David
would be lonely and hurting and hungry all the time, every day. 

David stared blankly at his teacher. 

Ms. Marshall knew something serious was up, but she also knew to proceed
with caution because of David's unusual situation, He was living
unofficially with a foster father and his male partner. The two men had
discovered that this little boy had extreme musical talent, made a nice
home for him, and were raising him together. She was part of David's
'posse,' the group of people who had decided to circumvent the usual rules
so that David could stay with people who loved him. The other members were
the two dads - Gregory House and James Wilson, Alvin Cantrell, the
assistant principal, Stacy Warner, their legal advisor, and their official
lawyer, whose name she didn't know. She did know that the lawyers were
pulling strings and calling in a lot of favors to arrange something that
wasn't exactly above board to put the boy 'legally' in House's
guardianship. 

This little meltdown that David was having needed to be handled
delicately. They couldn't afford to call any attention whatsoever to his
current family situation. Delores Marshall thought fast. 

"Bruce?" She called on the tallest red haired boy who looked pretty
intimidating, but who never bullied anyone. "You're in charge." Ms.
Marshall made him stand at the front of the classroom and gave him a piece
of chalk. "If anyone talks above a WHISPER, or gets up, write their name
down." Then, sternly, she eyeballed her three troublemakers. "If I hear
about ANYONE getting up or talking, NO one gets art today, and that person
will get detention after school TODAY. She intensified her 'border collie'
glare, the one she had perfected as a student teacher years ago. 

Having laid down the law, she guided David out of the classroom. He
started snapping out of it right away. He was safe in the classroom, but
now they were going down to the office, near the door to outside, where
SHE was. He pulled himself into what he thought was the appearance of a
normal boy again. 

"I'm fine Ms. Marshall," he squeaked in a voice that wasn't his.. "I was
thinking about...about music." He started breathing normally. His face
relaxed, but it was still pretty pale looking. "I'm sorry," he said in his
own voice. "I got worked up about it."

Delores Marshall was no fool. This little boy had had something like a
panic attack. But she knew that all of her options at this point led to
exposing David's unofficial status. The principal had no clue about his
situation, which was a good thing, because he would do whatever would
protect his own ass. She thought about taking him to the nurse's office,
where he could at least lie down for a while, but the nurse, Alma White, a
snitching little busybody, would certainly rat them out, "in the best
interest of the child..." Delores peered intently at David. He seemed able
suddenly to pull himself into a slight semblance of normalcy, and that
would have to do.

"Do you want to talk to House or Wilson?" she asked. "We can call them
right now." She pulled her pink 'Razor' phone out of a pocket. 

David looked as if the only words he wanted to say at that moment were,
"YES," and "PLEASE." But he shook his head vigorously. "I'm okay." He told
Delores.

Ms. Mitchell examined her student. He couldn't return her gaze. He waited
silently for the scrutiny to be over. She placed a hand on his shoulder -
a major no-no - teachers weren't allowed to touch students anymore, but
Delores Mitchell flouted that particular rule on the first day of every
school year. By April, kids were giving her hugs every day, and she
silently dared anyone to say a word about it. She couldn't teach
*anything* to untouchable children. "David, are you sure you're not sick?
Are you sure that everything's ok? I really need to know, honey. This is
super- important."

David let his face take on that bland, unfocused look that he had had
throughout the earlier part of the school year, when he had been trying
really hard not to be noticed by anyone. "I'm good." He told her. 

One thing that Delores Marshall was very sure of was that this little boy
was not "good." Something had really scared him. "Okay." She squeezed his
shoulder once more. She pointed towards the closed classroom door. "Go
back to your seat... If you don't feel like working right now, you can put
your head down on your desk, okay?"

David was able to look into her eyes gratefully for one second. "Thanks,
Ms. Marshall," he whispered, and nearly ran back into the classroom.

Closing the door, Ms. Marshall stood outside, leaning against one of the
kids' lockers. She flipped open the phone, selected a number from her
directory, and pressed 'TALK.' 

"House," answered the deep voice of David's dad.

"House, it's Delores Marshall..." she began.

***************

David was predictably subdued at dinner that night. He suspected that his
family knew now that something was wrong with him. Wilson was here for the
second weeknight in a row; Wilson usually spent only the weekends with
them. On weekdays, he would call around David's bedtime to say goodnight,
and then again a little later when he thought House would be going to bed
to say goodnight again. But here Wilson was, and he'd cooked one of
David's favorite meals, plain grilled cheese sandwiches and Wilson's
homemade chicken soup. 'Jewish penicillin,' Wilson had called it. His
'Bubbe' had taught him to make it. before he went to college. "Good for
what ails the body and the soul," Wilson had proclaimed as he served it
up.

They were on to him, but he wasn't sure just how 'on to him' they were.
No, he didn't see anything today. It was just his mind playing tricks.
Yes. And he didn't smell the perfume at all, because now he was safe and
the Jewish penicillin was permeating the air and making his nose all
better. 'Just forget about it. FORGET,' he told himself. 'It was just my
imagination.' 

Even though it tasted good, David only managed to choke down half a
sandwich and a little bit of the soup Wilson had served him.. This was the
flavor he had associated with his life with his two dads. Freedom. Love.
Security. He would remember this when SHE finally figured out how to get
him back again. Crunchy and unnecessarily buttery (according to Wilson,
who indulged them nevertheless), and hot and steamy and ...chicken-y. And
happy. This was a happy taste. He would store it away forever, and when
she gave him punishments, or hurt him, or made him be at church, or kicked
him out so she could screw yet another strange man, he would be able to
remember this moment, this food, and perhaps he would be able to make
himself stay unfrozen inside. 

David ate the other half of his sandwich and ate half of his remaining
soup. He was pretty full, but he took another half, and choked it down as
well. And then suddenly he couldn't stop eating the sandwiches and the
soup. He wasn't even tasting the food anymore, just cramming this memory
into his body and brain, because he knew he was going to forget. Good
times don't ever last...

House and Wilson watched their boy as he gorged himself. David never ate
enough, usually. He had been with them for nearly eight months, and he was
only about three pounds heavier than he'd been to begin with. Eating was
usually the last thing the kid would be able to do when he was upset. 

"David." Wilson gently pulled the sandwich out of his hand and pushed the
plate away. "What's going on?"

David stopped. And now he felt pain - his stomach hurt, of course it hurt.
He'd eaten four halves, when he'd only really wanted one. "I was really
hungry," he lied.

House and Wilson eyed one another. "You're gonna make yourself sick,"
Wilson said to him. 

And as soon as Wilson suggested that, David *was* sick. He clamped his
hand over his mouth and ran to the bathroom, where he threw up until his
stomach was nearly empty. He washed his face and brushed his teeth. As he
stared into the mirror at himself, the nasty whispery voice that sounded
like his mother started saying mean things in his head. And then
everything started smelling like Chanel again. Feeling impossibly
hopeless, David grabbed hold of the sink and started to weep
uncontrollably as his daddy limped into the room to save him.

****************

Whatever was going on with David, House and Wilson knew it was going to
explode when the boy was asleep and dreaming. He'd already had what
Delores called "a meltdown" twice today - once at school, then that
horrible scene in the kitchen and bathroom. This was going to be
especially nasty, they were sure of it.. 

Wilson had decided to stay the night again, so House naturally tried to
con him into doing the dishes. "Hey, I cooked," Wilson told him. And I'm
not usually here on Tuesdays, so you've already gotten a bonus. Two, if
you count yesterday." When House pretended to whine about that, Jimmy
merely kissed him and walked away. He was learning that this was the best
way to deal with Greg, sometimes; don't expect him to play "fairsies;"
give him no other choice. "I'm gonna go get a shower," he announced. "If
the dishes are done when I get back, you might get a reward." Sex was a
pretty darn good bargaining chip..

House fooled around in the kitchen, reading, and racking his brilliant
brain for another way to avoid the dishes. Then he started thinking about
Wilson in the shower, and replayed in his mind a scene from a month ago
when he'd covertly watched his lover showering at the hospital after he'd
been profusely bled upon by a patient. Wilson had a typical, head-to-toe
bathing method, nothing unusual. But that time, he was very ...thorough
when he washed his chest. Wilson could be pretty obsessive about his
chest, anyway, like a ditzy young blonde with really great boobs... an
oncologist gone wild. He spent more than 2 minutes, washing and caressing
himself before he moved on to the rest of his body with his usual
businesslike efficiency. Greg had filed the scene away for future
reference. (He hadn't known that Wilson had been aware of his presence in
the locker room, and had put on the show just for him).

Then House heard the shower spray in the bathroom shut off. He threw
himself at the sink and started washing dishes at breakneck speed. He'd
gotten down to the pan and pot that Wilson had used when the other man
returned. Silently, he eased up behind House and placed his hands on his
partner's outer thighs. Slowly, he slid them up and around to caress his
buttocks for a moment, then back around to embrace him around his waist. 

By now House was gripping the pan in one hand, and squeezing all the suds
out of the scrubber in the other. "Jimmy..." he whispered.

"...shhh," Jimmy hissed. He kissed the side of House's neck, then the
nape, and then trailed down his back, kissing him through the fabric of
his shirt until he was exactly between Greg's shoulder blades. Then back
up again, he nuzzled his neck, and held on, making them both sway a little
to unheard music, as he began to caress House's abdomen, using
increasingly larger circles, until the caress included his chest and
crotch as well.

"Jimmy, no... We can't. David." House reminded him, very reluctantly. The
last thing he wanted was to have to stop what they were doing to go deal
with a nightmare. David needed them tonight. There wouldn't be time to
pull back and calm themselves down.

Wilson released him instantly. "Okay." He stepped to the side, turned
around, and hoisted himself up so that he was sitting on the countertop,
just a couple feet away from where House was working. He was wearing a
nerdy pair of pajamas; light blue cotton seersucker with dark blue piping,
and plain brown leather slippers. He had combed back his wet hair, so that
he looked kind of like a little boy who'd just been slicked down for a
formal photograph.

House grinned playfully, and joked, "Aww man, were we gonna play 'Naughty
Jimmy Does the Stern Boarding School Headmaster' tonight?"

Laughing, Wilson leaned sideways and grabbed the collar of House's
t-shirt. He tugged it gently, and House came easily to him, hands sopping
wet. Greg adored Jimmy's mouth, the perpetual smile, the way the little
Cupid's bow part was shaped. He devoured him, as he did every time they
kissed. And Jimmy started to moan. Then he abruptly pulled away. 

"Look what you've done, Greg," Jimmy indicated his pajama top, which was
wet all over in spots from the dishwater.

House had to catch his breath. He leaned with his crutch hand on the
countertop, and let his head fall until it was on Wilson's shoulder. "Ah
Jimmy..." He felt lightheaded, giddy, and horny as hell now. "Maybe we can
sneak in a quickie."

Wilson frowned. "Finish up," He nodded to the sink.

"Now?" House was incredulous. "You've gotta be kidding!"

Wilson didn't answer. He just folded his arms across his now damp chest
and waited. Chuckling, House started washing the pan again. 

Jimmy undid the top button of his shirt, and clasped his hands neatly in
his lap as he watched House expectantly. 

House scrubbed vigorously, rinsed, and dried the pan. He was enjoying this
game.

Jimmy undid the two middle buttons, exposing his smooth pectorals and
abdomen. There was only one more button left. 

House started in on the last pan, washed it quickly and efficiently and
put it away, then dried his hands, and stepped sideways to stand between
Jimmy's knees. Just as efficiently, he undid the last button and peeled
the shirt down over his shoulders, and off, exposing the rest of Wilson's
upper body. He gave his lover's a smoldering appreciative gaze and
murmured, "Better make every second count, then."

***********

By Thursday night, David was quite obviously slipping. He had gotten ready
for bed when House told him it was time, but he'd been too tired to
exercise his usual fastidiousness. Having spent the first few years of his
life in such discomfort, David liked being clean, and took excellent care
of his belongings. Tonight, though, he had stood under the shower for five
minutes without actually washing, dried himself off, and foregone brushing
his teeth altogether. 

He came from his bedroom to say goodnight with his harmonica in hand. The
t-shirt he wore with his pajama bottom was inside out, and he didn't
bother to put on the cool bear paw slippers Wilson had given him for
Christmas. "Come here," Wilson had insisted, and re-dressed him. Then he
stroked his face and teased, "At least you did remember to shave." David
didn't seem to get the joke, and House was too intrigued with the mystery
to notice it. 

Then David provided another clue. He turned to Wilson (who had been
staying over since this rough spot had started), and hugged him long and
hard,. His little face was solemn and mournful as he said, "Thanks,
Wilson." He hugged his "Number Two Daddy" again. "I love you, Wilson."
Then he did the same with House, wrapped his arms around the man's neck
and hung on, as if for dear life. "I love you so much, Daddy." He told
House. Then he tucked his little harmonica into House's t-shirt pocket.
"Keep it for me for awhile?" he asked.

House closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to see his little boy suffer so.
This wasn't affection, this was fear. David had been so afraid of
nightmares that he'd barely slept at all since Tuesday. And now, it seemed
almost as though David was saying 'goodbye' to them. "David, what's
scaring you at school?"

"Nothing," he squeaked out, too fast, too unnatural. 

"Bullshit." House replied. "Who's scaring you outside school?" The
expression of horror on David's face was enough to tell him all he needed
to know. And the boy had done that funny little 'snif.' House knew he was
smelling the Chanel No. 5 again.

House put it all together very quickly. "David, is it your mother? Do you
think you saw her at school?" he asked.

David's face went white. He couldn't breathe for the smell of Chanel.
"D-daddy, no." he wailed. "It's okay, everything is..." Then suddenly his
lung capacity became nil, and his brain locked up. He fainted.

*

In the kitchen, House crushed one-quarter of a Vicodin tab using one of
the fussy little kitchen gadgets that had migrated from Wilson's apartment
to his. He stirred it into a cup of Gatorade. He was sure that Wilson
would have a kitten if he found out, but David had been hysterical for
almost forty-five minutes, while House and Wilson tried unsuccessfully to
calm him down. House limped back into the living room, carrying the cup.
"Drink this," he encouraged David. "You've been sweating and crying a
lot."

Wilson had looked at House oddly, but didn't comment as David sipped the
cocktail between hitching sobs. If it tasted funny, he didn't seem to
notice. 

Then David did calm somewhat after another few minutes. "I saw her, Daddy.
She's going to take me back again."

House sighed, closed his eyes, then opened them and looked at Wilson.
David had been saying goodbye to them. The little boy was sure that his
mother would be able to take him away from the family that loved him and
abuse him any time she chose. 

Wilson rocked the boy rhythmically and promised him over and over that
Wilson and Daddy wouldn't let anyone take him away.

David was limp now, resigned to whatever fate befell him. He didn't
believe that House and Wilson could save him, not really. He would calm
down and accept whatever happened to him. He had had seven months of
happiness. He wouldn't be greedy. "Okay," he replied.

House sat next to them with his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling
uselessly in front of him. He knew that David didn't believe anyone could
really protect him from his mother. She had abandoned him before and
managed to get him back, and she'd managed to mistreat him for years, all
the while evading the authorities. He damn sure wasn't letting her
anywhere near David, though. They could tell the kid that until they were
all blue in the face. When it came down to it, House had always believed
that it wasn't what people said, it was what they did that mattered. 

"Time for bed," House said finally. While his family stared at him as if
he was out of his mind, he went to the door to their apartment and threw
the deadbolt. "Come here," he said to David. 

Obediently, David made to get up.

"House," Wilson started.

"Just come on, both of you." He held out his hand to David. When the boy
was holding his hand, he led them all to the big bedroom in the back of
the apartment. Once they were all inside, he locked the door and sat on
the edge of the bed. 

"Hop in," he told David. David pulled back the covers and slid between the
sheets right in the middle of the king-sized bed. While Wilson changed
into pajamas, House made a point of letting David see him hook his cane
over the headboard where it was close at hand. Then he changed as well,
turned off the lamp, and got into bed. It was Wilson, naturally, who took
David into his arms to hold the boy until he fell asleep. Then Greg
managed to get his long arms around them both. It might have been a
smothering, stifling experience ordinarily, but for now it was just right
for them all.

David felt himself beginning to drift the way he did when he was falling
asleep. He had begun to hate that feeling over the past few days. He was
afraid to sleep. But Wilson was there, holding him, and Daddy, his 'O Best
Beloved' Daddy was there to watch over him. And David was so very tired.
Soon the drifting felt more like he was being pressed gently into the
mattress, and he was being held so securely that he didn't believe he
could wake himself even if his hair was on fire. David slept.

Hearing the boy's deep even breathing, Wilson whispered, "How much did you
give him?"

House shook his head into his pillow. What on earth possessed him to think
that Wilson wouldn't figure it out? "Quarter tab." He admitted.

Wilson's issued a tightly controlled whisper through his teeth, "Don't you
ever do that again, Greg."

"Wilson, other than a few catnaps, he's been awake for three days." House
tried soothing Wilson by stroking his shoulder. "He's in distress. He's
gonna have a nervous breakdown."

Wilson knew that what House had done wasn't all that horrible; it was just
that he had hated the Vicodin that had possessed a part of his Greg. If he
had to be honest, Greg was using it a lot more sparingly and responsibly
than he ever had. But Wilson didn't want his little boy anywhere near the
stuff. "Just don't do it, Greg. I mean it. I won't have it."

"Okay," Greg said, still stroking Wilson. "I'm sorry."

Wilson sighed. "What do you think we should do tomorrow?"

House kissed the top of David's head. "Take him to the hospital with us.
Call Stacy." He kissed Wilson, tasting a hint of Gatorade on his lips.
Ahh... He must have sneaked a taste when House wasn't looking. "G'night."

"Night, honey."

David appeared on the other side of the glass wall of Diagnostics after
school, as he often did. He had picked up a "to go" snack from the
cafeteria, probably a PB - he was a creature of habit - which he was
carrying in a small paper bag. As always, he was dressed like House, in
jeans and a long, untucked oxford shirt. 

They were meeting, discussing a patient now, so the boy would have to wait
for him. David was waiting to catch House's eye, to let him know he'd
arrived safely. "Hi, Daddy," he mouthed at House, and waved.

House was berating Chase about some idea he'd come up with that was just
wrong, based upon a stupid mistake he had made. But he stopped long enough
to smile at his son. He waved, and pointed to his office. David smiled
back and nodded, then trotted off to wait for House.

Then back to business. "YOU," he pointed to Chase. "You go get a C-T scan
of his neck again. And YOU." He pointed to Foreman, "Go WATCH HIM to make
sure he doesn't screw it up."

Chase looked as if he could either spit nails from the anger, or melt into
the floor from the embarrassment. He'd carelessly screwed up a scan again.
"I'm sorry, House. I'm sure I won't make that mis-"

"You're still here!" House barked at him. After they left, he said,
"Cameron, you go over the CT scan in detail to make sure we didn't miss
anything." He pointed at the scans that Chase had already done.

"But you said these weren't any good," she protested.

"No, they're incomplete, but the actual films aren't bad. Look 'em over.
I'll be back in a bit. Gotta go do the daddy thing."

David was sitting cross-legged in House's easy chair, munching on his PB,
and watching a cartoon on House's TV. "Hi Daddy," he greeted House as he
put the sandwich down on the flattened bag, which was on the footrest, and
stood up. 

House hooked his cane into the pocket of his jeans to keep it from
falling. "Hi kid." He picked David up and stood him on the chair. Then he
hugged him "Did you have a good day?" He sat down and pulled the boy onto
his lap, held him there. David leaned easily into House's chest and wound
his arms around the man's neck. They chatted quietly for a few minutes,
then House kissed his boy, and rose to return to the diagnostics
conference room.

"Dr. Gregory House?" Three people suddenly just appeared in his office. A
middle-aged woman, dressed in a business suit., a crazed-looking woman
whose face he somehow could not focus on, and a cop in uniform. House knew
this had to be bad news.

"What do you want?" He choked out.

The woman spoke with a southern accent. "Social Services. We've come to
return David to his mother."

House stepped between David and the three others. "You're not taking him.
I won't let you take my son."

The faceless, crazy woman screeched, "He's MY kid. I've got the genes to
prove it!"

The police officer simply walked up to House and snatched his cane away
and gave House a light push. He fell over the footrest of his easy chair.
Every time he tried to rise, the cop put the rubber tip of House's cane to
the man's forehead and pushed him back down, effortlessly. House couldn't
seem to regain his footing. 

David was screaming as the two women grappled to take him away. "Daddy!
Please, Daddy! Help me!" 

"Now, now," The woman from Social Services repeatedly said to David.
"Children belong with their biological parents."

"He's MY boy," the faceless crone crowed triumphantly.

Then David stopped crying or protesting altogether. He stood up stiffly
and walked to his mother. Then he turned around and pulled his harmonica
out of his pocket. He handed it down to House where he lay sprawled on the
floor. "O Best Beloved," the boy whispered, as House took the harmonica.
"O Best Beloved." The phrase began to echo louder and louder throughout
the room as David turned and offered his hand wordlessly to his mother.
The echo continued to bounce all around the room and throughout the halls
of PPTH as the trio led House's little boy away.

House awoke, breathless and drenched in cold sweat. He couldn't move at
first. All he could feel was the sorrow and the loss. David was gone. He
had lost David. It was his JOB to protect David, and He hadn't been able
to protect him. He needed to figure out how to get David back. Oh God.

"Greg?" it was Wilson, lying on the other side of the bed. "You okay?" He
sat up and reached over David's sleeping form. "Did you have a nightmare?"
Then he touched the man, felt his clammy skin. "Man..." He gave House's
shoulder a little shake. "Are you awake, Greg?"

House sat up and gingerly pivoted himself around so that his back was to
Wilson. "Yeah," he responded roughly.

"You okay?" Wilson climbed over David so that they were both sitting on
the side of the bed. He put an arm around House's sweaty back. 

"I'm okay."

"Lot of nightmares in this family lately." Wilson whispered. 

House grabbed his cane and limped out to the bathroom. Wilson heard water
running for five minutes. He moved David over closer to his side and threw
back the covers so that the sweat-dampened sheets would dry - that would
be good enough until tomorrow - and waited on his side of the bed. 

Once again in bed, in the darkness, House took Wilson's hand and held it.
He told his partner about the dream. 

"Jeez," Wilson had had him roll onto his stomach, and was reaching across
David to rub Greg's back as he lay on his side, propped on his right hand.
"That was a pretty fucked-up dream."

Greg grunted his agreement. "Yeah, well, we can't keep going on like
this." He rolled onto his side and moved forward so that he could hug
Wilson gingerly without crushing David.. 

 Wilson kissed him. "When you talk to Stacey tomorrow, you might mention
that we're kind of falling apart here." 

*****************

Even when he was staying at Greg's place, Wilson almost always took his
own car in to the hospital, knowing that they might not end their workdays
at the same time. It was also easier, for now, that they didn't arrive
together so much until they were ready to make their relationship a matter
of public knowledge. Wilson didn't drive straight to work today, though;
he was early, so he meandered a bit through the Princeton rush-hour
traffic. His wandering took him eventually to the sidewalk outside David's
school. The area seemed a desolate place; all of the kids were inside,
presumably suited up in academic straitjackets for the day. 

Wilson walked the perimeter of the school grounds, looking for anyone
scary. It might not have been David's actual mother. It might have been
just some other weirdo. He hoped so. 

By the time Wilson returned to the playground, a class of really tiny kids
had populated the yard, running around like newly freed birds, swinging,
jungle-gymming, hopscotching, arguing. 

Just like nothing, bingo, the woman appeared. SHE, the big SHE, the HER
that David had told horror stories about, climbed out of a crappy,
liver-colored Chevette and began to peer intently at the children as they
cheerily raced about. She was actually rather small. Her hair was ... she
had David's dark brown hair, but hers was thin and lifeless. SHE was thin.
Bony, actually. Her hollowed-out cheeks made Wilson suspect that she'd
lost some molars. He wondered who on earth would want to have sex with
that? He edged closer, pretending that he had lost something on the
ground, to get a better look. 

From one car away, Wilson could see that David had inherited her eyes, as
well. Then Wilson couldn't stop himself from getting closer. He could hear
her, muttering to herself. He wanted to get a good look at HER, this
horrible creature who had nearly destroyed his sweet boy. 

SHE was saying weird things to no one in particular. "Little bastard... I
know you're here. I know you're hiding." She twisted her hands together
repeatedly. "Get out here. You know I'm going to find you. You know what's
gonna happen if you keep me waiting." She spat angrily when she spoke.
"It's gonna be worse, every day that I have to wait for you, you little
creep. GET OUT HERE!" 

Wilson noticed that none of the children actually heard or noticed her.
She was mostly speaking on a conversational level, and the street noise
drowned out everything else. If the kids had been able to hear her, surely
parents would be up in arms by now about the nutcase hanging out near the
school.

Wilson managed to get half a car's length closer before she noticed he was
there.

"What?" she bitched at him. Her voice was deep and throaty like a woman
who had smoked WAY too much. "I seen you lookin' at me. What the fuck do
you want?"

Wilson practically charged straight at her, then. "Why are you here?" he
demanded.

"Go to hell," she spat at him. 

"What do you want with these children? You've been scaring my son. He
wouldn't come to school today because of the crazy woman who's been
watching the school for a week." He stabbed a finger in the air at her.
"What are you doing here?"

She glared at him and shouted, "I have a right to be here. My kid's in
that school."

Wilson's eyes narrowed. "Oh?" He turned to peer at the little ones
swinging and jungle-gymming. "Which one? Which kid is yours?"

And as quickly as flipping a coin, the woman whispered, "I don't know, I
can't find him. I've been looking for days." 

"What do you mean you don't know and you can't find him?" Wilson was
livid. "You don't know who's your kid and who isn't? How do you lose a
kid?"

She sounded even crazier than Wilson had surmised from David's accounts. 

"I left him here, I sent him to this school." Her hands did a weird,
repetitious little twitching, clenching thing when she spoke. "I left him
at this school. So he's got to be here now. It ain't been that long."

"Who's been taking care of your kid?" Wilson asked.

She shrugged. Oh, he and House knew that shrug. More right-shouldered than
left. "He's a smart boy. He can take care of himself." She pulled a pack
of cigarettes out of a pocket. "I need him back."

Wilson peered at the woman while she lit up. Rough throat, probably
working on some future throat cancer there, plus, even a rookie doctor
with no specialty could work out that the four lesions that Wilson now
noticed, on her neck and face, were Kaposi's sarcomas. AIDS. That would
explain how wasted her face looked, and how bony she was. He didn't think
anyone would even dream of having sex with her like that, yet she had been
working at least seven or so months ago. 

Wilson rarely felt like hitting anyone. He'd never even entertained the
thought of hitting a woman. He wanted to hit this woman. Not so much for
what she'd done to David; that was bad enough. He wanted to hurt her
because of the words she had used. 'I left him here...he's got to be here
now... little bastard...' And because he was immediately reminded of his
brother, Michael, the vagrant who was lost to him these past ten years
now, who might even be dead. He wanted to hurt her also for arousing a
little compassion in him. Then the House that lived inside his heart spoke
up, as only House could do. 'Screw that bitch,' he hissed at Wilson. 'You
wanna exercise your dysfunction on somebody, you've got a hurting little
kid and a cripple right here. Get to work."

*

Wilson entered the school. Right away, someone stopped him, a woman from
the main office, who zipped out into the hallway as the door was closing
behind him. 

"Excuse me, who are you?" She had a pit bull expression on her face. 

Good, Wilson thought. Someone's watching the main door. A stranger off the
street couldn't just walk in and snatch a kid. All the other doors would
only open from the inside, just like the ones at the hospital.

After explaining himself to Pit Bull, then to Alvin Cantrell, the
assistant principal, whom Wilson had already met, he was escorted to
David's classroom. He had had to endure an awkward introduction 22 third
graders, who sing-songed "Good morning, Doctor Wilson," to him before he
could speak to Delores Marshal privately, outside the classroom.

"I assume that you and House have figured out what's been going on?" she
asked. They were standing in the middle of a long locker-lined hallway.
Wherever there weren't lockers was polished cinderblocks. Wilson had to
resist having flashbacks to his own schoolboy days. 

Wilson nodded. "Yes. His mother is hanging around outside the school."

"Holy cats." Delores murmured. "No wonder you kept him home."

"Yeah, he's with House at the hospital." Wilson fiddled with the buttons
on his jacket. "I just talked to her. She's crazy as a bedbug. She's
muttering about getting him back. She thinks she needs him."

Delores shook her head. "People walk around outside this school all the
time. It's a pretty busy area for pedestrians. As long as they aren't on
the school's premises, we basically ignore them." 

"Where was he when he had that 'meltdown' you told us about? On Monday."

Delores Marshall stepped to the door of her classroom and pointed, "By the
window, there." She noticed four little girls who had gotten out of their
seats to giggle together and gave them her Border collie stare. They
returned to their seats, but weren't able to stop giggling. "He'd gone to
sharpen his pencil, and he just kind of froze right there for two or three
minutes." She nodded back towards the door and started to open it.

Wilson followed. Amid more barely stifled giggles, Ms. Marshall and Wilson
made their way over to the window by the pencil sharpener. 

"I don't think it's quite June yet, people," she reminded the class. "I
think a lot of us still have plenty of work to do at our desks." The
general restlessness calmed down a little bit. Delores know it was really
asking too much of her kids to be calm with a mysterious visitor in the
room.

They peered down at the playground. Wilson pointed across the street to
the crappy Chevette and the woman. "There." He whispered. "Black sweater."
They could see her lips moving as she ranted to herself. 

Ms. Marshall clenched her jaw and whispered back,. "I'll get rid of her."

Wilson was surprised. "I'd love to see that happen, but what reason would
you give? She's not exactly doing anything, not really," he pointed out.
"Just looking crazy, and you can't even see that from here."

"Loitering." She said, point-blank. "Making one of my kids uncomfortable.
I won't have to say which one. I want her gone." She patted Wilson's arm
without thinking. "I'll take care of it. Send David back on Monday. I'll
look after him."

"Ms. Marshall?" A freakishly pale little girl with translucent skin,
platinum hair, and a bad case of early sunburn raised her hand nervously. 

"Yes, Makenzie?" 

Makenzie blushed deeply as she asked, "Is Dr. Wilson your boyfriend?"
Probably, she'd pulled the short straw and was peer-pressured into asking,
Wilson thought. Makenzie then hunched herself down over her desk and
buried her face in her arms.

Fighting the urge to laugh out loud, Delores Marshall made things right.
"No, sweetie. I should have explained before, Dr. Wilson is someone I know
because he's a very good friend of David's." She smiled broadly at the
class, while somehow managing to make the other gigglers hang their heads
a bit because they had pushed the little girl into asking an embarrassing
question. 

Several young heads swiveled around and directed their eyes to David's
empty desk. "Is David sick?" half the class was asking at once. "Is he
coming back on Monday?" 

Wilson was impressed that David's classmates were so concerned about his
shy boy. "Please don't worry about David. He's not feeling well right now,
but he's going to be just fine. We'll have to see on Monday if he's
feeling okay enough to come back to school, though."

One bossy little thing in blonde pigtails and obnoxiously large red
ribbons piped, "Please tell David that we all miss him and get well soon."

Then there were a lot of "Me too's." Nodding and smiling, Wilson promised
he would. 

"Thanks, Ms. Marshall," he said before taking his leave. 

"Goodbye Doctor Wilson," Twenty-two children sang in unison. 

*

Wilson was rather shaken up after having met David's mother. Crazy,
probably seething with cancers, and AIDS. And oh god, David had been
living with that for months, probably most of his short life. Then Wilson
was back at the hospital, walking at top speed to the clinic, barely aware
of how he'd gotten there. He didn't even recall where he'd parked his car,
or whether he'd stopped at all the red lights. All Wilson wanted to do
right now was run to House's office. He managed a fast walk without
drawing any attention, stopping in the empty supply room to pick up an HIV
test kit. 

"Hey, where've you been?" House asked without looking up from his computer
screen. He was Googling something pertinent to a case. David was sitting
in House's armchair in stocking feet. He had drawn his knees up to his
chest and was kind of locked into that position with his chin on his
knees. Still scared to death. 

Wilson unceremoniously unpacked the kit, slipped on some gloves and pulled
out a long cotton swab.

"Wilson, don't." House said. He had crossed the room in two seconds. "I
don't know why you're doing this now, but I've already done that, about
seven months ago. Okay?"

Both men noted, in the backs of their minds, that David had shown no
interest or curiosity about what Wilson had been about to do to him.

Wilson's thoughts drifted back to David's mother. How did this sweet
little boy come out of THAT beast? How had he managed to survive living
with her for nearly 8 years? And...and what other emotional time bombs had
she buried inside him?

The oncologist removed the rubber gloves and piled the testing equipment
on the ottoman. He then sat down in the ample space that David wasn't
occupying in the chair, and gathered his boy in his arms. "Baby..." he
whispered. "How're you feeling? Are you okay? Your Wilson's here." 

House was on to him right away. Wilson was plenty mushy, but this family
generally kept their mushiness to themselves in public. He watched out of
the corner of his eye while Wilson coddled and babied their boy. Certainly
the kid needed it, but 'damn, Wilson,' he thought. What in the hell did
his partner know now that was making him turn into Cameron? He guessed
that Wilson had seen the mother, but didn't want to say anything about
that in front of David.

"What's up, Wilson?" 

Jimmy looked up at House, over David's head. 'Later,' he mouthed. Then he
redoubled the treacle he was feeding David. He held the boy in his lap,
cuddled him, and started stroking his back in the way that usually put
David right to sleep, until he actually did doze off

House draped his leather jacket over David's sleeping form, a reminder
that Daddy wasn't far away. Then he and Wilson stepped outside and across
the balcony partition. House glanced back at his boy as Wilson unlocked
the glass door. His boy looked so little, so small in comparison to the
big problem he was facing. House understood Wilson's excessive urge to
soothe him better. 

"I saw her..." Wilson began.

* He was hiding in the closet behind the long dresses and underneath all
the clothes that were piled on the floor. SHE was stomping around in the
apartment, hunting for him vaguely. There was always a chance she might
pass out before she got really angry. Sometimes it happened. David just
had to be as quiet as he could, and hope that all the stuff she smoked and
drank was strong enough this time.

She was beginning to mutter now, through her teeth. "Little basTARD! You
better be in here. I didn't give you permission to leave." She rampaged
through the rooms now, pulling things down that were put away, unmaking
beds and un-hanging clothes that had been hung up neatly. David knew he
was going to have to do a lot of work tonight before she woke again, else
he'd be in trouble for all the mess he caused.

"How many Our Fathers do you want to say tonight, David?" she seethed.
"Fifty?" She shoved all the cushions off the sofa. "A hundred?" She
started to mumble then. "Lord please remove the beast from the soul of my
son. Blessed be thy holy NAME! Amen. Then she started to repeat the
sentence, over and over as she marauded through the small apartment. "Get
OUT HERE, David, or next time I see you, I'll baptize you myself!" 

'Oh no,' David felt a shock of psychic pain through his entire body. Not
that. Surely not that. It was bad enough when she made him get baptized at
whatever church they were going to, but now she was going to do it
herself. Not again. David couldn't stifle a small whimper at the thought
of not being able to breathe until she let him up out of the cold, cold,
water. 

SHE stopped walking. That could only mean that she'd heard him. Oh no.

The closet door opened. If he could only hold himself perfectly still, she
might still not see him. David held his breath. But she started kicking
all the junk on the closet floor. He steeled himself to not make a sound
when the blow hit, but it was no use. The sharp toe of her shoe connected
with his ribcage, with only a layer or two of clothes between. He cried
out against his will. Soon it would be all over.

Standing naked in icy bathwater suddenly, then forced to sit down in the
huge, claw-footed tub, David simply left his body. Suddenly his
consciousness was hovering somewhere up near the shower curtain rod,
watching with detached interest. 'Why was the lady doing this to that
boy?' He wondered. She was holding him under the water until he almost had
to breathe. Then she was praying. Then she did it again. David watched in
fascination as the other boy's skin started to turn blue, either from lack
of air, or from the cold. He couldn't tell which. Probably both.

*

Eric Foreman was the first to notice something weird going on with House's
kid. They had just gotten a new case, and were waiting for House to return
from his conference with Wilson next door. Eric hadn't really paid a lot
of attention to the boy over the months that he'd been with House, but he
did notice that his boss had gentled a bit as the result of being a
parent. One thing Greg House had needed desperately was gentling. So
Foreman was grateful for the kid's presence.

Upon hearing the bloodcurdling screams in the next room, Eric had the wild
thought, just for a moment, that this poor kid was suffering at House's
hands, and was having a nightmare about whatever bizarre things the man
had been doing to him. But no, Foreman knew there was a softer side of
House, a side that House worked extremely hard to hide. Foreman also
believed that, in his heart of hearts, House genuinely liked kids. He had
a rapport with them. Especially the really little guys.

Foreman walked quickly into the office and knelt next to the chair.
Cameron and Chase were on his heels, but stopped at the door so as not to
crowd them or scare the little boy any more than he already was. 

"Hey... hey, buddy." Foreman touched David's thin shoulder gently. "Hey,
wake up. You're dreaming." 

"NO! NO! NO! NO!" He screamed again, an extremely high-pitched keening
sound.

Foreman grabbed David by his shoulders. "It's alright, David. Wake up!" he
shouted.

David was fighting now, kicking and swinging his arms weakly. Then he came
to at last. Dr. Foreman. He was kicking and hitting Dr. Foreman. He
stopped right away. 

"Are you okay?" Foreman asked. He peered intently at David. The kid was
gasping for breath, and shaking violently. His face was almost completely
drained of color. 

"David?" Cameron felt helpless, because she wanted to comfort him, but
remembered that David didn't like her. It wouldn't do any good to try to
help.

*

"Psychotic...some kind of psychosis...something like that." House was
musing. "Damn." Then he looked up at Wilson. "God, I hope she hasn't got
anything genetic." 

Wilson shrugged. "I don't know. I'm sure there's a name for whatever is
wrong with her. Probably lots of names. I have a great one: Fucking crazy.
She belongs in a psych ward." He leaned back in his chair. "There's no way
she's ever seeing him again, as long as I have anything to do with it. I
don't give a damn about how this adoption thing goes. If anybody tries to
take him from us, we'll go ... live in Mexico."

House was about to agree with Wilson when the oncologist jumped out of his
seat suddenly. His attention was focused across the balcony. Something was
going on with David in House's office. They barreled out of the door,
House first, then Wilson, scrambled over the partition and in through the
other glass door. The ducklings were clustered loosely around David in
House's armchair. Foreman was sitting on the footrest, trying to calm the
boy down. They all looked up at once, except David...who looked like a
little ghost.

"What happened?" House demanded as he knelt down to examine his son. 

No one responded at first, then Foreman reported, "I think he just had a
nightmare."

"He was screaming bloody murder," Chase said. 

Cameron watched as more of her boss' soft side unveiled itself. David was
still gasping shallowly for breath. "David? David, I want you to breathe
slowly. Breathe like Daddy, okay? Just breathe." He opened his mouth and
began to breathe slowly, in and out, approximating the rate of an
eight-year-old's respirations. "Take it easy, buddy. You're okay, you're
safe. Just breathe like me." 

House tried to take the little boy into his arms, but David went
completely rigid and pulled away. He drew his legs up tightly to his chest
and wrapped his arms around them. Shutting his eyes tightly, he murmured,
"Go away." He rocked himself rapidly. "Just go away." 

House backed off right away and shooed the ducklings back into their
conference room. Cameron positioned herself strategically so that she
could continue to watch. House sat on the ottoman. Wilson sat further away
at House's desk.

"Y'think there's something going on between House and Wilson?" Chase asked
casually. He had gotten himself a cup of coffee.

"Oh don't you start." Cameron groaned contemptuously. 

David uncoiled slowly. Ten minutes after the worst of it all, House had
him talking. Cameron couldn't hear what was being said, but she noticed
that gradually the little boy went from whatever emotional shock he was in
to terror, and finally to releasing the terror as much as he could,
through tears. Then he allowed House to hold him for a bit. 

Interesting, Cameron noted, that once David was crying, letting it out,
House picked him up and gestured to Wilson, who came over to them. Wilson
looked pretty shaken up by whatever it was David had just gone through.
Then House handed the child off to Wilson, as if this was something they
did routinely. The younger man sat down with David in his lap, rocking and
talking to him quietly. Eventually David relaxed into Wilson's body. Maybe
there was something going on...

Meanwhile, House had walked out onto his balcony. Allison had to strain
her eyes a bit to see him from her vantage point. He was just standing out
there, leaning on both arms on the concrete wall. Then he folded his arms
across his chest. In profile, his face seemed to take on an expression of
resolve. He limped back into the office, sat on the footrest in front of
Wilson and David, and said something t o Wilson. The oncologist listened,
thought about whatever House was saying, and then nodded. House handed him
his own cell phone, and Wilson made a call while holding David with one
arm. A few minutes later, they managed to get David in an upright
position, and Wilson was walking him out the door.

David was in no condition to hang around the hospital for six more hours,
but he was afraid to go back home without House, so Wilson cleared the
rest of his schedule and drove them back to his own apartment.

House unlocked the door of Wilson's apartment late, around nine that
night. His team had solved their new case in just a few hours, but he'd
still had to stay late. The patient had been treated, but the outcome,
which he knew would be positive, had not yet been determined. Still he was
exhilarated about that. Once he'd pulled himself out of the fog of
diagnosis, and remembered where his guys were, though, he put the patient
completely out of his mind and flew over to Wilson's in the Corvette.

Unlocking the door, he was greeted with a sweet vision: his son and
Wilson, lying on the sofa bed, both sound asleep in the glare of the
television. They had tried to wait up for him. He savored the wave of
affection he felt for them. Quietly, he closed and locked the door, and
put away his jacket, knapsack, and helmet. Then he sat gingerly on the
edge of the bed, close enough that he could caress Wilson's hair. "Wake
up," he whispered.

Wilson's eyes snapped open. He yawned right away, and grabbed hold of
House's hand. "Hi, Greg." He kissed the hand and held it. 

Greg turned their hands over and kissed Wilson's. 

"How'd it go?" Wilson whispered.

"Okay. They lied, I figured it out, lives were saved." House smiled
slightly. 

"And Greg is happy." Wilson gingerly pulled himself into a sitting
position. David frowned at the disturbance and fussed a bit in his sleep. 

"Shhh, baby." Wilson rubbed the boy's back a bit until his breathing
regulated, and carefully edged over to Greg, gesturing for the other man
to rise. 

But it didn't quite work. "Hi, Daddy," David murmured when he saw House.

"Hey..." House moved to the other side of the bed so that he could kiss
his boy. "Goodnight, David." He caressed the thick brown hair. "Love you."


While Wilson spent a few minutes resettling David, House decided to go and
get right into bed. He undressed down to his boxer shorts, popped a
Vicodin, and lay down on his left side, facing Wilson's usual side of the
bed. He closed his eyes just to rest them for a few minutes. 

Wilson joined him just a few minutes later. Sometimes solving a case was
such a high for House that it would be hours before he could relax and
sleep. He was phenomenal in bed, then, too. Tonight, Greg looked pretty
tired, though. Wilson had hoped that they might make love - their little
quickie the other night was just a teaser - but it was obvious that they
would need to talk about David's situation first. Greg wasn't able to put
things that bothered him aside and enjoy the here and now. Wilson could
easily lose himself in the moment, but then that was probably how he'd
stupidly wound up cheating on his wives.

Wilson's bedroom was stark and bare, just plain furniture, looking pretty
much the way it did when the store had delivered it, no art, no curios, no
stuff. David had commented earlier on how plain and un-lived-in the whole
apartment looked to him.

"I guess I just kinda sleep here, David." Wilson had answered. "I do most
of my living with you and Greg."

David then said that Wilson should live with them all the time. Wilson
didn't comment on that one. He and Greg hadn't discussed that much,
lately. Things were working out well for them as they were. No sense in
jinxing a good thing. Their relationship as it was now was still
relatively new, only five months. They would need to move into a bigger
place. And Wilson suspected that his own lousy track record had something
to do with why Greg wasn't all that eager for them to live together. But
one didn't explain things like that to a child. It was too much
information.

He crawled into bed on his side of the queen-sized model, which was
noticeably smaller than House's, and stretched out on his back. "Greg? You
awake, pussycat?" Wilson whispered, in case House had fallen asleep.

"Barely," he replied. Then he rolled onto his side and placed the flat of
his hand on Wilson's chest and began to stroke him slowly. "How was he
after you guys got here?"

Wilson rolled over to face him. Scooting closer, he snuggled up to House
and kissed him. "He was a basket case until I locked the door."

"Yeah?" House continued caressing Wilson, this time, his back. "Did he eat
anything?"

"Little Mac 'n Cheese. Not enough to matter. He's lost weight this week.
Did you notice? His face looks thinner."

Wilson draped one leg and arm over House, and rested his head on the man's
shoulder. "I really hate this. He's already been through hell, and now
it's coming back to haunt him. This is so unfair. I want to take away his
pain, and I can't." Wilson shook his head. "He's looking to us, his dads,
to help him, and we can't do a damn thing."

"No, Wilson, we're helping him." Greg replied. "Stacy gave me a pretty
detailed update today." He kissed the other man's forehead. "Things are
coming together. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow."

"You'll tell me all about it right now." Wilson immediately became
wide-awake and drew himself up to face House in a cross-legged sitting
position. "Go."

Groaning, House rolled onto his side, facing Wilson. "Aw man, I'm really
tired- " 

"I don't care. Spill it." Wilson turned on his bedside lamp.

"Turn it back off, and I'll tell you anything you wanna hear, I swear."

Wilson turned the lamp back off, but remained sitting. "Okay?"

House rolled onto his side and started rubbing circles on Wilson's right
knee. He spoke with his eyes closed. "Okay, the process of adoption in New
Jersey is pretty simple. The new parents have to pass muster; they need to
be healthy and psychologically normal, relatively speaking. Then an
in-home study has to be done, to show that they don't sacrifice little
animals to the monkey-gods. And the kid's emotional and physical health
statuses need to be ascertained. The birth parents have to relinquish
their rights to the child."

"Well, that's insane," Wilson quipped. "She still wants the kid. And she's
crazier than a bedbug."

House shook his head. "Don't worry about that. As far the courts are
concerned, David's mother basically terminated her rights to him when she
abandoned him. She got away with it once - that we know of - but that was
just dumb luck, or a really stupid social worker. Her mental illness would
terminate her rights to him just as easily. The trouble has been that,
until recently, she hasn't been locatable."

House reached up and took Wilson's arms, pulling him down until Wilson was
lying down with him again. Wilson usually loved it when House was in this
mood; he was sleepy, and when House was sleepy, he got mushy and sweet,
sort of like a little kid. But Wilson needed to hear more. He let House
hold him, but prompted him for more information.

"Why would they want to locate her if she's already lost him by default?"

House started speaking in what Wilson called 'Greg's shorthand.' What he
told Wilson was that it couldn't be determined that David's mother had
abandoned her kid because she was a lousy mother, or if she'd only seemed
to abandon him because she was in a coma somewhere. "Apparently, she's
re-applied for welfare recently, and her old record was flagged as part of
the search for her." House went on, "She even tried to claim that David
was still living with her, so she could get even more money. Her lie
prompted her case worker to temporarily deny her any aid at all."

"So now we know why she's been trying to find him," Wilson concluded for
Greg. "She can't attract any more business, looking as sick as she does,
and she can't produce a cute little starving urchin to prove to the State
of New Jersey that she needs money, because we have him." 

"Therefore, she's been camping out at David's school. I guess we're lucky
she HASN'T been hanging out at the apartment" House mused. "I don't even
get why she would think he'd still be at the same school. I would have
checked at the apartment first."

"Except that she's nuts. And she looks pretty sick," Wilson reminded him.
"Maybe she doesn't even remember where they lived. Maybe the school is all
she does remember. Who cares? Her brain's fucked."

"So anyway, we don't have to worry about her blocking David's adoption.
Even if she did try to get him back, she'd never win him back legally."
House concluded, and started settling into a good sleeping position. 

Wilson wasn't satisfied yet. "But you know, we haven't had any physicals
or the in-home study you mentioned." 

House sighed, and began to think they'd never get to sleep. "Well...
that's complicated."

"I'm concerned about how they are going to perceive the whole Vicodin
thing... and your... interesting psychological profile."

"Thanks." 

Wilson hadn't meant any harm. House did have an interesting psychological
profile, but it had been because he had been genuinely miserable, in pain,
and lonely and hurt; not because he had something wrong with his brain.
The misery had lifted, and the loneliness as well, because he now had
Wilson and David to love. The hurt... well, most people lived with a
certain amount of hurt. And House was getting better over the leg thing.
Wilson thought he might never recover from whatever the hell House's dad
had done to him. Sometimes he was surprised, though. It seemed as though
raising his own little boy was helping House to undo some of all that. Not
making the choices that John House had made was somehow healing him.

"Either I will need to go through a really involved evaluation and
'monitoring' process that could take months and months..." House hesitated
for a moment. "Or you can adopt David instead, since not being on Vicodin
obviously makes one a paragon of good parenting." House sounded a little
bitter.

Wilson rolled over onto his back and thought about it for a while. "Honey,
does it really matter which of us actually adopts him?" He took House's
hand and kissed it. "I mean, does it make a difference as long as we are
together? We both love him, we're both raising him."

"It matters," House said tightly. 

"You could choose to stop taking the Vicodin." Wilson wished he could take
that one back, right away.

"Right." House rolled over, turning his back to Wilson. Wilson knew it was
uncomfortable, because he was now putting a lot of weight on the bad leg.

"I'm not letting you sulk on this one, Greg," Wilson grabbed his shoulder
and turned him back around. Greg resisted. "Come on. I'm sorry, it was a
stupid, cheap shot. We can't afford to fight about this."

Sighing, House rolled onto his back again. He didn't look at Wilson, even
though the room was dark. He stared up towards the ceiling. "I... really
wanted to give him my name." 

"I know, love." Wilson whispered soothingly as he scooted closer and
started stroking House's leg. "And I know the Vicodin is hard for you.
I've seen how hard you've been working. I haven't said, but I know you're
taking a lot less; only when you really need to, for David. I've noticed.
I love you for it." 

Both were silent for a few minutes. House was absorbing that Wilson had
known about his weaning himself down to a minimal amount of the drug.
Wilson was waiting for Greg to quit sulking.

"Wilson, if you adopt David, he needs to live with you." House explained.
"He'd have to move in here with you."

Shaking his head, Wilson replied, "Simpler if I just move in with you
guys. I'm practically living there as it is. No point in uprooting the
kid. He's had enough of that already."

"No..." House placed his hand over Wilson's to stop the stroking and
turned his head a bit to look at him. "No, if David is living in the
apartment with an ...addict." He choked on the word. "It's just the same.
I'd have to go through the whole process along with you. It goes for
anyone who lives in the home." He shook his head. "It would happen quicker
if it was just the two of you. And I'd get to be 'Uncle Greg' or
something. Not Daddy. He'd have to move in here with you."

"Greg, I don't think this would be good for David. He's had enough
disruptions in his life. Isn't David worth going through this whole thing
so you can adopt him yourself?"

"Of course he is."

"Then why are we agonizing about this?" Wilson's tone was sharp and
clipped. "You've got this problem, which you've fixed as much as you can.
You've proven for almost eight months that you can take care of a kid - a
kid who has a lot of issues, even. You're a good dad, in spite of the
pills. So you're going to be uncomfortable for a few months. This is our
kid. This is what he needs!" He punched House's shoulder gently. "Suck it
up, Greg. And you tell those social services drones to 'come and get me,
give me your best shot.' I defy them to find any real reason to keep you
from adopting David. 

House sighed. "Then I need three personal references."

Wilson chuckled. "Did I not tell you before all this that you NEED
people?" He began ticking off names on his fingers. "There's... Lisa
Cuddy... and me, of course-"

"You don't count. I've already cast you in the role of my personal
physician. You need to give me a physical tomorrow." 

Wilson smiled devilishly. "Oooooh... Do we get to be naughty in my office?
Maybe one of your kids can vouch for you. I'd pick Cameron or Foreman. You
never know what that weasel Chase will say." He thought a bit longer. "Oh,
and what about Delores Marshall? She thinks you're fan-damn-tastic."

House had lived such an isolated, miserable life up until eight months ago
that, for the life of him, he had not been able to come up with a single
soul that he thought he could use as a personal reference. He had become
used to feeling unloved, and having no one but poor Wilson-the-diehard.
And here Wilson had come up with four excellent choices. 

"David gets to stay with me for now, but it's all provisional." House went
on, sighing, "We'll have to go through six months of social worker visits
before, and six to eighteen months after the adoption."

Wilson knew this was going to be especially hard on Greg. He would have to
do a lot of tongue biting. "Greg, we've gotten off scot-free for the most
part. This other thing is easy. You just continue to keep your Vicodin
thing on the down low, and be a good boy when they talk to you. Keep
remembering that this is for David."

"For David... and for us." House said simply.

"Good Daddy," Wilson praised, and kissed him. "We can do this. It's not so
bad."

"Guess not."

But Wilson could tell that House really hated the whole thing. Being under
scrutiny for months would be, for him, like strutting naked through the
corridors of PPTH every day. He attempted to kid him into accepting their
fate. "I'm actually pleased," Wilson told him. "We should tell David in
the morning. We're adopting a kid! Wanna make out?"

House paused a long time. "Wilson...there's a third option."

Wilson was unbuttoning his pajama top. "Yeah?"

House sat up, propping himself with his pillow on the headboard, and
turned on the lamp. "Yeah. Something ... not precisely on the up-and-up."

"What's that?" Wilson asked warily. 

"Well... Stacy, also known as 'The Puppet Master,' has ...engaged an
...agent. On our behalf." 

"Agent? This already sounds bizarre, House." Wilson said hesitantly.

House was toying with his bottom lip apprehensively. "Only slightly. This
agent, another lawyer, is someone who practices family law, and happens to
deal specifically with making adoptions happen. Our adoption has some ...
kinks in it, so Stacy hired the 'agent,' and assured him that she knows us
personally, and we wouldn't do anything to harm David." When he saw that
the puzzled look on Wilson's face did not change, he added, "We...will not
be privy to any information about this person, to protect them."

"Just what is this person going to be doing?" 

"Has done. This 'agent' has created a complete file for David and me as
foster child and parent. Totally falsified. Interviews, home studies, the
whole shebang."

Wilson was alarmed. "House, that's hugely dishonest."

 House ignored him and continued, "And before that, this 'agent' traced
David and his mother across the country, every medical record, every
social services file, every request for welfare, every report to child
protection agencies about David and his mother, regardless of whether they
were acted upon or not. It's a whopping collection of reports, Wilson,
evidence against his mother, compiled in one place so that she can never
get him back. And our file looks perfectly normal - no one will be able to
tell that it's fake."

"And you know this, because...?"

"Different reasons," House explained. "All the I's are dotted, and all the
t's are crossed, and all the information is totally complete. And any of
the personnel involved are conveniently very difficult or impossible to
track down. For example, the social worker who did all the home studies
retired and moved to someplace in Jamaica late last year. And the judge
who 'approved' the adoption sometime last month (if we choose to go
through with this), died last week." My physical, which took place about
eight months ago needs my private doctor's signatures on a few documents."
He looked at Wilson. His eyes were dark and unreadable. "The documents are
in my bag. I'd need you to look them over and sign them, Dr. Wilson."

Wilson grimaced. "I suppose there is no mention of your meds."

"No."

Wilson shook his head. "We have a better way, a legitimate way. It's just
going to take longer. Why go through all this just to save a few months?"

"Wilson, it could take twenty-four months. David'll be in limbo for
twenty-four months."

"And it might be only twelve. And he'll be WITH US. He doesn't even have
to know anything about it." Wilson was really irritated now, judging by
how he was talking with his hands. "You're talking about stealing a child
here."

"I'm talking about getting it over with. Soon. And we didn't steal him; we
just picked him up. SHE threw him away. Finders keepers. He's in limbo
right now, and he knows it. He's been nervous the whole time he's been
here because he thinks it's going to end at some point." House pointed out
towards the living room. "That little boy out there is going to have a
fucking nervous breakdown."

"House, we're talking about paperwork. Paperwork isn't going to get his
mother out of the way - "

"We'll figure out how to deal with her. Anyway, you said she didn't look
like she'd be around much longer."

"House, this is SO dishonest." Wilson was nearly shouting. "If this thing
backfires, I'm the one who gets hung out to dry."

House shushed him. "Shhh... you'll wake him." He took hold of one of
Wilson's hands. "It's NOT gonna backfire. Stacey assures me that-"

"Yeah, like Stacy really knows. How often does she help people steal
kids?" Wilson snatched his hand away. "I don't want to do it this way,
Greg. We can manage a few months."

"Almost two years."

Two years did seem like a long time. David would be ten before they could
tell him that he was permanently their son. Wilson weighed that against
the possibility that this ersatz adoption might be detected by someone,
that he'd end up in serious hot water. He didn't know what to say or do.
He sighed.

"Wilson..." House tried to take Wilson's hand again. Wilson let him. "It's
late. We have time to think about this. Let's get some sleep."

Wilson lay down next to House. He didn't try to cuddle up to him. He
wasn't sure he wanted to.

House turned off the lamp and settled himself down under the covers.
"'Night."

Wilson rolled over, turning his back to Greg but said nothing.

House spooned up behind and put his arm around Wilson anyway. Wilson
didn't push him away.

They didn't have time to figure out if they were really fighting or not,
though, because the next morning matters turned quite a bit worse.

******

As House woke, he slowly became aware of his surroundings. The bed felt
different, and the way the light shone in the room was all wrong - oh
yeah, they were at Wilson's. He heard Wilson's soft breaths next to his
ear. His lover was draped over the entire left side of his body. They had
been up so late the night before that House decided that he wanted to let
Wilson sleep awhile, and perhaps doze a little himself. So he just lay
there quietly, holding Wilson and listening to him breathe. 

David liked waking a little early on Saturdays. He would drag himself out
of bed and clean up a bit, then settle on the leather sofa to nibble a
little sickly sweet dry cereal in front of morning cartoons while he
waited for his dads to rise for the day. 

Sometimes, if they left House's bedroom door ajar, he would go in after an
hour or so and wake them. This was probably the best kind of family time
they had together. Daddy was often still a little sleepy because of the
medicine he took, but Wilson was always wide awake once he opened his
eyes. The two of them would cuddle in bed and have the best little
whispery talk until Daddy caught up and then it would be the three of
them, just being together.

David didn't know where he was. His skinny body spasmed, and he flung his
arms out, as if to still the bed around him as he felt a wave of vertigo.
Then he remembered that they were staying at Wilson's apartment. Then he
remembered why. All the grief that he had somehow managed to forget while
he slumbered came back to him full-force. 'Oh, no.' 

He went to use the bathroom. When he washed his hands, he was relieved
that he couldn't see his reflection in the mirror because it was too high.
David had never stayed at Wilson's place, so there wasn't a stepstool for
him. He didn't want to look at himself, because he was afraid that his
mother's mean voice would come back in his head. 

Out in the hallway, he checked the door of Wilson's bedroom. It was
closed, but he really wanted his dad right now. Timidly, he tapped on the
door and waited. "Come in," Daddy's quiet voice surprised him. When he
opened the door, he saw that Wilson was still sleeping, and Daddy was
holding him, but it wasn't a private kind of hug. David climbed up on the
bed and sat next to House. 

"Hey buddy," House reached over and squeezed David's thin shoulder.
"How're you feeling?"

"Okay." David did feel mostly okay. He didn't have to tell Daddy or Wilson
that his stomach was jumping; they wouldn't be able to see that. 

"You hungry?"

"N-no." David scooted over until he was snuggling close to House wherever
Wilson wasn't already. "W-w-wilson n-needs a p-p-p-p-piaaaano. I g-gotta
p-p-p-p-practice."

"...Cold?" House put his right arm around the boy. 

"No, D-daddy." David's face gave a little twitch. 

House thought it best to ignore whatever this was for the moment, but to
observe his son.

"No nightmares?"

David didn't remember any. "Nnnope." He forced a smile at House. "I-I
h-h-had a g-g-g-good n-night." He shook his head to make his mouth knock
it off. "Good night." He repeated, doing over the phrase.

House was looking at him cautiously, frowning slightly. "Are you sure
you're okay, David?"

David shrugged. "Y-yeah. I-I-I-I-I-I...." He jerked his head and moved on
to the next word, "I'm g-g-good (jerk), D-d-d...(jerk) d aaaaaadd-dy." He
smiled slightly. Then he saw Daddy shake Wilson awake a bit roughly.
"Wh-what's wrong?"

House untangled himself from Wilson and sat up in bed, pulling David close
to him, and peering into the boy's deep green eyes. "David... do you
realize that you are stuttering?" he asked in a soft, soft, voice. House
held the boy's hands in his, noting in the back of his mind that he'd
bitten some of his fingernails until the edges were seeping a little
blood.

David frowned. He knew things were different. He was having trouble
talking, but he often had trouble talking. Talking was sometimes hard for
him because he'd been forced to keep quiet for so long. He liked talking
now, though, especially to Wilson and Daddy. "I'm o-o-kaaaay," he insisted
in a quavering, unsteady voice.. "D-d-d-don't worry D-d-daddy." He was
aware now that, not only was he stuttering pretty badly, he was jerking
his head every now and then in an attempt to arrest the stutter.

Wilson was wide awake now. His expression was as concerned as his dad's.
"St-st-st-stop looking at m-m-me l-like th-that!" the little boy cried.
"E-everyth-thing is j-j-j-j-j-j-j-uuust f-fine." He grabbed his daddy's
hand. "I'm j-j-j-just a little nervous c-c-cause y-you keep
l-l-l-l-looking like t-t-that." David gave a little 'snif,' the way he did
when he began to smell his mother's Chanel No. 5. Terrified, he released
House's hand and drew in on himself like a little snail, the way he had
after yesterday's nightmare in House's office. He pulled his knees up to
his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Dropping his head down on his
kneecaps, he started to cry, broken-heartedly. Now he sounded funny. How
could House and Wilson still want him now? He was so screwed-up!

Wilson pulled David across the bed, and wrapped himself around the little
boy. "Oh, baby, baby, it's gonna be okay. It's gonna be alright." He made
David lie down in the middle of the bed and started giving him a back
massage as he said soothing things to the boy. "It's alright, love, it's
fine. You're okay. Don't cry sweetheart. Your Daddy and your Wilson are
right here with you. Shhhh, baby. We love you. Shhh." 

At the same time, House stretched out alongside David and watched him
carefully until the boy's body seemed to relax a little. Then he said to
Wilson, "Where's your laptop?"

Wilson didn't miss a beat as he stroked David's taut muscles. "You're
needed right here, Daddy."

"Be right back. Where is it?"

Wilson sighed. "In the kitchen, I think. House kept one ear trained on the
little drama that was unfolding in Wilson's bedroom while he surfed the
web for the information he needed. He came back into the bedroom once to
get his wallet, and left again. Twenty minutes later, he returned. David
had dozed off. Wilson was lying next to the boy on his back. "That was
scary, Greg."

"Yeah." House sat down on Wilson's side of the bed. "One of us is taking
him away for a week. Starting tomorrow. I found a place. He likes the
beach. The question is, on such short notice, which one of us will piss
Cuddy off the most?"

************* By mutual agreement, House and Wilson took David to the
hospital and examined him thoroughly. Just in case his emotional state had
caused some real illness to rear its ugly head. They found nothing more
serious than that he was about to lose his canine teeth. Which meant only
one thing. Their boy was so upset that his fear was manifesting itself in
neurological and physical symptoms. Smelling non-existent perfume,
stuttering, the tic, the nail-biting, and now the jumpy stomach. Their son
was a basket case, courtesy of his crazy mother.

Wilson disappeared from the examination room in the clinic while Greg was
giving David a verbal examination to assess whether his thinking was
impaired. He returned from the pharmacy a few minutes later with a bottle
of medicine. 

"Okay?" he asked Greg, referring to the examination.

"He's okay. He knows as much as an adult should know."

Wordlessly, Wilson handed Greg the bottle, and waited for the other man's
reaction. It was a Valium syrup used primarily for children. He needn't
have been concerned about what House thought. The man knew 2 days ago that
the kid needed help calming down. House chose not to say anything at this
point about Wilson's anger over the Vicodin the other day. He merely found
a measuring cup and gave David some of the drug. 

**********

Cuddy was more than amenable, in spite of the short notice. House hadn't
had a vacation in years; he and PPTH had long since needed a vacation from
one another. Furthermore, She liked David, and was genuinely concerned
about his mental health after Wilson had related the stammering incident. 

House took David down to North Carolina, the Outer Banks, for a primo
beach experience. Wilson had stayed behind so that they weren't depriving
the hospital of both of them on such short notice. They would miss each
other, but it couldn't be helped just then. They would make do.

It was hard work, just getting there. The nearest large airport had been
150 miles away from their destination. Their flight landed in early
afternoon, but it took another 4 hours to get their luggage, rental car,
and to arrive at the house. 

House had rented a small beachfront place. It was octagonal-shaped, with
lots of deck space, and a long, wooden pathway that led straight out to
the beach so that he wouldn't have to limp through the dunes. It also had
a small elevator so that he wouldn't have to deal with the steps. David
had been intrigued; he'd never seen a house that was basically up on
stilts! They were able to park the rental car underneath the small
dwelling. He had had to wait patiently as House climbed the first flight
of steps. Then the doctor unlocked the door. 

The first level of the house looked a bit dark, until they started opening
the doors to the different rooms. There were 3 bedrooms and two bathrooms
on this level. One of the bathrooms had a huge bathtub with jets.
"Jacuzzi," House called it. They found the elevator next, and rode up to
the next floor.

The second floor was bright and cheery-looking. Other than a huge master
bedroom off to one side, it was mostly one gigantic room with a big dining
and kitchen area, a large place for sitting and watching TV, and a giant
glass wall of windows and doors that faced the ocean. Outside the glass
doors was a very large deck. House opened the door and let them out onto
it. The shore was close, almost a stone's throw. 

"D-daddy." Came David's awe-stricken whisper. Then he remembered that he
didn't want to talk anymore, because his mouth didn't work right. The
little boy ran to the railing and gazed out over the dunes at the wide,
blue-green ocean. House joined him a second later. He hooked his cane over
the railing and picked the boy up so that he could get an even better
view. He turned in his dad's arms and hugged him.

"Wanna go down to the water?" he asked.

David looked at his dad. He knew that House should be really tired by now.
They had walked and walked a long time through the airports, and then the
steps. And sitting and driving for hours was hard for his dad's leg. Plus
they had to somehow carry all their stuff up more steps. He knew it pissed
Daddy off when Wilson pointed out things like that, though, so he took a
different angle. "L-later." He said. "W-w-w-w-wanna sh-shower."

House shrugged. They were kind of grungy after traveling all day. "Okay."
He thought a moment. "We've gotta get our stuff first, though."

It turned out not to be such a hard task after all. House had packed rope
and gloves in his suitcase. David was able to get everything out of the
trunk of the rental car and to tie the handle of each case. House then
hauled them up to the first deck, one by one. From that level, they just
wheeled everything inside and put it all into the elevator and rode the
rest of the way up. Unpacking was easy - they just shoved all their stuff
into the drawers of the dresser of the master bedroom. Even though there
was plenty of space, they decided to just sleep together in the one room
for starters. House wouldn't try to make David get used to sleeping alone
in this strange place, particularly considering how frightening his life
had become lately.

It was nearly dark now. David had deliberately dawdled a bit because he
wanted his daddy to get some sleep before they went to the beach. Now it
was too late to go, and they would have to wait until morning. Good. For
good measure, David had fooled around in the humongous shower for about 30
minutes. When he came out in his bathrobe, still drying his hair, he
asked, "D-d-d-d-diiiinner?." 

House had planned to stock the fridge after they arrived, but hadn't given
eating another thought until that moment. He did find a telephone
directory and searched for pizza delivery for the town of Salvo. Within 40
minutes, they were having Papa John's at the end of the long dining table.
David thought that pizza never tasted so good as it did at that moment.

House decided he wanted a shower, too. "You gonna be okay for a few
minutes? I'll be back soon. Why don't you check out the TV?" 

David started cleaning up from their dinner - just washing the two plates
and putting the pizza box in the fridge - with the TV noises for company.

House was impressed with the giant shower. It was about 5'x 5' with glass
brick walls and a stone tile floor. Powerful jets sprayed water from all
four sides. He could stay here for maybe... 3 or 4 weeks, he thought. Just
in the shower. He'd just need IV fluids...

House's cell phone rang while David was sprawled on the sofa in his
pajamas, waiting for House. He checked the caller ID, and smiling, picked
it up. "Hi W-wilson!" he chirped.

Wilson was pleasantly surprised. He didn't think David would voluntarily
pick up the phone, sounding as he did now. "Hi baby. I guess you guys made
it there okay?"

David lay back down on the sofa. "Y-yeah."

"Yeah? Did you like riding on the plane?" 

David had wanted to say that at first he didn't , but after House had
given him some gum to make his ears adjust, he was just fine, and actually
enjoyed some of it. But he didn't say anything, except. "Y-y-yes."

Wilson closed his eyes. It really hurt to hear his little boy suffering
like this. "That's good. Where's Daddy?"

"Sh-shower." Then David changed the subject. "M-m-m-miss you,
W-w-w-w-wilson."

"I miss you too, honey. But it'll be okay. I want you to try and have a
good time, 'cause we'll see each other in a week, right?"

"Yeah." 

"Go tell Daddy to get a move on. I wanna talk to him."

"'K-k-kay."

House was sitting on the built-in bench in the shower, bathed in steam and
pulsating jets of water. He planned to get out when the water got cold,
and not a minute before. Then David knocked on the door. "D-d-daddy!
Iiiiit's W-wilson!"

"Tell him I'll call back in-"

"N-N-NOW!" David interrupted. He didn't want to say all that.

"Damnit..." House grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and limped
to the door without his cane. He opened the door, took the phone from
David and closed it again. "You realize," he bitched at Wilson, "I was
about to experience the worlds first upper-thigh orgasm?" 

Wilson laughed aloud. "Hi pussycat, you miss me?"

House peered through the steam at the shower, and the bench. Oh, the
possibilities were endless. "Oh yeah," he replied. 

**************

At midmorning, House and David were on the deck of the little beach house
they were renting. It was a perfect time of year. Salvo, North Carolina
was not exactly "Girls Gone Wild" territory, and it was still off season,
slightly after spring breaks had taken place. The result was that they and
just a few other people had nearly a half mile of beach to themselves.
Sweet. House had chosen a house with 'beach access,' meaning that there
was a wooden walk that skimmed through the otherwise unspoiled dunes.
House could get almost all the way out to the beach before he had to deal
with the sand. 

They had spent every day doing almost exactly the same things. Watch the
sun rise on the upper deck of the beach house. Sleep a little more. An
unnecessarily large breakfast, followed by more lethargy. Then, when it
was pretty hot out, a walk to the beach where they sunned themselves.
Lunch either on the beach or back on the deck of the house. Then more time
on the beach, or an afternoon exploring the shops and museums that were
open on Hatteras, or Ocracoke Islands. They had to take the car on a ferry
over to Ocracoke, which was totally fascinating to David, so they did it
almost every day.

On the beach, David had gotten progressively braver each day and would go
out into the waves to his knees. House didn't encourage any more than
that, because he didn't think he could get to the boy fast enough if he
got knocked down by a wave and dragged under by the harsh riptide. House
had also rented a small beach cruiser bicycle and helmet and started
teaching David to ride. 

House was something of a sandcastle expert. Each day, they had made
something more elaborate than the last. David seemed to enjoy the
architectural exercise. 

****************

Wilson missed House. They had been gone for three days now. Even though
there had been phone calls every night, and a couple of "just because"
calls in between, it wasn't the same as having them near. He needed to see
his sweet little boy, hear him round out the corners of their home life
with his singing and piano practice. Wilson was missing taking care of him
and putting him to bed at night. He even missed folding little shirts and
underwear, and making him extra snacks in the hope of putting an extra few
ounces on the kid's skinny frame. 

And Greg. God, he missed his lover. They hadn't made love since the
dishwashing game, and that was eight days ago. It wasn't as if they'd
never gone that long before without having sex; it was just that with Greg
away, there was no * possibility * of them having sex. That made it all
the worse. 

Wilson drove to Greg's place instead of his own. He would bring in the
mail and the newspaper, and change the lighting to make the place looked
lived in, maybe turn the stereo on low, instead of the TV, which he'd left
on two nights ago. 

Once he was there, though, Wilson found that he felt a little less lonely.
He was surrounded by them now, in a sense. The place smelled like House
and David, and he was surrounded with all the things his two guys loved.
The piano, sheaves of sheet music, the TV, the big leather sofa. He felt
comfortable for the first time in four days. So he decided to stay. He
checked Greg's closet and found a fresh suit of his, wrapped in plastic
from the dry cleaner. Greg must have sent it out for him, because he
didn't remember doing so. He checked the one drawer that Greg had
relinquished to him, and found socks, underwear, and his spare shaving
kit. Good. No pajamas, though. No matter; he'd either wear something of
Greg's or nothing.

Settled in front of the TV, Wilson had one of David's microwave Mac &
Cheese TV dinners while he watched an infomercial. He wasn't even bored.
After he'd downed the last bite of the bland meal, he stretched out on the
sofa and waited for a good time to go to bed. He wasn't tired, wasn't
sleepy. He was lonely, and horny as hell. He hadn't felt so horny since
the first time he and House had made love, five months ago. Thinking about
that night made him smile to himself. At least the memory could keep him
company for a while.

*

Wilson had become quite content with the way things had been going in
their new relationship for nearly eight weeks. He and House had been going
very slowly; they had spent their weekends mostly together, with David. In
the evenings, once the boy was asleep, they cuddled and necked on the sofa
in front of the TV. And then House sent Wilson home. Even though they
hadn't yet consummated their relationship, Wilson was loving the
seduction. He sometimes didn't even try to relieve the pressure by
pleasuring himself when he got home. Instead, he let it build and build,
let it drive him to utter distraction. He couldn't wait to be with House
again, to feel his soft lips and rough stubble. He began to crave House's
hands on more and more of his (mostly clothed) body. He didn't push,
though; he waited to see where the hell House was leading them. This was
the most sexually thrilling time of his life.

Wilson had been a little nervous about how things would be at work, once
they had begun to explore with one another. He needn't have worried. House
had a lot more class than his best friend had realized. He didn't try to
touch or kiss him at the wrong time or in the wrong place. Not even in the
elevator, which Wilson had actually fantasized about a few times. House
only did one thing that completely blew Wilson out of the water. He had
this intense, incredibly sexy, smoldering, possessive LOOK that made
Wilson glad he wore a lab coat. He started keeping it buttoned up. Greg
could turn the look on and off at will, which made Wilson completely
crazy. But he never turned it on when someone else might see. The LOOK was
just for Wilson. Wilson's reaction to the LOOK was to drop something, or
to lose his train of thought when he was speaking.

Finally, FINALLY, Wilson did push House over the edge, inadvertently. It
wasn't even that he had done anything particularly seductive or sexy;
Wilson had stolen Greg's heart for good because he told little David that
he loved him. House had fallen over just that. "My kid knows he has two
people in the world who love him now," House had said later, "Automatic
panty-peeler." When the oncologist had thought about it later, he supposed
that it was evidence that Wilson was serious, bringing his feelings for
David into the mix. And that had thawed the crusty old bastard's heart.

"Come to bed with me," House had said to him, holding out his free left
hand. Somehow, that had been the single most erotic sentence Wilson had
ever heard in his life. House took Wilson to bed that night and made love
to him for what seemed like hours. And later, they held one another and
talked long into the night. 

"I know everything now," Wilson had crooned. He kissed House's chin. They
lay inches apart, on their sides, in the dark bedroom. House was slowly
stroking the other man's side from his ribcage down to his thigh, over and
over, relishing the silkiness of his smooth, bare skin.

"What do you know, Jimmy?" House half-whispered. His speech was different
when he made love, Wilson would soon come to learn. It was gentler and
softer, and a bit slurred. House spoke slowly, the way he did when he'd
had a couple drinks, as if it took a bit more effort than usual. Greg
House was intoxicated, his sharp edginess was somehow dulled by love and
sex. 

Wilson kissed him again, this time, his right jawbone. "Your secret."

"I have a secret?"

Wilson needed to feel House's body against his. He moved closer so that
they were skin-to-skin again from head to toe. "Ohhhh.... You feel so
good, Greg."

Greg agreed with a little moan. "Ah Jimmy... Sweet Jimmy..." He slurred.

"I think you have many secrets, Greg, but I just learned one. A big one."

"Umm. Which one do you know all of a sudden?"

Wilson got his arms around his new lover and Greg held him, too.
Deliberately brushing House's ear with his lips a few times before kissing
the lobe, Wilson whispered. "You're a big ol' pussycat." He caressed the
other man's shoulder blades. "You love sponge."

House shrugged. "You'll never be able to prove it."

Wilson chuckled. "Don't have to. Anyway, I have no intention of sharing
this information with anyone; I plan to use it strictly for my
own...wicked...purposes." He punctuated each word with a kiss, and began
to work his way down to his ultimate goal, which was the man's furry
chest. He began to caress House's abdomen with his hands, and attempted to
move lower...

"Ohhh... Jimmy... you've got to be kidding. You want more?"

Smiling, Jimmy nodded. "You've been seducing me for two months! I'm still
young. I've got all this pent-up semen to release."

"Hey, no one said you couldn't have talked to the hand," House teased.

"True, but I was saving myself for you. Would you believe I actually had a
wet dream the other night? I was like... FOURTEEN the last time that
happened!"

House laughed at that, delighted that he'd had such an effect on Jimmy,
and completely thrilled that Jimmy had tried to save himself for their
first time. "If you're trying to do this old man in, I feel it's only fair
to warn you that all I'm leaving you in my will is David. Oh..."

Wilson pulled his mouth away from nibbling a rapidly hardening nipple to
tease with: "The only other thing you have that I would want would be
useless to me if you were dead."

"Well, rigor mortis lasts for awhile after death..."

Wilson bit him playfully. "That's just gross, Greg."

"Ow! See, you were wrong about the pussycat thing."

Wilson hugged him, caressing his back, feeling his shoulder blades and
every rib, every vertebra. "No, I wasn't. That's what made me want you,
Greg."

Greg inhaled sharply. Those words... Wilson wanted him. He knew that now,
but hearing it sent a sharp thrill of pleasure through his body. 

"I've wondered before what it would be like between us, if we became
lovers." Wilson buried his face in House's neck, kissing and nibbling
between phrases. "I put it out of my mind, because I never imagined you
would want to. Or if you did, you wouldn't ever let ME know that." He
pulled back a little bit and looked into the other man's eyes, which were
well illuminated by the streetlight and moonlight that shone into them
from the window. "I was afraid you might tell me to go to hell, too. I
didn't want to risk losing you altogether." He began to kiss House's lips
and stubbled face again. "Then things kept changing, because of David."
When Greg didn't protest his words, Wilson continued, "David softened you
up for me. Kinda cracked open that tough shell you wear. Then I got to see
Greg; the real Greg, the best of Greg, little by little."

House didn't flinch from the truth. "You didn't run away, screaming into
the night," he said softly.

"Now why would I?" He kissed House's mouth firmly. "I didn't see anything
scary in there," he tapped a finger on Greg's chest. "I didn't see
anything I couldn't somehow love." Then he said it clearly and firmly: "I
love you, Greg."

This would have been a great opening for about a million rude and snarky
remarks that would serve to protect his brittle heart. But Greg House
chose not to say a word, for once. Wilson hoped that Greg House was
finally choosing love instead of the perpetual hurt he had been living
with for most of his life, particularly the past six years. At any rate,
House seemed unable to speak at all. House couldn't speak because he was
crying. Perhaps he didn't mind Wilson knowing some of his secrets, but
Wilson knew that House really didn't want his lover to him cry, no way. He
buried his face in the crook of Wilson's neck and concentrated on
breathing evenly.

Wilson knew, though. He had started to pretend that he didn't, but then he
chose something somewhere between love and ignorance, to let Greg off the
hook just a little bit. For now.

"Pussycat," he teased softly, and continued making love to his Greg.

*

Wilson took a long, cold shower and changed into a pair of Greg's pajamas.
House had a backlog of pristine pajama tops and a few faded pairs of
pants. Instead of trying to match a top with a bottom, Wilson just put on
a clean bottom and no top, and hopped into Greg's bed. 

RING! It was Wilson's cell phone. That would be Greg calling to say
goodnight. 

"Are you naked?" House invariably teased him with that phrase when he
wanted to know if Wilson was alone.

"I miss you, honey," were the first words Wilson uttered.

House chuckled. "I miss you too. You cannot imagine how Wilson withdrawal
is affecting my brain. You think Vicodin is tough, man..."

"Same here. I just took a cold shower. First time in five months."

"Hmm... Are you in bed? Did I wake you?"

"You didn't wake me, but I'm in YOUR bed."

Greg paused for about three seconds. "Ohhh. Things are much more dire than
I had presumed."

"I thought I'd roll around in whatever genetic material you've left
behind."

"Dude, you should totally ditch and come down here. The waves are gnarly,
man."

Wilson snickered. "Hey, I really want to be with you and David. I'm sorry
I'm missing out. The rest of the week is really gonna suck, too. Just
boring stuff. But I need to hang around for at least the next couple days.
After that, it'd be a waste of money and energy to come all the way down
there for two days." 

"Yeah..." 

Wilson knew that Greg didn't really agree, because he didn't care about
money when it came to securing ultimate experiences. "How's the kid?"

House sighed. "About the same as yesterday. He fell asleep about two hours
ago. I got him good and tired out. We spent half the day down on
Ocracoke." House paused, and it sounded like he was sipping something.
"You're getting a positively ugly...thing he picked out for you."

"House!" Wilson exclaimed reproachfully, "Don't say that. You'll hurt his
feelings."

"Oh no, I told him to pick out the ugliest, most useless thing he could
find. I told him you'd want something crappy to go with all the other crap
in your office. Thought that might be more fun for you than trying to
figure out something nice to say about a tie with a big-assed lighthouse
on it."

Wilson laughed, delighting in his lover's wicked sense of humor. "I love
you, babe."

Then Wilson knew that he had overwhelmed Greg's deprived heart again,
because House changed the subject quickly. It happened sometimes. Wilson
had two fragile hearts in his care, but sometimes he still forgot and
loved them a little too hard.

"He finally got the bicycle. He rode the damn thing for two hours. You
should see him."

"Yeah? Cool. We should get him one for the summer. He can ride it around
the track at the hospital." 

House yawned. "Oh yeah - he's on less Valium. I'm only giving it to him
before bed now, and only half the original dose."

Wilson smiled, relieved. "Oh god, that's wonderful. That's so good, honey.
How's the stutter?"

"Mostly gone." 

Wilson thought he detected a hint of barely concealed triumph in Greg's
voice. "Oh man." He felt tears prick his eyes. "Greg, are you sure?"

He could hear the smile in Greg's voice. "Yeah. Of course, he's only
speaking to me for the most part. But I only noticed it once today, when
he bought your god-awful present. He paid for it himself, and he stumbled
over a couple words with the clerk."

"Stranger- Maybe talking to a stranger upped his anxiety a little?"

"Yeah. Anyway, overall, he's doing well. Misses his other daddy, though.
He's gonna have kitten tomorrow when he realizes he missed you tonight."

"Let him call me at the hospital. I'll drop everything."

"Good Daddy," House said, using Wilson's usual praise for him when he did
something especially nice for David. "Guess I'm ready to turn in too. I'm
pretty beat."

"Give yourself a hug for me." Wilson told him.

"You too."

"I love you, Greg."

"I love you, too, Sweet Jimmy." Greg said softly, and hung up.

Wilson rolled onto his side and burrowed deep under the covers on House's
side of the bed. He hugged his pillow to his belly, and sighed softly. The
next four days were going to be a bitch, but he thought the reunion sex
was going to be spectacular.

*********** David was so scared that he couldn't feel his body. He didn't
know how he was standing up, even. But he was. SHE was shouting at him,
but he couldn't figure out what it was he was supposed to say or do. He
was so afraid that he just couldn't understand HER. He tried to say he was
sorry, "I-I-I-I-I-I'm s-s-sorry, M-m-m-mommy."

She cuffed him just above his left ear. "You're NOT listening. If you
can't stop that disgusting, nasty habit, then just shut your mouth."

He didn't know what habit she meant, so he did keep his mouth shut, and
tried listening to everything she said for clues, while he thought hard
about what might have set her off. There was a call from school, from his
new teacher, but David didn't know what she had said to his mother about
him. He remembered that his mother kept saying that David was just fine,
that he didn't need speech therapy. She told the teacher that she would
straighten out the problem at home, and to mind her own business. Then she
hung up the phone and started yelling at David. Something was wrong with
the way he was talking.

His mother grabbed him by the shoulders and snatched him over to stand in
front of her where she sat in one of the kitchen chairs. "Talk." She
commanded. 

David couldn't. She told him that if he couldn't stop, then he should stop
talking altogether. He didn't know exactly what he was supposed to stop
doing when he talked! And he didn't know what it was he was supposed to
talk about.

"TALK!" She screamed at him. "Say good morning!"

"G-g-g-good-"

"NO!" She shook him. "Say it right."

"G-g-g-g-g-g-goooo-"

She shook him. "Are you trying to get me in trouble for shaking you again?
Do it right!"

David shook his head. "C-c-c-can't, M-m-m-mommy. I can't."

She whacked his shoulder. "You little liar. You just did." 

David started to cry. Sometimes he didn't make the funny sounds, but most
of the time, since he went back to his mother a year ago, when he was
four, his throat seized up when he spoke, and made machine-gun noises. He
didn't know how not to do it. 

Mommy's voice got icy and hard. "David. Stop. It. Right. Now."

He knew that he had better mind her, any which way he could. He pressed
down hard in his mind to make the tears stop. He let his mind go out of
focus, and looked down at the floor as he clenched his teeth.
"O-o-o-okay." 

She smacked his arm again. "I told you to stop it."

David just stood there, saying nothing, waiting for HER to be done with
him. She stared at him. He didn't dare meet her gaze. She would say mean
things to him, or hurt him again. He waited. The room was so silent that
he could hear the gears grinding in the cheap electric cat clock that
wagged its tail on the wall. David heard the faucet dripping. He could
even hear the kids next door playing in their apartment. He wished he
could be one of them. Those kids always seemed to be happy and safe. David
knew that he wasn't safe, especially when SHE got quiet. He knew that
something bad was coming, and he didn't know what, so he had no idea how
he might stop it.

She got up and stalked away into her bedroom. When she returned, she sat
down again. David hadn't moved. He knew that she would be angry if he
moved. So he stayed frozen into place until she either stayed away for a
long time or came back.

Smiling, SHE ordered, "David, say 'Good morning, Mommy.'"

David clenched his little fists, willing himself to get it right, say it
right, damnit! "G-g-g-ood... N-n-no!"

SHE had sprayed something in his face. Something that smelled strong and
foreign, a chemical of some kind.

David coughed and spluttered for about two minutes.

"Knock it off." SHE ordered. "Say it again."

"G-g-g-good."

The atomizer came up into his view, and in slow, slow motion, he watched
as each droplet flew from the nozzle into his face, his eyes, his nose,
his mouth. Then he couldn't breathe. Oddly, he took the time to read the
foreign words on the bottle: "Chanel," "NO," and "5." 'I'm five years
old,' David thought disjointedly. Then his lungs were on fire and suddenly
he just stopped doing anything at all, because he was falling to the
floor. 

*

House felt wetness soaking into his side first. That woke him. "Oh
Christ," he swore aloud. David had wet the bed. He'd never done that
before. The tall doctor shook himself awake and turned on the lamp in time
to watch the boy, who was still in the throes of one of his hellish
nightmares. He was clutching his throat and gasping for air, as if he was
having an asthma attack. House shook him to quickly end his misery. 

Twenty minutes later, they were settling down again. House did all he
could to prevent David feeling embarrassed about having wet the bed. He
handled the situation just like one of the boy's usual nightmares: he
cleaned him up, cleaned up the bed, gave him a little more Valium, and got
him back down as quickly as possible. Now it was just a matter of soothing
him back to sleep. David was responsive, but he hadn't said a word. House
just lay down next to him and put his arms around the boy. David had that
mannequin feeling again.

"D-d-d-d-daddy...?" David whispered, almost inaudibly.

"Yeah?"

He spoke just a hair louder, "I-I-I-I-I-I-I w-w-w-waaant m-m-my
W-w-w-w-w-wilson, D-d-daddy." David started crying then, heartbroken
because he knew he wasn't really any better. He hadn't stopped stuttering
at all.

House closed his eyes as he felt his heart sink. "You wanna talk to
Wilson?" He reached back behind himself for his cell phone that was on the
nightstand.

"N-no. Iiiii-I-I w-w-want m-m-m-my W-w-w-w-w-wilson r-right h-h-h-h-here."
He patted the bed on the other side of him.

David wanted the shelter of his protector AND his comforter. 

Outside of a phone call, House couldn't produce David's Wilson, so he did
the next best thing. He held David into his lap and rocked him to sleep,
talking gently to him all the while. The Valium eventually kicked in and
knocked him out. One minute he was sobbing, the next he was snoring. House
dried David's face with the hem of his t-shirt, and tucked him in again.
Once he was pretty sure his boy wouldn't wake up again, he went out on the
deck with his phone. At that moment, House wanted his Wilson, too.

***********

Lisa Cuddy had left a message on Wilson's voice mail, but hadn't said what
it was that she wanted. As soon as he had a break of a decent length,
Wilson stopped into her office to see her. He didn't need to wait to be
announced. Cuddy was between office assistants again - she never cared
much for having one, anyway. He just tapped on her door and waved when she
looked up from her work. "Hi!" She waved him in.

"Hey Lisa. You wanted to see me?" When he got a good look at her, he had
to smile, because she was wearing one of what's House called "Cuddy's
'fuck me' tops." The neckline plunged deeply enough to show her cleavage
and the slight swell of each breast. Wilson had had years of practice at
keeping his eyes front-and-center around Cuddy. Eventually, he'd become
almost, but not totally, desensitized to the view.

"Oh, you could've called, it wasn't anything urgent." She sat back in her
thickly padded chair and indicated one of the comfortable seats in front
of her desk. "Take a load off. Want some coffee?" 

Wilson declined the coffee. "No, I'm hoping to get lots of sleep tonight."

"Having trouble?"

"Just a little. What's up?" He decided to change the subject before Cuddy
started probing into exactly WHY Wilson wasn't sleeping.

Cuddy went right to the heart of the matter. "I was hoping to get an
update on House's little David." 

Wilson didn't respond right away. He looked down at his hands, and thought
about how to answer the question without giving away too much about his
relationship with House. "...Not so well, Lisa." He finally said. "He has
nightmares all the time. And lately, the kid's developed a really nasty
stutter."

Lisa shook her head. "Poor baby." She looked up at Wilson. "What's wrong
with him, Wilson? I mean, what's his story?"

"I know this is none of my business," she added quickly. "And I am aware
that you don't have to answer my questions about House, just because I'm
your employer. I'm just curious, and I kind of wish I could do something
to help. He... seems like a sweet little boy, but at the same time, he's
so..." Cuddy trailed off.

"Tortured?" Wilson suggested.

Cuddy didn't agree precisely, but that was the word she was thinking to
say. "He seems like a kid in distress. You've seen kids in the clinic
whose behavior makes you think there's something weird going on in their
homes? David kind of reminds me of one of them, sometimes."

Wilson sighed and nodded. David had been afraid of Cuddy for a while,
until she took matters in her own hands and made peace with the boy. 

Even though Greg might disagree, Wilson didn't really begrudge Cuddy the
information about David. Neither she nor House's ducklings had been very
nosy about David in the months since David had become House's kid. Well,
in the beginning, Cameron had asked a lot of questions, but once she
realized that she wasn't getting any satisfaction, she stopped. Wilson had
deftly deflected her queries out of loyalty to House and David was no help
either; he wouldn't speak to Cameron at all. Most of the nurses and other
staff at the hospital knew who David was, had gotten used to him being
around, and thought he was a nice little kid, but no one really knew much
about him. He was a master at blending in and not calling any attention to
himself. The only person at PPTH that seemed to make any real connection
with David at all, beyond the casual, was Foreman, who probably was the
least interested in the boy. David thought that Foreman was cool. 

"He's got Post-traumatic stress disorder," Wilson told her.

"Yes. That's what I was just trying to say," Cuddy replied dryly. "But
what happened to him? And why's he so freaked out now? He was a basket
case last Friday. And that whole perfume incident a few months ago was
just bizarre."

Wilson sighed, and decided to come clean. They would probably need Lisa's
help with adopting David soon. "He and his mother lived across the hall
from House. We've discovered that she was quite abusive with him. She used
to kick the kid out of the house for hours at a time when she was
working...she was a hooker."

"How convenient for House," Lisa Cuddy half-joked.

"No." Wilson replied bluntly.

"Just kidding." Cuddy registered in the back of her mind that Wilson
sounded kind of ...defensive just then, and wondered why. Ordinarily, he
would have chuckled wryly. "Sorry... What happened to David's mom? Where
is she now?" 

"She abandoned him. He was living in House's hallway for four days before
he even noticed."

"That poor little boy."

"He's such a nervous wreck now because she wants him back. She's been
hanging around his school, hoping to grab him."

"After abandoning him for eight months? What kind of creature...?"

"I ... spoke to her. She's completely crazy... and she's dying."

Cuddy looked away, attempting to control her emotional response. She
didn't want it to put a damper on Wilson's talkative mood in case there
was more to learn about David. 

He chose his words carefully, preserving his and Greg's privacy. "...House
wants to ... adopt David." He told her.

"I think that House was... kind of meant to have a kid. He's like a
natural at it."

"Y'think so?"

Lisa Cuddy looked up at House's best friend. "Yes. I think he nearly
missed his calling. House is good for David."

Wilson thought about that for a moment. He disagreed, but didn't say so.
Any other kid wouldn't have worked. This boy was a giant Rubik's cube with
major musical talent. That's what made the whole thing work for House
enough to make him want to get to know David. House had fallen in love
with the kid after the fact.

Cuddy spoke again. "I think that David is good for House, too, you know?"
She fiddled with a piece of junk mail. "I think House needed someone to
love and take care of."

"Yeah." Wilson changed the subject a little. "He's going to need a
reference for the whole adoption thing." He looked up at Cuddy then,
unconsciously turning on his persuasive charm. "Would you consider
vouching for him?"

Cuddy smiled at Wilson. She knew exactly what he was doing. She considered
Wilson's charm to be an asset to her hospital. "Of course. Whatever he
needs." Then she frowned a little. "Is this going to be difficult because
of the Vicodin?" she asked.

Wilson bit his lower lip for a second, and decided that, through the
years, Lisa Cuddy had been such a loyal friend to both him and House, that
she deserved to know the whole truth.

"Lisa, there are a couple things I think you should know about this
adoption... and House ...and me.

 *

They had stopped talking. Wilson had decided to get some coffee, anyway.
He didn't plan to drink it; he just needed something to do with his hands
while his old friend absorbed all the new information about him, House,
and David.

Cuddy was actually surprised about the relationship. They had concealed it
rather well. But it all kind of made sense after the fact. It certainly
explained why Wilson was so very involved in David's life. He had seemed
as close as a father, because he WAS a father to David. She had suspected,
years ago, that the only reason Wilson always took so much crap off Greg
was that Wilson had had the hots for him. Then Wilson had been married -
had married three times, actually, and she had put that notion away two
marriages back. And House had calmed down somewhat when the little boy
became a part of his life, but he actually became quite bearable starting
around the time Wilson said their relationship had changed. So the old
bastard just needed to get some. 'Hell,' she joked to herself, 'I wanted
to get pregnant, anyway. I should have just given him a little nookie.' 

The information about David was disturbing though. She hadn't known the
reason why David had freaked out about the perfume; she just knew that it
had bothered him terribly, and she acted on that knowledge accordingly.
And all the other things Wilson had told her about David and his horrible
mother. "It was a good idea to get David away from everything, give him
time to just rest and have no demands made on him," Cuddy mused.

Wilson sat down again with his coffee. "That's what we thought, but Greg
called really early this morning to tell me that the damn stutter is
back," he told her. We thought that downtime was all he needed for a while
there, but he just keeps re-experiencing the traumas. He wet his bed last
night. He's never done that before." He shook his head. "We've got him
taking Valium." 

"Poor little boy." Cuddy murmured softly. "I wish I could help somehow."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. "I might need to take some time off,
Lisa. I'm sure he shouldn't be in school like this, and it doesn't look as
though things are going to change."

"No, at least not until he's sure his mother can't take him back," she
said.

Wilson looked up at Lisa Cuddy. "It's going to take us a year or two to
finalize the adoption - maybe longer, considering House's Vicodin thing."

"I guess that would be a problem. I guess it also explains why you need
Stacy."

"We basically have two workable options." Wilson told her. He knew he
could trust Cuddy with the information. "Either we go the route that could
take a couple years, or we do something sort of ...unorthodox. Naturally,
House wants to take the most dangerous route."

Cuddy smiled at his comment about House, then raised her eyebrows.
"Unorthodox?"

Wilson briefly explained the basics of the plan that Greg had told him a
few days before. "We just need to say the word and it's a done deal. All
the work has been done; the paperwork just needs to be filed in all the
proper places." Wilson didn't add that he didn't know, but suspected that
there was a butt load of money involved in the deal. House hadn't said,
but maybe House had omitted that because it would have made the whole
thing look even more illicit, and made Wilson shy away from the idea even
further. "Instant kid with House's name, all the proper documents without
all the nasty waiting on our part."

"Wow."

"It's pretty tempting. He's been in limbo for months, and now his worst
nightmare has come true. The kid is falling apart. It might help him to
know that he's really ours, and that she can't take him away. Only... I
don't like what could happen if the whole thing backfires."

Cuddy surprised him with, "Stacy really knows her stuff, Wilson." She
tossed a junk letter in her wastebasket. "She wouldn't set you up and then
leave you hanging out to dry."

"I know she wouldn't." Wilson massaged the bridge of his nose with his
forefinger and thumb. "I guess the one thing that really bothers me is
that the only traceable person in this whole record would be me - Greg
wants me to vouch for his physical health, and to say nothing about the
pills."

Lisa picked up another piece of mail and checked to be sure it was junk
before she tossed it. "Tough decision."

"Yeah. What do you think I should do?" 

 Cuddy replied instantly. "In for a penny, in for a pound, Wilson." She
crossed her legs and leaned back in her seat. 

"Okay... so you're saying you would do it?" 

"Sometimes two wrongs do make a right, you know."

"You got anything that isn't an annoying clich?"

She chuckled and said, "No, but I have one more for you: I think that if
it were my child, I would lie, cheat, steal, or murder for him," without
batting an eye.

Cuddy's reaction gave Wilson pause. Then he stood up abruptly. "I'm gonna
need next week off," he said, just as abruptly.

"Of course. Get out of here." She waved Wilson away. "Kiss them both for
me."

Wilson headed for her glass-paned door and paused, just a second. "Thanks,
Lisa."

Cuddy smiled. Then, as he started to open the door, she gave in to a silly
temptation that was nagging at her. "Wilson-"

Wilson turned around and raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

Cuddy got the most exquisitely wicked look on her face. "What's he like?
Greg, I mean." 

Wilson smirked at her. "You wanna know what he's like ... uh...
intimately?"

Cuddy shook her head. "No, no... I mean all of it. In general. What's he
like when he really lets his hair down?"

Wilson chuckled. "Greg never puts his hair UP, Lisa."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes. "You're full of it, Wilson. I've seen him with
that little boy. He's noticeably different. I'm just curious about what
happens when you're all at home."

"And behind closed doors?"

Cuddy waited. She wasn't sure if Wilson would answer, but thought it was
worth a shot. She HAD to ask, even if he ended up telling her to go to
hell."

Wilson kind of shrugged. "What do you think he's like, Lisa?" 

Cuddy grinned wickedly. Another evasion. Okay. "Hmmm.... How about three
parts marshmallow, two parts... wild man?"

Wilson looked down at the carpet, but saw, in his minds eye, a succession
of several visions: Greg looking down at little David as they played a
duet on the piano. Greg reading Kipling to David at bedtime. Greg holding
him and David in bed on that terrible night when David had gone hysterical
and finally told them he'd seen his mother. Greg, hooking an arm around
Wilson's neck at the apartment, and murmuring "I love you," fiercely in
his ear. Greg's relentless, smoldering gaze that was reserved only for
him, for James Wilson. And finally, the joyous, playful way Greg made love
to him. 

Now it was Wilson's turn to get a wicked grin on his face. But he never
answered. He merely winked at Cuddy, and left the room.

***********

David was determined to turn things around. He had to do something. If he
lost his new, perfect family over this stupid stuttering thing, well, he
was just too dumb to live. He still might lose them, but he was going to
fight to keep them as best he could. 

He browsed through House's shaving kit, but he didn't find anything
useful. Then David started looking in the cabinets throughout the beach
house. There were lots of bottles, but nothing was exactly right. Just
when he thought he might have to buy something the next time they were at
a store, he discovered some window cleaner in the back of one of the lower
level bathrooms. Good. He took the bottle and tested it. Good enough, but
not the best. He scrubbed at his face with his bare arm and went to find
his Daddy.

David climbed the wrought-iron helix of library steps that coiled around
the elevator shaft like a man going to the gallows. Once his head was
above the second floor level, he hesitated a moment to watch his dad.
House was relaxed, lying on the long sofa in the great room while he
watched General Hospital and sipped a beer. 

David finished his climb and crossed the room to House. He perched on the
cargo crate-style coffee table and watched his dad enjoying the beer and
the program. He would wait until it was over. David didn't like being
inconvenient, so sat neatly, both hands holding the bottle in his lap.

Earlier, House had wondered vaguely where David was, but when he heard the
boy rummaging around, exploring the house, he left him alone instead of
asking David to join him. He knew that David really only watched soaps to
be with his dad, not because he actually found the stories interesting.
David obviously wanted House's attention now, but something was off. He
sniffed the air and looked at his kid, seeing the bottle of Windex in his
lap. House frowned. 

"You had the urge to clean?" House joked.

"N-n-no."

House perceived that something was definitely 'up.' He found the remote,
which had fallen on the floor, and turned off the TV. "Okay, so what's
with the window cleaner?"

"Iiii used t-t-t-to stutter b-before, D-d-d-daddy."

"You mean before you lived with me." When David nodded, House nodded in
turn, and said, "I'm not surprised."

David was surprised, however, at the comment House had made. "Wh-why?"

"You've been treated very badly, David. Kids who get hurt like you've been
... well... they can't contain that ...pain they have inside. It comes out
in funny ways." House was stroking David's shoulder gently. "They stutter.
They have bad dreams. Tummy aches. Bed-wetting..." 

David stared down at the brown leather sandals that Wilson had bought him
for the trip. He was particularly embarrassed about that one.

"Don't." House said immediately. "Don't. I don't blame you, buddy. None of
this is your fault. You have nothing to be ashamed about."

"I-I-I-I-I kn-kn-kn-know how to stop." David told him. "I
st-st-st-st-st-stopped b-before."

House looked at him with interest. "How did you stop?"

David took a deep breath, as if he was steeling himself, resigning himself
to an unpleasant fate. "Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cha-a-a-a-a-anel n-n-n-number
f-f-f-five," he told his daddy.

Because of the stutter, it took a really long time for David to explain
his plan. In the end, House watched in horrified fascination as David
raised the bottle of Windex, which he had proposed that House should use
on him every time he heard his son stutter. He slapped the bottle out of
the boy's hand just before he depressed the nozzle. Both watched as it
flew across the room, landed at the edge of the floor, and slid under the
wrought iron railing. A second later, it clattered loudly, somewhere on
the lower level.

David looked at his daddy and waited. When House didn't say anything,
David realized that Daddy was angry, and was working really hard to
control his reaction. When House did speak, his voice was still, almost a
whisper. 

 "David, that was a shitty thing to do to a kid." House told him. "You
have to know that I could never do that to you." 

David shrugged. His usual, more right than left.

He took David's hand. The boy's wrist was turning a bit red on one side
where House had inadvertently knocked it as he was getting the window
cleaner away from his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and kissed it
better.

"D-d-d-daddy, I d-d-don't kn-kn-kn-kn-know how else to st-st-stop it
ag-gain." Tears were sliding down his thin cheeks.

"Don't bother. Stutter all you like." House told him.

David thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Y-y-you're n-not mad?"

"Mad about your stutter?" House asked him. "No."

David didn't know if he believed that one, but then again, Daddy had a
thing about lying. "W-what ab-bout a-a-a-all the other st-stuff?"

House raised his eyebrows, which wrinkled his forehead. "What other
stuff?"

David raised one hand and pointed to the fingernails of the other hand.
"Th-this!" Then he said, "A-a-a-a-and the b-bed...th-thing. Aaaaall the
tr-tr-trouble I-I-I-I cause."

"I wish you would cause some trouble sometime," House told him. "You're
the easiest kid on the planet. You're never any trouble."

"I-I-I'm all f-f-f-fucked up. I-I-I w-wake you u-u-up. Iiii m-m-made a
m-m-mess. I-I s-sound f-f-f-f-funny." David looked down at his sandals. "I
c-c-c-cost a l-l-lot of m-money."

House sighed. "I don't care about any of that, David." He tried to caress
the boy's shoulder, intending to pull him into a hug, but David was so
rigid, so stiff. He didn't want to be loved on right then. "David, you're
my KID." House told him. "It's my JOB to take care of you. It doesn't
matter to me how much it costs; you're worth every penny. I don't want you
worrying about things like that. I LIKE taking care of you."

"O-okay." David shrugged.

House sat up so that he was sitting knee-to-knee with David. He leaned
forward. "I love you, David." He said softly. 

"O-o-o-okay." David shrugged and stared anyplace but at his dad.

But House wouldn't let him avoid the contact. He took the boy's chin in
one hand, and tipped his head back until he had no other choice but to see
House's face. "I love you David. I love you, and you're a wonderful boy,"
He held David's chin very firmly, increasing the pressure with each word
to make the impression. House willed the words to sink in. "Now you can
stutter for the rest of your life, or piss in your bed until you're thirty
years old, but you can't make me stop loving you. I'm your dad. I'm not
going to abandon you just because you're not perfect." He released the
boy. He'd left another red mark on David's chin. "That goes for Wilson,
too. We're not going to go away."

As usual, David tried to retreat, but House wasn't quite done with him. He
caught David in an awkward hug; awkward because the boy felt so stiff and
lifeless. House held him anyway, and kissed his boy. When he released him,
David bolted away. House caught his arm before he got too far, though, and
asked, "Where are you going?"

David pointed to the bedroom.

"Wanna take a nap?"

He nodded.

"You want Dad to come with you?"

David shook his head.

"Okay." House figured that space might be a good thing right now.
"Spaghetti for dinner okay?"

David didn't answer. He just ran to the bedroom and closed and locked the
door. It was just as well, House thought, because he really needed to talk
to Wilson. 

**************** Wilson climbed out of the taxi and dragged his suitcase
out of the back seat. It had cost him a bundle to get a commuter flight to
Kitty Hawk, then a taxi for the remaining 40 or so miles to Salvo. He paid
the taxi and climbed the stairs to the first deck and tried the door.
Locked. He knocked. No answer. The rental car was parked under the house,
so they were probably on the beach. Climbing to the second balcony, he
found a sliding patio door that was open. He set his suitcase inside and
turned to go looking for House and David. Then he changed his mind. He
went inside and changed into a bathing suit and a loose t-shirt. Then he
followed the wooden walkway out across the dunes.

They were there, his two loves. They had made a little sandcastle that
looked like the ... the freaking Sydney Opera House. 'Only you, House.'
Wilson thought. Now they were sitting and watching as the tide came in and
nibbled a little of the castle away at a time. House was sitting in one of
those umbrella folding chairs, and David was on his lap, snuggled
comfortably against the man's chest. Oh, god, how he had missed them.

Their boy had tanned deeply in just a few days. His dark hair had bleached
to a lighter brown and a bit blonde around the edges. Wilson was glad to
see evidence that David had been outdoors a lot. He was barefoot, and
dressed in kid clothes, not like a little Greg House for a change. Wilson
had rushed around before their trip and picked up a few pairs of shorts,
bathing suits, and little summery shirts for him. He was wearing a green
bathing suit with a wild tropical print shirt that he wore open. 

House was dressed in a knee-length bathing suit, one of his less treasured
t-shirts, and a pair of dark shades. He wore sturdy sandals, probably to
help him walk on the sand. Wilson had never noticed how sexy Greg looked
tanned. He wanted to rip off that t-shirt right away to see his lover's
chest. He hoped that Greg had taken his shirt off a few times on the beach
as well.

Wilson managed to walk right up behind them, undetected. The wind and
waves made it hard for his approach to be heard. Standing behind House, he
gently slid his hands around to cover his eyes. "Hi Honey, I'm home," he
said softly.

Greg jumped straight up and turned around, upsetting David. "Whoa!" Then
he stood there stupidly, not fully comprehending that Wilson was really
there.

Wilson went to him and kissed his lips. "Hey babe," he whispered. David,
who had nearly fallen onto the sand snapped out of his shock and rushed
around the chair to Wilson, and held up his arms, jumping up and down.
"W-w-wilson!" Oh... Wilson felt his heart turn to molten lava. HIS little
boy, and HIS man. He grabbed David, swung him around. "Hi, baby." He
hugged him.

"M-my W-w-w-wilson," David murmured over and over, as he buried his face
in the man's neck. "M-my W-wilson, my W-w-w-wilson!" It brought tears to
the oncologist's eyes. He was relieved to be with his little boy. Wilson
had needed to see them through all this trouble personally.

Wilson stole House's chair, and held David in his lap. He rested his chin
on David's head and gazed down at his lover, who took a seat on the sand
next to them. "I missed you both so much." He murmured into David's hair. 

"You're completely pathetic, Wilson," House needled him. "We were gonna be
back home in two days."

He knew that House didn't really mean what he was saying. House took
Wilson's right hand, kissed it, and held it in his left. House's
expression was unreadable until he removed his shades. Then Wilson saw the
naked truth in the man's eyes. He had missed Wilson, terribly. He mouthed
one word to him: "Later." Wilson shivered. They sat together on the beach
like that until the sand castle was completely flattened.

***********

Wilson noticed that there was a hibachi grill on a cinder block platform
under the house. He carried it to the upper deck, and House barbecued
steaks for them, and a burger for David. Wilson had tired David out by
playing with him for an hour in the surf, then having him show off his
skills on the bike. David knew what was going on, though. His dads wanted
to be alone later, to love each other. He graciously gave them what they
wanted by going to bed early. He didn't think they'd be able to keep their
hands off one another much longer.

David and Wilson had explored the top level of the house, which was just a
tiny, cupola-sized loft, just big enough for them to sit on a couple of
folding cushions and watch House's mini-TV. House had found it difficult
to get up there because the elevator didn't go that high, and the steps
were grid-like, and his cane got stuck. David hadn't gone up alone because
he had thought the space was kind of spooky. It actually turned out to be
very cool, because the tiny room was ringed with windows, so they could
see miles in every direction. Wilson brought up some sodas and chips, and
they had a little picnic there. Then the place became kind of like a
little hideout, and David absolutely claimed it as his "room." He asked to
sleep up there. His two dads would be beneath him to protect him. The
other bedrooms were on the lower level, where neither David nor his dads
wanted him to sleep. House agreed, and even limped his way up the steps to
read to him and tuck him in on one of the folding cushions.

Wilson waited out on the deck in moonlit darkness while House put David to
bed. He stood at the railing, watching light from a cruise ship in the
distance as it proceeded from north to south. Soon enough, he heard the
familiar tap-step, step of his love, limping across the deck to him. House
hooked his cane over the railing of the deck and slid his arms around
Wilson's trim waist from behind. Greg kissed the place on the nape of his
neck that drove Wilson crazy when they made love. 

"Stargazing?" He hooked his chin over Wilson's shoulder.

Wilson rested his arms atop Greg's and caressed the long slender hands.
"Just made a wish." He told him.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and it just came true."

House kissed his earlobe. "Make another?"

"Okay." Wilson closed his eyes for a moment. "Done."

House knew what he wanted. He eased his hands under the hem of Wilson's
shirt and started caressing his abdomen, working his way very slowly up to
his chest. 

"Ohhhhh..." Wilson involuntarily threw his head back against Greg's
shoulder. Greg took the opportunity to ravish his exposed neck. 

Wilson pushed back against Greg. "Sit down." He knew that Greg wouldn't be
able to stand here indefinitely. He pulled him over to a hard wooden
chaise lounge, and adjusted the level so that they could recline
comfortably. While Greg sat down, Wilson grabbed his lover's cane and set
it close by on the deck. Then he sat between House's legs and leaned his
back against the man's chest. Then House was all around him, engulfing
him. 

"Umm... I have missed you so much," Wilson sighed as House embraced him
and pulled him back, tighter to his chest. 

"You wuss," House teased. "It's only been five days...jeez." 

Wilson could feel that Greg was already hard for him. He wriggled his
buttocks a bit and delighted in the response he felt. "TEN days. Ten days
since you washed the dishes," he reminded House.

Greg started stroking Wilson's chest again, this time, through his shirt.
He knew Wilson wouldn't stand for that. A minute later, he stopped House,
peeled off his t-shirt, and replaced the man's hands where he'd left off. 

"Glad you came," House told him as he began to run circles around Wilson's
nipples with his thumbs. 

"Harder, Greg," He groaned. Then Wilson teased back, "Some parts of you
more than others?" 

"All parts," House murmured. Then he whispered into Wilson's ear. "Sweet
Jimmy..." He nibbled his lover's ear and found again that place on his
neck. "Sweet Jimmy, I want to take you inside and fuck you until the damn
bed breaks," he rasped.

"Holy crap." Wilson felt himself instantly become rock hard. They didn't
have actual intercourse that often. The experience was way too intense.
But it was just the thing he wanted right now, to surrender to Greg
completely, to belong totally to Greg for just a few minutes. That's how
it made Wilson feel.

"No?" Greg questioned. He would only have Wilson if he gave himself
wholeheartedly. House would not try to talk him into it, or try to work
him up to it by making him so horny that his judgment would be clouded. 

"Oh, yes." Wilson whispered. "Oh I want you, Greg." He turned halfway
around in Greg's arms so they could kiss. "Ohhh." Wilson was such a
moaner. He moaned into Greg's mouth. "Ohhhhh, Greg... oh love." 

Then Wilson dragged himself away from Greg and stood. He held out his left
hand. "Let's go to bed."

House let himself be helped up. Wilson gave him his cane, and practically
dragged him to the bedroom.

************

The next day was pretty relaxed. House and David had done all the shopping
and exploring they wanted, and Wilson had been to the area a couple times
with two of his exes. So they spent their time at the beach until it
rained, then lazing around the house later. David enjoyed watching the
rainstorm from his new room. He also thought it might be a good plan to
make himself scarce for a couple hours so that Daddy and Wilson could get
mushy some more.

They partook of a delicious, but entirely too-big dinner at Toby's Seafood
Restaurant that evening, and all turned into slugs in front of the TV.
When David fell asleep in front of the tube, his dads stripped him down to
his little pale blue boxers, and tucked him in on the giant king-sized
bed, since carrying him up to the loft was out of the question. In the
lamplight, Wilson noticed something weird on David's back. He brushed at
the area just above the place where the slight swell of the child's
buttocks began. 

"What's this?" Wilson said, half to himself. He brushed at the place a
couple times, thinking that David had missed rinsing away a bit of sand,
or maybe soap, in the shower.. 

House leaned over from the other side of the bed. It was a faint
crescent-shaped scar. The surrounding skin had tanned deeply, but the scar
had stayed the same as David's natural coloring. House traced the scar
lightly with his index finger. "Scar," he said, unnecessarily. "Some kind
of scar." 

Wordlessly, the men looked a t each other, then started examining their
son for more scars that had been hidden in plain sight. There was a much
fainter one below his right shoulder blade. House unceremoniously removed
David's underwear. The boy's bottom was, naturally, untanned, but they
knew what shape to look for now, and there were four places that they
could see, where the skin had a scar-like consistency. Three of those
crescents had a small dot in approximately the same place each time, but
not connected to the crescent shape. 

"How did we miss this after all these months?" Wilson wondered out loud.
But he knew the answer to his question. They both knew. David was
self-sufficient; he took care of his body without needing their
intervention. And David had always been extremely modest, for a boy. Other
than the two standard medical examinations they'd given him, they'd rarely
seen him without most of his skinny little body covered. And during the
exams, he'd literally been sitting on most of the evidence.

They redressed David in his pajamas. House then sat with his back against
the headboard and gathered the boy up in his arms, and held him on his
lap. "David, wake up," he said gently to his son.

"Let him sleep, House." Wilson tried to persuade him to leave it all alone
until morning. 

"No." House shook David a bit roughly. "David, wake up, buddy."

David woke up slowly, but finally came conscious when he realized that his
daddy needed him awake. He tried to do everything House asked of him. He
believed that he had to, in order to keep his new family. "D-d-daddy,
wh-what is it?"

Daddy and Wilson were staring at him, looking as if they'd just seen a
ghost or something. And Daddy was holding him so gently. Something really
bad was up, and David had no idea what it was, so he didn't know how to
stop it. 

Wilson took over. He didn't feel confident that House would be gentle
enough, that his anger and self-righteousness would kick in, and frighten
David. He sat up close to them and took David's little hand in his.
"David, House and I saw some marks on your back while we were changing
your clothes," he started. 

David looked down at his chest and noticed that he was wearing pajamas,
not the shorts and t-shirt he had worn to the restaurant. He looked back
up at his Wilson. "I don't r-r-r-r-remember," he said flatly. He realized
that he'd said it too quickly. They'd never believe him, now. It was the
truth, that he didn't remember exactly, but the memory wasn't buried as
deeply as he wish it was. He could already feel it coming back to haunt
him. He pushed it down as hard as he could.

"Bullshit," House said bluntly.

Wilson tried to squelch his partner. "Shut up, House." He grabbed and
squeezed House's good kneecap. 

House ignored him. "What happened to you, David?" he asked.

David had had no time to prepare for this. He didn't really know what he
was trying to avoid, because he hadn't seen any scars. He'd been hurt lots
of times before he was four years old, when his mother had learned to
resort to ways of controlling him that didn't leave scars. But he didn't
know about scars on his back because he never looked at his back. He only
knew that he didn't want any more past things to come up and hurt him all
over again. He'd had enough.

He wrenched himself out of Daddy's arms and tried to scramble off the bed.
House caught him easily, and, in spite of his still trying to get away,
held him firmly by his arms. 

"I-I-I-III D-D-DON'T W-WAAANA T-T-TALK A-ABOUT IT!" the little boy roared.
David was angry. They just kept wanting to know more and more. Or Daddy
figured out more and more things. Soon he'd know so much that he would be
sorry that he ever wanted David to be his boy.

"Let's try and calm down a little," his Wilson said softly. He had come
around to the other side of the bed and deftly gathered David into his
arms. He gave Daddy a strange look. 

"Do you think you'll want to talk about this tomorrow?" Wilson asked
gently. "'Cause we can, y'know?" He started to rub David's back. "It's
alright, Dad's not mad at you. He's just very worried." Wilson kissed the
boy and settled him so that David was straddling his lap as he sat on the
edge of the bed. "Dad and I love you so much," he murmured. He rocked the
boy. "Want you to go back to sleep, okay? We're sorry we woke you."

David leaned back in Wilson's arms so that he could look at his 'other'
daddy. There were tears on his face. He looked to his left at House.
Daddy's face was just sad, so, so sad. They loved him. And he, David, was
doing this to them, hurting them. There were so many things about his past
life that would just keep hurting and hurting and hurting them like this.
He didn't belong here. He didn't deserve Daddy and Wilson. He was so
messed up. He felt his body go limp, his chin resting on his chest.
"Okay." David whispered. "I can go back to sleep." 

They tucked him in together. House kept apologizing for waking him and
scaring him. 

"That's okay, Daddy." He wanted them to just go away for a while, but they
wouldn't, not until Daddy had read a Kipling story to him while Wilson lay
next to him and cuddled him in the crook of his arm. They didn't stop
until the story was over, even though David tried pretending to be asleep
halfway through.

Later, he listened just inside the open bedroom door while they talked
about him.

"I know, I was stupid." Daddy was saying. "I couldn't help myself at the
time." There was a pause. "You know..."

"Yeah, I know, the spear thing. " Wilson answered. "I can't blame you.
That was pretty alarming, those scars." Another pause. "I think we're both
mostly upset because we never noticed them before. We've had him for eight
months and never seen him naked. Not even from the waist up."

"The scars weren't ever visible until he tanned. He could have gotten them
years ago."

"Yeah, I know. Doesn't make sense for us to be so bent out of shape after
the fact. Still, it doesn't stop parental guilt from kicking in."

"I think it was a belt buckle." Daddy said, out of the blue. "That
crescent shape, and the dot on some of them. Look." Pause, and the slight
jingle of the two metal parts of a belt buckle tapping together. "See?"

Wilson was whispering. "Oh god. Oh god, Greg. That horrible bitch! She HIT
that poor baby with a fucking belt buckle."

"Shhh..." David could tell that Daddy was hugging Wilson and trying to
calm him down. "Already done, Wilson. All we can do now is try and deal
with it as best we can."

"I'm sorry," Wilson was crying now. "I'm sorry, Greg." 

"Shhhhh..." 

David risked a peek at them around the doorjamb. They were sitting on the
sofa, hugging. Daddy was rubbing Wilson's back, trying to make him feel
better.

He went back to bed. Lying on his back, David stared up at the ceiling.
Daddy and Wilson were hurting inside because of him. He felt so ashamed.
Then his mind went out of focus, and he started thinking about the scars
that they said were on his back. Caused by a belt buckle, Daddy had said. 

* The belt zinged through the air towards his face. It hit, but only his
glasses. They snapped in half at the bridge. He turned away to protect his
eyes and covered his head with his arms. It hit his head anyway, twice. He
could feel the bumps already starting to rise, and wondered abstractly if
the hair on his head would get sucked down into the bump, or if the bump
would push his hair out.. He stuffed his fist into his mouth, to stifle
his cries, because he knew no other way to stop them. Mommy would only
hurt him worse if anybody heard. He dropped to the floor and hunched
himself into a corner. Then he felt the belt striking him all over his
back and his bottom. And sometimes it hit so hard and fast that he felt it
tear into his naked skin. Then he didn't feel anything at all, because
finally, finally,the music flooded into his head, the lovely, beautiful
music took over. It soothed and caressed and loved him, so that the pain
was just a tiny little thing in the corner of his mind. His mommy needed
to make the pain, but the music needed him, too. It needed him to listen.
And he loved the music, so the pain got crowded away. Mommy wouldn't be
able to tell the difference, anyway. 

He was smiling when the music stopped and he came back to himself again.
They were running away again, in the car. But the car was broken, and it
wouldn't go any more. They were stuck. Mommy was angry. She made him drink
some stuff that tasted nasty, but he knew he'd better do as he was told.
He got sleepy after that, and knew nothing until he woke a long time
later. Mommy was gone, and he was in the back seat of the car. Groggily,
he sat up and looked around. He saw... tires on shelves along a cinder
block wall. He looked down, and realized that he was way up high. The CAR
was way up high, many feet off the ground. If he opened the door, he could
fall and hurt himself. He wanted down. But Mommy probably wanted him to
stay where he was. So he stayed there a long time. 

After a while, he had to go to the bathroom, so he tried calling for her.
"Mommy!" 

An old man with wrinkled, chocolate brown skin, wearing blue-grey
coveralls pushed himself out from under another car. He was lying on his
back on a thing with wheels. He got up and walked over to stand below
David. "What the fuck?" He exclaimed. "What are you doing up there?"

David didn't know how to answer that question.

"What's your name, little boy?" the man asked.

"David," he squeaked out meekly.

"Who's your mama? Where's she at?"

David didn't know how to answer either question, so he said nothing. 

"Sit down on the seat, David." Then he yelled into a door. "Steve! Get out
here, man." He pressed a switch on a long cable to make the car come back
down. 

David was relieved just to be on the floor again, but he remembered that
he had to go to the bathroom. The man seemed to know that without him
asking, and led him inside the office. "Can you go by yourself?"

"Yeah." David had been able to go by himself before he was two. Mommy had
made him learn early because it was disgusting to wear diapers like a
baby.

When he returned, the two men were discussing him. "Just left his ass up
there in the car?" one was saying.

"Yeah," the first man replied. 

"Crazy fuck."

David had thought the man was saying that he, David was the crazy fuck. He
knew what crazy was, but he didn't know the other word. Fuck.

They noticed him then. The man who saved him asked, "Washed your hands?"

"Yeah." David held his hands up. His sleeves were wet because the sink was
too high.

"Good boy." He sat down in the office and drew David to stand in front of
him. David was only about a foot taller than the man's knees. "My name is
Clem."

"Clem." David repeated.

"Yeah," Clem affirmed. "Now David, do you know your phone number?" 

David shook his head.

"How old are you?"

David held up three fingers. "Three."

"Damn..." The man shook his head, then said, "Sorry." He put his arms
around David and picked him up. David cried out in pain. Clem set him down
immediately and started examining him for the source of the pain. It
wasn't long before he turned David around and lifted his shirt. "Holy
Mother of God," Clem gasped. He looked at the other man and said, "We
ain't waitin' man. Do it now." Then he led David to a vending machine and
told him to pick out a snack.

The other man, Steve, picked up the phone and started dialing for the
police.

*

David clamped his mouth shut, and sobbed quietly into his pillow. Now that
he remembered about the belt buckle, here was one more thing that would
make Daddy sad, and make Wilson cry.

Then David thought about something else. The music. It used to rescue him.
He used to be able to open his mind in a way that the music would take
over and be with him until the pain went away, or at least got to be a lot
less. He used to be able to work out his sadness and his pain by making up
his songs. Now the music was gone. He hadn't touched his little harmonica
in days. He didn't even know where the hell it was. David felt
irretrievably lost.

*

"Y'know, Greg, I haven't had nearly enough vacation here. And David
certainly isn't ready to go back to school." Wilson was snuggled up around
David, and House was lying on his back, reading one of the sleazy romance
novels that had been stocked on a shelf in the great room. 

"Shhh. Brenda is getting her bodice ripped," House muttered. 

Wilson reached over and plucked the book out of House's hands. "Greg,
listen."

"Hey! You know, you were gonna get your bodice ripped next, but now, I
dunno."

"Shut up for a minute. I think maybe David and I should stick around -
this place was unrented for next week, when you booked it. Let's see if we
can stay another week."

"I should get back to work. We have other, children, you know. They'll
think we don't love them."

"Greg..." Wilson gave him a reproachful look. "You can go back Sunday
night, and David and I can stay until next Saturday. Maybe he'll start
talking if ... we give him a little more time." He squeezed House's
forearm a little. "Maybe he needs a 'vessel type' right now."

"So...his 'vessel' has been here for almost two days. I want you both with
me." 

"Another week might do some good. If you would rather we didn't, then ok.
We're not fighting about this, Greg." He handed the book back to him. "You
decide." 

************

Before they tried to talk to him about the scars, David clammed up
altogether the next morning. He started leaving them notes on blank scraps
torn from music sheets. After they suggested that he and Wilson might stay
another week without House, he wrote: "NO. I NEED DADDY TO STAY, TOO."

They gave him what he demanded. Wilson arranged another week at the beach
house, and House arranged to work on an as-needed basis. "I can operate my
disciples by remote," he informed Cuddy in a phone conversation. "And
they've been pretty idle; so they can do my clinic hours. I've got a sick
kid to deal with." Cuddy was totally understanding, and agreed that they
would only call him if they got a difficult case.

The next note came when Wilson refused to give David his lunch unless he
said what he wanted to eat. "I DON'T CARE." But later, he swiped a loaf of
raisin bread and a jar of peanut butter and ran up the spiral steps to the
tiny loft. Wilson sighed and took him a paper plate, a plastic knife, and
a bottle of apple juice, which he left on the top step.

Wilson had then thought that it had been a mistake to make any demands on
the boy. House disagreed, though. "You made him angry. He's almost never
shown anger. He's almost always repressed it." He hugged Wilson. "Don't
think that because things don't look so pretty that it's all bad. He's got
a lot of anger locked inside. It really scares me to think of what that's
doing to him."

Later, in the evening, David stayed holed up in the loft while his dads
watched TV. House sat and watched from the spiral staircase as a show of
support. "Daddy's right down here, David." He said aloud. After an hour, a
note fluttered down from the open floor above. "GO AWAY, DADDY." 

Saddened, House went away and sat with Wilson. In response to the other
man's raised eyebrows, House handed him the note. Grimacing a little,
Wilson kissed him and put an arm around him. Then they came to understand
why David wanted House away. He dashed down the stairs and into the
bathroom. Two minutes later, he ran right back up again. In the short time
in between, Wilson put a couple of David's books, lots of music sheets,
and a snack on the middle step. When House checked later, they were gone.

By morning, the central hallway of the bottom floor was littered with
scraps of paper. Each had a note, some with just a few words, others with
several. Wilson gathered them all up while Greg scouted around on the
middle level for any that had managed not to fall all the way down.

They sat at the dining table and tried to sort the notes out. There was no
way of knowing the order in which they had been written. Nevertheless, a
window into David's inner thoughts was provided.

"I AM SORRY."

"I DID NOT MEAN TO RUIN EVERYTHING."

"PLEASE DO NOT FEEL BAD, DADDY. PLEASE DO NOT FEEL BAD, WILSON." 

"ONLY I SHOULD FEEL BAD BECAUSE I HATE MOMMY." (he had underlined the
first "I").

"I HATE MOMMY."

Another, "I HATE MOMMY!"

And another, "I HATE MOMMY."

Then there were other notes, notes that were like a last will and
testament, from an eight year old elderly man.

"PLEASE TELL LISA THAT I LIKED HER."

"I LOVE MS. MARSHALL."

"PLEASE TELL DR. CAMERON THAT I AM SORRY BECAUSE I DID NOT BE FRIENDS WITH
HER."

"THANKS TO DR. FORMAN BECAUSE HE HELPED ME WHEN I WAS SCARED.

"O MY BEST BELOVED DADDY AND MY WILSON, THANK YOU FOR MAKING ME FEEL HAPPY
FOR A LONG TIME. PLEASE DO NOT BE SAD BECAUSE YOU COULD NOT MAKE ME
BETTER. IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. I WANTED TO BE YOUR BOY BUT I CAN NOT
BECAUSE I AM TOO MESSED UP FOR A NICE FAMILY. I LOVE YOU DADDY. I LOVE YOU
WILSON. DAVID WALSH"

Then House felt fear grip his heart. These messages were beginning to look
like suicide notes. It was not unheard of for a little kid to attempt
suicide. He bolted from the table without his cane and cursed when he
realized that he had to come back for it. Wilson was already at the top of
the steps by the time he was at the bottom. 

Wilson stumbled back down the library steps with David in his arms, all 50
pounds of him a dead weight. He was completely limp. 

"Oh god, no!" House said involuntarily. In one hand, Wilson had managed to
grab the open bottle of Valium that David had apparently sneaked upstairs.
He placed David on the carpeted floor, and started working on him. 

"Still breathing," Wilson told House. "Call for an ambulance."

Both men went on automatic from that point. The ambulance took forever,
because they were in such a remote location. The closest available health
care was a medical center that wasn't good for much more than handling a
broken arm or a sore throat. House bullied the staff into letting him and
Wilson take care of David until they'd pumped his stomach and forced a
butt load of charcoal into him. 

"He didn't have that much," House said. "There were only maybe 4 or 5 full
doses left. He'll sleep off whatever we didn't get." He was rubbing the
small of Wilson's back soothingly as he spoke.

Wilson closed his eyes and shook his head. "Honey...no..." He reached into
his pocket and pulled out House's Vicodin bottle. "He must've slipped into
the bedroom while we were sleeping."

House took the bottle from Wilson and stared at it blankly for a moment.
He couldn't think at first. Wilson tried to touch his arm, tried to
comfort him somehow, but Greg pushed him away. He opened the bottle and
dumped the pills out on the hospital bed. "Twelve left," he said. "Fuck,
Wilson, there are nine missing!"

"There were four or five on the floor. I didn't take the time to count. I
should've."

House put the pills back in the bottle, one-by-one and snapped it shut. He
clenched his fist around the Vicodin, his savior, his enslaver. Wilson
watched as House went rapidly through stages of remorse and anger at
himself for having this poison near their son.

"Don't you do it, Greg." Wilson said to him in a tight, half-whispered
voice. "He could have used Tylenol, aspirin, anything he could get his
hands on. He was perfectly willing to have you spray ammonia in his face
to stop the stuttering, for God's sake! David was desperate, honey. It's
not your fault."

House sank down as if his legs just couldn't hold him any longer. Wilson
caught him, grabbed a straight-backed chair and shoved it underneath him. 

They kept a vigil by David's bed. The boy slept for nine hours before
waking, which meant that quite a lot of medicines had gotten into his
system. The whole time, Wilson held House's hand. Staff came and left
periodically to check on the little boy, to chart his vitals, and to offer
anything they could to make his parents more comfortable.

When David did wake, it took several minutes for his dads to notice. He
stayed motionless and observed the two men who were sitting next to his
bed. There were machines next to him that were something like the ones at
PPTH. 'Hospital,' he thought to himself. What in the hell was he doing in
a hospital? He thought hard. Then the horrible, nasty feelings came back
to him. He was supposed to be dead now! And the only thing he felt was
sick to his stomach and kind of dizzy and fuzzy in his brain. 

"Wilson!" House got up and limped to his son's bedside. "David, David,
oh..." He got as close as he could. "David..."

David looked at the man with a flat, lifeless expression. "Hullo," he
said. No stutter.

Wilson quickly dashed to the other side of the bed. Both men started
checking David over quickly, looking into his eyes and testing his
reflexes.

Wilson asked first, "David, do you know who this is?" he reached over and
touched House's shoulder.

David looked at the man for about five seconds. "No," he replied in a
voice that was as flat and lifeless as his eyes looked. When the two men
seemed to freeze in place at that response, he offered: "A doctor?"

*****************

They went back to the beach house to gather their things. They would stay
in a hotel closer to the medical center until David was stable enough to
be discharged. Then they planned to get him back home, back to PPTH. House
wanted a decent CAT scan of his brain, and he wanted Foreman to evaluate
David neurologically. Perhaps he wasn't as damaged as he'd seemed after he
woke up. At least they would be able to find out exactly where things
stood for David.

House rode the elevator up to the second level while Wilson was packing
their bags into the car. He went to the long dining table, where they had
read David's notes. They were still there, neatly laid out, as if nothing
crazy had happened in their midst three days ago. He gathered them up and
folded them into his wallet. 

The tall doctor made his way over to the spiral staircase. He hooked his
cane over the railing and hopped up into the tiny lookout loft using his
arms on the railings and his good leg. One of the kid chairs had been
unfolded out to make a little bed for David. The two books that Wilson had
left on the stairs for him on that awful night were stacked neatly on one
of the still folded chairs. There was the stack of music sheets that David
had been tearing into smaller pieces and dropping them notes from. And
there, on the floor, were several Vicodin tabs. House crawled around and
retrieved them. Three. That meant that David had taken six, plus the
Valium. 

He gathered up the paper and David's books and sat on the folded seat. He
needed to think. House just couldn't seem to think. He didn't seem to be
able to get a hold on himself. He felt out-of-control. House couldn't
remember the last time he was out of control. He riffled nervously through
the music sheets, some of which were kind of ratty and dog-eared. Then he
saw something that really made him lose it. He plummeted into some sort of
abyss, and could not figure out how to save himself, let alone his little
boy.

When Wilson found him, Greg was sitting on the steps between the second
and loft levels, clutching a sheaf of sheet music. His body wracked with
deep, painful sobs. He looked panicked. Greg House had lost control of
himself. He couldn't stop crying. Wilson thought he had never heard
anything so horrid in his life.

***************

Little Gregory House had never lived anyplace as long as they had lived in
Germany. Perhaps it hadn't mattered so much when he was younger, but now
was a critical time for him, the first time during which he'd had friends
that he thought he wanted to keep forever. He was eight years old. He had
two friends in his class at school, two boys: Marco, who was American like
him, and Fritzie, who was a native German. Fritzie was bright, like Greg,
but Marco was kind of a dim bulb. Marco was the strong one, the tough guy,
and he really knew how to have fun. They had connected right away, and had
become like the Three Musketeers for eight months. Greg was happy in
school, happy with his friends outside school, and even happy at home,
because his dad was almost never there. 

Then Greg's dad came home at an odd time of day to tell them that he'd
been transferred. Greg had suspected then that something was up, but they
told him only two days before, to give him 'time' to say goodbye to his
friends. And little Greg had cried so hard, so inconsolably, that his dad
had finally threatened to 'give him something to cry about.' "Leave him
alone," Blythe House had said. "He's upset. He's just a little boy." 

"Well, he's gonna have to be a man about this," John had said callously.
"Put a sock in it, Greg; we're a military family," he had demanded. "You
should be used to this by now." 

Greg had really wanted to stop, he had wanted things to go smoothly so
that his parents would stop looking at him like this. He had wanted one of
them to make the pain stop, and make it so that his body would stop
crying. Or he wanted to just disappear. 

Finally, rolling his eyes at Greg, his dad started to tease him, calling
him a wuss for crying like a baby, and harassing him to be a man about
this. Blythe threw up her hands, finally, and disappeared into the kitchen
to hide out while her husband battered away at what little sweetness was
left in her son. 

Then John House turned up the volume. He grabbed Greg by the arm and
squeezed enough to stop the blood flow. "Lookit, Greggy," he used the
nickname he sometimes used to emphasize that he thought his son was being
a baby. John House had a dead serious look on his face, though. "If you
don't shut it up in the next ten seconds, it's gonna be you and me,
understand?" 

Greg understood. He understood that his father didn't give a rat's ass
about his feelings. And he also understood that, finally, in spite of all
his trying, he didn't love his father at all. He didn't care what John
House did to him. Little eight-year-old Greggy said only one thing, "I
can't stop."

His father shook his head, "No, that's unacceptable, Greg." He squeezed
harder. "Shape up. Right now." Then he saw the expression on his son's
tearstained face. Pain, hurt, but also anger and hatred, directed at him.
What could he do to combat that? He couldn't spank those feelings away.
Spanking would only intensify those feelings. They glared at each other
for five minutes during which Greg still sobbed, a deep, hitching,
ragged-sounding cry. John released him finally. Then he twisted the knife
in his son's soul. He laughed at him. "Go to bed, you fucking baby," he
ordered contemptuously.

Still sobbing, Greg managed to stumble into his room and lock the door. He
stayed there all the rest of that day, crying off and on, and sleeping in
between. He knew that he would never be the same again. He would never,
ever allow himself to be in that position again; he would never allow
himself to hurt so badly that someone could come in and stomp all over his
hurt by making him so ashamed. From his eighth year onwards, Greg House
had devised an intricate series of methods by which he could avoid
vulnerability, starting with avoiding caring. If he didn't let anyone in,
he wouldn't have to care. If he didn't care, then whatever he cared about
wouldn't be destroyed. That was the plan.

************

Wilson went to him. "Honey."

Greg tried to turn away towards the elevator shaft, He couldn't bear to
have Wilson see him this way. Wilson sat next to him anyway; got into the
space that House didn't have the strength to keep him out of, and tried to
hold him. 

He cried like that for nearly fifteen minutes. It wasn't just the near
loss of his beloved little boy; it was all his losses. All the losses that
Greg had only expressed indirectly, by being snarky, by being a jerk, by
being a possessive, protective lover and daddy. The loss of a relationship
with his father when he was eight. The damage to his leg, and all the
losses connected to that, including the loss of Stacy, the damage to his
body when he was shot, even the loss of his stupid carpet, to which he'd
reacted stupidly, but which had seemed important at the time. And now his
little David, his dear little boy, didn't know him, and House's brittle
heart just couldn't take this one more loss. 

Gregory House had taken in all the losses he could handle, thank you very
much, and now he was having an allergic reaction, like the nun he'd
treated, the one with the copper allergy.

Wilson had tried to take the paper from him, to set it aside while he held
him, but House wouldn't have it. "No," he growled through his tears.

"Okay, Greg. Okay." He held House as best he could, rocking them gently.
"It's okay, it's okay. We're gonna be okay, honey." Wilson whispered over
and over.

"He spelled out 'Daddy,'" House whispered, holding out the sheet music.
"He only used notes that spell out 'Daddy.'"

Wilson looked at the thin sheaf of sheet music. He knew enough about music
from being around the two of them to see that David had repeated 'daddy'
over and over again in his impeccable handwriting, and after that, only
used those few notes in chords and various combinations. "He used an 'e'
for the 'y'..." Wilson noted.

House whispered, "I couldn't save him, Wilson. I couldn't save David." He
was still crying, but had gained some control back. He rested his forehead
on Wilson's, and struggled to pull himself together.

***********

Wilson managed to get Greg down the few library steps and over to the
sofa, where he held the man until he wasn't crying any more. He knew that
his lover was completely mortified that he'd broken down so completely,
and was racking his brain to find a way to make this easy, make him
comfortable with having his most tender feelings break through without his
being able to control them.

"It's okay." Wilson hugged him, hard. "It's okay, it's gonna be alright,
honey. Look," He reached into his pocket. "I was coming up to show you
this. I found these down below." 

In the palm of his hand, Wilson held five Vicodin tabs. "It's pretty dark
down there until you open the door, then the sun illuminates that circular
hallway really well, except on the other side of the elevator shaft. I saw
one while I was taking the suitcases out, then I scouted around and found
these. They must have fallen down when he dropped the others. There were
some up above, too." Wilson gave House a little squeeze. "He didn't take
much, I don't think. I was coming up to see how many were on the floor
upstairs..." 

"Three," House whispered. He pulled three Vicodin tabs out of his shirt
pocket. "He's only had one."

Wilson stared at him. "No, he's only had NONE. There was one down there
that was just crushed into powder, maybe by the paramedics or one of us. I
couldn't pick it up." Wilson smiled gently. "He's only had a little too
much Valium. He's going to be okay!" Wilson threw his arms around Greg.
"Oh, God..." Then Wilson had to struggle to contain his own relieved
tears. 

House's analytical mind tackled the problem while his physical body set
about comforting Wilson. He was hugging his lover and saying all the right
things while his mind was trying to figure out why a kid with an
extra-large dose of Valium was having memory troubles. David had only had
four or five times the amount he should have. At the most, he should only
have suffered from acute sleepiness, some respiratory depression, maybe.
Coma, or maybe seizures, if he'd had a LOT more than he'd taken. His
breathing had been pretty normal. The pulse-ox had shown that his blood
had been well saturated with oxygen. David hadn't had any seizures. 

Differential diagnosis: David was faking. Part of House's mind had admired
how easily the boy had faked them out. He would never have been able to do
it successfully, had they not been so distressed. That's what House hoped,
anyway. Otherwise, they were in for a very scary adolescence in a few
years. 

***********

David woke on the beach. He was alone. There wasn't a single cloud in the
sky, the blue, blue, late afternoon sky that reminded him of his Daddy's
eyes. "O' Best Beloved..." he heard, a whisper at first. But the beach was
deserted. He looked all around him. The sand was perfect, untouched. There
weren't any footprints at all, not even his own. He took off his glasses -
he was farsighted - and peered up and down the beach. No one. He was
completely and totally alone. 

"O' Best Beloved." Louder, this time.

The only voice that came to him on its own was his mother's, and that was
not really a voice at all, it was just thoughts and feelings that told him
how unworthy and horrible he was. This was a voice he could hear; one that
actually went into his ears.

"O' Best Beloved."

"Where are you?" David cried. He was scared.

"O' Best Beloved." Behind him, south, down the beach. 

David put his glasses back on and started walking in the direction of the
voice, thinking that he might be able to run over the dunes once he saw
whom it was, if they were scary. 

"O' Best Beloved." The voice was closer, and sounded sad and hurt.

David started to jog. The voice was getting louder. 

Ahead, the dunes blocked his view because the coastline curved. He thought
he might have run at least a mile, but he wasn't tired. Up ahead, there!
Someone was moving in his direction. It came around the concealing dunes
suddenly. He saw the head first - the head of a tall man. 

It was his Daddy. House was running to David. "O' Best Beloved!" he caught
up to David before he could even think about running away. He grabbed
David under his armpits and swung him way up high in the air. And for no
reason other than that he was with his Daddy, David felt that mysterious,
bubbly, joy that usually came when he was playing the piano. Suddenly none
of the dark, sad, hurtful things that made it impossible for him to be
with House mattered anymore. He felt complete. Whole. The way he imagined
that other boys felt. 

"Daddy! MY Daddy!" David shouted at the top of his lungs as House swung
him around and around. When Daddy finally set David down, their attention
was drawn to another voice, somewhere back up the beach where David had
just run from. 

"Greg! David!" It was Wilson, of course. Time seemed to speed up as they
ran to meet one another. They collided in a big, warm, happy hug. David
was lifted up to their level so they could smother him with kisses and
hugs. They couldn't stop laughing, not even long enough to talk about how
they came to be on this weird beach, or about the fact that Daddy could
run now, and his cane was nowhere to be found. 

* He came awake with a jolt. The room was bright; someone had opened the
blinds. It was late morning. David had slept a long time. Oh... he was
still in the hospital, and none of the horrible things that had happened
to him all his life had gone away. He was still miserable, skinny,
problem-boy David. The depression pounced on him like a wild leopard.
"Oh," he let out a small sob. 

David had blown it. He remembered now exactly how he'd screwed up, too. 

Up in the loft, he'd looked at the bottle of Valium syrup. There hadn't
been a LOT of medicine in it. Maybe it wasn't enough. He thought he might
need something stronger. So he crept into the bedroom where Daddy and
Wilson slept. He stumbled over a sock. It was a good thing that he knew
exactly where Daddy's Vicodin would be. He swiped it from the nightstand,
making a little noise from the rattling of the pills. 

"Hey..." Daddy said.

David froze in place. 

Wilson whispered, "Shhhh, honey," and patted House's arm, which was
wrapped around his waist. 

House cuddled closer to Wilson, and slept on. Neither of the men had
actually come awake during this exchange. David watched how his parents
'interacted' as they slept. When House rolled over onto his back, Wilson
moved, too, and snuggled up to his chest. 'They'll be fine; they have each
other to love,' David told himself. But he couldn't help the deep twinge
of pain and regret. He had had eight months of a good life. He was sure
that being dead was the final end of everything, so he wouldn't be
conscious of missing this life, but he missed it right now. No more Daddy
and Wilson. No more music. No more kisses and hugs. No more feeling loved.
He would miss that over every other thing, just feeling like somebody knew
he was alive and loved him. That was all David thought he had ever wanted
all his life. He didn't know that feeling loved could hurt as much as not
feeling loved. He had no idea that it would hurt so much more when he saw
his pain reflected in Daddy's and Wilson's eyes.

David tiptoed back out of the room. Back up in the loft, he drank down the
Valium syrup without batting an eye. Then he wrote one final note: "O BEST
BELOVED DADDY, AND MY WILSON..." When he was done with the note, he could
really feel the medicine in his body. He was so sleepy that he didn't
think he could make it to the spiral stairs to drop it down the opening in
the floor, but he did. Then he took the Vicodin bottle from the pocket of
his shorts. He worked at prying the bottle open. It was childproof, but
really only baby-proof. He read the directions and held down the little
plastic tab that kept little kids from opening the bottle, then twirled
the cap off. He'd moved a little too aggressively, he guessed, because the
bottle top was on the floor now. David tried to shake himself alert enough
to finish the task he'd set for himself. Too much. His arm jerked wildly,
and some of the pills went flying out of the bottle, onto the floor. Some
of them even spilled down the spiral steps. He could hear them trickling
down until they stopped somewhere. 

He realized that he'd forgotten to bring himself a drink to wash down the
pills. But Daddy swallowed them dry all the time. Wilson always bitched at
Daddy for doing that. He picked up one pill and looked at it. David didn't
think that any amount of saliva would get that down his own throat. And he
really shouldn't leave all the pills spilled down the stairs and on the
floor. He sighed. "I'll get 'em in a minute," he said aloud, as he lay
down on the chair cushion to rest up for a moment. 

The next thing he knew he was waking up in the hospital with Daddy and
Wilson sitting in hard chairs on the left side of his room, holding hands
and looking extremely tired, and so, so scared. Before they noticed him,
he quickly came up with his plan, and practiced his vacant look.

*

A day after David had broken their hearts, he woke in his room to find a
strange woman waiting for him. He came awake with a jolt. The room was
bright; someone had opened the blinds. It was late morning. David had
slept a long time. Oh... he was still in the hospital, and none of the
horrible things that had happened to him all his life had gone away. He
was still miserable, skinny, problem-boy David. The depression pounced on
him like a wild leopard. "Oh," he let out a small sob. 

"Hello David," The woman said to him from a chair, House's chair, in the
corner of his hospital room. 

"H-h-h-hello," he replied automatically. 'Welcome back, stutter,' he
thought to himself, to the tune of 'Good Morning Heartache.'"

"How are you feeling?"

"O-okay." What did this lady want? 

"I'd like to talk to you for a little bit." She informed him. "Would that
be okay with you?"

David shrugged. 

"I'm Dr. Lilah Weiss." The short, blonde-and-gray-haired woman said to
him. She was small, almost like a kid, but old looking, maybe even older
than House. "It's my job to help kids when they have feelings that are
very upsetting to them."

David didn't respond until he realized that she was waiting for him to say
something. He shrugged again and said, "Okay."

"Would you mind if I move my seat a little closer?"

"Okay." David sat up in the hospital bed, thinking that was probably the
polite thing to do.

She moved closer, just to the foot of the hospital bed and sat down again.
David noticed that Dr. Weiss was dressed like other doctors, in a lab coat
that was open. Underneath that, she wore a skirt, blouse, and high heels,
all in different shades of purple. She was wearing a bright yellow rose on
her lapel for some reason. 

"David, do you know why you're here in the hospital?"

David didn't want to answer. He didn't want to be here. He wished he was
just dead, dead and free of pain. Now this lady wanted to drag him back to
his painful decision, and his failure.

Dr. Weiss waited. David sighed. "B-b-b-because I t-took all the
m-m-m-medicine."

She didn't speak for a few minutes. David decided that what he'd said was
enough, and that he wasn't going to stutter all afternoon.

"Can you tell me why you took all that medicine?"

"B-b-b-because I-I-I-I-I-I w-w-w-waaaanted to die."

"Why did you want to die, David?"

David shrugged. He lay back on the bed, and wished she would go away.

"I've talked to your family," Dr. Weiss said. 

"I-I-I-I-I d-don't h-h-h-have a f-family."

"Don't you?" She asked. "What about Greg House and James Wilson?" She had
to consult a folder that she was holding to get their names right.

"...n-n-never h-heard of 'em." David said quickly.

Dr. Weiss didn't even act surprised, David noticed. She crossed her legs
and looked like she was thinking to herself. Then she said, "That's odd,
David, because they seem to think that you are their son."

David shrugged. "T-t-they m-m-made a mistake."

Smiling gently, Dr. Weiss said that it was a funny thing, how, in the
animal kingdom, humans included, all creatures can recognize their own
young.

David looked down across the length of his bed at the doctor. He was
thinking about how his mother had been trying to find him to take him
back. This was certainly true.

"David, do you really not remember your parents?"

David looked away. "I-I-I-I d-d-don't have any p-parents."

"Everyone has parents."

"N-n-n-not m-me."

She pulled two things out of the pocket of her lab coat: one was his
little harmonica in its leather case; the other, a scrap of sheet music
paper, which she read to him. "O' Best Beloved Daddy and my Wilson, thank
you for making me feel happy for a long time. Please do not be sad because
you could not make me better. It is not your fault because I am too messed
up for a nice family. I love you Daddy. I love you Wilson. David Walsh"

David was covering his ears with his hands, but he could still hear her.
He started to cry.

Dr. Weiss came to the edge of David's bed and sat down. She stroked the
little boy's shoulder and waited for him to stop crying. 'Poor little
kid,' she thought. 'What a mess.' Then she thought also, 'How lucky for
him to have two very intelligent parents who want him so desperately.' Dr.
House had seemed like a bit of a dick, but then there was the whole
damaged leg factor, and his little boy was in serious trouble. Dr. Wilson
had seemed like a complete and total sweetheart, in spite of his pain. If
his luck held out, David would learn the strength of his older dad, and
the sweetness of his younger one. He'd be a wonderful man someday, she
hoped. When he finally stopped crying, Dr. Weiss mentally rolled up her
sleeves and went to work on him.

***************************

House knew instinctively that the woman was a social worker. He expected
one to show up eventually. At PPTH, part of the treatment for an attempted
suicide would be to delve into the patient's environment to make sure that
was safe, and to have a shrink evaluate and refer the person to some sort
of longer-term psychological treatment. He wanted Wilson there, then,
because House was sure that he wasn't up to being civil to anyone with
David in his current condition.

"Dr. House?" she stood at the foot of David's bed.

House looked at her and nodded. God, he had a sudden, brief flashback to
the dream where the social worker took David away. He breathed deeply, got
a hold of himself. "Yeah?"

"I'm Patricia Wales. I'm a social worker for the hospital. I've been
assigned to your son's case." She waited for him to acknowledge that, and
when he didn't, she went on. "May I speak with you for a few minutes?"

What point was there in resisting? That would just make matters worse.
House was aware that this woman needed to NOT know about David's
unofficial status, though. He wasn't sure how, but he was going to try to
keep that to himself. 

"Excuse me," House said quietly. "I need to make a phone call." He put
about 10 feet between Patricia Wales and himself, pulled out his cell
phone and text-messaged Wilson: "GT 2 HSPTL, SOCL WKR." Then he returned
his attention to the woman, nodded, and waited for her to start.

Patricia Wales led him to a small conference room. House was thankful that
this hospital had proper walls. The room was smallish, with a large wooden
Scandinavian boardroom-style table and a whiteboard affixed at one end.
Patricia Wales sat at the head of the table and indicated a catty-cornered
seat for House.

"Dr. House, I'm sure you are familiar with standard hospital procedure
since you work at a hospital yourself..." She began. "You son has
attempted to take his own life," she said softly. "I need to find out why,
and ascertain his safety before the hospital can discharge him." She
placed a thin folder on the table, and took a few forms out of a small
messenger bag she had been carrying over one shoulder.

House waited. He hoped to stall long enough for Wilson to arrive and
intervene. Meanwhile, he kept telling himself. "For David... For David..."

Ms. Wales tried again. "Dr. House, DO you know why your son tried to end
his life?"

House sighed, and took a deep breath. "David was an abused child until he
came to live with me last year. He's begun to process the trauma as best
he can. Apparently it's become too much for him. He left us some notes
that lead me to believe that he feels undeserving of his life with us."

She started clicking the pen she held. People usually found that habit
annoying, but Dr. House didn't say a word. It helped her think "So... are
you saying that David's self-destructive behavior is new?"

House nodded. "Things have gone well over the past eight months." He
crossed his arms. "He's had nightmares all along, and trouble sleeping.
But he seemed to be working slowly through what's turning out to be a
boatload of trauma."

Patricia knew this pattern. "Did your son seem to re-experience one type
of trauma after another in a sort of measured pace, say, every week or
two, then suddenly step up the frequency?"

House nodded.

"And do you know what caused the sudden change?"

House thought quickly. Would bringing his mother into the mix really
create a problem? "He ...saw his mother. He's afraid that she's somehow
going to take him back."

Patricia didn't know where the holes in the story were, but she already
knew that there were some. She accepted what House said at face value and
moved on. "How did your son's breakdown manifest itself?"

House shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

"You said that he had a regular pattern of behavior, that he was working
through his trauma naturally, then the pattern changed." She fiddled with
her pen a bit more. "I'd like to know how that happened exactly."

House sighed. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be at home, at the
hospital, in his easy chair with his feet propped up, watching General
Hospital with David draped partially the armrest, and the rest of the way
over him. He suddenly REALLY missed that. 

"He started by not sleeping. He's pretty good at taking care of himself,
but that started to slip a bit. Then he started acting fearful of going to
school, which was where his mother was hanging out." 

Patricia was writing the information down in brief, one-and-two-word
notes. "Okay."

"When we finally got it out of him, what was going on, he was so
frightened that we kept him home from school," House continued.

"We? Is there a mother, Dr. House?"

House was surprised that she wasn't aware of Wilson. "Dr. Wilson and I are
raising David together." He paused when she didn't 'get' it. "Dr. James
Wilson is my partner."

"Oh, I see," she responded matter-of-factly. Patricia Wales did see a few
non-traditional families amongst the vacationers. She made another quick
note. "Nobody bothered to include Dr. Wilson here. I'm sorry."

House shrugged. "Anyway, we kept him home from school one day, and by the
next day, David had developed a stutter. I brought him down here just to
get him away from home for a while. He wasn't in any condition to be in
school."

There was a knock on the door. Then it opened, and a nurse stuck her head
in. She looked irritated. "Pat - excuse me, but Dr. Wilson says that he
should be here for this interview?"

Patricia nodded. "That's fine, Myra." She watched as the two men reunited.
That's what it was like, like watching a reunion. An unobservant person
would have missed it altogether, but she saw a question in the dark brown
eyes of Dr. Wilson. She saw relief in the sapphire eyes of Dr. House. She
saw a nearly imperceptible soothing plea in the brown eyes. And an answer
in the blue ones. She wasn't sure what that answer was, but she could tell
that these two had a strong, deep bond. That was good. She didn't miss
that Wilson went around her and House to sit next to him rather than
across the table from him. And she caught a glimpse of their fingers
interlacing briefly under the table, before Wilson placed both his hands
atop the table.

"Dr. Wilson, I apologize for excluding you from this meeting. That was
unintentional."

Wilson shook his head. "No problem."

"We were talking about the events that led up to your son's suicide
attempt."

Wilson closed his eyes. The words 'suicide attempt' hurt. He took a breath
and forced himself to focus.

House continued. "He seemed to be getting a little better. We were giving
him Valium, and it seemed okay to lower his dosage. The stutter seemed to
disappear for a day. Then he had another nightmare, a really nasty one. He
wet his bed, even. And the stutter just came right back." House looked
down at his hands as he told the next part. "He asked me to... he wanted
me to spray Windex in his face to make him stop stuttering."

Patricia Wales had heard worse than that in her ten short years of being a
social worker, though. "What was your reaction to that?"

"I took it away from him. Let him know that I'd never do that, that it was
a horrible way to treat a child." 

Wilson added what House was inadvertently leaving out. "His mother used to
spray perfume in his face to make him stop stuttering.

Ms. Wales shook her head. "Sounds like he's had some pretty severe abuse.
What else do you know about David's past life?"

Wilson took over. "He was abandoned twice that we know of. In at least one
foster home. His mother was able somehow to get him back. She wants him
only for the welfare check. He's been exposed to prostitution-"

She interrupted with, "He was a child prostitute?"

"NO!" House nearly shouted. Wilson grabbed his arm and squeezed it.
"Sorry..."

"His mother was a prostitute. She used to kick him out of their apartment
whenever she was working," Wilson supplied

"What has David's therapist been advising during the time he's been with
you?"

House shifted uncomfortably. "He never seemed to need a therapist before
now."

She made another note. Patricia Wales began to suspect from that point on.
Two doctors, NOT psychology professionals, with a kid that they claimed
they were adopting. But Dr. House seemed to be totally unfamiliar with the
adoption process. And therapy would have been standard procedure for the
child, trauma or not. They were handling everything on their own.
Something was fishy here. Hopefully nothing horrible. This little kid
would need people with enough resources to heal his heart. Patricia
decided to check with the Lilah Weiss, the psychiatrist who was evaluating
David while she was talking to the parents to decide whether she needed to
get more involved.

***************************

Dr. Weiss quickly determined that David was actually going to be pretty
easy; he was a smart little fellow with two very capable parents. He
really only needed a little professional intervention. She realized that
David's stutter was frustrating him when they talked, so she brought a
small chalkboard on her next visit, later that same day. 

"IF I SAY YOU CANNOT TELL ANYBODY THEN YOU HAVE TO KEEP MY SECRETS?" David
was hopeful. If he could tell Dr. Weiss, maybe it wouldn't feel quite so
awful, what he was hiding in his heart. 

She nodded. "It's called 'doctor-patient confidentiality.' That means I
can't tell a single soul unless it's about something that is threatening
to your life, or someone else's life." She went on to clarify, "If you
were going to hurt someone physically, or hurt yourself, I'd have to tell.
But otherwise, ALL your secrets are safe with me. Unless you want me to
tell."

David took his time deciding whether or not he could trust Dr. Weiss. She
was too new. But he was tired, too tired to keep this up. He wanted House
and Wilson to go back to Princeton without him. Maybe Dr. Weiss could make
them understand.

"YOU CANNOT TELL DADDY AND WILSON, RIGHT?"

Dr. Weiss kept her expression neutral. 'DADDY and Wilson.' David was too
easy - probably because he really DID want his family. "That's right,
David. I can't tell them."

David drew himself into a cross-legged position on the bed and wrote
slowly. "I LIED ABOUT FORGETTING THEM BECAUSE I WANT THEM TO GO BACK TO
PRINCETON AND FORGET ALL ABOUT ME."

"Why would you want that? Were you unhappy with Daddy and Wilson? Did they
do anything that made you wish you didn't live with them?" Weiss was sure
of his answer, but she wanted to probe as many areas as possible. Maybe he
had a problem with the non-traditional family.

David's face took on a slightly shocked expression. He shook his head as
he scrawled, "NO. THEY TOOK GOOD CARE OF ME."

Then he wrote: "I AM TOO MESSED UP. THEY ARE HAPPY WITHOUT ME. I MAKE THEM
FEEL BAD BECAUSE OF ALL THE BAD THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO ME BEFORE."

He ran out of space, so he waited for her to read, erased the board, and
continued. I COST A LOT OF $$$. DADDY GETS ANGRY ABOUT THE BAD THINGS AND
I MAKE WILSON CRY.

"You don't want them to feel bad for you."

"IT MAKES ME FEEL VERY BAD. WORSE THAN BEFORE. LIKE I'M DOING BAD THINGS
TO THEM." David shook his head miserably. His green eyes were dark and
detached. "T-t-t-they sh-should have a b-b-b-better son. I'm t-t-too
m-messed up," he said softly as he erased the board.

"Don't you think that Daddy and Wilson would miss you, David?"

David shrugged. "THEY COULD GET OVER ME. IF THEY GET A NORMAL BOY, THEY'LL
FORGET ALL ABOUT ME. THEY WILL BE HAPPIER." 

"Will YOU be happy?"

David looked down at his lap. "No. B-b-but I-I-I-I-I-I don't have to
b-b-b-be happy." Then, frustrated with his stutter, he wrote: "BEING HAPPY
JUST MAKES THINGS WORSE."

"How does feeling happy make things worse, David?"

Faced with the impossibility of writing all that he felt on the little
chalkboard, David sat back limply on his bed and clammed up. Dr. Weiss
picked up the board and cleaned it off. Then she placed a fresh piece of
chalk into David's right hand. "We have lots of time, David."

"SHE COMES BACK AND MAKES ME FEEL BAD WHEN I'M HAPPY," the boy wrote. 

"Your mother?"

David nodded. "THE HAPPIER I FEEL THE MORE SHE MAKES IT HURT. THEY ARE
ALWAYS NICE TO ME, BUT I HAVE BAD DREAMS. I STUTTER. THE BAD THINGS THAT
HAPPENED COME BACK IN MY HEAD. SHE KEEPS COMING BACK. I CAN'T STOP HER.
SHE WON'T LET ME BE HAPPY. JUST TAKES OVER. SHE SAYS I DON'T DESERVE IT."

"Can you hear her, David? Through your ears?" Weiss kept her tone flat and
neutral, but she had to ask - if he was hearing actual voices, this was a
little more serious than she originally thought. 

"NO, ONLY IN MY MIND. BUT I CAN'T STOP IT."

Relieved, Dr. Weiss thought about what David was saying. He was suffering
severe PTSD. The story about the boy's mother that the two dads had told
her was true. David was having nightmares and flashbacks that had spun out
of control. This was very treatable. The two dads should have had him in
therapy months ago, when he first came to live with them. She would have
to find out why not, talk to Pat, and have her touch bases with whatever
idiot social worker was handling David's adoption back in New Jersey
later. 

************

House awoke, muttering words that were rare for a man with a streak of
arrogance. "I'm sorry! I'm *sorry*" His bad thigh was singing and dancing
like the Temptations. He grabbed it. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Wilson was trying to console him. "Wake up, Greg." He settled for grabbing
House's shoulder and shaking it. "Wake up."

"David..." 

"Sounds like another nightmare." Wilson soothed. "It's alright now." He
tried to smooth House's hair away from his brow. "Damn, I'm getting pretty
tired of this shit. I want us back to normal."

House reached for his bottle of Vicodin on the nightstand and popped a
couple, dry.

 "There's water right there." Wilson reminded him in a somewhat tight
voice. He'd left a cup of hotel ice on a paper coaster so that House
wouldn't have to get up. Wilson wondered how often House had dry-swallowed
the pills during the week they had been apart.

There was still a tiny bit of ice floating in the cup. Good, House downed
the cool drink in just three gulps. It felt good. Wilson tugged at his
pillow until Greg let him flip it over before he lay back down. Wilson was
fussing over him, offering to get more ice water, a fresh t-shirt. House
declined. "No Jimmy, just stay here." He rolled onto his side and reached
out for Wilson, who was sitting on his side of the bed, making to get up
and tend to House. "C'mere."

Jimmy lay back down and rolled into House's arms. "Okay." He put his arms
around Greg. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Nope." 

"Okay." Jimmy started rubbing his back lazily. He knew that House would
either talk about it anyway, or fall back to sleep. 

Greg was thinking to himself. He examined the dream quickly - it wasn't
hard. His dream-David was angrily accusing him of making him miserable by
showing him a life he could never really have. For over eight months now,
their son had tried his best to suppress all the pain and anger in his
heart as best he could. In reality, House and Wilson had given David a
taste of a much better life that was his for the taking, but the boy was
having trouble accepting that life now that his bad past was over. 

David's meek little soul was somehow trying to detox by having flashbacks
and horrible nightmares. Sure, some of the bad stuff seeped out over the
eight months, and they had dealt with it rather well. But the issues from
those eight months were small potatoes compared with the horrid scenes
that David had hidden from them. Their boy was incapacitated by the dreams
and flashbacks. And they were coming at a much faster pace, one after
another. It was too much.

"David's gonna need a shrink when we get home." He said aloud.

Wilson tightened his arms around Greg. "I know." Wilson had thought all
along that David might have benefited from therapy, even before he knew
how deeply he'd been traumatized. But David was House's son before he'd
become * their * son, and there wasn't much he could say to begin with.
Furthermore, they had been managing fairly well until David' mother showed
up again. House had a knack with ferreting out the emotional problems that
David was suffering, and together they had been doing well at healing him.
This last bit was just way out of their league. 

"I guess I'd just hoped that he wasn't so ... damaged." 

Wilson thought he heard a little break in Greg's voice when he uttered the
word, "damaged." That made his own heart ache a little. 

"...If he ever even remembers us." House said, half to himself.

Wilson shook his head. He started rubbing House's back again. "Bullshit,"
he whispered."

"I know. He's not gonna win a Tony for that act. But the fact that he
doesn't want to remember us - He's used to feeling like a burden, to not
being wanted. You saw how hard he tried for us; he didn't want to give us
any reason not to want him. He was the most agreeable child on the planet.
He believed that if he could just lay low, be perfect, and not make any
demands on us that we'd let him stay. He doesn't get it that we just want
him for no reason other than we just do." House shook his head. "That's a
lot of pressure for a little kid."

House was also thinking that Wilson had always kind of been like that.
He'd always tried to be everything to everybody, all the time - at least
at work - because he didn't believe he would be loved just because he was
a lovable guy without all the bending over backwards. He'd become friends
with House initially because he thought House needed him. House DID need
him, but he wanted him, too. Wilson had been a fun friend. He stood up to
House and bit back sometimes. And House had thought maybe he could annoy
Wilson into dropping the caretaker act. It had all come out in the wash,
though. They had a kid, and kids were the ultimate in neediness. David's
needs kind of siphoned away some of Wilson's ... 'vampirism,' thereby
making room in his adult relationships for something more egalitarian to
develop.

Wilson found himself thinking about House, who was the opposite of David.
He felt unwanted and left out of life, true, but he reacted, not by trying
harder to be loved. Instead, he was an arrogant, snarky little
weasel...who made it his business to know so much that people HAD to
accept him, even though they didn't like him. Opposite sides of the same
damn coin. 

Neither man shared his thoughts with the other on this matter.

"Wanna make love?" Wilson asked.

"No." House sounded annoyed.

"Ok, whatever."

House was incredulous. "Our KID is in a freaking psych ward and you want
to fuck?"

Wilson shrugged. This was another major difference between the two men.
Wilson had told Allison Cameron once "You'd be surprised at what you can
live with." He was capable of still enjoying some aspects of his life in
spite of difficulties. Greg put all of his eggs in one basket, all the
time. No middle ground. Always extremes. He didn't want to have sex when
he was having trouble figuring out a case. And once he'd solved the
problem, he was the wild man Cuddy had talked about in bed. David was the
only person to whom House allowed any special consideration; he was always
pretty good with the boy, but still there was a little difference when
House was really caught up in a case. He didn't spend as long playing with
David or talking to him. But Wilson was an adult who was expected to
understand when Greg didn't want to come out and play.

"You might feel better." Wilson got one hand between them and started
stroking Greg's chest. "I know I would."

House shook his head. "Even if I wanted to, I doubt I could, Jimmy."

Wilson knew that sometimes the pain made it difficult. Occasionally, the
Vicodin did, too, but they'd figured out how to work around that. Tonight
it was purely emotional, though.

******

Wilson rose and showered early to visit David at the hospital across the
street. Greg had wanted to have breakfast first. Wilson claimed that he
wasn't hungry, and that he wanted to get there early enough to try and get
David to eat a little more. "See ya in half an hour or so?"

"Yeah." Greg kissed him and headed in to take a shower.

David was awake, having his breakfast - or rather, sitting in front of his
breakfast of French toast fingers and milk. A cartoon was playing on the
television screen. He didn't acknowledge Wilson at all.

Wilson pulled a straight-backed chair to David's bedside and sat down. He
watched his son quietly. David was an expert at making "eating motions"
without actually ingesting any food. Stirring the milk with his straw,
cutting the toast and moving it from one part of the plate to another took
up about five minutes. He was starting to move the French toast back to
the other side of his plate when Wilson started talking.

"David, I've been wondering if you remember anything about how House was
before you came to live with him. Do you?"

David glanced in Wilson's general direction quickly and back down at his
plate, but didn't answer. 

Wilson sighed, but pushed on. "Did Daddy ever tell you that he got shot
just before he met you?"

David couldn't hide his reaction to that. He gasped, and looked up at his
Wilson, alarmed. Then he remembered that he wasn't supposed to know Wilson
or Daddy anymore, so he pulled his indifferent mask back on and looked
down at his lap.

"Yeah..." Wilson sat up straight in the chair and fixed his gaze on the
little boy. "Somebody shot House. You know that stain on the floor of his
office? It's blood. Daddy's blood. He made them kept the carpet there, and
they couldn't clean it completely away."

David couldn't keep his concern and curiosity under control. "Wh-wh-why
did s-s-s-somebody sh-shoot D-doctor House?" 

'Clever,' Wilson thought. He chose to ignore David's phony act. "The man
was angry about something Daddy said to him. He was a whacko, I guess. And
Daddy sometimes says things he maybe shouldn't. Even if it's the truth."
He watched while David absorbed what he had said.

"House was very unhappy for a long time, honey." Wilson said softly.
"Because of his leg, and because of some other things, grown-up matters.
Daddy's heart was broken, and he didn't know how to make it better."

David thought that he knew about Daddy being unhappy. He remembered that
he was scared of House at first. And David could see the sadness in his
eyes whenever he saw him in the hallway at the apartment. He could even
hear the sadness in House's music, at first. He didn't have the words to
articulate that the sadness in Daddy's music had resonated deeply within
him, somehow. 

Wilson continued. "Then last summer, he got shot, and the treatment that
Dr. Cuddy told the surgeons to use while they were fixing the gunshot
wounds made his leg stop hurting. It was like a miracle."

David looked up at Wilson. He wanted to ask questions, but he wasn't
supposed to know them, so he couldn't. 

Wilson nodded, "He could walk normally, even run, without his cane. He had
two months of no pain in his leg, no cane, no Vicodin."

David tried to imagine Daddy running, Daddy without his cane. He
remembered his dream, and smiled a little. Then he refocused on Wilson.
"The p-pain came back?" Oops...

"Yeah," Wilson replied, choosing not to call attention to David's lapse,
"It came back. The treatment wore off, and he was right back where he'd
started. And even though he tried to hide how that made him feel, losing
his leg all over again made Daddy even sadder than ever. But something
really lucky happened, too."

David looked up at Wilson expectantly.

"He found you, David." Wilson said simply. "He got a little boy to take
care of, and to love, and that took his mind off how unhappy he was. And
before you knew it, House was more like his old self, because having you
around opened up his heart again. "Wilson leaned forward and tapped
David's little chest with two fingers. "You helped Daddy to open his heart
enough to let other people in." Wilson leaned back again in his chair.
"Including me, David," he said softly. "House and I have been friends for
years and years, but he wouldn't let me get as close as I wanted to, not
until you helped him to start loving again." 

Wilson reached out and took the little boy's hand. "It's important for you
to know that this isn't all just going in one direction, David. You think
that you're not worth all the energy and time and money, but you're worth
all of it, and more, because you give us something back that is
immeasurable... Something very precious. 

Still holding David's hand, Wilson rose and sat on the edge of the
hospital bed. "YOU make us a family, David." Wilson was nearly whispering
now. "You think that you don't belong in a nice family, but you DO, sweet
boy, you belong with US. We *need* you, and we want you, David."

David spoke the truth, part of it, then. "All the b-b-bad stuff m-makes
everything all upset. D-d-d-daddy g-gets mad and you g-g-get sad. It's
h-h-h-h-hurting everybody."

Wilson looked sad, then. "Oh, David..." He stroked the little hand he was
holding. "If we share the pain with you, you've got two more pairs of
strong shoulders to carry the weight, honey." He took David's thin, narrow
shoulders in both hands and squeezed a little for emphasis, and added: "*
You're too little to deal with this alone. * You need us, and we NEED to
help you. You're our SON, David. We wouldn't do this if we didn't want
you."

David's big green eyes were brimming over with tears now, but he didn't
show any other sign of acknowledging what Wilson was saying to him,.

"David, these memories aren't going to keep hurting you forever; not as
long as you deal with them in a healthy way. Keeping it inside is what's
making it so painful. That's NOT healthy. You need Daddy and me to help
you through this. I promise it won't hurt forever."

David stayed silent. He pulled away and stared down at his lap. He wanted
Wilson to go away, so he could think, but he didn't know how to say so
without hurting his feelings. So he just sat there and said nothing, and
Wilson sat with him, letting him be silent.

Eventually, David lay back and rolled onto his side, turning his back to
Wilson. He pulled the covers up over his head and tried to pretend he was
asleep. 

Sighing, Wilson rose and walked around the bed to stand in front of his
son. He pulled back the covers. David's eyes were screwed shut, his face
half buried in his pillow. Gently, Wilson removed David's glasses, kissed
him, and tucked him in. "You rest a little more, honey. Think about what
I've told you." He kissed him again. "But we're not leaving here without
our boy."

David, his eyes still closed, whispered, "You sh-should g-g-get another
b-boy, Dr. Wilson. A boy without any p-p-p-problems."

"Everyone has problems, David." Wilson told him. "And we don't want any
other boy. We only want YOU. Only you. You're OUR boy. House's and mine."

David thought he heard a little break, a catch, in Wilson's voice when he
said "OUR boy." And somehow that little sound was the most convincing
thing David ever heard.

"You think for a while about what I've said, honey," Wilson said softly.
"I've got to go back to the hotel for a bit. I'm expecting a letter." Then
he left David.

*******************************************

The two men crossed each other's paths in the main entrance of the little
medical center. They had perfected their public greetings so as not to
create a scene. Even though Wilson wanted Greg to embrace him, and Greg
wouldn't have minded a little hug, either, they shook hands. What mattered
was the warmth that passed between their hands, a warmth that no one could
see, and between their eyes - which might have bordered on obscene on a
happy day. Today, it was just a gentle re-connection.

"Hey..."

"How is he?" House inquired.

"I don't' know. We had a talk...* I * had a talk, anyway. Do me a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"Give him some time to let it sink in? Don't go see him yet?"

House raised an eyebrow, but decided not to balk. He turned towards the
hotel across the street and started walking back. Wilson fell into step
beside him. 

Wilson's letter had arrived. It was a large FedEx envelope.

"Long-distance consult?" House asked as he stood before the elevator
doors. He grabbed at the envelope.

Wilson snatched it away deftly. "Yeah, I need to find a Kinko's, ok? See
ya at lunchtime?"

Shrugging, House punched the 'up' button, and returned to their room
alone.

********

Some people cannot wear watches. Somehow, watches just stop working on
certain people after a few days. It was this way for Wilson with
photocopiers. Wilson hated photocopiers, and the feeling was mutual. He
imagined that, similarly to those people who can't wear watches, he had
some kind of bizarre electrical field around his body that kept his heart
and brain and muscles working properly, but somehow interfered with the
damn machines. He swore that, a couple times, he just stood in front of
the copier in his office, and it just shut down on general principle, but
nobody ever believed him. Greg laughed whenever he saw his partner
struggling with toner or a jam in his office copier. It was for this
reason that Wilson usually palmed off his copying on the Oncology
department's office staff, even though it might have been quicker to make
a quick copy himself.

The self-serve copiers at Kinko's were no exception. Wilson made copies of
the pages he needed, fine. Then he did some creative editing with a
super-fine Sharpie, a straightedge, a little Wite-Out, and a typewriter.
The second pass at the photocopier was when everything went wrong. Somehow
the copier thought the orientation was landscape instead of portrait, and
he started getting copies of half his pages, going in the wrong direction.
'Fucking copier...' He somehow was just unable to be "Saint James" in this
situation.

Forty-five minutes and twelve dollars later, Wilson sat alone in a small
cubicle where he stuffed a fresh FedEx envelope. He made arrangements
through the Kinko's clerk to send all of his originals back to himself at
the hospital. Then he sat down and weeded out all the wrong or bad copies,
which he fed into the big shredder that was provided. Finally, he placed
all the pages he needed in the order he thought made sense, and put them
in a fresh manila envelope. Finally, he took himself, with the documents
he'd just doctored, back to the rental car.

He phoned House, who picked up on the fourth ring. "Are you naked?" he
asked, sounding groggy.

"Yeah. Meet me at the hospital, okay?"

"Yeah."

Wilson hung up before House could ask him what was up.

******************

A nurse's aide was trying to get David to eat something again, this time,
a snack of apple juice and graham crackers. He had nibbled a corner of one
cracker, and sipped about half of the juice. When she saw House at the
door, she left them. She'd already heard that the dad with the cane...bit.

House entered the room and sat down in one of the two chairs that were
there. "Hi David," he said gently. 

"Hi..."

Surprised, House attempted to get the boy to say more. "How're you
feeling?"

"'Kay." David was actually looking at him.

"How did you sleep?"

David shrugged. 'End of the line,' House thought. Then he reached into his
pocket and pulled out a deck of kiddy cards, which he started to shuffle.
"Old Maid," he announced, as he started dealing the cards on the little
table that extended over David's bed.

House had taught him several grown-up card games, like poker and Gin, but
David hadn't ever played Old Maid. His dad explained the rules quickly. It
really was a baby game, but it was better than having to think about the
game, and better than being alone. David was surprised that he didn't want
House to go away for the first time in several days.

They played about eight hands. House palmed the Old Maid every time he
dealt the cards, plus he got the Old Maid in the end three other times as
well. Each time he lost, House berated himself.

"Damn... I must really be a lousy card player."

David shrugged the first time.

"Why does this keep happening?"

David looked up at House, but said nothing.

"I really, really suck."

"N-n-no you don't."

"No?"

David shook his head. "It's r-random. Y-y-y-you j-j-j-just got b-bad
luck."

"Think so?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, but I'm pretty tired of losing."

"W-w-wanna w-w-watch T-TV?"

"Yeah, okay."

By then, Wilson had arrived with his envelope, so they turned their
attention to him, instead. Thankfully, the rooms in the medical center had
real walls, and a door, which Wilson closed. Then he kissed both Greg and
David before he sat across the bed from the other man. 

"I got something in the mail today, guys," He began. With his eyes, he
told House to follow his lead. House nodded imperceptibly. "We've been
waiting for this thing for months, and finally it came - Stacy sent it to
Dr. Cuddy to send to us; she thought we'd want to see it right away." He
opened the FedEx envelope, which had already been torn open, and pulled
out the newer manila envelope inside. Inside that was a small stack of
about twenty pieces of paper of varying shades of white or cream, and
different textures, some stapled together, others not.

"Wh-wh-what is it, W-w-wilson?"

Wilson was stunned into silence for a moment. David was talking to them,
and using his name. Furthermore, he was curious enough to ask what was
going on. A marked improvement. He smiled at the boy. "It's a surprise. I
guess maybe Dad and I should have told you a long time ago, but we didn't
want to make you nervous, because it's taken a really long time to get
this done."

House was frozen for almost a minute while his brilliant mind leapt ahead
and guessed what Wilson was doing. Then his heart caught up, and thought
maybe he might fall in love with the other man all over again. When their
eyes met briefly, he had to look away, compose himself.

"All of these," Wilson told David, "Are adoption papers." He spread the
papers out on the bed table. 

David held his outward expression in check. Inside, his little heart was
slamming against his sternum.

"We've been wanting to adopt you, honey, but you have to ask the courts
for permission, you see. It takes a long time to get approval." He pulled
out one four-page document. "This one says that the courts think that
House and I will be good dads for you."

He pulled out another sheet. "This one says that your mother can NEVER
legally get you back again, because of the way she treated you in the
past." He pushed the document across the broad, shallow table for David to
inspect.

"H-hard w-w-w-words," David observed.

"Yeah," House put in. "That's just legalese....lawyer talk. Most people
can't read it. Even doctors. But it means just what Wilson's saying. We
had Stacy figure it all out for us. You remember Stacy? She came to visit
us and had dinner that day when you wrote that Venus Flytrap song."

David's mouth fell open. "Y-y-you st-started adopting m-me w-way b-b-back
then?"

"Yeah." House found that he didn't mind kind of lying to his son at all,
not about this. He HAD started the adoption then, but it just turned out
to be something other than what he'd planned.

"Th-that w-w-w-was b-before you and W-wilson..."

"...yeah... well, I got in on the act later, and that made it take a
little bit longer," Wilson added.

House threw him a warning look. There wasn't any need to lie to their son
any more than necessary. 

"Anyway, honey, we finally got all these papers back." He spread them out
in four stacks. "We have approval and permission from the courts. We have
this one that says your mother can never get you back again. We have this
one saying that Daddy and I promise to accept you as our kid, and to take
good care of you from now on." Then, with something of a flourish, he
pulled out one last document. "And this one. The most important one. It's
for you, David. It says that you agree that you want to be our son."

Tension began to grow in the room then. 

Wilson pulled out a fancy pen and started signing papers. "Here ya go," he
handed each page off to House, who took the pen from him each time, and
signed without a second's hesitation. Wilson stacked each of the pages
atop the envelope. Only David's page remained. 

Wilson pulled out a blank piece of paper and placed it and his pen in
front of David. "You might want to think about it for a little while,
David. Daddy and I really want you to agree to be our son, but it's really
only up to you. And once you decide you want to be ours, it's decided
forever." He fingered the pen and looked deeply into the boy's eyes. This
means that you're stuck with us. We can't leave you, and you can't leave
us, not until you're all grown up. No matter what, you'll belong to House
and me."

Awe-stricken, David stared down at the blank paper. They had signed up to
be his parents without even batting an eye. They were * eager * to be
stuck with him. He pushed at the blank white paper. "Wh-what's th-th-this
one f-f-f-for?"

Wilson picked up the pen and held it out to David. "I thought you might
want to practice first." He picked up the document with two empty blanks
under which read: "(ADOPTEE)" "See..." He pointed to the first blank.
"You're supposed to sign your name, "David Walsh" here. Then he pointed to
the second blank. "And then you get to sign your new name, David House,
here."

David peered at the document. He reached out and took the page from
Wilson. His small hands shook now, and his lips trembled. He seemed to be
on the brink of hyperventilation.

House sat closer, in an attempt to lend his strength to his son. "Breathe,
David," he said softly. "It's gonna be okay. Just breathe, and decide what
you think you want to do."

David didn't hesitate for long. He was shaking from excitement and the
thrill of fear that went through his little body. "I w-w-want....I-I-I-I
w-want to be D-d-david House," the boy whispered. 

Wilson placed a hand over David's. "Daddy and I talked about this, David."
He looked at House again. 'Back me up,' his look pleaded. "We decided that
since you don't already have one, that we would make Wilson your middle
name." He touched the boy's cheek gently. "Would you like that?"

Tears spilled down David's thin face. He couldn't speak anymore, so he
just nodded hungrily. He took the pen that Wilson had been holding all
this time. He didn't want to practice. He wanted the first time he signed
his new name to be on the official document. So he scrawled "David Walsh"
on the first blank carelessly. Then, slowly, in his impeccably neat
script, he carefully signed, "David Wilson House." He looked up at his
fathers. "Wh-what d-d-d-do we do n-n-next?"

Wilson smiled. "We're done. We have to send all this back to the courts so
they can put the papers away in a safe place for us, but it's all over
honey. Congratulations...you're officially David Wilson House." 

David started to cry in earnest then. He drew his little knees up to his
chest and wrapped his arms around them, rocking himself as he cried tears
of relief. "Sh-sh-she can't take me away..." he murmured, over and over.
"She c-c-c-an't g-g-g-get me."

House took over then. It was usually Wilson who did the comforting, but
the younger man deferred to his partner. Somehow it was * right * that
House would hold David now. They had begun this journey together; Wilson
was a relative newcomer to their little family. House gathered his son up
into his arms and sat on the side of the bed. "That's right, David. That's
right. She's not your mommy anymore, and she can't have you, no matter
what she does." He was unconsciously rocking David, and saying those words
over and over again.

And finally, FINALLY, David was really 'back.' "D-d-daddy," he whispered
hoarsely. "D-daddy..." He clutched at House desperately. "You're r-really
MY D-d-d-daddy."

"Yeah." House wasn't the slightest bit embarrassed by the tears that were
suddenly trickling through the stubble on his face. 

"A-a-and M-MY Wilson," David scrambled out of his dad's arms across the
bed to hug Wilson, too. Wilson was completely gone, not just teary, but
sobbing as well.

Dr. Weiss chose that moment to knock on the door. When no one answered,
she tentatively entered the room. David was hugging his younger dad, Dr.
Wilson, and Dr. House were both ... in tears. They all were, actually.
Something had happened.

"I'm...here for David's... session," she said awkwardly. "I thought I'd
take him to the cafeteria...for lunch." Her plan was to hopefully get
David to eat a little, and perhaps talk some more as well.

David relaxed every muscle in his body in the way that only kids can,
causing Wilson to lose his grip on him, and slid to the floor. He trotted
to Dr. Weiss. "I'm D-d-d-d-david HOUSE n-now!" He informed her. He grabbed
her arm. "Dr. Weiss, my name is D-david W-wilson H-h-h-house."

The psychiatrist merely looked at the two dads. "Really? Do you want to
come to the cafeteria with me, and tell me all about it?" she asked,
noting that both men were trying to school shocked expressions into
something resembling normal.

"O-okay." He went back to Wilson, who had gathered up all the papers into
the manilla envelope while he'd been hugging his daddy. "S-s-send it
t-t-today, okay W-wilson? S-send it RIGHT NOW."

Wilson nodded. "Okay, honey. I'll go right to the FedEx place and
overnight it back to Lisa, alright?"

"N-no, send it to the court, W-wilson. P-please?"

"Okay, love. I'll do that." Wilson sealed the envelope. 

David offered his hand to Dr. Weiss. "I'm r-r-ready." They left together,
letting the door close again on the two men.

Wilson closed his eyes and waited for House to bitch at him.

House didn't disappoint. "Jesus, Jimmy, did you really think that was
going to work?"

"Yeah, I did."

House shook his head. "That was ... an incredibly ... sweet...and STUPID
thing to do."

Wilson frowned. "You seemed to be all for it in the beginning..."

"Yeah, that was when I thought you'd signed off on all those "Plan B"
papers I'd gotten from Stacy. I don't know WHAT in the hell you thought
you were doing, Wilson. That was the weakest, most convoluted, idiotic lie
I've ever heard you tell."

"Not really, Greg. I've told you worse ones, and gotten away with it."

"Yeah, for a week or two, here and there." House shook his head. "This is
a real fucked up mess, Jimmy. The shrink is gonna hear it all from David
in the next few minutes, and we're gonna end up losing our kid."

Wilson sat down on the bed. "Shut up, Greg," he told his lover. 

Greg shook his head. "No - you've got to start figuring out how we are
going to get David back home now that we've openly fudged some bullshit
adoption papers... Where in the fuck did you get that idea? We had
something perfectly plausible worked out, and you took it to the level of
nearly absurd. Why, Wilson?"

"Shut up and listen, Greg," Wilson attempted again. Before House could
start on another tirade, Wilson raised his voice louder. "SHUT UP, GREG!" 

Greg paused for only a second.

It was long enough for Wilson to squeeze in: "I cooked up those papers
because I wanted David to see us signing something. And I wanted him to do
something symbolic, like signing a document, to make his acceptance of his
place in our family concrete." 

"How is this better than the plan that Stacy worked up for us? The
shortcut? This doesn't do a damn thing. It's just smoke and mirrors.
DAVID'S NOT STUPID, Wilson." House sounded truly angry now.

Wilson spoke gently. "It's alright, Greg. Listen to me, please." He
dropped the envelope on the bed table. "This is all just bullshit to light
a fire under David. I had Cuddy send me the papers, and I just doctored
them up down at Kinko's."

"I figured that out already, Wilson." Greg was pounding the floor with his
cane impatiently. He wanted to verbally abuse his partner, not hear about
what he already knew.

"Yeah, well, keep your shirt on, for god's sake," Wilson continued. 

"Wait a second - what was Cuddy doing with the adoption papers in the
first place?"

"Yeah, this is where you smother me with kisses, Greg," Wilson answered,
smiling. "I took those documents you'd already had prepared and left at my
place, and I fudged your physical results, just the way you wanted, before
I came down here. Sent them back to Stacy with instructions for her to
send back our copies to Cuddy when the whole process was complete, and all
the filing was done. Then I asked Lisa to be on the lookout for them, and
to send it to me at the hotel."

 "Holy shit..." House gasped.

 "Signed, sealed, delivered....he's yours, Greg."

"Wilson..." Greg whispered.

"You should probably started kissing me now," Wilson joked. "Anyway, as
far as the State of New Jersey is concerned, you are the sole parent of
David Wilson House. So if anyone here questions us, based on what David's
babbling about now, we have a leg to stand on. Those documents were
backdated, remember? So we'll just tell the truth - that we wanted to do
something symbolic for David. If anyone wanted to check, the documents are
in the State courthouse by now."

House felt his heart turning into molten lava. He didn't know how he ended
up on the other side of David's bed, but suddenly he was there, kissing
the daylights out of Wilson. And of course, Wilson started moaning.
Moaning AND blubbering at the same time, because it was all going to be
okay. It was all going to be okay, and House was smothering him with his
love. Oh, yes...

******************

House started packing up David's few belongings into a small bag that he
had brought over from the hotel while they waited for Wilson to finish his
song-and-dance with the social worker. They were hoping to get David
discharged today. 

David was looking more like his old self, even if he was a little
tear-stained and skinnier than ever before. That was okay. His face could
be washed, and now that things were a lot more stable, he would start
eating. This was Wilson's department; his partner would figure out what
David would need to eat to put on some weight, but was still healthy for
the boy. Most importantly, both his dads believed that David was no longer
a danger to himself, and that was the reason he was here in the first
place.

House's department was inside the kid's head. There were more things to
say, things that House needed to know, and things that David needed to
confront. That shrink was probably pretty good, but House thought that if
things went her way, they might spend months getting David through this.
Too slow. 

House kicked off his sneakers and lay down on his right side on the
hospital bed, where David was sitting up, cross-legged, watching something
mindless on the TV that hung from the ceiling. When he saw what House was
doing, he scooted closer to his dad, kind of snuggled up to him, still
sitting upright with his lower back up against his dad's belly.

House placed a hand on David's bony knee and started tracing a circle
around and around his little kneecap with two fingers. "We have to talk
about some things, David. You know that, don't you?"

David nodded wordlessly. He didn't look at his dad.

"You pushed us away for a little while there, David," House said,
matter-of-factly.

"I'm s-s-sorry."

House shook his head. "I don't want you sorry. I want to know what was
going on. What made you feel you couldn't be with us?"

David didn't answer right away. His big, sad, green eyes made their way
over to peer at House's face. Daddy was really sharp about these things.
Wilson was always a lot easier. Wilson would just deal with whatever David
said. Daddy was always digging deeper. David had to admit that eventually,
Daddy always made him feel better in the long run. But sometimes, Wilson's
way of making him better for the moment was what the boy preferred. Damn.
Daddy was going to push him again.

David tried to go the easy route, anyway. "I-I-I-I was making everything
miserable. I f-f-felt really b-b-b-bad about it."

House peered intently at his son. "What else, David?"

The boy shrugged. "That's all."

Shaking his head, House said, "No, there's more to this. You know there's
more to this."

"I don't like making you and Wilson sad- "

His dad interrupted, "-Yeah, yeah, I get all that. Very noble of you."
House's hand had slipped from David's knee, and was holding the boy's
ankle very firmly for some reason. "But why else?"

"Because... b-b-b-b-because I don't want to make you and..."

"Shut up about that." House said to him softly. "Tell me about how you got
the scars all over your butt and your back."

"N-n-n-no. No Daddy."

"We have to deal with this, David."

"I don't want to!"

"How come?"

"You'll get mad."

"Not at you. And I promise not to say any angry words. Haven't I always
kept all my promises to you?"

"You'll g-g-get mad later, when I'm n-n-not around."

"So what do YOU care? You won't hear it. And you're officially my son now,
so it's not like I can send you back."

"D-d-d-daddy..." David pleaded.

"Tell me." House had grabbed David's shoulder and pulled the boy closer so
that their faces were inches apart. "I need to know. And you need to tell
me."

"No," David's lips trembled, and he was going into snail mode.

House took both David's shoulders a bit more gently into his hands.
"David, look at me." 

David struggled to look anywhere BUT at his daddy. 

House gave the boy's shoulders a little squeeze. "Look at me, son." 

SON. Now David couldn't look anywhere else except deeply into those
intense blue eyes. "D-d-daddy... I can't."

"Because ..."

David shook his head. 

"I'll help you, David. It's because you're scared," House said for him.

David looked away. "I don't want to make you..."

"...shut up, David." House said gently. "You're scared, and you don't want
to relive this crap. I get that it upsets you to see Wilson's and my
reaction to all the crap you've been through, okay? But you're eight years
old. You don't want to do this because it HURTS. It hurts, and it ...
makes you feel ... ashamed."

David flinched and tried to pull away from House. He started to cry then.
"Let me GO!" he sobbed. "Let me go! HOUSE! I don't want to go with you
anymore. I hate you." With the utterance of those words, David collapsed,
stopped struggling against House. He was horrified at what he'd just said
to his daddy.

Then House continued. "You're so scared of feeling all that pain and shame
that you'd rather give up a family that loves you, and stay miserable." He
sighed, and placed one hand on David's little chest. "David, it's horrible
stuff, but it's over. It needs to come out; that's the only way you have a
chance at being happy. It's just like infection." He patted David's chest
a little. "Remember when you had that virus last winter?"

A soft little, "Yeah," issued forth from David's lips.

"Okay, remember all the nasty stuff that happened? You threw up, you had
the runs, and you coughed and you nose was drippy?"

"Yeah."

"Well, this kind of works the same way. You're having all these nasty
symptoms. The stuttering and flashbacks and all that, because you've got
an emotional sickness. You're gonna have these symptoms until you let us
help you get all the nasty stuff out in the open. Would you have kept the
upchuck from coming out if you felt sick?"

"I d-didn't kn-kn-knoow how to st-stop that."

"Yeah, but if you clamped your mouth shut, it'd just come out of nose. And
furthermore, if you didn't let Wilson and me help you - give you medicine
and keep you warm, and all that, you would have gotten sicker. People can
die from the flu, you know?"

David didn't know that. He shook his head.

"Yeah. And you won't survive this thing that your mother did to you, all
the nasty things she did to you, if you don't let somebody help you. It's
gonna hurt some, David, but you know how weak your body feels after you've
been sick?"

David nodded. He had felt weak and tired, but he remembered feeling
stronger every time he woke up from the many naps he'd taken.

"Well it kind of works the same way. It's pain, but it's a clean, 'getting
better' kind of pain." House was gently stroking his son's emaciated chest
now, feeling the delicate little ribs that protruded pitifully. "I promise
you that it'll be worth it. You'll see."

David rolled away, curled up on his side so that his back was to House.

"I'm scared," he whispered, so faintly that House almost didn't hear him.

"Good boy." House replied softly. He placed a hand on David's shoulder.
"Just remember that what you're feeling now is all memories. You can't be
hurt by memories." 

David's little body stiffened. "Don't touch me right now, Daddy."

"Okay." House pulled his hand away instantly.

Then David was quiet for two minutes before he took a deep shuddering
breath, and spoke. "I w-w-w-wet my p-p-pants that time wh-wh-when I
w-w-w-was three. SHE w-w-w-was so m-mad at me that after sh-sh-she
t-t-t-took off all my w-w-wet clothes she m-m-m-made me get the
b-b-b-b-b-belt. I p-picked the wrong belt, D-d-d-daddy. I picked the one
w-with the d-d-d-diamonds on the b-buckle. SHE j-j-j-just k-k-k-k-kept
scream-screaming and I c-c-c-c-couldn't think, s-s-so I gr-gr-grabbed the
f-first one I s-s-saw. It had d-d-d-diamonds." All this time, David was
holding himself absolutely still, facing away from House, little arms
wrapped around his own body. "And then M-m-m-mommy st-st-started
h-h-hitting m-me over and o-o-o-over. Th-th-that's when I kn-knew it
w-w-w-was the wrong b-belt, 'c-c-c-cause the buckle r-r-r-really h-hurt.
It hurt s-s-s-so m-much, D-d-daddy. And the d-d-diamonds w-w-w-were
c-c-c-cutting my skin on my h-head and m-my b-b-back and my b-b-b-butt."

David's tone changed then. "That's wh-when the m-music came and took over
so I didn't hardly feel it at all. The music pushed the pain away...it
used to, anyway. It's g-gone n-n-n-now. Wh-when the music st-st-stopped, I
w-was in the c-c-car, and I was s-s-s-sick b-b-b-because of the s-s-sores.
SHE g-g-g-gave me some n-n-n-nasty m-medicine to take and I f-f-fell
asleep. When I w-w-woke up, I was in th-that g-g-g-garage, on the
l-l-l-lift."

House scooted over closed to his son, not touching, but close enough that
the boy could surely feel the warmth from his dad's body. "So she punished
you for wetting your pants?" House asked in a gentle whisper.

"I couldn't g-g-g-get the door open. The sc-screen door. I c-c-c-couldn't
turn the h-handle. It was too b-big."

"And you were three years old. You had an accident. Three years old is way
too early to expect a child not to have accidents. A lot of kids are just
starting to be potty trained at three."

David shrugged.

"Then she beat you with a belt. A belt with rhinestones in the buckle. She
hit you hard enough to draw blood."

David nodded.

"You mother was a child abuser. You know that, but I don't think you
really understand, David. People go to jail for doing a lot less than she
did to you."

David shrugged again.

"Yes, David."

They were silent for a few minutes. House wanted to press on, but he knew
that David needed time to take in what he had just said. He noticed that
his son was kind of rocking himself slightly as he lay on his side, still
facing away from House.

"D-daddy, they let her t-t-take me b-back. She didn't n-n-never go to
j-j-j-jail."

"No, but she should have."

"Then wh-why...?"

"Old Maid." House told him. "Bad luck. Nobody gets to pick which parents
they're born to. And the people who should have been protecting you made a
stupid mistake by giving you back to her."

David fell silent again. He realized then that Daddy had set him up by
making him play that baby game. He'd probably cheated to lose, too. Slick.

"Then your mother drugged you. And she abandoned you in a garage. Child
neglect and endangerment. Once again, she should have been put in jail,
but she got away with it. And later she punished you without leaving
scars, but she hurt you, David. Over and over. I'm so sorry for that,
David. Someone should have noticed, should have helped you."

David stopped rocking himself and froze in place for a moment. Then he
rolled onto his back and looked over at House. "YOU d-d-did," he
whispered. "You l-l-let m-me live with you r-r-r-right aw-w-way. You
d-d-d-didn't call the s-s-s-social w-w-w-workers or the c-c-cops. You
j-j-j-just let me live w-w-w-with you and t-t-took c-care of me. You and
W-w-wilson. You didn't even h-h-h-have to. You're n-n-not a f-f-f-foster
p-p-p-parent. You c-c-c-coulda j-j-just sent m-me away."

House touched the boy's shoulder tentatively. "I couldn't have sent you
away any more than I could have cut off my leg, David."

A sad, hoarse chuckle issued forth from somewhere in David's throat. "It's
a cr-cr-cr-crappy l-l-l-leg, Daddy." He looked over his shoulder at House.

House answered that right away, "Yeah, but it's MY crappy leg."

"And I'm y-y-y-your crappy s-s-son?"

House smiled at the joke, but shook his head. "No, David. Never. You're a
wonderful boy. And I love you. But you HAVE had a crappy life so far."

"Yeah..."

Time for a little break. "There's a piano in the day room. I think you're
way overdue for a piano lesson."

David shook his head a little then. "I don't th-th-thiink I can p-play
anymore, D-daddy."

House shrugged his shoulders. "Okay. But I want to. I haven't played in
over 2 weeks. Come with me?" He got up and grabbed his cane.

Very reluctantly, House's little boy climbed off his bed and went around
to take his father's hand. 

****************

In the hall outside the day room, Dr. Weiss eavesdropped on little David
House and his older, less agreeable dad. "House" was playing the ugly
piano that no one ever used. Weiss wondered if it was still in tune - it
sounded okay to her, but little David and his dad were supposed to be
musicians. David was supposed to be a prodigy, even. She hoped that House
* would * be able to get him to play. She wanted to hear the child.

"Hey, I tried to play the music you left me, David."

"...oh y-yeah... that..."

"Yeah, it was crap..."

David didn't answer.

"But I got your message." House was playing a simple blues tune. "Hey,
remember this?"

David answered after he listened a bit. "'L-l-l-lectric Ch-ch-chair
B-blues."

"Yeah, the first song." House played a little longer.

"D-daddy, I don't w-w-w-w-want to do any m-music."

"No?"

"It's g-g-g-gone, D-daddy. The m-m-m-music w-went away. I c-c-c-c-c-can't
do it any m-more." Then David sounded like he was crying. "I l-l-lost it."

House kept playing for a while. When she peeked into the room, she saw the
two of them, sitting at the piano. David was sitting close to House, his
arms around his dad's middle. House was playing the keyboard with his
right arm somehow around David's shoulders, but still making contact with
the keys with his hand. 

"You know, David... this is kind of like riding a bicycle. You don't ever
really lose it."

Tearfully, David replied, "It's n-n-not in m-my head anym-m-more,
D-d-d-daddy. I used to h-hear it in my head, especially wh-wh-when I felt
upset, b-b-b-b-but it's j-just not there a-a-a-anymore."

House was quiet for a long time. He stopped playing for a moment, and
started the song over. He started singing softly: "Judge, Your
Honor...hear my plea....before you open up your court..."

When she peeked this time, the two were still in the same position, but
also kind of rocking to the music.

"Sing, David," House prompted, and went right into the next line.

David did sing, a little tonelessly at first, but within a few words,
realized that he still could do it. He raised up his no-so-little voice
along with House's. "...but I don't want no...sympathy, 'cause I done cut
my good man's throat...I caught him with some triflin' Jane...I warned him
twice before...I had my knife and went insane, and the rest you ought to
know....."

He was adorable - this just wasn't the kind of song you heard a little kid
singing, so it made him cute. David had a sweet, fluty voice that somehow
complemented House's deep gravelly one perfectly. "Judge, judge, please
mister judge...send me to the 'lectric chair..."

When the song was finished, House continued plinking gently at the keys.
"Hey, you know when the music came to you, when you were three?"

"Yeah?"

"How did that happen?"

David paused for about thirty seconds before he replied. "It just came. It
just popped into my head, like a big thing. Loud. It took over. I couldn't
hear anything else. The pain - I could feel it, but it got really small,
like squeezed into a little corner, instead of just everywhere all the
time..." David stopped for a moment. Dr. Weiss imagined him shrugging. "I
don't know. Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore, because it's gone."

House changed the song to something else Dr. Weiss couldn't identify. He
was barely playing, just providing some background noise. "I think you're
wrong about that, David."

"I can't make it come in my head."

"Yeah, I think it's changed, but I don't think it's gone."

David didn't respond verbally to House's comment.

House continued with: "Yeah, a lot of things have changed in your life.
You used the music to help you cope with the way your life was before. Now
that your life has changed, the music's changed, too."

"Maybe..."

"Hmm.. Have you noticed that you haven't stuttered since we sang?"

David gasped, "Hey!"

"Hey..." House replied. "And you wanna see another cool trick?"

"Okay." David sounded a little nervous now.

"Tell me about how your mom sprayed the perfume in your face."

"...Dad...."

"Humor Daddy for a minute, okay?" House cajoled.

David sighed deeply. "I d-d-don't want to talk about that. It's
d-d-d-disgusting. I h-h-h-hate to th-th-think about it."

"That's okay," House told him. "You don't have to, 'cause you already did
the trick." He paused a moment in his playing, and looked down at David to
emphasize what he said next. "You stutter when you're * angry. *

Lilah Weiss was impressed. David's crabby dad would have made a pretty
good psychoanalyst.

David spoke up again. "B-b-but I st-stopped stuttering, even if I was
angry b-b-before - when she sp-sp-sprayed me w-w-with the
p-p-p-p-p-perfume."

House played on. "Yeah, that's an even cooler trick." He paused for a
moment. "You know...you're pretty awesome, David."

"Wh-why?"

"Sing for me..." 

David was reluctant for a moment, but went along with the game when House
started singing himself. "In the corner...of my eye...I saw you in
Rudy's...you were very high..." 

Once David started singing, House trailed off and just accompanied him
through the first chorus of "Drink your Big Black Cow, and get outta
here..."

"Okay, stop for a minute...What did you ask me?"

"Why am I awesome?"

"No stutter."

"No stutter! It's gone again! You made it go away with the singing. That's
cool, Daddy." David sounded excited and awed.

"Yeah," House replied, "But you did all that yourself. In fact, you've
been doing it for a really long time, David." 

When Dr. Weiss peeked again, she saw Greg House straddling the piano
bench, and little David doing the same in his hospital PJs, looking up at
his dad. House glanced up and noticed her, but didn't acknowledge her
presence. 

"David, you figured out something that a lot of people don't know. You
figured out that you couldn't stutter and sing at the same time."

"No, I can't...you're right..." David was thinking aloud. "...but I don't
think I figured that out. I think it just happened."

"Well, I think somewhere in there," he tapped David's temple, "You figured
out how to stop stuttering so you wouldn't get that nasty stuff sprayed in
your face. It might have been unconscious, but still, you did it. It's
kind of a breath trick." 

David shrugged.

"What's more, you did it in a way that most people wouldn't be able to
tell exactly what you were doing. Cool," House said appreciatively. "Your
voice...the voice Wilson and I have been used to hearing, has always
sounded kind of like a flute playing. Kind of flowing and ...lyrical..."
He paused. "Know what I mean?"

David shrugged. Then his big green eyes grew wide with understanding.
"Legato?" He was speaking in musical terms, terms he understood well.

"Yeah. Anyway, when you're * angry, * your angry voice is a lot different.
It's harder, and... kind of...."

"...yeah... * Staccato * when I get mad." David finished for his dad. It
made sense to him.

House smiled. (Lilah Weiss noticed that House had a lovely smile, one that
she didn't think he used very often, though, at least not for good).
"Staccato. Good description."

David chuckled to himself. "Stuttercato...?"

House's smile broadened. "Right. And what's coolest about the whole thing,
David, is that * you've been singing to us all along,* and no one's been
able to tell, clever boy." 

He reached out with both arms, and pulled David onto his lap - the left
leg, anyway. "Your mother punished you and hurt you," he said softly. "And
you started to stutter, because that's sometimes one of the things kids do
when they are treated very badly - sometimes kids stutter for other
reasons, but you stutter when you're angry. And she tried to make you stop
stuttering by spraying nasty chemicals in your face. And you had no way
out, but your brilliant little mind worked out a solution anyway! You
figured out how to sing your words without sounding too much like you were
singing. You know, people spend lots of money and time learning how not to
stutter, and you figured out a way to do it all by yourself."

"I think the music showed me. And I started stuttering again because the
music's gone."

"No...it's not gone. It's just overwhelmed right now. I think the music
helped you better when those nasty things happened to you a bit at a time.
Now it's all coming back to you so rapidly that you need more than just
the music to help you deal with it. But it's okay, buddy, because now
you've got me and Wilson on your side."

There was a long, long pause. Lilah Weiss peeked in again. David's daddy
was holding him, and David's skinny little arms were around his father's
neck. 

This family might not be exactly legal, but it certainly wasn't one that
anyone had any need to worry about. Lilah Weiss picked up her clipboard,
which had David's thin folder attached to it, and went to the nurses
station to start filling out discharge forms. They didn't need any more
help from her.

Pat Wales marched to Dr. Weiss's makeshift office with little David
House's chart in her hands. She paused outside the open door. Weiss was
dictating into a recorder, probably finishing up David's paperwork. 

Pat knocked on the door to be polite, but barreled in as soon as Weiss
looked up.

"Conference..." Was all she said as she held up David's chart.

Dr. Weiss had been expecting her. "Close the door," she answered.

* "The younger dad, Dr. Wilson - I couldn't get anything out of him.
There's something fishy about them, and you know it," Pat said to her.
"Lilah, you know something's off about this. Either something's going
horribly wrong in New Jersey, or those guys are doing an illegal
adoption."

Lilah Weiss shrugged. "I don't really care about that. There's no evidence
that David is being mistreated by either of his dads. I've watched them in
action. They're great for a kid like David." She was sitting back in her
chair, concealing her amusement over Pat Wales' self-righteous
indignation. It would take a few minutes, but she knew she could sway the
younger woman.

"How do we know that they aren't doing something disgusting to the kid?"
Pat groused, "What if something goes wrong, what if, five years down the
road, we get subpoenaed to Jersey to explain why we didn't turn in an
illegal adoption?"

Lilah laughed and answered, "Well, A: there's absolutely no
psychologically measurable evidence to support anything other than PAST
abuse. And B: That's not going to happen, lighten up, Patty, and C: I
intend to lie like a rug, if by some bizarre chance we get subpoenaed."
She propped her small feet on the low file cabinet next to her desk and
waited for Pat's next argument.

Pat sighed. "Not kosher, Delilah." She was giving up a lot quicker than
Lilah thought she would.

"No, but it's okay. The Jewish dad is reformed..."

Pat laughed. "You're really gonna just let it go?"

"Yep, and I think you should, too."

Shaking her head, Pat sighed. "You corrupt me a little more every year,
'Lilah."

"Yep. So sign the damn paper. And if you come over tonight, I'll corrupt
you real good, darlin'."

It was a good thing that the door was closed, because it was much more
convenient for the two women, new lovers, to do a little bit of
preliminary mutual corrupting. 

**********

Finally, finally, Wilson's Toyota Avalon turned the corner from 22nd to
Baker Street. Finally, the last eight miles of their journey (from the
airport) was complete, and they were HOME. In about fifteen minutes, after
they parked the car and carried all their luggage into the apartment, they
could pile up on the sofa together and relax, and soak up being at home
again.

As Wilson drove them up the one-way street, nearing 221, David noticed two
things: One: there were way more cars parked on their street than usual.
Two: his mother apparently finally recalled where she had left him.
Because there she was, about 20 yards ahead, in front of their door,
ranting quietly to herself. 

David felt his heart leap into his throat as his extremities turned to
icicles. Apparently, Daddy and Wilson hadn't noticed yet, because they
didn't seem the slightest bit alarmed. Wilson just kept driving normally.
In anticipation of getting out of the car, Daddy stuck one hand back over
his shoulder without looking. "David, cane," he demanded.

Daddy's cane was propped in the corner of the empty passenger seat on
Wilson's side of the car. "D-d-d-d-daddy..." David squeaked in a panicky
voice. Then a thought came to him: 'I stutter when I'm angry.' And he WAS
angry. He was livid. What right did she have, coming around here to mess
with him after everything else she had done? David grabbed the cane, and
opened the door.

"David!" Wilson roared, "God-dammit! David, NO! House, grab him." Wilson
slowed to a stop just in case David tried to actually get out of the car. 

That made it easy - David didn't really think he could drop and roll
successfully. The little boy, just a hair over four feet tall, and a scant
fifty pounds leapt out of the car, and stalked the last few yards up to
their building, carrying House's heavy wooden cane.

"GO AWAY!" He spat at her. "GO AWAY!"

As if she hadn't heard him, the woman smiled and extended a hand towards
her son. "David, baby... where have you been? Mommy's been looking for you
for weeks."

"I SAID GO AWAY. GO AWAY, YOU....YOU....YOU BITCH! LEAVE ME ALONE!" He
bellowed.

She recoiled for a moment, then smiled again. "Oh, sweetie, are you upset
with Mommy because she went away for a little while? You know Mommy loves
you..."

"YOU'RE NOT MY MOMMY, he seethed through his teeth. "YOU'RE NOTHING TO ME.
GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Shaking her head in disbelief, the hag who might have looked like David -
before her face had become riddled with cancerous lesions, and before her
hair had started to fall out in clumps - stepped closer and leaned down a
bit and reached out to touch him. "You look good, Davie. Mommy really
missed you. Time to come back now." 

Wilson parked the car half a block away from the apartment building, and
both men clambered out as quickly as they could, House doing that odd
skip-walk he did when he was hurrying without his cane, Wilson running at
top speed. "David, no!" They both exclaimed at different times.

But David couldn't hear them. His blood was boiling. He wanted to do
damage.

In a sick, sing-songy voice, David's mother was saying: "Time for
everything to be the way it used to be. The way it should be." She nodded
towards House and Wilson, who were somehow STILL half a block away. "You
tell those nice men thank you, and come along with Mommy like a good boy."
David recalled it as her phony, 'I'm-a-good-mommy' voice, the one she used
in front of teachers and social workers. The voice that everybody always
believed, no matter what he had to say. 

"They are my parents now," David told her, managing to sound both fierce
and proud at the same time. "I don't want you anymore. YOU GO AWAY!" He
held House's cane like a baseball bat and stepped towards her, looking as
menacing as an undersized eight-year-old with light-up sneakers could
look. 

She laughed. "Do you think you'll EVER be free of me, David? Silly boy.
I'm your MOMMY. I'll ALWAYS be your mommy. You can't get rid of me."

"I GOT ADOPTED!" David crowed at her. "I GOT ADOPTION PAPERS! My adoption
papers say that House and Wilson are my dads now. You don't have any right
to take me and hurt me any more."

"Honey..." David's hag of a mother looked almost as if she pitied him. "Do
you think a silly piece of paper can say that I didn't give birth to a
little boy named David?" She shook her matted head at him. "Now come on.
Mommy needs you."

David felt confused. He was so sure about the adoption papers being like
kryptonite that would protect him from his mother. He thought surely that
once she knew that he'd been adopted his mother wouldn't ever try to even
look at him again. But it was true, and no one could ever deny that his
mother was, technically, his mother. He began to falter. "G-g-g-g-go
aw-w-w-way. G-go away, M-m-m-m-mommy." 

Smiling, David's mother opened her purse, saying, "Oh, sweetie... I
thought that I'd broken you of that nasty habit." From it, she pulled out
an atomizer of Chanel No. 5.

He began to back away. Glancing back, he saw that House and Wilson were
still as far away as they had been a minute before. That was odd, because
they were both moving as fast as he'd seen either of them move.

"Okay, now try to speak again," his mother said to him in the sickening,
sing-songy voice she used when she was 'helping' him. She held out the
atomizer, poised to spray him when the offending sounds began.

'I stutter when I'm angry...' he thought again. "F-f-f-f-fuck. y-y-you,
you crazy BITCH!" He screamed at her. "FUCK YOU!" He gripped House's cane
on the straight end with both hands, and stomped right up to her, swinging
with a strength that only an abused child, backed into a corner like a
rat, is capable of mustering. "FUCK YOU," David screamed as he knocked out
her remaining front teeth. They shattered on the pavement, like glass.
"I'LL NEVER GO WITH YOU, YOU BITCH!" He bloodied her nose. "YOU GO AWAY,
AND LEAVE US ALONE! 

David's mother crumpled away into the sidewalk like a paper-mommy. There
she lay, sobbing, moaning. She dropped the bottle of Chanel No. 5. David
smashed it with the cane, striking the relatively small target with
precision accuracy. It wasn't enough. David felt bloodthirsty. He tore
into the woman again, this time striking over and over on her back until
he heard vertebrae crunching. In some part of his mind, David was
horrified at his behavior, but it was only a small part of his mind, as
most of it was occupied with rage. "YOU GO AWAY! GO AWAY. I HATE YOU! I
HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" 

"David! David!" Daddy was shaking him, hard. They were on the airplane,
still. Daddy and Wilson were both leaning over him, trying to get him to
wake up. A flight attendant hovered in the background. Other passengers
were staring at him. A dream. Oh, God. 

David started to cry. "Daddy..." He held his arms out to House. As his dad
held him, David was aware that he was absolutely horrified by his dream,
by the way he had attacked his mother. He felt something else, too,
something truly odd. It was as if there were another part of himself, a
new piece, or better yet, an old piece, a rusty, stunted old piece that he
hadn't known in years, had spontaneously re-connected itself. David felt a
flood of relief that was so intense that he couldn't seem to stop crying.
And suddenly, without even worrying about hurting Daddy's feelings, pushed
himself away from House and climbed into Wilson's lap. His 'other daddy,'
simply held him and waited while his boy had a good cry, punctuating his
gentle, continuous back rub with, "It's alright, honey, you're alright.
Your Wilson's got you."

***

So it was a major dj vu shock when the taxi brought them home, and his
mother actually WAS there. Sitting on the steps, waiting. But things went
completely opposite the way they had in David's dream. 

David barely caught a glance of her. All of a sudden, Wilson grabbed David
next to him on the seat and pulled him into his lap, making him face the
wrong direction. He hugged his son tightly, in such a way that David
wasn't able to get another look. 

"Love you, buddy." Wilson told him, attempting to distract. At the same
time, he was making strange motions with his eyes at House, who was
sitting in the front seat with the driver.

"What?" David tried to pull away. "Wilson, I saw..."

"Next block," House told the driver.

"Oh..." the guy replied, and drove on.

Then House told them, "Why don't you guys go to Wilson's place and pick up
the clothes we left there? And David's backpack. I think I could use a
little time to myself."

"What?" David shook his head. "But I just saw..."

"Okay," Wilson answered. And before he could say another word, House was
limping back down the street, and David and Wilson were whisked away in
the back of the taxi, headed off on a fool's errand. Wilson had returned
all their things after they'd left for the beach over 2 weeks before.

By the next stop sign, three more blocks away, Wilson had released David.
And when the taxi came to a stop, David opened the door, jumped out of the
car, slammed the door, and started running back home, back to his daddy..

"David, NO! Stop!" Wilson clambered across the seat to bail out of the
safer side of the car. "Come back here!"

At the same time, the taxi driver, shocked, was shouting the same words,
followed by: "What the fuck?!" Then he activated the power door locks, and
Wilson was trapped, unable to get out unless the cabbie allowed him. He
grabbed his wallet out of his jacket pocket, and shoved it at the man.
"You've got to let me get my kid!"

**********

House, in all his indignant glory, glared at David's mother, and grilled
the woman with: "Why are you hanging around here? This isn't your home
anymore."

Peevishly, the woman bit back with: "I want my son back. Those kids down
at the school said my son lives with a guy who walks with a cane. Said he
rides David to school in a Corvette." She pointed to the little red
Corvette convertible parked nearby on the street. "I figured it must be
you. You musta took care of him while I was gone."

"Oh...did you go on vacation?" House grimaced indignantly. "Forget to
board your dog at the vet's while you were gone?"

"He's fine. He's always fine. I knew somebody would call CPS, and they
would look after him until I got myself together." She shrugged. "That's
what they're supposed to do, anyway," she whispered. "But it didn't happen
this time. You shoulda just called the cops."

House shook himself. Even he had no smart ass comeback to this. What could
he possibly say to this woman? She seemed to have absolutely no concept of
what having a child was all about. 

"What do you want with him?"

"He's mine. I need him."

"What for? Your welfare check not quite big enough to support your habit?"

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Give me my kid!" she screeched.

House wasn't even angry. He didn't pity her. He felt ...nothing. Well,
something. He felt the need to protect David from this creature.

"David is no longer your child."

While she started to splutter in protest, House continued, not caring if
she heard or not. "You have nearly destroyed that little boy's soul with
your abuse and neglect. You have damaged him so badly that I really don't
know if he can ever be whole again."

"I never.... I didn't"

"Shut up." House still wasn't even shouting. To a bystander on the street,
SHE appeared to be the aggressor, and House just an onlooker. "I know
everything you did to that little boy." He probably didn't, House thought,
but she would never know that.

"He's a little lying bastard... All children need discipline..."

"And we can prove that you hurt him." House allowed his voice to elevate
just slightly, unconsciously punctuating his words by pounding the
pavement with his cane. "We have documents to prove that you have
neglected and abandoned David repeatedly throughout his entire life. MY
son has scars all over his backside from your 'discipline.' You have lost
the right to raise 'your' kid. I adopted him a few months ago. If you
don't believe me, go to the courthouse downtown and request the records.
The name is David HOUSE. I'M his dad now. And I say that you can never see
him again. Stay away from my doorstep. And stay away from MY child."

"I'll fight this. Nobody got my consent to put David up for adoption. I'll
take you to court and get custody. He's my flesh and blood!"

He pointed back at the building with his thumb. "You consented when you
abandoned your 'flesh and blood' in a hallway. He hung out in there for
four days before I started asking questions. He was dirty and
starving...and TERRIFIED. And now YOU think you can just waltz back into
his life and screw him over any time you need him?"

"He was just fine! Somebody always finds-" Then suddenly David was there,
with Wilson right behind him. She advanced towards the three. "See, he's
fine." Then her voice took on a saccharine, sing-songy quality. "Hello
David, sweetie."

House turned to see his son and his lover behind him, both breathless from
running. "What...." House glared at Wilson, roaring, "Get him inside!"

"No!" David protested, making himself boneless and wriggling in such a way
that Wilson couldn't maintain a grip on him. "I have to help Daddy!" 

"Daddy can take care of himself," Wilson told him, grabbing the boy's arm
as he snapped, "Inside." But he was unsuccessful at keeping hold of his
son. 

"Come to Mommy," David's wasted hag of a mother was coaxing. "You know
where you belong...darling."

He started to shake, violently. The idea of helping his daddy was one
thing. Actually standing up to his mother was something else altogether.
In his dreams, David was brave. Here and now, David found himself unable
to move voluntarily. 

What happened next made an impression on David that remained with him
until he was a very old man. House stepped forward and, using his cane,
pushed David behind him. Then Wilson stepped up, shoulder-to-shoulder with
his partner, forming a sort of shield in front of David.

"Get going. You had your chance, and you threw your kid away. He's ours
now. If he ever sees you again, you'll have to answer to ME."

"You can't... He lies, mister! If you'd just let me talk to him a little
bit, I'd get him to tell you the real truth."

"How? With a bottle of Chanel No. 5? With a belt with rhinestones on the
buckle? Wanna take him to church and get him baptized again?" 

She shrank in on herself, visibly. 

House drew himself up into his haughtiest, most arrogant self, and spoke
in a deep, quiet, deadly-serious, ICY voice. "It stops HERE. If MY boy
ever tells me that he's seen you again, I'll have you arrested for
stalking him. And believe me, if that happens, you'd better get yourself a
good lawyer, because I'm spilling everything I know about what you've done
to David, and how it's affecting him now. I've got affidavits from every
teacher he's ever had, and reports collected from half a dozen child
protection services across the country. I'll do everything I can to make
sure you do time for hurting him."

Disbelief...rage...acceptance. The narrow range of bully emotions showed
rapidly, one after another on David's mother's face.

At that very moment, the taxi pulled up, with a police car in tow.

"Oh, good," House went on. "This looks like a good time for you to go,
unless you'd like to explain to the cops what you want with MY kid."

SHE backed away slowly, and kept backing away until she stumbled off the
curb and fell into the street. 

No one helped her up. House and Wilson simply watched coolly as she pulled
herself back up, leaning heavily on the Corvette. The police officer eyed
her cautiously. The cabbie simply didn't care beyond delivering their
things. David peeped at her from his place behind his two dads. She glared
back at them and attempted a "Look what you made me do," expression. David
had probably endured years of being blamed for things like this. House
merely watched her impassively. "Keep going," he intoned. Even Wilson was
disinclined to help her.

The police officer and taxi driver approached them, puzzling over the
scene of the three who had been in the cab, and the homeless-looking woman
who was slinking away from them. 

House allowed Wilson to explain the whole 'baling out of the car' thing to
the police and taxi driver. He stood guard over his son until his mother
had walked to the next block, turned the next corner, and was finally out
of sight. 

David clung to House's belt and buried his face in his dad's side. He was
otherwise still rooted to the same spot. House lifted the boy into his
arms, thankful for once that he was rather underweight, and carried him
into their apartment. His leg complained right away, but House ignored it.
His need to help David, calm him down, was more important that the leg,
which was going to hurt forever, anyway.

*************

Once Wilson was done with the police, and with double-tipping the cabbie,
who had helped him bring in all their baggage, he joined his family. House
and David weren't where he expected them to be, flopped on the sofa. He
followed the deep rumble of his lover's voice, talking to David in House's
bedroom in the back of the apartment. 

Both were stretched out on House's huge bed, and House was holding the
boy, stroking his back, soothing him while his face was buried in his
dad's chest. They both looked up when they became aware of Wilson. No one
spoke. Wilson just kicked off his shoes and walked around the bed to lie
down on his usual side, facing them. 

"Wilson..." David's voice was an awe-stricken whisper. "Wilson...she went
away."

Wilson nodded. "Yeah."

"Daddy made her go away." 

Wilson wasn't sure what the boy was getting at, so he just gave
non-committal responses. "Yeah, she left after House told her what would
happen if she didn't."

"You and Daddy just stood there in front of me, and she didn't get me. She
didn't even really try." David seemed totally perplexed.

"Because she knows we believe you, honey." Wilson told him gently. "And
she knows that what she did to you was wrong. And most importantly, she
knows you have two people to protect you now." Wilson patted David's back.
"I don't think you'll ever see her again, David."

David rested his head on House's chest again, clutching handfuls of his
dad's shirt in his small fists. He was aware that strange, old rusty piece
of himself again, the part that had made itself known on the plane. He
wasn't sure what it was, but it felt good and pure. It was something he'd
put away when he was very small, perhaps even an infant. 

David only remembered that this thing that he had lost went away one day
when he was with a kind person who had loved him. His mother had come into
the room with them and she had taken David away, angrily. And he hadn't
known a moment's happiness since. Except now, David did feel happy
sometimes with House and Wilson. He felt happy. He felt safe. And he
trusted them. 

Trust. Maybe this was the piece he'd lost for so long. Now he knew that he
could trust Daddy and Wilson, because they hadn't taken Mommy's side in
the end, the way everyone else always did. They had believed HIM. They had
put themselves between David and his awful bitch-mommy and protected HIM.
Not her. 

"So...what's for dinner?" Daddy was asking.

Exhausted from the trip and all the carrying, Wilson huffed, "Whatever
you're cooking."

"Chinese it is, then." He sat up, indicating that Wilson should come
closer, and handing David off to him when he did. "I'll order." He rose
and left the room.

Epilogue:

David dreamed about music that night. He was conducting a huge orchestra
that was playing his own composition. It was an intense, haunting,
magnificent, epic-length piece that was sad and wistful in places, and
excruciatingly harsh and painful in others. He woke around 2AM, feeling
sweaty and flushed, but somehow energized and invigorated, and not a bit
scared. He took off his pajama top and got himself a glass of water, then
returned to his bedroom, where he sat at his little desk. He turned on his
lamp and pulled out some sheet music and a pencil, and started to write it
down while the music was still fresh in his head.

House watched as Wilson, whom he'd just made love to, stretched out on his
stomach, pillowed his head on his arms and prepared to fall asleep. House
loved that "freshly screwed" look that Jimmy wore; a goofy-assed smile,
and half-closed eyes that were only for him, House. It pleased House that
he had put that look on Jimmy's face. Rolling onto his left side, House
scooted closer to Jimmy so he could kiss his lover goodnight, then stroke
his back until he fell asleep. Before Wilson, though, House's hand came to
a stop in the middle of the eleventh or twelfth caress, because he dozed
off first. He dreamed about going to a restaurant that somehow only served
him plate after plate of hospital food, no matter what he ordered.

Wilson slept not long after House. He didn't dream anything at all.

The End  
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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.