Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He stepped out of the elevator, the ding of its doors fading as he moved toward the bustling hospital hallway. He was called in for an emergency and now figured he could check on his patients in the Radiation Ward, mindlessly making his way through patients, when he looked up and caught sight of a familiar face.

He didn’t expect to see her, not today, not ever again, if he were honest. But there she was.

At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Sheìd moved, she couldn’t have been there. Not after what had happened last time, not without telling him at least beforehand. 

She looked nearly the same, though the years had etched a subtle weariness into her face. Her dark hair was swept, still in her distinctive bob, a few strands loose and framing her face. She wore a sharp black blazer over a simple blouse and slacks, her style as impeccable as he remembered, but there was an edge of fatigue in her posture, in the faint shadows beneath her eyes. She clutched a folder to her chest like a shield, her steps brisk, her gaze darting around as if she wanted to blend into the walls.

When her eyes landed on him, she froze.

“Stacy?” Wilson said, his voice rising in surprise as he blinked a couple of times to ensure he wasn’t imagining it. A smile tugged at his lips, the shock quickly giving way to excitement. He took a step forward, hesitant but hopeful. “Hey.”

Stacy stiffened, the way a deer might when it caught sight of a hunter. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone sharp, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of guilt.

Wilson stopped a few feet away, his brow furrowing slightly before he gestured vaguely to the bustling hospital around them with a scoff. 

“Huh. I thought I worked here.”

Stacy shifted on her heels, glancing down the hall as though plotting an escape. 

“Lisa said you had the day off.”

“I did, but I was paged to the OR...” He tilted his head, studying her, then waved a finger between them. “How did you know that?”

She avoided his gaze, her voice quieter now. 

“I asked. I wanted to see you.”

“Sounds like the opposite actually.”

“I’m not a child.” She argued, but her nervousness betrayed her.

Wilson blinked in surprise, his smile widening slightly. “You could’ve called.”

“I thought you were… busy.”

His grin faltered briefly, his eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. 

“Cuddy told you?” He trailed off as he shifted his weight to one foot, leaning closer, his voice calmer. “He’s doing well.”

Stacy’s face softened, and she nodded. 

“Is it true? He’s sober?”

“Yeah, four months now.”

“That’s… great.” She seemed incredulous, if not skeptical.

Wilson nodded again, his voice warm with pride. “He’s been very good.”

“She also told me about your little prank.” The faintest smile touched her lips, but it disappeared quickly as she gave him a knowing look.  “She really wanted that condo.”

“I wanted it more.” He smirked, his tone light.

“So… you live with him?”

“Yeah. It’s been… fun.” He nodded with a genuine smile. He took a step back. “We could catch up-”

“Oh, no.” Stacy cut him off, shaking her head and stepping back slightly.

Wilson held up his hands, his expression earnest. 

“Come on, it’s water under the bridge. He’s fine now.”

“I believe you, but I don’t think-”

“It could do him good to see you. Show you that he’s changed.”

She shook her head again, her grip tightening on the folder. 

“I believe that he’s changed. I’m just busy, James.”

“How long will you be staying?” He insisted.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I really can’t.”

Wilson sighed, his voice softening. “Not telling me won’t mean that he won’t find out. You know he’s back to work, right?”

“And I was doing a great job at avoiding him.”

He laughed quietly, though there was a hint of frustration in his voice. 

“Then, at least stop avoiding me.”

“You two count as a single entity.”

“That’s not true. He would never buy you lunch. Come on, I’m paying.”

Stacy’s lips curved into a reluctant smile, but she shook her head again. 

“I was able to afford the Reuben I had an hour ago just fine.”

Wilson’s face fell slightly, his shoulders slumping. 

“So that’s it? You come back, avoid all of us, and leave without even saying ‘hi’?”

Her smile faded, replaced by a flicker of regret. 

“I figured you didn’t want to see me since what happened last time.”

He stepped closer again, lowering his voice, his tone gentle. “So many things have happened since last time. A whole lifetime has gone by. Look, nobody blamed you. You had a life, he was emotionally unavailable, you did the right thing.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I hurt him.”

Wilson nodded solemnly. “You did, but he survived. He never blamed you.”

She let out a deep breath, looking away.

“I’m leaving in four days. Here for a quick favor for Lisa.”

His face lit up slightly, the glimmer of hope returning. “You think we could grab a coffee at any point?”

Stacy hesitated, her gaze searching his for a long moment. Finally, she sighed. 

“We could do that.”

“Thank you.” Wilson smiled warmly, stepping aside as she brushed past him, her heels clicking softly against the tile. He watched as she disappeared around the corner.

He tried to think of a way he could tell House about her, he meant it when he said he was doing well, he was. He simply didn’t know how Stacy would’ve fallen into that equation. He’d just recently given up Cuddy, he’d set aside his routines and replaced them with healthier ones, he’d changed so many things about his life, lately even his relationship with his closest friend.

The transition from platonic to romantic had been surprisingly easy and neither had really truly planned it or seen it coming. It happened shortly after Lucas had pranked them, after he’d bought House the Hammond organ nothing special had happened that night, they were simply on the couch, with a new flat screen in front of them and something had sparked.

They hadn’t told anyone, they didn’t plan to. But maybe Stacy could’ve known. After all, she’d moved on, House deserved to show her he’d moved on as well.

He made his rounds in Radiation, checking up on his patients, before retreating to his office. As he passed by Diagnostics and spotted his partner through the glass, he considered stepping in but thought better of it and just waved and walked on by.

Perhaps House shouldn’t have known. If Stacy hadn’t felt the need to tell him, then he shouldn’t have told House.

He kept his silence, even that night in bed with him. He didn’t mention her. He figured in four days House was probably going to find out on his own.

Wilson stood in front of Stacy’s office door the next morning, balancing two cups of coffee and a small brown paper bag in one hand while knocking lightly with the other. He’d remembered, as he often did about little things, that Stacy used to adore coffee and croissants back in 1997, her go-to comfort breakfast that House would buy on her when she was too busy to remember to eat before trials. He hoped the nostalgia would win her over.

When no response came from within, he frowned slightly and tried again. Still nothing. Assuming she might just be out for a moment, he adjusted his grip on the items and opened the door.

The office was not empty.

A young boy sat at Stacy’s desk, his head bowed over a sheet of paper as he scribbled intently with a colored pencil. A pair of oversized headphones rested around his neck, forest green and noise-cancelling. 

The surface of the desk was cluttered with an assortment of trinkets and toys, small action figures, what looked like building blocks, and a couple of tiny wind-up robots poised as though frozen mid-battle.

“Hey, buddy.” Wilson said gently, taking a step inside.

The boy looked up at him, startled. His big, light blue eyes blinked twice, wide with surprise, then settled into a gaze that reminded Wilson of a fawn caught mid-step. The boy’s dark taupe hair was cropped short but stuck out at all angles, giving him a ruffled, untamed look.

“Who are you?” Wilson asked cautiously, keeping his voice light as he moved further into the room.

The boy said nothing, just continued to stare at him with those curious, slightly wary eyes.

“Where are your parents?” Wilson asked after a beat, his brow furrowing slightly.

The boy blinked once, then again.

“Do they know you’re here?”

A slow nod. Then another. Then a third, all deliberate, as though testing the motion each time.

“Okay.” Wilson said carefully, setting the bag and coffee down on the corner of the desk where they wouldn’t disturb the boy’s neat arrangement of toys and papers. “I was looking for someone else. Do you mind if I sit here?”

The boy shook his head, his expression unreadable as he watched Wilson with laser-like focus.

Taking the unspoken permission, Wilson pulled out the chair opposite the desk and sat down slowly, folding his hands in his lap. The boy’s eyes tracked his every movement, his small face a picture of concentration.

“My mom said she’ll be back between 11:35 and 11:40.” The boy said suddenly, his voice soft and timid but kind.

Wilson raised his eyebrows, both amused and impressed. “Very specific time frame.”

The boy’s gaze shifted to the greasy paper bag on the desk.

“What is that?” he asked, his tone just as quiet but tinged with curiosity.

Wilson glanced at the bag. “This? Oh, just breakfast. Croissants.”

The boy’s eyes lit up, a small spark of interest breaking through his guarded demeanor.

“Do you want one?” Wilson asked, holding the bag slightly closer.

The boy hesitated, his fingers flexing and relaxing as though grappling with an internal debate. 

“I can’t accept food from strangers,” he said softly, his tone almost apologetic.

Wilson chuckled. “I’m a doctor,” he offered, then caught himself with a sheepish smile. “But still a stranger, I suppose. Good advice, though. You shouldn’t accept food from anyone you don’t know.”

The boy’s gaze flicked between Wilson and the bag, his small hand unconsciously mimicking his earlier flexing motion.

“Are you… allergic to anything?” Wilson asked, his cautious doctor instincts kicking in. He immediately winced. “Sorry, why should you know-”

“Pollen, shellfish, and mold.” The boy replied matter-of-factly, his quiet voice firm with certainty.

Wilson couldn’t help but grin. “None of them should be in this, hopefully.”

The boy smiled faintly, almost imperceptibly, before extending his small hands, making grabby motions toward the bag.

Wilson handed him a croissant carefully, along with a napkin. To his surprise, the boy took the napkin and laid it flat on the desk before setting the pastry on top, clearly intent on avoiding any mess.

As the boy began to dissect the croissant with precision, eating the ends first and saving the center for last, he started to rock back and forth slightly in his chair.

“Good?” Wilson asked. The boy nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “S’good. Surprising.”

“Can I finish it?” The boy asked after a moment, glancing up at Wilson.

“Yeah, sure! Go ahead, buddy.”

The boy paused, eyeing the doctor curiously. “You said it was for someone else.”

Wilson chuckled. “I have another one. Don’t worry about it.”

Once the croissant was gone, the boy looked down at his greasy fingers, grimacing slightly as he flexed and relaxed them in the air.

Wilson pulled a tissue from his pocket and held it out to him. The boy’s eyes widened, and he took it carefully, dabbing at his hands with meticulous focus.

“It’s good, but it leaves your fingers all buttery, doesn’t it? Bothers me, too.” Wilson said conversationally. The kid nodded slowly, his expression serious.

“So, you don’t want me to call a nurse to find your parents?” Wilson asked after a moment.

The boy shook his head. “Mom told me to stay here.”

“Okay. That’s good.” He waited a beat. “Do you mind if I wait for my friend here?”

The boy thought about it for a moment, then shook his head again.

Wilson smiled, settling back into the chair. 

He adjusted the croissant bag on the corner of the desk, leaning back slightly as he watched the boy resume his drawing. The child held the crayon firmly, his small fingers working with practiced precision as he filled a patch of wings with a vibrant orange hue. Wilson tilted his head, trying to decipher the upside-down scrawl of notes on the page. Despite his curiosity, he didn’t interrupt, sensing that the boy’s creative process was something sacred.

“What you’re drawing there looks beautiful.” Wilson said softly after a moment.

The boy blinked, a faint smile flickering across his lips. He didn’t look up, instead keeping his focus on carefully rubbing the crayon against the paper.

“I’m drawing insects.” The boy explained, pointing at the top of the page. “These are the ones I like most. I start with the best ones, then I’ll do the other ones.”

Wilson chuckled, leaning forward slightly. 

“You’re a big insect guy?” The boy nodded. “My older brother used to like them a lot. Me? I’m too much of a scaredy cat to appreciate them.”

The boy stopped coloring for a moment, tilting his head thoughtfully. 

“They don’t hurt you. Insects are very harmless, except for some beetles, bed bugs, fire ants, termites, and pests.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “I don’t like those. I’m drawing the good ones now.”

“Can I see?” Wilson asked.

The boy nodded enthusiastically, twisting the sketchbook around with both hands. Wilson was genuinely impressed. The page was alive with vibrant, meticulously detailed illustrations of butterflies, caterpillars, and dragonflies. Notes accompanied each one, written in a neat but childish hand.

“Wow. You’re very good.” Wilson said earnestly. The boy began rolling the crayon between his palms, his gaze fixed on the page as he rocked slightly back and forth in his chair. “You’re very smart. How old are you?”

“Seven.”

Wilson smiled, shaking his head in amazement. “Wow. At seven, I could barely lace up my shoes.”

The boy glanced under the desk at the man’s shoes.

“You can now.” He observed.

“On most days, yes. If I haven’t had too many coffees.” Wilson joked. He carefully tilted the sketchbook. “Can I look at these some more?”

The boy nodded happily, his enthusiasm clear.

“The first one is my favorite.” He said, pointing to an orange-and-brown butterfly. “It’s an orange oakleaf butterfly. It looks like a leaf when it’s upside down, so it blends in with the trees. It’s very pretty. It looks just like a leaf.”

The butterfly’s wings were a blend of burnt orange and deep brown, speckled with faint veining in dark brown crayon that mimicked the texture of a leaf.

“These are all so beautiful. I’m genuinely impressed.” Wilson said, then stared for a long moment and pointed to another drawing. “This one’s my favorite.”

“That’s a Helena morpho. It looks blue, but it’s not blue. It’s brown, but it reflects blue light, so it looks blue but it’s not really.” The boy leaned forward, his voice gaining a spark of excitement.

“Wow. I didn’t know that.” Wilson replied, his admiration genuine.

The boy nodded, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I like it a lot because it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“It doesn’t, does it?” Wilson smiled warmly, looking at the child’s face and feeling it familiar. “What about this one?”

The boy’s excitement grew as he pointed to different sketches, explaining each with a mix of scientific detail and childlike wonder. 

Eventually, he hopped out of his chair to stand next to Wilson, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet as he pointed out his favorite details.

The doctor chuckled. 

“Sit down. I’m interested in these bugs of yours.” he said, patting the seat beside him.

The boy lit up and climbed into the chair, his legs swinging as he continued to talk about butterflies and insects with infectious enthusiasm.

Just as they reached the intricacies of a leaf insect, the door opened quietly.

Wilson turned, glancing over his shoulder to see Stacy standing frozen in the doorway.

“Hey,” Wilson began, holding up the coffee and bag. “My schedule these next few days is pretty full, so I thought I’d bring you coffee. But I found this guy here. He’s very smart—you should look at this.”

The boy smiled at Wilson, his legs swinging a bit faster.

“Isn’t he just a little genius?” Stacy said, her voice strained and nervous as she stepped inside. She petted the boy’s hair gently and handed him a juice box, which he immediately began sipping, abandoning his crayon.

“Will, honey, stay here for a minute. I’m gonna grab something from the vending machine.” Stacy said softly. The boy nodded, distracted by his drink.

She gestured toward the hallway with a tilt of her head, and Wilson caught the hint, standing up reluctantly.

“I’ll get back to work, then.” He said gently. “It’s been nice knowing you, buddy.”

The boy’s face fell. “Why do you have to go?” His voice was soft and tinged with disappointment.

Wilson paused, startled by the boy’s tone, which was as delicate as it was imploring.

“I… I have patients.”

“You’re an oncologist, so they have cancer?”

Wilson blinked, looking down at his badge. “Yes, it’s cancer. They need me to make sure everything’s okay.”

“So it’s important.”

“It is. But I can come back, if you want?”

“Can you?”

Stacy interjected before Wilson could answer, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“If he’s not too busy. Say ‘bye’ to Dr. Wilson.”

“Bye, Dr. Wilson!”

“Bye, Will.”

Stacy closed the door softly behind them, leading Wilson a few steps down the hallway. Her grip on his elbow tightened as she hissed. “What are you doing here?”

“Making friends with your clients’ kids, apparently.” Wilson said dryly.

“He’s not- Look, I told you I’d be busy. I’ll call you if I have time, and we can arrange a quick dinner before I leave.”

“You don’t have to have dinner with me if you don’t want to.”

She sighed, clearly frustrated. “Don’t play the victim. I came here for a case- I don’t have time to dine around.”

“But you have enough time to take up babysitting?”

“He’s not bothering anyone.”

“Oh, I didn’t say that. He’s incredibly well-behaved and really smart, too. I’m surprised he’s only seven.”

Stacy froze, her expression tightening.

“You should go.” She said after a moment, swallowing hard.

“Is this about House? I’m not trying to set you up. He doesn’t have to know you're here.”

“He doesn't but if you stay here some more he’ll probably come looking for you.” She rolled her eyes. “Like you haven't told him already.”

“I didn’t tell him.” Wilson’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. “If you don’t want to see him, I won’t say a word.”

“I don’t.” She replied firmly. Wilson zipped his lips in a gesture of promise. “I’ll call you. I promise.” 

House limped into his office the following day, the rhythmic tap of his cane echoing softly in the empty hallway. As he pushed open the glass door, his sharp eyes instinctively darted toward the adjacent diagnostics break room. The lights were on, but the room was conspicuously empty, no signs of his team huddled over whiteboards or slouched on the chairs nursing their coffee addictions.

A clicking sound broke his thoughts. It was faint but distinct, coming from behind him. He froze for a beat, turning his head slightly to locate the source. Slowly, he pivoted on his good leg, his cane supporting the movement, and glanced toward his prized Eames chair.

A boy, no older than seven or eight, sat in the chair as if he owned it, with his legs propped up on the footrest. He was absorbed in a pair of magnetic building blocks, snapping and separating them with methodical precision. His short taupe brown hair was slightly tousled, sticking up in places like he had been running his hands through it. He wore a dark T-shirt over a long-sleeved gray shirt. Faded jeans and sneakers completed the picture, scuffed enough to suggest plenty of outdoor adventures but still clean enough to indicate someone cared about his appearance.

The boy didn’t acknowledge House at all. His eyes were fixed on his task, his brow furrowed in concentration. Every now and then, his small fingers would pause to roll one of the blocks between them, as if testing its weight before continuing.

House stood there for a moment, leaning on his cane, scrutinizing the boy. The lack of reaction intrigued him: kids usually stared, wide-eyed, at his cane or limping gait, or they squirmed under his attention. But this one seemed utterly unimpressed, his focus unwavering.

House’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, the kind that promised trouble. He cleared his throat loudly, hoping to elicit a reaction.

Nothing.

Finally, he spoke, his voice dry and dripping with sarcasm.

House tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.

“Huh. I thought the sign said ‘Diagnostics’ , not ‘Kindergarten.’ They always mix those up.” He drawled.

The boy looked up, his wide baby-blue eyes locking onto House’s for a moment before flickering back to his toy. 

“I’m too old for Kindergarten.” he said matter-of-factly, his tone devoid of defensiveness.

“If you can’t ride a Wacky Worm, you’re not old enough to be in this office.” House retorted, making his way toward his desk.

“I’m looking for Dr. Wilson.” the boy replied without looking up, his attention clearly back on his task.

“You’re not looking, you’re sitting.” House countered as he lowered himself into his chair.

“I’m waiting for Dr. Wilson.” He corrected himself.

House studied the boy for a long moment, his piercing gaze taking in the tousled hair, clean but slightly wrinkled clothes, and the calm demeanor that didn’t match most children his age. Finally, he narrowed his eyes, his voice laced with playful suspicion.

“You have too much hair on your head to be one of his kids.”

“I don’t have cancer.” The boy replied flatly. The doctor was impressed that the boy had picked up on his joke so easily.

“Not to your knowledge.” House shot back, his tone sharp but amused.

“I got my blood drawn last month, and Mom said I was ‘healthy as a horse’.”

“A horse with cancer?”

The boy looked up again, his face a perfect picture of innocence. “No. A healthy horse.”

House smirked, leaning back. 

“If it’s not you, then it must be one of your parents. Dr. Wilson only hangs around bald people, it makes him feel better about his receding hairline.”

The boy tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. 

“My parents don’t have cancer.” He said softly, then added, almost hesitantly: “But my dad has porphyria.”

“Look, they don’t pay me enough to do my job, let alone someone else’s. I can call the nurse-”

“The nurse said Dr. Wilson would be either in his office or in Dr. House’s.” The boy interrupted, his voice firm but polite.

House raised an eyebrow. “As the owner of Dr. House’s office, I can tell you he’s not here.”

“I can wait.” the boy said, his tone calm and resolute. “My mom will be back from work at 12:50.”

House scoffed, shaking his head. “What kind of mother leaves their child unsupervised in a hospital to go to work?”

“She left me in her office because she knows I won’t go anywhere.”

“But you left the office.”

“To find Dr. Wilson. They’re friends.”

“Dr. Wilson is friends with everyone, doesn’t mean you can follow him around.”

“If I followed him around, I would be in surgery where he is now, but I can’t go there, so I’m waiting for him.” House narrowed his eyes at the boy’s elaborate argument.

“You couldn’t have waited in his office?”

“It’s locked.”

“He has a tendency to do that to keep me out of it. If you want, I can show you how to climb the wall and get in through the balcony door.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Can we do that?”

House smirked, pleasantly surprised at the kid’s enthusiasm. “I don’t think we can.”

The boy’s excitement faded into a small pout, but he nodded in understanding.

House leaned forward, resting his hands on his cane. “So… your dad with porphyria, is that why you’re here?”

The boy shook his head. “My dad doesn’t live with us.”

“Lives in a hospital?”

“He lives in Newark.”

“By himself? Lone wolf or just absent?”

The boy frowned slightly. “He’s not absent.”

“He gets to keep you on the weekends?”

“Fourth week of the month.”

“So, divorced.” House surmised.

“Yes. They divorced three years ago. It wasn’t my fault.”

House’s sharp expression softened for a fleeting moment, and he tilted his head, studying the boy carefully. “You hear that often?”

“My mom told me they had issues before I was born. She said it’s not my fault.”

“But you don’t believe her?” The boy shrugged, his gaze dropping to his hands. “You’re too smart to be a problem, too calm to be an issue. If she said their problems preceded you, it’s probably true.” 

His tone betrayed a faint hesitation.

“Is Dr. Wilson your friend, too?” the boy asked, breaking the silence.

“I’d like to think I get priority in his ranking of friends. Some would go as far as to say I’m his only friend.”

“My mom is his friend.”

“That’s the issue. I can’t come up with a single woman he’s friends with that he didn’t in some way have a relationship with.”

“My mom is single.”

“Good to know. Is she pretty?”

The kid blinked.

“She’s my mom.”

“So she’s ugly.”

The boy frowned. “She’s not ugly.” After a beat, he asked: “What is a diagnostician?”

“A very cool guy with many degrees to hang in his shared apartment.”

“What’s your specialty?” The boy insisted, unimpressed with the man’s jokes.

“Got two. Infectious disease and nephrology.”

“Infections and… kidneys?”

House’s brows shot up, a smile forming on his lips.

“Yeah.”

“So what do you do?”

“I solve cases other doctors can’t solve.”

The child’s face lit up.

“Like Sherlock Holmes?”

“Without the obnoxious accent and the lousy sidekick.” House paused, then shrugged. “That’s not true. I have a lousy sidekick.”

“Can I see what you do?”

“Well, currently, I’m passing the time while my team runs tests on a patient. I had some reading to catch up on, but this kid showed up and ruined my plans.”

“You can read.” The boy’s face fell, his voice soft and pained. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m sorry. My teachers say I ask too many questions.”

House sighed, guilt flickering across his face. “They’re idiots. There’s no such thing as asking too many questions.” His tone softened. “You’re not bothering me.”

The boy hesitated, then asked: “What does your patient have?”

“Bruises on her face, bleeding out of her mouth, and coagulopathy, which is when your body doesn’t know what to do with your blood.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Cool.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. House turned as a delivery boy entered, holding two large packages.

“Dr. House?”

House grinned. “The posters?” The man nodded. He grabbed his cane and turned to the boy. “Want to break into Dr. Wilson’s office?”

“Can we do that?” the boy asked, his earlier excitement returning.

“Absolutely not.” House said with a sly grin.

House nudged the door open with his cane and gestured for the boy to follow him out onto the balcony. The air was crisp, the faint hum of traffic below filling the silence as House carefully placed the paper-wrapped frames against the other side of the low wall. He took a moment to glance over the edge before gripping the top with one hand, using his cane for balance as he swung his good leg over first and then hoisted himself up and over with a grunt.

Once on the other side, House turned and bent down, reaching his hands toward the kid. "Alright, your turn." he said, tapping the wall with his cane.

The little guy hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, raising his arms in a way that reminded House of someone much younger. He hoisted the boy up with visible effort, his cane slipping slightly as he adjusted his grip.

“God, you’re a big boy.” House muttered through clenched teeth, his voice strained as he heaved the kid over the wall.

“I could’ve stood up on a chair and hopped.” He said as his sneakers touched the ground.

House shot him a deadpan look. “We can’t bring out chairs. We need to be discreet. If we make a big fuss, the mission is over.”

The boy’s eyes widened slightly with understanding. 

“Okay.” he said, nodding earnestly. He stuck close to House as they moved to the office door, his curiosity flickering to the older man’s limp. “What happened to your leg?”

“A shark tried to bite it off while I was water-skiing.” House replied without hesitation as he unlocked Wilson’s office door.

The boy’s eyes lit up with amazement. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Big time.” House said as he pushed the door open and waved him inside. “Come on in, make yourself at home.”

He stepped in cautiously, looking around. “How did the shark not bite it off?”

House leaned his cane against the desk and smirked. “I hit him with my cane.”

The kid frowned in thought, tilting his head. “You can’t bring a cane to water-ski.”

“Why not?” House countered, crossing the room toward the paper-wrapped frames.

“Why would you have needed the cane if you still had your leg?”

House paused, tapping his chin theatrically. 

“That is a great question.” he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone, “that I’m not gonna answer.”

The boy smiled, following as House unwrapped the frames. “Is Dr. Wilson going to be mad that we broke in?”

House chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, no. He lets me do this all the time. I think he enjoys it.”

“You’re best friends?”

“Something like that.” House said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“He’s nice.” The kid added, his voice softer as he traced his fingers over the desk.

House paused his work to glance at the boy. “He’s very nice. Too nice, sometimes.” he admitted before turning fully towards his accomplice. “Okay, buddy, I need you to not think about the words on these posters too much. And definitely do not quote them to your mother.”

The boy blinked, his face a picture of innocence. “Okay.”

“Good kid.” House said with a nod, returning to his task.

As the doctor began ripping the paper off the frames, the sound filled the room, sharp and grating. The boy flinched and instinctively covered his ears.

House noticed and paused mid-rip. He watched the kid with his hands still clamped over his ears. House sighed, then slowed his movements, trying to muffle the sound as much as possible.

The child dropped his hands cautiously but still grimaced slightly at each tear. House, in an attempt to distract him, started explaining the case he was working on, spinning details into something that sounded like a mystery novel.

By 12:15, they had finished hanging the posters. The boy stood back, his head tilted as he read aloud from one of them. “What does ‘Feral Pleasures’ mean?”

House turned toward him with an exaggeratedly bright grin. “Don’t ask that. Can’t tell you.”

He pointed at another poster, his face scrunching in thought. “Is that Dr. Wilson?”

House followed his gaze and smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re a smart one.”

They sat down, the boy engrossed in House’s every word as he continued explaining his case in a way that was half-educational, half-entertaining. House almost didn’t notice the page coming through, but when he did, he stood abruptly.

“I need to go argue with my team.” he said, grabbing his cane.

The child looked up, hopeful. “Can I come with you?”

House hesitated, then raised a brow. “I think your mom will be worried.”

The kid glanced at his watch. “I’ll go back to her office in twenty minutes.”

House sighed, gesturing toward the door. “Fine.”

The two walked next door to the break room. House pushed open the glass door to the conference room with his cane, holding it just wide enough for the boy to shuffle in behind him. The team, seated around the table with files and charts spread out, collectively paused to stare, eyebrows lifting in unison. Without acknowledging their confusion, House pointed his cane toward the corner desk.

“Park it there.” He instructed and watched as the kid hesitated before climbing onto the chair, his legs swinging as he pulled his magnetic blocks from his pocket and began stacking them methodically. His hunched posture and darting eyes made it clear he felt the weight of the stares, his demeanor now quiet and intimidated under the watchful eyes of House’s team.

Foreman exchanged a glance with Taub, who raised a skeptical brow. Chase leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his curious gaze flicking between House and the boy.

Breaking the silence, Chase cleared his throat. 

"I've booked our patient in for heart surgery." he began, drawing everyone's attention back to the matter at hand. "I was doing a sialogram on her, and she didn't want to lie on her back. That's a complaint you hear from people with heart valve issues. It fits. Sjögren's damaged her heart, causing her clotting problems, causing her kidneys to fail.”

Taub leaned forward, his pen tapping lightly against the table. 

"You based all that on the fact that she didn't want to lie down?” he asked, though his attention kept drifting to the boy.

"Well, that and the cardiac echo I performed after she didn't want to lie down." Chase replied pointedly. Then, unable to resist, he gestured toward the kid. "Who's that?"

House snatched the echo from Chase’s hand and glanced at it briefly before looking up with a smirk. 

"I dunno. I’m keeping him for ransom." he quipped, waving the report for emphasis. "Her mitral valve is nearly gone. Which means she's nearly gone."

He turned his gaze back to Chase, suddenly softening his expression into exaggerated bedroom eyes. "God, you're pretty." The corner of his mouth twitched as he sighed dramatically, recalling their earlier banter.

Chase chuckled, shaking his head before turning toward the boy, who froze mid-block-stack under the scrutiny. 

"Do your parents know you’re with Dr. House?" Chase asked.

The child shook his head, his eyes darting back down to his blocks.

House leaned against his cane, deadpan. 

"Cuddy doesn’t pay enough, so I picked up babysitting." he said, his delivery dry as always.

“Aunt Lisa doesn’t pay you?” The boy asked innocently, his voice breaking through the room’s tension.

House froze, his brow furrowing as he repeated slowly: ““Aunt Lisa”?”

Before the implications could fully sink in, the hospital’s PA system crackled to life, cutting through the moment.

“Call for Will Warner. Will Warner, male, age seven. Will Warner on floor zero at the lobby.” the voice announced.

All heads turned toward the boy. Chase smiled softly at him. 

“I think that’s your cue, buddy.” he said lightly. “Are you well-behaved enough that they don’t even call for an Amber Alert?”

Will carefully slid off the chair, stuffing his magnetic blocks back into his pocket. As the announcement repeated, he bent to tie his shoelace.

House’s cane shot out gently, stopping him. 

“Wait,” House said, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Your last name is Warner?”

Will nodded slowly, his gaze wary. House blinked, his jaw tightening as he swallowed hard.

 He turned toward his team, masking his sudden unease with a brisk command. “Make a call. Tell them the boy is on his way with a trusted adult.”

Guiding Will to the elevator, House kept a protective hand on the boy’s shoulder. The PA system fell silent as the announcement abruptly ceased. In the quiet hum of the elevator, Will leaned slightly closer to House, who instinctively ruffled the boy’s hair but quickly withdrew his hand, almost startled by his own action.

When the doors opened, Will darted out immediately, leaving House to limp after him at a slower pace. He was just stepping out when a familiar voice stopped him cold.

“Will!”

Cuddy’s voice carried through the bustling lobby, panic laced in her tone. Another voice, a softer, familiar one, followed quickly.

“Will! Honey, oh my god, where were you?”

House froze mid-step as the boy ran ahead, allowing himself to be enveloped in a crouched hug. Stacy. Her voice pulled House back in time, its warmth unchanged despite the years.

Will kept his gaze down as Stacy cupped his face, her voice tender. 

“I was done a bit earlier. I told you not to leave my office. You scared me.” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“They were making noise, so I left.” Will mumbled, fidgeting. “I went looking for Dr. Wilson.”

“Why?” she asked, puzzled.

The boy shrugged, and Stacy sighed, pressing a kiss to his forehead before standing. 

“Well, at least he brought you here,” she said with relief. Her gaze lifted and locked onto House, standing just beyond the elevator doors.

Her expression froze, unreadable at first.

“Dr. House brought me here.” Will added helpfully, pointing toward him.

Cuddy, who had followed closely behind Stacy, stopped short, her gaze snapping to House.

The two women shared a look, Cuddy’s lips tightening briefly before she broke the moment. “Will, honey, are you hungry?” she asked brightly, extending her hand.

The boy nodded, gripping her hand readily.

“Let’s go grab you something yummy.” she said, her tone light but her eyes flickering back toward House.

Will turned back as they began to walk away, waving enthusiastically. “Bye, Dr. House!”

House tilted his head, offering a faint smile that barely reached his eyes before it slipped away entirely. The instant Will disappeared into the crowd with Cuddy, House’s expression hardened. He stood motionless, staring at the empty space, his cane tapping the floor once before he turned and looked at his ex once again.

Stacy stood stiffly, her arms folded as she watched her son disappear into the crowd. She let out a frustrated breath and shook her head. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted Wilson.” she muttered, her disappointment clear.

House remained leaning against his cane, his sharp blue eyes studying her. When he finally spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically soft. “Why are you here?”

Her head snapped toward him, her brows furrowing. “You had no right to take him. I thought he’d gone missing-”

“I didn’t take him.” House interrupted, his tone firm.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, shifting her weight angrily. “For all I know, you were probably taking samples in the lab.”

House straightened slightly, his brows knitting in frustration. 

“He was in my office. He said he was looking for Wilson.” He said, emphasizing each word as if trying to hammer the truth into her.

Stacy gave a humorless laugh. “I knew Wilson would’ve snitched.”

House’s face twisted into confusion.

“He didn’t tell me anything.” He countered. His eyes narrowed as he added. “He knew you were here?”

Stacy blinked, her expression shifting from frustration to surprise. 

“He didn’t tell you…?” she repeated slowly, almost as if confirming it to herself.

House wiped a hand over his face, the exhaustion in the gesture revealing more than his words. He looked away for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. 

“You divorced.”

Stacy crossed her arms over her chest defensively, glancing off to the side. “I shouldn’t be here.”

House turned his gaze back to her, unflinching. 

“He divorced you.” he said, a note of accusation in his tone.

“I divorced him.” she snapped.

“Because Mark couldn’t handle having an autistic child?” House shot back, his voice carrying a razor-sharp edge.

Stacy’s jaw dropped, her incredulous laugh carrying disbelief. 

“Mark is a great father. Will is not an issue.”

House leaned forward slightly, his tone laced with mockery. 

“You had a son, and I’ve never heard of this once? Clearly, one of you’s ashamed of him-”

“Nobody is ashamed of him!” she nearly shouted, her voice trembling with anger. “Don’t you dare accuse me of that-”

“I didn’t say you should be. In fact, you shouldn’t.” House cut in, raising his hand dismissively. “I’m just saying, you call Wilson at least once every two months, and you didn’t think this was worth mentioning?”

“It’s not because of Will.” Stacy said, her tone sharp and defensive, almost wounded.

House raised an eyebrow. “Right, the child isn’t the reason you didn’t tell him you had one-”

“It’s because of you.” Her words landed like a grenade, and the silence that followed was deafening.

“This doesn’t concern me.” House said slowly, his expression hardening as he retreated into himself. “You moved on with your life, that’s why I told you to leave with Mark. I wanted you to have this.”

Stacy’s lips pressed into a thin line as she held his gaze. “You were afraid I could have anything with you.” she said, her voice low but steady.

“I’m not jealous anymore.” House retorted, his tone clipped, almost bitter. “I wouldn’t have cared. You could’ve told Wilson at least. I’m sure he would’ve showered you in onesies and sensory toys.”

Stacy’s mouth twitched into a humorless smile. “He would’ve told you the moment he would’ve known.”

“Apparently not.” House said flatly, his brows furrowing.

“I told him not to tell you.” she admitted. Her voice wavered, revealing the weight of her decision. “I didn’t expect him to actually keep his mouth shut.”

House scoffed, shaking his head as his jaw clenched. 

“I guess he was expecting me to crash out, throw away the fragile progress I’ve built so far, make a scene.” he said bitterly. “I’m not gonna do that. I don’t care.”

“Oh, please-”

“I want you happy.” he interrupted, his voice carrying a rare, earnest weight. “I’ve moved on.”

Stacy looked down, her arms tightening around herself. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have come here.” she said quietly, her voice breaking slightly.

House’s expression twisted into a grim smile. 

“I’m sure Aunt Lisa promised to keep things under wraps. She’s been so good at hiding him from me for seven years.” Stacy’s head snapped up, her eyes wide as she clenched her jaw. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never wanted this. You’ve told me time and time again.” Her answer made House’s expression harden further. 

“I told you to go back to your husband,” he shot back, his voice rising. “Wasn’t that enough of a green flag for you to do all the marriage-related activities you wanted to without worrying about me?”

Her face softened, falling as she looked at him. 

“Greg,” she said softly, her voice almost breaking. She shook her head. “He’s not Mark’s.”

The air between them turned electric, heavy with the weight of her words.

House opened his mouth to speak, but it took him a beat longer to process what she’d said. His eyes widened slightly as the blood drained from his face.

“No…” He felt his stomach lurch. “It couldn’t… We used condoms.”

Stacy gave a bitter laugh, her shoulders slumping. 

“And I was forty-five. I thought the ship had sailed anyway.” Her voice softened, her words carrying the pain of old memories. “I had complications early on. I had severe bleeding at six weeks and thought I lost it. At ten weeks, they diagnosed me with a subchorionic hemorrhage. The doctors said it was a fifty-fifty chance.”

“And you didn’t think this was worth telling me?” House demanded, his voice rising in frustration.

“What would you have done?!” Stacy fired back, her voice exhausted. “I didn’t tell Mark it wasn’t his until Will was four.”

House ran a hand over his face, his mind racing. “I would’ve liked to help, at least as a doctor.” he said weakly.

“But you wouldn’t have been there as a father.” Stacy said, her voice soft yet firm. She paused before continuing, “I didn’t want to force you into something you’ve never wanted. You know I didn’t want kids when we were a thing. I still didn’t when I actually got pregnant, and I feared I would lose it, but then… he was born, and he was… adorable. And I wanted to keep him. I wanted to raise him.”

“And Mark was there to raise him.” House finished for her.

“Yes.” she admitted, nodding. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had a duty to perform. It wouldn’t have been fair.”

“I had a right to know.” he said, his voice cold.

“Greg, we both know you would’ve dropped your life for him, even if that wasn’t what you wanted,” she said gently. House remained silent as her words lingered. “And now that you know, I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything. I don’t… I don’t want you to feel any sort of way. He’s fine. We’re fine.”

House stared at her for a long moment before nodding. “I probably would’ve made things worse.”

“That’s not what I’m saying-”

“It’s the truth.” House interrupted, nodding to himself as if confirming it. “I never wanted kids. I would’ve been a crappy father.”

His mind shifted gears abruptly, realization dawning about the patient’s case. 

Stacy’s expression softened, and she reached out tentatively to touch his arm. “That’s not true. You would’ve been great.”

House stepped back, avoiding her touch. 

“Talk to Wilson.” he said softly. He turned without another word, leaving Stacy standing alone in the hallway. He moved purposefully down the hall, his mind already occupied with solving the case.

Stacy walked slowly into the cafeteria, scanning the room. She spotted Lisa and Will at a table in the corner. The trays beside them still had full plates. Lisa didn’t look hungry, Will had his headphones on, fully engrossed in his drawing, his small fingers grasping a crayon as he meticulously added details to the page. His focus was intense, his tongue poking out slightly as he concentrated. Stacy's heart twisted for a moment, but she pushed the feeling down as she marched forward.

She saw Wilson standing in line, holding his tray and chatting briefly with the cashier. She moved quietly to stand beside him, her presence unnoticed at first.

The cashier opened the register with a little flourish and dropped some coins into Wilson’s hand with a knowing smirk. 

“Be not afraid. It's the exact change.” the cashier said, voice tinged with amusement.

Wilson sighed, giving a long-suffering look at the cashier. 

"Okay." he muttered, taking his tray and turning, but he nearly bumped into the lawyer. His eyes immediately softened as he noticed the glossiness in her eyes. “Stacy, hey. What happened?”

Stacy swallowed, trying to steady herself, and exhaled slowly. "I talked to Greg."

"God, what did he tell you?" Wilson asked, his voice full of concern.

“He didn’t tell me anything. But I did. I told him about Will.”

“The kid in your office? What about him?” 

"I told him he’s not Mark’s son."

“I thought he was your client’s.” Wilson’s eyebrows furrowed as he pieced things together, waving a hand between them. “Oh. You… No, he’s not…”

Stacy lowered her gaze, wringing her hands. Wilson’s face drained of color as the realization hit him.  His words came out slowly, disbelief clear in his voice. “No, he can’t be… Are you serious?”

Stacy looked at him apologetically, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

“He’s…” Wilson scoffed, shaking his head, clearly in denial. “That’s not possible.”

“Look,” Stacy interrupted, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “Keep the lecture for another day. I think Will spotted you and wants you to sit next to him.”

Wilson stood there for a moment, staring at her in stunned silence, before giving a reluctant nod. He finally turned and walked toward the table where Cuddy and Will sat. The child was still focused on his drawing, but his eyes flicked up just as Wilson arrived.

Will immediately reached for his headphones and pulled them off, giving Wilson a bright, enthusiastic smile. “Dr. Wilson!” he called, his voice full of excitement.

“Hey, buddy. What are you doing?” Wilson asked, sitting down at the booth with his tray and getting a better look at the kid’s work.

“You’re not mad about the posters in your office, right?” Will asked, his eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Wilson’s brow furrowed in confusion. “How do you…”

“Dr. House said you wouldn’t be. Are you mad?” Will’s words tumbled out rapidly, his innocent face looking up at Wilson for reassurance.

“I’m not mad, I… How do you know about the posters?” Wilson asked, clearly puzzled.

“Dr. House said we could break into your office and you wouldn’t mind.” Will said with an innocent shrug. “He also said I couldn’t ask him about the words on the poster so I didn’t. He said you like it when he pranks you.”

The adults exchanged looks, the tension in the air palpable. Cuddy wiped a hand over her face in disbelief, unable to hide her surprise at the revelation.

Wilson grimaced, his mouth twitching with a mix of exasperation and amusement. He sighed deeply before smiling softly at Will. 

"I’m not mad at you." He said, his tone gentle. "I did like it."

They all settled into a somewhat awkward silence, the conversation shifting to more neutral topics. Cuddy, Stacy, and Wilson talked in civil tones, carefully avoiding anything that might upset Will. The boy, while still focused on his drawing, was clearly listening to every word, his small ears tuned into the adults' conversation.

“Would you…” Wilson began, looking between Cuddy and Stacy, before glancing at Will. “Do you guys want to come over tonight? Maybe have dinner?”

“At your place?” Will asked eagerly, his eyes lighting up at the suggestion.

“Yeah, mine and Dr. House’s.” Wilson confirmed with a soft smile.

“You live together?” The boy asked, his voice full of wonder, clearly intrigued by the idea.

“Yes.” Wilson replied, still smiling warmly.

“Are you a couple?” Will asked without hesitation, his voice innocent but full of curiosity.

Stacy’s face immediately flushed, and she placed a gentle hand on top of Will’s to stop him from saying more. "Will." she warned softly, trying to temper his enthusiasm.

“What?” Will asked, his big eyes wide with confusion.

“We are.” Wilson admitted sheepishly, meeting Stacy’s gaze, his voice calm but certain.

“James, don’t confuse him.” Stacy whispered under her breath, her tone urgent but quiet.

Wilson shook his head slightly, as if to reassure her. “No, I’m not lying. We… we are.”

“What?” Lisa asked, her voice full of disbelief. Her eyes shifted between Stacy and Wilson, clearly processing the weight of the moment.

“Are you married?” Will asked, his tone pure innocence, as he looked back and forth between them.

“No, it’s…” Wilson hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “It’s very recent.”

“When were you planning on telling me?” Cuddy asked, her voice a little sharp, though tinged with a hint of hurt. She looked at Wilson, waiting for an answer.

“Well, when were you planning on telling me?” Wilson fired back, his eyes flicking briefly to Will, who was still listening with rapt attention. “You two were keeping secrets from me, too.”

Stacy sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she closed her eyes for a moment. 

“I had my reasons. You… Are you serious?” she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of exhaustion and disbelief.

“Yes.” Wilson replied, his expression firm but kind.

“When did this happen?” Cuddy asked, her curiosity apparent, but her words guarded.

“A couple of weeks ago.” Wilson said, his eyes flicking to her for a second before continuing. “When your boyfriend removed the bugs out of our condo.”

“My condo.” Lisa whispered under her breath, her voice barely audible as she processed the conversation unfolding before her.

Stacy stepped in, sensing the tension rising. “Look, we have a lot of unresolved business that shouldn’t be solved right now.”

“Which is why I’m inviting you over for dinner.” Wilson said, trying to defuse the situation with a forced cheerfulness.

“Can we go? Can we go, please?” Will asked eagerly, jumping in with enthusiasm.

Stacy hesitated, her eyes meeting Wilson’s before she whispered under her breath: “He’ll be there.”

“Well, I hope so. Unless he’s packing his things and crossing the border,” Wilson said with a faint, knowing smile.

“You don’t think this will make things worse?” Stacy asked, her tone quiet but laden with concern.

“I don’t think so.” Wilson replied confidently. “He’s doing well. Really well. I’ll talk to him. I’m sure he’ll say yes.”

"Absolutely not." House said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension as he dropped his keys on the kitchen counter, his cane tapping lightly on the floor as he made his way down the hallway. He walked with his usual limp, but there was an added edge to his movements, a clear indication that he wasn’t in the mood for an argument.

Wilson, not one to let things go easily, followed him quickly, his footsteps echoing in the hallway as he caught up. 

"You can’t just ignore it!" he whined, raising his voice in frustration.

"I can. And I will!" House shot back, turning around abruptly, clearly trying to avoid the discussion altogether as he continued moving toward the living room.

Wilson, unwilling to give up, persisted. "Look, Stacy has no intention of making you pay alimony-"

"Like I wouldn’t have paid it out of your pocket." House interrupted, scoffing as he pushed open the fridge door.

"The kid clearly adores you." Wilson continued, his tone softening just a little. "He doesn’t need to know you’re his father."

"Sperm donor." House corrected flatly as he pulled a beer out of the fridge, his expression unfazed. He cracked the can open and took a long sip, staring at Wilson over the rim.

Wilson didn’t give up, leaning against the counter and trying again. "He likes you. Who does it hurt to spend some time with our friends?"

House turned slowly, eyes narrowing as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. 

"The friends in question being my ex, my illegitimate son, the woman I hallucinated banging, and her pathetic boyfriend who destroyed our flat screen?" His lip curled slightly, the disdain unmistakable.

"Hey, not my fault you suck at human connections!" Wilson said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"They’re not coming over." House said firmly, his tone final as he turned away, preparing to retreat to his sanctum of solitude, the couch.

"Come on." Wilson persisted, stepping closer and looking at him earnestly. "It could be fun. Just think of how many points this will get you with Nolan."

"I gain points if I do something I actually want to do." House muttered, shaking his head. "Not if my codependent roommate forces me to."

"Oh, so now I’ve been declassed to ‘roommate’?" Wilson asked incredulously, playing the part of the hurt party.

"Since you keep going around and making friends with my enemies." House shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Your son is not your enemy!”

"He’s not my son." House muttered, a sharpness to his words as he sat down on a stool at the kitchen island, his leg clearly suffering from the useless escaping.

"Then he’s a kid that really likes you! Isn’t that enough?" Wilson insisted, his voice rising with frustration.

"If I wanted to have kids over at my place, I’d hang a sign outside that says ‘Orphanage’ or ‘Pedophile Basement’." House retorted with a wry smirk, looking away and taking another swig of his beer.

"They’re coming over." Wilson said flatly, his voice unwavering as he stood his ground.

"No." House muttered again, this time his gaze fixed on the damp label of his beer can, his finger tracing the edges absently. "It’s not fair to Stacy."

Wilson paused, watching House with a mix of concern and confusion before speaking again, his voice softer. 

"She doesn’t plan on getting back with you, if that’s your concern." He hesitated, then added, "Unless you… want to get back with her?"

"No, you idiot." House groaned loudly, the frustration evident in his voice. "But she doesn’t know that."

"I told her we’re dating." Wilson admitted quietly, his voice almost sheepish.

There was a long, stunned silence between them. House froze, his eyes widening as his jaw nearly dropped. 

"What?" he almost squealed, disbelief filling his voice.

"I thought it would make things clear!" Wilson said quickly, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "That we’re inviting them over to reconnect in a civil way and there’s no deeper meaning to it!"

"Are you insane?" House asked, his voice going up a pitch.

"Why?" Wilson asked, shrugging in confusion. "That let her know you’re off the table for co-parenting. I thought you would’ve appreciated that!"

"You told them we’re a thing just to save my ass?" House asked incredulously, his voice rising with disbelief.

"Don’t act like I wouldn’t have done that even if we weren’t dating." Wilson responded quickly, as if trying to make it sound less ridiculous.

"That’s worse!" House barked, shaking his head in exasperation.

"I panicked! I didn’t know what to do!" Wilson exclaimed, his hands up in exasperation.

"You shouldn’t have done anything!" House shot back, his voice sharp and filled with irritation.

"That’s your approach!" Wilson countered, his voice rising in a mixture of frustration and determination. "Which would’ve failed miserably."

"You didn’t even let me try!" House fired back, finally turning to face Wilson, their stares locked in a tense confrontation.

"Just one dinner. Just one." Wilson said, his voice becoming more pleading as he saw House’s resolve begin to waver. "Then she leaves with your bundle of joy and never calls back."

"I genuinely don’t know what to say." House muttered, his voice softer, the fight momentarily leaving him.

"'Yes, honey, great idea’?" Wilson offered sarcastically, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

"I would never call you that." House replied, the words more automatic than anything.

"Excuse me for making you sound kinder than you are." Wilson replied with a teasing grin, trying to lighten the mood.

"When I say I’ve changed after Mayfield, I don’t mean I’ve transitioned into Mother Teresa."

"You don’t have to change for you to care about your son." Wilson argued, his voice more serious now. "You already do." He paused before continuing: "Will said you spent the whole day explaining cases to him while you broke into my office."

"I didn’t know he was my son." House muttered, his voice quieter now, almost regretful. "I thought he was one of your cancer kids you hadn’t broken the news to."

"You’re kind, House." Wilson said softly, his voice filled with warmth. "I know you hate to hear it, but deep, deep, deep down, under all that caustic, evil persona you’ve built, there’s someone that cares."

"Are you done?" House asked tersely, though there was a hint of something else in his tone, something softer, almost reluctant.

"You connected with him without even needing to know he was your son because you just do that." Wilson continued, undeterred. "Kids love you."

"Oh, God." House groaned, rubbing his forehead in exasperation, clearly trying to deflect the conversation.

"You made him feel understood, appreciated." Wilson went on, watching him closely. "He said you accommodated him and explained things to him when he asked. That’s more than he can say about any of his teachers."

"Blame the American education system, not me." House muttered, still avoiding the topic.

"Caring for a little version of you is not to blame." Wilson said with a smile, his tone light but sincere.

"He’s not a little version of me." House grumbled, his face contorting in annoyance.

"Oh, please." Wilson scoffed, stepping closer, his smile widening. "He’s the exact copy of you!" He let out a genuine laugh, the sound bubbling out of his chest. "I found myself wondering why I got along with him so well at some point when he kept rambling on about scientific facts. Then I realized I was just talking to a tinier version of you!"

"You get along with everyone, that doesn’t mean anything." House muttered dismissively, but there was a hint of something else in his voice, something that might’ve been amusement.

"He’s just like the little Greg Blythe talked my ear off about." Wilson continued, his voice growing more animated as he stepped closer, closing the distance between them. "Shy, talkative, incredibly smart for his age and made to feel inferior to his peers because of it, curious-"

"Autistic?" House asked bluntly. Wilson huffed a chuckle.

"Yeah, probably!" He stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on the small of his best friend’s back, lowering his voice: "Is it so bad that he resembles you?"

"He doesn’t." House replied firmly, though the doubt in his voice was clear.

"House." Wilson said softly, his voice quiet now.

"I don’t want him to." House admitted finally, his voice strained as he struggled with the weight of the admission. "He shouldn’t- He doesn’t need to know I’m his..."

"So we won’t tell him." Wilson replied gently, his voice filled with understanding.

"If you keep me around, he’ll figure it out."

"Like you did with your father?" Wilson’s voice was quieter now, but it carried a weight.

House fell silent, his face tight as he turned away from Wilson. The memories of his own father seemed to flicker behind his eyes, but he didn’t say a word.

Wilson sat down next to him, his hand gently caressing House’s cheek in an attempt to comfort him. 

"Tell them not to come." The diagnostician whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Okay." Wilson said quietly, House looked up at him in surprise. "If you’d rather have him think his father is Mark."

House’s eyes narrowed at him, his jaw tightening as he turned his head slowly with a scoff. "You, bastard."

"No, I mean, it’s really your choice." Wilson said softly, his gaze steady. "If you’d rather have him think he is the reason his parents split up, sure, ignore him."

House’s eyes narrowed as he let out a mirthless chuckle. "You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are."

"I mean, it’s your call!" Wilson replied, raising his hands. "If you want someone like Mark to be his dad, sure, have the guy who’s ashamed of his son’s autism look after him."

"This is cheap psychology." House replied. "Actually, possibly the cheapest you’ve ever pulled."

"Then it’ll be another instance of a really smart boy trapped with a worse father than he could’ve had." Wilson replied softly, his words cutting deeper than House expected.

"I don’t think a Unitarian minister would’ve done a better job than my father." House muttered bitterly, his face hardening.

Wilson connected the dots, his expression softening as he pieced it together. "Well, that explains the sermons." He said quietly with a shrug. He paused for a moment before continuing: "I guess Will will probably read your publications in the future and ask himself why Mark’s second toe is longer than his big one and his isn’t."

House stared at him, his face momentarily blank, before he muttered: "I’m not going to say yes to dinner."

“Thank you so much for having us.” Cuddy thanked them as she stepped into the condo, followed by Lucas.

“It’s fine, we were hoping you’d decline the invite.” House said with a grin, stepping aside to let them in. “You like what we’ve done with the place? Just refurnished.”

“Don’t start.” Lisa warned him and walked on by towards the dining room, remembering the layout of the condo from the visit with the realtor.

The diagnostician watched from afar as Wilson let Stacy and the boy inside. 

House stood by the kitchen island, hands bracing the wooden countertop, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in front of him in the living room. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but the awkwardness of it all gnawed at him. 

He loathed dinners, loathed the forced civility of them, the constant pressure to engage in pleasantries. The thought of sitting down with Stacy, Cuddy, her stupid boyfriend, and this child, his son , at least in a biological sense, set his teeth on edge. 

His back was to the door as Wilson went to greet them, but House could still hear their muffled voices outside, the sounds of shoes shuffling on the doormat, the soft rustle of coats being shed.

He only turned when their voices grew near.

He knew that the boy was there, knew the moment Stacy let him in, because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the kid. 

Will was fidgeting with the hem of Stacy’s blouse, his small fingers nervously tugging at the fabric, eyes wide as he looked around the unfamiliar space. House watched him carefully, every movement of the child’s body sending a ripple of recognition through him. It was unsettling, the way the boy’s movements mirrored his younger self. A subtle rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. The shifting of his gaze, as if he couldn’t quite settle. It was like watching a younger version of himself, before everything had hardened, before the anger and resentment had set in.

The grief came first, sudden and sharp, grief for the boy, for what he might endure, being so similar to him. It was a raw, almost suffocating feeling that pressed against House’s chest. The sadness of seeing his own traits, his own behaviors mirrored in someone else. But then, just as quickly, the grief began to shift. The boy’s gaze caught his, and Will’s face lit up with a smile that was warm and wide, completely unguarded.

And then, the child waved.

It was an innocent gesture, a simple wave, but for a brief, fleeting moment, House felt a stirring warmth in his chest. 

The sadness bled away as Will’s exuberance seemed to fill the space between them. He rocked back and forth on his feet, eager, clearly excited to be there, to be seen. It was a different kind of recognition, not the quiet, brooding discomfort House had feared, but something lighter, more genuine. The boy’s joy was contagious in its own way, and it made House, despite himself, feel less isolated.

When Stacy released Will, the boy didn’t hesitate. He hopped toward House, his small feet carrying him quickly across the room. House barely had time to brace himself before Will was there, standing next to him, his face practically glowing with happiness. 

“Hi, House!” the boy greeted him, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t tentative. It was just him , this child, embracing the moment with everything he had.

And then, just like that, Will was attached to House’s hip. The kid was practically glued to him, following him like a shadow. House didn’t know whether to feel flattered or horrified, but either way, he was stuck with it. Every move House made, Will was there, hovering, watching him, waiting for something, asking him what he was doing with the ragout, what they were going to eat, how he cooked everything. 

House felt a twinge of discomfort, but it was also... familiar. In some strange way, it felt like it should have been this way all along. Like there had always been this unspoken connection between them.

House felt his leg throb, a familiar ache that always crept in after standing too long. His hand instinctively reached for the drawer, pulling out a bottle of ibuprofen. He popped a couple into his mouth, grimacing at the bitterness of the pills as he swallowed them dry. He wasn’t used to the feeling anymore.

He knew the pain wouldn’t completely subside, it never did, but at least it would’ve been more manageable. He leaned against the counter, then slowly pushed himself away, muttering to Wilson, “I need to sit down.”

His best friend, who had been hovering near the kitchen the entire time, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as he walked by, his brow furrowing with concern, but said nothing and intervened to keep Will busy instead. 

House made his way to the table, his cane tapping rhythmically on the floor, the weight of the day settling deeper into his bones. He sat first, not waiting for anyone else, the chair scraping loudly as he eased himself into it.

The others followed suit, each of them taking their place around the table. Will, predictably, hopped right into the seat next to House, settling down eagerly, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he looked up at House expectantly, as if this was the most exciting thing in the world.

Across from Will and beside House, Wilson claimed his seat with a quiet inhale, his eyes darting between House and the boy. Stacy took the last seat, next to the boy, her gaze lingering on her son and the couple beside him, a subtle wariness in her posture.

The room fell into an awkward silence for a moment. Will was clearly unbothered by it, already touching the paper napkin in front of him, but the adults shared uneasy glances. Stacy’s eyes were on House, searching for something in his expression, while Wilson’s were filled with uncertainty. Neither of them knew how to navigate this unfamiliar territory.

Will, however, didn’t seem to notice the tension. He was entirely focused on House, not leaving his side for even a second, his small hand resting on the armrest of House’s chair as he looked up at him with an innocent curiosity that felt strangely disarming.

“Ragout with pork sausage, beef thigh, no cream.” Wilson announced, setting the steaming plates down gently in front of everyone. He made sure to arrange everything just so, smoothing the edges of the napkins as he set the table. His movements were deliberate, the kind of precision that came from practice. He gave House a quick look, noticing the diagnostician’s posture, shoulders tight, hands folded around his drink but not taking a sip.

Stacy raised an eyebrow, looking up from her plate. 

“Since when are you a gourmet chef, James?” she asked, the corners of her lips curving into an amused smile.

Wilson chuckled, wiping his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder before sitting down. 

“Oh, no, House does the cooking.” he replied, looking over at House with a hint of playful affection.

"He does?" Lucas asked, incredulous, his eyebrows rising in surprise as he glanced over at House. He hadn't pegged House for someone who cared about food beyond whatever came in a microwaveable plastic container.

"He used to have the very unique talent of burning toast." Stacy said softly, a teasing note in her voice as she glanced over at House. Her eyes softened when she noticed him tense at the comment, like she was trying to defuse the potential embarrassment before it could fester. “But, it looks like he's come a long way.” she added with a slight shrug, hoping to smooth things over.

House's gaze shifted briefly, avoiding direct eye contact with anyone. He fiddled with his glass, the discomfort creeping up on him as the conversation swirled around him. 

"You haven't tasted it yet. I could've burned this too." he deflected, his voice low and gruff, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes.

"Well, it smells delicious." Lisa said with a polite smile, trying to ease the moment, but House couldn’t handle the honesty in her voice, so thick and mushy. 

The walking on eggshells, despite how much he liked to pretend it didn’t matter, made his stomach churn. He swallowed hard, trying to push down the nausea. Wilson noticed, his eyes flicking over to House with concern.

Wilson placed a hand on the back of his neck, his touch light but grounding. 

"You're missing a fork," he murmured softly, his voice more intimate than it had been throughout the meal. His fingers massaged the nape of House’s neck for just a moment, a gesture meant to soothe, before he took a small step back. "I’ll go grab it." he said, his tone gentle as he excused himself.

Lucas observed the interaction carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"So... how long has this thing been going on?" he asked, directing the question straight at House, his voice dripping with curiosity.

House took a slow sip from his glass, raising an eyebrow before responding. 

"We held onto our breeches until we got every last wiretap of yours out of our furniture." he said, his tone sharp, a hint of sarcasm woven into his words as he glared at Lucas, trying to deflect the attention.

The younger man grinned, clearly entertained by House’s response. 

“I told her you had something going on. She didn’t believe me.” Lucas teased, pointing his fork at Cuddy with a knowing look.

Lisa, who had been watching the exchange quietly, rolled her eyes with a sigh, but couldn’t quite suppress a smile. 

“I was in the original betting pool in ’96. I’ve been rooting for them longer than Wilson’s been Head of Department.” she added nonchalantly, her voice smooth, like she had always known.

"You bet on us not dating." House corrected her, his voice deadpan. “You've actively been trying to get rid of the betting pool since you started noticing you might’ve made the wrong move.”

Wilson, sensing the rising tension, hurriedly placed the fork next to House, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground. 

"Here you go," he said, his voice soft but warm, as he met House’s gaze for a brief, comforting moment. His fingers brushed lightly over House’s hand as he sat down, then placed his own hand gently on top of the diagnostician’s. He flashed him a gentle smile.

His eyes flicked over to Will, who was still pushing the food around his plate, inspecting it with a frown on his face.

"Will," Wilson said, his voice gentle, “if you don’t like this, House made you a Plan B plate with chicken nuggets."

House winced internally at Wilson’s words, hating that his small kindness was being put on display like that. He didn’t want the attention. He looked down at his plate, trying to hide his discomfort, and felt a pang in his stomach when he caught Stacy’s and Cuddy’s expressions, surprised, but not in a bad way. Will, however, seemed to mirror House’s discomfort, glancing away at the same time.

"No, thank you. I want to try this first." Will said politely, shaking his head, then nodding as if confirming the decision to himself.

"Okay, just... don’t feel forced to eat it. The target audience is a bit older than you." Wilson said, pouring himself a glass of wine with a smile that seemed to lighten the mood.

The rest of the dinner proceeded relatively smoothly, but House couldn’t stop glancing over at Will. He noticed the way the boy held his fork, the way he chewed thoughtfully, chewing with the same careful deliberation that House had always been taught. He was watching Will's mannerisms, noting the small details: the way the boy sat, the way he held the cutlery like it was an instrument that had to be handled just right, as if his very life depended on it.

House’s chest tightened. It was like looking in a mirror of his past self. The same careful posture. The same wariness to step out of line. He saw a reflection of a boy who used to fear his father's scoldings about manners and dinner etiquette. The same ingrained fear of making a mistake, of disappointing someone. House swallowed hard. His stomach lurched.

Will set his fork down at the edge of his plate in the same way he used to, in the same way he still does: handles resting on the rim, pointing between 10 and 4 o'clock. It was how House used to set his own utensils when he was innocent like him, trying to avoid the sharp reprimands and beatings of a father who never approved of anything less than perfection at the dinner table. The memory stung, and the grief that followed was like a weight in his chest. It was too much, too close.

Wilson, noticing the shift in House’s posture, the way he tensed even further, tilted his head, his brows furrowing with concern. House was holding himself like he was about to break, like the weight of the secret was unbearable. He could practically see House itching to tell the boy the truth, to lay everything bare. It was like he couldn’t handle keeping the lie anymore. His body was practically screaming for him to admit it, to admit the connection.

But House didn't say anything. He just took another slow sip from his glass, his expression distant, the walls firmly in place. Wilson watched him, knowing what was going on behind that unreadable face, and felt a twinge of frustration. It wasn’t fair, to House, to the boy, to anyone at this table, really. But House kept his eyes trained on Will, silently observing, as if holding on by the thinnest of threads.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere in the condo shifted. The conversations, which had begun with polite chatter, gradually grew more animated. The wine was flowing, and Wilson, already a little tipsy, was laughing louder than usual. Cuddy had joined in, her cackle filling the air as the group shared some inside joke. Everyone seemed to be feeding off each other’s energy, and before long, the noise had risen to a boisterous crescendo.

Lucas leaned back in his chair, letting out a particularly loud laugh, and Cuddy followed suit, her voice high-pitched and gleeful. Stacy joined in, adding her own soft chuckle, but it was Cuddy and Wilson who were the loudest, their laughter echoing off the walls.

House, however, was starting to feel that tightness in his chest again. His eyes flicked over to Will, who had been sitting quietly beside him, quietly picking at his food and keeping to himself. But now, Will was visibly uncomfortable. His small hands were gripping his fork a little too tightly, his brow furrowed as he shifted in his seat, his gaze darting nervously between the adults. The noise seemed to be unsettling him more with each passing second. House could see the child shrink back into himself, his shoulders tense, his posture stiff. He didn’t need to be told; it was clear that the chaos was too much for Will.

House’s patience snapped. His gaze hardened, and without thinking, he loudly shushed everyone, his hiss cutting through the laughter like a whip. The sound of his sharp, silent command hung in the air as everyone froze, the laughter abruptly dying in their throats. The silence was instantaneous.

The group exchanged startled looks, trying to process what had just happened. They all turned to look at Will, who was now staring down at his plate, his face flushed with embarrassment. House’s own chest tightened as he noticed the child’s discomfort, but he refused to show it.

“Lower your voices.” House said, almost stuttering, trying to justify his outburst. He felt even more like his father now, even though his intentions had been drastically different.

The guests, suddenly aware of the situation, shifted awkwardly in their seats. They glanced at one another before slowly lowering their voices, nodding as they made a collective effort to speak more softly. Wilson, looking slightly guilty, cleared his throat and offered House a tentative smile. "Sorry." he murmured, his voice considerably quieter.

Cuddy, following his lead, leaned back slightly and offered an apologetic smile. "We got carried away," she said, her voice noticeably softer. "Sorry."

The conversation took a gentler tone after that, with everyone making an effort to keep their voices down. House refused to look up from his plate. Wilson offered Will a small smile, trying to reassure him, and the boy gave him a shy nod, still looking a little uncertain but seeming to relax just a bit. The laughter and excitement had simmered down, replaced by quieter, more thoughtful exchanges.

House sat back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his glass, still glancing at Will out of the corner of his eye. He could feel the tension slowly melting away from the room, but something in him remained on edge. He had done what was needed, but the unease still lingered in the air, as if it had settled deep into the walls, invisible yet palpable.

He suddenly stood up.

Wilson tried to mitigate the guests’ reactions by shifting the focus on their previous conversation. He stood up slowly and justified it by grabbing the empty plates and gently stacking them onto his forearm as he kept chatting nonchalantly.

He brought them to the kitchen, where House was currently standing by the sink, bracing it with both hands.

Wilson was at his side in an instant, setting the last of the plates down on the counter. He didn’t speak at first, just stood beside him, observing the familiar tension in House’s posture. The younger doctor knew this moment all too well, when House pulled away from everyone, trying to hide behind sarcasm or deflection. But tonight, the walls were higher, the cracks more visible.

He reached out and placed a gentle hand on the small of House’s back, his touch a silent offer of comfort. House didn’t flinch, but his body seemed to soften just slightly under the touch. He swallowed hard, the words escaping him before he could stop them.

“I can’t do this.” House admitted in a voice that was quieter than usual, almost shaky.

“Hey.” Wilson leaned closer, his hand rubbing soothingly at House’s back as he whispered: “It’s almost over.”

For a moment, there was silence between them. He could see the tightness in House’s jaw, the way his breath hitched as he struggled to keep it together. With a gentle, careful movement, he reached up and cupped House’s cheek, his thumb brushing across the rough stubble. House’s eyes flickered closed at the touch, the immediate soothing sensation lulling him into a brief moment of peace before his gaze darted toward the dining room.

Wilson gave a soft, understanding sigh, trying to get House’s attention. 

“Hey,” he said again, this time with a little more insistence. His thumb brushed over House’s cheekbone, and with a soft smile, he leaned in and placed a quick, feather-light kiss on his lips. It was a gentle reminder, a reassurance. Wilson’s fingers lingered on House’s skin, stroking his cheek once more before pulling away.

House’s eyes opened slowly, his gaze meeting Wilson’s. He was still tense, still uneasy, but the warmth from his best friend’s touch lingered, grounding him in the moment. He glanced back at the dining table, and to his relief, no one was watching them.

House swallowed, his throat tight. He nodded, taking a deep breath. 

“Almost over.” he repeated under his breath, collecting himself enough to turn away from the sink. He wiped his hands on his pants, but his face remained somber.

The sound of soft footsteps from the dining room caught their attention. Will had quietly slipped away from the table and was standing beside them, his small figure framed by the light from the other room. He had clearly noticed the shift in the mood, his sharp eyes observing the adults with a level of awareness far beyond his years.

“House, are you okay?” Will asked, his voice small but full of genuine concern.

The diagnostician paused, meeting the boy’s eyes for a brief moment. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Wilson spoke up from behind him, his voice calm and steady.

“Yes, honey, he’s just tired.” Wilson answered for him, a soft smile on his face. He stepped away from House’s side, letting him have a moment alone with the boy.

Will’s eyes flicked up to House, his expression thoughtful. Then, after a long pause, he piped up with a surprising statement.

“I have a clue-box.” Will said matter-of-factly, his face lighting up with excitement. “You said you can solve cases other people can’t.”

House blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift in the conversation. 

“You’re probably smarter than me.” he said, half joking, half dismissing the boy's enthusiasm, initially just trying to make the kid go away. Then, he noticed how the boy seemed genuinely flattered by his compliment, his face lighting up, his cheeks flushing slightly. House saw Will's eyes glimmer with excitement, and something inside him softened.

“Mom said you’re the smartest doctor in the world.” Will added, a bit more shyly now.

House gave him a small, wry smile, trying to ease the tension. 

“In New Jersey, maybe. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” he said, trying to calm himself down and take some of the weight off the conversation.

Will’s excitement didn’t wane, however. 

“Come on. I’ll show you,” he said, eagerly turning around and running off to the living room. House hesitated for a moment, watching the boy’s retreating figure before he let out a quiet sigh and slowly followed behind, his limp a tad worse.

He made his way to the couch with some effort, lowering himself down with a wince. His hand instinctively went to rub his thigh, the familiar ache intensifying with the motion.

From the corner of the room, Will returned, pulling out a wooden box from his backpack. He scampered back to House, holding it out proudly. 

“I’m stuck here.”

House’s mouth twitched upward, unable to suppress a small, genuine smile. He leaned over and grabbed the box, turning it over in his hands. The boy watched him eagerly, his eyes wide with anticipation.

House raised an eyebrow, feigning reluctance. 

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be terrible at this,” he muttered, only half-playing disinterest.

Will grinned. “I think you’ll be good at it.”

“I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises.” House said, giving the boy a wink. He then began to work through the clues, playing up his “struggles” with the puzzle in a way that made Will giggle and lean closer, offering his own thoughts and suggestions.

As the evening wore on, the noise from the dinner table faded into the background. It was just the two of them now, sitting on the couch and solving puzzles. For once, House wasn’t the center of attention for a crowd, but only of one person. He wasn’t trying to maintain control or dodge difficult questions. For the first time that night, the tension that had been tightening his chest slowly loosened.

Will bounced on the balls of his feet, his enthusiasm palpable as he worked through the puzzle with House. The two of them bickered over the clues, their laughter ringing out in the quiet of the room. House couldn’t help but look at the boy with a certain fondness. Will’s eagerness, his innocence, the way he rocked back and forth in excitement, all of it reminded House of a younger version of himself, the boy he could have been if his own father had been different.

As they bantered, Will’s face lit up with triumph when he finally solved a particularly tricky puzzle. House chuckled, genuinely amused by the boy’s determination. “You got it.” he said, his voice warm for the first time that evening.

The night had drawn to a close. The lingering hum of conversation had quieted, and the warm glow of the living room lamp now illuminated the tired smiles of the remaining guests. The atmosphere had shifted from one of nervousness and awkwardness to a more relaxed, though still hesitant, comfort.

Wilson stood near the door, his arms crossed casually as he spoke to Cuddy and Lucas. 

House, still sitting on the couch, had finally managed to loosen his shoulders, but the sense of unease that had plagued him all night remained.

Stacy adjusted her coat, glancing down at House. He gave her a slight nod of acknowledgment, but she could tell the evening had drained him.

Will stood beside her, coat and backpack on, ready to leave.

“Thank you for tonight, Greg.”

“Wilson did most of the hard work. Thank him.” He said, then swallowed. “How long will you be staying?”

“A few more days. I’m on this case about an Informed consent dispute involving side effects of a clinical trial for Chronic Neuropathic Pain gone bad. I should be done by noon tomorrow.” She said, then nudged Will with her hand, pinching his cheek softly. “Hoping he doesn’t go snooping around the hospital again.”

The boy giggled and nuzzled his face against her hip, letting her pet his hair.

“I can watch him.” House found himself saying. “I’m done with the case, I can… keep an eye on him.”

“You do realize you don’t have to start babysitting him, right?”

“As your friend, nothing else.” He hoped she would understand his innuendo. “He’s a mingy bilge rat but, boy, can he outsmart my team on differentials.”

Will giggled again, causing both Stacy and Greg to smile.

“Okay.” She sighed softly. The doctor looked up at her and nodded, thankfully.

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, Greg.”

“Night, you scoundrel.” House said, ruffling the boy’s hair. He hid behind his mother and chuckled softly as he was dragged away.

“Bye, House!”

Wilson clicked the door shut with a soft thud, engaging the lock with a quick turn. He let out a long, deep breath before heading to the couch where House sat, slouched low, his legs stretched out, his hand rubbing absentmindedly at his aching thigh. The glow of the television illuminated his sharp features as he flicked through channels, finally settling on a muted rerun of a nature documentary.

Wilson approached quietly, his shirt already unbuttoned at the collar, and sank down beside him. Their shoulders brushed, the familiar warmth settling between them as naturally as breathing. Without hesitation, Wilson reached up, his fingers threading gently through House’s short, buzzed hair, stroking with an absent tenderness. House leaned into the touch almost imperceptibly, his sharp edges softened in the dim light.

For a while, neither spoke. The low hum of the TV filled the space. Finally, Wilson broke the silence, his voice hushed but steady.

“You okay?”

House didn’t look away from the screen, but his mouth quirked slightly in a bitter half-smile. “Define ‘okay.’”

Wilson exhaled a faint laugh, his hand still stroking House’s hair. “He likes you, you know. A lot.”

House was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting back to the TV, though it was clear his thoughts were far from the flickering images on the screen. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that, Wilson.”

Wilson leaned in a little closer, his hand now resting at the nape of his neck, warm and grounding. “You don’t have to do anything. Just... be there. However that looks for you.”

House tilted his head back against the couch, his expression unreadable. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not.” Wilson admitted. “But you already started tonight. It’s a big step, House. Give yourself credit for that.”

House didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the television. Then he let out a low sigh, his voice quieter, almost ashamed: “I think I like him.”

Wilson smiled, his chest aching with a mix of affection and pride. “I know you do.”

They sat there, close and comfortable, as the muted TV flickered on. The weight of the evening ebbed slowly, leaving behind the steady hum of something softer, something warm. Wilson’s hand continued its soothing path through House’s hair.

Stacy crouched in front of Will in the corridor just outside House’s office, smoothing his hair and straightening his jacket. 

“Be good, okay?” she said softly, her tone tender but firm. “If House is busy, ask a nurse to take you to my office.”

House, leaning lazily against the doorframe with his cane in hand, rolled his eyes. “Won’t be busy. They like to pay me to sit around and whine about the workload.”

Will gave a shy but amused smile, glancing between his mother and House. Stacy narrowed her eyes at the diagnostician but decided against arguing. She gave Will’s cheek a quick kiss before straightening up. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

As she walked away, Will hesitated by the door, unsure. House motioned him inside with a tilt of his head. “Welcome to the glamorous world of diagnostics, kiddo. Don’t touch anything that looks alive, and you might survive the day.”

The morning started with a trip to the clinic, House walking ahead as Will trailed behind, his headphones bouncing around his neck. Entering an exam room, House glanced down at the boy. “Ground rules: if I have to do anything embarrassing, like checking someone’s hemorrhoids or whatever, you face the corner and cover your reyes. Deal?”

“Deal.” Will giggled, nodding enthusiastically. “What are hemorrhoids?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

Their first patient was a middle-aged man complaining of a sore throat. House barked out questions and poked at the man’s tonsils with a depressor, eliciting a dramatic whine from the patient. Will, perched on a stool in the corner, giggled genuinely.

“He was very dramatic.” Will whispered as they left the room.

House smirked. “You’d be surprised how many grown-ups are babies. Speaking of which, let’s go visit Wilson.”

In Wilson’s office, Will settled into one of the chairs opposite the oncologist’s desk, his legs swinging as House made himself at home on the couch. “This is your chance to interrogate Wilson.” House said dryly. “He loves answering questions.”

“House, I have paperwork.” Wilson whispered.

Will turned to the oncologist, his curiosity barely contained. “What are you doing?”

Wilson smiled warmly. “I’m making sure my patient files are in order so they get the right medication.”

“Wow.” Will said earnestly. “That sounds important.”

“It is,” Wilson replied gently, his eyes glaring at House, who was fiddling with a stress ball he’d swiped off the desk.

Will’s gaze shifted back to House. “So… when did you start dating?”

House groaned dramatically, tossing the stress ball back onto Wilson’s desk. “We didn’t come here for story time. Ask him real life or death questions.”

Wilson thumbed through his papers and replied mindlessly: “Couple of weeks ago. But we’ve known each other a long time.”

“Why did you start dating?” Will pressed, his tone innocent but insistent.

House leaned his head back, feigning exasperation. “Because Wilson lost a bet.”

Wilson laughed, shaking his head. “Not true. He just got all sentimental all of a sudden.” He glanced at House, who was suddenly very focused on a spot on the ceiling. 

“He spent a fortune on me for an organ.”

“A human organ?” Will gasped.

“No, like… a Hammond.” The boy stared at him, confused. “Like a piano, but scarier. Oh, my God, what does your mother teach you?”

Will giggled. “What do you like about him?”

“Pick better questions, you’re not annoying him, he’s having fun!” House reprimanded him.

Wilson chuckled, House shot him a warning look. 

“Well, he has a great taste in clothes, he likes to spoil me with all sorts of luxury vacations and he makes a killer Martini.” The diagnostician smirked at the answer. “And… he cares a lot more than he lets on.”

House muttered something under his breath and pushed himself up off the couch. “That’s enough mushy stuff for one morning. Let’s go see if anyone in the clinic has a rash I can diagnose from ten feet away.”

As the morning wore on, House found himself unexpectedly enjoying Will’s company. The boy’s endless stream of questions ranged from medical trivia to why House actually walked with a cane to whether House liked dinosaurs when he was a kid. House answered most of them with a mix of sarcasm and honesty, but his sharp edges softened as Will laughed at his quips and looked up at him with wide-eyed admiration.

Yet, under the surface, House felt a gnawing grief. Every time Will smiled or tilted his head with that curious expression, it was like looking at a version of himself he hadn’t protected, a version he couldn’t save. It made his chest ache in a way he didn’t know how to process.

By the time his team had left and Stacy had picked up the little pest, he found himself in the Eames chair, fiddling with a tiny dinosaur model Will had left on his desk. He watched the pterosaur with a hint of sadness and waited for Wilson to show up and drive him back home.

The next day, House was already barricaded with his team in the Diagnostics office, avoiding clinic duty and toying with his whiteboard. He heard a soft knock, followed by the familiar swish of his office door opening. Without turning, he called, “We’re busy not saving lives right now. Come back never.”

“I’ll be quick.” Stacy’s voice rang out, House immediately turned to face her and spotted Will standing shyly beside her, clutching the straps of his backpack.

“Miss me already?” House quipped, his tone dry but his eyes softening as they landed on the boy.

“Will really enjoyed his day with you,” Stacy explained, smiling. “And today’s my last day at the hospital. He insisted on coming to see you before we head home. If you’re not too busy of course.”

She eyed the whiteboard behind him.

Will grinned up at him, his excitement poorly concealed. House let out an exaggerated sigh, standing with a groan. “Fine, but he’s officially my assistant for the day. Hope you’re ready for paperwork, kid.”

Will laughed, his smile stretching ear to ear.

The diagnostic office hummed with a quiet tension as House and his team reviewed the case of Richard Matthews, a 52-year-old male who had presented with a bewildering array of symptoms.

"Muscle weakness, fatigue, joint pain, and photosensitivity." Thirteen read off the patient's chart, her voice tinged with frustration. "His labs came back mostly normal, except for slightly elevated ESR and CRP, which is nonspecific. It's not much to go on."

"Autoimmune or infectious." Chase suggested, flipping through the medical records. "But what’s weird is that he has no fever, no positive cultures, no significant family history of autoimmune diseases. Could it still be lupus?"

Taub nodded, leaning forward. "It could, but it’s presenting atypically. No malar rash, no kidney involvement. Plus, there’s no clear indication of systemic involvement beyond the muscle weakness.”

Foreman leaned against the desk, glancing at the screen. "What about some rare infections, maybe? A viral disease, like parvovirus or a mycoplasma infection? Both can cause joint pain and fatigue, but I don’t think they’d explain the photosensitivity."

The diagnostician wasn’t following along, he was simply watching as Will hopped onto the chair in the corner. 

“Comfy?” He found himself asking. The boy nodded.

“House.” Chase called for his attention, his team almost bewildered. The blonde doctor tapped his pen on the edge of the desk with a sigh. "What if it’s Dermatomyositis? Muscle weakness with skin changes, but again, no specific muscle enzyme markers showing up."

As the team continued to argue, a pager went off, interrupting the discussion.

“How can a girl have breakfast in these conditions?” House whined, setting his coffee mug down and walking towards Will. “We have a medical emergency, buddy, you can either stay here or-”

“I’m coming with you.”

“House.” Foreman reprimanded him.

“He’s fine. You, start running.” The diagnostician replied bitterly, shooing his ducklings away.

House and Will followed his team as they raced down the halls, arriving in Richard's room to find the man sitting upright, his face drawn and sweating. He struggled to catch his breath, the pulse ox on his finger reading low 80s. He was clearly in distress, unable to speak clearly.

"His BP’s dropping.” Thirteen observed, checking the monitor. “Tachycardic, hypoxic. We need to get him intubated, now.”

House kept the kid outside the room and slowly placed the headphones on top of his head and covered his ears. He gently guided him to turn around and not look as they intubated.

House watched as the team worked, trying to think of a possible explanation. He nudged the headphones off an ear gently and looked down.

“I need to go inside.” He told the boy, who looked up at him with wide eyes. He nodded and walked in before House, keeping himself against the wall so as to not disturb. He stood beside the guest chair and watched as the team discussed.

Chase quickly assessed the patient’s condition. "Possible pleuritis or a pulmonary embolism," he said. "I think we should order a CT pulmonary angiography."

House was already giving orders. “We’re not jumping to conclusions. Start with a chest X-ray. Prepare for mechanical ventilation if his oxygen saturation doesn’t improve with supplemental O2.”

The team got to work. As they prepped the patient, House joined in the corner of the room. Will still had a tight grip on House’s hand, his small fingers curling around the older man's palm, seemingly at ease but watching the scene unfold with sharp, observant eyes.

“You okay?” House asked, figuring he should probably take the kid somewhere else. Will nodded slowly, glancing up at House for a moment, then back to Richard. 

"It’s funny." The boy said softly. “He’s pink in the shape of a butterfly. Like face-paint.”

House’s interest piqued immediately. He shot a glance toward the pink shape Will was pointing to. Sure enough, there was a butterfly-shaped discoloration just over the man’s face, spreading across his nose and up to his cheekbones. It wasn’t there when they'd first examined him, House was certain of it. It could’ve been easily brushed off as flushing from the airway obstruction.

“The rash wasn’t there before.” House stated, stepping closer to the patient, taking the boy with him. “Systemic lupus erythematosus. The pulmonary involvement? Probably from pleuritis or even lupus-induced pericarditis." House’s tone was now sharp, his diagnosis coming together with the sudden clarity of a lightning bolt.

"We need to start him on steroids, an immunosuppressive regimen. But we need to check for any organ involvement right away.” He announced. The team nodded.

He looked down at Will. 

“I’m not gonna start paying you.” He said and led him out the room.

Later, they found themselves in Wilson’s office again. Will perched on a chair, watching Wilson fill out charts while House lounged on the couch. They bragged about solving the case, with House showering him in compliments for his watchful eye that saved the day.

“You really hang out with him all day?” Will asked suddenly, glancing at Wilson, almost jealous.

“Unfortunately,” Wilson replied with a mock sigh. “He’s like a stray cat. Once you feed him, he never leaves.”

House smirked but didn’t respond, too busy watching Will bombard Wilson with questions about his work, the patients he treated, and how he handled all the sadness. Wilson, patient as ever, answered each question with care, occasionally glancing at House with a knowing smile.

After getting confirmation of his diagnosis, House declared it was time for “fieldwork” and led Will to the cafeteria for an early lunch. Sitting at a corner table, they shared fries while House peppered Will with questions about his favorite subjects, hobbies, and what he wanted to be when he grew up.

“I think I want to be a scientist,” Will said thoughtfully. “Or a doctor like you.”

House paused mid-bite, his expression unreadable. “Scientists get to avoid people. Much better option.” he advised.

After lunch, they retreated to House’s office, the quiet hum of the hospital drifting in through the door as they sat together. Will eagerly spread out his magnetic building blocks on the desk, focusing intently as House shuffled through some papers, occasionally glancing at the boy’s creations with a faint smile.

But his thoughts weren’t on the blocks. Instead, they were on something far more complicated, something he knew he needed to do, but had been avoiding for days. He felt an ache in his chest every time he looked at Will, the weight of the secret pressing down on him.

House had spent most of his life convinced that his father wasn’t his biological father. He remembered the sting of those early years, wondering, questioning, even hoping that one day the truth would be revealed, that his real father would come to claim him. It had been decades before he found out the truth. It hit him like a ton of bricks. He’d had all those years hoping it’d be true, only to discover that his theories being confirmed didn’t change anything at the end of the day. 

He didn’t want the kid to go through what he’d gone through. The gnawing uncertainty. The feeling that something vital was missing. And the burden of knowing that the truth could change everything, or worse, make nothing seem the same anymore.

He glanced at his watch, the seconds ticking away in that familiar, torturous rhythm. The day was slipping through his fingers. Soon, Stacy would come to pick Will up, and this would be over. The whole thing. All of it.

Taking a deep breath, House finally turned his chair to face the boy, who was busy stacking the blocks into a precarious tower. Will seemed absorbed in his little world, unaware of the weight House was carrying.

“Will,” House called gently, trying to catch his attention. He needed to say this now, before it was too late. “Buddy, hey.”

Will looked up, his brow furrowing. “Sorry.”

House sighed, leaning forward and setting the papers aside. “I need you to listen to me. It’s big boy stuff.”

Will nodded, his attention fully on House now.

House’s voice was softer than usual as he paused, gathering his words carefully. 

“I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel a certain way. You don’t have to feel any different, I just think you deserve the truth.” He stared at the desk for a moment, his fingers tracing the edge of the wood absently. “I want you to know the answers to the questions you’ll have, Will. I don’t want you spending your teen years sulking, wondering, thinking about what could’ve been. It’s not fair.”

He leaned in a little closer, his elbows on the desk, eyes locked onto the boy. 

“Does Mark treat you well?”

Will didn’t hesitate. He nodded. 

House’s lips twitched into a slight smile. “Do you love him?”

Will nodded again, a little more convinced this time.

“He’s a good father.” House said, confirming the obvious. Will was clearly loved.

Will nodded once more, his eyes flickering to House’s face before glancing back down. House returned the gesture, a quiet affirmation of the unspoken bond between them.

“He’s not your biological father,” he said, his voice steady but heavy. He watched Will’s face closely for any sign of confusion, hurt, or surprise, but Will just looked curious, open. “This doesn’t mean he’s not your dad. He is. He’s the one who’s been there, who’s raised you, who loves you. But you... you’re mine, too.” 

The words were finally out, and House almost felt lighter, though his chest still ached. “You’re my biological son.”

Will blinked, taking a moment to process the information. He tilted his head, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “You’re my dad, too?”

House nodded slowly, swallowing. “Biologically, yes. I passed down my hair, my earlobes, maybe my tendency to ask too many questions. But... you’re not my son if you don’t want to be.” He felt his eyes prickling. “I’m not your dad. I’m just the guy who made you.”

There was a brief silence as Will absorbed the words. Then, in the same quiet, matter-of-fact tone, Will spoke again. “But you’re still my dad, right?”

House smiled faintly, the weight of the moment settling in, then shook his head. “You already have a father. And he’s a good one. He cares about you, and he’s been there for you. So, I’m not here to replace him. I’m just... here. If anything happens, if you ever want to see me, I’m here. I’ll probably be in this hospital ‘til the day I cark it. Or they arrest me, whichever comes first.”

Will’s face softened, and he looked down, processing it. “Okay.”

House gave him a little smile. “So, if you ever have a medical emergency, or just need help with math or whatever, you know where to find me.”

Will nodded. “Okay.”

“Good,” House said, though he couldn’t help the tightness in his chest. “You’re a good kid.”

Will gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

House looked at him for a moment, struggling with the words but finally managing to say: “I like you, buddy.”

Will’s smile widened, though it was a bit shy. “I like you, too.”

The silence stretched out a little longer before Will returned to his blocks.

The door to House’s office creaked open softly a couple of minutes later. Stacy stepped inside, her presence calm but purposeful. Will was already standing by the desk, looking up at House with wide eyes. His backpack, still half-open, lay on the floor beside him, and it was clear he was ready to leave, even though a part of him didn’t seem quite ready to go.

“Hey, buddy,” Stacy said, her voice light and gentle as she looked down at Will. “Ready to go?”

Will didn’t respond right away. Instead, he glanced back at House, studying him with a quiet intensity. Stacy smiled softly, sensing the weight of the moment hanging between them. She crouched down to gather Will’s things, carefully folding the magnetic blocks and placing them in the bag.

“Did you have fun today?” she asked, looking over at him as she zipped up the bag.

Will nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything, but the way he clutched the straps of his backpack tightly said enough.

House leaned back in his chair, trying to mask the way his chest tightened. “You know, I think I’ll miss having a decent team member.”

Stacy glanced up, giving him a small, knowing smile as she picked up Will’s water bottle and added it to the bag. “I’m sure Will’s going to miss being a little doctor too. Won’t you?”

Will’s gaze stayed locked on House. He took a step forward, his tiny hands clutching his backpack straps.

“Are you really gonna miss me?” Will asked, voice soft but clear.

House blinked, a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t know how to respond, so he just offered a short nod. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Stacy straightened up, ready to go. “Alright, honey,” she said. “Let’s go say goodbye to Wilson.”

But before she could take a step toward the door, Will suddenly walked over to House. Without any warning, he ran to stand between his legs and wrapped his small arms around House’s waist in a tight, almost desperate hug.

House sat frozen for a moment, not sure what to do, but then he returned the hug, awkwardly, but with a quiet understanding.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Will whispered into his side, his voice muffled by the fabric of House’s shirt.

House’s heart clenched in his chest. He didn’t know how to put into words what he was feeling, so he just patted Will’s back gently and said, “I’ll be around if you need puzzles solved. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Stacy, watching from the doorway, smiled sadly as she gave them a moment. 

Will pulled back from the hug, his face still a little flushed. “Okay.” he said quietly, nodding to House one last time before looking up at Stacy and grabbing her hand.

The two left the office with a small hand-wave, and House sat back down at his desk, staring at the spot where Will had stood just moments before. The sound of their footsteps faded as they walked down the hallway, leaving him alone with the silence in his office.

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to push back the sudden migraine that was starting to form at his temples. The weight of the day, the quiet finality of it, was catching up to him.

After a few moments, House bent down to grab his own backpack from the floor. He gave it a half-hearted shake to make sure nothing was left behind, but as he lifted it up, something slipped out from underneath it and fluttered to the floor.

He frowned, reaching down to pick up the small folded piece of paper. The edges were slightly crinkled, and as he unfolded it, he saw a simple, handwritten note.

It was in Will’s childish handwriting, with awkward, uneven letters that looked like they were written with the careful attention of a 7-year-old.

House,

Thank you for the fun day. I had fun. Thank you for being friends. I will miss you a lot.

Love you,

Will

(tell wilson I say HI)

House stared at the paper for a moment, his chest tightening in a way he hadn’t expected. He held it in his hands, the words simple but somehow heavy. A smile tugged at his lips, but it was fleeting, quickly overtaken by the sensation of the migraine growing more intense.

Chapter Text

Will’s days were structured, predictable, and carefully tailored to help him feel safe. Stacy had spent years fine-tuning his schedule to balance his need for structure while helping him connect to the world around him. Their mornings started early, as Will was often up before sunrise, a habit she had learned to embrace rather than fight against.

Will woke up like clockwork at six, his body naturally attuned to the same time each day. Stacy often found him sitting cross-legged on his bed, flipping through one of his favorite picture books or tinkering with his magnetic building blocks. He liked the tactile sensation of snapping the pieces together. It was a good way to pass the time before his mother would get up.

Morning routines were consistent: he brushed his teeth, washed his face, and dressed himself with minimal assistance. He preferred soft, tagless clothing, and Stacy always made sure his favorite shirts were clean and ready.

Breakfast was simple and predictable. Will liked plain toast with a thin layer of peanut butter and a glass of cold milk. Stacy often sat with him, going over the visual schedule she’d prepared for the day. First school, then therapy, then playtime.

He had about 20 minutes of free time before leaving for school. That was his favorite part of the morning, and he usually spent it absorbed in reading. He’d very recently asked his mom to get him some books “about medicine”, since he’d been so fascinated by his adventure at PPTH. She’d sighed, feeling some sense of guilt for letting him so close to Greg, but rapidly caved in and bought him some pop-up anatomy books for kids. He really liked them.

Stacy drove him to school, a private institution with a strong support program for children like him. The ride was quiet, the radio had to be off. Will liked to look out the window and count red cars. She knew not to interrupt unless he initiated conversation, which he often did.

At school, Will thrived with the structure of the day. His teacher used visual aids to help him transition between activities, and he had a quiet corner in the classroom where he could retreat if things felt overwhelming. They didn’t always accommodate him, some kids found his rocking back and forth annoying and pointed it out, others would look at him, his sketchbook and laugh. He liked those guys, they always laughed around him.

Lunch was eaten at the same seat every day, with the same food Stacy packed for him: a turkey sandwich, cut into triangles, carrot sticks, and a small box of apple juice.

Afternoons were harder. Social activities like group projects or recess sometimes made him anxious. The school allowed him to choose quieter activities during this time, like reading or working on art projects. He always picked the latter.

Twice a week, Will attended occupational therapy sessions to help with his sensory integration and fine motor skills. Will enjoyed these sessions, especially when he could earn a sticker for completing his tasks, but he was growing tired of them.

After therapy, they headed home. He always had a 30-minute decompression period, during which he would play quietly in his room. Stacy respected this time as sacred, Will needed it to reset after a long day.

Dinner was a calm, predictable affair. She kept the menu simple, often rotating through Will’s favorite meals: pesto penne because they were a very nice green and not too chewy, grilled chicken with potatoes because they were yellow and salty, or quesadillas because they would turn into long strings. 

Stacy noticed something was off with Will the moment he came out of his bedroom for dinner. Normally, he’d be bursting with energy, animatedly explaining some fascinating new fact he’d learned or proudly showing her something his therapist had given him. Today, though, he seemed quieter. He shuffled into the living room, dropped his sketchbook on the coffee table, and sat down on the carpeted floor in front of the couch without saying much. His gaze was distant as he scribbled with his crayons.

Stacy paused in the doorway, observing him for a moment. Concern tugged at her. Will was a creature of routine and enthusiasm, this muted behavior was unusual. She set her wine glass on the kitchen counter and walked over, sitting beside him.

“Hey, honey.” she said gently, placing a hand on his head. “You feeling okay?”

Will shrugged, still focused on the thread in his shirt. He wasn’t fidgeting the way he usually did when he was full of nervous energy;m, this was something else. A sort of pensiveness she wasn’t used to seeing in him.

“You were so quiet on the way home.” She continued, leaning a little closer, petting his hair the way he liked it. “Usually, you can’t wait to tell me what you did today. Did something happen in therapy?”

He shook his head, but still didn’t look at her.

“Will?” she pressed softly, trying not to overwhelm him.

After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice quiet. “Can I go see Dad?”

Stacy blinked, caught off guard. “You’re seeing him next week, honey.”

“Not him.” He mumbled softly. “House.”

She tilted her head slightly, unsure she’d heard him right. “What are you talking about?”

Will hesitated again, as if trying to find the right words.

“I want to see Dad.” The simplicity of his words carried a weight that made Stacy’s chest tighten. She searched his face, trying to gauge what was behind this sudden request. “And Wilson.”

Stacy drove to PPTH the very next morning after dropping Will at school and stormed into House’s office, her heels clicking sharply against the linoleum floor. She slammed the door open, startling the diagnostician, who had been lounging in his chair with his feet up on the desk, idly tossing a tennis ball at the wall.

“You told him?!” she yelled, her voice a mix of anger and disbelief.

House caught the ball mid-air and turned his sharp gaze on her, unfazed. “Of course I told him.”

“We decided we wouldn’t.”

“I changed my mind. I’m all for democratic education.” He said with a shrug, spinning the ball in his hand.

Stacy threw her hands up in frustration. “He’s been calling you his ‘other dad.’”

“Well, technically, Mark would be the other dad. I should get biological priority.” House replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She shot him a glare. “What was your plan? We can’t do triple custody.”

House leaned back in his chair, feigning deep thought. “It would be quite the scandal, wouldn’t it? Three dads, a gay one, a cripple, and a guidance counselor. All three sharing a troubled past with a bossy woman. I think they made a movie out of it. Meryl Streep was in it. They sang songs in Greece. Beautiful place, we could book a vacation, all five of us-”

“Greg.” She interrupted, her tone turning sharp. “You can’t toy with him.”

House’s expression softened slightly, the smirk replaced by something more serious. 

“I’m not.” He said quietly. “I want him to know I exist. If he needs… help for any reason, I can lend a hand. Don’t pretend like you’re not looking for a babysitter.”

“I have one.”

“You had one.” House corrected. “You fired her a month ago, which is why you brought him with you to work in the first place. Your assistant said it’s the third sitter you’ve fired in six months. Probably because not one of them has been able to approach him the right way.”

Stacy crossed her arms, her expression softening slightly. 

“What is it that you want to hear? That you did a great job at being compassionate? That you’re better than anyone else?”

“I’d love to hear that, yeah.” House said, deadpan.

Stacy sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t rely on you. You have a job, too.”

“I barely even work these days.”

“You just got out of rehab.”

“I’m not relapsing.” House said firmly.

“I believe that,” Stacy replied. “but I don’t think you’re in the right place to make such drastic decisions so soon.”

House leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Why do people think I’m less capable of free will now that I’m sober? Was I more convincing when I popped twelve hydrocodone pills a day? I can still look intimidating if I want. Look.” He frowned dramatically.

Stacy fought the urge to roll her eyes. 

“I don’t want you to make decisions based on how much you think they’ll show that you’ve changed. This is about what you want in the long run.” She said, her tone softening. “If you decide to be in his life, you can’t back out.”

House paused, the weight of her words settling over him. Finally, he nodded, his voice quieter. “I don’t want to back out.”

Stacy sighed, some of her tension easing. 

“Okay.” she said, her voice softer now. “Then we need to figure this out.”

House tossed the tennis ball against the wall again, catching it easily as he looked at her. “You know, for someone who loves a good argument, you’re not half-bad at compromise.”

“I’m a lawyer.” She countered, sitting down in his guest chair. “And for someone who hates responsibility, you’re not half-bad at stepping up.” 

“I’m not doing this to win you over.” House stated, matter-of-factly.

“I was hoping so, since you’re taken now.” He hummed timidly. “I’m glad he finally told you.”

“I told him.” He admitted softly.

She smiled, impressed.

“You really have changed.”

“I just want to help you.” He continued earnestly, keeping his eyes low.

She wiped a hand over her face and sighed deeply.

“I have a really important case coming up, it’s starting this Wednesday and it’ll probably go on for weeks, I’ll have to be out of town for a few days.”

“I’m free.”

“It’s in Boston.”

“Wilson and I have a guest room. Technically two, since he moved into my bedroom.”

“You need to be sure about this.”

He let out a groan.

“I am. Pinky promise.” He insisted, throwing her a kind glance. “We’ll have a boys night. It’ll be fun.”

Wilson nearly dropped the pile of laundry he’d been carrying when House casually announced: “Will’s staying with us for a couple of days. Stacy’s got a thing in Boston.”

“What?” Wilson froze mid-step, his brow creasing in alarm. “What- What do you mean he’s staying?”

“Well, he’s a smart kid but, like many of us, he can’t survive without supervision for more than a few days. He’s also seven.”

“She asked you to watch him?”

“Nope.” House popped the ‘p’ and shrugged, completely unfazed, as he continued stirring a pot on the stove. “Offered.”

Wilson’s panic visibly increased. “Offered? You offered?”

“I was feeling altruistic, you know me.”

“We’re not exactly the most child-friendly setup here. Your sword over the mantle. The razors on the sink. The pills! I have to-” He started pacing frantically, muttering under his breath about childproof locks and outlet covers.

House rolled his eyes. “Relax, Martha Stewart. The kid isn’t crawling around on all fours looking for sharp edges. He’s seven.”

“We still have to be responsible adults. I know it’s a new concept for you.” Wilson insisted, already scanning the room for hazards. “Did she give you any guidelines? A schedule? Emergency contacts?”

“Nope. But we’ve got so much unused space around here,” House said, gesturing lazily at their shared condo. “And since you vetoed my sex swing idea, might as well fill it with something else.”

“Right, a child is what the decor was missing.” Wilson humored, placing his hands on his hips. “Why did you offer? Are you feeling paternal?”

“A wise guy once said to always turn the other cheek. What was it? Star Wars?”

“Isn’t this going to make things... more complicated? I mean, on what terms are we even allowed to keep an eye on him?”

House smirked, turning back to his pot. “You’re his mom’s friend. Friends do favors for friends.”

Wilson scoffed.

“Not that you’d know anything about that.”

“Exactly, I should learn a couple things.” House paused to add some seasoning. “And I’m his dad, so... I think that makes me pretty qualified to look after the pest.”

Wilson blinked, looking as if he’d misheard, holding his hands up and flailing them around like he usually did. 

“Okay, but he doesn’t know that. To him, we’re just two random strangers he met in a hospital.”

House poured some red wine into the pot, utterly nonchalant. “He knows.”

“He figured it out?” Wilson’s voice rose with disbelief. “You mean he just noticed? What, did he pull out a DNA test kit when we weren’t looking?”

“Yeah,” House deadpanned, “he compared our earlobes to Mark’s, noted the phenotypic inconsistencies, and cracked the case.”

“Wait, seriously?” Wilson’s eyes widened.

House sighed, annoyed. “No, you idiot. I told him.”

Wilson stared at him, slack-jawed. “You told him? Just like that?”

“Yup.” House said, nonchalantly taking a sip of the wine straight from the bottle. “Kid deserved the truth. Turns out, he’s not an idiot. Takes after me.”

“Is he just as humble, too?"

“You say that like it’s news.” House quipped, smirking. “Get the table ready. We need to put some meat on your bones. You’ll need your strength to keep up with the ‘little me.’”

“I thought I already did.”

“Oh, I see what you did there. Sexual innuendo. Doesn't work on me as much as it did on your wives.”

“Ah, you got me. Aiming for the low hanging fruit lately.”

“Another sexual innuendo? You're getting repetitive.”

Stacy arrived at their condo in the late afternoon, ushering Will up the steps. The boy looked thrilled, clutching his favorite stuffed animal and his suitcase in one hand. 

“Here’s the schedule.” Stacy said briskly, handing Wilson a neatly printed sheet of paper. “Meals, bedtime, school times, and other important details. He’s excited, but don’t let him skip too much of the routine, okay?”

Wilson took the schedule like it was a medical briefing, smoothing it out and heading straight to the fridge. “We’ll stick to it.” he said seriously, pinning it with a magnet. He adjusted it twice to make sure it was perfectly aligned.

House rolled his eyes. “Did you laminate it? Might as well, it’s not surviving past tomorrow.”

Stacy ignored him and crouched down to Will’s level. 

“You behave, okay?” she said, brushing some hair from his face. “You know my number if you need anything.”

“Will nodded eagerly, already half-looking past her toward House and Wilson and announcing: “I brought my stuff.”

“Stuff?” House asked, peering over Will’s shoulder at the bulging suitcase. “That’s not stuff. That’s a year’s supply of clutter. What’s in there?”

Will unzipped it enthusiastically. “Books. My stuff. My spoon and fork. And my pajamas with the stars.”

“Well you got my eyes and my taste for minimalism.” House quipped, leaning down to grab a plushie from the couch.He held up the stuffed animal. “What’s this, a bear?” 

“That’s Toby.” Will said, grabbing it back protectively. “He’s not a bear. He’s a dog.”

“He’s a dog.” Wilson repeated, smiling softly.

“Don’t act like you could’ve guessed.” House replied.

“I probably would’ve, with a name like Toby.”

“Stop, both of you.” Stacy warned with a faint smile.

Will ignored them, already pulling his books out of the suitcase. “I brought the new books mom got me. And I have extra socks!”

“Exciting.” House muttered, but his tone softened when he saw how excited Will was.

Stacy handed House a copy of the authorization slip for school the next day. 

“Everything should be on here, they shouldn’t complain as long as you bring this and your ID.” She said, her voice a little tense. She glanced at him, then at Wilson. “Thanks for doing this.”

House gave her a long look. “Don’t worry, we’ll harvest him for organs the moment you walk out that door.”He said simply.

“Don’t get too crazy with it.” Stacy said, turning back to Will. “Have fun.”

“We will.” The kid said, and let her kiss his cheek before he turned back to House.

“You better get going.” House said. “He’s already unpacking.”

Stacy hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Call me if anything comes up.”

“Don’t worry.” Wilson assured her as he ushered her to the door.

As soon as she was gone, Will turned back to House, holding up a book. “Can we read this one tonight?”

House smirked. “Oh, we’re skipping the kid stuff. I have some really smart big boy stuff for you. Ready to learn about intestines?”

Will’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”

“Well, lucky for you,” House said, reaching behind the couch and pulling out a stack of pop-up books, “I’ve got these. Way cooler than the PG version. They’re about organs.”

Will’s eyes widened as he flipped through the first one, gasping at a detailed, pop-up diagram of a human heart. “It looks real!”

“Not for kids.” Wilson muttered disapprovingly as he glanced over the titles.

“Neither is life.” House shot back.

Will didn’t seem to mind. He was already lost in the pages, eagerly asking questions about what the diagrams showed.

Wilson had spent the entire day preparing for the kid’s arrival, he’d obsessively scrubbed the place clean, hidden anything that might’ve been dangerous or inappropriate, called Stacy and furnished the fridge with every item she told him Will liked. He’d even bought toys for him.

To his surprise, Will seemed independent enough to accommodate himself, he asked permission to do anything, even lowering the TV volume or asking House to dim the lights. He verbalized his thoughts and needs with no restraint and clearly felt comfortable enough to treat them like he would’ve treated his parents.

House spent most of the time playing with him while Wilson sat carefully on the side and watched, making sure his needs were met and that they still respected his routine perfectly.

When asked to join playtime, the oncologist struggled to answer as freely as House did, he wouldn’t have reprimanded his partner but he never completely agreed to the way House spoke to kids like they were adults. He was very talented in entertaining a conversation, with patients, with partners, with friends but he always fell short with kids. Talking to them required improv skills he’d always lacked, they weren’t as easy to understand as adults and Will seemed to not need him, or anyone else, as much as he’d expected. He knew how to provide but this kid didn’t seem to need that. He was witty and joyful and not sick like the ones he used to be around the most. He didn’t need pity nor baby talk nor a babysitter, he just wanted a playmate. 

House wasn’t struggling in the slightest, they looked and behaved so similar, it felt like they were speaking another language. The diagnostician had even agreed to sit on the carpet, which he would’ve never done for anyone else. He didn’t let anything distract him from play time, even his team calling him on the case, he actually put the phone on speaker and explained the case to Will, in understandable terms, and was hoping the child would say something that would make him reach his eureka moment. He was good with kids, but especially good with this one.

Wilson figured it’d make sense, the older doctor wouldn’t have never agreed out loud but he knew the genetic factor was playing a lot into it, the innate instinct of caring for your spawn was making him act unnaturally kind. He was always kind around kids but he pretended not to be, for his own pride. This time, he was letting himself be completely involved in this careful, tender role. Probably Wilson’s presence was the clearest factor that didn’t make him feel judged for being caring, if anything he knew that showing his softer side would’ve only gained him points with his best friend.

He was a good father.

Wilson decided to step back at one point, leaving the living room to let them play. He bit the inside of his cheek and focused on making dinner instead. This wasn’t his moment to share, he was nothing to the kid.

He made his safe foods for all three of them and smiled when the boy smiled excitedly and started swaying back and forth in his seat the more he ate and liked the food. He smiled back but didn’t know what else to say. Small talk seemed too impersonal, targeted questions seemed too much like a job interview so he just remained silent and let House do the talking.

After dinner, Wilson kept following him around like a bodyguard and helping him with all the assigned tasks like brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed.

He’d gone so far as to buy new sheets for the guest bedroom, a butterfly and birds pattern that Will immediately adored. He helped him into his pajamas and pulled the covers over him by the time indicated on the schedule.

House limped into the bedroom and made himself at home in the chair in the corner and watched as Wilson continued nervously asking if he needed anything.

“Do you usually sleep with a glass of water on your nightstand?” The boy shook his head.

“Do you like the blinds open better? I can open them, if you want.” The boy told him he was okay.

“Do you need a light on?”

“I’ll take it from here.” House interjected, standing up from the chair and instead hobbling towards the bed. He sat down ungracefully, crossing his legs and holding out his hand, gesturing at the book the boy had on his chest. “Gimme.”

Will handed him the illustrated book and he placed it in his lap and adjusted himself against the header. He pulled out his reading book from his shirt pocket and wore them, under Wilson’s scrutiny.

House looked up, once everything was set and found his boyfriend still standing awkwardly by the foot of the bed and gestured for him to leave.

The younger man nodded and stepped back hesitantly.

House started reading out loud to the boy, who moved just a bit closer to be able to read along. He kept it entertaining, he even did the voices. Will giggled and scooted a bit closer.

He kept reading until he noticed the kid was cuddled against his side, holding himself up with a hand on House’s belly, waiting impatiently for him to read the rest.

The diagnostician paused for a moment, then found his arm curling around the boy while he held up the book, instinctively keeping him to his side. As the soft sound of the pages turning filled the quiet room, Will’s small body slowly relaxed against his father. His eyes, once bright with curiosity, grew heavy, and his breathing grew slower, in sync with his low voice.

Eventually Will ended up asleep with his head on his shoulder, the doctor hadn’t even realized until he heard a soft snore coming from the boy. He swallowed quietly, almost afraid even the slightest movement would wake him up.

He watched for a moment.

Will, nestled against the curve of his arm, his cheeks soft and flushed, one pressed against the fabric of House’s t-shirt, his small hand on top of his chest.

The dark hair, short and ruffled, fell in spikes on his forehead, the same shade of brown he used to have. His blue eyes, usually so bright with questions, were now closed in peaceful sleep, his face relaxed, trusting him without reservation.

The resemblance was striking, unsettling even. It was as though he was seeing himself again, but with a purity he could barely remember.

He had looked just like this when he was young, before the cruelty of his own father had warped everything good about him. How could anyone hurt someone so innocent? Someone who trusted so easily, without hesitation, without fear. His heart twisted at the thought. He could still feel the weight of his father's hands, the harsh words, the cold indifference. How could anyone do that to a child?

Tentatively, his hand reached up, almost without thinking, to caress the ruffled strands. His fingers brushed against Will’s forehead, and the touch was gentle, almost reverent, as though he feared disturbing the fragile peace of the moment. It was a quiet tenderness that felt foreign to him, as though he was touching something too precious to hold onto for long.

But then, as his hand hovered there, he looked up and froze. Wilson was standing in the doorway, watching him. There was no judgment in his eyes, only a quiet understanding, but the sight of him made House’s chest tighten. A sudden rush of vulnerability washed over him. He quickly pulled his hand back, as though he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. The action was reflexive, a lifetime of self-doubt rising to the surface.

Wilson didn’t say a word, simply walked over to the bed without hesitation and helped shift Will, moving him to the other side of the bed, where the empty space had waited. House could feel his partner’s hands working with delicate care, and for a moment, he felt an unfamiliar pang of gratitude. Wilson wasn’t asking questions, wasn’t judging. He simply did what needed to be done. He placed the book on the nightstand, and House, still feeling the heaviness of the moment, slid off the bed and grabbed his cane. His joints creaked in protest as he carefully pulled himself to his feet, the weight of the room, the weight of his emotions, pressing down on him. He couldn’t stay. Not now. Not with Wilson looking at him like that, like he knew more than House was ready to admit.

Without a word, he turned and left the room. His cane clicked rhythmically but softly on the floor, a stark contrast to the silence that lingered behind him. He didn’t need to hear Wilson’s voice, didn’t need to be told anything he already knew. It was better to walk away now, to retreat before the words could catch up with the feelings he wasn’t ready to face.

“You’re horrible at this.” Was what he said defensively, not bothering to look up as Wilson entered the bedroom and closed the door behind him, the sound of the latch clicking into place almost making the silence feel heavier.

Wilson raised an eyebrow, stepping toward the bed where House was already lying underneath the covers. 

“Is it a ramble about my body temperature again? Because you just have to get used to it at some point,” Wilson said, his voice half teasing, half tired, as he stepped closer.

House barely moved, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling, but the words came out sharp. “You’re horrible with kids.”

Wilson stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging slightly open in surprise. 

“I… What?” he stuttered, taken aback by the suddenness of the accusation.

“They like you. But that doesn’t mean much. Everybody likes you. You’re just unable to drop this illusion that even kids have high expectations of you. You don’t have to impress him. Kids already like you by default, you don’t need to accommodate them.” House turned his head slightly to the side, his eyes narrowing, waiting for a response. “Just treat him like you’d treat me.” 

Wilson scoffed, standing at the foot of the bed. “I can’t have a beer with him.”

House’s lips curled into a half-smile, but his tone was dry. 

“You could. You’d probably go to jail, depending on how funny his lawyer finds it.”

“I can’t talk to kids the way I talk to anyone else.”

“I didn’t say anyone else, I said me.”  House’s gaze shifted to him, his voice quieter but still firm. “You’re a people pleaser, you shape yourself to fit whatever your interlocutor needs most. You need to drop that and be yourself, if you want to talk to him.”

Wilson hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “I-I-I am myself-”

“You’re the version of yourself you think he needs.” House’s eyes softened just a little, but his words were unwavering. “He likes you. And he appreciates when people talk to him like an adult rather than a child.”

Wilson blinked, taken aback, and then rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I… I thought I was… doing my job.”

“There’s no job you need to be doing.” House exhaled slowly, his hand resting on his stomach. “He’s my son. You’re my weird plus one. You don’t have a duty to look after him.”

“We’re in this together. I was just helping.” Wilson’s voice softened, the frustration giving way to something more vulnerable.

“You don’t have to.” House said quietly, looking away, his voice tinged with something like regret.

“I want to.” Wilson’s tone was earnest as he stepped closer, his hand resting on the edge of the bed and sat down slowly, keeping his eyes on the floor. “I’ve always wanted a family.”

“You just wanted to feel needed.” House’s voice was flat, his expression unreadable.

“I want a family. But I guess I’m not even good at looking after the son of a friend.” Wilson’s words hung in the air, heavy with self-doubt and passive-aggressiveness.

“I’ve been demoted to ‘a friend’ now?” House asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“I meant Stacy.” 

House groaned loudly and nudged him with his foot. “Stop being a drama queen, you know what I meant.”

“Yeah. I know.” Wilson mumbled, looking down at the floor for a moment, avoiding his gaze.

“He doesn’t understand social cues but he knows when people are disingenuous. I was trying to compliment you.” House’s voice softened again, his eyes briefly meeting Wilson’s before he looked away.

“You have a funny way of doing that.” The oncologist murmured, fiddling with his hands in his lap, before turning towards him and looking at him.” What is this thing we have? Is it for the long run? Do you want me to stick around?”

House’s face tightened slightly, though his expression was still guarded. “What is this about now?”

“I took for granted that this was going to be long term. I never asked you.”

“You don’t have to ask.” House’s response was almost immediate, his tone dismissive, though his hand fidgeted with the edge of the blanket.

“I do.” Wilson said, his voice steady. 

“Why would I leave you?” He almost scoffed.

“I’m asking. Answer.”

“Yes, we’re long term. What? Did you think this was a fling?” House’s words were sharp, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.

“Then you have to understand whatever you hated me for telling my wives, is gonna happen in our relationship. I’ll probably want to marry you at some point.”

“I figured it would happen on our fourth monthversary.”

“I’ll want you to meet my parents.” Wilson said, glancing away, almost as if the thought made him uncomfortable.

“I have met your parents.” House replied, his voice dry as he shifted slightly on the bed.

“I’ll want a family.” Wilson admitted, almost hesitantly, his gaze falling to the floor again. “Would it be so bad?” 

“We’re the worst candidates for a bundle of joy.” House’s voice was cold, but there was an underlying bitterness there.

“How is it any different than what we're doing now?” He asked, his voice quiet but persistent.

“He’s leaving in a few days. You can’t do that to your own child. Unless you plan on sending him back to the adoption agency after the trial week.”

“We could be good.” The younger doctor’s words were hopeful, almost pleading.

“For a couple of days, sure. Until you get tired of the noise and I get tired of seeing you annoyed.”

“We’re a good team.”

“I never said we weren't.” House’s voice dropped lower, quieter. “But not when it comes to this.”

“Will-“

“Is smart. He doesn't need us. He doesn't need me. He’s not relying on us and he's not going to. We’re just helping out his mother.”House paused, his words slow and heavy. He swallowed hard. “I don't want a child.”

Wilson’s face tightened, but he nodded, his voice calm yet firm. “I know you talk in absolutes but I’m not asking you now. I’m just telling you I probably will in the future.”

“My answer is not gonna change.” House’s voice was almost harsh, but the words were final.

“A year ago, you would’ve slammed the door in Stacy’s face, had she told you about him.” Wilson’s words hit harder than he intended, and he saw the flicker of regret in House’s eyes. “You’ve changed already. Accept that.”

Wilson turned abruptly, walking towards the bathroom, his steps heavy with frustration. He didn’t look back, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, as the door clicked shut behind him.

House stayed in bed in silence, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air. He reached over and turned off the nightstand light, plunging the room into darkness. The quiet seemed to be heavier than he hoped, his thoughts spiraling even as his body remained still beneath the covers. The soft rustling of the bed was the only sound until Wilson returned from the bathroom a while later, slipping under the covers beside him with a soft sigh.

"I don't want a kid." House started, his voice low, the words heavy in the quiet room. "I’ll probably never want one."

Wilson shifted beside him, his hand brushing against the sheets as he settled into the bed. "You have one."

"And I like him. But he's not mine, not really." He paused for a moment, his chest rising with a deep breath before he spoke again, his voice softer now. "You’d be a good father."

"So would you." The oncologist replied, his voice gentle but firm, his body inching closer, just a bit, the moment he heard the unexpected praise.

"I don't want to be one." House’s words were almost a whisper, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as though seeking an answer from the shadows.

"You already are." Wilson's voice was quiet but certain, the words lingering in the space between them.

A long silence stretched between them, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. Finally, House spoke again, his voice barely audible. 

"I’m afraid." The admission hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, something House rarely allowed to show.

Wilson turned slowly, the bed creaking as he shifted closer. His expression softened as he pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyes filled with understanding but no judgment. Without a word, he reached out, his hand gently touching the back of House’s neck, fingers tracing soothing patterns against his skin. The tension in House’s shoulders seemed to melt under the touch, his breath slowing as Wilson moved even closer, their legs slowly tangling beneath the sheets.

House, still not looking at him, let his foot slide between Wilson’s, a quiet peace offering, a small gesture, but one that felt like a bridge. His fingers continued their slow, comforting rhythm on his neck, and House let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“You’re too warm.” House murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he turned his head slightly, a faint, wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Wilson huffed a soft chuckle but didn’t pull away. Instead, he pressed just a little closer, his presence solid and comforting.

House woke up to a strange sensation in his cheek. He blinked a couple of times and recoiled when he spotted the small figure standing beside the bed and poking his face gently.

“You scared me, buddy.”

“We’re eight minutes late.” The boy said, bouncing on the balls of his feet and fidgeting with his hands.

“You always get up this early?” House croaked, sitting up. The boy nodded innocently. The diagnostician wiped a hand over his face, then nudged Wilson’s shoulder.

“Go brush your teeth first.” The oncologist murmured out of habit and House nudged him harder.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. We need your pancakes.” Wilson blinked his eyes open and groaned as he rolled over, before freezing at the sight of the kid. He was out of bed in the blink of an eye.

Later, after breakfast, House stood by the fridge, car keys in hand. 

“I’ll drive you to work.” He announced, as he put on his leather jacket. “Might as well knock two birds with one stone since I’m taking him to school.”

Wilson looked up from double-checking the schedule. “You sure? You’d have to drop me off before going to school. I can take the bus.”

“It’s on the way.”

“No, it’s not. The school is closer. You’ll have to drive back-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m so selfless.” House said, herding them both out the door. “You’ll whine less if I chauffeur you.”

Will trailed behind, clutching his backpack. 

“This is so fun.” He said flatly but genuinely as he climbed into the back seat of Wilson’s Volvo. He rocked back and forth, his palms running up and down his thighs in sync. “I get to stay with you guys. And you’re driving me to school like Mom does.”

House grumbled as he adjusted the rearview mirror and the car seat to match his height. 

“We’re only taking the car because Wilson won’t let me take you with my scary motorbike.” His fingers gripped the steering wheel, and he shot a quick glance at Wilson, who was already shifting in his seat to start a conversation with Will.

"Guess who has tickets for Adventure Aquarium?" He asked, his voice light.

“Who?” The child answered innocently.

The oncologist smiled and pulled them out of his messenger bag.

Will gasped, the sound of it bubbling up honestly and without hesitation.

“Can I come?" He responded, his eyes lighting up as he spoke. 

“Of course! I got them for all three of us.” He repeated, chuckling softly at the misunderstanding.

Will’s eyes widened as he started thanking him repeatedly and started listing all the things he knew would be at the aquarium, his small fists opening and closing with excitement.

His words came out exactly as they were, without any embellishment, as he answered the jokes Wilson made with the same straightforward honesty.

“Have you ever tried the pizza from the restaurant right by it?” The boy shook his head. “Oh, then we have to get some!”

“You’re spoiling him.” House said, silently grateful his partner had listened to his advice. The oncologist turned to look at him.

“I figured since his dad seems to like being spoiled that much.” He trailed off, earning a lopsided smirk from the older doctor.

House huffed a laugh, his focus back on the road as the car neared the hospital. He pulled into a spot near the entrance, preparing to drop him off. 

As Wilson turned to say goodbye to Will, House glanced at him, the small smirk still on his face. The oncologist hesitated for a moment, unsure whether it was still appropriate to kiss in front of Will, but House removed any doubt by leaning in to give him a quick, chaste peck on the lips. The younger doctor smiled back, a little nervously, but not in a way that suggested he minded, and leaned back.

“Later, ‘gator.” Wilson waved at him again before turning to exit the car, walking toward the hospital entrance. House kept his smirk soft as Wilson glanced back one last time to wave one more time at Will, who was waving enthusiastically back at him, excitement written all over his face.

With a quiet exhale, House shifted the car into gear and pulled out of the parking spot, heading toward the school. The soft hum of the engine filled the car as he drove, Will still in the back seat, seemingly unaffected by the interaction. After a few moments, House glanced in the rearview mirror again, breaking the silence.

“So… Does your mom have many gay friends?” He asked casually, his tone laced with humor.

Will, unbothered by the question, answered honestly. “She has three! Aunt Olly and Jackie and Tommy. My aunt is dating a girl and mom said it's no different than other couples. And I like Jackie. She has horses. They have a farm.”

“Of course they do.” House replied with a touch of sarcasm, his eyes staying focused on the road. The irony was lost on Will, who simply continued, his voice bright and matter-of-fact.

“I like Wilson too!”

House couldn’t help it. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He nodded, eyes on the road, his grip on the wheel loosening slightly.

“Who doesn’t?”

Will answered him without a hint of hesitation, taking him completely literally: “I don’t know but I don’t think they must be very nice to not like Wilson.”

“You said it.” House muttered under his breath.

“I did.” The child innocently confirmed, earning a soft chuckle from House.

As the school came into view, House glanced at Will through the rearview mirror again. “Is this it?”

Will pointed eagerly out the window, his voice proud. “Yes. That’s my friend. And that’s Miss Laura. And that’s Freddie’s mom.”

House pulled into the disabled parking spot. With a groan, he grabbed his cane and started to struggle out of the car, the effort clearly tiring him. He had been a passenger princess for too long. 

As he opened the door for Will, the child immediately hopped out, excited, his small hand reaching up to grab House’s. 

House froze for a brief moment, unsure how to react, but then closed the door with his cane and limped toward the school entrance, Will's hand securely in his own.

He could feel the eyes of other parents on him, probably noticing how unusual it was for someone else other than Stacy to be walking Will in. The silence of their stares was almost deafening, but Will, not picking up on any of it, kept his gaze down as he led House to his classroom. 

The woman at the door smiled brightly at Will as he approached. 

“Who's this sweet man over here?” She asked kindly, glancing up at House, who quickly handed her the permission slip from Stacy before Will could say anything.

“I have permission from my lawyer.” House joked, his voice dry, earning a smile from the teacher as she took the slip.

“He's my dad!” Will exclaimed with the same honesty, not sensing the shock it would cause around them. His words seemed to hang in the air, and the other parents stared, eyes wide with disbelief.

The teacher blinked, processing the information, furrowing her eyebrows. “I thought-”

House took the slip back and cut her off: “It’s complicated. Have you ever watched Mamma Mia?”

Will seemed to spot a friend inside and suddenly turned around and wrapped his arms around House’s left leg, holding on tight.

“Bye, House!” The doctor froze for a moment, his chest tightening at the unexpected show of affection. After a long pause, he hesitantly petted Will’s hair twice, his lips pressed into a thin line, unsure of how to respond. The boy pulled away and waved at him with excitement before running toward his friend, his joy evident.

House flashed a smile at the teacher and nodded, his voice cool as he spoke again. 

“I’ll come back in a couple of hours, I can bring you a DVD, if you haven’t seen it.” He turned and limped out, his cane clicking softly on the floor as he made his way back to the car.

House’s patient crashed just as he was heading out of the hospital, so Wilson had to ask Cuddy to leave earlier to go pick up Will instead. He didn’t entertain her jokes about how she thought she paid him enough to not have to pick up babysitting on the side and walked out.

Wilson marched into the school, his usual calm and collected demeanor in place despite the rush of urgency he’d felt earlier when he’d gotten the call from House. He was afraid he’d be late to pick the child up and would’ve never wanted him to feel abandoned, even for a minute. He was slightly out of breath, but he wasn’t going to show it. As he walked through the hallway to what House had told him was Will’s classroom, he adjusted the permission slip in his hand, making sure it was in order. He wasn’t quite prepared for the reception he was about to get, he’d never picked anyone up from school since Danny. 

When he got in line outside the room, the teacher was at the door while the kids were still inside. 

“Hi, I’m Dr. James Wilson. Here to pick up Will Warner. I have permission from his mother.” As he handed his ID, he spotted Will, standing a little apart, looking slightly overwhelmed by the noise. He hadn’t expected Wilson to come for him today, but as soon as the boy caught sight of him, his face lit up with an expression of pure joy.

"Wilson!" Will announced, a grin spreading wide across his face. He immediately started running toward him, his backpack bouncing on his shoulders.

Wilson smiled warmly, still taking the permission slip back to the teacher. He accepted it with a polite nod, and just as he straightened up, Will was already at his side, grabbing onto his hand with surprising enthusiasm.

"So many people picking him up and dropping him today." The teacher joked, chuckling softly, noticing the shift in the boy’s usual routine as Wilson, stranger to the other parents, appeared. The look in her eyes spoke of her curiosity.

Will tugged eagerly on Wilson's hand and looked up at the woman. 

“He's my dad, too!” His words were loud, without any hesitation or embarrassment.

Wilson blinked in surprise, momentarily flustered by the sudden declaration. He stuttered, trying to gather himself before awkwardly taking the permission slip from the teacher’s hand. His heart skipped, his stomach turning slightly. The sudden spotlight of the other parents' eyes on him made him feel small in a way he hadn’t expected. He quietly walked away with Will, his steps a little faster, his eyes avoiding the glances from the other parents..

Once they were outside, the tension in Wilson’s shoulders eased slightly. Will was chattering excitedly about his day, oblivious to the awkwardness Wilson felt. 

“I want to show you my new drawing! I showed it to Miss Laura today. She said I did really well!”

Wilson smiled at the boy, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I can't wait to see it." he said, offering a quiet chuckle. He felt a pang of uncertainty, he hadn’t expected to be seen as a parent today, and the interactions had left him unsettled but weirdly emotional. His heart was still beating rapidly.

Once in the car, Wilson sat uncomfortably for a moment, trying to find a way to approach the subject.

“So, uh… you… when you…” He stuttered, cleared his throat, then turned around to look at him in the back seat. “You think I’m your dad, too?”

The boy nodded innocently with wide eyes.

”You’re not?” He almost sounded disappointed. Wilson felt the need to flagellate himself at the high pitched voice and immediately shook his head.

”No, I- I-I can… I could… I mean, I’m  not technically. you know, Mark’s your dad. House is… your other dad. I’m not officially… I… You know?” He stuttered again.

”House is my dad.”

Wilson narrowed his eyes, then nodded, slowly.

”Yes…”

”And Mark is my dad because he married my mom. Even if he isn’t my dad dad.”

”Huh-uh.” Wilson hummed, trying to follow.

”And you’re with House. So that makes you my dad’s wife. So you’re my dad, too.”

The oncologist furrowed his brows, then hummed again.

”Well… if you put it that way.”

Wilson accepted the explanation and drove them to pick up lunch. He made a quick stop at a sandwich shop and grabbed food for House, knowing he probably hadn’t fed himself. The drive was quiet except for Will’s occasional excited exclamations about things he’d seen or done earlier in the day.

At the hospital, Wilson parked in the lot, then guided Will into the building. They made their way up to House’s office, where Will immediately sat down in the Eames chair like it belonged to him, happily pulling out his sketchbook from his bag. 

Wilson smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm, before paging House. He then leaned against the doorframe, glancing down at Will, who was so absorbed in the book that he didn’t even look up when House eventually arrived. The oncologist’s heart softened as he watched the way Will made himself at home in House’s world.

When House finally appeared in the doorway, his expression neutral until he spotted the kid in his chair, his cane tapping softly against the floor as he made his way towards his desk.

“Yoo two running a differential without me?” 

"We got your favorite.” The kid announced, hopping out of the chair and holding up one of the bags for House. 

Wilson grabbed them for him and pulled out the contents, displaying them on the desk. House immediately grabbed the coke for himself while asking Will how he enjoyed his day.

The boy climbed into the only guest chair after waiting permission from Wilson, who caressed his nape reassuringly and sat on the corner of the desk.

The younger doctor asked House about his case while he placed a Rueben on his side of the desk. While he talked, Wilson grabbed the turkey sandwich for Will and handed it to him, along with a juicebox.

“Thanks, Dad.” The boy said naturally, taking the juice box and shipping immediately. The two doctors froze in place for a moment. 

House leaned in and smirked at Wilson, an eyebrow arching in that familiar, teasing way. “Look at that. You’ve already claimed the title.”

The diagnostician sat down and started unwrapping his Rueben while he went on about his case, answering Will’s questions about it.

The door to House's office creaked open as Thirteen, Chase, and Taub walked in, all carrying a mixture of exhaustion and determination from their long day of rounds. They’d spent hours waiting for the results of their patient’s test, and now, with everything in hand, it was time to brief the boss, who seemed much more interested in his sandwich.

A child sat in the guest chair, his small hands holding a sandwich that was nearly as big as his face, happily chewing away while House, barely noticing their entrance, continued to eat his own lunch, looking uncharacteristically relaxed.

Chase was the first to break the silence as he dropped the tests on the desk, between Wilson and House. 

“His electrolytes are all over the place. His potassium is not great either, it’s at 6.1.”

The blonde paused for a moment to take in the picture, then pointed a finger at Will.

"I know you." He said, his voice a mix of surprise and recognition, as the kid kept eating and not looking up, oblivious to the attention. "You're the same kid from the other day."

Will paused, chewing for a moment before glancing up at Chase, his expression neutral, but there was a hint of shyness in his eyes. He didn't respond, instead turning his gaze back down to his sandwich.

Before the team could continue, House, without missing a beat, spoke up, his mouth half-full of food. 

“Nothing escapes you, huh?” Chase stepped back, his eyes still on the child as his boss read the results. “The electrolyte imbalance could be caused by hyperkalemia secondary to renal failure.” 

House said, trying to throw them off the trail of his more personal situation, his gaze purposefully shifting away from the team to look at the sandwich in front of him.

Thirteen, ever quick on her feet, stepped further into the room, taking a better look at the boy sitting with them. 

"The potassium levels were off, but we also found elevated creatinine and BUN, so renal failure could be the issue." She said, her tone practical, as though it were just another day at the hospital. But then she glanced down at Will, her brow furrowing slightly. "Seriously, where did you steal him from?"

House shot her a knowing look, then turned toward Will, his sandwich hovering near his mouth as he answered with a bemused smirk. 

"Honey, meet your equals: Aussie, Thirteen, and Little Stud." He gestured with his sandwich toward each of his team members, the names rolling off his tongue with lazy familiarity.

Will, still chewing, looked up shyly at the new faces around him, his voice soft but polite as he greeted them. "Hi." he said, his eyes flicking from one person to another.

The team waved at him hesitantly, the situation clearly unexpected. Thirteen gave a small, uncertain smile, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Will. 

“Hey.” She said with a tilt of her head, still processing what was happening.

Taub, still somewhat unsure of the whole situation, awkwardly raised his hand. 

"My name... is Chris." He corrected, offering a stiff, somewhat timid wave. 

House simply leaned back in his chair, taking another bite of his sandwich, and gestured to the rest of the team to go on.

“The renal failure seems secondary to a combination of dehydration and chronic hypertension.” Chase continued, still distracted, the asked the boy: “Does your mom know you’re with this man?” 

House rolled his eyes, clearly irritated, and opened his mouth to respond but, before he could, Will cut him off with a soft, honest answer. 

"He's my dad." 

The room fell silent for a beat as the team processed the words. Their eyes darted between each other, then Wilson, then back to House, who was now trying to suppress a grin. They looked puzzled for a moment, not quite knowing what to make of the situation.

"You guys ever watched Mamma Mia?" he asked, a sly smirk tugging at his lips, clearly trying to deflect attention from the uncomfortable silence surrounding the revelation.

Will, ever the curious child, seemed to take the moment to inspect the team further. But House didn’t let the topic linger for too long, his attention once again firmly on the patient’s case. 

“Run a renal ultrasound and a contrast CT to check for obstruction. Check potassium, sodium, and calcium levels every two hours. Run a urine protein-to-creatinine ratio. If we’re dealing with something more systemic like glomerulonephritis, you better catch it early because I’m leaving in forty minutes.”

He said all of this in one breath, as though the patient’s case was the only thing that mattered, even though a part of him still knew the awkwardness in the room was palpable.

Chase nodded, making mental notes, then looked back at Will, who was watching them curiously. 

“What’s a Mamma Mia?” The boy asked Wilson.

“I’m sure Dad will make us have a movie night.” The oncologist said softly with a polite smile.

The team looked even more puzzled.

“We adopted. Scram.” House said, gesturing at them to leave.

It was a bright, crisp afternoon when they finally left the hospital, with Wilson driving them out toward Adventure Aquarium in Camden. Will sat excitedly in the backseat, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm about the trip, despite the long day they'd already had. He was already listing off the animals he was most excited to see, his small hands moving energetically as he rattled off facts about sharks and turtles that he’d memorized. Wilson couldn’t help but smile at the child’s energy, even as he stole glances at House in the passenger seat.

House seemed unusually quiet, his gaze out the window, his posture stiff. Wilson, as usual, could read between the lines, sensing the tension in his best friend's body. Rubbing the leg repeatedly, staying silent, looking out the window. 

He didn’t comment on it, House rarely welcomed conversation when he was like this, but he knew that, despite everything, this trip was probably a good distraction for both of them.

When they arrived at the aquarium, they were greeted by a guide who had been informed ahead of time about the accommodations Wilson had requested. They received priority access, which suited both House’s disability and Will’s needs. House raised an eyebrow when the guide handed them a disabled pass.

“Really?” House asked, turning to his partner, not bothering to mask his annoyance. "A pass?"

Wilson rolled his eyes but said nothing, knowing this would’ve been his reaction. The guide, sensing House’s discomfort, kindly offered a wheelchair, but House immediately dismissed him with a quick wave of his hand.

“I’m fine.” He snapped, though the stiffness in his voice and his sharp movements made it clear that he wasn’t as fine as he wanted to let on. The guide hesitated but nodded politely, stepping back.

Once inside, Wilson was careful to ensure Will’s experience was as smooth as possible, getting an audio guide for both him and Will. The boy’s eyes lit up when he realized what it was, and he immediately pressed the headphones into his ears, flipping through the different animal exhibits with excitement. 

House took a deep breath as they walked through the aquarium’s entrance. He hadn’t really been looking forward to it, but as they moved from one exhibit to the next, he couldn’t help but admit there was something cool about the tanks of swirling fish, the slow-moving sea turtles, and the giant glass windows that let them gaze at stingrays gliding by. Will’s unbridled excitement made it hard not to share in the joy.

Despite his usual indifference, House let himself be drawn into the atmosphere. But as the time wore on, his pace began to slow. He leaned on any available surface, like a railing or a bench, his cane tapping lightly against the ground as he gave himself a break between exhibits.

Wilson, as observant as ever, noticed his change in posture. His walk had become more labored, his shoulders sagging, and his steps uneven. The sounds of the bustling aquarium, the excited chatter of children were starting to get to him.

The bright screens flashing from exhibits, the shrieks and laughter of children running through the hallways, each noise and light seemed to pile on top of the other. Wilson, well aware of how overstimulating this environment could be, quietly noted that House was pushing himself, trying to keep up for Will’s sake.

House’s breath was heavier now, and his movements more erratic as he occasionally leaned against the nearest bench, as though giving himself a break without letting anyone see. It wasn’t a huge surprise, he did this sometimes, when it got bad, hiding just how much pain he was in to avoid showing any weakness. He popped two more ibuprofens and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. But even with the painkillers, he still looked worn. They weren't going to help, not like Vicodin would've.

Will, still tapping away on his audioguide, had noticed House’s discomfort. He leaned in close to him.

“Are you okay?” Will asked softly, his voice sincere. His brow furrowed with concern, and House, for all his usual defenses, couldn’t help but feel a tightness in his chest at the boy’s genuine care.

“I’m fine.” House deflected, offering a tight smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Will wasn’t buying it. He’d seen the grimace House tried to hide when he reached for his cane, and now he could see the way House’s face was tight with effort. Will insisted, his small hand tugging gently at House’s sleeve, removing his headphones and holding them out.

“I can replay the audio story for you.” Will said eagerly. “It’s about the baby hippo over there.” His face was earnest, trusting, and House felt a warmth spread through him, despite the ache in his body.

He hesitated for a moment, but then sighed softly, a small, defeated smile on his lips. He took the headphones from Will, pressing one earbud to his ear and leaving the other free so he could still hear the boy talking.

Will quickly found the remote control, expertly pressing the buttons to replay the last clip. 

“The hippo was born in Africa, and then she was moved to the zoo, and...” Will rambled on with the story, his voice animated, tapping the remote in rhythm with his words. House’s eyes softened as he listened, watching the boy talk with such innocent enthusiasm.

When Will looked up at him, catching him in the act of smiling fondly at him, the connection between them felt almost effortless. Will grinned back, proud of himself for getting House to smile, even if it was just a little.

"Thanks, kiddo." House said quietly, his voice carrying more emotion than he usually let on.

Will beamed back at him, as if he’d just done something monumental. "You're welcome." he said softly, before going back to listening to the hippo story, the smile on his face never fading.

For a brief moment, House closed his eyes, leaning back into the bench. The sounds of the aquarium faded into the background, and he allowed himself to enjoy the quiet peace that came from just being there with Wilson and Will. He was still tired, more than he cared to admit, but for the first time in a while, he didn’t mind.

They got pizza on the way back and Wilson insisted on taking the elevator up, against House’s outspoken will but silently doing him a favor.

House stood in the entrance for a moment longer, bracing his cane. He looked paler than usual.

Wilson and Will had already run off in the kitchen, ready to set the table but the younger doctor spotted House leaning against the wall and quietly moved the pizza boxes to the living room, placing them on the coffee table, against his own rule of no food on the couch.

House’s face relaxed imperceptibly as Wilson looked up at him, silently inviting him to sit down.

He entertained Will for a moment, distracting him enough to leave House some privacy to hobble to the couch. The older man dropped onto it ungracefully, his jaw clenched with pain.

Wilson helped Will sit down next to House, at a safe distance and excused himself for a moment.

The diagnostician could feel the boy’s stare on him as he rubbed his leg and tried to breathe in.

Wilson returned with a heating pad, already on, and draped it over House’s leg while talking to Will. He kept looking after him while joking with Will about something House hadn't been paying attention to.

He found a pillow set behind his back and one on his lap and a plate with a pizza slice and a tissue.

House looked up to find Wilson smiling softly at him, still engaged in a conversation with the boy.

He gave his best attempt at a thankful grin, his brows still furrowed in pain. Wilson seemed to appreciate it, he reached out and placed a warm hand on his shoulder mid-chuckle and sat down next to him, between him and Will.

The boy didn't seem to mind, instead he kept talking excitedly and rocking back and forth as Wilson handed him a plate with a slice.

House was quiet the whole time, but it didn't matter because Wilson was able to keep Will entertained enough and he checked on both of them constantly. He put on Jurassic Park under Will’s request and got House another ibuprofen and a beer.

He took the heating pad off and instead placed his hand on top of House’s thigh during the movie, massaging it softly and mindlessly.

He was so absorbed in his pain, the movie and the giggles were drowned for the good first half, but eventually it dulled even just slightly, enough to let him make a joke about Alan Grant.

The moment Wilson felt the tension disappear, he stood up and brought the dishes to the kitchen.

He called Will to follow him to the bathroom and get changed into his pajamas and his teeth brushed.

Once done, the boy asked if he could go back to House and he tried his best to tell him it was time to go to bed but couldn't bring himself to.

Will ran back to the couch and sat in his previous place.

Wilson figured he should leave the two alone, even if they were just sitting in silence.

Will sat, watching his father for a minute, House could feel his stare on him, so he turned and looked back. The child pressed his lips into a thin line, smiling softly at him. 

After a moment, he looked down at his hands in his lap, biting the inside of his cheek and spoke softly, his voice high pitched and feeble.

“Sometimes I don’t like to talk, either.” The boy paused for a moment. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. That’s what mom says.”

The kid nodded, mostly to himself and looked back up at the man. House couldn't count on his hands the number of times he was forced to speak by his father.

He felt a pang in his chest and instinctively reached out. He caressed Will’s cheek, his thumb gently moving the unruly hair off his forehead.

The boy’s smile widened. He found himself smiling back, his hand dropping between them on the couch, then gesturing at him to move closer.

Will scooted a little to his left, taking Wilson's spot to be closer to the man.

He wrapped his arm around him and settled his hand on his shoulder.

The boy curled immediately closer and placed his hand on House’s belly.

Wilson returned to find them like that, cuddling on the couch, and he barely held in a smile. He sat on a stool in the kitchen and decided to catch up on his emails, his eyes drifting to the movie every once in a while. He’d spent enough time with Will that day, he wanted House to have a moment with him.

At some point, he went to get a shower and called Stacy to ask how the case was going and to reassure her Will was in good hands.

“How’s House holding up?”

He paused for a moment.

“He’s… He’s okay.” He smiled softly. “You know how he is. He’s struggling but he’s… Yeah, holding up. He’s been good.”

“Good. I… I don’t know what I expected. I don’t know why but I never pictured him to be… you know, a father. When we were together.”

“Yeah. Me neither. But… he’s good. I knew… I had a sense he would be. I just never thought I’d see it.” He bit his lower lip. “I think they're getting along really well.”

“I’m glad. Thank you, for everything.”

“It’s nothing.”

Upon walking back into the living room with his hair still damp, he found Will asleep in House’s lap, sitting astride his left leg and lying on his chest.

He smiled, noticing the channels changing on the TV. He stepped behind House and gently caressed his shaved head.

House mumbled with a soft sound and looked up at the source of the caressing.

Wilson leaned down to whisper against his nape.

“Your leg is gonna feel like hell if you stay here.”

“It already does.”

Wilson stroked his cheek one last time before circling around the couch and carefully taking Will in his arms. He pulled him up with some strain and took him to his room.

He felt the kid curl up to him and it ended up being more difficult than expected to peel him off. He pulled the cover off with one hand and lowered Will into bed with the other. The boy stirred for a moment then immediately curled on his side and into the pillow.

Wilson found himself smiling at the mere sight of him, comfortable and cozy. He smoothed the duvet over him and stepped back, mentally checking off every little detail to make sure he had everything he needed, then left the room, turning off the light on his way out.

The sun streamed through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the living room. Will was practically vibrating with excitement as he bounced around the living room, his eyes wide and his words spilling out faster than he could keep track of them.

He was already dressed, hopping on the tips of his feet, his hands fidgeting with his t-shirt as he tried to contain his joy. It had been two days since Stacy had picked him up from House and Wilson’s condo and he was still talking about the experience. 

“I liked the aquarium best!” He exclaimed, his feet barely touching the ground as he hopped on the tips of his toes. “When House showed me the hospital, he told me in the spring they do a butterfly expo like the one you took me to! Wilson said we can go! When he took me to the park. I liked the swings, but I liked the library more. The library is quiet. We had to be silent. But House always forgot and got scolded by the lady.”

Stacy stood in the doorway, watching him with a fond smile, though there was a soft sadness in her eyes. She had just returned from a business trip and was already having to face the reality that her son’s time with House and Wilson had come to an end.

She spoke gently, her voice carrying the kind of calm she knew he needed. “I know, sweetheart, it was a very fun time, wasn’t it?” 

The boy nodded excitedly, clapping his hands repeatedly, avoiding eye contact.

“You did. But now, we need to go, okay? You can tell me all about it in the car, okay?”

The boy nodded and let her help him into his coat. She grabbed the small Spiderman suitcase. He knew what it meant. 

He started shaking his head.

“Honey, after school, we have to go to dad. You remember?”

Will froze. His body went rigid, his feet stilling mid-bounce. For a second, it seemed like time itself had stopped. His face fell, and the bright excitement that had filled the room just moments ago faded like a cloud blocking the sun. His eyes filled with confusion, then anxiety, and his smile slipped away, replaced by a look of distress.

“No.” Will whispered, shaking his head. His hands gripped the hem of his shirt tightly, twisting it in his fingers. “No, I don’t want to go. I want to stay with House. Please? I want to stay with House and Wilson.”

Stacy’s heart tightened, but she didn’t rush to fix it. She understood. Will’s world had shifted once again. She had seen this before, this desperate resistance to change, the inability to understand why things had to be different. Will started shaking his head harder now, his small body trembling as his breath hitched in his chest.

“No. No, no, no!” His voice cracked, the panic rising in his throat. He pressed his hands over his ears, as if blocking out the world would make it go away. His chest heaved as he hyperventilated, the simple reality of returning to his father’s home unbearable to him in that moment.

Stacy didn’t move. She stayed crouched down beside him, her voice calm and steady as she placed a hand on his back. She didn’t try to push him; she simply let him feel what he needed to feel, and slowly, gently, tried to bring him back.

“It’s okay, Will.” She murmured softly, her tone never wavering. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll see them again soon. We’ll go back to the aquarium, and we’ll go to the park again. You’ll see House and Wilson, just not today. It’s okay.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “Can you take a deep breath with me? Can you do that?”

For a long time, Will didn’t respond. His breathing was still sharp, shallow. But Stacy didn’t push. She waited. She rubbed his back in slow, calming circles, a steady rhythm that kept him tethered to the present. Slowly, as she continued her gentle guidance, his breathing began to slow, his body loosening bit by bit. He wasn’t ready to speak, but the frantic energy started to dissipate.

“I’m right here, honey.” She whispered, “Take a deep breath for me. In and out… in and out.”

It took a while, but eventually, the tension in Will’s small frame faded. His breathing evened out, though his hands still fidgeted at his sides, a sign that the anxiety hadn’t fully left. Stacy stood, holding her hand out to him. He hesitated, his eyes still downcast, but he took her hand and let her lead him out the door. She didn’t drive him to school.

The hospital, while familiar, didn’t provide the comfort it usually did. Will was still too wound up, too unsettled. His small hand clung tightly to his mother’s, but his eyes were wide, darting between the walls and the people passing by. He was wearing his noise canceling headphones but was still easily startled. Stacy knew the hospital was his safe space, he’d grown to like the predictability of it, she hoped he would take it as a signal that he was going to see his favorite doctors again but today, everything felt different.

They reached the Diagnostics office, and before Stacy could even knock, Will darted forward. He had recognized House’s presence immediately, the anchor he needed in a world that felt too overwhelming. House was standing by the whiteboard, his brow furrowed in concentration, but when he saw Will rushing toward him, his face softened, and he dropped the differential with surprising ease. 

Stacy opened the door quietly, not needing to say anything. Will had already found his way to House, standing at his feet, his gaze still anxious, his breath coming in short bursts.

“I’m sorry to interrupt. He’s having a hard time.” Stacy said, her voice soft but tired. “Can you help?”

House didn’t ask questions. He simply grabbed his cane and made his way toward his office, bringing the boy along with him.

Stacy followed along and explained the situation once the door was closed. She whispered, telling him about how he was refusing to see Mark but she just had to take him.

House crouched down, sitting in the Eames chair to  lower himself to eye level with the boy. Will’s eyes flickered between House and his cane, still unsure, still clinging to the only comfort he knew. The diagnostician raised his hands slowly, showing him what he was going to do, giving him enough time to retreat, then proceeded to slowly take off his headphones. The boy whined for a moment, high pitched and nervous.

“Hey, buddy.” House said, his voice quieter than usual, a rare softness in it. “It’s okay.”

Will didn’t speak, but he didn’t run away either. He stood still, his small body trembling, looking up at House’s face for reassurance. House’s expression softened even further.

“I know it’s tough.” House continued. “But listen to me. We have to talk like big boys. You think you can give me a minute?”

Will was unresponsive, so House waited. He started taking deep breaths instead, slow and loud. Will noticed and watched, his eyes darting from the cane to House’s chest, expanding rhythmically with every breath in. Soon, Will started to imitate him out of instinct. In a few minutes, he’d calmed down enough to look at a single spot, focused on the hem of House’s sleeve. He reached to touch it and House let him, gently placing his hand around his wrist, in a way holding him in place and letting him know he could stay, while simultaneously pressing his finger to his pulse to check it. It was slowing down gradually.

“I can’t be with you all the time.” House started softly, earning a protesting hum from the child. “I know. But that’s how it is. You can’t stay with us forever. But that doesn’t mean I’m not here for you. You can always talk to me, okay? Anytime. Like right now.”

Will’s breath caught, but he didn’t pull away. His hand, which had been tightly twisting the hem of House’s sleeve, slowly stopped moving. His gaze remained on the doctor, though it was still a little unfocused. House nodded gently, allowing the silence to settle between them before he spoke again.

“We’re going to see each other again very soon.” House said, his voice slower now, as if giving Will the time he needed to process. “We’ll go back to the aquarium. We’ll go to the park. We’ll do all the fun stuff again, I promise. We’ve got even more cool stuff to do that we haven’t done yet.”

Will’s eyes flickered to House’s cane again, then back up to his face. Slowly, the tension in his body seemed to ease, though the anxiety wasn’t entirely gone. House smiled, that rare, real smile that only came out when he was being absolutely sincere.

“Wilson and I are not going anywhere. Your aunt Lisa is keeping us here for a very long time.” He reached out and attempted to initiate touch as he brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. Will let him, for a moment, then stepped back, then moved closer again. He caressed the side of his head gently. “We’re always here when you wanna come see us, okay?”

The boy processed his words for a minute the nodded.

“You wanna help me with the differential?” House asked, his voice light, even teasing. “I’m sure you can beat my team to the diagnosis again.”

Will didn’t respond with words, but his hand reached out, small fingers wrapping around House’s. It was a simple gesture, but it was enough.

Together, they walked into the Diagnostics room, and Stacy trailed behind, her heart full as she watched the two of them. There was something about the way House had handled Will’s anxiety that left her feeling lighter. She had never seen this side of him, she doubted anyone had, except for Wilson very recently.

The team watched from their seats, confused but silent. House didn’t explain, but they didn’t press. He simply continued the differential with a child holding onto his leg while his hand stroked his head ever so gently.

A few minutes later, House assigned tests for the team to run and then nudged Will with his knee. “Let’s go bother Wilson.” he said, limping towards the door. “He’s been missing his best buddy.”

Stacy sat outside Wilson’s office, watching the door with quiet patience. She didn’t know exactly what had been said in there, but when the door opened a few minutes later, she saw Will walking beside Wilson, his small hand still resting comfortably in his. Will’s shoulders were less tense, his eyes still downcast, but there was something different about him now. He was quieter, more centered.

Wilson glanced up and smiled. “Ready to go see Dad?”

Will didn’t answer, but he nodded, just slightly, and Stacy felt a swell of relief wash over her. There was still a long way to go, but for the first time that day, it felt like things might be okay.

House, who had been standing nearby, looked at Stacy with a knowing grin. 

“Cancer voice never fails.” He said, his smirk never more genuine. He reached into Will’s shirt pocket and pulled out a lollipop he’d hidden in his sleeve, making it appear out of nowhere like some kind of magic trick. Will’s eyes widened in surprise, and then, just like that, he giggled, a sound that was as rare as it was precious that particular day.

Stacy couldn’t help but laugh, her heart lighter. She placed Will’s noise-canceling headphones over his ears and, with a smile, thanked her friends.

“What kind of sorcery did you pull in there?”

“Call us if he needs anything. I’ll make myself free if I’m busy. And if I’m really that busy, I’m sure he’ll be sitting around doing nothing.” Wilson joked, holding out something.

Stacy took it, a doctor’s note. She smiled genuinely and hugged Wilson quickly. She froze for a moment, staring at House. He caught on the tension and offered her a smirk.

“Hug him twice for me.”

Stacy chuckled softly, then hugged House, quickly, friendly.

He stiffened as he usually did with hugs but smiled at her as they parted.

“Thank you.” She said earnestly and led Will down the hallway. The child waved at them as the rounded the corner.

He was holding the lollipop now, a quiet but genuine smile on his face.

As they made their way toward the car, Stacy felt a sense of peace she hadn’t realized she was missing. Will wasn’t fully calm yet, but he was getting there. 

It was still early when they pulled up to Mark’s house, the car’s tires crunching the gravel in the driveway. Will, still holding tightly to his noise-canceling headphones, sat silently beside her, his body tense. The car had barely come to a full stop before he was already shifting restlessly in his seat, his small hands fidgeting. She exhaled slowly, keeping her eyes focused ahead.

She had hoped for a smooth transition. She’d hoped the storm inside Will would calm after the stop at the hospital, but she could feel it brewing again, he wasn’t ready to face his father, not yet.

She opened the car door carefully, trying to keep Will from getting cold. Her thoughts were swirling, she had fought too hard to get Will here today, but she could feel the frustration bubbling up, ready to spill out as soon as Mark opened that door.

She had fought him so many times before, but this morning felt different. Mark had been pressing her lately, demanding Will’s school absences be explained. It wasn’t her fault Will had trouble with transitions, her busy schedules, the bad many babysitters failing their trials, she was doing her best to help him, to make it work, but Mark never understood that.

Will, meanwhile, hadn’t noticed the tension, still too overwhelmed by his own. He was bouncing lightly on his feet, humming softly to himself. Stacy gave him a reassuring smile as she reached for his hand.

“Let’s go inside, sweetie.” She said softly, mostly speaking to herself since she knew he couldn't hear much with his headphones. “It’ll be okay. Just follow me.”

But the moment she stepped up to the door and rang the bell, Stacy could feel Mark’s irritation before the door even opened. It didn’t take long before he appeared, his face creased with impatience.

“Hey, look who’s here!” He exclaimed, but his voice was clearly thick with bitter surprise as he crouched down to be at eye level with the boy. Will avoided eye contact but managed to smile, recognizing the presence and gave him a quick head tuck in the crook of his neck before stepping away again. Mark stood back up with some struggle. “Why's he here so soon?”

“He had a bit of an episode. He’s better now. I figured it would be best to bring him here before he’d get another one.” She explained, just as annoyed to be questioned.

“So he’s skipping school again?”

“Don’t start.” Stacy said, her voice clipped, her shoulders squared. She could already feel the heat rising in her chest. “He’s not ready for school right now. He wasn’t ready to come here either. I’ve been working with him all morning.”

Mark’s jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. His tone remained soft but the passive aggressiveness clearly seeped through. She hated when it happened. 

“He can’t skip every time he doesn't feel like going.”

“Actually, he can.” She said with a mirthless laugh.

His voice lowered.

“You can’t baby him all the time. He needs structure. You’re not helping him by enabling this behavior.”

The words stung, but Stacy didn’t react right away. She glanced down at Will, who was standing quietly next to her, staring at the ground, his small form vibrating with tension. He wasn’t hearing any of it, his attention focused entirely on the world inside his head. She felt her frustration grow, but she kept her cool.

“Can we not do this now?” She asked, her voice growing more strained. She swallowed hard, trying to keep herself steady. 

Mark didn’t seem to hear her words. He was already stepping forward, his focus entirely on Will. 

He grabbed his hand and led him into the living room. His brows furrowed as he knelt down, trying to get Will’s attention.

“Hey.” Mark said, a little more sharply now. “Aren’t you going to say hi to your old man?”

Will didn’t respond. He just stood there, bouncing gently on the balls of his feet, humming quietly to himself.

Stacy closed her eyes for a moment, then stepped forward, trying to intercept the tension. 

“Mark.” She sighed. “Not now.”

But Mark didn’t listen. His impatience boiled over. He reached forward without warning and grabbed Will’s headphones, pulling them off his head with a sudden jerk. Will flinched, his body stiffening.

“Hey, buddy.” Mark said, his voice strained, but still trying to be playful. “Aren’t you gonna give your old man a hug?”

Will let out a soft grunt of protest, eyes wide with confusion.

“Come on. Use your words. You’re a big boy, right? You can talk to me. You don’t need all that noise-canceling stuff.” He gestured to the headphones as though they were a hindrance to Will’s well-being, as though they were part of the problem.

Stacy felt the sharp edge of her frustration slice through her patience. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she shot Mark a look. The words she was about to say were on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back. She couldn’t afford to lose it, not now, not in front of Will.

“You’re gonna have fun today, right?” Stacy asked, hoping to get Will to calm down.

But Mark was already grumbling under his breath, trying to get Will’s attention. “Come on, Will. You’ve got to talk. You’re not a little kid anymore. You wanna go to school?”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She knew Will couldn’t handle this kind of pressure. She knew he needed more time, more space, more understanding. But Mark was making it worse, trying to force something that couldn’t be rushed.

Will, still bouncing on his feet, didn’t answer. His face was a mask of confusion, frustration, and a little bit of fear. He wasn’t hearing the words Mark was saying. 

Stacy, her patience wearing thin, stepped in again, her voice firm and final.

“He’s not going today.”.

“His pediatrician is not gonna write another note for a tantrum.”

“I’ve already gotten a doctor’s note.”

Mark shot her a look, his eyes narrowing

“From who?”

Stacy hesitated, just for a second. Her mind raced, but she knew she couldn’t tell him about House. Instead, she lied, the words coming out more easily than she expected.

“Lisa.” she said. “I asked Lisa.” 

Mark froze for a second, his eyes flickering with disbelief. 

“You took him to PPTH?” he asked, his voice low and incredulous. “With Him around?”

Stacy didn’t flinch. “I drove him to her place, and she wrote one for me.”

Mark looked at her, unconvinced, but he didn’t argue. He grabbed Will’s hand, gently pulling him further inside. Will barely seemed to notice, still lost in his own world. Mark led him into the living room, where the kid instinctively stepped away, his body swaying as he tried to process the surroundings.

“Come on, Will.” Mark muttered, his voice more curt now. “Let’s sit down.”

But Will didn’t sit. He stood there, swaying, his eyes distant, his fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. Mark, still irritated, grabbed the boy’s hand again and tried to guide him toward the couch. As he did, he pulled Will’s headphones off his neck without asking, placing them onto the coffee table.

Will startled, grunting softly in protest, but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, his body trembling, his face unreadable.

Mark stared at him, frustration lining his features. “Come on, buddy. Use your words. Aren’t you a big boy? Don’t you want to talk to me?”

Will just hummed in response, his voice faint and distant, his feet still bouncing ever so slightly. He wasn’t responding to Mark the way he was supposed to.

“We’re gonna have fun today.” His father said, earning a faint nod from the child. “Good. Good boy. See? You can listen to me.”

Stacy watched the exchange, her heart aching. She knew Mark loved Will. She knew he cared. He was a good father in many ways, he provided, he worked hard, he did what he thought was right. But Mark had never learned how to truly connect with him. It was always about compromise, about trying to get by, about finding a way to make it work. But it wasn’t enough.

Stacy knew she wasn’t perfect either, but at least she understood Will. She had learned how to communicate with him, how to hold space for him when the world felt too loud.

But Mark? Mark had never learned. And no matter how much he loved Will, it was never enough.

Chapter Text

Will knew what it meant to feel different, but the difference seemed to grow when he was with his father. Mark wasn’t a bad dad, he loved his son, but he didn’t understand him, not in the way that Will needed. Will’s world was loud and chaotic in ways that Mark couldn’t see, and he struggled to cope with the constant noise in his head, the shifting rhythms of his own thoughts, and the overwhelming need for routine.

At Mark’s house, nothing stayed the same for long. The food was different, the smells were different, even the rules were different. Mark would tell him to try to sit still, to stop fidgeting, to stop making noises with his mouth or his hands. But Will couldn’t stop. His body wouldn’t let him. He hadn’t even noticed those were things he did. He didn’t do them on purpose. 

Every time he tried to be what his dad wanted, it felt like his skin was too tight, like something inside him was about to burst. It made his father’s tone change and it made Will want to hide.

Mark didn’t understand why the boy liked to line up his toys or why he always had to watch the same shows over and over. He didn’t understand why Will’s routines were so important, or why certain things, the colors, the patterns, the order, made his brain feel like it was working again.

To Mark, it was just odd, unnecessary. He surely could’ve lived without all that need for structure.  Sometimes he refrained from telling the boy what he was doing was a waste of time but he thought it, he always thought that. And what disappointed him even more was that, to Will, none of what he did was childish. He worked in schools, he’d met lots of autistic kids, many worse than Will but also many that listened much more.

They eventually got over it, they learned how to behave in public. He always hoped Will would become like that, someone who clearly had autistic traits but didn't let their whole identity be their condition.

Will saw the way his dad’s patience thinned, the sharpness in his voice when he would say: “Come on, buddy, just try.” 

But Will was trying. He just didn’t know how to make it stop. The more Mark pushed, the worse it became. Will’s brain felt scrambled, like there were too many things buzzing around at once. And when his father’s tone would change, it was like everything inside Will splintered into sharp, jagged pieces.

One night, it had been too much. Mark had told Will to get ready for bed, but Will had resisted, unable to cope with the constant changes. He hadn’t read a book the whole day. He needed to read before bed. The walls felt too close, the air too thick. 

His father had closed the door of his bedroom and turned off the lights, telling him that eventually he would've felt sleepy if he’d just let it happen.

So he waited, he waited forty six minutes after he’d heard his dad had gone to bed. He snuck out of his room, quietly and made his way to his father's. He was snoring.

Will walked on his tippy toes until he was so close he could hear his dad's breathing. He saw it on his nightstand, grabbed it and carefully walked out.

He skipped over back to his room, closing the door softly and turning the nightstand light on.

He sat on the bed, legs criss crossed, rocking back and forth as he tapped the buttons of the phone. He found the number and called it without hesitation.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but he didn’t know what else to do. He needed her.

When the phone rang, and he heard his mother’s voice on the other end, Will’s heart swelled. She answered right away, even though she was miles away in Boston. 

“Mark, what is it?” She asked with urgency.

“Mom,” Will whispered, his voice small. “Can you read me a story?”

“Will? Are you okay, honey?” She changed her tone completely.

“Yes.”

“Why isn't dad with you?”

“He’s sleeping. I stole his phone.” He admitted without any guilt.

“Honey…”

“Can you tell me a story?”

Her heart sank at the sound of her son’s quiet plea and she immediately got out of bed to grab her laptop.

“Yes, just a second, honey. Let me grab one.”

Her voice was soft, patient, like it always was, and Will could feel the noise in his head start to quiet. He held the phone tightly, letting her words wrap around him. She read slowly, the words steady and soothing, like they were giving him permission to be still, to be calm. For the first time all day, the world wasn’t too loud, wasn’t too fast. It was just him and her and the story, and it made everything feel okay again.

He thanked his mom when she paused for a moment.

“Honey, is everything okay there?”

The boy took a moment to gather the courage to lie.

“Yes.”

He wasn't a good liar, so Stacy picked up on his forced tone. She figured Mark probably would've felt very proud to hear that.

“If anything’s wrong, you tell me and I’ll call aunt Lisa, okay?”

“I’m okay.” The boy whispered again. She felt nauseous at the fact he felt the need to lie in the first place. “Goodnight, Mom.”

“Night, honey.” She would’ve sounded defeated to anyone else’s ear but, to her son, she simply sounded like home. 

He crawled out of his room again, softly stepping down the cold hallway, barefoot, hating the texture of the carpet under his skin, but he reached the bedroom again.

He placed the phone on the nightstand carefully and walked out once again. He didn’t want dad to be angry at him.

The next day, he behaved as told, knowing he could at any moment steal the phone again. He felt comforted by that knowledge. He had learned something new, he liked learning.

He wore the clothes his father picked for him, he nodded when he was asked if he liked the breakfast Mark had made him even if he hated eggs, he even let the radio be on in the car. He grimaced the whole time, it was all so loud. But he did it. Mark leaned down to kiss his forehead before dropping him off at school and he smiled, because it meant he’d done a good job.

At school, he found his mind going back to House and Wilson, how long it had been since he’d seen them. He felt like he wanted to cry, so he did. The teachers hurried to his side and comforted him. When asked why he was crying, he explained he missed his mom and dad. The teachers told him his dad was going to be back in a few hours. He almost answered, then figured it would feel better to just be quiet.

House was like mom, he didn't get angry at him. Wilson was nice, too. They didn't change tones when he did something he usually did with mom. They simply let him behave the way he did. 

When he came home, he ate very little of the lunch his dad had made him and retreated to the living room, where he was supposed to do his homework. He didn't like sitting on the carpet in that house, there were so many carpets at dad’s house.

The doorbell rang. He covered his ears but kept his eyes on the door as his father went to open it.

His aunt Lisa was there. He immediately say up, rocking back and forth a bit faster as he clapped silently like he’d learned to do at dad's house.

“Hey.” She greeted softly, spotting the boy over Mark’s shoulder.

“Did she send you here?” The man asked, immediately irritated.

“I knew he would be here, so I wanted to come see him. Unless it's too much trouble for you to let me spend ten minutes with my nephew.” She replied, voice thick with condescension.

“Tell her he’s doing just fine.” Mark insisted, keeping his grip firm on the handle.

“There’s no conspiracy, Mark. I just have an hour off and I thought I’d check up on him since I haven't been able to.”

“You know why you're not allowed to be with him often.”

She let out a mirthless laugh.

“You don’t think He's hiding in the bushes, right? He has a job, he’s not that interested in me. Anymore.”

“For all I know, He could still be stalking you.”

“He’s moved on.” She sighed deeply, then cocked her head to the side. “Would you let me in?”

Aunt Lisa was always nice, she caressed his hair and bought him lots of gifts he liked. She was much like mom, though he didn't see her often. 

She entertained him for a bit, played with him as Mark kept trying to be civil. She only left the room when she was called into the kitchen by Mark, asking her how she took her coffee.

She knew not to yell around Will like Mark did, so she stood from the couch, smoothed her skirt and walked into the other room to answer.

At the coffee table, Will kept scribbling in his sketchbook but his eyes fell on cuddy’s purse beside him. He saw something that looked familiar.

Her hospital badge. He watched it attentively, Wilson had one just like it. Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

“Will, buddy?” Mark called him.

When Cuddy left, placing a gentle kiss on his head, Will followed her with his eyes through the living room window. He saw her stop in the driveway and look somewhere else. She didn't head for her usual car but for one that seemed familiar, too. It looked like Wilson’s. He bounced on his feet for a moment, then realized it could’ve never been Wilson.

“Hey, honey, come here.” Mark called him, grabbing his attention. He walked away from the window. “It’s shrink time.”

Lisa’s heels clicked on the pavement as she walked towards her car, she always left interactions with Mark frustrated. She looked up at her car, only to spot a Volvo behind hers. There was someone sitting inside, wearing sunglasses and a baseball hat. She sighed deeply and walked over to it, grabbing the door handle and swinging it open. 

“What are you doing here?!” She whisper-yelled.

“Bird-watching.” House replied, lowering the newspaper he was using to shield his face. “Don’t blow my cover. You can blow something else-”

“This isn't a cover, you're just hoping he doesn't walk out of the house.” She sat in the passenger’s seat and closed the door. “How long have you been here?”

“Technically I was following you to get permission on a biopsy but I told my team to go ahead with it already so I’ve just been hanging around.”

“I pay you to do your job.” She almost squealed, frustrated.

“Good.” House raised his brows.

“Not to sit around in cars.” She sighed, turning around to face House, before saying calmly: “Will is fine.”

“Then why did she tell you to come here?”

“Mark is not a bad man.” She whispered.

“Right, he would be a perfectly mediocre father for a perfectly mediocre child, which he doesn't have.”

“He’s not Stacy.” She conceded. “But he’s not bad. He cares. He makes sure he has everything.”

“I’m sure he does. He has the money to buy him any toy a normal child would want, too bad he won’t use them.”   

“What is your plan, House?” She asked, softly, leaning closer. “You can’t get involved now.”

“I don’t plan to.”  

“Do you want custody?”

“Oh, please.” He rolled his eyes.

“Then what do you want?”   

House was quiet for a moment.

“I was just making sure he was okay.” 

“He is.” She insisted. “If you want parental rights-”

“I don’t.”

“I’m sure Stacy would find a solution-”

“I don’t want to keep him.”

“You’re allowed to, if you want.”

“The last thing I should have is a child.”

“The way Will talks about you, I doubt that's true.”   

“You said it first. About Rachel.” He said with what could've sounded with a hint of hurt, if it hadn't been House.

She paused for a moment, frowning.

“You… proved me wrong.” She admitted, genuinely. “You would’ve been a good-”

“Don’t start. I don’t care. I don’t want to be a father.”   He kept his eyes on the house where his ex used to live. “Mark doesn't have the patience required. I doubt anyone would. Stacy, she was able to manage me.”

“She can manage anything.”

“Mark can’t.”

“He tries.”

“Will has spent the last three days crying at school.”

She furrowed her brows, her voice going up a pitch.

“Have you been following him around?”

“His teacher with perky bosoms said he misses Stacy. Which is code for “my dad is a jerk”.”

“Have you considered you might be projecting?”

“My father was a jerk. Mark might be less of a jerk, but he's not innocent.”     

“If Mark sees you…”    

“He won’t.” House paused for a long moment, then looked down, his voice going softer: “Is he actually okay?”

“He’s… he’s adjusting. But he’s done it before. The first few days are always hard.” She couldn't hold in a smile at his timid nod. “When did you become such a sweetheart?”

House immediately dropped his shyness and sighed.

“Get out.”

“It’s nice seeing you care so much.” She insisted with a smile.

“I’m so glad I already went behind your back for the case.” He said with a smirk, turning on the ignition and waiting for her to step out of the car.

Will’s frustration had been building for hours, but it was hard to pinpoint exactly when it had started. Maybe it was the way his father kept asking him questions on the way to the therapist’s office. Maybe it was the ticking of the car’s clock, louder than usual, driving him crazy. Or maybe it was just the constant feeling that nothing was ever quite right.

As they sat in the waiting room of the therapy office, Will tried to keep himself calm. He fidgeted in the chair, moving his legs up and down, twisting his hands in the fabric of his jeans. He’d been hating therapy days lately. He was expected to sit still. The room smelled funny, like antiseptic and lavender, and the lights above flickered, making him feel trapped.

Finally, the therapist called them in. Will immediately stiffened, his anxiety rising. She was kind but he didn’t like her that much. 

“Hi, Will. How have you been?” she asked, smiling warmly.

Will didn’t answer right away. He stared at the floor, his hands twitching in his lap. He wanted to tell her he was fine, that everything was okay, but it wasn’t. It never was. His mind was running faster than he could keep up with, every noise, every word, every movement spinning around him like a whirlwind.

Mark’s voice cut through his thoughts. 

“He’s been a bit… rowdy lately.” He said, his tone more exasperated than usual. “He gets upset for no reason more often than he used to.” His words felt like they were too sharp, too cold. Will’s chest tightened.

She said something reassuring, but he wasn't listening to her. He kept bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Will’s eyes darted to the corner of the room, where a small fish tank bubbled softly. It was a distraction, a relief, but just as he started to focus on the movement of the fish, something about the way the water rippled made him feel like he was drowning. A wave of panic hit him, and without warning, his body tensed. He started to whine, a low, high-pitched sound that made his throat ache.

The therapist looked at him, her voice calming. 

“It’s okay, Will. Look at me. We’re gonna take a deep breath.”

But Will couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stop the tears from coming. His heart was pounding in his chest, his body rigid and shaking. He had to get out, had to leave, but he couldn’t move. He was stuck. 

The therapist crouched down in front of him and waited.

“Let’s just take a moment, Will.” She said kindly. “You’re safe here.”

The soft, soothing words did nothing to help. Will’s mind was racing, his thoughts tangled in knots. The more she spoke, the more agitated he became. And then, just as quickly as it had started, the meltdown began to ease. The whimpering quieted, the panic receded, but the tears continued to flow. His body trembled. His mind was still spinning.

“How’s the big boy doing?” Mark asked, when the therapist led Will out of the room, by the end of the hour. He’d stopped wailing at least, Mark seemed to be pleased by that.

He crouched down by the boy and smiled at him, warming up his shoulders tenderly before helping him into his coat.

Will’s face remained scrunched, his body still tight as they left the therapist’s office and made their way back to the car. The relief from the therapy didn’t last long. The moment they got in the car, Will could feel the pressure building again. The air felt heavy, and traffic was too loud. 

“Come on, Will. Just calm down, please. You were doing so good, buddy.” Mark said, his disappointment creeping through the words. “You’re fine. We’re going home.”

But Will couldn’t. His heart was racing again. The noise, the movements, the changing scenery outside, it was all too much. He started to cry again, this time louder, his sobs more desperate.

“Will.” Mark repeated softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Wear your headphones. Put them on.”

By the time they got home, Will’s ears were warm, the noise blocked out but he was still crying. His throat ached from the strain. Mark still tried, now much more exhausted.

“Look at me buddy, it’s fine. It’s okay. Nothing is happening.” He insisted, holding him by his arms, trying to make the boy look into his eyes. “Nothing is happening, calm down.”

Mark sighed and wiped a hand over his face, and clenched his jaw.

“Will, please!” Mark’s voice cracked. He slapped the table. “Stop!”

Will’s body went still. The sound of Mark’s hand slamming down on the wood echoed in his head. He flinched, his breath catching in his throat. He felt like his whole body had been jolted awake. His sobs quieted, but the tears didn’t stop. He was still crying, but now, it was as if he couldn’t make a sound.

Mark’s hand rested on his knee, awkward and unsure. His voice softened. 

“I didn’t mean to…” he started, but Will didn’t look at him. Will was too scared. Too hurt.

His father took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He gently reached out, running his hand through Will’s hair, trying to comfort him. 

“I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The touch was slow, tentative, but it worked. Slowly, Will’s breathing steadied, the panic in his chest easing. His tears stopped, but his face remained sullen, his expression distant.

Mark stood up, paced around, unsure of what to do next. The weight of the day hung heavy in the air.

He checked up on the kid multiple times, caressing his hair, handing a juicebox. The child was calmer now, his eyes wide and puffy and looking up at him, but he was finally quiet.

After twenty minutes or so, Will was still quiet, Mark had turned on the TV to distract him, so he figured he could get back to work. He needed to make the phone call, to get away for a moment, to breathe.

Will sat in silence. His mind wasn’t quiet. It never was. He felt restless, uneasy, and the silence pressed against him. He needed to leave. 

He stood up slowly, hoping his father couldn’t hear him from the other room. He paced around the living room, his small feet pacing like a clock ticking endlessly in his head.

He glanced at the coffee table. There was his father’s wallet. Will reached for it, his fingers trembling as he grabbed a bill. He didn’t know how much it was. He didn’t care. He stuffed it into his pocket. His coat was next, hanging from the hook by the door. He grabbed his backpack and threw it over his shoulders.

He didn’t know how he was going to leave but he was going to. Somewhere where things would make sense.

He grabbed his little backpack and ran out the door.

The cold air hit his face as he stepped into the street, his mind buzzing. He walked quickly, his eyes focused on the pavement. The bus stop wasn’t far. When he got there, he stood and waited. He wasn’t sure if anyone was looking at him. His head was down, his body moving with purpose.

The bus pulled up a few minutes later, and the doors opened. Will stepped in, his hands shaking as he fidgeted with the hem of his coat and walked up to the driver. 

“I need to go to Princeton Plainsboro Hospital.” He said, his voice small but steady.

The bus driver furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Where are your parents, kiddo?”

Will looked up at him, his eyes wide. 

“My dad is at the hospital. I need to go there.”

The driver looked at him for a moment, then nodded with a sad smile.

“Okay, buddy. Sit right behind me and wait there. I’ll tell you when we get there.”

Will did as he was told, sitting behind the driver, headphones on, fidgeting with his hands. His mind was focused now. There was a goal. A purpose. It was all he needed.

Many minutes later, the driver stood up and tapped him on the shoulder. The boy looked up, his head tilting slightly.

“We’re here, kiddo.” The driver said, pointing at a building in the distance. “That’s it. But you just need to walk over there. Can you do that?”

Will nodded quickly, his head moving up and down rapidly. But he didn’t get up. He stayed sitting, his hands still fidgeting in his lap.

The driver waited a moment, then stepped closer to him, gently taking his arm and leading him to the door. 

Will stepped down and began walking toward the building, his feet bouncing with each step. His eyes stayed low, focused on the ground, his mind racing as he neared the entrance.

When he got inside, he saw a woman walking by. Will tapped tugged on her coat. 

“Do you know Dr. House?” He asked.

She gave him a confused look but nodded. 

“Let me ask someone who might.”

Will followed her to the reception area, his hands twitching at his sides. The receptionist looked up as they approached.

“Do you know where Dr. House is?” Will asked, his voice quiet but determined.

The phone rang just as House was about to grab his coat and head out of the Diagnostics office. He groaned, irritated at the interruption but still continued to slip his arms through the sleeves.

Chase answered it with his usual lack of enthusiasm, though his brow furrowed as he listened. 

“It’s for you.” He said, holding the receiver out to House. His voice had an odd edge to it, a mixture of confusion and something else. “They’re saying a little boy is looking for you.”

The color drained from House’s face almost immediately. 

“Where is he?”

“The reception, I think.”

His grip on his cane tightened as his mind spun into overdrive, every instinct in him immediately jumping to conclusions. Without another word, he hobbled out of the room, moving faster than anyone had seen him move in a long time. His limp was even more noticeable as he quickened his pace toward the elevator.

The team exchanged confused glances.

“Still going on with the same bit about adoption?” Taub asked, his voice skeptical, though his eyebrows were raised in curiosity.

“I’ve never seen him run that fast for a bit.” Thirteen commented with an amused look that slowly morphed into concern.

They were about to leave the break room, when the door opened again and they all turned to see Wilson walking into the room, his coat on, looking like he was about to speak, until he saw the team’s blank expressions and the absence of House.

“Where’s House?” Wilson asked, wagging a finger at the room.

“He was called down to the lobby.” Chase answered casually, glancing back toward the door House had just exited through.

“Cuddy?” Wilson asked, eyebrows raised.

“No. A boy was looking for him.” Thirteen added, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“A boy? Alone?” Wilson’s expression darkened. “And what did he do?”

“He ran out of here.”

Wilson froze, his face going pale. He didn’t even hesitate. He turned on his heel and rushed out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. 

The team exchanged bewildered looks.

“Man, they’re really committed to this bit.” Chase muttered, watching the place where Wilsom was previously standing.

Wilson’s heart was racing as he sprinted toward the elevator. 

When the elevator doors finally slid open, Wilson froze. Standing there, House was leaning slightly against the wall with his cane, but what made Wilson’s breath catch was the small figure clinging tightly to his leg. The boy had his arms wrapped around House’s left leg, holding on for dear life. Will’s small frame was trembling slightly, his eyes wide but still locked on the ground, though he was clearly comforted by the older doctor's presence.

For a moment, neither House nor Wilson moved, the weight of the situation hanging in the air. But the second their eyes met, a flood of relief rushed through them both. House’s shoulders relaxed just a little, and Wilson felt his heartbeat slow, though it didn’t stop the sick feeling in his stomach.

Wilson crouched down in front of Will, his face softening. 

“Hey, buddy.” He said gently, reaching out a hand to caress the side of Will’s head. 

The boy flinched, his small body tensing, but then something in him seemed to recognize the touch. Will’s eyes flickered up, and they softened immediately as he registered Wilson’s face. An imperceptible smile tugged at his lips, his eyes lighting up as if something inside him found reassurance in the familiar.

Wilson let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, running his hand lightly through Will’s hair before looking up at House. He met House’s gaze, both of them silently agreeing: Let’s get him to your office, and we’ll figure this out later.

Together, the three of them walked in silence toward House’s office. 

The team, who had been on their way out, froze. They watched House walk in, and then they saw the familiar boy tightly clutching his leg. House’s posture was stiff, his eyes sharp, but his face was unmistakably tense. The panic on both his and Wilson’s faces wasn’t subtle, and Will’s own face was etched with a quiet, unspoken fear.

They walked in, earning an annoyed look from their boss.

Chase opened his mouth, trying to ease the tension. 

“I don’t think it’s ethical for the parents of this kid to rent him out for acting gigs this often.” He said with a smirk, but his voice faltered when he saw the fear in House’s expression.

The others exchanged uncomfortable glances, noticing that the boy was holding tightly onto House’s leg, his small hand grasping it like a lifeline, his other hand fidgeting nervously with the strap of his backpack. His little feet bounced on the balls of his feet in what appeared to be a calming pattern, but it was clear that he was still overwhelmed.

Thirteen narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly. “Is he… actually your son?”

House’s eyes flashed with annoyance. 

“What kind of bit would it even be?” He snapped, his voice tinged with mockery, as if the suggestion itself was offensive.

“You’ve done worse for much more useless bits.” Foreman said, glancing over at Will, who was still wearing his headphones, his small hands grabbing and releasing the hem of House’s coat repeatedly. He tilted his head, studying the kid for a moment. “Is he okay?”

Wilson and House exchanged a glance, and for a brief moment, it was clear that they were both trying to figure out how to make sense of this.

“I’ll call Cuddy.” Wilson said, his voice steady despite the confusion. He moved toward the phone in the corner of the room, dialing her number with purpose. He needed to make sure Cuddy knew what was happening. He needed answers, just like everyone else.

Taub, unable to keep his curiosity at bay, raised an eyebrow, waving a finger between House, Wilson, and the boy. 

“Are you two…?” he started, but his words trailed off as House gave him a sharp, irritated look.

“He carried.” House answered bitterly, almost absentmindedly running his hand through Will’s hair in a rhythmic, repetitive motion. His fingers brushed through the boy’s hair, trying to calm him, even as his mind worked through everything else.

“He’s actually your son.” Thirteen said, realization dawning in her eyes. It wasn’t a question anymore, she knew it to be true.

House frowned at her, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Yeah, we tried this new method of IVF where one member of the gay couple dates a woman in 1997, accidentally knocks her up in 2003, and ends up having a fully grown-up child by the time he’s exploring same-sex dating. It’s a bit time-consuming, but so worth it.”

There was a long silence as House’s words sank in, and the team stood there, unsure of how to react. Thirteen, Foreman, and Taub looked at each other, exchanging more confused glances, while Wilson hung up the phone, his face pale.

“She’s calling Mark.”

House gave a tight, fearful nod, his hand never leaving Will’s hair. 

“Do you need our help?” Thirteen asked. Their boss looked up at them, seeming almost thankful for a second, before cocking his head towards the door.

Thirteen nodded and made her way out, followed by the others.

House hobbled towards the Eames chair and sat down, bringing Will with him, who stood beside him. Wilson took off his coat and walked over, kneeling down to be at eye level with him. He placed a gentle hand on the boy’s back to get his attention.

“Will, honey.” He offered him a kind smile, one that was immediately reciprocated by the boy. His eyes were puffy and red and he looked tired. Wilson caressed his cheek. “You need to tell us how you got here.”

They were all gathered in Cuddy’s office, waiting for Mark to arrive and pick up Will. The tension in the room was thick. Lisa was perched on the corner of her desk, arms crossed, while Wilson was seated next to Will, trying to comfort him. Will fidgeted with the headphones around his ears, his hands fiddling with Wilson’s tie calmly. House leaned against the other side of the desk, tapping his cane, clearly unfazed, though his eyes flicked to the door as it suddenly swung open.

Mark stormed in, his face a mask of frustration and barely contained rage. He pointed directly at House as if he were ready to rip into him.

“You…” He started, his voice rising as he stormed towards House, his steps quick and angry.

“Took you long enough.” House muttered, glancing up from his spot as he straightened. His lips twisted into a brief smirk, almost mocking.

Mark was close now, his fists clenched at his sides, and his face was a red storm of fury. 

“You know about him.” He stated, his eyes wide with disbelief and fury.

“Of course I do. He’s too cute to be your son.” House shot back flippantly, a smirk still playing at his lips. He gave a small shrug, standing up to use his height as an advantage.

Mark froze for a moment, clearly struggling to hold in his frustration. He pointed at Will, who was still clutching the edge of Wilson’s jacket, wide-eyed and wary.

“How the hell did he get here?” he barked, his hands shaking as he pointed at Will.

Lisa stood, hands up in a calming gesture, ready to explain. But House cut her off.

“I took him.” His voice was calm, almost bored, as if it were a normal thing. His lips curled into a thin line, bordering on a smile.

Mark’s eyes widened with shock.

“What?” His voice raised, almost shouting, as his body tensed, and his steps faltered. He was genuinely at a loss for words.

“House.” Wilson’s voice was low, warning, his eyes already glancing down at Will as he adjusted the headphones to make sure the boy couldn’t hear the escalating tension between the two men.

House didn’t flinch.

“I knocked on the door. He answered, crying, so I took him for a ride. You were busy anyway.” He shrugged nonchalantly, looking at Mark with an air of superiority, as though what he said was perfectly reasonable.

The next thing that happened was a blur. Mark lunged at House, throwing a punch that landed hard against House’s jaw. The impact sent House stumbling back and hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Wilson was immediately on his feet, rushing to help him up. He grabbed his partner by the arm, lifting him with some effort, his brow furrowed in concern. House winced but didn’t resist, letting Wilson help him up despite the pain.

Will’s wide eyes flicked back and forth between the two men, clearly terrified. He shrunk into Wilson’s side, his little body shaking. He looked up at Mark, fear etched on his face.

Mark took a step forward, now pointing an accusatory finger at House, his voice raised and furious. 

“I could have you arrested for this!” he shouted, his eyes blazing with anger. “You kidnapped him!”

“I’m sure my lawyer will find a loophole to keep me out of the doghouse,” House smirked, massaging his bruising jaw, unfazed.

Mark took a deep breath, glaring at House as if he could burn a hole through him with his eyes.

“How long have you known?” He demanded, voice rough.

“Long enough for me to make a better impression on this little guy than you have in seven years,” House said, his voice low, biting, but there was an edge to it now that made the room go quiet.

“House.” Cuddy’s voice cut through the tension, firm but tired, like she was done with the games.

Mark’s voice rose again, his fists clenching. 

“I can hit you again.” Hr warned, stepping toward House, his finger pointing accusingly.

“I’m sure you can, but it won’t give you biological superiority.” He grinned at Mark’s attempt to intimidate him, clearly enjoying the jabs more than he should.

“Oh, stop, both of you!” Wilson’s voice suddenly boomed, causing everyone in the room to jump. His hands waved frantically, trying to keep the peace, but his frustration was evident. His face was red with emotion. He turned toward both men, glaring at them. “You’re scaring him even more.”

Mark froze for a moment, his eyes flicking to Will, who was still clinging to Wilson, his face streaked with quiet tears. The tension was only making him more anxious.

“He stole my son!” Mark yelled, his voice cracking with frustration.

“No, he didn’t!” Wilson snapped back, his voice louder than it had been in years. “He got on a bus! Because you’re insufferable to be with!” His words were raw, furious, and completely unrestrained. “I mean, how awful do you have to be to not realize your child is missing?!”

“I did!” Mark’s face was turning redder by the second, and he was nearly frothing at the mouth, struggling to maintain some semblance of control.

“Yeah, two minutes before we called.” House mocked, clearly enjoying the fact that the enemy was losing his grip.

Wilson raised his hands, almost as if he were trying to calm a volatile situation. He held them up between the two men, trying to diffuse the escalating argument.

“Look,” Wilson said, his voice now much calmer, though a deep frustration still lingered in his tone. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s not good. Will is a great kid, he’s brilliant, which is why he was able to get on a bus and get all the way here. He’s smart, he’s kind, he’s not even spoiled, you just have to handle him with care, which doesn’t seem like you’re doing.” He exhaled deeply, his gaze shifting to Mark. 

“I don’t think you’re a bad man.” He said, his voice softening. “I’m not saying that. But you’re not being a good father.”

Mark blinked, clearly taken aback by Wilson’s words. He wasn’t expecting the calm, almost pleading tone. He hadn’t prepared for that.

“I don’t even know you.” Mark almost whined, with a mirthless chuckle. “We probably shared a total of six words in 2004.”

“Enough to make me realize you were an ass. And apparently still are.” Wilson said, his frustration evident. He let out a deep sigh before continuing, softer now but firm. “Talk to your son. Apologize to him. Do better. He should not prefer a random guy to his own father.” Wilson finished, pointing to himself, then to Mark, his expression softening but still serious.

Mark seemed to process the weight of Wilson’s words. His eyes darted between Wilson, House, and Will, and for the first time since he’d entered the room, he seemed to pause, genuinely reconsidering everything.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Mark nodded, a quiet acknowledgment that perhaps there was still hope for him to step up. But it was clear, at least for now, that he wasn’t giving up.

He crouched down, getting at eye level with Will. He grabbed his sleeve gently. The boy took off his headphones.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry. Daddy should've been more careful.” The man attempted with a soft, nervous laugh. “Come on, buddy, let's go home.”

The boy considered it for a long moment then shook his head, instead curling up closer to Wilson’s leg.

“Hey. I was just a bit tired but we’re good now. I’m sorry. Let’s start on a blank page. Let's forget today happened.” House clenched his jaw at the choice of words. The mean continued to plea: “Come on, don’t you wanna go home?”

The boy shook his head again.

“I want to stay with Wilson.” He said feebly, holding onto the oncologist, who blinked with surprise, his heart moved by that statement.

“Will, come on. you're supposed to come home with me.”

“I don’t think he wants to.” Wilson murmured, caressing Will’s hair.

“You can’t do that. You can’t take him to your place.”

“But I can.” House interjected. “And, luckily, he happens to be sharing a condo with me.”

“You want to stay with them? Seriously?” Mark asked Will, confusion etched on his face.

Will nodded repeatedly.

House smirked victoriously.

“We’ll drop him off tomorrow.” Wilson said softly, taking the small backpack from the floor and throwing it over his shoulder, wrapping an arm around Will to guide him out the door.

They walked to the car, with Wilson leading the way. Once the oncologist had secured the seatbelt on the kid, he closed the door and stood up to find House beside him.

“You know I find authoritative fathers very hot?” House asked with a teasing smirk. Wilson raised his brows with a smile.

“Freud would have a field day with you.” 

“I’m serious, that was very hot.” House insisted, following him to the other side of the car. Wilson placed a hand on his chest.

“Then store the image in your mind for,” Wilson looked down at his watch, pursing his lips. “About the next twenty-four hours.”

He leaned in to kiss House briefly before getting in the car.

The ride home was quieter than usual, the weight of the conversation still lingering in the air. They arrived, and Wilson immediately started preparing the guest room for the boy, who had been mostly silent in the backseat. House, meanwhile, gestured for Will to follow him into the living room.

Once by the couch, House didn’t waste time. 

“I need to talk to you, buddy.” House began, sitting down and patting the seat next to him. “I need you to tell me what happened at dad’s place.”

Will didn’t look at him immediately. He sat on the edge of the couch, his posture stiff, eyes fixed on the floor. House gave him some space, not pushing right away.

Will’s voice came out soft, barely a whisper. 

“He… he got mad.”

House nodded. As expected.

“How mad?”

His tone was gentle, but his eyes were sharp, trying to read Will’s face for any sign of more.

The kid shrugged slightly, his hands still fidgeting. “He didn’t want me to cry.”

“Will, you have no fault if this happened but I need to ask you.” House felt a tightness in his chest. He was getting the picture, but there was more he needed to know. He shifted closer to Will, keeping his voice low, calm. “Did he hit you?”

Will’s head snapped up at the question, his eyes wide, his hands shaking a little. He quickly shook his head, almost too quickly.

“No. No, he didn’t.” Will said, his voice more insistent now. “I’m okay.”

“Nothing happened?”

The boy shook his head, looking up at his father attentively.

House clenched his jaw and nodded, still unconvinced. 

“Good.” He muttered, glancing away for a moment. “If it ever happens, I need you to tell me.”

But the silence between them stretched on, and House could tell that Will wasn’t ready to say everything. He reached over and gently pulled the boy closer, wrapping an arm around him. Will didn’t resist, curling up against House’s side, his body still tense but his face softening.

For a while, neither of them spoke. House just let Will settle against him, his arm steady around the boy’s shoulders, holding him as if he could somehow ease all the fear and confusion from the day.

When it was time for dinner, the shift in Will’s mood was noticeable. He talked the entire meal, his voice rapid, full of energy and small details about everything from his favorite toys to something he’d seen at school. His mood was better, lighter. The dinner table was full of laughter, with Wilson teasing him gently about his “bus adventures” and making Will smile more easily than before.

House watched them both with a quiet sort of satisfaction. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it was a step forward. And that was enough for him.

After dinner, Wilson took Will to his bedroom. House listened to their voices drift down the hallway before he finally made his way to the bathroom.

As Wilson helped Will settle into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, he noticed the way the kid curled up with his plush toy, a small, comforting ritual.

Wilson sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand resting lightly on Will's shoulder. 

"All set?" he asked softly, his voice low and soothing.

Will nodded, blinking up at him with those tired eyes, and Wilson felt a protective urge surge in his chest. It was strange, this overwhelming sense of responsibility, familiar but not in this way, the sense of wanting to shield Will from the world's cruelties. 

He brushed a lock of hair from Will's forehead, his touch tender. "It was just a difficult day. But you’ll be back with Dad soon and it will be fine, right?" 

The child nodded, and he meant it.

“We love you.” He said, the words coming more naturally than he had expected. “All four of us.”

Will's eyes softened, a flicker of something close to peace crossing his face. 

"Okay." he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, then added flatly: “That makes me happy.”

Wilson smiled, knowing this was how the boy expressed his genuine thankfulness. 

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Will's forehead. 

"Sleep well." He murmured, feeling an unexpected swell of affection. For a moment, he just sat there, watching the boy's chest rise and fall with the rhythmic calm of sleep.

When he finally left the room, there was a weight to his step, a quiet satisfaction that he was doing something good.

When The oncologist stepped into his bathroom, House was already there, washing his teeth. When he saw Wilson in the doorway, he smiled softly, toothpaste foam still at the corners of his mouth. As he rinsed out, Wilson started rifling through the medicine cabinet.

When House straightened his posture and looked in the mirror, he saw Wilson motioning him over with a quick, urgent gesture.

“Come here.” Wilson muttered, his eyes scanning his face. He gently applied some lidocaine to the bruised area of House’s jaw, his touch careful, almost tender.

House winced slightly, at the smell mostly, but then smirked. 

“You don’t think those twenty-four hours could be shortened a bit?” he teased, his voice light despite the pain, hands on Wilson’s hips, inching up to slip under his McGill sweater.

Wilson rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth. He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against House’s lips, a brief but tender moment. The older doctor kept him there for a moment, deepening the kiss against smirking lips, until he was pushed away with gentle taps to the chest.

“Alright, out.” he said, nudging the diagnostician toward the door. “I need the bathroom.”

House raised an eyebrow, a mock expression of offense crossing his face. 

“What a way to kill the boner.”

Wilson grinned, stepping past him to get to the sink. “That’s what all my ex-wives used to say.” he replied dryly.

House snorted, shaking his head as he turned to leave. 

It was early morning when they drove Will to Mark’s place. The air was still cool, and the sun had just begun to rise, casting a soft glow on the quiet street. Will, with his plushie in hand and his backpack slung over one shoulder, stood in front of the door, hesitant. Mark opened the door, his face softening when he saw Will, trying to hide the nervous tension in his posture.

The man stepped forward, arms open. Will hesitated for just a moment before stepping into the hug, letting himself be enveloped in his father’s embrace. Mark held him tightly, almost like he was afraid to let go, grateful for the small victory. Will didn’t push him away.

“Thank you, buddy.” He whispered softly into Will’s hair. His voice cracked slightly with the unspoken weight of their complicated relationship, but Will didn’t react. He just stood there, arms limp, letting Mark do what he needed. It was collaborative, but it wasn’t exactly warm.

When he pulled away, Will glanced up at him, and Mark managed a weak smile, his eyes filled with an emotion that the boy couldn’t quite name. Without another word, Mark nodded and ushered Will inside. He would take him to school, the same as any other day, even though neither of them really knew what was to come.

The two doctors simply left without a word.

Hours later, House was deep in thought, hunched over his desk in his office. The door swung open abruptly. Mark stormed in without a word, his movements sharp and quick. House didn’t even flinch as he stepped inside. His hands, resting on his laptop keyboard, gave a brief tap on mousepad, signaling that he was ready for whatever confrontation the enemy was about to bring.

“If you want to give me the rest, avoid the face.” He didn’t look up from the website on his screen, his voice dry but still tinged with a hint of amusement. He wasn’t surprised by the man's entrance, if anything, he’d been expecting it.

Mark, still standing in the middle of the room, paused. His face was a strange mix of anger and something that almost resembled regret. He rubbed his forehead, as if trying to gather his thoughts before speaking. He let out a heavy breath, then took a step toward House, the tension in his body palpable.

“Please… don’t take him away.” His voice cracked slightly, vulnerability seeping through the edges of his tough exterior. He stared at House, his hands trembling ever so slightly. “You already took her.”

He didn’t flinch at the mention of Stacy. 

“I didn’t take her.” House replied flatly, voice calm but firm, not bothfocusedering to meet Mark’s gaze. 

His eyes stayed on the screen in front of him, trying to give off an air of indifference.

“I think Will is the proof you did.” Mark said with a mirthless smile, his voice cold now. He stepped closer to the desk, his fists clenched at his sides. 

“Things weren’t the same after you two slept together. You might not have taken her from me, but she certainly stayed with you here mentally. And when Will came, that’s when I completely lost her.”

House finally looked up at him, a hint of something unspoken in his eyes, but he kept his face impassive.

 “You lost her when you were unable to interact with your autistic child. Don’t blame me for your shortcomings.” His tone was direct, the words cutting sharply. His eyes held a challenge, daring Mark to argue.

Mark’s jaw clenched, his chest rising with a deep breath. There was anger, but there was something else, hurt, maybe regret.

“You’re the love of her life.” He said slowly, almost with a bitter finality. The words hung in the air for a moment, and House’s expression softened, something fleeting passing over his face. He didn’t speak at first. The silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Mark continued, his voice quieter now, more desperate. “You took her once. Don’t take my son.”

For the first time since Mark had walked in, House didn’t respond right away. He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping the edge of the desk in a rhythmic pattern, his thoughts whirring. There was no snarky comment, no sarcastic remark. Just silence, broken only by the faint sound of his cane tapping against the floor.

“I have no intention of keeping him.” House finally said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. He paused, his gaze locked onto Mark’s with a sharp intensity. “And not because of the same reason you don’t wish to keep him.” He glanced briefly at the window, then back at Mark. “I know he’s not mine. He might be, biologically, but you raised him for seven years. You might’ve done a poor job on your part, but he’s yours.”

Mark blinked, the weight of House’s words sinking in. He hadn’t expected that, not in the way House said it. The words weren’t a rejection, but something that almost felt like an acknowledgment of the years Mark had spent with Will.

“You don’t believe that.” Mark said, his voice low, almost pleading. He took another step forward, closer to House, his fists still clenched tightly. “I know you’re playing a game. You’re always competitive. You were last time. Why shouldn’t you be now?”

House looked up at him, his expression unreadable. He shifted slightly in his chair, then pressed a key on his laptop.

The printer started humming as it spit out sheets of paper. 

Mark was hesitant, his expression a mix of frustration and confusion, but House didn't give him a chance to voice his complaints before he was handed a thick bundle of papers.

"Here." House said, his voice unexpectedly neutral. "I've taken the liberty of compiling some programs and support groups for you. You need to start doing better. You've got a lot of homework to do."

Mark took the papers, his fingers gripping them tightly as he scanned the list. He paused, looking up at House.

"What's this? A bunch of pamphlets?"

"Programs. Support groups. Teachers who specialize in autism spectrum disorders. For you, since you can't seem to figure out how to be a decent father without a little help." House's tone was cutting, but there was a flicker of something beneath the sarcasm-maybe even a hint of care.

Mark sighed, feeling both exhausted and defensive. "I am trying."

"Trying's not good enough." House's voice softened slightly, but the sharpness remained. "You don't get a free pass because you tried and failed. 

Mark frowned and began to look through the list House had handed him.

There were names he didn't recognize, organizations that were far from familiar. 

"These groups focus on both children and parents. You'll get guidance on how to handle your son, how to create routines that actually help him, and, maybe most importantly, how to not be the problem in his life." House said, leaning back into his chair.

Mark shifted uncomfortably but took note of the names, though he didn't know where to start.

House nodded towards the list. "You'll be spending your time in at least two of these programs. Look into it. Educate yourself."

Mark frowned but muttered: "I'll do it. I'm just… not sure where to start."

House gave him a pointed look. 

"Start with your own attitude. Will's not going to change if you're just going to sit around and expect him to fit your mold. The rest is easy. He’s not a lot of work, it’s actually quite easy to be liked by the kid.”

“For some of us, I guess.” Mark said, huffing a mirthless laugh. He tucked the papers under his arm. "I'll try."

"You'll do better." House's tone left no room for doubt.

He took a deep breath, looking away.

“I don’t want to win anyone. I just want the kid to be okay.” The admission was quiet, almost vulnerable in its honesty. For a brief moment, there was a flicker of something unguarded in House’s eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. He gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, the walls around him falling back into place. “That’s all.”

Mark stood there for a moment, stunned into silence. He hadn’t expected this, this raw honesty from House, this glimpse into something he wasn’t sure he knew existed. He opened his mouth to say something more, but the words caught in his throat. He closed it again, unsure of how to respond.

Will wasn’t the only one who had been caught in this tangled web. And for a moment, Mark wondered if House was trying, in his own way, to show him that maybe he wasn’t the enemy after all.

The silence stretched between them, and then Mark finally nodded, his gaze softening for a brief moment before he turned and left the room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving House alone with his thoughts, unsure of what would happen next, but knowing that this was the closest either of them would get to a resolution. For now, it was enough.

Stacy sat in the living room, staring at the paperwork in front of her, her mind whirling. The past few days had been a blur of frustration, guilt, and anger, most of it directed at Mark. The case in Boston, Will’s meltdown, the emotional toll of his running away, and everything that had happened while she was gone, it was too much. She couldn’t keep doing this, trying to juggle her son’s needs with Mark’s inability to provide the stability he needed.

Finally, she made a decision. If Mark couldn’t handle things the way he needed to, maybe less time with Will would force him to step up. And maybe it would give Will a sense of stability.

When Mark walked through the door that evening, he found her sitting there in his living room, her arms crossed, a cold expression on her face.

“We need to talk.” Stacy said, her voice sharp.

Mark’s brow furrowed as he stood in the doorway, uncertain. “It's about House, isn't it?”

“It’s about Will.” Stacy took a deep breath, her frustration spilling out. “I’m sick of it. You can’t keep going on like this, acting like everything’s fine when it’s not. Will needs consistency, he needs routine, and I’m not sure you can provide that. It’s time to make a change.”

Mark’s expression darkened, but he didn’t say anything right away.

“I think he should stay with you one week every month. That’s it. Not more. You’ve got to prove to me that you can handle him. It’s clear that whatever you were doing before wasn’t working, and this, this needs to change.”

Mark opened his mouth to argue, but Stacy held up a hand to stop him. 

“I’m not asking, Mark. I’m telling you. Will deserves better than this. He deserves stability. I need him to feel like he has a routine, like he can rely on both of us. You’re either in this for real, or we need to adjust things. I can’t keep giving him to you if you’re just going to keep messing things up.”

Mark stood there, silent for a moment, his anger boiling beneath the surface. But then, something seemed to shift in his eyes. He nodded slowly, his jaw clenched, but there was a trace of reluctant agreement in his tone. 

“Fine. One week. But I’m not giving up on him.”

Stacy didn’t respond right away, just gave him a sharp look, as though daring him to backtrack. 

“Good." she said coldly. 

“It’s not because of him, right?” He asked, suddenly self conscious. “House.”

“House doesn't want custody.”

“But you’d give him to him if he did.” He insisted. “You still love him.”

She was quiet for a moment.

“The ship has sailed.”

The next month, something unexpected began to happen. Mark, for the first time in years, started really trying. He began attending therapy, reading up on autism, and joining support groups. He even reached out to Will’s teachers, asking for advice on how to be more present and involved in his son’s life. It was a stark contrast to the distant, frustrated father he had been before.

Stacy was stunned when she received a call from Cuddy one night.

“I don’t know what happened.” She said, her voice sounding almost uncertain. “But he’s actually trying. I’m seeing a difference. He’s been seeing therapists, and he’s been asking about Will’s needs. He’s putting in the effort. If he had done that years ago… maybe now we wouldn't have needed to bounce Will back and forth.”

Lisa, ever the skeptic, was silent for a moment, weighing her words. She knew someone familiar might've pressed him to. 

“That’s good. As long as he actually does something with it.” She replied carefully.

Stacy took a deep breath, grateful for the shift, but still wary. “I don’t know what changed him, but I don’t care, I’m relieved. I think it’s helping Will. It’s far from perfect, I know, but it’s a start.”

Lisa didn’t ask any more questions about what had motivated Mark. She didn’t need to know. She gave Stacy a quiet but genuine: “That’s great, Stace.”

It wasn’t just about Mark stepping up, though. Will was thriving on the stability that came with the routine. Every Wednesday, he would stay with House and Wilson. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough for him to feel secure. The rest of the time, he stayed with his mom, and things had started to feel less like chaos and more like structure.

However, things soon started to feel a little too competitive. Everyone seemed to be vying for Will’s affection. Mark, trying to make up for lost time, showered him with gifts, took him to places House and Wilson had introduced him to, sometimes to the exact same places, almost as if he were trying to outdo them.

When Will returned to House’s place he would tell him about how Mark had been nicer lately. He bought him more toys, he’d taken him to the zoo, he let him keep his headphones on more often. 

House, always a master of reading between the lines, nodded without missing a beat. 

“It sounds like he’s being a good dad.” The boy nodded with a small smile. Inside, House felt a pinch of something unfamiliar, jealousy, maybe, or maybe just the realization that Mark was doing what he could to compete.

Then the perfect occasion rolled around, Will’s birthday was going to fall in the week Mark was supposed to keep him. House knew that because he had memorized the boy’s medical history and he could do the math. Stacy wasn’t too happy about it, but his birthdays had always been celebrated together anyway, except for the first year after the divorce.

As the birthday approached, House knew it was inevitable that Mark would try to go all out. He had already started planning something big, likely an elaborate, over-the-top celebration to prove he could be the best parent, the one who could win the boy’s heart once and for all.

When Stacy called House to ask him if they could pick Will up from school that day, she let him know that Mark had explicitly asked her not to invite him or Wilson to the party. House hummed.

“Well, he’s always been very predictable.” He muttered, but Stacy’s voice came through the phone, softer now.

“I’m going to talk to him.” She promised, sounding resolute. “It’s not fair. Will talks about you two like you’re his imaginary friends, he deserves to have you there. I’ll make sure Mark understands, even if he can’t stand you.”

House didn’t press her on it, though part of him felt the unfairness of it. He knew he didn’t need to fight for Will’s affection, he had it for free, with little to no effort. 

“You know I’d easily outshine him anyway next Wednesday.”

“Oh, trust me, I know that.” Stacy said softly with a breathy chuckle. “Just as long as you don't outshine me.”

“It’d be hard to.” He said, tenderly. 

“Don’t make me blush or I’ll think Wilson is not the only cheater of the couple.”

“We’ve outgrown swinging. We're very much an old, perverted, but monogamous couple. Until he’ll eventually get bored of my shenanigans.”

“I don’t think he will.” She said sweetly.

House barged into Wilson’s office the next morning, the door banging against the wall with a loud thud as he strode in, his expression half-smug, half-thoughtful.

“You’re right.” House announced, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the office.

Wilson didn’t look up from his paperwork, his pen moving steadily across the page. 

“I tend to be. Many would say it’s my only flaw.” His tone was dry, almost bored, as he kept his focus on the files in front of him.

House huffed, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“We’d make great parents.”

Wilson’s eyes flickered upward, his eyebrows knitting together with the slight annoyance that only House could provoke. 

“Yeah, I get it. Stop mocking me.”

House leaned against his cane, his posture relaxed but with a slight edge of seriousness. 

“We are great parents.” Wilson finally looked up from his paperwork, his gaze sharp. “Your paranoid tendencies that border on delusional are the perfect feature for a reasonable parent. An oppressive one, sure, but you’d make a great mommy nonetheless.”

“House, what’s your point?” Wilson asked, his voice tinged with confusion but with a hint of curiosity.

“My point is…” House stepped closer to Wilson’s desk, eyes never leaving him as he let out a long sigh. “You’re a great dad.”

Wilson blinked, surprised by the sudden sincerity, and his expression softened slightly. 

“You… you honestly think that?”

“I know that.” House’s tone turned matter-of-fact, and he leaned forward, his hand resting on the edge of Wilson’s desk. “Sure, your child would grow up to be a nerd and a loser who gets shoved in lockers, but he wouldn’t die of hunger, or hypothermia because you forgot to pick him up from school.”

Wilson looked down at his hands for a moment, processing the words. His voice was quiet and tender when he responded with a genuine smile. 

“I… I think you’re a great dad, too.”

House’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, and he shifted back from the desk, now standing with his hands in his pockets, a faint smile tugging at his lips. 

“Yeah. We’re the best. We should show them.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow, a mix of suspicion and curiosity crossing his face. “Show, who?”

House shrugged vaguely, his expression growing slightly more animated. 

“Anyone? Everyone. I mean, they deserve to know. It surely would fix my reputation, at least partially. Imagine how many prestigious schools would open doors for us, a cripple, a gay oncologist, and an autistic child?”

Wilson blinked, processing, then furrowed his brows, pointing his pen at him. “Why are you never gay in these scenarios?”

House grinned, his tone laced with sarcasm and humor. 

“Gay and cripple don’t mix well, even the most left-leaning Republican would quiver in their boots.” He paused for a moment, his hand lazily waving in Wilson’s direction. “You can play the gay part. You already look it.”

Wilson sighed softly, his shoulders less tensed and a small grin on his face.

“What is this about?”

House’s expression shifted slightly, more serious but still playful. He stepped back, tapping his cane as he thought. 

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t be awful if we debuted as co-parents.”

Wilson stared at him for a moment, confusion flickering across his face before realization hit. His voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “

You… you think that?”

House rolled his eyes with a groan. 

“Don’t doubt everything I say.”

Wilson shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips before he spoke with a resigned, exasperated sigh. 

“You make it hard not to!” He paused for a moment, his tone softening again. “When… when do you want to tell people?”

“I have just the event.”

Chapter Text

Will loved routine, he craved it but, lately, it felt like things were shifting and he didn’t hate it all. They were better, somehow, but it was still a kind of better that made his head spin. It wasn’t just because his birthday was coming up, though that had a lot to do with it. No, what really made everything feel strange and wonderful all at once was how much everyone was trying to make him happy.

At home, Mom was gentle, patient, and loving as usual. No big change there. She made Will feel safe in a way that no one else could. She didn’t ask him to be anything other than who he was, and that made him feel understood. Lately, though, she seemed to be going out of her way to pamper him even more than usual. Or maybe she was just in a better mood. She seemed more relaxed, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders knowing she wasn't the only one looking after her son, she felt less guilty about leaving him for work, she wasn’t scared to not be beside him at all times. She was more secure, and she realized Will was being more independent as well.

But she didn’t change her behavior with him, when she saw he was nervous about school, she’d sit with him on the couch, letting him read his dinosaur books aloud to her. She never rushed him. Stacy treated him like his quirks were treasures, never inconveniences.

But then, there was Mark. Will had never really liked being at his dad’s house. Mark wasn’t bad, but he didn’t get him, and that made him feel like he was always walking on eggshells. Everything about the way dad had acted with him before was tense. It was like he was constantly frustrated, like Will’s world was too loud, too bright, too much. But now even he was different. He’d started showing up at Will’s appointments and sitting through the long waiting times in the sensory room. He made sure the TV was always set to the right channel, on low volume, and that Will had his favorite snacks nearby. He was trying. Will could see it.

It felt funny to see his dad trying so hard. Will wasn’t used to it, but it made him feel hopeful. He liked it. It was like Mark was finally becoming someone who could be his dad, not just the man who was supposed to be around legally.

Then there was House. Will didn’t understand everything about House. Sometimes House was loud, but not in a bad way, he didn’t follow the rules like mom did but he never crossed lines, never made him uncomfortable once.

He had a way of saying things that made Will’s stomach twist in funny ways. House was fun, in ways that Stacy would never approve of. He didn’t mind breaking rules to make Will laugh, and that was exactly what happened whenever they were together. 

House had this game where they’d run differentials together, not real ones, but Will liked to pretend they were doctors, trying to figure out what was wrong with the patients in the clinic. 

House would give him the clues, usually something weird and funny like someone being allergic to their own shampoo, or having nosy neighbors, and Will would work out his diagnosis in his head. He liked it when House made things a game, even though sometimes the patients didn’t seem to like it.

Once, House took him to a storage closet in the hospital and told him: “We’re going to play ‘guess the disease', but only based on the x-rays and lab results we don’t have.” 

He felt smart, challenged, the way most people didn’t make him feel, with how they treated him with condescension.

They ran around, pretending to fix everything, and at one point, Will felt like a tiny adult, solving mysteries with House by his side. Stacy would’ve had a fit if she’d seen the way that happened. 

And then there was Wilson. Will thought Wilson was a little bit like Stacy in some ways, caring and nervous, but with this special way of knowing exactly what Will liked. 

Wilson didn’t talk much, unless he was around House and House had already started a conversation for all three of them. He just listened. Sometimes, they’d go on long drives with no music or anything, just the sound of the road and Will’s thoughts, and Wilson would look over at him every so often like he was checking in, without saying a word. He didn’t try to change Will’s moods. He just understood them and molded around them.

And then there were the days when Wilson would go out of his way to ensure Will was having everything he ever wished for. Like taking him to a huge butterfly expo, Will could’ve spent hours just watching them flutter by, their wings shimmering in all those colors. 

Wilson never once told him to hurry up, even if he clearly hated being touched by them, he even looked afraid at one point. He let Will take his time, pointing out all the different types, even if it was the same one for the tenth time. It was perfect. 

Sometimes, they’d go to the Natural History Museum, too. The exhibits didn’t bother Will at all, even when the crowds were loud. Wilson let him wear his headphones, kept a careful eye on him, always there when Will needed reassurance. His dad was anxious about things, but Will didn’t mind. It was kind of cute, actually. Like Wilson was worried, in the best way, that Will might disappear.

Will didn’t know how they’d all changed so much, but he liked it. He liked being loved like this, with people who gave him space but also looked out for him. It felt right.

At school, Will couldn’t stop talking about his family. 

He’d tell his classmates about his three dads and his mom, almost bragging about them. His classmates looked confused, some of them a little worried, but Will didn’t care. They didn’t need to understand. He knew he was lucky.

The best part was his birthday coming up, it was falling on the week he was supposed to spend with Mark. Stacy wasn’t thrilled about that, Mark didn’t want House there, but House wanted to be there, he would’ve done anything to be there, mainly because Will, unaware of the underlying dynamics, was taking for granted that House was going to be there. And House would ensure he would be there, if not in the flesh, then in spirit.

House stared at the stack of papers in front of him, flipping through the printouts from Lucas’s research. The report had everything Mark had been up to in the weeks leading up to Will’s birthday party. For a guy who had previously struggled to even remember Will’s favorite food, Mark sure had gone all out for this one.

“Cleaners? Pool cleaners?” House muttered, scanning the detailed notes gathered. 

“Seems so. Maybe he runs hot.” The younger man mumbled, chin propped up in his hand, elbow resting on the empty bed of the room, two comatose men beside them. He’d tried negotiating the secret meeting location but House insisted in the vegetative ward.

House hummed.

Clearly, Mark was not taking any chances with that first impression. 

It was early March, way too cold for a pool party unless you were trying to show off. He had made sure the pool was filled, cleaned, and sparkling. And let’s not forget the landscaping. Lucas had even tracked down phone calls to a local landscaper who had been hired to trim the grass and replant a few flower beds. House guessed that was his version of ‘getting his act together’ for Will’s party.

And then there was the theme. House narrowed his eyes at the next part. Insects. That bitch.

Mark had actually researched. Even looked up activities for autistic kids. According to Lucas’s findings, Mark had spent hours on his laptop, reading about sensory-friendly games, quiet zones, and ways to keep Will entertained without overwhelming him. Some of the suggestions seemed pretty standard, things like “fidget stations” and “sensory bins”, but Mark had apparently zeroed in on one thing: the insect theme. Which, House thought, might work for Will if done well. If you could handle Will’s need for order and the fact that he had no interest in anything that wasn’t exactly what he wanted. If.

And that’s where House came in.

Lucas had also uncovered the catering details: Mark had opted for a high-end catering company, which was probably good for impressing guests, especially the ones he wanted to impress. But as House skimmed the menu, his stomach churned. It was the usual suspects for a kid’s party, sliders, cupcakes, chips, and a ridiculous amount of sugar. He hadn’t taken Will’s sensory issues into account. He wasn’t able to handle a lot of textures or flavors, certain foods would send him into sensory overload. House could already picture Will trying to choke down one of the ‘gourmet’ sliders and gagging. Not good.

House grinned to himself, his mind already working out a plan. He grabbed his phone and dialed the catering agency listed in Lucas’s report.

“What are you doing? You can’t jump to action without consulting me, that defeats the purpose of a private investigation.” Lucas whispered, House simply gestured at him to shut up.

“Hello, this is New Jersey Diamond Events Catering, how can I help you?”

House didn’t waste time with pleasantries. 

“Yeah, Mark Warner, I’m calling about the event on March 15th. The kids party. I’m not happy with the menu, I would like to make some changes.”

Lucas sighed deeply, reaching into his chips bag to fish some.

“The kid has a fine palate, we can’t just feed him anything.”

There was a long pause. He could practically hear the woman on the other end scrambling for a pen.

“Sure, sir, what would you like to change?”

“The kid has sensory issues. Your sliders? Not going to happen. The chips? Forget it. I need you to make the food sensory-friendly. Think about textures, flavors. Keep it simple. Okay?”

She stammered, clearly caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. “We… we could try to make some adjustments. I’ll… I’ll check with the chef. What exactly does he eat?”

House pinched the bridge of his nose. He could do this. He knew what Will could eat. 

“Rice cakes, fruit that’s been cut into very specific shapes, mashed potatoes, things that don’t have an overwhelming smell. No mushrooms, no tomatoes with seeds, no bell peppers. He can handle soft things, no crunchy or spicy stuff. Think ‘bland’ but not disgusting. Stick to kids stuff, don’t try to appease the adults, they can eat later at home. Think chicken nuggets and smiley potatoes. Oh, and he’ll need a quiet space for the food. And no loud noises, no flashing lights.” He paused for a moment, to give the woman some time to write it all down, then put on a fake polite voice: “I’m sorry for the changes but my wife’s not as confrontational as me, she was afraid you’d say no.”

“Of course not, we just thought you’d crossed ‘no’ on the Dietary Requests checklist. Must’ve been a mistake on our part.” She muttered genuinely,

“I’m sure you’ll do as asked. You guys are the best.” House said before hanging up.

He set his phone down with a smug grin. 

“You know, next time, at least pretend to be his secretary.” Lucas murmured.

“I can’t imagine myself as his subordinate even for a make-believe scenario.”

The sliding doors opened suddenly and Cuddy barged into the room with a frustrated huff, her heels clicking sharply against the polished hospital floor as she marched towards them. The sight before her made her blood boil. 

Lucas scrambled to get his legs off the bed of the comatose man they’d been using as a service table for their secret meeting. His hands flew from the jumpscare, knocking the bag of chips off his lap and onto the floor with a soft crunch. Panic flashed across his face as he froze on the spot. 

Meanwhile, House leaned over the nearby hospital nightstand, crossing his arms over it to hide a pile of investigation papers splayed across it like an unholy mess.

“You’ve been stalking Mark.” Cuddy’s voice was sharp, cutting through the room. Her gaze fixed on the diagnostician, barely holding in her exasperation.

House barely looked up, his expression one of exaggerated annoyance. He shot a quick, accusing glance at Lucas, who cringed under the weight of Cuddy’s glare.

“You’ve told her?!” He almost squealed, his voice betraying a hint of childlike panic. 

“And you-” Cuddy whipped back to Lucas, her finger jabbing the air at him in a reprimanding motion. “You can’t run private meetings for his weird obsessions in my hospital!”

Lucas hesitated, scrambling for the right words. 

“I told him we should meet in the van-” His voice trailed off apologetically, hands raised as if in surrender, but Cuddy wasn’t having it.

“Don’t wanna hear it.” she snapped, her hands on her hips, her stance firm.

House couldn’t resist the opportunity to mock, leaning back against the nightstand with a smirk.

“Someone’s getting spanked tonight.” he berated in a sing-songy tone, raising his eyebrows dramatically.

At that exact moment, the door swung open again, and in strode Wilson, looking every bit as pissed off as Cuddy. It was clear he’d already been briefed. His eyes were blazing with irritation, his hands planted firmly on his hips as he stood in the middle of the room.

“You’ve tapped Mark’s phone?!” Wilson bellowed, his voice deep with disbelief and frustration.

House raised an eyebrow, mocking his friend’s shock, a childishly exaggerated whine escaping him. 

“Can’t a man do anything in this hospital?” he asked, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. 

He quickly tried to gather up the scattered papers, but before he could, Wilson stormed over, snatched the papers from his hands with an angry swipe, and started scanning them.

“You know his menu?!” Wilson nearly squealed, his eyes bulging as he flipped through the papers with growing incredulity. 

House groaned, rolling his eyes. 

“Get out of my business,” he muttered, reaching for his cane and using it to push himself upright, clearly wanting to escape this growing storm of disapproval.

“You get out of his business!” Wilson shot back, his voice rising in frustration.

House’s face twisted into a mock pout, and he slumped back onto his cane dramatically. 

“You first.” he said in a childish, almost petulant tone. Wilson shot him a glare, his face hardening, but House wasn’t done. He blew a loud raspberry at Wilson, sticking his tongue out in the most immature way possible.

Cuddy crossed her arms, clearly fed up with the back-and-forth. 

“You can’t sabotage the man’s first attempt at being a decent father!” she continued, her voice scolding but still carrying a trace of concern.

“I’m not sabotaging! I’m… helping.” House replied, defending himself with an exaggerated shrug. “A single father needs a hand in these trying times!” 

He pulled himself up further, clearly trying to exit the conversation before anyone could stop him.

“We can have a second party at our place next Wednesday.” Wilson suggested softly, placing a gentle hand on House’s chest, hoping to calm things down.

House immediately recoiled, his face twisting in mock horror. 

“Then that would make us seem like the hand-me-down parents.” he countered, rolling his eyes.

Wilson crossed his arms, smirking. 

“We are the hand-me-down parents.” he said, his tone dry but still carrying a hint of humor.

House paused for a moment, as if contemplating that, before reaching around behind Wilson, his hands slipping into the back pocket of Wilson’s pants with practiced ease. 

“Then explain…” He fished out Wilson’s wallet, then with a quick flick of his wrist, unfolded a small drawing. “This!”

He held it up for the room to see: Will’s drawing of the three of them, smiling. The boy had carefully sketched House with his cane and Wilson in his lab coat, all three of them standing together, content and happy. 

Wilson’s serious expression faltered for just a second. He tried to hold back a smile as he looked at the drawing, but it was clear how much it meant to him. He quickly lowered it, though, as if to remind himself to stay on task.

“You can’t stalk Mark.” Wilson said firmly, his voice taking on a no-nonsense tone, but there was a trace of fondness in his gaze as he carefully took the drawing from House’s hands.

“Pleaseeeee.” House pleaded, giving his best pout. He leaned forward, his voice becoming exaggeratedly whiny, the picture of a child trying to get his way.

Wilson shot him a glare and grabbed both his wallet and the drawing back. 

“No.” he said with a firm, final tone, pointing a finger at House. 

Lucas, unable to resist, piped up in a sing-songy voice, mimicking House’s earlier tone. “Looks like someone’s getting spanked tonight.”

The three doctors turned on Lucas in unison, glares as sharp as knives.

House limped past Wilson, muttering under his breath a defeated “I wish.”

The front door creaked open, and Wilson stepped inside, immediately greeted by the smell of dinner and the quiet hum of the TV. 

House sitting comfortably on the couch, his long legs sprawled out as he hunched over Wilson’s laptop. A stack of investigation notes from Lucas was piled beside him, and the phone was sitting just next to it, as if House had been making calls, likely more calls to tweak Mark’s birthday party plans.

Wilson tossed his messenger bag onto the floor, letting it land with a soft thud. He pulled off his coat and carelessly threw it over the back of the couch.

House’s eyes were fixed on the screen, his expression one of intense concentration as he typed furiously, scrolling through various tabs. He seemed oblivious to Wilson’s presence, absorbed in whatever his latest obsession was.

Wilson arched an eyebrow as he walked over and dropped onto the couch next to him, trying to get a glimpse of what House was Googling. The older doctor didn’t flinch, not even as Wilson curled up next to him, pressing his side against his.

“You’re gonna get a restraining order.” Wilson said dryly, his lips curling into a smirk as he placed a soft kiss on House’s neck.

House hummed noncommittally, not taking his eyes off the screen. His fingers clicked rapidly across the keys, clicking through tabs as he typed something else into the search bar. 

“I’m sure I’ll find a way to stop the paperwork.” 

“I’ll testify against you.” Wilson said quietly, brushing his lips against the sensitive skin of House’s neck again. 

“Yeah, well, I’ll work on convincing you not to, after I finish finding a decorator that’s not in Princeton and as cheap as the one he hired.”

Wilson leaned in closer, pressing himself further against him, feeling the warmth of his body as he wrapped an arm around his bicep, his fingers lightly grazing the muscle.

“Or you could skip that part by not getting involved in this party.” Wilson murmured, his lips brushing against House’s ear as he moved to kiss his neck again, his voice lower this time, more intimate.

House remained entirely undistracted, despite the gentle kisses peppering his neck. He kept his focus on the screen, clicking through pages of party planners, decorators, and event coordinators. The soft weight of Wilson’s kisses, and the feel of his hand sliding down House’s forearm didn’t seem to phase him.

But then, Wilson shifted his position slightly, moving his hand further, gently pulling House’s hand away from the keyboard. His fingers slid across House’s wrist, then down to his hand, guiding it away from the laptop.

His touch was slow, deliberate, seductive, even. His fingers slid gently along House’s wrist, making the smallest movements with purpose, trying to draw House’s attention away from the screen.

House shifted his gaze sideways, but didn’t pull his hand away. He looked at Wilson briefly, before looking back at the screen with the same focused intensity. Wilson, not willing to give up, turned House’s chin with his hand, leaning in to kiss him on the lips.

The kiss was slow at first, gentle. It wasn’t like the playful pecks they’d shared earlier that day, but one that had an undercurrent of something more intimate. House hummed in approval, letting his eyes close for a moment as he relaxed into the kiss, his hand drifting to tug on Wilson’s tie.

For a moment, it seemed like House had forgotten the party plans altogether, as Wilson deepened the kiss. His hands roamed to the back of the laptop, and with a deliberate motion, he slowly closed it, quietly to not alert House. He wanted to make the evening about them.

But House wasn’t fooled. He pulled back just as Wilson’s lips moved with more urgency against his, a sharp breath escaping him as he reached for his phone. 

“I need to make a call.” House explained, his voice teasing. He picked up the phone from beside him, eyes already scanning the screen as if he had no intention of stopping.

Wilson let out a loud sigh, flopping back against the couch with exasperation. His eyes narrowed in irritation, but he dropped his head back against the couch, watching House intently, knowing there would be no escaping it.

House ignored him, dialing a number on the phone with the same intensity he had earlier with the laptop.

“Hello, Harris Catering?” House muttered into the phone as Wilson watched, resigned. “Sorry about the time, this is Mark Warner calling. I placed an order for an insect themed kids party- Yes, on the 15th. Yes. Would it be possible to substitute the balloons with cardboard cutouts? Yeah. Yeah, no, the kid is afraid of balloons.”

Wilson snorted in amusement, though he didn’t let the smile reach his eyes, still feeling the remnants of frustration. As House made his call, Wilson slouched further into the couch, eyeing House and wondering if he’d ever get his attention back.

“That would be great. Yes. And do you also happen to know any animal handlers?”

“House." Wilson sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

House shot him a quick glance over his shoulder, his smirk obvious despite the phone pressed to his ear. 

“I saw on your website you usually collaborate with Dean’s Safari? Yeah. Yeah, I saw that one. Do you think you could call him up? Nothing too crazy, maybe a rabbit and a snake. Not together, I think that would end poorly for the rabbit.” Wilson smiled softly, his hand sliding to hook itself around House’s arm in a domestic display of affection. House distractedly brought Wilson’s hand to his face and pressed quiet kisses against it almost automatically as he kept making demands into the phone. Wilson watched with fond pride. “Stick bugs would be awesome. Thank you. Yeah, put it on my tab. Thank you. Sorry again. Have a great evening.”

House hung up the phone with a satisfied sigh. He put the phone down and turned to look at the slumped oncologist beside him.

“Don’t you find it impossibly arousing to see me so fatherly and caring?” He asked, cocking his head to the side.

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘insane’ and ‘obsessive’.” Wilson corrected with a smirk, holding onto his hand on House’s chest as he propped himself up to kiss him again.

“As long as it gets you hot and bothered.” House murmured, then deepened the kiss, tugging onto Wilson’s tie to pull him closer.

Wilson grabbed the laptop and moved it away, to make space for himself as he straddled his partner. He balanced himself on his knees to avoid touching his leg as he pressed House into the couch and kissed him passionately, his skilled fingers already unbuttoning House’s pastel blue shirt.

He earned a soft moan from the diagnostician who let his hands get acquainted with the back pockets of his slacks, kneading lazily as the younger doctor let his tongue deeper into his mouth.

Wilson undid his tie without pulling away once and tossed it away to then frame House’s face with both hands, his fingers caressing the shaved silver hair on his temples.

House almost smirked at the eagerness, before they were interrupted by the phone ringing.

Wilson hoped House wouldn't care and kept kissing him, only to be pushed away kindly and replaced by his phone.

“Yeah?” House said breathlessly, one hand still on Wilson’s ass. “Yeah, this is Mark Warner.”

The oncologist sighed deeply and slumped forward, his head dropping on House’s shoulder in defeat.

House entered the diagnostics office, his limp - worse than usual after the intense night before - carrying him into the room. As soon as he pushed open the door, the team was already there, clustered around the table with an odd air of unease. They all stood with their bodies angled in a way that clearly hid something on the table. They didn’t even try to look casual about it.

House narrowed his eyes at them, taking in their awkward smiles. He remained silent as he dropped his backpack into one of the chairs with a sharp thud.

Chase was the first to speak up, his voice tight but trying to sound cheerful. 

“We talked to Wilson.” he began, as if this was all just a casual matter of fact.

“Oh, fantastic.” House muttered, already annoyed. 

Thirteen smirked, her arms crossed in a way that suggested she already knew she was about to deliver something that would annoy him. 

“He said Will is in fact your son. But you two didn’t adopt him. He’s actually yours.”

House paused. He didn’t look surprised, he’d expected something like this sooner or later, but he didn’t seem pleased either. His eyes narrowed even further, his lips curving down in a classic, unimpressed frown. 

“Anything else?”

Taub cocked his head, his smug smile practically glowing. 

“And we know that his birthday’s coming up.” He said with pride. “So, we asked Wilson again, and we got him something.”

House’s gaze shifted from one team member to the next, his expression unreadable but filled with a growing sense of dread. 

Foreman shifted slightly on his feet. 

“He’s hard to shop for, just like his father.” he said carefully, as if trying to deflect blame.

House was speechless for a moment. His eyes locked onto the team with his usual glare. They smiled at him awkwardly, clearly bracing for his reaction.

He limped toward the table, cane tapping rhythmically on the floor. The team, like a set of obedient puppies, parted to let him through. He stood over the table, eyes still narrowed, trying to guess what kind of disaster was waiting for him. Then, they revealed it, a plain cardboard box sitting innocently in the middle of the table.

House, eyebrow raised, hooked his cane over the edge of the desk. He opened the box slowly, as if expecting it to explode in his face. 

His eyes first landed on an illustrated book titled Dr. Bear: The Brave Bear Doctor, which was clearly intended for a much younger audience than he was used to. He flipped through the pages, he despised how stupid it looked but couldn't deny the bear was kind of adorable. 

Then, the next item he pulled out was a custom teddy bear plushie, an absolutely ridiculous one. It resembled the ones Wilson had in his office that were a bear replica of him, except this one looked exactly like House, down to the detail of the little cane attached to its paw, the little t-shirt, jeans and sneakers.

He paused, staring at the bear with a mix of disbelief and reluctant appreciation. 

The team stood there, awaiting his judgment. House glanced up at them, his mouth twisted into a half-smirk, half-scowl.

“You grasped his taste better than his father has in seven years.” he said flatly, his voice dripping with dry humor. He wasn’t sure whether to be angry or impressed. He held up the bear for emphasis, pointing to the miniature cane. “You really captured my likeness.”

He dropped the bear back into his box and limped away, back to the whiteboard.

“43 year-old, male. Showing signs of Still’s.” He grabbed his marker and started doodling a random set of symptoms for a case, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.

“Hey, hey, wait.” Chase stopped him. “We did good, right?” 

He asked cautiously, trying to gauge House’s mood. He really wasn’t sure if they had just walked into a minefield or scored a win.

House stood still for a moment, staring at the box in front of him. He glanced over. The bear, now back in its box, felt oddly like a test he hadn’t studied for. He couldn’t deny, however, that the team had put some effort into this. It wasn’t completely awful.

He turned to his team with a rare look of semi-approval. He didn’t say anything at first, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a lopsided smile. 

“It’s… thoughtful.” he repeated dryly, a bit of genuine warmth mixed into the comment. Then, after a pause, he added: “He’ll like it.”

The team, finally able to breathe again, exchanged glances of triumph. But they knew better than to get too cocky around House.

The fifteenth came.

House was in Wilson’s car at 7:15 am, when his phone rang, and he squinted at the screen.

“I told you to stop calling me here or he’ll know we’re hooking up again.” 

“I didn’t expect you to be up.” Stacy’s voice came through the phone, tight with frustration. “Look, I tried. I really tried to get you in, but Mark specifically asked that you not come.”

House blinked. Then his lips twisted into an exaggerated frown. 

“Well, that’s a surprise. I thought he’d put me in charge of the entertainment.”

Stacy sighed, sounding exasperated but not entirely angry. 

“Wilson’s invited.” House hummed after a long pause. “I told him yesterday, I figured he would've told you by now.”

“His mouth was too stuffed to come up with anything coherent to say.”

“I did what I could.” She said, ignoring him. There was a beat of silence on the other end. “But please, don’t go showing up uninvited, House. I already had to smooth things over with Mark a couple of times, and if you show up, it’s going to make everything worse. Promise me you won’t.”

House raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips, his eyes narrowed. After a moment of dramatic hesitation, he finally sighed into the phone. 

“Fine. I’ll promise. I won’t crash the party. You know me, I care about respecting people’s wishes.” His tone was playful, but there was a hint of something deeper, he knew she was picking up on it.

“Thank you.” Stacy said, her voice softening, a slight relief in her tone. “I’m sure this is hard for you. But, please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” House quipped, but there was a small edge of sincerity in his voice.

He hung up the phone and tapped his hands on the wheel. He grabbed his cane and stepped out of the car and bar into their building.

He entered the condo to find Wilson in the kitchen, already dressed and clearly frustrated by not having found House in bed in the morning.

He glanced at his outfit, he was only missing his shoes and belt as he sipped his coffee.

“You’re not going to work today.” House said bluntly, eyeing the tie critically.

Wilson blinked and looked up, annoyed but now surprised by the statement. 

“I have appointments.” He started, but House cut him off immediately.

“Yeah, appointments that your assistant conveniently moved to other oncologists.” House smirked as he took the coffee cup out of Wilson’s hands and took a sip, grimacing with a disgusted groan. “All this sugar will catch up to your heart eventually.”

“Not before you do.” Wilson retorted, but his eyes were already narrowing, wondering what House had been up to. House didn’t acknowledge the comment as he dumped the coffee down the drain. “Where were you?” 

“Just dropping off gifts to nice children with my reindeers.” House said with an exaggerated flourish, as though it were the most innocent thing in the world.

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, the reindeers were Foreman and Chase?”

House shot him a look. 

“You know me so well." he said with a pleased smirk, leaning in and giving Wilson a quick, teasing kiss on the lips. He limped away toward the counter and began fiddling with the coffee machine. “Had them hide the presents around the house while Mark was out and slipped the treasure map under Will’s door.”

Wilson’s face shifted to a mix of irritation and affection. He rubbed his temples as he tried to stop himself from getting too worked up. 

“You promised you’d stay away.” he reminded House.

“And you believed me?!” The diagnostician mocked him as he set the coffee machine to brew, his eyes flashing with amusement. “Get changed into something more casual. You’ll be my Trojan horse for the day.”

“I’m not going.” 

“Yes, you are.”

“I wasn't invited!” The oncologist almost squealed.

“Yes, you were.” House corrected him, leaving the doctor to stutter. “You have to go.”

“Even if I go, I’m not letting you into the party.” Wilson snapped, his hands raised as if to ward off whatever House was trying to pull

House looked at him, taking a long moment to let the words sink in. Then, he tilted his head, voice taking on a slightly more manipulative tone.

“So you’ll just leave our son alone on his birthday?”

Wilson’s jaw clenched, but he refused to look away, pointing an accusatory finger at him. 

“No. Don’t start. He’s not alone. He’s anything but alone. He’ll be with many, many people. Too many, even.”

House wasn’t convinced. “Everyone except for his gay dad and his coolest dad.” he said with a frown.

Wilson’s eyebrows furrowed. “Again, why are you never gay in these scenarios?” 

House simply ignored the question, getting back to business. “We’re leaving the house in twenty minutes.” he said, sounding completely certain of it.

Wilson’s eyes widened in disbelief. 

“We’re not going anywhere!” he yelled, fully fed up now.

“I’m not against dosing you and pulling a Weekend at Bernie’s.” 

The backyard of Mark Warner’s upscale home was a scene of controlled chaos. Expensive stone tiles bordered a sparkling pool, surrounded by perfectly manicured grass, an array of towering hedges, and large decorative lanterns hanging from overhead trellises. The pool glinted under the early afternoon sun, reflecting the luxurious atmosphere Mark had painstakingly curated. The massive lawn was dotted with tables draped in white cloths, with pastel-colored chairs encircling them. On the edge of the pool, a large inflatable dinosaur loomed, the centerpiece of the party that Mark had reluctantly agreed to, despite his growing frustration with every passing minute.

Mark stood at the heart of the scene, his face flush with barely contained rage as he argued with the catering staff. He’d ordered “light hors d’oeuvres,” but the spread that arrived included heavy, greasy platters of chicken nuggets and burgers, none of which were on the approved menu. 

“This isn’t what I asked for!” Mark snapped, pointing to the deep-fried mess on the serving tables. “What are these? You think I’m hosting a child’s birthday or a greasy diner?”

One of the catering staff, a young woman with a clipboard, tried to apologize, but Mark wasn’t hearing it. His face tightened as he spoke loudly, his frustration rising with every misstep. He continued arguing with other staff members, his voice cutting through the noise of laughter and chatter around him. 

Stacy was sitting calmly next to Will, surrounded by a few other kids who had arrived early. She was talking to another parent, but her eyes flicked over to Mark for a moment, watching the mess unfold. Stacy sighed, shaking her head, trying to ignore her ex-husband’s increasingly stressed out demeanor.

Will, meanwhile, was sitting on the soft carpet with a few of his classmates from school. He wasn’t quite engaging with them, but rather, parallel playing, as his therapist had encouraged. A quiet smile crept across Stacy’s face as she watched him, her heart warmed by how peaceful he looked amidst the chaos.

Then, just as Mark turned away from the catering table with a sigh of resignation, Cuddy caught her first whiff of what was going on. She overheard Mark on the phone, barking orders at someone who had clearly been instructed to bring more things than he’d asked for. 

His voice rose in frustration as he demanded changes to the decorations and activities. Cuddy’s eyes narrowed. This had House written all over it.

She glanced across the room at Stacy, who was already starting to tense up as she watched Mark lose his grip on the situation. Stacy’s eyes met Cuddy’s, and in that instant, both women knew exactly what had been going on behind the scenes.

The lawyer looked back at her son, furrowing her brows.

“Honey, where did you get this?” Stacy asked softly, breaking the tension as she gently touched the bear plushie Will had been playing with. It looked very familiar, it even had what looked like a little cane.

Will looked up at her with a big grin, his face alight with excitement. 

“Santa left presents for my birthday!” he said, his hands moving rapidly in the air as he hopped around, clearly elated.

Stacy sighed, her lips curling into a faint, exasperated smile. Of course. She took a deep breath, but instead of scolding him, she leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Good.” she murmured softly.

Meanwhile, more parents began to arrive, filing in with their kids in tow. The noise level began to rise, and the scene at Mark’s house quickly turned into a full-on party. 

At that moment, an animal handler arrived at the door, looking around, clearly prepared to set up her collection of exotic creatures for the kids to interact with. “Where should I set up?” she asked cheerfully.

“Not in my house!” Mark almost squealed, irritation thick in his voice as he gestured toward the woman. He didn’t want any more surprises, but as soon as Will caught sight of the snake cages, his eyes lit up and he sprinted toward the handler, hands clapping in excitement.

“Snake!” Will squealed, jumping up and down with joy. The woman smiled warmly at him, clearly used to the excitement children like Will brought. 

Mark, trying to maintain some semblance of control, gritted his teeth but reluctantly nodded. “Fine, set up in the living room.” he muttered, waving the handler inside.

As the handler walked in, another delivery showed up, this time, an enormous catering order, with trays upon trays of chicken nuggets.

Mark’s eyes narrowed as he saw the food arrive, and his face contorted in anger. 

“No! No more chicken nuggets! Who even told you-” Realization suddenly struck. “House…” 

He took a deep, frustrated breath, trying to keep his composure for Will’s sake.

As if on cue, Will, gleeful as ever, came running up to him, hands raised. 

“Look, Dad! Stick bugs!” he said, excitedly showing his father a container of live stick insects one of the other kids had found.

Mark grimaced at first but then gave a strained smile.

“Great. Bugs. Just what I wanted.” Despite his clear discomfort, he bent down to look at them with Will. “Yeah, buddy, that’s cool. Look at all those… stick bugs.”

Stacy, who had been sitting nearby, exchanged a glance with Cuddy as she watched Mark put on his best fake smile. The chaos was palpable, but the kids seemed to be having the time of their lives. Will skipped from one activity to the next, thoroughly enjoying himself with the snakes, stick bugs, and the inflatable dinosaur. Stacy’s anxiety melted as she watched Will’s face light up with each new adventure.

The doorbell rang again, and Cuddy walked toward it, greeting the delivery person with a smile. She opened the door to find House, “disguised” with a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a big coat. He grinned at her smugly as he entered the house, carrying a large gift bag. Wilson followed closely behind, looking harried and stressed, his hands filled with appetizers from the catering.

“Please tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.” Cuddy muttered under her breath.

“Of course I am.” House replied, his grin widening as he limped past her and into the living room. He quickly spotted the moment to make his grand entrance, Mark was nowhere near him, so he gestured for Will to keep quiet as he walked toward him.

Will squealed with delight and dashed toward House, his tiny feet thudding across the living room as he flung his arms around his leg. His joy was contagious, and the way he almost toppled House over only made it more adorable. 

“Dad!” He exclaimed, his face lighting up with excitement as he hugged House tightly.

House smiled, kneeling down despite his leg to scoop the boy into his arms. Will’s enthusiasm was overwhelming, and it made his smirk widen. He dropped the gift box he’d been holding in front of Will’s feet, knowing the child would be far more interested in the moment than the present itself. He was right, as Will immediately started hopping around in a circle, still clutching House’s hand. The sight was enough to turn heads, especially Mark’s, who spotted his son’s joyful celebration from across the room.

Mark’s face darkened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. House had made his grand entrance, and now Mark was left trying to control his temper in front of their son. He forced a smile, but it was clear the tension was building.

House, fully aware of Mark’s gaze burning into him, took advantage of Will’s attention switching to the gift and quickly limped toward the glass doors. 

Outside, House ducked behind a large tree in the backyard, taking a quick, satisfying look at the food spread. He reached into the banquet trays, casually popping appetizers into his mouth. He felt like he was getting away with it, until, of course, Wilson came into view.

The younger doctor, looking calm as ever, approached with a plate of appetizers in his hand. He gave House an almost imperceptible nod, his mouth full of some sort of finger food. 

“Will’s showing the gift off to everyone.” he said nonchalantly, like he wasn’t talking to a tree.

Most of the parents had gathered outside, and though they were sipping wine and mocktails, they were eyeing the two of them with suspicion. Everyone knew who they were. The sketchy guys who claimed to be Will’s “second and third fathers” and had a habit of showing up uninvited.

House glanced at Wilson, chewing an hors d’oeuvre. 

“Take off that hat, you’re not fooling anyone.” Wilson muttered, still looking at the excited boy in the house.

House smirked, clearly enjoying his little game of hide-and-seek. 

“He hasn’t caught me yet.” he said smugly, then reached over and snatched another appetizer from Wilson’s plate.

Wilson shot him a glance, unimpressed, before murmuring.

“He doesn’t look too angry.” His gaze shifted slightly, spotting Stacy marching toward them from the house. “But she does.”

House immediately tensed, trying to step further behind the tree. He looked over his shoulder, trying to escape notice, but Stacy was already on her way over, her gaze focused on him with determination.

Stacy stormed up to him, hands on her hips. Without a word, she grabbed his hat and yanked it off his head. 

“What are you doing here?” she hissed under her breath.

“Just passing by.” House said nonchalantly, gesturing at the yard with his free hand, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t blow my cover.”

She narrowed her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“There’s no cover. You look like a pervert spying on kids and waiting to flash them.” She pointed at his big coat and sunglasses. 

Before he could respond, Mark came storming out of the house, clearly fed up. He locked eyes with House, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Get out of my house.” Mark barked, loud enough for several people to hear.

House smirked, tapping his cane against the ground. 

“Technically, I’m not in your house.” He quipped. “I’m in your backyard.”

“What is it that you want, House?” Mark seethed, stepping closer.

“World peace.” House said with an exaggerated shrug, grinning widely. Then, louder, he added, “Do you seriously want to make a scene at our kid’s birthday?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed, his jaw set as he grabbed the lapel of House’s coat. “I’m making a scene because you’re making a scene!” he yelled, his grip tightening.

Stacy stepped between them, her expression a mix of concern and exhaustion. 

“Mark.” she warned, holding up a hand.

Mark shot House one last, angry glare and released him. 

“I get it.” he muttered bitterly, waving a finger between House and Stacy. “You two are hooking up again.”

Stacy genuinely snorted, shaking her head as House let out a dramatic scoff. 

“Yeah, absolutely.” The diagnostician said dryly, crossing his arms.

Mark blinked, looking between House and Wilson. “Is he involved too?” he asked, pointing toward Wilson, who was eating his appetizers in relative peace.

Wilson looked up at Mark with wide eyes, his face turning pale. He waved a hand vaguely between himself and House, his mouth still full. 

“I-I… no, we…” he stammered, clearly caught in an uncomfortable spot.

“In some way, I guess.” House said with a grin.

Mark’s confusion grew as he moved toward Wilson, his anger coming to a boiling point. 

“Are you sleeping with him too?!” he shouted at Stacy, pointing a finger at the younger doctor.

Stacy immediately tried to shush him, but House jumped in:

“No, but I am,” he said with a cheeky smirk.

Mark gaped between House and Wilson, his confusion morphing into full-on frustration. He took a few steps toward Wilson, cornering him by the pool. 

“You, explain what the hell is going on!” he demanded, his voice rising in frustration.

Wilson, still flustered, waved his hands awkwardly, trying to find the words but struggling. “I-I… we…” he stuttered, not sure how to explain anything.

Just then, House limped toward them with a sudden, swift movement. He used his cane to stomp on Mark’s foot, causing the man to shout in surprise and let go of Wilson.

“I’m hitting that.” House said casually, shrugging. “Nobody’s hitting your ex-wife. She’s too cold and independent to love a man. I suggested she try swinging the other way. That would make things more interesting.”

“Greg.” Stacy snapped in exasperation, but House ignored her.

Mark laughed humorlessly. 

“So you’re, what? Gay now? What else are you gonna come up with?” he scoffed, hands on his hips.

House shrugged. “I dunno, bisexual, probably?”

Wilson looked at House, exasperated. 

“We’re dating!” he blurted out suddenly.

House grinned widely. “Coming up on four months. He’s about to propose to me.” he said smugly, turning his grin on Wilson.

Wilson, flushed with anger and embarrassment, mumbled: “I’m not sure anymore.”

Mark’s expression was a mix of confusion and anger. “Get out of my house.” he demanded through clenched teeth.

“Why?” House raised an eyebrow. “Are you homophobic?”

“You changed my plans!” Mark screamed, his eye twitching, his patience fraying. He took another step forward, his voice rising with barely contained fury. “You ruined everything. The party, the menu, the activities. You’ve been messing with everything today! And now you’re hiding out in my backyard like some stalker.”

“I didn’t ruin anything! I made it better!”

“You charged me thousands of dollars! You’ve ruined everything!”

House waved a hand dismissively. “You can afford it.”

“Get out.”

House, looking supremely unbothered, met Mark’s glare. “Make me.”

Mark grabbed House by the lapels again, his frustration boiling over. 

But before the situation could escalate any further, Wilson and Stacy stepped in to separate them, trying to calm the situation. They pushed and pulled and yelled.

And then, suddenly, Will’s voice cut through the tension. “Dad?” he called from the doorway.

All four adults froze, turning to look at the boy standing in the doorway, confused by the commotion. Mark’s attention shifted to Will, but just as he looked away, he felt a sharp sting in his leg.

He glanced down, eyes widening in horror as he realized House was holding a syringe in his hand.

“What did you do?” Mark growled, his voice tight with fury, teeth gritted as he staggered back, trying to assess the situation.

House smirked, holding the syringe casually between two fingers.

“A gift for myself." he said, his smile smug, completely unbothered by the anger radiating from Mark.

Before Mark could react, the sedative began to take effect, but his rage surged forward. With a guttural yell, he charged at House, his fists swinging, his body barreling toward the diagnostician. He pushed House hard, shoving him back and grabbing him by the collar, pulling him close as he bellowed in frustration.

Wilson and Stacy immediately rushed forward, trying to separate them, hands on their shoulders, pulling, shouting at them to stop. But the two men were tangled in a mess of limbs and raised voices. Mark was snarling, his face inches from House’s, while House was trying to wriggle free, twisting his cane in one hand like a weapon.

Amid the chaos, a group of children had gathered at the doorway, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes. Their innocent faces looked confused, but their giggles were audible as they stood there, wondering if this was part of the entertainment.

House, growing more tired of the fight, shoved Mark back, knocking him off-balance. Mark stumbled, barely managing to stay on his feet, before House used the momentum to push him away once again. Mark faltered backward, his arms flailing for balance, and then- a splash.

Wilson, who had been standing too close to the edge of the pool, suddenly tumbled in, his body crashing into the water with a loud slap. The chaos stopped for a split second as everyone, including House, Mark, and Stacy, turned to watch.

The party fell eerily quiet.

Mark, still reeling from the struggle, looked over in stunned silence as Wilson resurfaced from the pool, sputtering and shivering. Wilson wiped his eyes, eyes wide and cold from the unexpected plunge.

Mark didn’t even have time to react before he too crumpled to the ground, his body hitting the grass with a thud, the sedative finally taking full effect.

There was an uncanny stillness for a moment and then, from the doorway, a peal of laughter rang out.

It was Will.

The child was doubled over with laughter, his tiny body shaking with giggles. He clutched his stomach as if the whole scene was just an elaborate joke. 

Will squealed, as his laugh echoed across the backyard. “That was so good!” he shouted, thinking it was all part of some playful drama. His laughter was infectious, and soon, the other kids joined in, laughing as they clapped their hands and chanted, “Again! Again!”

House, who had been watching the scene unfold, couldn’t help but smirk at the pure joy the kids were experiencing. The tension in his face melted into an amused grin. He stepped back, letting Wilson cough up water, as the children around them burst into gleeful chatter.

Suddenly, Cuddy rushed out of the house, eyes wide as she took in the chaotic scene, Mark unconscious on the grass, Wilson’s arms flailing in the pool as he struggled to swim closer and the children laughing with pure delight. She immediately moved toward Wilson, her arms reaching out to help him out of the pool.

Wilson, still dazed but now grateful, grabbed her hand as she pulled him from the water, his wet clothes clinging to him, leaving a trail of water behind him.

House, with his typical smugness, turned toward the gathering crowd of children. With a flourish, he removed his oversized coat and gave a slight bow to the kids, exaggerating it for effect, making the kids giggle even more. 

He then turned to Wilson, who stood beside him, still dripping wet, and draped the coat over his shoulders, covering his shivering, drenched frame.

House leaned over and whispered: “Don’t be dramatic.”

Wilson shot him a tired, amused look, clearly ready to join the madness of the party now. The kids, oblivious to the tension that had just unfolded, continued to cheer and laugh, excited by the spectacle they’d just witnessed.

An hour later, the chaos of the party had quieted, and they had gathered in the living room while the catering crew worked outside, cleaning up the mess. Mark’s unconscious body lay on the couch, looking comically out of place, with a party hat perched on top of his head and House’s sunglasses sitting crookedly on his face, both obviously placed there by the diagnostician. He was completely out of it, oblivious to the ridiculous scene he had unwittingly become part of.

Wilson, having been forced to change into Mark’s oversized clothes after the shower, sat on the other side of the couch, still shivering. The stolen sweater hung loosely around his shoulders, the sleeves too long for his arms, and his hair, damp from the shower, was still slightly slicked back. He hugged his arms to his chest in an attempt to ward off the cold, clearly still feeling the effects of the unexpected plunge.

Cuddy and Stacy, perched on the coffee table, watched with tired smiles as Will excitedly played with House’s latest gift: a Shaking Surgeon. 

The buzz of the toy was the only sound filling the room, a sharp contrast to the silence that had fallen over the adults. The occasional buzz and the soft giggles of Will were the only life left in the room.

House, having been effectively placed in metaphorical time-out, stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, casually eating from a plate of appetizers. He kept his eyes on the group, but every so often, he’d catch the glares of the others, which only made him feel more guilty. His hands were full with the plate, but his eyes were still sharp, surveying the scene like a man who had just drastically ruined the day.

The buzzing of the toy made Will giggle again, his tiny hands fumbling with the toy’s fake scalpel. 

“Careful with that kidney. I’ve lost a couple of patients doing that." House joked, his voice dripping with his usual sarcastic charm.

Stacy, Wilson and Cuddy gave House sharp glares, though the corners of their mouths twitched in mild annoyance.

Will, unfazed, giggled once more, but this time, he muttered something under his breath, barely audible.

“This is the best birthday ever.” He said softly, his eyes still glued to the toy, spinning it around in his hands.

The two women exchanged surprised glances. 

Stacy, her brow furrowed, leaned forward slightly, her voice soft as she asked: “What did you say, honey?”

Will continued to concentrate on his toy, not looking up, but his voice was clear this time. 

“This is the bestest day ever.” he repeated, his words filled with simple joy.

Cuddy’s face softened in confusion. “Seriously?” she asked, her tone almost disbelieving. 

She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or worry about the madness that had taken place throughout the day.

Will nodded vigorously, his excitement bubbling over. 

“Yeah, we were all together, and we had fun and there were bugs. And I have many new toys, and the snake was there too, and it was nice, he wasn’t venomous, so it was okay! And we were all together. And we had a lot of fun.”  Will explained innocently, his eyes still focused on his toy, trying to convey the sheer happiness that he felt without looking up.

Wilson, still shivering in his oversized clothes, glanced at Will with a tired smile. 

“You really think that?” he asked, though his voice was soft, almost lost in the quiet.

Will’s face lit up as he looked up at Wilson, then at Cuddy. 

He nodded enthusiastically. “Uh-huh!” he declared, his little face glowing with happiness. Then, he turned to look at House, a big grin stretching across his face.

House, who had been watching the entire exchange with an unreadable expression, smiled back softly, suddenly feeling much less guilty. He limped over, set his plate on Mark’s chest, the pain in his leg flaring slightly, but he ignored it as he lowered himself down next to Will. He grimaced in pain as he adjusted himself, but his face softened when he finally settled on the floor beside the boy.

“Thank you.” Will murmured as he crawled to hug his mother’s legs. After a moment, he let go and moved to Cuddy, wrapping his arms around her with a tight, warm hug. Then, still smiling, he shuffled over to Wilson, who had his arms crossed in an attempt to warm himself. Will hugged him too, though Wilson’s shiver was more noticeable than the hug itself.

Then, without warning, Will moved to hug Mark’s unconscious form, pausing only for a second before wrapping his little arms around his dad’s limp body, offering an innocent and comforting embrace to the man who would never know.

Finally, Will turned to House, his eyes wide and full of affection. He shuffled over and hugged him tightly. House, caught off guard by the sincerity of the gesture, softened, his arms instinctively wrapping around the child as he returned the hug, holding him for just a moment longer than usual. He smiled down at Will, his eyes glinting with a rare softness that even he didn’t quite understand.

The adults, who had been watching the whole exchange, exchanged looks that were filled with both surprise and warmth. There was a quiet understanding between them, a shared moment of contentment amid all the chaos.

Will pulled away from House, his eyes still bright. 

“I wanna do it all over again,” he announced excitedly, turning to face everyone.

Wilson, who was still freezing and feeling the weight of the day’s events, let out a feeble sigh. “Please, no.” he said with a weary, almost pleading tone.

House smirked, barely able to contain his amusement. “We could make this a yearly tradition.” He paused for a moment, eyes scanning the room. “Or not. I’m flexible.”

The room fell into a warm silence, with only Will’s excited giggles filling the air. 

Ten days after the chaos of Will’s birthday party, the tension that had been lingering between House, Stacy, and the rest of the world was still palpable. Mainly because Mark had in fact placed a temporary restraining order on House.

The diagnostician now sat behind his desk, the clutter of medical files and half-emptied coffee cups surrounding him like a fortress. He was already deep in thought, his usual nonchalance masking the undercurrent of guilt running through him. 

Stacy walked in, her briefcase in hand, with a purposeful stride that instantly caught his attention.

She placed a set of papers down in front of him, her expression unreadable. He glanced at them, then up at her.

“Mark dropped the charges.” Stacy said, her voice flat but firm. “The TRO was lifted. It’s not going to become permanent.”

House remained silent, his eyes scanning the papers for a long moment before he finally lifted his gaze to her face.

“How did you do it?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

She shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she leaned against the desk. 

“Well, being his lawyer certainly helped. I made it clear to Mark that dragging this out was only going to make him look like a jerk. The longer the TRO stood, the more likely the court would consider it valid for a permanent order. I also pointed out that he was already getting what he wanted, he’s gotten Will back under his two week custody arrangement after a few weeks, simply because I was kind enough to not tell anyone our son had gone missing for over an hour and he hadn’t noticed.” She said with a bitter smile. “I reminded him of how good Will’s been doing since you two started being part of his life. I convinced him that this whole thing was unnecessary.”

House gave a small, rueful smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He nodded silently, his eyes flicking down to the papers again. A restraining order could have irrevocably changed things with Will. With the TRO lifted, there was a sense of relief. The relief was dampened by the weight of everything that had happened, but there was no denying the sense of something more concrete being restored.

He finally broke the silence, his voice quieter, almost timid: “How’s Will?” 

He was almost hesitating to ask, as though fearing the answer.

Stacy sighed, her gaze softening. “He’s missed you.” Her voice wavered slightly. “He’s happy he’s going to see you again. He’s been talking about you non-stop.”

House didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just nodded slowly. 

“I didn’t want him to think I abandoned him, after everything.” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Stacy’s smile softened as she leaned over the desk. 

“He talks about you like you’re his best friend. And honestly, I hadn’t seen him so happy and open in years before you met him. He wasn’t like this before. He didn’t talk this much, he wasn’t so confident in himself. He needed you.”

House’s eyes flicked away, a slight grimace tugging at his mouth as he processed her words.

“What does Mark think about that?” House finally asked, his voice laced with curiosity and a little more vulnerability than he cared to admit.

Stacy’s face darkened, her lips still curled in a smirk.

“He hates you. That much hasn’t changed.” She paused, shifting her gaze to the side as though weighing her next words carefully. “But he also thanks you.” She let out a small sigh, as though relieved to say it out loud. “For helping him mend his relationship with Will.”

House’s expression didn’t shift, but his brow furrowed slightly. “He thanked me?” The disbelief was clear in his voice.

“Yeah. It was hard for him to admit, but I think he finally sees the impact you’ve had on Will,” Stacy said, her voice taking on a quieter, more reflective tone. “So, after a lot of pushing, I got Mark to agree to give you and Wilson a bit more days.”

“Wednesdays and every other Sunday.” She paused, watching him carefully. “I think that’s more than fair.”

House pressed his lips together in a thin line, his gaze dropping to the desk, a brief flicker of guilt and uncertainty in his eyes. He nodded once, his voice quieter than usual. 

“Thank you.” he said sincerely, though his eyes were still lowered.

Stacy let out a breath of laughter, but it was soft and almost affectionate. “Just as long as you stay away from Mark.” She said it teasingly, but there was an edge of warning to it.

House gave a faint, lopsided smile. “He was just being dramatic.”

“Don’t start.” she warned, though her smile returned, and she lightly pointed a finger in his direction. 

House chuckled under his breath, but said nothing. The tension that had lingered between them seemed to ease ever so slightly, though he couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything that had happened. The idea of seeing Will again, spending time with him without the threat of legal repercussions hanging over him, was something he had come to dread but now, oddly enough, longed for.

He glanced up at Stacy again, the faintest of smiles playing at the corner of his mouth. “So, I guess I can pick him up soon then?”

“I’ll drop him off at your place.”

House let the words hang in the air as Stacy turned to leave, the soft click of the door closing behind her. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on the desk as he tried to picture Will’s face in his mind. The guilt, the anxiety, and the relief all swirled inside him, but for once, it didn’t feel like the overwhelming chaos it usually did, there was a glimmer of hope.

Will was dropped off at their place by Stacy the next wednesday, the child ecstatic to finally be with his best friends again. Stacy smiled at the interaction, then kissed his forehead and left.

Wilson had already made plans for the day so he walked back into his bedroom to finish getting ready. House sat in his jeans and ironed button-up on the couch, with Will playing on the floor in front of him. He watched the boy with a proud smile, then gently prodded his little shoe with the tip of his cane to catch his attention.

The boy looked up and smiled brightly at him before cutting eye contact to focus on his Doctor Bear plushie instead.

“I’ve missed you.” House said, voice low and gravelly.

“I missed you, too.” Will said, nodding to himself repeatedly. “I asked Mom to come here and she said I couldn't.”

“Yes, because… I messed up.” House said, sitting up slightly. “I treated your dad poorly. I was mean.”

“You were?”

“Yeah. That wasn't nice of me.” He admitted softly. “I think we should both give your dad a second chance.”

The boy remained silent.

“I think you calling me ‘dad’ makes him sad.” He started. “I’m still your dad. So is Wilson. But if you called us ‘uncle’, maybe your dad would feel more secure that you see him as your dad.”

Will was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“You’re not my dad anymore?”

“I still am. I am. I’m not going anywhere. ‘Uncle’ is the same thing. Just one step away. Enough for dad to feel better, I think.” House said, caressing his hair gently. “We’re still best buddies. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

“Okay.” Will said softly, nodding. House was moved by how easily the boy trusted him to be telling the truth. “I love you.”

House wrapped his arms around the boy and kissed his forehead, making him sway playfully.

“I love you more.”

“No, you don’t!” Will said with a high pitched giggle.

“Oh, I definitely do. Two times more.” House put on his pirate voice, shaking the boy back and forth. “You mingy bilge rat, go call Uncle Wilson and tell him the ship be settin’ sail.”

The boy nodded excitedly and skipped away giggling.

“If he not be ready in five minutes, he shall be fed to the fishies!” House yelled after him, earning another chuckle. “Hoist the jolly roger and let the winds be our guide!”

Chapter Text

It was September 2011 when Mark met Angela. He’d been working as a school counselor for nearly twenty years, but it was her first year as a teacher that brought them together. She was warm, approachable, with a smile that made her eyes light up like he’d never seen before in his lifetime. Her laughter was easy and her energy contagious. Mark had always thought of himself as a practical, reserved man, more accustomed to the weight of his responsibilities than to flirtation - ever since he’d had Will at least - but Angela made it feel effortless. She was nothing like Stacy.

Their first interactions were light and professional, discussions about student behavior, the struggles of adolescence, and the occasional need for guidance or intervention, the usual empty talk. But as the weeks wore on, there was an undeniable spark between them. Mark had always prided himself to others on being emotionally available, especially for his son Will, but he had forgotten what it felt like to connect with someone outside of his family. Angela was just that kind of person who made him laugh, but most importantly that he could make laugh, and gradually, the shared glances between them began to carry more weight.

She, too, was navigating the challenges of being a single parent, albeit on a simpler level. They bonded on that. Her son, David, was a 14-year-old boy who seemed to have a strong mind but little interest in using it for academics. Mark found himself pulled into meetings with Angela about David’s grades, troublesome reports from teachers, notes about his lack of engagement. At first, Mark was worried Angela might think he was judging her, but instead, they found themselves discussing David’s needs with empathy, and those discussions slowly became something more, quick chats at lunch, lingering after school, casual mentions of the little things that made them laugh.

But it wasn’t long before Will noticed something wasn’t quite the same. 

At first Mark asked Stacy if he could skip a week. Then, he asked if the two weeks could be moved earlier. Then he asked if she could pick Will up from school instead, even when she was in Boston. Will didn't mind Mark stepping back, because it meant House and Wilson would pick him up instead, but his routine was being constantly disrupted.

House immediately did his research and explicitly told Will his father was seeing someone. He always wanted to be honest to the boy. He even told Stacy, not because he needed to be honest to her but because he just disliked Mark.

Stacy confronted Mark about the situation and eventually the two weeks a month became one again on common accord. 

House and Wilson’s wednesdays became wednesdays and fridays, then mondays, wednesdays and fridays. 

At one point he was seeing the Diagnostics team more often than his father.

Whenever he was staying at Mark’s, if he was staying at all, Angela showed up. 

Then the holidays rolled around.

He spent Christmas Eve with his mother and then Hanukkah with House and Wilson. Santa showered him with gifts, and it was the first real Christmas he felt happy again.

But on the 25th, Mark invited him over to formally introduce him to Angela for the first time. Will’s heart beat a little faster with nerves.

She was nice. Okay. 

The older boy was loud, always in his room and with his videogames blaring. David’s comments were constant, reminding Will that they were too far apart in age to have anything in common, that he didn’t speak at all or that he rambled too much. Angela insisted Will could be like a little brother to him.

Will had never had an older brother, so he had no frame of reference, but sitting on the corner of someone else's bed and watching them play shooting games wasn't as fun as he expected brotherhood to be. The one time David let him play, he was startled by the gunshots and dropped the controller.

“You’re too little for this, buddy.” 

David said dismissively and took his spot in the chair again. Will usually liked to play, but he couldn’t quite keep up with David’s speed. He didn’t mind, but it felt like a boundary that kept getting drawn between them.

After dinner, Angela was waiting in the living room with a warm smile, holding out presents for him, her eyes wide with hope. 

“I got you something special, Will. I hope you like it.” Will’s hands automatically reached for the box, and he looked at it briefly before setting it down on the table. 

David was in the corner, absorbed in his PSP, the controller clicking loudly, his eyes barely glancing up. He didn’t acknowledge Will as he unwrapped his present. 

An insect coloring book. With a box of pencils too. He bounced on the balls of his feet a few times and looked up at her, trying his best to make eye contact as he was taught. 

“I like it a lot, thank you.” He said flatly, then returned to slip through the pages. He didn’t know how else to express his excitement. Angela’s smile faltered slightly, but she hid it well.

David didn’t need to say anything, simply chuckled.

Angela paused for a moment, then added softly: “If you don’t like it, we can change it.” 

Will blinked a few times, confused.

“I said I like it.” He repeated.

“Will.” Mark reprimanded him.

“What?”

Will’s face remained blank, and though he had no intention of offending her, he could see that she seemed to be taking it the wrong way.

“You don’t have to pretend, if you don’t.” She reassured softly, the smile now replaced by a hint of disappointment.

Will panicked. He liked the present, really, he did, sometimes words just didn’t come easily. He opened his mouth, wanting to explain, to say the things he knew would make her feel better, but it was Mark who spoke first.

“Will,” his voice was gentle but firm. “You need to be kind, okay? Say thank you. Let Angela know you appreciate the gift.”

Will nodded, but a knot tightened in his chest. He wasn’t sure how to fix this. He didn’t dislike the gift.

“I did.” He whispered.

Angela, looking slightly wounded, forced a smile. 

“It’s okay.” But Will could see the disappointment in her eyes, and it made his chest feel tight.

He was picked up days later by Wilson, who had organized a full plan for them to spend New Year’s Eve together during the day, to avoid the loud fireworks at midnight. Stacy would’ve been there too and House would’ve cooked. The boy felt relieved, unlike he’d felt back at Angela’s.

He told the three adults about the encounter, they seemed to be so interested in it, sipping on their red wine and chuckling about it even if Will didn't mean to make it sound funny. They whispered a lot, too.

House cooked a special dish for him, his mother had picked soft music from Wilson’s collection, it was all such a calm affair. Will felt so glad he could just let himself be around them. He wore his headphones and watched the fireworks from the large windows of the living room, sitting on the nook bench, in House’s arms. It was December 31st when Will asked if he could call them his fathers again. Not a second went by before both men immediately agreed.

New Year’s passed and he managed to get another very good week with House and Wilson before Stacy suddenly picked him up and brought him home with urgency.

It was early January 2012 when Wilson diagnosed himself with stage I thymoma. It was purely accidental. He’d gotten hit by a bike outside the hospital and gotten his chest pretty bruised, he hadn't expected a checkup simply done to calm House’s nerves to instead reveal what could've been a fatal tumor. But they caught it in time.

That’s what Wilson told everyone else to reassure them. Even sick, he played the role of the oncologist comforting the patient's family, even when the family was his own.

Will was unaware of what had happened for a couple of weeks. Stacy had just told him House and Wilson had been called in for an emergency case and it was taking them a long time and a lot of effort.

He only managed to see House again when he was invited to, as Stacy had told him.

Things were different, nobody had picked him up, Stacy had dropped him off at the hospital. The boy had tried knocking on Wilson’s office door, they were usually there. No answer.

He walked to Diagnostics to find it empty. He moved onto the next one, House’s own. The diagnostician wasn't visible from the door but Will could spot the tips of his sneakers propped up on the Eames chair.

He pushed the door open and walked in, waving hesitantly at his father.

House offered him a soft smile, lips pressed into a thin line as he sat up slightly in the chair

“Hey.” He said, beckoning him closer, moving his shoes to one side of the leg rest so Will could sit there instead.

“Hi! I missed you.” Will said softly, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“I missed you, too, buddy.” House said softly, his lips pressed into a thin line. He scooted over in the chair, making enough space for Will to crawl beside him. “Do you mind if we stay here today?”

The boy stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, then nodded.

“I can draw.” He said softly, waiting for House’s permission.

The doctor smiled faintly again, and placed a warm hand on top of Will’s hair.

“Yeah, you can.” The boy nodded and reached for his backpack in the ground to get his stuff.

House kept his hand there, toying with the dark, spiky strands, lazily adjusting them.

“Where’s Wilson?”

House offered him another smile, this one didn't reach his eyes.

“He has cancer.” He ripped the bandaid off with little grace. He didn’t know how to sugarcoat it, didn't feel like doing it either. Will looked up at him with wide eyes. House pursed his lips for a moment, then continued: “It shouldn't be fatal.”

The boy remained quiet for a moment, then blinked and looked up again.

“He’s dying?” He whispered, voice thick with worry.

“No. I don’t think so. The mass is operable, we expect it to be benign. He’s going through surgery tomorrow. So we’ll know soon.” He didn’t look sad, but he looked different. He wasn’t smiling, he was biting the inside of his cheek, his lips in an unexpressive pout, his eyes glossy.

“And he’s going to be fine?”

“If they can take it all out, yeah, done just like that.” He paused for a moment. “If they can’t get all of it, he’ll have to go through more rounds of meds. Which means he’ll be staying here a lot.”

Will nodded, then looked down.

“Can I stay here too?”

“I don’t think so. You have school.”

“I want to be here tomorrow.”

“You won’t be able to see him tomorrow, he’ll be in the operating room for a while. And when he comes out, he’ll be asleep. There won’t be much to do.” House stared at the boy for a moment, noticing how his face contorted into a frown, his bottom lip hanging just slightly as he was still deciding how to react. He caressed his hair again, softly and added: “You can come by the day after that.”

They didn’t let flowers in the ICU, Stacy learned that lesson the moment they were approached by multiple nurses at the entrance. Will had insisted on buying them and wasn't happy to give them up but he eventually had to.

The colorful bouquet was momentarily left on a desk for them to walk down the hallway, hand in hand. She spotted the cane propped against the glass door before she even saw the bed.

She braced Will’s shoulders as the doors slid open.

Wilson opened his eyes and looked up.

“Ho ho, look who’s here.” His voice came out croaky. House turned around from where he was standing and fiddling with the TV, smacking it to make it work.

“Finally a doctor around these places.” He greeted the boy, shooting him a gentle glance.

Will stared at Wilson for a moment, his eyes wide, before shyly stepping forward. He looked at his mother, who nodded gently, allowing him to go.

“Hi.” Will approached the bed slowly, his fingers clutching the hem of his sleeves, his gaze darting up to the bed where his favorite doctor lay. The oncologist managed a soft smile, though it was a little strained, his body aching from the surgery. He looked exhausted, but the sight of Will instantly seemed to lift his spirits, even if just a little.

“Hi, honey.” He said in a quiet voice, his words still carrying the warmth they always had.

He was pale, his features drawn with exhaustion, but his eyes were alert, tracing the movement of his friend and her boy. His chest and abdomen were still tender from surgery, the incision clean but raw. His face was friendly and polite as always, but with a fragile edge to it, as though the physical toll of the surgery had robbed him of some of his spirit.

House lingered in the corner, his eyes fixed on Wilson as if guarding him from every potential complication. He hadn’t left the room for more than a couple of minutes at a time since Wilson had been admitted. His presence was constant, though he hadn’t said much in the last few days, his sharp blue eyes always watching, never letting go of the subtle fluctuations in Wilson’s condition. His dark circles were more prominent than usual, his posture more slouched, the worn-out look of someone who hadn’t had a proper meal or sleep in far too long.

“I-I brought you something.” Will mumbled, his voice was soft, as if he wasn’t sure if it was okay to speak too loudly in a hospital room. It wasn’t Diagnostics, where his dad could yell all he wanted. “It’s flowers. But they… they said we couldn’t bring them in.”

“You brought me flowers?” Wilson whispered, his chest aching for a different reason now. Stacy smiled at him and nodded.

“We tried our best to bribe the nurses.” She joked, her hands firm on Will’s shoulders.

“That’s very nice of you, buddy, you shouldn't have.” The oncologist spoke softly, a wide smile on his dry lips. His hand reached out towards the side of the bed, caressing Will’s own on top of the mattress. Wilson had what looked like a tube taped to the back of his hand, he would’ve asked House about it later.

“Well, I didn’t really.” The boy corrected him, rubbing his hand back, careful not to touch the tube. “They didn’t let me give them to you.”

“It’s a rule. They hate happiness and pollen.” House said, his back still turned to the guests as he kept fumbling with the TV.

Will’s face fell slightly, but he didn’t seem upset. Instead, he simply stared down at their hands, his small fingers wrapped around Wilson’s own.

“I wanted you to have them.” he said, the simplicity of his words carrying a quiet sincerity that warmed Wilson’s heart.

House shifted his weight, not entirely distracted by his TV fixing tasks but still paying attention. He caught the subtle exchange between them, the way Wilson’s eyes softened at the sight of Will’s earnestness.

“I will have them soon.” Wilson said, his voice thick with gratitude. “In the meantime I can have House take a picture of them and show it to me. I’m sure you picked the prettiest ones.”

Will’s lips curled into a small smile, the corners of his mouth just barely lifting. He nodded, though his attention remained mostly on Wilson, trying to make sense of the situation in his own way. It was clear that he didn’t fully understand the complexities of ICU rules, but he understood one thing: Wilson wasn’t mad at him.

House shifted slightly, his eyes flicking over to the boy and then back to Wilson. 

The oncologist’s eyes fluttered closed a moment longer than they should’ve.

House limped towards the bed without his cane and placed a reassuring hand on top of Will’s shoulder.

“He’s not very entertaining today.” Will looked up at him, confused. “I know where we can have some fun. Fußball?”

Will looked at Wilson again questioningly.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel like talking. I’m not here for entertainment.” The boy immediately reassured Wilson. The oncologist smiled at him with adoration and squeezed his hand.

“I know, honey, thank you. I think House just thinks I’m too tired.”

“You’re not a great sight.” House replied with some snark, moving to the other side of the bed with a heavy limp and dropping down into the chair.

“You should see yourself.” Wilson said under his breath, shooting House a glance. The diagnostician smirked just slightly. The younger doctor turned to look at the boy and held his hand tightly. “You can stay all you want. I can get a bit sleepy at times but I want you here if you’d like to stay.”

The child nodded and offered him a soft smile before nodding again.

A risk of microscopic residual turned Wilson’s stay at the hospital into a longer one. Five weeks after his surgery, he began radiation. His patients visited him often, since he was now one of them. Wilson was initially in charge of his own treatment plan, until House forcibly took the reins from his hands and changed it. The oncologist had planned to put his body through higher levels just to rush the adjuvant period, but House managed to convince him with a not so kind intervention that he was being a reckless idiot. 

On the third week of radiation, Wilson felt like seeing Will again. He hadn’t felt like seeing anyone for a while, some days even House felt too overbearing. It had been a rough month, he had felt like hell for the first time in his life and everybody was all condescending and pitiful. He just wanted to go back to work, he hated every part of being treated like a patient. His colleagues weren’t supposed to be his doctors, he knew enough to know how his treatment plan should’ve looked like. They should’ve let him decide. 

He recognized only later how terrified he’d been, how recklessly he’d chosen to push himself just to get through it as fast as possible. He was trying so desperately to win against his cancer that he circled back and ended up putting his body through further trauma. The thymoma was gone, it had been gone for a while, he knew that. But he’d seen enough cases where cancers would trick you into thinking you’d won, only to take everything from you in a very short amount of time. It wasn’t easy trying to be positive but he was managing to be.

He felt a shift happen around the fourteenth day of treatment, when House had not only walked into the adjacent room to monitor the situation from the screens, but also talked him through the whole thing. He knew he was okay when House began to eat again.

He knew he wasn’t going to die when House started smiling again and it finally reached his eyes. 

The images came out well enough for House to even start taking cases again.

And now Will was finally part of the equation again, upon Wilson’s request.

He regretted having cut off the boy from the whole treatment but the last thing he wanted was to make someone else worry, especially someone he cared so much about.

House held his hand down the hallways, then led him to a dark room with many warnings on the door. He sat the boy next to him and showed him the screens.

“You see that guy on the table? That’s our guy.” He’d pointed to the man in the rotating machine. “We’re gonna say ‘hi’. He’s not gonna answer because he can’t move.”

House turned on the microphone and introduced Will before the boy spoke into it with excitement. 

“Hey, buddy.” Wilson’s voice came back from the speaker, muffled, but carrying an audible smile.

“I told him you wouldn’t speak. But of course you had to, out of politeness.” A soft breath that resembled a chuckle. “We’ll keep an eye on you from here. Maybe our buddy here is gonna tell you a story. You, shut up.”

After twenty minutes, doctors walked into Wilson’s room and began helping him out of the machine. That was when House encouraged Will to hop off and grabbed his hand again.

“Let’s go pick daddy up from his SPA treatment.”

They waited outside the room until Wilson walked out, carrying his file and his McGill sweater in hand. A smile immediately bloomed on his face as he spotted the two.

“Hey.” Will greeted him timidly, already bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Thank God someone capable kept an eye on me. I doubt he even looked up from his Sudoku when you weren’t there.” Wilson said and leaned down to place a kiss on his head.

House immediately moved closer and wrapped an arm around Wilson’s, holding him up as he stood back up.

The diagnostician grabbed the file to let him wear the sweater, then placed a large thermos into Wilson’s hands and kept holding him up as they moved down the hallway. Will walked very close next to Wilson, looking up at him with happy eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like a truck ran me over.” The younger doctor looked down at the boy and offered him a soft smile.

“Good! Then we should probably bring this old man home.” House said, using his cane to press the elevator button.

Wilson let himself glance at the older man for a moment, he hadn’t had the occasion to see him so relaxed in a while. He felt the firm hand on his waist and kept watching House as he spoke to Will in the elevator. He was completely supporting Wilson while he himself wasn’t in the condition to support anyone, with his right hand holding both the cane and the file at the same time.

There had been a few rough spots, Wilson couldn’t lie, where he feared House would relapse when he’d first gotten the diagnosis. He knew he’d been very close a couple of times, but he’d never taken the last step. He always managed to come back, even if in unbearable amounts of pain, he always came back.

Wilson couldn’t have asked for a better proof of unconditional love, yet he kept getting more, not with grand gestures or mushy words, but in the form of small but thoughtful acts of service he had rarely ever gotten from him. He expected House to do the dishes and the laundry the whole time, and he had without fail, but he even went out of his way to look after him in very particular ways. Massages happened first, then he started adjusting his hair after every radio session, then he even gave him a manicure. He wasn’t treating him with pity like anyone else would’ve, he was simply letting himself be less ashamed about acts of love.

At some point, they even started kissing in public. They’d never been brave enough, until House casually greeted him after treatment with a chaste kiss on the lips in the middle of the cafeteria.

He hadn’t expected to find something positive about cancer, but he was rather liking how House was finally being completely open and true with himself. His personality hadn’t changed, he was still as caustic and unpleasant as always, and Wilson wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

He kept staring at House in the elevator, until the diagnostician had felt the heavy eyes on his face and turned to look. Wilson simply smiled lovingly at him, earning a roll of eyes and an exasperated sigh. 

“I think I need one more round.” Wilson said, once in the car, mostly to House. “I should be done by next week.”

The diagnostician nodded slowly, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes on the road.

“Good.”

Wilson turned into his seat to look at the boy.

“Which means I should be done just in time for someone’s birthday.” 

Will couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his lips. His eyes lit up immediately.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah, big time.” 

Will’s hands found one another in soft, muted claps as he moved to the edge of the seat to be closer between his parents.

“I’m so happy! That is so cool. I’m very happy. Can we spend the day together?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Wilson scoffed, like it was granted. Will bounced even more excitedly, enough for House to hear the shuffling of the seat and smile softly.

“We have to.” House confirmed, his smirk audible in his voice.

“I was thinking museum, arcade and bakery?” Wilson continued, his eyes still on Will.

The boy nodded excitedly, his palms meeting repeatedly.

“Yes! Yes. Thank you.”

“I haven’t been to a good birthday party since I got a restraining order.” House said, turning to look at Wilson briefly. The oncologist placed a warning hand on his thigh.

“I would love to not spend my last days of radiation in court.”

Once at home, Will went straight to the kitchen to fix himself a sandwich with House’s approval. House had even asked him to make one for him as well, simply to make the boy feel like he had responsibility in the house, he knew Will liked a task.

Wilson realized House hadn’t left his side since he’d been picked up at the hospital only when he stopped by the coathanger and House almost bumped into him.

“I didn’t know I was dating my shadow.” The oncologist teased, shooting a glance at the man behind him who immediately looked away with a scowl. “I’m fine, House.”

“You’ve been scratching your neck the whole time in the car.” The older man said skeptically, his eyes fixed on the red patch of skin that came out of the gray sweater. 

“You know how easily I sunburn.” Wilson whispered jokingly, raising a hand to caress House’s stubbled jaw. He’d been looking even more attractive now that he was letting his buzz cut grow out. They stared at each other for a moment, with Wilson’s eyes traveling to House’s lips before he leaned in to peck them. He pulled back and looked at him again, then suddenly gasped, covering his mouth. “I forgot to tell my assistant about Mr. Wu.”

House rolled his eyes, then managed a glance at the boy making sandwiches in the kitchen.

“He’s fine.” He said, not stepping away from Wilson’s space. Wilson’s hands found their places on House’s hips as he continued.

“He’s not fine. I forgot his file at home last week and he was not transferred to Richards, he’s probably out of Lupron by now.”

“His gonadotropins are under the trustful supervision of Dr. Keller.” House easily replied, his eyes still fixed on Wilson’s neck. The oncologist furrowed his thick eyebrows.

“How do you know…” He trailed off, suddenly realizing. “How did you know?”

“Well, you left the file on my side of the bed, it poked my back when I lay on it.” House replied, pretending irritation. 

Wilson's heart softened just slightly, but his worry remained. He had still disappointed his patient.

“That’s not all, I needed to switch him to Zoladex because-”

“He’s been burdened with his mother’s hot flashes, yes. Got that covered already.” House replied with a sigh. Wilson glared at him with confusion. “I even prescribed him some Paroxetine, you know, to make menopause more entertaining.”

The oncologist stared at him for a few seconds, his mouth agape.

“Seriously?”

“You wouldn’t stop talking about him.” House explained with a shrug, looking away as he usually did when he got caught doing something nice. 

“We’re out of jelly!” Will suddenly called from the kitchen, holding up the empty jar, before Wilson could thank his partner for how considerate he'd been.

“Crap, sorry, I forgot to buy it the other day.” Wilson immediately apologized.

“We have it, buddy, it’s in the drawer between the ibuprofen and the slingshot!” House yelled back, watching as the boy obeyed his directions and found it, holding it up like a prize. He gave him a thumbs up and a smile before turning back to look at a very confused Wilson who was still distractedly holding onto his waist. “I bought it today on the way home.”

“From where?”

“Grocery run while you were asleep like the slacker that you are.”  Even insults managed to come out fondly from his mouth when he looked into Wilson’s big, expressive eyes. 

“We could’ve gone together. Why go at 8 am?”

“I like it better when you’re not there to whine my ear off about calories and healthy macros.” House lied with faux annoyance.

Wilson looked behind House and spotted the large bag he’d seen by the organ when they’d walked in. His eyes went wide, seeing the logo.

“You picked up my dry cleaning.” Wilson said in an accusatory tone.

“Nope. Just more adult movies you starred in.” House deflected, trying to step away, but Wilson held him in place. They stared at each other for a minute, with House trying his best to appear irritated, and Wilson lovingly looking up at him.

"Did you pick up the striped navy blue and green tie at the other store, too?" House remained silent, giving himself away. Wilson gasped with a smile. "You, pathetic sap!"

"You're the pathetic sap." Was House's weak, childish reply.

“I love you.” Wilson said softly. House’s jaw clenched. He looked down and away, then moved out of Wilson’s grip. 

“You’re disgusting. And you have horrible taste in ties.” He growled, his cheeks flushing a shade pinker. He hobbled past him, muttering under his breath:  “Come tell your son his sandwiches are great. You’re a better actor.”