Title: Present Grief

Author: Wrytingtyme

Disclaimer: Blah don't own, Blah don't sue me.

Parings: Gen: House and Wilson, but the subject is Cuddy.

Spoilers: Massive for 5x06 Joy.

Summary: "A twenty-something, high school dropout, drug addict has succeeded in making Cuddy more miserable, because she admires her, than you've ever been able to, and you were trying."

A/N: This is my version of how House got to Cuddy's doorstep at the end of 5x06 Joy. I'm always eternally grateful my Beta readers the Wonderful Silverwaterfall and the Amazing Silent_Snark, all mistakes that remain are mine.

"There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief."

Aeschylus

House thought that Wilson had gone home.

He'd settled into his Eames chair to wait out the transplant surgery -- technically something he didn't have to do; but transplants were tricky, especially when Ayersman was performing them, and House wanted to be around if the kidney hit the fan.

But he hadn't expected the light in Wilson's office. And since his boredom loved Wilson's company, he made his way over their balcony wall but checked himself at the door. Wilson was in, but sitting at his desk, his head in his hands in his classic my-cancer-kid-patient-just-died pose.

So House just walked in, instead of bursting in, gave a wave when Wilson looked up, and stretched out on the sofa, letting the silence grow comfortable.

"Awful day," Wilson muttered at last, shaking his head as he raised it with a sigh.

"That's relative," House said philosophically. "Bad for you, good for my patients who can laugh again and are swapping body parts as we speak." He thought a moment. "That's one argument against adoption. You're much less likely to be able to take advantage of your kid's spare parts."

"House..." there was a warning in Wilson's tone but House -- already off and running on his tangent -- missed it.

"How long do you think it will be before Cuddy's re-evaluating her name choice?" He sniggered, thinking of colic and sleep deprivation.

Only to be surprised when a Teddy Bear hit him in the face. "Or not." He looked up to see a very angry oncologist glaring at him.

"Leave it, House," Wilson said sternly.

"Leave what?" He asked, swinging into a sitting position, honestly confused before a thought struck him. "Did Cuddy change her mind?"

Wilson stared at him in shock for a moment. "You obviously…haven't heard," he said slowly.

"Something's wrong with the spawn," House groaned, sobering instantly. He'd been afraid of that. Methamphetamines. The stupid shouldn't be allowed to breed, let alone pass their problems off to other people. "Birth weight was good, considering," House mused, already working the problem. "And the first stool sample tested negative for meth, so she wasn't lying about being off it for the last seven months."

"House--"

"So it was probably something else the idiot did while she was pregnant."

"House, the baby is fine. The birth mother changed her mind. She's keeping her."

And that was one outcome House hadn't anticipated.

"But…" he said slowly. He'd been there. Seen Chase pull the little critter into the world, heard the mother wail her regrets and watched Cuddy will the kid to start breathing. "Cuddy showed her the baby. She said—"

"I know," Wilson grimaced. "Becca saw how happy Cuddy was with the baby..." He fidgeted with a pen. "Saw how focused she was, how in love..." His shoulders twitched a shrug. "She wanted that too."

House was no stranger to family drama. He thought he'd known all the ways people mixed their duty with malice and claimed it was for the best. But this -- was stunning in its loving ruthlessness.

"Wow."

Wilson smiled without humor at his friend. "A twenty-something, high school dropout, drug addict has succeeded in making Cuddy more miserable, because she admires her, than you've ever been able to, and you were trying."

House stood without a word and limped heavily to Wilson's door.

"Don't," Wilson warned him.

"I'm not gonna do anything," House complained.

Wilson looked as if he didn't believe him but only said, "She doesn't need salt rubbed into her wounds right now, House. Give it a rest."

There were lights on in the house, but he couldn't see her.

He hadn't intended to come to her house. There was no reason for it, but somehow he was parking his bike across the street and limping quietly through her garden to peak into her bedroom window. Telling himself he was being stupid, that Cuddy was fine.

Only she wasn't in her bedroom, or her living room, or any other room he could get a view into. One room had lights, though, and curtains drawn and it didn't take a diagnostic genius to deduce that this was the nearly-nursery.

And she's still fine, he argued with himself as he made his way across the dark lawn to her porch where the security light clicked on as he approached. She's tough, and she knows better than to listen to you. So turn around, get back on the bike and don't make a fool of yourself.

House hesitated on the threshold. He knew Cuddy was fine and tough and not an idiot, But he needed to see for himself. He raised his cane and knocked on her door.