This is my first attempt at any kind of writing, ever, so let me know if it be bearable or... not. If it isn't, I'll stop. But please review, good or bad! I have self esteem issues!

And now, on with the... can you call it a story?

House groaned. So far, he had been in the clinic for twenty-seven minutes, and yet he had only just ushered his first patient of the day out of the door. It had taken just under thirty seconds to diagnose the young girl with the common cold. The remaining twenty-six and a half minutes had been spent furiously trying to convince the child's mother that her daughter didn't have meningitis. Normally he would have taken out his Gameboy at this point, but Cuddy was currently holding the toy hostage, refusing to give it back until he had done some actual work. His iPod was at home, on charge, and Wilson was away at a conference in Las Vegas, of all places. This left House with nobody to annoy and nothing to do except examine patients with incredibly boring maladies that took less than a minute to diagnose. It was his own personal Hell.

With a second groan, House got to his feet and limped over the door of Exam Room 1. Stepping out into the overcrowded waiting room – God, he hated flu season – he glanced quickly at each patient in turn, hoping for something even a little unusual. He gave a small smile as he noticed a middle-aged man with jaundiced skin and a sore-looking red rash across his face. However, before he could claim the man's chart, he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. Wilson was away, Cuddy avoided touching him as though afraid of catching something, and the Ducklings all knew better than to initiate physical contact with him by now. So who...

House slowly turned around to see an extremely pretty girl in her early teens smiling at him earnestly. She had long, silky, blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Unsettlingly familiar bright blue eyes. He had definitely seen those eyes somewhere before...

Oh yeah. On his own face.

Crap.

The girl blinked a few times, and tears spilled down her cheeks. The girl sniffed pathetically.

"Don't you know who I am?"

House took a few steps backwards in alarm, shaking his head mutely.

"M-my name is Ashley. Y-you're my... You're my father."

No. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't have a child. He knew how to use contraception... Thirteen, maybe fourteen years ago. Who was he dating fourteen years ago? That was pre-Stacy, for sure. He hadn't had a girlfriend fourteen years ago, although he had had his fair share of one night stands...

Whatever. The point was, he wasn't the kind of guy who was cut out to be a father. He didn't like children. He hated this one already. What the hell was she doing here?

The girl gave a strangled sob. House was too busy panicking to notice. "My m-mom is d-d-dead. You're my only living relative. You have to look after me. I have nowhere else to go."

House found his voice again. "Foster care."

"What?" asked his daughter.

"You didn't seriously think that I would adopt you, did you? People pay taxes so that kids like you can be looked after by the government. Take advantage of it, and get as far away from me as is physically possible."

"But my name is Ashley, I'm at the top of every class, I'm a cheerleader, I'm the most popular girl in my school and I play the piano better than you do! You can't abandon me!"

"I can and I will. Get out of this hospital."

"I look after small injured kittens!"

"Out!"

"I volunteer at an orphanage eight days a week!"

"OUT!"

Ashley stared at her new-found father in shock, horror and angst. She still managed to look stunning, even when she was crying her beautiful blue eyes out. She took a few stunned, staggering steps towards the door, before passing out in a positively gorgeous heap on the floor. House stared at her in disgust for a few moments, before turning towards the elevators and getting as far away from Ashley and the clinic as he possibly could.