Knock! Knock!
You burry your head further into your pillow, willing the noise to disappear.
Knock!
No such luck.
You hear him groan. "House, go get the door." He orders. You feebly push his arm off of your waist.
"Cripple," you counter. He sighs and you know you've won.
He calls out that he's coming while stumbling through your apartment. You don't have to open your eyes to know he's rubbing his own forcefully.
"Linda?" You hear him say in shock. You don't know a Linda.
"Hello, James." Only girlfriends call him James. You know this. He knows that you know this.
"What are you doing here?" He asks politely. You fiddle with the edge of his pillow in annoyance. It still smells like him.
"There's something I have to show you." She says nervously. You don't like that tone. Not at all. You open your eyes and sit up in bed.
"Wilson, who's at the door?" You yell out. Without even being in the same room you know he's ducking his head a little. "If it's Cameron tell 'er she can't watch us have sex. No matter how much she wants to." You finish rudely. You just know he's rubbing away at a slowly forming head ache. You hope Linda gets the point and leaves.
"Oh, James, you dog." She exclaims playfully. "Batting for both teams are we?"
You frown. That wasn't what you expected at all.
"Linda," you hear him sigh. "What do you want to show me?"
The door closes and you tell yourself he'll be back in a minute. It's nothing. He'll be right back. After two minutes you can't stand it anymore and you limp into the living room.
You glance around, noticing that once again he cleaned before going to bed. You would smile, but you haven't the time.
You limp as fast as humanly possible to the living room window. Taking a deep breath you brush the curtains back.
He's standing there with Linda and a little boy. A little boy with the same hair as Wilson. You blink. It's his. You know it is. You know it like you know the sky's blue.
She's crying. She's crying and he doesn't touch her because he knows you're watching and because he isn't wiring a shirt. Normally you'd spend the time watching him and all him shirtless glory, only this isn't normally. And there's a kid.
Linda kisses the boys cheek, then leaves. Just gets in her little purple car and leaves. You follow his journey back up the walk with your eyes. He hold the boys hand in his and the boys bag over his shoulder.
You open the door for him before he even reaches the stairs.
"House," he murmurs, dropping the bag to the floor. "This is my son."
"I know." You say, eyeing the boy up close. He looks just like his father. "What's your name?"
"Micah Wilson." The little boy says nervously, brown eyes shifting from you to his father to the floor and back again.
You smile, telling him to come in and stay a while. He grins like only little kids can. Wilson sits with him on the couch and you sit in the chair. You watch Saturday morning cartoons until Micah fell asleep.
"Wilson," you whisper, standing up and popping a Vicodin. "We've got to clean out the spear bedroom."
He sighs, standing to join you at the end of the hallway.
Leaning against the door frame you watch him stare at the piles and piles of mess forlornly.
"I didn't even know he..." Wilson chocks out. He seems near tears. You limp into the middle of the room and circle your arms around his waist. He buries his head deep into your shoulder. "How could I not know?"
You rub the spot were his hair meets his neck. "You had no way of knowing." You say even though you know he knows it. He sighs and wipes his tears on your shirt.
"Look on the bright side," you say, "now you've got something Cuddy doesn't." When he makes a face you clarify. "If you let her play with him she might give you time off."
Wilson laughs feebly.
"Alright, down to work!" You limp over to the other side of the room. "All of this," you sweep your arm over a pile of cloths. "Can go to goodwill."
Limping out of Micah's room you hear him ask where you're going. You call back something about trash bags.
When you're done it's six and time for dinner. The room is clean, leaving only a bed and a dresser. Wilson said you'd go shopping tomorrow for everything Micah might need for school.
"Maybe he'll get Rebecca Adler for a teacher." He mused over Chinese food. You glance up from your own carton of rice.
"Who's that?" You ask, watching Micah carefully. You don't want him spilling rice on your living room floor.
"That woman with the worm in her brain." He sighs. You nod in remembrance. The one he lied about. The kindergarten teacher.
"Maybe he will." You say because you can't think of anything else. Micah makes an aggravated sound in the back of his throat. He can't make the rice stay on his fork. You pick out a big chicken finger and hand it to the little boy.
"Here," you say. "Eat this instead." He smiles and says thank you. You nod and everyone continues to eat.
The next day when you're in the schools guidance office you realize how stupid the school system is. But you keep your mouth shut because he's been through enough the last few days without your crap. You can start being bitter tomorrow you tell yourself.
The secretary hands them a large stack of papers and shows them where to sit to fill it all out.
You take half of the stack and Wilson takes the other. You make Micah sit in the set between you and Wilson.
Students name: Micah Wilson
Date of birth:
You poise. "Wilson, what's the kids date of birth?" You ask, twirling the pen back and forth. It's black and you hate black pens.
"Ah," He frowns. "Hold on." Wilson grabs a file he found in Micah's backpack. He flips pages around until he find the right one. "September tenth two thousand and two." You nod.
Date of birth: 9/10/02
Grade: Kindergarten
Home phone: 555-1345
Lives with (circle): Mother / Father / Legal guardian / Other
You smirk only slightly. Not because it's funny, but just because. You circle 'Father' with the pen you hate.
And so it goes, filling out paperwork. You and him and his kid. The paperwork takes twice as long because neither of you know anything about the boy and Linda didn't put in medical information. You have to ask him if he's been taking any meds and he says he doesn't know. You have to ask three different ways before Wilson points out that Linda would have sent them with her if he did. You shrug and keep writing.
When you hand in the stack of papers the secretary glares slightly and tells them they can start school tomorrow. You hear Wilson ask who Micah's teacher will be.
"Miss Adler." She hisses, throwing them out.
"Well, wasn't she a right bi-" you start, then remember Micah. Had this been anyone else's kid it wouldn't have mattered. But it's his kid and you can't do it.
He knows your holding yourself back. He smiles that panty peeler smile at you and pats your arm once affectionately.
You're almost out of the school when you hear "Dr. House!" being called out further down the hall.
You turn around and there's Miss Adler herself.
"Do you remember me?" She asks sweetly, smiling at you and him and his kid.
"Worm in the brain girl." You say without any sort of care. He gives you a look, placing his hand on his sons shoulder.
"That's right!" She says like that's how she's remembered all the time. You fight a wince. "James! Hello to you to." Only girlfriends call him James. He knows you know this. Wilson smiles at the young woman who now has her eyes on Micah.
She crouches down to his level. "What's your name?" She asks him kindly.
He looks from you to his father back to Adler. "Micah Wilson." He mumbles. She smiles kindly at him then straightens.
"I didn't know you had kids, James."
"I didn't know either." You watch as her face changes from a happy smiley to a sad understanding.
"Oh," She looks at a lost for words and you decide to intervene.
"We have to go. You know, we've got to get things for his room and all. Very busy, that's what we are." You say in a way that clearly states that it's time to go. Adler nods.
"Well, it was nice to see you Dr. House. James." And before she goes she smiles at Micah. "I'll see you in class." Then she walks off down the hall.
You and Wilson share a collective sigh.
It's been ten years scents His son showed up and you've only just realized that he doesn't actually like Chinese food. You think that maybe Micah doesn't like that it was what he ate the night his mother left him. But then again he is a picky eater.
Wilson says his mother was like that to.
You like to think about thoughs early days when he didn't talk so much. Now he talks like if he doesn't do it enough the world will end. You and Wilson have to constantly tell him to slow down.
He wants to work for Bank of America when he gets out of college, and you try to talk him out of it everything he mentions it.
You look over at him and his son. They're asleep, both of them, on the couch. You smile.
A/N: I don't own House, blah, blah, blah. Anyway, I'm sorry if my spelling sucks. I did all I can do to fix it. Micah's a name I saw in my bible. It's from the OT just so ya'll know. And lastly, I couldn't really figure out how to end this well. So I sort of did. Reveiw please.