Okay first, I must say i haven't abandoned War Wounds, I'm just waiting for the next chapter to be beta-ed. So rest easy, I will resume my torture of House.

Second, this fic is much lighter-fare than my previous story, simply because I wanted to try House and Wilson's bromance on for size, there haven't been many brotherly moments in Season 7.

Just a one-shot.

And yes, it would be very kind to leave reviews, and no, House does not belong to me.

"She wants me to try talking to Rachel."

Wilson had looked up from his paperwork to see a mahogany cane thump across his desk, narrowly missing his fingers. He shot a weary, annoyed glance at his best friend before picking up his pen, shoving the cane and resuming his duties.

"Of course, how dare she make such a heinous suggestion? Does her depravity know no bounds?"

House had barely acknowledged his friend's droll sarcasm, fixing his gaze on the trees outside the window, before heaving a frustrated sigh and fiddling with the handle of his cane.

"I can't talk to children. Plus she's three years old! What else can you talk about besides a really entertaining episode of The Wiggles?"

Wilson looked up at House just in time to catch the diagnostician roll his eyes sky high and place his feet up over Wilson's papers, effectively halting progress. Knowing he had no other choice, Wilson dropped his pen and huffed in resignation.

"Cuddy just wants you to bond with her daughter. You're in a relationship now, and…maybe she would like you to be in Rachel's life."

"By watching The Wiggles? Granted the guy in yellow has really nice eyebrows and makes me heart feel funny, but the man in purple- "

Wilson looked heavenward for patience.

" – Have you even tried? Some children are pretty smart. She may surprise you."

"You're probably right, red and yellow does make orange. Who knew?"

House pulled a comically surprised face, making his eyes goggle. Wilson ducked his head and suppressed a smirk, but kept his face neutral when he looked back at House.

"Just ask her how was her day, what she learnt."

House spluttered incredulously before adopting a gruff voice and screwing up his face.

"Damn it, Jimmy. I'm a doctor, not a psychiatrist."

"Stop deflecting. Look, you want this relationship to work. And you can't do that by ignoring her daughter."

At that, House dropped his gaze and shuffled nervously. Wilson might have felt sorry for the man if he wasn't so amused by the whole situation.

Gregory House, resident snark of PPTH scared stiff by a toddler one-third his size.

Wilson continued, "She's three, House. She's not going to hurt you."

House snorted loudly, grumbling, "Obviously you've never been hit in the crotch by one."

"Whatever it is, go be a man," Wilson mercilessly pushed House's feet off his desk, – taking care not to jostle his right leg – "because some adults actually have paperwork to do. Get."

House petulantly stuck his tongue out at Wilson – who was currently scrubbing dirt stains from House's shoes off his prescription pad – and hoisted himself off the chair, gimping over to open the door. Before House closed the door he stuck his scruffy head back in and announcing in a falsely teary voice "I just wanted to see you Daddy, you don't play ball with me anymore."

Wilson chuckled, gestured with his pen toward the hallway, and replied in his most authoritative voice, "Daddy's busy, junior. Now be good and go play outside."

As the door shut he heard Foreman accost House with the latest results on their patient, and the familiar tones of House's annoyed snapping at his lackeys. Wilson listened until the muffled clumping of his friend's cane fade away before allowing himself to snicker.

Scared of a three year old, indeed.

What rhymes with 'Preview' again?