House's Child
Disclaimer: I love House. I wish I owned House. But I don't. (sniffle)
Inspired by House's Head and Wilson's Heart. House falls ill, only to wake up and discover his sixteen year old daughter in his apartment. Years before she's even been conceived. Contains Huddy, jealous reactions and other fun stuff.
A/N: Starts off sludgy
-X-
It had been a while since Gregory House had been thankful for anything. Today was different. Today was a Sunday. That meant no work unless a patient came in. And heaven knew he needed a break. His leg had been acting up worse than usual. He'd begun taking thrice the amount of Vicodin he normally ingested. Every momentary respite from the pain was a relief. He sat there, drenched in sweat, his mind a feverish haze. He had a high fever in his estimation. He'd checked it that morning, but the memories were distant in his feverish delirium.
He rolled over on his warm bed. He didn't want to be there but was stuck out of pain and fatigue. The medicines he'd taken made him want to throw up. He was sure he must have. He'd remember when he'd tried to give up Vicodin. That had been hell. This was hell's big brother, and it was angry. His mind was active, trying to think up a cure. His body wouldn't hear of it. It wanted to curl up somewhere and die.
He turned and tossed as best he could; trying to avoid hurting his leg further. He finally maneuvered a position that wasn't too painful and not too sickening. As he lay there between wakefulness and slumber his mind hit upon something. An old Chinese remedy that might help.
He dragged himself out of bed. Grasping the wall best he could in his weak state. He fished an old box out and made the tea from the powders that lay inside. He drank the whole pot, gulping it down. Glad to be ingesting something. Somehow he made his way to the couch; where he collapsed. He groaned in pain as tremors shot up his leg. But all was forgotten as he fell into a deep tea-induced slumber.
MD
He awoke to the sound of 'Smoke on the Water'. The chords bursting into his slumber forcing him awake. He'd barely slept. Now he found sunlight streaming in through the window in a room that looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on where he was. He pushed himself up noticing he wasn't weak and sweaty, but rather clean and showered. He was dressed in a black Led Zepplin t-shirt with a pair of faded grey pajama bottoms. He ran his hands over himself. His clothes were his. But where was he?
Being the brilliant diagnostician that he was, he decided to follow the source of the music, eventually tracing it to a room across his. He limped there with the aid of his cane which he'd found on the side of the bed. The door was already open. He just nudged it open a little wider to reveal a young girl with a pair of head phones on as she played HIS Flying V. He glared at her. It was as though she noticed him glaring at her back. She spun around to reveal a stunned expression.
"I'm SO sorry Dad. I didn't mean to. I thought I'd plugged it in." She said holding up the wire that was supposed to be plugged into her amp. She looked apologetic as she took off her headphones and rushed to give him a hug. "I swear I'll check next time. Crap. Mom's going to kill me. PLEASE don't tell her. She's evil. You said so yourself." She was pleading with him.
But nothing sunk into him. Did she just call him DAD? The D-word? Him? What? How?
He had to be dreaming. There was no other explanation. He sat down on her bed, holding his cane out in front of him as he pondered the possibilities of what was happening. He gazed around the room. It was adorned with posters; favourite bands, movies, comics, etc. She seemed to have gotten his interest in all things pop culture related. He stopped himself. HE didn't have a child to which to impart any of this to. He didn't have a child that could have inherited his interest in all things pop culture related. He continued to study the room. It was decorated a bit like his apartment. The walls were a dark green with a solid wood bed. The mattress was quite firm he noticed. In front of him was a gigantic wall unit. It contained books, a study table, what looked like an advance version of the XBOX ELITE and a Plasma screen television He approved. Whoever this child was, she had style.
House focused his attention on the child. Not that you could call her a child. She struck a pose that seemed familiar, but on a young person such as this, looked quite . . . teenage. She had black hair that seemed to be waves or curls. Her build was slim and lithe. He studied her appearance. Black Chuck Taylors and a black pair of jeans. Her brown t-shirt said 'American Baby'.
"Aren't you too old for that?" He asked, gesturing to the shirt.
She just rolled her eyes and smiled. "Daaad, you say that every time."
There is was. The D- word again. How was it possible that he had a child? Who had he knocked up? No one would want to have his spawn – as someone had once put it. That must have been Wilson. Not that he'd asked Wilson to carry his child. Not that he'd ask Wilson. Wilson would BEG for the opportunity to carry House's child. However, that tone definitely came from him. He mentally slapped himself. He didn't have a child. To be a dad there would have to be a . . . MOM. He frowned as a realization hit him. "Your mom." He said it plain and simple.
"Are you going to tell her?" she was sitting next to him on the bed, having put away HIS guitar.
"Where is she?" House was really curious now. Which woman would even dream of . . . he checked his finger . . . being married to him? He continued looking at the floor. Hard wood. He approved.
"She's out of town, remember? She asked me to tell you to call her when you woke up. So I guess you'd better call her." Matter of fact and to the point.
He turned to face her and was surprised to find his own blue eyes gazing back. "You have my eyes . . ."
"Yeah," she rolled her eyes. "Everyone notices." She smiled at him. "So how are you feeling?"
"How am I feeling?"
"Yeah, you weren't too well today morning. You felt like crap. Remember?" His reply was a look of confusion. She frowned and placed her hand on his forehead. "Are you sure you're okay? You're forgetting things and you seem . . . I don't know, out of it."
"I'm a doctor. I'm fine." He grumbled brushing her small hands away.
His daughter smiled at him. "I know. Board. Certified. Diagnostician." She paused after each word. "How many times have you told us?" She stood up. "We better get you in bed. I don't want to get grounded. Piston's coming to town and I SO don't want to miss the concert because my dad was sick."
"I hear your compassion." He grumbled as she tugged him up. She chuckled at his words as she helped him back to his room.
"What year is this?"He asked, confused.
" 2023."
What? Just yesterday it had been 2008, and he didn't have a child. He looked confused. He glanced around the room looking for clues, his mind trying to focus and figure it out. But some sort of haze had settled and it wasn't helping him at all. He felt foggy, a head ache beginning to form. The girl –his daughter- helped him into bed and tucked him in. The last thing he remembered was her planting a kiss on his cheek as he drifted away. . .
MD
House awoke once more. This time he was back in his apartment. And still not feeling all that good. His couch had left him sore. But he wasn't sure if that was from his stint on the couch or from his ailment. He really didn't want to know. He wanted sweet release. He wanted . . . as much as he hated to admit it, someone to take care of him. His tired eyes opened. He had to get to a phone. He moaned and attempted to sit up. He needed to get to a phone; call Wilson, maybe Cuddy. As he tried to reach out and grab the receiver, a voice stopped him.
"Woah. Stop. What do you think you're doing?"
House turned to find his daughter staring at him from across the room, a tray in her hands.
"Dad. You're in no condition to be on the phone." She placed the tray on the coffee table and took the phone away from his hands. He tried to comprehend what had just happened.
"I don't have a daughter." He managed to croak out.
She paused and stared at him. "Trust me, only family would deal with you as a patient." She did make a valid point. She picked up the tray and put it in his lap. "It's chicken noodle soup. Your favourite. I made it for you. Now drink up."
He just stared at her. She gazed back at him. "What do I have something on my face?" Her hand went up to her face, rubbing to see if there were any marks.
"I don't have a kid."
"Ouch. I try and take care of you and that is what you have to say?" She glared at him. But it didn't seem to be real anger. Not that he'd know. This was his first teenage child.
"I don't have a child." He was adamant. This was not real. There's no way this could be real.
"Dorothy, we aren't in Kansas any more." She said.
He stared at her. "What the hell was that?"
She rolled her eyes. "Me trying to make you laugh, or something . . . Listen, I know you don't have a kid. Well not yet anyway. We're back in 2008. Take a sip already. It's not going to kill you."
"What are you doing here?"
"I don't know. You're the one that brought me back here. I checked the date. It's a while before I'm even conceived. But that's not the point. If you're dead I won't exist. So drink up." She gestured at the bowl in his lap. He finally conceded and started drinking it up, surprised it was real. He'd thought she was a figure of his imagination. He'd always been told he had a vivid imagination. Cuddy naked . . . He closed his eyes trying to force his thoughts into reality. He opened his eyes once more. No such luck. It was his daughter staring at him as though he'd lost it. Considering that she wasn't real, that made sense. Though he had to give her credit, the soup was pretty good, and he was starting to feel a bit better. He continued to drink in silence. When he was done, he set the tray and the bowl in it on the coffee table, and looked at her. She was dressed exactly how she had been in his dream.
"This place is a mess." She stated.
"I'll try and keep it neater next time I'm dying." He retorted.
"Oh please. I'm not even a doctor and I could tell you that you just had the flu. Nothing serious." She crossed the room to his single leather couch and flopped down on it. She picked up the guitar laying against it and strummed it. House glared at her. She didn't seem to notice. But the fact that she was able to make soup and lift his guitar proved that she was real. Right?
"Yes. All those years you didn't go to med school made you a real expert on that." House lay back, feeling better already. That soup had sort of done the trick. Not that he'd admit it to her.
"I'm related to you. I don't NEED med school." She smirked at him, knowing she'd won.
Teenage arrogance. He snorted. She had him good, sucking up to him so that he couldn't say anything. She was good. But she wasn't the MASTER. "Yeah. But I don't need to be related to me. I am ME. What were those words again?" He paused, pretending to be thinking. "Oh yeah. Board. Certified-"
"Diagnostician." She finished for him, with a smile. "I know. You may have mentioned it a couple of million times."
House frowned. He found it unnerving that every time he gazed at her he saw his eyes. Or that every time he spoke to her he heard his own sarcasm spill out. Also, she'd ruined his line. He glared at her.
"What?" She asked as though the matter was purely trivial.
"You ruined my line."
"So?" She focused her attention back to her guitar.
"You're grounded." He leapt to the first thing that sprang to his mind. She stared at him, agog.
"You don't have a kid. You can't ground me." She said, defiant. "Besides, who's going to take care of you? You seem to be having a bit of a problem there."
He glared at her once more. "A moment ago you were trying to convince me you were mine."
"That's because I am."
"Then why can't I ground you? I'm your father!"
"Because, what are you going to do, send me to my room? I don't have a room here! Besides, you know you want to observe me, analyse me, I'm your kid, here in the flesh, but I haven't even been born yet." She looked satisfied, and that was probably because she had a point.
"Ugghh." House groaned. He didn't feel that good again. He should call Wilson or Cuddy.
"And have them hold this above your head?" He rolled over slightly to see her staring at him. She was sitting back now with one leg tossed over the side of his chair.
"How did you-"
"You're kinda predictable dad." She stated it as a fact. "Well, to me at least." She added softly.
Maybe he did need her. "Fine. You can stay." He just knew she was probably smirking. Some things were just genetic.
MD
He awoke for the second time that day on his couch. He gazed around the room. The lights were off and the curtains drawn. It was probably night. He sat up. He didn't know if his daughter was here. He opened his mouth to call for her. House realised he didn't even know her name. But he had to check. Just to make sure he wasn't losing his mind. And to see if it that had been a weird dream.
"Kid? You here?" He called out.
"My name's Grace."
He could see her silhouette against the light in the kitchen. She was leaning on the doorway that lead to the kitchen. He couldn't make out the expression on her face. He winced as she switched the light on. She dimmed them.
"Feel any better?" She asked as she walked towards him.
"I don't feel like utter crap, if that's what you mean." He said moving his legs so that he was now sitting facing forward on his couch.
She sat on the arm of the couch, watching him. Her hair had been pulled back in to a pony tail.
"What kind of name is Grace?"
"Grandma picked it out." She said with a playful smirk. "It's what she'd have named you if you'd been a girl."
"No way." House looked at her with disbelief in his eyes.
"That's what she said." Grace smirked all the more.
"But why 'Grace'? Didn't your mom have any problems with that?" He hadn't thought of Grace's mother, preferring not to think about it.
"She actually loved the name. She liked the fact that I had your initials. Apparently she was pretty sure I was going to end up like you. Boy or Girl."
"Obviously because of my superior DNA." Grace watched as her father looked pleased with himself.
"No, because I kicked every time she told you to do clinic duty." House looked at Grace who said this with a twinkle in her eye.
House grinned at this. "That's my girl. Remind me to take you for ice cream or something."
House froze as he said this. He'd never reacted this way before. He stared in front of him, the proud smile he'd worn no longer on his face. He looked at Grace. Her smile seemed to have faded. She avoided his eyes as she got off the arm rest. "I have to finish dinner. Why don't you go take a shower? You need to freshen up. You stink. And not in the proverbial sense." He studied her face. She didn't seem to be hurt by his earlier reaction. Maybe she hadn't noticed. Who was he kidding? She was his kid. There was no way she missed it. He got off the couch and took his stick when she handed it to him. She walked into the kitchen without saying a word. He mentally kicked himself. It wasn't his fault she was offended. She couldn't be offended. She wasn't even born yet. She wasn't allowed to be offended. Sides, he wasn't going to have a child. He didn't want a child. Grace probably wasn't his. But then he thought of her eyes. His eyes. He shook his head. He didn't care. She was probably a figment of his imagination who would be gone tomorrow morning. With that, he headed into the shower.
MD
Grace stirred the pasta. It should take a few more minutes to cook. Her dad had been in the shower for half an hour now. She hoped he was okay. She nearly laughed. Of course he wasn't okay. His sixteen year old daughter just appeared in the past, before she was even conceived let alone born. He hadn't wanted a kid. And now he had one. He wasn't used to having a kid around. Not even his kid. Her mom had told her this. He'd thought he had no intention of getting married, of having kids and settling down. But deep inside, it had been there. The moment she'd been born, he'd realised that. Of course, House didn't know that yet. So she'd have to cut him some slack.
She heard him come out of the shower.
"Dinner's ready!" She called as she took it off the stove. She served it up onto two plates and took it out into the living room, keeping one on the coffee table. She then went and flopped down on her chair. House hobbled in. He'd changed his clothes and was wearing something that hadn't been drenched in sweat. He looked clean and didn't smell any more.
"Pasta?" He questioned as he picked up the plate.
"You try cooking with the ingredients in your kitchen." She argued.
"That's why God invented 'take out'." House said matter-of-factly.
"You're sick. A home cooked meal is good for you."
They continued to eat in silence.
"Do you have a favourite band?" Grace asked House.
"Stones." He answered with his mouth full, aware that this was probably a bad example but she was sixteen, she could handle it.
Grace grinned at his answer.
"What?" He asked.
"I dated his grandson."
"Whose grandson?"
"Jagger's."
"Get out of here!" He stared at her, eyes wide.
"That's the same thing you said last time. I'm telling the truth." She was being perfectly honest.
"You said dated, as in past tense. What happened?" He wanted answers now.
"We broke up." She continued eating as though dating the great grandson of a Rolling Stone was an every day thing.
"I let you date?" House couldn't believe that he had. He'd let his sixteen year old daughter date? Wasn't she too young or something?
"You wanted me to marry him. You asked if he could bring the family over." Grace said with a smile.
"And did he?"
Grace shook her head. "Of course not, we only dated for a month."
"So what happened?" House felt like a twelve year old girl in search of gossip.
"They had to go on tour." She'd finished by now. She picked up both their plates, heading toward the kitchen.
"They?"
"Yeah, the Stones."
House got up and followed her as fast as he could.
"They're still alive?"
"You really think they're ever going to die?" She said with a smile as she started doing the dishes.
"You're telling me that the Rolling Stones are alive and well in the future." House leaned against his doorway as he watched Grace do the dishes.
"Alive, well and still rocking. You took me to a concert a few years back."
"We go to concerts?"
"Yeah, I'm the perfect excuse. What was it again? Oh yeah, 'you're educating me in the world of Rock and Roll'." She kept the last dish for drying.
She switched off the lights as they both exited.
House sat on his couch. "My daughter dated a stones great grandson . . . my daughter . . ."
Grace looked at the time. "You better get to bed now. You're going to need your rest. You have work tomorrow."
At her words House looked at his clock. She was right. He looked at her sitting there in the same chair she'd occupied that afternoon. "Where are you going to sleep? If you do sleep."
"I'll take the couch." She said, gesturing to the couch. House nodded and got up. He limped over to his bedroom. But before he left her he turned around and said, "Grace, I'm really sorry."
Grace, who'd been fluffing up a cushion, looked up at him. "For what?"
"I farted."
-X-
A/N: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I just couldn't resist that last line. It seemed very like House for some odd reason. The chapter wasn't even supposed to end like this. It's almost as though the story's taken on House's attitude and gone off and gotten a life of its own. Hopefully you guys like Grace, cos I LOVE her. She might just be my favourite character. One that I created anyway.
Any who, please R/R.
Thank you!