Title: Unexpected Gifts ALTERNATE VERSION
Rating: K+ (rated E for everyone!)
Summary: It's House's 50th birthday and his mother wants to give him a gift.
Words: 6100 give or take.
Disclaimer: Mine Mine Mine. Or not.
Beta: Semi-beta'd. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.
Warnings/Spoilers: Originally started before 5.12 Painless, edited to include events through Season 5 Finale
Feedback: Reviews are like Vicodin – addictive and pleasing.

Author's notes: I had started this over the winter and then had to make some changes after some of the episodes aired. Eventually, I had to make so many changes that it wasn't the same story I had started. I've posted this story twice – once as the ORIGINAL version and then again as the ALTERNATE VERSION. I'd be interested in people's comments, particularly whether one story is stronger than the other. Thanks!

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It was late Friday night when they got to Wilson's apartment and House had been glad to simply get out of the car with their late night pizza and beer and watch TV with his friend. They had agreed to spent Friday night here; House would go to PPTH for the day to check in with his team, see if anything interesting needed his attention, and they would go to his home for Saturday night. He missed his piano and wanted nothing more to have the freedom to sit and play all he wanted. Sunday it was back to Mayfield and an evaluation of how the weekend had gone.

He hated all the touchy-feely discussions, the rules, the anti-depression pills. He didn't feel like himself, but wasn't that the problem to begin with? He was struggling with the fact he would never be the man he had been before the infarction that started his whole downslide, but maybe he could at least find a way to make peace with the pain and his past and find a new life that balanced everything.

They had weaned him off the Vicodin but were still having trouble coming up with a consistent pain management system for him because he couldn't tell the difference between the real pain and the phantom pain. At least, the hallucinations had stopped.

In the morning, Wilson drove him over to PPTH and made arrangements to pick him up later. He was a bit nervous entering the hospital and his office. Wilson had brought him home on a "weekend pass" – his first trip out since committing himself to Mayfield Hospital. There had been specific rules laid out for him before he was allowed to leave the building and Wilson was going to make sure most of them were followed. He stopped in to Cuddy's office, contritely letting her know that he was there, he understood the rules, and that he would follow them. She coolly nodded her head, told him it was nice to see him looking well, and would stop by later. He knew he had caused her considerable amount of pain and suffering and humiliation and didn't know how to apologise to her for all of it. He quietly nodded and headed towards his office.

It was a simple plain envelope, sitting in the middle of his desk and said "Greg" on the front in his Mother's handwriting. It had not been mailed and he knew his mother was not in town. It was a puzzle and it made him curious, so he opened it. The paper inside was a soft rose color, with the light smell of perfume on it, instantly bringing the image of his mother to his mind. He stepped out onto the balcony and settled onto the lounge chair he kept out there.

My Dearest Greg-

I wish I could be with you on your birthday and regret that I just can't get to NJ right now. I just can't believe my baby, my little Greg, is 50. You have become a fine, fine man despite your attempts at being a rogue and a scoundrel. Because I know that you hate celebrating your birthday, I hope you can celebrate it for me. It had been such a struggle to bring you into this world and you were never an easy child, but you are my heart and my greatest joy.

I know it's been such a tumultuous year for you and you would prefer to be alone with a bottle of scotch today, but you need people in your life and you must remember that you do have good friends; friends who you probably think you don't deserve. Because I still want you to "play nicely" with others, I have sent your presents to your friends. You will have to explain to them the significance of each gift.

It may be your birthday, but I want a present from you. Please share a bit of yourself with your friends today. Let them see the fine man I have raised (they must think I'm a horrible mother the way you behave sometimes!).

Although you and your father never got along, and I know that you have already confirmed the fact that he was not your biological father, he did love you in his own way. He only wanted the best for you and was proud of you and everything that you accomplished. You truly are the man you are because of him.

My dearest baby boy, I want only the best for you and hope that the next year will bring you peace and happiness.

Love,

Mom

P.S. Lunch will be delivered to your office at 2 p.m.

He knew what his mother was trying to do. When he was a child, she had always tried to make his birthdays special, even when it was in a new town and he didn't know anyone yet. His childhood memories of birthdays were littered with groups of children who he didn't know or even want to know, cakes and games and noise. Hopefully his mother had just sent everything to Wilson and had not involved all of his team but he knew that was too much to ask for.

On the other hand, he had gotten closer to his mother since his father had died. He made more of an effort to call her every week or so; knowing he wouldn't have to talk to his father made it easier. And he had been trying harder with the people in his life. Even before entering Mayfield, his friendship with Wilson had gotten deeper and more developed; his arrest, his fake "rehab", even the passing of Amber, his father and then Kutner, had all taken his emotions to a new level. Now with this whole delusions and hallucinations and feeling like his life was slipping out of his control, he was just trying to hang on. OK, like a good son, he would celebrate it for his mother. Who knew, he might even enjoy himself a little.

The agreement for today was that he would be allowed to go to his office, see his Fellows, catch up on mail (right, like he would ever actually read his own mail!), and just spend the day seeing how it felt and how he reacted to being there. He knew that people would be checking on randomly him throughout the day so he wouldn't be able to go far, but he could see what cases his staff had been working on and look over paperwork. Work, but not really.

And so it begins…
He had been going through the stack of charts that had grown on his desk when around 11 am, Chase walked into his office holding a brightly colored package.

"House – good to see you at your desk. Hope you're feeling better. Here. I got this in the mail this week with a note that said I should bring it to you today and wait to see your reaction." He handed over the package and waited.

House took it from him and, after a brief hesitation, he unwrapped the package and gave a wry laugh when he saw the old battered book - Encyclopedia Brown: Boy Detective.

Instantly, a memory flashed across his mind:

"Mom. Mum. Mutti. Momma. Mom. Mommy. Ima"

Blythe House heard her son walking through the house looking for her. She loved him dearly, but some days he drove her nuts. He was only 5 years old, but his thirst for knowledge and determination for solving anything that puzzled him was exhausting some days.

She was in the kitchen, packing up the house – again. This was their third move in the past 5 years, and she knew it wouldn't be their last. Such was the life of a military family. She didn't mind it too much for herself, but it always left Greg in an upheaval. He was not much for change. He always had a hard time making friends; he just had no grasp on the "social niceties," whatever that meant for little boys and girls.

"I'm in the kitchen sweetheart."

"Momma read to me!" he demanded, holding out his new book, Encyclopedia Brown: Boy Detective.

"I'm packing Greg. You'll have to wait until bedtime. Besides, Daddy gave you that book – don't you think he'd like to read it with you? Are your things ready to go?"

"No. I want you to read it to me now. Daddy doesn't like it when I solve the mystery before he does. I don't want to move again."

"Darling, I know that you don't want to move, but Daddy has a new post. We're going to live in France. Won't that be interesting? We'll learn how to speak a new language and you'll have a whole new set of friends to meet." Hopefully, she thought. "Please go up and make sure you pack all your toys nicely in the boxes I left. Pick out 3 sets of clothes, one toy, and two books to take with us on the flight and then pack everything else. Neatly – you know how your Father likes things packed."

"Yes Momma." Dejectedly, the little boy climbed the stairs and went to work.

"I suppose you're waiting for an explanation on why my mother sent this to you to give to me?"

"Your mother? I didn't know anything except I was supposed to bring it and wait for a response."

"It was a gift for my 5th birthday. My father thought I'd like solving the mysteries in it. Actually, I did. I always liked finding the subtle clues…" He started to thumb through the stories, remembering reading them with his father.

"Like you still do. Happy Birthday House."

"Thanks. And congratulations on the wedding. I'm sorry I couldn't make it."

Chase nodded, and left him to his book.

His Fellows were still together, although working mostly in the clinic and other departments until he was to return in the fall. IF he returned in the fall, he corrected himself. He was still on shaky ground with Cuddy and his job here would not be a given.

Pushing the thought aside, he amused himself by reading the book his mother had sent, remembering his excitement at being able to solve them as a little boy. The kids all came up at lunchtime to find sandwiches (Reuben's, dry, cold, and no pickles, of course), chips and sodas, and a wrapped box on the table. House noticed them walking into the conference room and joined them. Great, another present.

There was an awkward moment for all of them – this was the first time he had seen them since that night he walked out on the case. He knew nobody wanted to talk about the pink elephant dancing around the room in a tutu, so he was actually relieved when Foreman spoke up, "I don't know where the food came from, but this box was at my apartment with a note saying I should make sure bring it to you today at lunchtime. Any guesses?"

"The box is from my mother. She also arranged to have lunch delivered today. I suppose I'm going to have to open it and explain it to you all now, huh? Fine."

He opened the box to discover four new unopened puzzles, a thousand pieces in each, each with a different landscape – the Eiffel Tower, the Great Wall of China, The Swiss Alps, and The White House. There was also a note that he read aloud –

I know you hate to do a puzzle more than once, so these are NOT ones you did as a child. Please don't mix them all together this time.
Love,
Mom.

To the surprise of his staff, Greg House grinned.

"Greg, honey, it's time to get your things packed. Finish your puzzle and pack up your travel kit. Daddy will be home soon and we'll leave after dinner." It was too quiet in the house. That was usually a bad sign. At 8, Greg had already moved several times and he always tried to delay it. She had to go see what he was doing now.

Blythe went into the dining room and saw that her son had emptied every puzzle box that he could find into one big pile in the middle of the table. She didn't know whether to laugh at the innocent expression on his face, yell at him, or spank him and throw out all the pieces. She opted for a mix of anger and incredulousness.

"John Gregory House! What did you do? You know you only have a few hours to get everything packed up. You had better get them all separated and back into the right boxes and packed before your father sees what you did. He is going to be very angry that you've opened all your new puzzles and mixed them up." With that, she went back to sorting clothing and getting things ready to go.

When his father got home 2 hours later, all the puzzles were put together and he was proudly showing them off. His dad actually seemed amazed at how quickly he had done them and promised five new ones when they got to China.

"When I turned 8, we were about to move again and I really didn't want to. I figured that if I didn't get the puzzle done, I wouldn't have to go. So, I took ALL the new puzzles I had just gotten for my birthday, opened them up, and dumped them all together on the table. Five different puzzles, a total of 2500 pieces. My mother told me I had two hours before my father would be home and that each of those puzzles had better be put together properly by then or he was going to put me in front of the firing squad. It only took me an hour and 45 minutes. So, who wants to do some puzzles?"

Surprisingly enough, the staff found that House wasn't kidding about doing the puzzles and spent an unexpectedly enjoyable hour eating lunch and putting them together. House opened up all the boxes and dumped them on the table, generously in their own piles, being careful not to mix them too much. Each picked a pile and got to work. They swapped tales about doing puzzles and how they each had their own method – corners first, or the outside first, or finding different sections inside that went together. House even told them that after he did a puzzle once he would turn all the pieces over and put it together without looking at the picture. And then he would give the puzzle away – after all, who wants to do it again once you've already solved it?

Just as they completed the puzzles, beepers went off, calling them all back to the clinic. House, of course, didn't go. Grabbing a medical journal he needed to read, he went back to his lounger on the balcony.

Sure enough, another brightly wrapped package was waiting for him. And so was Cameron. She cautiously gave him a hug and said, "We missed you at the wedding," but thankfully, left it at that. House made a heavy sigh, dropped into the chair and held his hand up for the package. Cameron grinned at him and handed him the box commenting, "I take it you've already gotten a few of these today?"

House unwrapped the box, wondering how many times he was going to have to do this today. Wrapped carefully in tissue paper, he found a worn and weary stuffed ocelot. It had been the only stuffed animal he had ever kept, moving it with him, home to home, always carrying it with him until his father insisted he was too old to be seen with it. He had always wondered what had happened to it.

Cameron was looking at him curiously.

"My Father gave this to me when I was born. My family moved to a base in Trinidad right after I was born. I don't know why an ocelot instead of a teddy bear, but that was my father for you. We never had a pet when I was growing up – too much of a problem when you move every two or three years I guess – so this was my 'pet'. I thought it had gotten lost in a move." House looked at the stuffed toy reflectively, unaware that he was petting it, almost snuggling with it.

Cameron simply smiled at him, imagining him as a boy. "It suits you," she said. An ocelot did suit him much more than a stuffed teddy. Solitary, nocturnal, territorial, always looking for a place to hide out before ambushing his prey.

House realized she was still there. "Don't you have somewhere else to be? Someone else to annoy?"

"Happy Birthday House", she said and left him to his contemplations, watching him through the window as he absent-mindedly stroked the worn fur, lost in thought. He had spent many nights telling his secrets to "Ossy". He wondered if his toy remembered them.

Stretched out on his lounger, he was enjoying the feel of the warm sun on his face while his thoughts wandered. It had been okay so far. Nothing too personal, nothing too intimate. Growing up, moving around every few years, it had given him his independence. He never had people to depend on in his life other than his parents. It was the curse of being an only child. Maybe his mother was right – maybe he needed to open up more to people, let them in a little. It wasn't a bad as he thought.

It had been a long year. Too many changes, too many upsets… Amber's death, and his part in it, still haunted him. He knew he was not really the reason she died, but he had dragged her out that night and then delayed their leaving the bar. What if he had just left when she had asked him to? What if it had been Wilson in the bus accident instead of her?

Her death had led to Wilson leaving the hospital. Losing Wilson forever would have been the final straw for him. What would he do without him? James Wilson had been part of his life for more than fifteen years; the one to keep him grounded through all the traumas he had been through. Wilson had gotten him through the infarction and his recovery, helped him after Stacy left him, helped him through his addictions and through his too many brushes with death. It was really the healthiest relationship he had ever had. Meeting Daniel helped clarify so much about Wilson to him. What would his life have been like if Wilson had been his little brother?

The death of his father and the final confirmation that John House was not his biological father was making him question what all the battles with him had been about. Why had his parents never told him? Even after he had told his "father" that he knew they were not genetically related, they hadn't told him the truth. He couldn't bring himself to ask his mother, even though he knew he had to get the facts.

Kutner commiting suicide. That still puzzled him. Why did he do it? How could he have missed that? It was too unsettling, the idea that he was slipping, losing his "gift," losing his objectivity.

And Cuddy. What was he supposed to do about Lisa Cuddy? No matter how much he wanted her, it was such a risk. There was too much at stake to take another step with her. But he didn't want to walk away from the chance there could be something with her. Why couldn't he allow himself the chance to be happy with her? And now, admitting to her his delusions, his honest belief that they had slept together, admitting that he needed help, HER help, that had taken such a toll on him. He hated admitting weakness. He was afraid he had blown even their basic screwed up friendship and was terrified she would never let him back into her life.

He was pleased that Chase and Cameron had finally managed to figure out their relationship. They were good for each other; he had known that very early on and was glad Cameron had been finally able to put the loss of her first husband behind her and embrace a happy future. Maybe he could learn something from watching the two of them.

He let his thoughts drift; trying to settle the unrest he was feeling.

Hours later, he realized the sun was low in the sky and there was a spring chill in the air. The halls had quieted; the clinic must have already closed. Time to go home.

He must have fallen asleep on the balcony. There was a note on his desk and the keys to his motorcycle.

"House, I spoke with Wilson and we agreed that you might like to take the bike home. Take a bit of time and enjoy your freedom, but PLEASE be careful. I've taken the boxes you've received today to Wilson. He says dinner will be ready at your place about 8. Lisa."

She had signed it Lisa. Not Cuddy. It wasn't his BOSS speaking, but his friend. He'd take what he could get. She must not have seen the stuffed animal next to him as he napped and, checking his watch, he noted had about 45 mins to just drive. As he grabbed the keys and headed for the garage, the thought that he could just get on the bike and leave, go anywhere and never return struck him. He forced the thought away, knowing that this was probably a test, a chance to see if he could be trusted on his own.

He took the long way home – enjoying 40 mins of pure freedom. The back roads of Princeton were truly glorious, particularly now when everything was in bloom. He didn't want to push his luck and tuned back towards his house early.

Sure enough, there was Wilson's car parked outside of House's apartment; he was surprised to see Cuddy's further down the street. That she would come here for his birthday dinner meant that maybe she was willing to forgive him, even just a bit. Opening the door to his apartment, he saw Cuddy was sitting comfortably in his easy chair, Rachel falling asleep in her arms while finishing her bottle. There was a portable crib set up in the corner. There was a pleasant aroma of cooking coming from the kitchen – at least Wilson had had enough sense to make sure he got a good meal tonight. There were several wrapped packages on the coffee table and pleasant piano music coming from the stereo - "Beau Soir", DeBussy – nice choice. He hung his cane over the archway and dropped his leather jacket and helmet on the desk, keeping the ocelot tucked under his arm. Cuddy smiled softly at him; he knew that things would eventually work themselves out between the two of them.

"So House, what first? Dinner, gifts from your mother, gifts from us?" Wilson came out of the kitchen with a grin, wiping his hands on a towel.

"I should call the cops and have you arrested for breaking in, but then I'd have to clean up your mess in the kitchen. What's for dinner?"

"A delightful assortment of recipes from your mother. Sit."

Instead of sitting, House surprised everyone, including himself, by tenderly picking Rachel up from Cuddy's lap and, making sure not to wake her, carrying her towards his bedroom, ordering Wilson to move the pack-n-play into the other room. Stunned, they both looked at him walking away from them before Wilson quickly moved the crib. Cuddy watched as he carried her sleeping daughter, his limp providing an interesting rocking to his movement. He laid the girl down softly, surprised at how good it had felt to hold her. He gently laid the stuffed ocelot next to her, stroking her head softly.

"She'll be more out of the way in there," he said gruffly, partially closing the door behind him. "Darker and quieter in there too."

"What? Don't look at me like that. Think I need a baby around on my birthday? I should be the center of attention."

"Right House, you love to be the central focus of everything. Sit. Lisa? Joining us?" Wilson tried to act nonchalant, failing miserably.

Good, thought House to himself – let them feel how it is to be off-kilter. . The music shifted into "32 Variations on a Theme," Beethoven. A fun piece to play – he didn't realize he had the CD; it took him a moment to realize it was a recording of his own playing he was hearing.

Wilson brought out a variety of dishes – Salade Nicoise, Chicken Satay, salmon enchiladas, escargot in mushroom caps, Paella Valencia, Pan-Seared Sea Scallops, warm spiced lentils, a cheese board, various fruits and veggies… Soon the table was filled with more food than the three of them would ever be able to eat. Wilson must have been here cooking all day. Cuddy brought over a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass and soon they were digging in, listening as House told them about how he had spent his day and the various gifts he had received from his mother. He had been dreading this day; afraid that there would have been some sort of fuss, but it hadn't been that bad. His mother was right, as usual…

Satiated by the food and wine, House glanced over at the packages and said, "So, what hell are you here to put me through?"

Cuddy sighed, but with a grin. "The blue shiny packages are from your mother. The red ones are from me and the yellow package is from Wilson. Rachel wasn't really up to shopping this year, so she'll have to go in on mine."

"Great – yellow it is." They moved over to the living room area and settled comfortably. The stereo was still running, now the sound of 'Dialogue du vent et la mer' in La Mer, another DeBussy piece, was playing. "Did you know that DeBussy used the Fibonacci numbers when composing this piece? I always found the overlap of mathematics and music fascinating."

Wilson passed a large bright yellow box over to House who shook it, hefted it, turned it over and around, stared at it and kidding said, "You got me a tie again? How thoughtful." He unwrapped the box to find the books Forbidden Knowledge: A Wickedly Smart Guide to History's Naughtiest Bits and History Laid Bare: Love, Sex, and Perversity from the Ancient Etruscans to Warren G. Harding. "Great, refresher manuals of all the naughty stuff! Wanna try out a few pages?" House leered suggestively at Cuddy who did her best to look shocked while trying not to laugh.

"Great, more ways for you to insult my ass. Thanks a lot Wilson. Here, open mine," she said handing him a red package.

House rattled the package, trying to figure out what it contained. "Too small to be anything too deadly." A first edition copy of Samuel Beckett's Worstward Ho. " 'Try again. Fail again. Fail better.' Is that really the message you want to give to the mentally unstable?"

"Ha," she said, swatting him with an envelope. "There's more."

The envelope had two tickets to Waiting for Godot starring Nathan Lane at Studio 54 in early July.

"Excellent! I wanted to go but figured I wouldn't…," his voice faltered briefly. "I wouldn't be able to go," he finished defeatedly.

"Don't worry, I've already made arrangements to spring you for an overnight trip so behave, or I'll take Wilson instead. Why don't we see what your mother sent?"

She handed him one of the packages and he opened it to find two books. One was a sketchbook, filled with drawings that were obviously of him at various times in his life. Asleep on his mother's lap as a baby; a toddler drawing with chalk on the driveway; a pre-teen playing the piano; a teenager playing lacrosse in high school. The other was a clippings book, filled with all the article that he had published and articles that had been written about him. There was also a note. He read it aloud.

Greg-

Did you ever know that your Father loved drawing? He loved to watch you playing and then sketch you later on. I always wanted him to show you these pictures, but he knew you wouldn't like them because they were from him.

Your Father also collected the articles that you wrote and articles that had been written about you. He knew you would never keep them, but thought that one day you might like to have them to share with special people in your life.

I hope these pictures help you to remember the good times you had growing up.

- Mom

"I remember seeing this book as a teenager – I thought my mother had drawn them. It never occurred to me that my Dad could have done them." Cuddy reached out for the sketchbook and he passed it to her. As she looked at him as a child, she smiled, enjoying this new side of House.

"You look…happy, curious, sure of yourself. I love this one of you drawing on the driveway. Your birth announcement is in the front – your full name is John Gregory House?"

"Yeah, I dropped the John part when I was a teenager. I didn't want his name, he wasn't my father," House said quietly.

Wilson had been looking through the clippings book. "I knew you had published, but this is amazing. You've been in pretty much every journal and magazine possible, and not just in English. I'm astounded."

"I guess I didn't realize just how much I had published. Huh. I didn't think he knew when I published anything. I didn't think he cared."

Gently, Cuddy leaned over and put her hand on his knee. "He was your father Greg. Maybe not biologically, but he was there for you, whether you wanted to acknowledge it or not. He was proud of you. Biology doesn't make a parent, love does."

"I know. Just… we just never seemed to see eye to eye." House got off the couch and limped over to the piano, turning the stereo off on his way. He rarely played for anyone but himself, but the day, the wine, and the company had mellowed him and he felt the need to caress the keys. "My parents gave me my first Baby Grand piano for my 13th birthday. We were in Germany and we went to the Hensel factory to pick it out. The owner let me try out several pianos and I thought I was in heaven. Nobody rushed me, or told me which was best; they just let me play and listen to how each one sounded." He lazily let his fingers wander across the keys, playing the melody line for Happy Birthday and then twisting and turning the notes, weaving a new tune, adding notes as he went along. His friends watched him, enjoying hearing him play, mesmerized by the serene look on his face. He was always at peace with his piano and guitars.

After a while, Wilson quietly got up and cleared the table. Cuddy finished her wine and slowly got up. "It's getting late. I should get Rachel home."

"Lisa, you've had too much wine to drive," House commented.

She looked towards the kitchen. "I'm sure Wilson will drive us home."

"Wilson has to stay here with me. Part of the agreement." Without looking up from the piano he said quietly, "You could…stay."

She glanced at the kitchen where Wilson was finishing up and then back at House. He always avoided looking at people when he was feeling unsure of himself and vulnerable.

"Rachel is already asleep in the bedroom. It'll be a little birthday slumber party. I'll stay out here with Wilson. I'm still not sleeping much at night anyway; I slept this afternoon…They don't let me play after 9 pm at Mayfield and even then, I can't play like I can when I'm here. I'm not asking for anything. It's just, I don't know, nice, to spend time with you." He continued to play, carefully not looking at her.

"You'll drown in my sleep pants - there's clean shorts and tees in the closet. Take what you need. There's probably an unused toothbrush in the bathroom drawer."

Wilson came out of the kitchen, turning the light out behind him. "Kitchen is cleaner than you've ever seen it and I think I'm just gonna read out on the front step a bit before going to sleep. Lisa, do you need a ride home before I settle in for the night?"

"No. I think...I think I'll stay for a bit longer," she said, giving House a soft smile, moving to the piano bench to sit next to him. She made a mental note to talk to the doctor at Mayfield about giving House unlimited access to the piano. It soothed him so much, the peace and serenity of music was just as important as the mental therapy he was receiving.

Wilson looked from one friend to the other. He knew it was going to be a long year of recovery and reconciliation. "Happy Birthday House," he said with a smile and went to sit on the front stoop with a book, leaving the door ajar in order to keep a discrete ear out for any stress from House.

Coda:

Dawn breaking through the window woke him. It had been after midnight when Lisa stood, placed her hand on his shoulder, dropped a light kiss on the crown of his head and said quietly, "Rachel gets up with the sun," and went off to bed.

Wilson had come inside just after Lisa had gone to bed and was snoring lightly on the couch. Who's bright idea had it been to have Wilson babysit him? The man could sleep through an earthquake.

House had continued to play the piano for a bit longer finishing with a serenade he had written for Cuddy and then stretched out on the lounge chair, surprised that he actually was sleepy.

As the sun peeked through the window blinds, he heard Rachel stir and before she woke her mother, House limped to the bedroom, scooped her up, and brought her into the living room. Rocking the baby, he walked around the apartment, enjoying the quiet and peaceful feeling that surrounded him. In his sleep, Wilson had lost the weary, haggard look he had had for months, but the strands of silver that had started to show through his caramel hair were there to stay. Without thinking, House swept the locks from his friend's forehead. He knew the weary look and the silver hair were there because of him.

As he looked around his apartment, he saw the only photo on the mantle – his mother. He decided to take it with him and was struck with the realization that it was the only photo he had displayed – no photos of Wilson, Cuddy, Stacy, not even any of himself. Why didn't he have more pictures? He would ask his friends to send him some to make his room at Mayfield more "homey." He thought that would be…nice.

A soft smile came into his eyes as he understood the gift his mother had given him.