Author's Note: Although I don't particularly care if I get reviews, I would like to thank those who did. I think I will do a series of loosely connected one shots for House and Johnny.

Disclaimer: If I owned House M.D., I would be writing the script, not this.

Peter Fennen

House woke up to a biting pain in his thigh. Crap, he thought, I left my pills in the bathroom. Biting his lip to keep from screaming, he stood. Pain radiated up his leg, and he bit harder, drawing blood. The bathroom now seemed miles away, but he couldn't let his son see him like this. He needed relief and fast. He took a step and fell to the ground. He prayed to the God he didn't believe in that Johnny didn't wake up.

Now on the floor, House remembered his secret stash under the bed. He scrambled to find the familiar orange bottle and frantically twisted the cap off. He had just dry swallowed two Vicodin when he heard the familiar pattering of tiny feet.

"Da-" Johnny stopped in his tracks when he saw his father on the floor in pain. "Are you alright?" he asked, running up to him.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Johnny, go get ready for school, I'll be out in a minute," he stretched a fake smile over his face, hoping the pain meds would kick in soon.

"No, dad you are not fine!" Johnny yelled, "I may be six, but I'm not stupid! Stop lying to me!" The last sentence came out as a sob. "You shouldn't lie to me. I am your son and I deserve to know the truth!" Letting out a sigh, Johnny cried into his father's shoulder.

"Sorry Johnny," House said, "I won't lie again, I promise." With that, House hugged his son tighter, the pain forgotten. His leg stopped trying to kill him, and House pulled himself up on the bed. "Look Johnny, the medicine is kicking in. I am fine. Now go get ready for school."

Later

House was trying to nap in the clinic when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. "What," he grumbled.

"This is Mrs. Weaver, the principal at Princeton Elementary. It seems your son Jonathan his gotten into a fist fight. I need you to come here as soon as possible."

On the drive there, House was contemplating all the ways he could kill whichever unlucky kid chose to punch his son. He was up to plan K when he pulled into the small parking lot across from the school. He walked with familiarity to the principal's office. He had been there often enough. Johnny wouldn't be a House if he didn't cause some trouble now and then.

When he entered the office, he found his son sitting in a chair across from Mrs. Weaver's desk, an ice pack on his left eye. House took the seat next to his son and pulled the ice pack away. The sight of Johnny's swollen eye made House shake with anger. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Through clenched teeth he asked, "Who did this to my son?"

"Peter Fennen," Mrs. Weaver replied. A look of hatred passed over the doctor's features, and she quickly added, "Dr. House you should know that your son threw the first punch."

House relaxed a little. Suddenly his son was crying. "What's wrong Johnny?" House asked, forgetting all about Mrs. Weaver.

"I didn't mean t-to," he said, in between sobs. "H-he said that I was a l-loser cuz I don't have a mom. He t-told me I was such a bad kid that I c-couldn't have anyone but a

c-crippled dad. I t-told him that I had the best dad ever, and then I punched him. I couldn't help it. I-I'm sorry, Mrs. Weaver."

"It's okay. Anytime someone tells you something like that, tell your teacher or me. Just don't punch anyone else, and I'll let you off the hook. Dr. House would you like to take Johnny home?" Mrs. Weaver asked. House gave a grim nod, took Johnny's hand and limped out of her office. Silently Mrs. Weaver applauded the kid, but she couldn't say it out loud. She was, after all, the principal.

"Hey, Johnny, dad has some work to do. Do you mind if we hang out at the hospital for a while?" House asked.

"Naw. That means I can show the cute nurse in Pediatrics my eye. Chicks go nuts for that sort of thing," Johnny replied.

House chuckled. Only six and he's already gotten girls figured out, he thought. Once they entered PPTH, Johnny ran to the Pediatrics wing and House stalked to Wilson's office.

House burst through the door to find Wilson with a patient. She looked about forty and had a bright red baseball cap placed firmly over her bald head.

"What do you want, House?" Wilson asked, irritated.

"Fire! You better go," he said, pointing to the patient, sarcasm dripping from the comment.

The lady just rolled her eyes and walked out of the office.

"Wow, was she actually smiling? Usually people come from your office crying their eyes out," House said.

"She's in remission, House. Stop deflecting, you obviously need to talk about something," Wilson said.

House slumped on the couch and gave Wilson a look that told him this was hard to talk about. "It's that idiot, Peter Fennen," House finally said. House sighed. He didn't know how to say what he felt.

"Ok… who's Peter Fennen?" Wilson asked, confused.

"Just a moron who told my son that he had a loser dad," House replied simply.

Wilson saw the problem. "House, you may not be able to play tag with your son, but you are a good dad. Johnny loves you and wouldn't trade you for the world."

"You sure about that, Wilson?" House asked.

"I am sure," Wilson said putting his hand on House's shoulder.

House shrugged it off, stood up and turned to leave. He smirked and said, "I guess you're right. I mean my son did punch out the kid. He must love me."

"He did what?!" Wilson asked, but House had already left.