DEDICATION: For GabbyAbby.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters from House, although it sure is fun to take them hostage and force them to do my bidding. Mwahahahaha!


The toddler ran on shaky legs through the house, anxious to get to the source of his father's newly arrived voice. The Lieutenant (at the time not yet a Major) had been away for over a week, and the small boy was eager to see him. "Dada!" he cried as his father came into sight.

Despite the little boy's cry, the Lieutenant continued to talk to his wife, ignoring the child who had just come running into the room to see him. It was only when the toddler tripped and fell, his tiny knees coming into contact with the carpet, that the man noticed his son. Unfortunately, even carpet can have a negative impact on little knees when landed on in just the right way. "Dada!" the little boy cried, lifting his arms into the air as tears threatened to spill from his tiny eyes and sobs wracked his little body.

The Lieutenant rubbed his temples. "Can you quiet him down, Blythe?" he asked tiredly. "I've got a splitting headache." With that, he walked out of the room, leaving the child to watch him go as tears fell down his small round cheeks and his arms lingered in the air.


House was grateful when Monday morning finally rolled around. His visit with Cameron and the kid had taken place the previous Tuesday night. For the rest of the week, he'd been snappish and moody, attempting to drown out the thoughts clouding his mind through tackling the case of the six-year old. Unfortunately, the kid had been released toward the end of the week. To make matters worse, Cameron had brought Jake back on Friday, and he had been given such a clean bill of health that she had been allowed to enroll him in the hospital's nursery program.

When Friday afternoon came around, House had been more than eager to get home and away from the mess that his life had become. Unfortunately, all weekend his mind had overflowed with unwelcome memories and unbidden thoughts. Even his sleep was plagued with small voices which cried out for "Dada" and little arms that wanted nothing more than to be held. Nothing worked, either. He'd tried banging a discord of melodies out on his piano, downing two more bottles of scotch, and had even finished half a bottle of vicodin. Twice, he'd found himself skirting the increasingly familiar streets to Cameron's condo. And the night before, he'd actually parked outside on his bike (under a much shadier tree) and begun to memorize the house's elusive pattern of shadows and lights. It was only when his cell phone had begun to ring, and he'd noticed that the caller was none other than the stubborn immunologist, that he'd taken off for home.

In short, he was losing it. He was exhausted. And his leg was killing him.

He'd never been more thankful to get to the safety of his office. But when he stepped inside, he came to an abrupt stop and raised his eyebrows. "Oncology lounge too full?" he asked, popping a vicodin.

Wilson ignored the quip and shoved a file into House's hand. "Scott Erikson is back," he said, referring to the six-year old House had diagnosed and sent home four days prior. His face was lined with seriousness.

House furrowed his brow. "Don't they usually stay gone once you cure them?" he queried, flipping open the file and leafing through it.

"Once you cure them, yes," Wilson replied. "Clearly you didn't cure Scott."

But House ignored the comment, instead focusing on a particular page of the patient's chart. "He's suffering from pulmonary edema and seizures," he stated skeptically, looking at the child's latest readings. "Those aren't symptomatic of severe pneumonia." His face began to clench as he poured through the remaining documents and the puzzle became more and more obscure. How the hell had he misdiagnosed this?

Suddenly, the door swung open and Foreman and Chase entered, each carrying identical coffee cups. "Good, Scooby and Shaggy," House greeted them, pushing the file in their direction. "We have a patient."

Foreman grabbed the folder and began leafing through it himself, his mouth turning downward in a frown.

"Didn't we just release this kid four days ago?" Chase asked, looking over Foreman's shoulder at the chart.

"Yeah, funny thing about that," House replied, stepping up to his whiteboard. "If you don't get the diagnosis right, they just keep coming back. It's a vicious circle." He grabbed a black marker and began to write: high fever, rhinorreah, cough, nausea, sweats, severe weakness, pulmonary edema and seizures. "Okay," he said when he was through. "The first six symptoms (he pointed at them with the marker) were present the last time he was here. We thought severe pneumonia, he responded to the meds, we sent him home. He shows up with these last two (he moved the marker to point at these) early this morning. What's changed?"

"We gave him the pneumonia medicine," Foreman suggested. "It could have had a negative effect."

House wrote pnemonia meds on the board and placed a question mark directly after. "What else?" he prodded.

"Time," Chase spoke up. "Maybe it just took awhile for these latest symptoms to present themselves."

"You think?" House retorted, but time went up on the board followed by its own question mark. "Anything else?" When no one spoke up, he placed his forefingers on his forehead and frowned at the board. "What could this be?" he thought out loud.

"Lupus?" Suggested Chase. "It would explain the severe weakness, high fever, and possibly the pulmonary edema."

"What about the rest of the symptoms?" House queried. "Should I just cross them out?"

Chase shrugged noncomitally and continued staring at the symptoms in concentration. Meanwhile, House considered for a moment and then lupus was added to the board followed by a new question mark.

Foreman interjected next. "It could be Wegener's" he said, studying the symptoms.

"In a six-year old?" House scoffed.

"You like far-fetched ideas," Foreman pointed out, not backing down from his suggestion.

House rolled his eyes, but wrote Wegener's on the board anyway, along with a fourth question mark."Too many questions," House stated, disgruntled. "Any other ideas?"

"How about acute renal failure?" Wilson said next, frowning in thought. "If it isn't treated in time, it can lead to uremia."

House sighed. "Well, it's better than what tweedle dee and tweedle dum came up with," he said, not at all satisfied. But it was the best they had to go on at the moment. "Okay. Foreman, give the kid a lumbar puncture. Rule out any infections. Chase, I want you to redo the blood work and start testing for all of the above, and anything else you can come up with. Let's find out what this elusive disease is."

The two fellows rose from their chairs and headed quickly to the door, both wondering for the hundredth time why exactly they had renewed their fellowships for an additional three years. Meanwhile, House stood staring at the whiteboard, his mind flashing through each of thousands of possibilities. He hated being shown up by a disease, and he was damn well going to figure out what this one was. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he barely noticed that Wilson was still there, thumbing through a medical text.

When his phone began to ring, House answered it absent-mindedly, still staring at the symptoms on the board and scratching his jaw with the nub of the marker. "Hello?"

"Is this Dr. House?" came an unfamiliar female voice.

"No," House said. "It's his assistant, Dr. Wilson." (Behind him, Wilson rolled his eyes.)

"Well, could you inform Dr. House that there's an emergency with his son in the nursery?" (House suddenly jerked to attention, the muscles in his neck visibly tensing.) "We need him here immediately."

"What's the emergency?" House asked, a hint of alarm in his otherwise level tone. Meanwhile, Wilson had looked up from his medical text, concern etching itself across his face.

"He's not –" But the woman was cut off when a loud noise sounded on her end of the line. "I'm sorry, I have to go," she said in a rush. And then she hung up the phone.

House stared at his cell in consternation for several seconds before pocketing it and placing the marker back on the whiteboard's metal ledge.

"What's the emergency?" Wilson echoed, his medical text forgotten.

"No idea," House shrugged as he turned and began striding toward the door. "Something about Cameron's son and the nursery."

Wilson furrowed his brow. "They didn't say what it was?" he called after his retreating friend's back.

"Nope," House called, opening the door and leaving the room.

Not satisfied with the response, Wilson followed his friend out the door. "You're worried," he stated, striding up alongside House as the latter moved briskly down the hallway.

"You're annoying," House returned, not slowing his pace.

"Admit it," Wilson prodded, glancing at his fellow doctor out of the corner of his eye. "You care about the kid."

"Are you still here?" House asked, stopping at the elevator and punching the down button three times successively. "What, did I forget to pay my dues to the stalker patrol?"

Wilson rolled his eyes and stepped into the elevator behind the exasperating doctor. "You know, there is a limit to the amount of sarcasm you're allowed to use to cover your bleeding heart," he stated, leaning against the elevator wall.

"You know, there is a limit as to the amount of annoying you're allowed to be before I find a creative new use for my cane," House retorted. The elevator doors opened and he stepped out onto the second floor, maneuvering quickly past the nurse's station and down the hall.

Wilson rolled his eyes and once again fell into step with his friend. "You're cracking," he stated. "Admit it. It's the first step on the way to recovery."

"And what's the second?" House asked. "Whacking you over the head with my cane?"

"No, that would be forgiveness," Wilson replied, turning the corner and sidestepping an intern as he attempted to keep up with House.

"I liked mine better," House replied before stepping into the nursery with Wilson right behind him. Yup, he'd definitely have to make good on those stalker patrol dues. In the meantime, he looked from left to right in an attempt to find the person in charge, or at least some sign of the alleged emergency. Suddenly, the knots in his stomach tightened as he became aware that something was horribly wrong.

In every corner children were either crying, walking about in a daze, or else pulling on the legs of one of about five adults scattered throughout the room. And in the midst of it all, running on shaky toddler legs, screaming at the top of his lungs . . . pulling things from shelves and throwing blocks and erector sets . . . making other children cry . . . was the kid. And he was completely, one-hundred percent stark naked.

House stared at the scene, quickly grabbing his bottle of painkillers and throwing back two life-saving pills. Then, before anyone could notice his presence, he began slowly and deliberately backing toward the door. But it was of no use. Because suddenly, without warning, Jake noticed that a familiar face had entered his chaotic, unfamiliar new world. And before House could do a thing, the little boy ran up and attached himself to his father's leg. "Dada!" he cried, looking up at the disgruntled man with a big grin. Beside him, Wilson guffawed with laughter.

"Thank God!" came a voice that sounded quite weary and irked. House was too busy looking with annoyance at the young boy attached to his leg, or he might have noticed that the voice emerged from an incredibly tired looking woman with grey hair and green eyes. "You're Jake's father?"

"No," House replied, shaking his leg. When the kid refused to let go, he glared at the toddler and elaborated, "I've just been taken hostage."

"He's the dad," Wilson confirmed as he stepped up beside House, a merciless smirk spreading across his highly amused face. House redirected his glare to his best friend.

Then, as if the woman needed further proof, Jake once again cried, "Dada!" and lifted his arms into the air. "Dada hold?"

Meanwhile, House was fighting an internal battle. If he could read the minds of children, he would have known that Jake's first morning in pre-school had not gone too well, and the little boy was eager to reenter the world of familiarity. Instead, he sighed and tried to suppress the unwelcome amusement that was beginning to arise within him as he looked down into his own blue eyes. He was somewhat successful, trading in this amusement for mild irritation. Forcing himself to ignore the pleading look in the child's eyes (which was much harder than it should have been, damn it), he reached down to untangle the kid from his leg and took several steps toward the door. "Call his mother," he told the woman, ignoring the pouting frown that had emerged upon his son's face. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled to do your bidding."

A heavy sigh escaped Wilson's disapproving lips, while the woman took on a stern look. "My assistant already tried that," she replied. "When we explained the situation to Dr. Cameron, she told us that she was incredibly busy with meetings and that we should call you."

House exhaled and closed his eyes as the annoyance came on full force. So Cameron had been the one to maneuver this little situation. Did she really think challenging him was going to force him into acceptance? He'd thought she was smarter than that. "What do you expect me to do?" he snapped. "You're the baby-sitter. Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you take this kid," he pointed his finger at Jake (who was looking uncertainly from his father to his nursery school teacher), "And sit on him?" He scanned the woman from head to foot. "Not too hard, though. Wouldn't want any premature death suits." ("House!" Wilson remonstrated.)

The teacher pursed her lips. "I'm afraid he's going to have to leave for the day. He's upset the other children too much." At this point, one of those other children came running up to the woman and started pulling on her skirt. "Not now, Gabby," she said, and directed the little girl back into the heart of the nursery. Gabby shot a bewildered look at the strange man with the cane (who was glaring at her), then scuttled off. Nearby, Wilson shook his head in exasperation.

House ignored his friend and resumed the discussion. "And we wouldn't want mommy and daddy to think that you weren't capable of handling one little toddler, would we?" he drawled, his irritation growing. Cameron sucked at finding baby-sitters. Period.

The woman glared. "I handle the children fine," she said. "But your son is willful and defiant."

House narrowed his eyes. "And you're fat and ugly," he returned. "But you don't see me complaining." (Wilson buried his head in his hand.)

The woman's own eyes flashed. "You'll have to take him," she stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

House looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. "And do what?" he asked. "Give him a stethoscope and have him treat patients?"

At this point, Wilson decided to interject. "Can you at least re-clothe him?" he asked, ignoring the pointed look House directed his way. He could recognize the early signs of psychosis that came from dealing with a House – even one who wasn't yet two. And he knew that it would be best for all involved to just follow the request.

"Fine," the woman replied, then swept away presumably to get the child's clothing.

"Have you lost your mind?" House glowered at Wilson, then sighed as the kid reattached himself to his father's leg ("Juicey?"). "What the hell am I supposed to do with him?"

Wilson fixed House with exasperated, steely eyes. "Why don't you try fathering him?" he suggested.

"Why don't you try minding your own business?" House returned before taking his cell phone out of his pocket and flipping it open. He tried to ignore the stare the kid was sending in his direction. It wasn't easy.

"What are you doing?" Wilson asked.

But House ignored him. Instead, he punched in several buttons on his phone, then placed the cell to his ear.

The call was answered on the first ring. "Everything okay?" came Cameron's cheerful, yet hesitant voice on the other line. House couldn't see it, but she was nervously twisting her long brown hair around the index finger of her left hand.

"Peachy," House drawled, ignoring the rush of emotions that coursed throughout his gut at the sound of her voice. Damn her. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

"Of course not," she replied, a bit defensively. House didn't know it, but she was on tenterhooks.

"Then why exactly do I have a naked kid hanging onto my leg?" he beseeched. Once again, House tried to shake said kid off his leg. ("Juicey?" was the response, leaving House to exhale in resignation.)

Cameron sighed. "If you're not capable of handling your own son," she said, pointedly emphasizing the last part of her remark, "Then leave him there and I'll come get him."

House pursed his lips. "I'm not leaving an innocent kid with the likes of Medusa," he shot, glaring at the receiver.

"Then take him to your office, and I'll pick him up there," Cameron snapped, the frustration evident in her voice.

House narrowed his eyes. "Listen, you –" But he didn't get to finish, because Cameron had hung up on him. House glowered at the receiver for several moments, then pocketed it and looked back down at the kid. "What am I supposed to do with you?" he asked him.

The child's eyes grew wide and he detached his arms from his father's leg, holding them out by his sides. "Doe know," he said. Then he grinned.

House sighed, feeling himself involuntarily soften (but not too much) at the look on the child's face. Damn Cameron.

At this point, the woman returned and began clothing the child. When she was finished, she put him in his stroller and turned back to House. "You're going to have to leave," she stated. "You're beginning to frighten the other children."

House glared at the incompetent teacher. Before he could say anything, however, Wilson decided to avert further disaster by leading his friend out of the nursery, pushing the stroller along ahead of him.


We are suddenly transported from the safety of our computer screens to an unfamiliar back lot. There are about twenty nursery school children running around, bumping into cameras and throwing food into the air. A disgruntled director is attempting to quiet them down. In the corner, we see a naked toddler with wavy brown hair and bright blue eyes. He is throwing a tantrum. As we make our way into the back lot, we become aware that a scene is being filmed.

Me: Lights! Cameron – er, Camera! Action!

Cameron and Cuddy walk onto the set, but their bearing is strangely unfamiliar.

Cameron: Can you, like, believe that this chick has taken us all hostage?

Cuddy: Like, I know! You'd think she'd have a life or something!

Cameron: Totally! Like, did you hear that there's, like, one thing that'll make her let us all go?

Cuddy: (dons wide-eyed valley girl stare) For real? Like, what?

Cameron: For sure! She's all, if they, like, review, then you guys can go.

Cuddy: (twisting a strand of hair around her finger) They so totally have to review. I, like, need to go to the mall. I so totally need new pumps.

Cameron: Me, too! These wardrobe people are so five minutes ago.

Cuddy: Yeah. Like, gag me with a spoon.

Cameron: Totally.

Camera fades out.

Me: You heard them! Go review!