Sorry this took so long guys. All AP classes and Spanish 3 on top of that is kicking my ass all over Dallas.
Picking up the backpack from the foster care center took even less time, and soon they were on their way back to the flat.
Jacob looked out the window curiously, his eyes carefully shielded. He hadn't known what he'd been expecting, but he liked what he was seeing.
They rode the elevator to the apartment, the short dings the only noise permeating the silence. House was the one to unlock the door.
Jacob couldn't help but gasp at the wide space before him. Guitars lined the wall. There was a piano in one corner and an organ in the other. It was clean and orderly, with dark wooden floors and a wall full of book cases- filled to the brim.
He edged forward hesitantly, unsure of how he was supposed to react. House watched him with a mixture of amusement and sadness.
"Your room is towards the back," he said after a moment, breaking the silence. Jacob stared at him in naked amazement.
"What, you thought we were going to make you sleep on the couch?"
Jacob blinked. "I… I don't know what I thought. This way?"
"Last door on the left."
Jacob slowly edged down the hallway, sneaking a glance at the other rooms there. One was clearly Houses- there were clothes all over the place and a spare cane leaning on the bed frame. The other was much neater, and Jacob assumed, Wilson's.
He opened the door to the last room, blinking at the size of it. It was much larger than his cupboard of a living space at his house. There were a few boxes lying around, but there was a mattress on the floor and an empty closet.
"We'll get furniture for it, obviously," Wilson added, feeling suddenly as if Jacob was not getting what he deserved. They hadn't really had time to prepare, but he still felt bad about it.
Jacob shook his head mutely. "It's…"
House pursed his lips. "Tomorrow, I'm taking the day off."
Jacob shot him a look. "What? Why?"
"Because I have about a year's worth of vacation days that I haven't used, and you need stuff. And also because I want to visit downtown."
Wilson made a quick decision. "I can as well," he offered, thinking it out as he went.
Jacob began to feel slightly overwhelmed. "Wait, you don't have to… I mean, this is fine…"
House raised an eyebrow at him. "Dude. I don't even have sheets for that thing."
Jacob eyed the twin sized mattress. "I'll miss school."
"Who cares?" House asked simultaneously with Wilson's; "We'll call in an excuse."
Jacob made a face. "You really shouldn't be spending so much money on me…"
House rolled his eyes. "Kid, we're both doctors. I've got a lot of money and not much to spend it on. Relax."
Jacob still looked hesitant. "Jacob," House said sharply, catching his attention. "Don't worry about it, okay?"
Jacob's green eyes stared into House's blue. "O… Okay."
House nodded shortly, turning around. "I have to go back to work. Make yourself at home."
Wilson smiled encouragingly at Jacob. "There're leftovers in the fridge – you can heat up whatever you want. I'll be back by six at the latest. House could be home at any time. He usually just leaves whenever he fixes his patient."
The oncologist distractedly watched his friend amble out the door. "Feel free to do whatever. The TV has cable, you can shower, I don't care. See you later."
Jacob smiled hesitantly as Wilson ran out the door after House.
When the two men had gone, Jacob edged into his room and sat down heavily on the mattress. His head was spinning. How had he gone from abuse victim to foster kid this quickly? His mind still hadn't grasped the situation.
He looked around the room and decided to try and make it presentable. He shoved the few remaining cardboard boxes in the closet and scooted the mattress flush against the wall. Then he unpacked his duffel bags into the rickety dresser and threw the empty sacks in the closet.
He didn't have much else. The picture of his mother he gently placed on the dresser. His few other possessions and his school bag he placed carefully in the closet until further notice.
The blank whiteness of the walls was starting to depress him, so he left the room and wandered down the hall. He stuck his head in the bathroom – this one only had a shower and a sink. Probably the master bath had a tub. He tossed his toothbrush on the sink and kept going.
He wanted to check out the two men's rooms, but that lingering feeling of being a snoop stopped him. He did notice a photo of a young, beautiful blonde woman in what he perceived to be Wilson's bedroom, though. Wonder what that was all about.
The living room was even more amazing under carful inspection. His stared at the guitars in fascination, recognizing several top notch brands that took his breath away. He itched to pull them off the wall and try them out, but fear of angering his host stopped him for the moment. He lightly brushed the piano keys, listening to the sound resonate through the wood beautifully.
He was pretty hungry, so he rummaged through the fridge for something to eat. He came up with a container of spaghetti and garlic toast. He dug around till he found the plates and heated both up in the microwave, trying to shake off the feeling that he was intruding. This was where he was going to be living, after all. Technically, it was now his home.
He shook his head to himself. No one would believe him. He was just too damn lucky – what other abused, worthless kid got taken in by two rich, accomplished doctors? He was almost waiting for something to go wrong, for him to screw it up so badly that Dr. House decided he no longer wanted him around.
Suddenly, he was no longer hungry. He pushed away the half eaten pasta, feeling sick.
He washed the plate and trudged back into the living room, wishing he wasn't such a pessimist.
An acoustic guitar on the wall caught his eye, and he just couldn't quite stop himself from reaching out to it. It was if his hands were moving on their own accord.
He sat down with it carefully, and strummed it. Perfectly in tune. It seemed as if House kept his instruments well maintained. He pulled a pick out of his pocket (he always had at least one) and strummed a major cord. It resonated out of the body of the guitar beautifully, filling up the entire apartment.
Jacob fell into his music. This was how he had escaped from his father. First by just burying himself in his headphones, and later by creating his own tunes. He would take it out on the roof or in the back yard, far enough away from his drunken dad to hide the sound, and play for hours.
Now he was free to do it as he wished, and he forgot everything else. All his uncertainties, all his doubts, all his fears. He was lost, and it was beautiful.
House tried to sneak past Cuddy's office, but she caught him. She clacked up to him in those ridiculous high heels and glared.
"Didn't I tell you to take a break?" she accused. It wasn't like House to avoid sleeping on the job.
"It's no fun if you're okay with it…" he whined. At her un-amused look, he sighed. "I had to take the kid to pick up his stuff."
She blinked. That was so… responsible. "… Okay," she murmured, backing off.
House looked surprised. "Okay?"
She smiled at him ruefully. "I'm not going to yell at you for doing something half way decent, House. That'd be counterproductive."
He smirked at her as he stepped into the elevator, glad to have avoided another screaming session.
His team wasn't nearly so keen on letting things go. Foreman was staring at him like he was an interesting lab specimen, while Kutner grinned like a moron. Chase smiled at him slightly.
House fixed a hard look on his face. "Let's get something clear here. Whatever you think about me and the kid, I don't care. Don't mention it to me unless you want to lose your job. Are we clear?"
Kutner looked slightly crestfallen. Chase just rolled his eyes, and Foreman did nothing.
House strode over to the whiteboard, limping more heavily than usual because of his antics that day. It was hard to believe that only one day, and not even a full one at that, had passed since that morning. He felt like he'd been up and running for a week.
He leaned on the whiteboard, and the team couldn't help but notice. The kid had been right. His leg was, apparently, giving him hell.
"So what's the status on Baldie?" he asked, referring to their shaven patient. "Blackie, you first."
The team launched into a differential. Even after House had solved it, he let them go on for a few more minutes, bantering between themselves.
Kutner was the first to think of the answer, and House watched him curiously to see if he would defend it. Before long, Chase had joined him, and it was the two of them against Foreman. He was arguing for something neurological.
"Not everything's in our heads, Foreman…" House taunted in a sing song voice. "The Olsen twin and his Indian cousin got it. Sorry. Go forth and treat, my minions."
Kutner and Chase left the room grinning, distracted from House by their victory. Foreman, however, lingered.
"House…" he ventured, looking like he was walking on glass with no shoes on. "I know I probably sound like Cameron, but is your leg hurting more than usual today?"
House snapped his gaze to him, his eyes narrowing sharply.
Foreman was not to be deterred. "It's a simple question."
House raised an eyebrow, curious in spite of himself. "Though I'm not sure why it's any of your business, yes, it is."
Foreman shrugged. "To be honest, the kid called it. I just wanted to see if he was right."
House smiled halfway, shaking his head. "He's pretty observational. Though apparently he's got diarrhea of the mouth."
Foreman hesitated. "You know… I'm sure if you just told Cuddy, you wouldn't have to come into work on days like this."
House frowned. "Foreman, listen up, because I'm only going to say this once. I deal with this everyday, all the time. Just because it hurts a little more than usual doesn't mean I'm going to stay home and cry about it while watching sappy romance movies and eating ice cream."
He limped over to his office. "And besides, Cuddy already gave me a free pass to sleep the rest of the day. So, while I appreciate your weird – and frankly disturbing – concern, butt the hell out."
Foreman smiled as House closed his office door and relaxed in his chair, pulling out his headphones and closing his eyes. No matter how annoying he was at times, it was still rather refreshing to not have to deal with boring pleasantries from the man.
House and Wilson ended up coming home together. Wilson had come to check on House's progress later in the day when he was about to leave, and, upon finding him asleep, woke him up and informed him he was taking him home.
House had looked up at him blearily, eyes fuzzy from sleep. He'd rubbed his thigh absently, then, shocking Wilson, had stuck his hand out for assistance.
Wilson had taken it quickly, afraid it would be retracted if he waited too long. He helped haul House to his feet.
House shook himself, and then did something so un-House-like that Wilson was stunned. He clasped Wilson's arm with his own, and did a lightning quick, nearly missed, one armed bro-hug. Had Wilson not been there, he wouldn't have believed it.
House was out the door by the time he clawed his way out of his stunned stupor. "Uh, House?" he asked, catching up with the diagnostician. "What the hell was that?"
House shrugged. He looked… uncomfortable. "You were there with me today with Jacob."
Wilson recognized the unsaid thanks. "Of course," he murmured, touched. "Of course I was."
House looked deeply unsettled, embarrassed even, as they walked slowly to Wilson's car. "You didn't… push… you didn't try to fix me… you were just… there. And… I'm glad. So there."
Wilson smiled softly at House, and then grasped him in a hug of his own – a much longer and more loving one. He loved the smell of the man, the dark, warm, spicy scent that was House.
House hugged back, if slightly. He pressed his arms together with a tiny bit of pressure, as close to a bear hug as he could – or at least would – get. Wilson could feel the man's cane pressing slightly into his back.
Then the moment had passed, and they were getting into the car. House got into the passenger seat without much grumbling. He didn't really mind leaving his bike at the hospital- he wasn't going to be riding it any time soon. There was snow blowing in, and one legged, sleep deprived diagnosticians, two wheeled vehicles, and ice did not mix well.
The car ride to their apartment was short and uneventful. Wilson pretended that he didn't notice House struggling out of the car, taking extra time with his briefcase so he had an excuse to wait.
House frowned at the rapidly cooling weather, his gaze flickering over the gently waving autumn leaves. "I hate the cold," he mused as he turned around, not facing Wilson.
And he did, too. He used to revel in it. As a college kid, it had been the perfect time to jog, ski, skate, sled, whatever. He'd loved the sharp tang of rotting leaves and frigid air that nipped playfully at his lungs when he was gulping in air, the tingling sensation of defrosting after coming inside after a long day roughhousing in the snow, the flush on his cheeks that made him feel alive.
Now, it was different. Now he hated it- feared it even. Cold meant hell for his leg in the morning, night – any time he stayed still for too long. It meant aches and pains that came with the uneven weight distribution of someone that walked with a cane. It meant being confined to the car, unable to feel slightly less crippled on his bike. It meant snow, it meant ice. Treacherous things that could easily slip him up and force him onto his ass, onto his bad leg, into hell. He hated the cold now as much as he had as a kid – locked outside in it by an angry father, or forced into a tub of it as punishment.
House shook himself as he entered the foyer, blinking. Wilson was by his side, looking at him worriedly.
House shook his head and sighed, getting in the elevator.
Wilson unlocked the door this time, pulling back his arm to toss his briefcase and coat down. House's lightning quick hand on his arm stopped him.
Wilson froze. "Listen," House hissed, eyes suddenly aflame.
Wilson listened.
Someone – Jacob – was playing guitar. House cocked his head and listened intensely, his face interested.
Even to Wilson's untrained ear, the kid sounded pretty fantastic. House stalked forwards after a moment, curiosity flickering through him like fire.
Before long they were both watching Jacob, who had his back to them. He was strumming the guitar and singing softly, almost inaudibly. House watched him, fascinated.
"He can play," House murmured softly, leaning forward. "This kid's fourteen…"
Wilson suppressed a smile, watching House curiously. He seems alive, for the first time in a long time. Wilson has seen that look before, when House is really into one of his own musical pieces, or in the depths of a puzzle, or, sometimes, when House is looking… at him.
The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he almost missed what happened next.
House cleared his throat, letting his presence be known. Jacob jumped about a mile high, already stammering apologies.
"I'm s-sorry," he stuttered, putting the guitar on the couch and scrambling away from it. "I d-didn't – I mean – I –"
House held up a hand. "Jacob, calm down."
Jacob stills himself, eyes still flicking wildly. He looks like a raccoon caught in a trap.
House slowly sat down, and Wilson realized with a start that he's making himself as least threatening as possible. He set his hands on his lap carefully, leaving them loose.
"Really, kid, it's fine," House said, his voice surprisingly soothing. "If you can play it – which you can – I don't mind you using them."
Jacob still looks unsure, fearful. He is unused to being able to make mistakes without fear of pain. "Are you sure?"
House nodded, a slight smile on his face. "You're not bad, by the way. You taught yourself?"
Jacob finally seemed to relax a bit. "Yeah, pretty much."
He looks at House with guarded eyes. "You said… that you could teach me more. Will you?"
House looks thoughtful. "Yeah. At first I was just… well, not being polite, I don't do that. But now… you have potential. A lot of potential. I'm not going to let that go to waste."
House unexpectedly turned the conversation to Wilson. "Right, Jimmy?"
Wilson smiled at Jacob, trying to look like the sane one. "Right."
Jacob looked just a little more relaxed after that, and House smiled at him challengingly. "Go get your guitar, and give me mine. Let's see what you've got."
Wilson smiled at Jacob's face lit up. He shook his head – maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all. It seemed to be softening up House already.
D'aww. Next chapter is the shopping trip. Review? No? ... Okay...
