Title: Succumb (9?)
Author: Teenwitch
Summary: We have to succumb to the feelings we can never face.
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"Hey, hey! Not the magic eight ball! I'll be mopping little girl brains off the floor for months. Your mother probably wouldn't even pay for the cleaning expenses."

He moved the eight ball from its precarious perch on the edge of the desk, scowling down at the little girl as if he could somehow make her disappear.

He did not know how he had managed to get himself in this situation.

Cameron had brought her kid into the office, again, and she was so quiet he hadn't thought much about arguing it. Of course that was before Cameron was paged to the patient's room, leaving Uncle Foreman to baby-sit, who was then called for a consult down in the clinic. Leaving House alone with Brooklyn.

Which was just swell.

Foreman didn't look especially pleased about the prospect either, but there wasn't a lot he could do about it. He left with a stern frown and some trifling warning; a warning House wouldn't have minded on a good day.

He was always up for a challenge, but babysitting duty fell short of his normal criteria. He was surprised he hadn't angrily paged Cameron about the situation the moment Foreman left the room. It wasn't like him to be this tolerant.

He glanced down at the little girl uneasily. Brooklyn was shy and quiet, and she reminded him far too much of her mother. An absence his hardened heart was far too used to. He didn't need the constant reminder of the crap he had been forced to endure without her around.

She also seemed to think that the nifty toys in his office were for her to play with, just because he let her touch his Gameboy that one time. He wasn't a kid person. He wasn't a people person period, though kids under three were slightly more tolerable providing they kept the crying to a minimum.

He heaved a deep, exasperated sigh, scanning his office for something to preoccupy her. The patient's MRI scan was tacked to the board in his office, yielding no results. The case was starting to reach that exciting peak of mystery, and he wanted to go over the other test results and uncover something the others might have missed.

At last he lifted his Gameboy reluctantly from his top drawer. He sat on his favourite armchair, taking the opportunity to bend over and place it on the carpet at Brooklyn's feet.

Brooklyn smiled at him, making some nonsensical sound of delight. For whatever reason, she seemed to have decided she liked him. He gruffly wondered if that irrationality ran in the family.

He flipped through the patient file, frowning deeply. Treatment for vasculitis appeared to be working effectively, but he couldn't rid himself of the feeling that there was something they were missing. Cases were rarely this simple. If the correct diagnosis really was vasculitis, he felt cheated, like the mystery had hardly reached its second chapter.

His Gameboy made a few bleeping noises, alerting him to the fact that Brooklyn had indeed worked out how to turn it on. He sighed, wondering how much damage she could really do to the thing. He was being oddly lenient, considering it was one of his most prized workplace distractions.

House found himself marvelling at how Cameron had handled parenthood all by herself. He wasn't really sure what her relationship with her parents was like, but he knew they didn't live in Boston. It was such a Cameron thing to do; willingly martyrise herself for her beliefs.

He sighed, slapping the patient file tiredly on his knees. Brooklyn had spread out on his floor, enthralled with the game. She was considerably low maintenance for a two year old, he conceded.

He was still watching her when the familiar whoosh of the glass door interrupted the silence.

"What… the hell are you doing?"

House glanced up at Wilson, who was blinking at him disbelievingly. He ambled slowly into House's office, staring down at his friend with an expression of stark incredulity.

"Hey," House said mildly. "You said a bad word."

Wilson rolled his eyes, quickly recovering from his shock. He had seen his fair share of weird things in their friendship, after all. "You know, this would make an excellent addition to someone's Christmas calendar. I should get my camera."

"I'm sure I could rustle up some pictures of you too," House retorted, barely peeling his gaze away from the floor. "Much less G friendly."

"I always knew you would use those for leverage." Wilson settled on the opposite armchair, staring down at Brooklyn with mild curiosity. "Where's Cameron?"

"Patient. Clearly this is her way of punishing me."

"She left Brooklyn alone with you?"

House rolled his eyes. "No. Foreman did. They're conspiring against me."

"Clearly," Wilson repeated dubiously. The two men were silent as they considered the child. It was unfamiliar territory for both of them. Most men their age had families of their own. Men in their profession, on the other hand, found it considerably harder. Neither of them really cared to be included in either statistic.

"I don't get children," Wilson admitted suddenly, frowning thoughtfully.

House had to smirk. "Don't let Julie hear you say that. She might get the wrong idea."

Wilson scowled. "I have two nieces and a nephew. I can deal with them just fine. It's just the parental side that I can't comprehend. Why would you want someone wholly dependent on you for the rest of their lives? It's madness."

"It always helps to go in voluntarily. I don't think chaining you to the bed counts."

Wilson leant back in his chair. "Julie thinks children will solve our other marital problems."

House held up a warning hand. "Hey. TMI. Don't share and I won't share."

"We have a very healthy friendship."

"I've always thought so."

Wilson eyed House, wondering if he had any inkling as to the professional jeopardy he was in. He doubted so. "I spoke to Cuddy earlier."

House continued to watch Brooklyn, who finally abandoned his Gameboy to crawl under his desk. "Let me guess? Your cover got blown, right? Trying to think up a good story for the wife. I always knew you were in good with the boss for a reason."

Wilson ignored him. "We were talking about you."

"Well, I'm flattered. I am a riveting topic."

Wilson sighed deeply. "House, this is serious."

"So is baby-monitoring. Cameron might not like it if she gets returned missing something."

"Apparently you're starting to become a threat to the department."

House blinked at his sudden bluntness, tapping the patient file impatiently on his knee. "I've heard that one before."

Wilson's frustration was mounting considerably. "This isn't something Cuddy or I can protect you from, House. She's giving you a month to improve or she's going to fire you. You must have seen this coming."

House shrugged, unbothered. "Can't say I did. Hey, not on the furniture."

He waved his cane at Brooklyn, who was attempting to climb his chair. She immediately dropped back on the floor. He smirked in satisfaction. "Better than a dog."

Wilson stared at him for his inattention, rising rapidly to his feet. "This doesn't worry you? Not at all?"

House stared up at him, barely masking his scowl. "Should it? We've dealt with this kind of problem before. I'm feeling lucky second time around."

Wilson shook his head irritably. "This isn't someone's personal vendetta, House. Your behaviour is starting to worry people. It's starting to worry me."

"Oh, here we go," House muttered, rising to his feet, and sliding into his desk chair. "Out with the daddy complex."

"You're unflappable," Wilson snapped, waving a hand in disbelief. "This is your job we're talking about. I'm not the only one who's worried. Didn't you think there was a reason Cuddy brought Cameron back right now?"

House actually looked annoyed. He reached into his pocket for his Vicodin, only to discover he had left them in his jacket. "What does Cameron have to do with anything?"

"You know exactly what she has to do with it. She's barely been here a week and you've already changed back to something resembling who you were before."

House rolled his eyes. "Not enough, apparently."

"Will you stop treating this like a joke? What is the matter with you lately?"

"Maybe you should worry where it's needed," House snapped, straightening to his feet. "Start with those 'marital problems' bothering Julie so much." He spotted his jacket slung over a chair in the briefing room, the door to which Wilson was conveniently blocking.

Brooklyn stared between them worriedly, fixed to a spot on the floor. Their shouting had stopped her exploration of the office.

"Oh, that's really mature, House," Wilson retorted.

"Yeah, what can I say, maturity is the name of this argument."

"Well, if I'm forced to come down to your level to make you listen to me, I will!"

"If you guys are done scarring my child, I'd like to interrupt now."

Cameron's unexpectedly firm voice broke their argument. Wilson spun to blink at her, guilt marring his kindly features. House cast his eyes down at the ground, expression typically impassive.

"Cameron," Wilson started haltingly. "We were just…"

"Arguing. Yeah. I think the whole floor got that." She looked at House, arms folded crisply over her blouse. Without the lab coat she looked older, and more secure. For once, her anger was of a protective nature, and it gave her added strength. "Where's Foreman?"

"He had to scamper down to the clinic," House replied sardonically. "He delegated babysitting duty."

She tilted a perfectly plucked eyebrow, moving between them to carefully extract Brooklyn. When she rose to her feet, Brooklyn glanced between them curiously from her newly elevated position. Cameron shot them one last cursory glare before turning and departing from the room.

If Wilson's attempts to jostle him into a sense of self-preservation hadn't aggravated him enough, that small exchange certainly did it. House shot Wilson a brief, darkened look, passing him for the briefing room door. Wilson didn't need to turn to know that the first thing he sought was his bottle of wayward Vicodin. He sighed deeply, lowering his head in resignation.

House's self-destructive behaviour was getting out of control. And Cameron, perhaps one of the limited few who could both provoke and assuage it, couldn't have come at a worse time.

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