A/N: This chapter is shorter than I'd like it to be, but I think if I added anymore, it'd just be useless bubble wrap. Hope it's all right.

No slash intended. Please Read and Review. Thank you to all of my supporters.

AEW: Thank you for trying to give me the link, but disables links so I couldn't see your picture. Could you please email it to me instead? Thank you.

Chapter 3

The walls were cotton candy pink. They gleamed wet in the light, and Wilson lay flat on his back between them, the carpet mysteriously comfortable. It was seven o'clock and dark outside. They'd finished painting in between snacks and caring for Wendy, who was fingering her stuffed puppy in her carrier, outside in the hall. House had said the paint fumes were bad for her. Wilson didn't want her in another room entirely, where she could get into trouble. She was happy in the hall.

"And now comes the fun part," said House, limping into the room. Wilson lifted his head. "Furniture assembly."

Wilson plopped his head back down. "Great."

The delivery truck had come by two hours ago with the furniture; the crib pieces were in their box out in the hall, far from Wendy. The mirror, the dresser, and the rocking chair were all ready to go, but James would have to move them in.

House stepped closer.

"Hungry?"

"Tired."

"It's only 7:15. How old are you?"

Wilson flipped him off.

"Oh, that's a great attitude to teach the kid."

"She doesn't have x-ray vision."

"You never know," House warned. "Child of Wonder Boy Oncologist, she just might."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Come on," said House, rapping his cane against Wilson's side. "Don't want to keep the lady waiting."

Wilson groaned, as House turned and limped out. He suffered to sit up, pull up his knees. Insanity, he thought for the hundredth time while shaking his head. Pure insanity.

He glared at House now and again, as he pushed, pulled, and scooted the furniture into the nursery from the hallway. House lounged on the floor, feeding Wendy and smirking at Wilson.

"Having fun?"

"This is going to give me an ulcer."

"Good thing you work in a hospital then, huh?"

Wilson's eyes smoldered. He grunted and pushed at the dresser, which slid slowly along the carpet on a piece of foam it had been packed in. House continued to grin

"Daddy needs a nap," he said to Wendy. She looked at him and sucked on her bottle.

Once the dresser (which the oncologist had come to loathe) was set against the wall, Wilson had less trouble with the rocking chair and the mirror. House watched him in amusement, and he strode in and out of the room huffily, avoiding eye contact. It didn't take too long to assemble the crib, and he trotted down the stairs to the laundry room for the bedding, aware of House's twinkling eyes following his back. The elder man had to fight back a snort of laughter when Wilson returned with an armful of pink blankets and pillows.

"One word, and I'll hurt you," Wilson threatened.

"I wasn't going to say anything," House replied. And then leaning toward Wendy, once Wilson was in her room, he said, "Your daddy is so whipped."

Wilson sighed, hands on his hips, stepping out to look at House.

"It's ready."

"Are you sure? It's missing a really big poster of me."

Wilson frowned.

"Oh, that's right," House ignored. "Poster stage isn't for another thirteen years or so. Maybe we could get one for you instead."

"A porn star?"

"No. That same really big one with me on it that says 'House is my king'."

Wilson flipped him off.

"God, that's the second time today! And in front of the kid! Where are your manners? You could at least warn me first, so I can cover her eyes."

"Are you going to look at the room or not?"

House rose and slid past Wilson. He stood in the middle of the pink and white, the lamplight brighter than the light that lit the hallway from downstairs. Wilson rubbed his neck.

"It seems – bare," he said.

"It'll be fine once I buy her a bookshelf," said House. "That's for tomorrow. And we could probably use a few pictures and some big stuffed animals. This will be sweet once it's done."

He grinned in satisfaction, and Wilson smiled, arms crossed.

"And you know, the pink isn't that bad," said House.

"I was thinking maybe we could buy some stencils and paint on butterflies or something."

"Uh, no. I won't tolerate any butterflies in my house unless they're dismembered and bleeding and realistically painted."

"Butterflies don't bleed," said Wilson.

"They do if they're painted on my walls."

"Fine. Flowers."

"No."

They put Wendy in her new crib, made sure she fell asleep, and went downstairs to have waffles for dinner. They had debated over waffles or pancakes but decided that they were too lazy to make pancakes when they could just heat up some frozen Egos. They were the berry kind, too – not bad. They sat in the weak kitchen light and laughed over miscellaneous things, eating berry waffles with butter and syrup, drinking Strawberry Zinfandel, to which Wilson marveled out loud that House would ever buy white wine. The TV glowed quietly, and neither of them knew what was on.

"Can you imagine what Cameron's going to say when she finds out about this?" Wilson prompted, grinning. House laughed with a mouth full of waffle.

"I'll be forced to tell her all about our passionate affair," said House. "And how you've secretly been a woman all this time."

Wilson laughed with cheeks reddened by the wine. He was on his third glass; two identical bottles sat open on the table.

"Yes, Julie," House almost slurred. "You've been in a lesbian marriage all this time and never knew."

They both snorted and laughed out loud.

"His dick? Oh, never mind, never mind. That was just a medical illusion. Why do you think he became a doctor?"

Wilson's chest began to ache with laughter, and House drank some more wine, right out of the nearest bottle.

"Why would I pretend to be a man if I were having an affair with you?" Wilson asked breathlessly.

"Oh, don't ask that, James," House warned, darkly. "We're not sober enough to get into complicated, sexual issues."

Wilson chuckled. "Oh, God," he said, swallowing waffle. "What is Cuddy going to say?"

"About Wendy, our affair, or your sexuality?"

Wilson smirked. "Wendy."

"Do I care?" House said, sipping on his wine bottle. "Although – her expression should be pretty sweet."

Wilson sighed. "What are we going to do on Monday?"

"Run away to Mexico."

Wilson snorted and drank.

"Okay, Canada, if you prefer that."

"Seriously, House. What are we going to do? We have to work. Julie's coming home. Who's going to take care of Wendy while you're gone?"

House took a bigger gulp of wine. "Well – I was thinking of bringing her along."

Wilson choked and coughed. "And do what? Parade her around the whole hospital?"

"I don't know. We could hide her somewhere – in your office, maybe."

"Oh, sure, that'll work. Why don't we just call up a baby-sitter?"

"Who?"

"Just any baby-sitting service. There's bound to be a few in the yellow pages."

"And leave her with a complete stranger that could end up being one of those baby-shakers or a pedophile? I don't think so."

"Do you really not trust anyone on the face of the earth?"

"With Wendy? No."

Wilson sighed. "Fine. But you better make fucking sure that no one sees her."

"If she's in your office, that your job. I'll have no problem sneaking her in."

Wilson didn't bother asking what House planned. He drank some more instead. They didn't speak for a while, letting the distant sounds of the TV fill their silence. They finished the wine bottles and felt the buzz, the hum in their minds. They each stared down at their empty plates after, streaks of syrup gleaming amber in the light, soiled forks naked and turned down on the white glass.

"House."

"Yeah?"

Wilson looked at House, those brown eyes filled with something that suddenly made House attentive. Silence passed for a long moment. Wilson bit his lip. House waited, blue eyes piercing.

"Thank you," said James, softly. "Thank you for this."

House stared at him for another moment more, before giving a slow nod, lips twitching. Wilson smiled faintly and dropped his gaze.

"You – uh – want a beer or something?" House asked after a second. Wilson declined, and House said he was going to have a beer. He let Wilson climb the stairs alone and drank his beer in the kitchen, taking his time because he knew that Wilson needed solitude. He drank and watched a Saturday Night Live re-run on the barely audible TV. Wilson's plate and fork remained, and Wilson's empty bottle stayed too. House stretched his legs out and sipped on his Heineken, felt himself slow down.

He stopped mid-stride when he re-entered the nursery to check on Wendy for himself and found Wilson asleep on the carpet, shoulder and side rising and falling with his breaths. House stood against his cane and looked for a moment. Wendy was soundless in her crib. The lamplight was soft on the walls. All was quiet, until the only thing House could hear was Wilson's breathing, and if he listened hard, maybe he could hear Wendy's too. He limped away, limped back in, threw down one of his pillows that he'd fetched from the bedroom, and drew a spare blanket over James. He knelt down on his good leg shakily, eased himself down onto the tight-packed carpet, lay down and wondered why the hell he was going to sleep on the floor instead of his own bed. He didn't want to wake James, and it didn't feel right to leave him here on the carpet alone for some reason.

He sighed, lying flat on his back in the same concert T-shirt he'd worn all day. His cane was motionless beside him, like an unwanted lover, an unloved wife. At the same time, Wilson slept on his other side – and Wendy beyond her father. House watched shadows and light on the ceiling and thought, listening to Wilson breathe.

This had become official. He couldn't take it back now. Wendy was staying. No matter how insane it might make him, he could never get rid of her, never get sick of her. If he did, he would never be able to walk into this room again. These walls belonged to her. They would always belong to her. And she would always belong to him and he would belong to her and they would belong to Wilson together. Although House didn't exactly look forward to the day when Julie would discover their secret, he wanted the marriage to dissolve so that James wouldn't have the weight of secrecy on him. James belonged with him and Wendy. Even though the thought contradicted everything inside him and everything people believed about him and the way he should think and feel as a heterosexual man, he couldn't deny the concept in his mind.

They belonged together now. The three of them. They weren't whole without each other. Nothing was complete anymore if one of them was missing. He silently dreaded the nights to come when Wilson wouldn't be here – dinner for two instead of three, watching TV and drinking beer alone while Wendy slept, taking care of her by himself when her real father should be around. Wendy and James shouldn't be apart. It wasn't right.

Why couldn't House just tell Wilson to file for divorce on Monday? As soon as Julie came home?

He sighed again, lips pressed together. This sucked. Why should Julie have James when he didn't even love her anymore? Okay, so maybe James told himself that he still loved her, but House wasn't stupid. The marriage was dead; even Wilson knew that. What's the point in staying married then? Why stay married when this was waiting for Wilson?

Thoughts (fears) began to race through House's mind, unnerving him – birthday parties without Wilson, school get-togethers without Wilson, dance recitals and music recitals without Wilson, nights of asking House for help with her homework instead of James. Good God. Christmas without Wilson. Thanksgiving without Wilson. How could a kid say thanks for her father when he wasn't even there? House rubbed his brow. Wilson couldn't miss out on Wendy's entire life for the sake of preserving his dead marriage or the secret.

He shut his eyes, let himself float. He never thought he'd have a family. He had never thought something like this would happen. He had imagined Wilson with children but always with a wife, a mother. Julie could probably raise Wendy a whole lot better than he could. He frowned. What if Wilson decided to offer Wendy to his wife after all and Julie accepted and House was left with this empty, pink room? He didn't think he could live without Wendy. As unhappy as he had been since Stacy left, he would be twice as unhappy if this little family was short-lived.

Stacy. Wait 'til she heard about this. It would be sweet. "Yeah, you got a husband, but I have a best friend who cares and isn't a complete idiot and a baby." He and Stacy had talked about children. He'd actually been keen on the idea when they had been together. He knew it was something she had always wanted and hoped for. He knew – hoped – she would be painfully jealous of him upon discovering Wendy. He was still in love with her. She was the One. Just as she had told him he was hers. (It made him wince.) But she was never coming back into the picture. He accepted that. Now, she was just hovering around to torture him. Bit maybe, if was incredibly lucky, this new situation could help him get over Stacy for good.

Wilson's breathing lulled House to sleep.

When he woke, nothing had changed: still dark, still pink, still floored. Wendy fussed. Wilson slept soundly. House groaned to himself, closed his eyes and opened them again, shifting idly before really pushing himself up. Getting up off the floor was a bitch. He groaned some more at his protesting back, his aching leg, his tired muscles. Despite it all, he managed to stand, stopped a stumble with his cane. Wendy's cranky sounds persisted from her crib. He limped around Wilson and toward the white wood.

"What is it?" he whispered, looking down at her. She didn't stop scrunching up her face, threatening tears. "You're not hungry again, are you?"

He propped his cane up against the crib and reached down to pick her up. He found himself hushing her in the soft lamplight, while his bad leg trembled under his weight. She was warm against his shoulder and his chest, one arm almost hooked around his neck. His hands must have looked awkward against her body, but they felt right for her in his mind. He held her head to his shoulder gently, hushed her again. If only he could pace around the room. Goddamn leg.

Instead, he swayed from side to side and started to hum quietly, not daring to sing and risk being caught by Wilson like this. Wendy grew quieter and quieter until she was silent, asleep on his shoulder. He swayed.