Sorry for another delay; not a lot of time to write lately. I'll know tomorrow how much time I'll have in the coming weeks to write! Wish me luck!

Chapter 3

"You are a moron," Cuddy sighed the moment she opened the door. House stood at her door step, knowing full well that his wife was there; her car was in the driveway.

House rolled his eyes. "Tell me something I don't know." She stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind her. "Allison doesn't want to see me?"

"No. Would you want to see you?"

"Not particularly."

"I warned both of you that this would happen. You always screw it up-" One look from House and she clamped her mouth closed. He scrubbed at his eyes out of exhaustion. "What happened?"

"I felt the kid kick."

"That's it?"

"What do you mean 'that's it?' Isn't that enough?" House felt his heart pounding again. "I'm married and have a kid on the way. I didn't want kids! I didn't want to be married!"

"Should have said something yesterday."

"I love her!" he yelled. "I care about her, and the kid! And when I felt it kick, I realised that IF I love them, then the bast thing in the world is for me to leave before I do serious damage to it. What if I'm as bad of a father as mine was? What if I'm worse!?"

Cuddy put her hands on his arms to slow the ranting down. She met his eyes with a smile. "There is no way in hell that Cameron, or anyone else around you will let you be a bad father." He rolled his eyes.

"I'm...already just like my father; hurt her hours after we got married. I'm as bad as he is-"

"Greg, you aren't your father!" Allison said from the door. "You are an ass, but you aren't him."

"You have any idea what my childhood was like?" he asked, a bitter laugh in his voice.

"You won't tell anyone!"

"Then how can you know if I'll be like him?"

"Because, you are so scared that you'll be like him that you'd push me away," she whispered, taking his hands and stepping closer. Cuddy ushered them into the house and left them to talk in the living room. "How can I help you if you won't talk to me, Greg?"

"You don't need to know what happened."

"Please." He sighed and stared at his hands. The idea of looking her in the eye when he recounted his childhood made him queasy.

He took a deep breath and started with the easier things; ice baths, sleeping in the yard, shaving his head as a very small child, and worked through the humiliating parts, where his father had hit him in front of his friends, and told his first date that he'd cried himself to sleep most nights, and finally to the terror of his early teen years where he'd had his arm broken for losing a fight that he hadn't even picked. There was so much more that he'd left out, but the important parts were there; his father started out with good intentions. Teach the kid how to protect himself, how to be a good Marine. Except Gregory wasn't a Marine, he was a musician. A musician and a disappointment.

John Gregory House, Jr. was nothing like his father, and refused to share his name from as long as he could remember. On his 18th birthday, he legally changed his name to Gregory House, no middle name, no 'Jr.' Nothing. Just Gregory. He'd have dropped his last name as well, but he needed at least that for his medical school diploma.

He told his new wife that the reason he'd become a doctor was to impress his father, and that his father didn't care. He wasn't in the military, and nothing else was important. Nothing. His dad was at the wedding, and was proud of him. Greg hated him, so much, and he'd tainted the one thing he'd done right; marrying Allison.

When he finally looked up, he found that Allison and Cuddy had both been listening intently, and both had been crying. Cuddy hadn't known how horrible his father was, only that Greg hated the man. Allison wrapped her arms wound Greg, whispered how much she loved him, and that his father couldn't taint their marriage. Cuddy said something about coffee and left the room.

"If he is family, he is why I never wanted one."

"I don't give a rat's ass if he'd proud of you or not. I'm proud of you. You don't need him to have family, Greg. We're family; you me, and our son."

"Son?" he asked, face going white. "Its a boy?"

"Yeah," she said smiling. "We're having a boy." Greg felt his chest tighten and he couldn't breath. The room felt smaller, and a lot warmer suddenly.

"I can't...oh, God-"

"You're not Him, Greg," Cuddy said, handing him coffee. "You aren't going to force your son into medical school, or to play the piano."

"I always pictured the baby being a girl. I could handle a girl; but I was afraid if I had a son, that I'd end up just like my dad."

"You won't."

"How the hell do you know?" he snapped.

"Because if you do, you won't know what the hell hit you," Allison said seriously. "You're never going to hurt our son."

"We're not naming him after me."

"Sam."

"What?" Greg asked.

"His name," Allison said, resting her hand over the baby. "Is Sam."

Greg looked at the picture every which way he could think of; the baby in the black and white sonogram still had his nose. He'd probably be born, screaming for Vicodin, alcohol, and breasts. Well, he'd get one of the three. Allison was staying at her apartment for a while; she was still pissed off, and would probably stay that way for a while. After three weeks of being married, he'd only seen his wife for about 20 minutes after that first night together before Cuddy booted him out.

His wife was getting closer to having their baby, and they didn't even live together because of his stupid mouth. Greg had pushed her away, and he pushed her hard. The day before, she'd made 20 weeks. She was half way there. In 4 short months, he would be a dad. A shiver went down his spine as he thought of it.

"House," came a soft voice from the door. Greg looked up to see his wife standing at the door, looking exhausted, and frowning at him. "Need a consult." She dropped a file onto his desk and eased into a chair.

House studied the file, reading silently. After a moment, he pulled x-rays and posted them on the light board. "You're tired," he said, not moving his eyes from the x rays. "Not sleeping well?"

"Sam keeps me up. He's a kicker." She smiled weakly and looked down. "So, what do you think is wrong with the patient?"

"I'll have my team move him-"

"Her."

"-her up and start differential. Want to sit in?" He glanced back at her. She shook her head. "Suit yourself." Allison hoisted herself up and started toward the door. "Cameron?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want to have dinner tonight?" he asked, in a voice softer than she'd heard from him.

So many thoughts ran through Allison's head, but she decided to push them aside for the sake of her own feelings. "No," she said softly. "But if you wanted to get pie after my shift, I'd be up for it."

"Pie?"

"Its...well...the only thing I can keep down after 8:00." House smiled. "What?"

"My mom told me that it was all she could keep down in the evenings when she was pregnant with me. Even warned me about it." Allison smiled. "Look, I'm sorry."

"House-"

"I'm bad with apologies, so let me at least try to asay it before you cut me off." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Allison saw that he still wore his ring. "ITs hard for me to say things like 'I love you,' and 'I'm sorry,' but I do, and I am. Please come back."

"Why?"

"Because you love me."

"Its not enough," she said. "Not good enough, House-"

"For fuck's sake, we're married. Stop calling me House." She put her hands on her hips and stalked over to him.

"You have no right to tell me what I can and can't call you, John." Greg felt a mixture of intense heat and utter frost run through his veins. He felt his eyes narrow, his fists ball, and his throat tighten.

"It...would be..a great idea...for you to leave. Right Now." His voice was calm, but Allison felt terror hit her. She'd gone way too far. She froze where she stood. "Get. Out," he breathed. "GET OUT!" When she still didn't move, House turned around, swung his fist as hard as he could, hitting the light board where the x-rays were clipped, shattering it along with a few knuckles. He turned to face her. "We're through." He walked past her to the door.

Allison started shaking, tears started slipping from the corner's of her eyes, and she felt dizzy. She'd gone too far, and maybe lost him for good. She stood there for a while, wasn't sure how long, but long enough for Cuddy to come looking for her. Cameron wasn't too aware of what Cuddy had said, but she was lead from the room, noticing the glass door to House's office was shattered as well.

"What did he do?" Cuddy asked.

"I...don't know."

"Why-"

"I...called him John." Cuddy sighed.

Looking into the condo, Wilson knew that something was wrong. The door was opened, and House was at the piano, not playing. Either he was too drunk, hurt, or so upset that music wouldn't come. The empty bottle on the top of the piano told Wilson exactly how drunk House was.

"Slow down," Wilson said. The whiskey burned slightly as it went down, but it was better than the sharp pains shooting up his right arm. He was forced to use his cane with his left hand, adding to the bad mood he was in. "She'll come around."

"Don't want her around."

"Yeah, you do."

"Crossed the line."

"Incomplete sentences? You're drunk, House." Wilson took the bottle from the other man, once called his friend. "What did she do?"

"Married, father-to-be, and she...called me...John." James felt his jaw drop. When he met House, he'd heard someone call him 'John.' It was only a few days after James had been hired at the hospital. It had almost been his last day. House, who was half asleep due to morphine and recent surgery, still managed to break the man's jaw, nose, and cheek bone. And THEN House was able to reach his cane; three broken ribs were added to the list.

"You're not him."

"I was this close to hitting her," he said, holding up his thumb and index finger, too close together for anyone's comfort. "If it wasn't for the kid, I...might have."

"And Foreman would have killed you." House shrugged and leaned foreward to rest his head down on his piano. He was even more pissed off at the situation because his one legal outlet was taken away; music. "What are you going to do to fix this?" House shot up.

"Me? She-"

"You started it. Fix it."

"Wilson, if you are going to be completely useless-"

"If you go over there, make an effort to fix this, she will too. Also, ask her to help you with something that's important to her. Its how women work. I don't understand it, but it is just how they do things." House glared at him. "You broke your hand, hitting something when she called you a bad name. You scared the piss out of her. Cuddy almost had to sedate her. Go over here, with flowers, and try to look like you feel like shit about it."

"I do."

"You look like shit, but do you feel bad about hitting the machine?" House stared at his piano keys. "You scared her. Its worse than hitting her. Fix it."

"Can you wait here?" House asked the cab driver as he paid for the ride over.

"Sure. Only 10 minutes though."

"Don't worry. She'll toss me out in less than 10." House carefully limped toward the building, roses balanced carefully in his broken hand. He hated using the cane with his left hand. It hurt a lot more, which he knew he had coming. It took him longer to get to her door than usual, but he made it there. He waited a minute before knocking; he didn't know what to say.

He sucked in a deep breath and knocked. He didn't know he was holding it, until the door opened. He sighed when he saw her. She'd been crying, a lot, but she still answered the door. One step in the right direction. Tear-stained cheeks, messy hair, same scrubs from that morning, and worry lines etched on her fore head, she still looked beautiful to him. He didn't know what to say. So he held out the roses for her, and hoped to hell that she took them.

"Broken?" she asked, not taking them. He nodded, and she relieved the pressure that they put on his arm.

"Allie," he said wiping her cheek gently. She slapped his hand away. "I'm here to make love, not war."

Allison stepped back from the door. There wasn't anger or hatred in her voice when she spoke. "You won't get either." She stepped back and started to close the door. House slipped his cane in. "Go away, Greg-"

"No."

"I'll call the police." House gave her an 'Oh, please,' look and she opened the door to let him in. "You have 5 minutes."

House situated himself on the couch and watched her. She was tense, and she was in physical pain. "You want a foot rub while we talk?" For a moment, she hesitated, but after the idea weighed on her mind a moment, she toed of her Nikes and stretched out on the couch. Her eyes closed as he worked his magic on her very sore and swollen feet. "I would like to start with saying that you were provoked." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"I shouldn't have called you-"

"Don't say it."

"I'm sorry, too."

House was silent while he rubbed her feet with his good hand. He considered asking her where this left them, but she was resting, and she needed it. After a few minutes, he rested his hand on her leg and sighed. She looked up at him for a moment, offering a weak smile before closing her eyes again. He, upon seeing her smile, felt better. "You knoe," he said, very softly. "We could be really good together...you and I." Allison opened er eyes and lifted an eyebrow. "If we set a few basic ground rules-"

"You love to break rules."

"Not my own rules."

"I'll give you that," she admitted.

"We were good together, the two or three times we were both being honest with each other." She nodded. "Can you tell me what I do right...with out being...cute?"

"You're good in bed." House grinned. "Really good actually." He smiled bigger. "And you are very kind when you want to be."

"If you aren't going to take this seriously-"

"I am!"

"When have I ever been kind?"

"You shaved for the wedding." House shrugged. "You pulled the blankets over me that night at the condo, when you first told me you loved me. You have Thirteen bring me food every day. and if you don't think I didn't notice you picking out cribs on line a few days before the wedding, you're kidding yourself." House smiled and looked down.

"I said without being cute."

"I'm not-"

"Its impossible."

"What is?"

"You, not being cute." Allison felt herself relax. She was very aware of his hand on her thigh. "There's something I need you to help me with." He looked her in the eye. "I...don't tell you I love you enough. I...find it hard to say things like that."

"How do I help you with that?"

"I don't know." Greg thought a moment more. "Maybe...a code. Something only we understand. So you know what I mean, but I don't feel like an idiot in front of the team." She rolled her eyes. "Kutner and Foreman give me a hard enough time as it is, and Chase...we won't even go there. Only for work. Its...Its hard, okay?"

"We'll think of something," she said, yawning. "Can we think about it tomorrow? I really want to go to bed."

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said, lifting her feet from his lap. "Get some sleep." Allison stood and took his hand and lead him toward her bedroom. "I thought-"

"I said I wanted to go to bed, not to sleep."

House grinned.

Another set of symptoms on the white board had the team scattered through out the various labs, leaving the blue-eyed doctor to think about the patient of the week. He couldn't tell you the patient's name, age, or even gender. But he could tell you what was relevant; patient was sick. No clue why just yet, but it wasn't good. Patient would most likely die in the next few hours because they couldn't figure out the puzzle.

He needed his whole team; Foreman, Taub, Kutner, Thirteen, Cameron, Chase, and even Wilson and Cuddy might be able to figure something out. Allison needed her rest, Cuddy was not a force to be reckoned with at the moment, and House knew he was only barely in Wilson's good graces, and that it was temporary.

This patient would die because he pissed off people who he needed. 'Beware the toes you step on today, fore they may be connected to asses you must kiss tomorrow,' he thought to himself. He sighed. The clinic often gave him just the right epiphany he would need to safe the moron of the week within moments of death. However, the clinic was closed, and only an autopsy would be able to tell them the next day.

Thirteen stepped into the office and stared at her boss for a moment. He was thinking. The light tapping of his cane warned her that she shouldn't be in the room. She stayed, though, and considered her options for a few moments. "Dr. House?"

"She still breathing?"

"No," came a soft reply. "She died 10 minutes ago."

"Well, spoil the ending! Why?" he asked harshly.

"She lied about-"

"We know she lied! Everybody lies! What did we miss? Where do we screw this up?" he yelled.

"She had infection, and we put her through radiation. Infection killed her."

"Oh, we pulled a Foreman." Thirteen sighed. There was no winning with House. "Why is it that the simple things are often the hardest to figure out?" he asked softly.

Thirteen studied his face. He was complicated, but he was right so often that it was hard to argue with him for any reason. "A wise woman once said, 'The hardest to learn is the least complicated.'" was all she could think to say. House snorted a small laugh.

"She was also a lesbian with a guitar."

"You weren't focused on the patient, House."

"I know."

"Impending fatherhood?"

"Buying a house. We're turning suburban." Thirteen smiled. "I don't belong in a house with a wife and kid."

"Why not?"

"Wilson and Amber do, not me." He stared guiltily out the window now. "I should have died on that bus. I nearly did; less than an inch away from pavement moving under me, glass, metal, and people flying around. By some goddamn twist of fate, the old pissed-off drug addict lived, and the healthy, beautiful, young doctor died." Thirteen rested a hand on his shoulder. "She was 26 years old. Young enough to be my daughter." That bothered him more than anything; she was so young. "And God, Wilson's never going to be Wilson again."

"Would he be if you'd died?"

"Yes."

"How do you know that?"

"He would have had Amber to get him through that. Now he has no one. Not even me."

"Doesn't he have a brother?"

Those five words started something in House's mind that would, hopefully, help Wilson more than House himself ever could.