Okay, this one's a little on the odd side and a very good reason why you should never let me write fics at eleven o'clock at night after I've had a long, busy day at work then gone out and had a blindingly good meal and probably too much wine. My brain goes all weird.

024. Family

We Are Family

House slowly lowered himself into the armchair in the corner of his office and let out a long sigh. Today was not turning out to be one of his better days. His leg was hurting more than usual which was probably due to the weather. As a result he'd taken more Vicodin than he ought to have. He also had the beginnings of a cold and had been attacking that before it could get worse on Wilson's insistence. However the combination of the Vicodin and the cold medication was making him feel lightheaded and distinctly off-kilter. As a result of that, he'd been a little more defensive and ornery than normal and right now he pretty much had everyone he'd dealt with that day more than a little irritated with him, from Wilson down his patient's family.

He sighed again as he scrubbed his face with one hand. After his last little snarky outburst, this one aimed at his team, Wilson had sent him to his office with the order to get some rest before lynch mobs started forming. He'd obeyed the order fairly docilely; partly because it got him away from everyone and they would all have orders not to disturb him but mostly because Wilson was starting to get that expression on his face that said quite clearly that if he kept going the way he was, Wilson was going to be sleeping in the spare room until House chose to apologise. His team had goggled at him when he'd rather meekly agreed with Wilson and he'd waited until he'd gotten to the door until he'd given them the most evil smile he could muster.

"What? Haven't you ever seen Mommy and Daddy fight before?" he'd said as snidely as he could then limped out of the room to the sound of Wilson spluttering and the wide-eyed gazes of his team boring into his back.

He snickered as he settled himself more comfortably into his chair. He knew that Foreman at the very least had some suspicions about the new direction his relationship with Wilson had taken but he wasn't entirely sure about the other two. The 'Mommy and Daddy' comment had been more directed at Wilson though in response to Wilson's continual, amused references to his team being his 'kids'.

House's eyes slowly slipped closed as the combination of the Vicodin, the cold medication and his own weariness took their toll and as sleep started to sneak up on him the random thought of what a bizarre and extremely dysfunctional family they made crawled through his drug-addled mind.

He definitely got to be the Daddy since this was his distorted thought and Wilson got to be the Mommy because that way he could still sleep with him. That and Wilson was the one who actually cared about people. From his experience with his own family, Mommies were the ones who cared and Daddies were the ones who disapproved of everything their sons did.

Foreman got to be the oldest child since he was the one who was always rebelling against Daddy and wanting his independence while being very similar to his father. Cameron could be the middle child since she was the one who wanted attention from both parents. Chase could be the youngest; always battling against the expectations set up by the elder children and occasionally undermining his siblings.

He snorted quietly; considering the shenanigans Chase and Cameron had gotten up to maybe a family wasn't the best analogy. Unless they were one of those families you saw on Jerry Springer on occasion.

It was with that thought that he fell asleep…

…

House limped up the path to the front door of the large single storey home and pulled his keys out of his pocket. He unlocked the front door and dumped the keys in the small bowl on the table near the front door. He placed his bag under the table and closed the door.

"Honey, I'm home," he called as he walked into the house.

Wilson walked out of the kitchen. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with an apron over the top.

"Hey, Greg," he said as he walked over and kissed House on the cheek. "How was your day?"

"Same as usual," House said with faint disgust. "Cuddy's being unreasonable. And now she wants me to go to a conference. I'd have to leave on Thursday."

"You can't," Wilson objected. "It's Alison's recital on Friday night. You promised you'd be there."

"I know," House snapped as he followed Wilson into the kitchen. "I told her that. So instead she's making me do more damn clinic hours."

Wilson sidled up to him and wrapped an arm around his waist. He leaned against House and kissed him briefly.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," Wilson said in a low heated voice.

A smile flashed across House's face and he returned the kiss. "I'll hold you to that."

Wilson grinned then he sobered. "I think you need to talk to Robert."

"What's he done now?" House said wearily. Their youngest was a constant problem.

"Well it's not too bad this time and I think you'll like this one," Wilson said with amusement. "He put frog intestines down the front of Tracy Blackwell's shirt."

House snickered. "That's my boy."

"Greg," Wilson said mildly.

"What's wrong with stuffing frog guts down a girl's shirt," House said with a laugh. "Does he like her?"

Wilson looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure that one's in the book. Does shoving frog intestines down a girl's shirt mean you like her?"

"Bet she doesn't like him too much," House said roguishly.

"You are going to speak to him, aren't you?" Wilson asked.

"What am I supposed to say?" House said with exasperation. "I think he already knows he shouldn't do something like that."

"Greg," Wilson said with a growl.

"Fine," House said, throwing one hand in the air. "Where are the other two?"

"Alison's doing her homework and Eric's over at Carl's place," Wilson replied. "He should be home soon."

House grunted as he limped out of the kitchen and down the hall to Robert's bedroom. He knocked on the door then opened it. The youngest of his kids was lying on his bed, reading a book and rather determinedly ignoring the rest of the world. House gave him a jaundiced look then limped over and sat down on the bed.

"Why frog guts?" he said into the almost sullen silence.

Robert didn't answer for a moment then he shrugged.

"They were convenient."

House considered that for a moment. "Did she scream?"

A grin flashed across Robert's face though he ostensibly kept his attention on his book. "Yeah. Really loud."

"Cool," House said with a matching grin. "You know you shouldn't do that?"

"Yeah," Robert said with a grimace. "I already got the lecture."

"Good. Means I don't have to give it," House said, pushing himself to his feet. "Once was funny, Rob, but don't do it again."

"Yeah. 'Kay, Dad."

House waited until he got back out into the corridor with the door closed before breaking into a wide grin. Robert might give them more trouble than Eric and Alison combined but he reminded him of what he had been like as a kid more than the others. Which was probably the reason why he let the kid get away with murder sometimes, much to Wilson's disapproval. As he turned to limp back towards the kitchen, a door at the end of the corridor opened.

"Dad?" came Alison's soft, concerned voice.

House fought the urge to roll his eyes and snap at the girl. Ever since what they had taken to calling 'The Incident' had happened, Alison had been tiptoeing around him, trying to help when he didn't need it and just generally annoying him. Admittedly for the first few months it hadn't been that bad since he'd often needed the help but five years down the track he pretty much had the whole cripple thing under control and her constant solicitude was wearying to say the least.

"Yes, Alison," he said as patiently as he could.

She seemed to pick up on his underlying mood. "Oh, er, it's nothing really. I just thought I heard you out here." She paused. "Are you coming Friday?"

"I said I would, didn't I?" House replied.

"Yes but…"

Her voice trailed off and House grimaced. She had a point with that 'yes but'. On more than one occasion he'd said he'd be somewhere but had ended up being called in to the hospital.

"I'll be there," he said firmly.

"Unless you get called in," Alison said almost sullenly.

House sighed. "I can't control when the patients arrive, Alison, or what they do after they get there."

"You always say that," the young woman replied sharply before she turned and went back in her room.

House rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall. That had gone as well as it generally did. He shook his head and limped back into the kitchen.

"Well?" Wilson asked when he got there.

"Spoke to Rob, annoyed Alison," he reported. "So about normal really."

Wilson turned around and eyed him with concern. "What was it about with Alison this time?"

House shrugged. "The usual. My leg, Friday, my work." Wilson sighed and House held up one hand. "And don't tell me she'll get over it. My leg's been like this for five years. She needs to stop treating me like I'm about to break."

"Greg, she was there when your leg got really bad," Wilson chided. "She saw what it was like before they started giving you the drugs. It scared her. Add to that you nearly died and well…give her time."

House grumbled under his breath. "How much time, Jimmy? She's had time."

Wilson's reply was interrupted by the front door banging open then slamming closed. They heard the sound of a heavy bag being dropped then their eldest, Eric, stuck his head into the kitchen.

"Hey Dad, you're home," he said with a hint of surprise. "Did Dr Cuddy fire you or something?"

"No," House said with amusement. "But I did annoy her a lot today. And show some respect. I'm your father…and a cripple. Either one should work."

Eric grinned back. "Dad, you're only a cripple when it suits you. Or when you're close enough to smack someone with your cane."

House laughed and pulled out the small bottle of pills from his jacket pocket. He quickly dry-swallowed one, not missing the looks of concern from partner and son.

Eric looked slightly hesitant. "Dad…"

"Don't start," House said in a warning tone.

"You take too many," Eric persisted.

"Eric," House snapped.

"Enough, both of you," Wilson said firmly. "This is neither the time nor the place for this argument. Eric, go and set the table then get your brother and sister." He paused and waited until Eric gave a huff of irritation and stormed out of the kitchen. "And Greg…he's right but we'll talk about this later."

"I don't need my own son telling me…"

"What you already know," Wilson interrupted. "He worries about you. Now go and get ready for dinner. We'll deal with this later."

House scowled for a moment then limped out of the room, reflecting on yet another run-of-the-mill evening in the House-Wilson household…

…

House came awake with a start that caused a flare of pain to radiate out from his leg. He relaxed back into his chair as he fumbled for his Vicodin. He tapped one out of the bottle and swallowed it as the remnants of his dream swirled around his mind. He started to laugh as he tucked the bottle back into his pocket. That whole thing had been disturbingly domestic and he didn't think he'd ever done domestic.

Still, Wilson in those jeans and t-shirt and the apron had been almost…cute and he made a mental note to never mix cold medication, Vicodin, tiredness and his snarky comments again. The dreams were distinctly bizarre. As he let the Vicodin haze overtake him he made a second mental note to try and get Wilson into jeans and a t-shirt as soon as possible. He looked delectable in them and then he could have the fun of taking Wilson out of them…