Disclaimer, etc. in chapter 1.

B is for Bubbles

"Who spawned?" House asked as they pulled into the driveway.

A girl of about ten or eleven whirled in a circle, trying to encase herself in a giant soap bubble. House noticed the middle-back-length brown hair, the tasteful pink top and white shorts, the thin arms, legs, and figure, and the ease with which she spun. Not yet menstruating, no middle ear problems, decent taste for a ten year old, probably not addicted to video games, possibly immature for her age if creating giant bubbles was enough to amuse her. Or she was smart, House considered, remembering his yoyo.

"My brother," Wilson answered, putting the car in park. "David."

House tilted his head upward as if he were sniffing the air.

"She's cute," he declared, and reached for his cane. Not one stop since the lower end of Jersey. He'd happily pace circles around her giant bubbles.

"Haven't seen her in five or six years," Wilson said with a mix of reflection and melancholy.

"Well," House said, widening his eyes at Wilson—the House signal for mayhem. "You're about to."

In the time it took them to open the car doors, the girl had disappeared, but they'd both heard her shouting "Uncle James is here!"

Wilson mumbled to himself. House popped a Vicodin before lifting himself out of the car.

They'd gotten half-way to the door when Wilson's mother burst out of the house trailed by the girl.

"James!"

House stood back and watched with amusement as Wilson's mother managed to smother him with a hug despite the five inches he had on her in height and the ten pounds she had on his weight.

While the girl waited her turn, House noticed her notice him and his third appendage. She took him in, top to bottom and back, and he began reading her reaction. Curiosity. A mild sense of fear which disappeared as soon as he detected it. She wanted to approach him but the manners she'd been taught held her back. He added one mark on the positive side for her. They could work on the manners thing.

The slough of hugs, kisses, and Yiddish phrases ended, and House braced himself for his turn.

"So this is the Doctor House you always talk about," Wilson's mother said, appraising him much more slowly than Wilson's niece had.

"Yes," Wilson said, stepping to the side to let his mother walk toward House. "Mom, this is Greg. House, mom."

House smiled politely and offered his hand.

She approached cautiously, not hiding a glance from his cane to his face. "We hug in this family. I can hug you?"

"You won't break anything," House retorted, standing still. "Not in me, at least."

She chuckled and turned her head to Wilson. "Just like your father, a joker," she said, and smothered House in a similar hug.

House put an arm around her awkwardly and flashed 'you're welcome, you owe me' with his eyes to Wilson's 'thank you.' He observed the girl who'd observed the exchange.

"And you must be Judy," Wilson said to his niece, opening his arms to offer her a hug.

House watched them as best he could while trying to keep his ribs in their original un-broken state.

"James didn't mention no one feeds you," Mrs. Wilson said. "He should cook for you some time. He's a very good cook. I taught him."

"Please call me Judith, Uncle James," the girl said, offering her hand instead.

Wilson shook it. "Judith."

House watched as she hugged him—not at all like the way Mrs. Wilson was still hugging him. When Mrs. Wilson finally did pull away, the motion made his pills rattle in his coat pocket.

"What's this?" she asked, pressing a hand over the bottle.

"House takes medication—" Wilson began.

"For your leg?" Mrs. Wilson finished, looking into his eyes to find the answer.

"For my sense of humor," House replied.

She chuckled again and batted his chest where the pills were, then turned to her son.

"Why do you call him by his last name?" she asked, her tone close to accusing.

"He likes it, mom," Wilson replied breezily.

"It's so impersonal," she said, and turned back to House. "I should call you what he calls you?"

"As long as you don't call me Surely," House responded.

She chuckled again.

"Your parents, they call you by your last name?" she asked.

"They call me Greg."

Mrs. Wilson smiled. "James, go see your father," she instructed over her shoulder.

House watched Judith offer Uncle James her hand to lead him toward the house. Wilson accepted.

Then, to House's surprise, Mrs. Wilson stepped to his left side and slipped her arm into his.

"Tell me about yourself, Greg," she said and stepped forward slowly.

House smiled and stepped with her. I could be a Jew, he said to himself in Mel Brooks' voice.

"Well," he began, "what would you like to know?"