Chapter Text
“Wilson, I’m dead serious and I need your help. Haul your ass here right now.”
These are the words James Wilson hears when he picks up the phone at 11 A.M. on a Monday morning. He’s already at work, and he feels grateful he was just doing paperwork in his office instead of something important with a patient, since whatever House’s saying seems pretty urgent. At least to House.
Oh, yes, Doctor Gregory House. Wilson’s best friend of half their lives. A call like this isn’t unusual from him, but this time House really seems almost… panicked?
“Slow down, House. What’s going on? Why are you calling me, you could’ve just hopped the balcony-”
“I’m not at work, Wilson. I’m home and you need to come here.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be here?”
“I think Cuddy will excuse this, if I ever tell her-”, House starts but then says something to someone else off the phone, something like ‘I’ll be right there, don’t worry, just making a call!’ in an uncharacteristically forced soft voice, “yeah no, just get your goddamn ass here!”
House ends the call and Wilson is left to sit in his office, alone and confused. House is still at home – it’s not odd for him to clock in late, but eleven’s pretty low even for him – and needs Wilson to be there too. He seemed really off-guard, all his characteristic defenses, snarky remarks, and layers of sarcasm gone.
Wilson thinks about going to Cuddy about this (maybe she knows more?), but decides that House seemed way too upset to be joking or pranking him with this. He gets off his chair and grabs his coat before heading to House’s apartment.
After some traffic and sixteen text messages from House asking where he is, he finally makes it to House’s. As he gets out of the car and walks to the door, he thinks everything looks just fine and normal. Whatever is wrong can’t be that bad.
And then the door flies open and there stands House. A visibly stressed House. A quiet House. A grim-look-on-his-face House.
“Morning to you too,” Wilson says as he walks past him into the apartment and starts hanging his coat off by habit. Only seconds later House replies something similar but Wilson doesn’t hear it anymore. He has noticed a small child sitting anxiously on House’s leather couch.
He turns to House, opens his mouth a few times, closes it, and opens again.
The child – a girl, probably still preschool-aged, around 3 feet 7 inches in height and clearly underweight – fiddles with the right sleeve of her shirt as she watches the two adults talk. Wilson flashes her a smile he hopes is warm and reassuring, and then turns back to House.
“House, perhaps we should discuss this in your bedroom. Privately,” he says. Wilson’s mind runs through a million different explanations for the scene that has unfolded before him, each one less and less rational.
House nods and looks at the girl. He swallows and wonders how to format this. “Nicole, me and my friend Wilson are going to discuss things in my bedroom. Don’t come in, okay? We will be right back.”
The girl, Nicole, doesn’t answer, just nods slightly, and House limps to his bedroom. Wilson takes one more look at the girl, and she looks quite puzzled – Wilson relates. Once Wilson is also inside, House closes the door and practically jumps on his bed, as much as he can anyway.
Before Wilson can say anything, House splurts out, “She’s my daughter.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
A few stunned moments go by during which Wilson feels the need to sit down and reevaluate his whole life. House has a daughter. The man who fucking hates people has a daughter.
House pops a Vicodin. The whole situation is making his leg worse.
“So she’s your daughter. How come she… popped to your life only now? You knew about her before?”
House frowns his brows. “Of course I didn’t fucking know about her before! She’s fucking five! How could’ve I kept that a secret until now?”
Wilson shrugs his shoulders and bites his lip. “I wouldn’t put it past you.” He sits down next to House and turns serious now. “Who’s the mother? And how did this entire thing exactly… go down?”
“Some woman named Kenneth, apparently. I mean, who names their daughter Kenneth? Anyway, she’s a hooker,” House explains when he sees Wilson clearly trying to think of any Kenneths they might -- or he should – know. “CPS knocked on my door this morning. They basically said that Kenneth is too much of a junkie to take care of Nicole and that she’s my burden now.”
“Right. So she’s an oopsie-daisy child nobody wanted. Great.” Wilson falls on his back on the bed now and stares at the ceiling. “And what are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I called you.”
There’s some real vulnerability, real tones of anguish in House’s voice, and it dawns on Wilson that House genuinely doesn’t know how to proceed. It’s… different from normal. Usually House at least acts like he’s got everything under control. But House can barely take care of himself, and now he has to keep an another human being alive for the next (at least) thirteen years. It’s a lot.
Wilson also realises that House expects him to know what to do. To be able to help him. In a quick moment he feels frustration – he really doesn’t feel like wanting to be involved in this, it’s such a mess and it’d be easier to go back to work and pretend nothing ever happened, and it’s House’s mistake, and the consequences of House’s actions, and House should just face them and make up – but then he feels ashamed of having thought that. House is his friend, his best friend, and friends help each other out.
And it’s not like House called Cuddy or Cameron or Foreman, or even the Australian one. He doesn’t want help from either of them.
House might be ashamed himself. But it’s not like he’d ever admit to it.
Wilson swallows. “Okay. Okay.” He starts to build a plan in his head. “I assume telling Cuddy or anyone else isn’t an option?”
House shakes his head. “Nope. I- not yet.”
“Okay. We- you should get in touch with a lawyer. Sort out all the legal stuff. And don’t hire Stacy. That’ll just make it all even more messy. See if Nicole – that’s her name, right? -- is legible for government paid therapy, and if not, then… pay for it yourself.”
Hearing that, House frowns. “The legal stuff I get, but therapy?”
“She’s probably been through a lot.”
“Right.”
Another silence. Then Wilson speaks again. His tone is lower now and very careful. “Do you want me to be… involved in raising her?” The thought makes his stomach go through some weird flips and loops. He’s been married for more times than he’d like, but he’s never had a child. Or at least a child that he knows of, at this point, would it even be a surp-
“I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t. And it’s not like you have a wife or kids anyway.” House has now regained some of his usual snark, which Wilson deems a good sign. He eases up a bit, and maybe they’ll be just fine.
Wilson nods. “I’ll think about it.”
“You can’t say no!” House squeaks, and turns on his side to face Wilson. “The kid’ll fucking die in five days if you refuse. That’d be like, abuse from you.” I need help and can’t do this alone, he means.
Wilson shakes his head and lets out an unbelieving laugh. “Actually, House, I can very well say no, and it wouldn’t be me abusing the kid. This is a big responsibility and I’m, in fact, not legally tied to this.” But I know I won’t say no, he adds in his head. I know I’ll cave. Because I always do.
“Let’s just… go see the kid. She might not even like me,” Wilson sighs and gets up. House follows suit behind and before leaving the room Wilson turns to him. “But you’ll lead. You are the father, after all.”
Walking ahead of Wilson, House mumbles something along the lines of it’s not like anybody wouldn’t just immediately fall in love with you, but Wilson pretends not to hear it.
–
Twenty minutes later they’re all sitting in front of the TV. Nicole sits on one end of the leather couch, House on the other and Wilson…Well, he’s on the floor. They’ve settled on watching some average sitcom after introducing Wilson to Nicole.
“This is James, he’s my best friend, but I call him Wilson. Because that’s his last name, you know?” House had said. Wilson had tried to smile openly. Nicole looked like she did not understand the name thing.
“Anyway,” House had continued, “Wilson is nice and he’ll help… raise you? Do things with you?” House had turned to Wilson to seek assistance in how to explain this to a child.
“We’re going to hang out and take really good care of you,” Wilson had promised and smiled warmly. House had thanked the universe or whoever might be out there for the fact that Wilson has at least some experience on how to deal with kids from those little bald cancer kiddoes he so loves.
“Yeah, yeah, that exactly, okay?” House had sat down with a grumble, leaving a good distance between him and his new daughter. “And one thing to know is that daddy has a really sh- bum leg.”
Nicole had just looked at his legs, eyes wild open, and nodded. House had tried to keep his Vicodin jabit to a minimum but now she’d seen as he popped one. “Will make me feel better,” House’d said after he’d seen Nicole’s terrified face. Wilson had made a mental note to tell House that’s probably what her mother had always said. And that had not ended up good for her.
“She doesn’t talk much, does she?” Wilson had whispered to House. House had just shrugged his shoulders.
“So, Nicole,” Wilson says after some minutes in silence and turns to face her. She nods in acknowledgement. “Do you have any nicknames?”
She thinks for a moment before responding. “Mama said Nicky.” It’s the first time Wilson hears Nicole speak, and despite everything he’s surprised at how soft but squeaky her voice is.
“Is it fine if we call you that?”
She just nods again.
“Nicky it is,” House decides from the other end of the couch. “Now, what are you youngsters watching nowadays?”
–
Wilson calls Cuddy and takes a personal leave day. Or half a day, more correctly. Cuddy asks whether this personal leave might have anything to do with the fact that House doesn’t show up to work at all. Wilson only says that it’s best to not wait for House to come in.
They spend the day just hanging out, trying to get Nicole to open up and talk a little bit more. Wilson thinks it’s important to find out nice things about her and make her feel like the two adults are safe for her and interested in her wellbeing.
It might sound like they’re trying to merely act like it, which isn’t true. House and Wilson are interested in this little girl’s personality and thoughts, even if she can’t really articulate them yet. House is just terrified. He keeps hoping he’d wake up and it all would be a really, really odd dream. Wilson is more than mildly concerned, and wonders if CPS knows about House’s Vicodin habit. He’s going to be a better parent than the ‘junkie-hooker’ – House’s words! – Kenneth, but in some books House would be a drug abuser too.
What a great start to such a young life. Both parents are addicts, Wilson thinks sardonically.
Later that evening, one problem arises. Where is Nicole going to sleep?
House and Wilson first discuss it privately in House’s bedroom.
“We have to settle how we’re going to sleep three people within one bed and a couch,” House says when they’re once again in his bedroom, House lounging on the bed and Wilson pacing back and forth.
“What do you mean three?” Wilson stops in his tracks and looks at his friend.
“Me, you, and Nicky.” House rolls his eyes, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
“Since when am I staying over?”
“Well, I don’t know. I thought it was obvious. I mean, I don’t know what the hell to do with that thing once we wake up tomorrow!”
“Oh no, House, I am not letting you domesticate me that easily!”
Wilson’s voice raises louder and he immediately regrets it. Nicole must’ve heard of it.
“Why are you screaming? Don’t scare the kid.”
“It’s been a long day, House,” Wilson’s voice is closer to a whisper now. And it’s true. He’s been in a state of concern for the whole day. He’s tired.
“It has been a long day for me too and I’m not the one acting manic here.”
Wilson sighs. He decides this is not a battle worth fighting and ultimately losing. Because in things like these, he always loses to House. He sits down at the edge of the bed and musters up a serious face before looking at House.
“The kid’ll take the couch and we’ll sleep here.”
House doesn’t reply immediately. He just looks at Wilson. “What.”
“I don’t think it’s appropriate for either of us to share the bed with her. And I’m not sleeping on the floor if I’m forced to stay here.”
“You’re making the cripple take the floor.”
“I literally just said we’d share your bed. We’ve done it before, it’s… no big deal.”
Wilson doesn’t know if he’s trying to soothe himself or House. He doesn’t know why he’s accepting this so easily, either.