Family Way (PG-13)
Mar. 5th, 2007 01:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deelaundryPosted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
house_wilson and housefic
Title: Family Way
Author: Dee Laundry
Rating: PG-13 for theme
Words: 1713
Summary/Pairing/Warnings/Notes: To describe too much takes away from the story. Could we try without it? No non-con, no major character death, no spoilers for Season 3. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
layne67, who prompted this. Thanks again to daisylily for the beta. There is a sequel to this fic: Privacy (read warnings).
House had sent his fellows off to do more tests and was frowning at the whiteboard in concentration when he was startled by the sound of pelting feet. He turned just in time to be tackled by a small, slightly smelly creature who wrapped his arm around House’s thighs.
“Dad!” the boy cried, and hugged harder.
“What?” House asked, as he tried to disengage the munchkin, being careful not to lose his balance and squash the kid. “What in the world is this?” he demanded of Wilson, who was coming in the door with a toddler on his hip. The little girl smiled at House, her long curls swaying and bobbing.
Wilson sighed and pointed at the boy. “Tell him.”
“But –” the boy protested, before he was silenced by Wilson’s darkest glare. Oh, no, House thought, this is not good.
“Tell him, Jacob,” Wilson repeated, and the boy capitulated.
He let go of House’s legs and scuffed his foot along the ground. His voice was grating, defiant. “Got suspended from school.”
“Again?” House blurted. The third time, and they weren’t even through with kindergarten yet. Worse track record than even he had had. He sank into a chair. Wilson swiftly dropped the girl into House’s lap – she giggled and grabbed at the lapels of his jacket – and turned to Jacob.
“For?” Wilson prompted.
Jacob stopped scuffing and started kicking the whiteboard. His scowl was deep, his anger palpable, but House could clearly see the embarrassment underneath. “Calling the teacher stupid,” Jacob confessed.
House kept his face impassive. Wilson was doing enough glaring for the both of them, and ooh, now the big guns were out; his hands were on his hips.
“Jacob, we can’t have this,” House said.
“But she is stupid!” Jacob protested, sinking to the ground. Michelle wiggled on House’s lap until he set her down. She immediately crawled to her brother, and he grabbed her into a hug.
“True,” replied House, pulling Wilson over next to him, “but you can’t be calling people on that all the time.” He raised a warning finger at Wilson, who had opened his mouth. “Do not mention pots and kettles.”
He tugged Wilson even closer and wrapped an arm around him before turning back to the kids. Jacob was engrossed in leading Michelle in a game of peek-a-boo and appeared to have already dismissed the conversation.
House looked back up at Wilson. “So, that explains Wonder Boy. Why’s Michelle here?”
“She’s got a fever and daycare won’t keep her. My mom is willing to watch her for the rest of the day, but you’re taking Jacob.” Grandma Wilson’s house was not well kid-proofed. It was fine for Michelle, with her limited mobility (and with a long afternoon nap coming up), but was like the china shop to Jacob’s bull.
House snorted in frustration. “I’ve got a patient. Why can’t you take Jacob this afternoon?”
“One, I consider this your fault and therefore your responsibility. Two, I have a budget meeting that will last most of the afternoon. And three, between the nausea and difficulty sleeping, I’m exhausted. I need a break.”
“A budget meeting gives a better break than going home with Jacob?”
“At least I can doze off during the budget meeting,” Wilson said, rolling his eyes.
House squeezed him gently. “Not much longer to endure this.”
“Four weeks,” Wilson agreed. “Maybe less.” He sighed.
House pulled Wilson into a full hug and settled his head against Wilson’s torso. “I thought it was supposed to be easier the third time around.”
“That’s apparently a myth.” Wilson stroked House’s hair gently and then let out another, bigger sigh. “I cannot wait for first trimester to be over, so I can stop feeling like hell all the time.”
“You look gorgeous.”
Wilson looked down at him and smirked. “I’m definitely popping earlier. Had to break out the pregnancy pants already.”
“I was there; I heard the groans.” House smiled. “You’re gorgeous, and you know it. Besides, the bigger you get, the more your libido comes back, and I personally can’t wait for that.”
He pulled Wilson down into a lingering kiss, ignoring their son’s cries of “Ooh, kissing, gross!” Wilson’s belly was warm under his hand, and he imagined he could feel the vibrant life growing within.
House didn’t bother turning on the light when he awoke; he reached out for the nightstand and after a few fumbles, grabbed his phone. He hit speed dial, and waited with his eyes closed as the phone rang.
“Yes, what?”
“Time to pee on a stick,” he replied.
“Uhhhh. House?” Cuddy asked drowsily.
“Who else tells you to pee on a stick? Wait, are you in a kinky club? I knew it! Tell me all about it.”
Cuddy made an indistinct noise of frustration. “You dreamed I was pregnant, again.”
“Yes. Third time’s the charm.”
“Why can this never wait until the morning?” Cuddy asked. House could hear rustling sounds and knew she was getting out of bed.
He snorted. “Because it can’t. Get moving.”
There was a pause, and then some light banging and shuffling. Cuddy was no doubt looking under the sink for the test. House felt a satisfied warmth creeping in on him.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Cuddy asked.
House was surprised. She’d never probed much about the content of his dreams. “Don’t know. Only eight weeks along in the dream. The first one was a boy, though, and the second one was a girl.”
“The first and second one?” Cuddy’s voice was getting stronger; she was fully awake by now. “You – you dreamed about the babies I lost in miscarriage?”
“Yes,” House replied softly. He wasn’t often struck with the need to be gentle, but something about Cuddy’s tone was provoking just that impulse. “The older one was a boy. He was born with only one arm and the world’s worst attitude. Angry almost all the time, leading to horrible discipline problems.”
Cuddy gasped softly. “And the girl?”
“Down syndrome. Sweet and loving – good influence on her brother – but not talking and not yet walking at age two.”
Cuddy was silent for a moment. House imagined tears in her eyes, but her voice was clear when next she spoke. “You were right. It’s positive; I’m pregnant.”
“Third time’s the charm,” House said, again, and since when did he spout platitudes?
Cuddy laughed. “I hope. We’ll see. Good night, House.”
“Good night.”
They passed in the halls, and she never gave him a second glance. They fought over clinic hours, exactly as before. The phone call might have been a dream (they’d certainly never discussed the prior two) except Cuddy’s breasts really did get fuller over the next few weeks.
He caught Wilson staring at Cuddy’s cleavage and ribbed him endlessly about it. “There’s just something about her lately,” Wilson replied, and House very deliberately began steering Wilson toward a pretty, sweet cashier in the gift shop. The thought of Cuddy as Mrs. Wilson number four was too horrific to contemplate. As was Wilson with large chunks of his anatomy ripped out, another possible outcome of a Cuddy-Wilson liaison.
The page had said, “OB 911,” and House moved as fast as his leg would allow. A sad-faced nurse pointed him toward a certain door; heart pounding almost out of his chest, he flung it open. He saw legs up, in the stirrups, and Sheffield looked at him and gently shook her head. “Oh,” was all that came out in that first second, as his lungs forgot how to work.
He took the three strides toward the exam table and suddenly the words tumbled out. “No. Don’t tell me this was a miscarriage. No. How could this happen? It’s ten weeks; we heard the heartbeat. That early sonogram, everything was fine.”
He turned toward Wilson. “You were fine this morning, right? You would’ve told me if you’d felt anything, right?”
Wilson nodded as the tears splashed onto his cheeks. House leaned down and wrapped his arms around him, pressing Wilson close to his chest.
“It just happened,” Wilson said. He shuddered in House’s arms. “A perfect baby, but sometimes these things happen.” He started sobbing now, as if his heart was broken. All House could do was pull him closer, kiss his hair, cling to him until House’s own heart healed.
House was surprised to feel moisture on his cheeks. As he grabbed for the phone, he rubbed his face against the pillow to dry it. Just a dream, and what should he care?
“House!” Cuddy snapped, when she picked up.
“You’re up,” he replied, groggier than she sounded.
Cuddy sighed. “I was just peeing for the fifteenth time tonight, so you’re lucky. What do you want?”
“Your baby’s going to make it.”
“What?” Rustling – Cuddy was climbing into her bed.
“Your baby is going to survive to term. And be born healthy.”
“Thank you for that vote of confidence,” Cuddy said with clear confusion. “But why are – Oh. Did you have another dream?”
House pressed his face further into the pillow. This was good news, if the patterns of his dreams held, and there was absolutely no reason for him to be feeling the deep sense of loss that he did.
“I did. Dream baby didn’t make it. Nothing wrong with the fetus at all, just an unexplained miscarriage at ten weeks.”
Cuddy gasped, her breath catching. After a moment, she asked shakily, “Wouldn’t that mean a miscarriage for me?”
House ground his teeth. No reason for this anger, no reason for this hole, this empty pit. “Jacob and Michelle – dream kids one and two survived in the dream, but not in real life. Dream baby three died. Gotta mean real life fetus three makes it.”
“It’s just a dream.”
Feeling strange, unwelcome tears threatening, House was frantic to get off the phone. “Go to sleep, Cuddy. See you tomorrow.” He threw the phone to the side and began naming all the bones in the human body until his emotions settled down. He was down to the metatarsals when he fell asleep.
House was relieved when Cuddy’s baby was born happy, healthy, and right on time. It was when he finally quit dreaming of Wilson weeping every night.
house_wilson and houseficTitle: Family Way
Author: Dee Laundry
Rating: PG-13 for theme
Words: 1713
Summary/Pairing/Warnings/Notes: To describe too much takes away from the story. Could we try without it? No non-con, no major character death, no spoilers for Season 3. For
layne67, who prompted this. Thanks again to daisylily for the beta. There is a sequel to this fic: Privacy (read warnings).House had sent his fellows off to do more tests and was frowning at the whiteboard in concentration when he was startled by the sound of pelting feet. He turned just in time to be tackled by a small, slightly smelly creature who wrapped his arm around House’s thighs.
“Dad!” the boy cried, and hugged harder.
“What?” House asked, as he tried to disengage the munchkin, being careful not to lose his balance and squash the kid. “What in the world is this?” he demanded of Wilson, who was coming in the door with a toddler on his hip. The little girl smiled at House, her long curls swaying and bobbing.
Wilson sighed and pointed at the boy. “Tell him.”
“But –” the boy protested, before he was silenced by Wilson’s darkest glare. Oh, no, House thought, this is not good.
“Tell him, Jacob,” Wilson repeated, and the boy capitulated.
He let go of House’s legs and scuffed his foot along the ground. His voice was grating, defiant. “Got suspended from school.”
“Again?” House blurted. The third time, and they weren’t even through with kindergarten yet. Worse track record than even he had had. He sank into a chair. Wilson swiftly dropped the girl into House’s lap – she giggled and grabbed at the lapels of his jacket – and turned to Jacob.
“For?” Wilson prompted.
Jacob stopped scuffing and started kicking the whiteboard. His scowl was deep, his anger palpable, but House could clearly see the embarrassment underneath. “Calling the teacher stupid,” Jacob confessed.
House kept his face impassive. Wilson was doing enough glaring for the both of them, and ooh, now the big guns were out; his hands were on his hips.
“Jacob, we can’t have this,” House said.
“But she is stupid!” Jacob protested, sinking to the ground. Michelle wiggled on House’s lap until he set her down. She immediately crawled to her brother, and he grabbed her into a hug.
“True,” replied House, pulling Wilson over next to him, “but you can’t be calling people on that all the time.” He raised a warning finger at Wilson, who had opened his mouth. “Do not mention pots and kettles.”
He tugged Wilson even closer and wrapped an arm around him before turning back to the kids. Jacob was engrossed in leading Michelle in a game of peek-a-boo and appeared to have already dismissed the conversation.
House looked back up at Wilson. “So, that explains Wonder Boy. Why’s Michelle here?”
“She’s got a fever and daycare won’t keep her. My mom is willing to watch her for the rest of the day, but you’re taking Jacob.” Grandma Wilson’s house was not well kid-proofed. It was fine for Michelle, with her limited mobility (and with a long afternoon nap coming up), but was like the china shop to Jacob’s bull.
House snorted in frustration. “I’ve got a patient. Why can’t you take Jacob this afternoon?”
“One, I consider this your fault and therefore your responsibility. Two, I have a budget meeting that will last most of the afternoon. And three, between the nausea and difficulty sleeping, I’m exhausted. I need a break.”
“A budget meeting gives a better break than going home with Jacob?”
“At least I can doze off during the budget meeting,” Wilson said, rolling his eyes.
House squeezed him gently. “Not much longer to endure this.”
“Four weeks,” Wilson agreed. “Maybe less.” He sighed.
House pulled Wilson into a full hug and settled his head against Wilson’s torso. “I thought it was supposed to be easier the third time around.”
“That’s apparently a myth.” Wilson stroked House’s hair gently and then let out another, bigger sigh. “I cannot wait for first trimester to be over, so I can stop feeling like hell all the time.”
“You look gorgeous.”
Wilson looked down at him and smirked. “I’m definitely popping earlier. Had to break out the pregnancy pants already.”
“I was there; I heard the groans.” House smiled. “You’re gorgeous, and you know it. Besides, the bigger you get, the more your libido comes back, and I personally can’t wait for that.”
He pulled Wilson down into a lingering kiss, ignoring their son’s cries of “Ooh, kissing, gross!” Wilson’s belly was warm under his hand, and he imagined he could feel the vibrant life growing within.
House didn’t bother turning on the light when he awoke; he reached out for the nightstand and after a few fumbles, grabbed his phone. He hit speed dial, and waited with his eyes closed as the phone rang.
“Yes, what?”
“Time to pee on a stick,” he replied.
“Uhhhh. House?” Cuddy asked drowsily.
“Who else tells you to pee on a stick? Wait, are you in a kinky club? I knew it! Tell me all about it.”
Cuddy made an indistinct noise of frustration. “You dreamed I was pregnant, again.”
“Yes. Third time’s the charm.”
“Why can this never wait until the morning?” Cuddy asked. House could hear rustling sounds and knew she was getting out of bed.
He snorted. “Because it can’t. Get moving.”
There was a pause, and then some light banging and shuffling. Cuddy was no doubt looking under the sink for the test. House felt a satisfied warmth creeping in on him.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Cuddy asked.
House was surprised. She’d never probed much about the content of his dreams. “Don’t know. Only eight weeks along in the dream. The first one was a boy, though, and the second one was a girl.”
“The first and second one?” Cuddy’s voice was getting stronger; she was fully awake by now. “You – you dreamed about the babies I lost in miscarriage?”
“Yes,” House replied softly. He wasn’t often struck with the need to be gentle, but something about Cuddy’s tone was provoking just that impulse. “The older one was a boy. He was born with only one arm and the world’s worst attitude. Angry almost all the time, leading to horrible discipline problems.”
Cuddy gasped softly. “And the girl?”
“Down syndrome. Sweet and loving – good influence on her brother – but not talking and not yet walking at age two.”
Cuddy was silent for a moment. House imagined tears in her eyes, but her voice was clear when next she spoke. “You were right. It’s positive; I’m pregnant.”
“Third time’s the charm,” House said, again, and since when did he spout platitudes?
Cuddy laughed. “I hope. We’ll see. Good night, House.”
“Good night.”
They passed in the halls, and she never gave him a second glance. They fought over clinic hours, exactly as before. The phone call might have been a dream (they’d certainly never discussed the prior two) except Cuddy’s breasts really did get fuller over the next few weeks.
He caught Wilson staring at Cuddy’s cleavage and ribbed him endlessly about it. “There’s just something about her lately,” Wilson replied, and House very deliberately began steering Wilson toward a pretty, sweet cashier in the gift shop. The thought of Cuddy as Mrs. Wilson number four was too horrific to contemplate. As was Wilson with large chunks of his anatomy ripped out, another possible outcome of a Cuddy-Wilson liaison.
The page had said, “OB 911,” and House moved as fast as his leg would allow. A sad-faced nurse pointed him toward a certain door; heart pounding almost out of his chest, he flung it open. He saw legs up, in the stirrups, and Sheffield looked at him and gently shook her head. “Oh,” was all that came out in that first second, as his lungs forgot how to work.
He took the three strides toward the exam table and suddenly the words tumbled out. “No. Don’t tell me this was a miscarriage. No. How could this happen? It’s ten weeks; we heard the heartbeat. That early sonogram, everything was fine.”
He turned toward Wilson. “You were fine this morning, right? You would’ve told me if you’d felt anything, right?”
Wilson nodded as the tears splashed onto his cheeks. House leaned down and wrapped his arms around him, pressing Wilson close to his chest.
“It just happened,” Wilson said. He shuddered in House’s arms. “A perfect baby, but sometimes these things happen.” He started sobbing now, as if his heart was broken. All House could do was pull him closer, kiss his hair, cling to him until House’s own heart healed.
House was surprised to feel moisture on his cheeks. As he grabbed for the phone, he rubbed his face against the pillow to dry it. Just a dream, and what should he care?
“House!” Cuddy snapped, when she picked up.
“You’re up,” he replied, groggier than she sounded.
Cuddy sighed. “I was just peeing for the fifteenth time tonight, so you’re lucky. What do you want?”
“Your baby’s going to make it.”
“What?” Rustling – Cuddy was climbing into her bed.
“Your baby is going to survive to term. And be born healthy.”
“Thank you for that vote of confidence,” Cuddy said with clear confusion. “But why are – Oh. Did you have another dream?”
House pressed his face further into the pillow. This was good news, if the patterns of his dreams held, and there was absolutely no reason for him to be feeling the deep sense of loss that he did.
“I did. Dream baby didn’t make it. Nothing wrong with the fetus at all, just an unexplained miscarriage at ten weeks.”
Cuddy gasped, her breath catching. After a moment, she asked shakily, “Wouldn’t that mean a miscarriage for me?”
House ground his teeth. No reason for this anger, no reason for this hole, this empty pit. “Jacob and Michelle – dream kids one and two survived in the dream, but not in real life. Dream baby three died. Gotta mean real life fetus three makes it.”
“It’s just a dream.”
Feeling strange, unwelcome tears threatening, House was frantic to get off the phone. “Go to sleep, Cuddy. See you tomorrow.” He threw the phone to the side and began naming all the bones in the human body until his emotions settled down. He was down to the metatarsals when he fell asleep.
House was relieved when Cuddy’s baby was born happy, healthy, and right on time. It was when he finally quit dreaming of Wilson weeping every night.