Elvis House

A/N: I need to refresh my writing senses. I haven't written for a WHILE! But It's time to make a fresh start and then I SHALL continue my other stories that you guys are so gloriously in love with. New Idea. Hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I have not, do not, will not ever own House or any of the characters…sad but true.

--

December. A month to see the leaves changing, as well as the weather. The month of cold nights and clear skies. A good month.

Yeah…right.

For Gregory House it was a month of procrastination, hypochondriacs, and booze. Oh, yeah and not to mention Vicoden. Yu-UM

The stupid game on his computer froze up and he had to turn it off, the stupid ball on his desk was in the hands of the stupid number 13 who makes him STUPID, and the stupid patient is stupidly sick…er then before. Stupid December, stupid Princeton…stupid hospital.

Stupid…cake? He smelled cake. Chocolate cake…sweet.

He smiled, almost childlike, to himself as he limped…practically giddily, out of his office. Cake.

He limped toward the smell… trying not to lose track of the wonderful aroma. It gradually pulled him to Wilson's door. He was confused.

Opening the door, House walked in to see Wilson hurriedly pushing something in his desk drawer- and the glorious cake sitting atop his desk. Wilson mumbled something and then looked up as if nothing had happened.

"Hey House." He said all too cheerily.

"What is that."

"It's a contraption of…sugar, chocolate, eggs and flour….some people like to call it a cake."

"First of all I know what IT" he pointed at the cake dramatically, "Is but I was talking about what you put in the drawer, and second of all cake has more ingredients than just sugar, chocolate, eggs and flour." He sat down in front of the desk.

"How you know that is beyond me." Wilson said rolling his eyes.

"How I know that you have something fishy in that drawer?" House squinted his eyes.

"No, how you know how to make a cake."

"My mom taught me."

"How to look in people's drawers?"

"No, how to bake a cake. God, Wilson, listen every once in a while." He sighed.

"Do you want a piece?"

"Of what's in that drawer? I don't even know what it is."

"Now who's the bad listener?"

"Sure."

Wilson stared at him for a bit wondering what the 'sure' was for. House tapped the front of his desk in haste. "Well? Get to cutting."

"Ah, right." He cut the cake and put it on a "spare" napkin he just "happened" to have lying in his office.

House took a large bite and nodded his approval. "Damn good cake." He said with his mouth full.

Wilson cringed.

"So what are you doing here?"

"I smelled it."

"The thing in my drawer?"

"Oh, God! The cake for crying out loud!" House said frustrated tone. He downed the rest of chocolate-y goodness and licked his fingers clean. "So why did you use the fan to persuade me to come get the cake?" House asked dully.

"How did you-? You know what? I don't even care." Wilson sighed and leaned back, "I needed to talk to you."

"…And taking a fan in one hand and a fifty pound cake in the other to blow the aroma into my office so I'd follow the smell here and eat it with you was the way to do that? You could have just paged me."

"Yes." He sighed again like the drama queen he was, "I could have."

"What's so important?" House said with an eye roll.

"I just need you to…um…let me stay at your house."

House groaned.

"One night!" He practically shouted, "I promise you House…one night. NO longer!"

"Fine. But don't…do that thing."

"What thing?"

House smiled, "That thing with your nostrils…they flare weirdly…bums me out."

"Right."

--

"Don't do that!" House yelled as Wilson put his feet up on his table.

"You do it all the time!" Wilson accused.

"Yes, but its MY home. I don't approve of VISITORS making themselves at HOME in MY home!"

"That was selfish on SO many levels." Wilson said as he put his feet back on the ground.

"That's me." House said with a sigh and a snap of his beer opening. He fell back onto the couch with a grunt and a thump and put his feet on his table with great exaggeration. Wilson gaped at him and then shut his mouth just as quickly.

--

"Kudos to you! Breakfast." House smiled, "You know? That makes you my bitch."

"In who's opinion?"

"Dunno…but you cooked it for me."

"I cooked it for MYSELF."

"Fifteen silver dollar pancakes, I'd say about six eggs, a bunch o' bacon, I'd go on but I think you get my drift…pig." He put a piece of the crispy bacon in his mouth.

"I made it…for…lunch? All right I was concerned that you wouldn't eat today."

"Aww, now that makes you my mom and my bitch."

"Yes…that's not creepy at all."

"I know right?" House smirked and pulled himself away from the table.

"Where are you going?" Wilson asked putting his fork down.

"Now you're my wife. Lock the door on your way out." Wilson rolled his eyes and resumed eating.

--

"Gee thanks for leaving the mess to me." House muttered when he came into the kitchen only to be surprised that Wilson had cleaned up the mess, "Now he's my maid." He huffed and grabbed a mug from the cabinet above him.

He sat down at the table and looked around his apartment, thinking. He did not want to go to work today, any day…but today was supposed to be his day off. Damn hospital. He drank the remnants of his coffee and went to stand up when there was a small knock on his door. Very small. Almost too small to even hear. He limped toward the door and leaned closer to it.

"Who is it?" He asked gruffly.

No reply.

He opened the door with force and the person standing behind it jumped back startled. House looked down.

"Aren't you a little short to be knocking on strangers doors?"

The small child looked up at him with fear in his eyes.

"Gunna cry?" he asked the non-responsive kid, "'cuz I don't do crying."

The small child shook his head back and forth.

"Good." House stared for a moment, "any particular reason you're here?"

The kid pulled out a note and held it up.

"I can't read."

The kid still held it out.

"Don't like cookies…if you're intending on selling me some…"

the kid's hand was still in the air.

"Fine." He grabbed the piece of paper from the small fingers.

He opened it and read over it carefully. "What does this mean?"

The kid's shoulder's shrugged.

"I'm not your dad."

Silence.

"I don't even like kids."

Nothing.

"This note isn't written to me…it's written to David Brent. I think you've got the wrong apartment kid."

Tears formed in the kid's eyes.

"What?" House sighed.

He shook his head and looked down.

House sighed again, this time in sympathy, "he didn't want you?"

He shook his head again.

"Well, um…I don't know what to tell you kid." House stated starting to get nervous.

The child looked up with big blue eyes and stared pitifully into House's.

"Ugh…come in." He opened the door more and let the small child walk into his apartment. "you have a name? Nevermind it's here…uh" he read the note again, "What the hell kind of name is Ronald? Geez."

The kid looked up.

"Alright…Ronald…do you like TV?"

The kid nodded his approval.

"Great. Um, there's the television and there is the remote…and there's the couch. Have fun."

He smiled and pulled himself up on the couch. "I'm just gunna make a call and…yeah."

House grabbed the phone and dialed the familiar number. It rang three times. He sighed, disgusted, always exactly three times.

"Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Lisa Cuddy speaking." She said with an obviously busy tone.

"I have a kid." He stated simply pulling out a chair in the kitchen.

"Who is this?" Cuddy asked taken away from whatever she was doing.

"What do you mean who is this? Who else could this be? Jesus."

"Sorry, I'm not used to the misanthropic asshole calling me at eight in the morning telling me he has a kid. You're right, my fault."

"Okay. Sarcasm is not a pretty color on you."

"You have a kid." She said ignoring his statement.

"Yes. He is about four feet high and doesn't have a mom. Or a dad evidently."

"so it's not exactly your kid."

"No, It's David Brent's kid but David Brent want's nothing to do with the ankle biter. Can't blame him either…kid doesn't talk."

"Alright…What am I supposed to do about it?"

"I don't know. Help me out a little here, I'm not good with kids."

"Well, what's he doing?"

"He's watching TV."

"He's watching TV."

"Great, now that we have that settled…"

"I'm just confused as to why you called me."

"Mother Goose was busy."

"Why don't you just bring him in."

"Fine…But you're going to help me."

"I'm just reveling in the fact that you called me for…help." She said with an obvious smile in her voice.

"Oh shut up." He hung up the phone and limped toward the living room. "Blondie. Come on."

The kid jumped at that particular nickname and pulled himself from the leather couch. He grabbed his suitcase and House put a hand out, stopping him. "You won't be needing that."

He dropped the suitcase and walked up to House's limping form. House grabbed his coat and cane pulled the door open. They walked out of the apartment and into the after-snow weather. "Car's this way." He muttered and pointed across the street. House stepped off the curb and walked a few steps before he realized the kid wasn't following. He turned on his heel.

"I'm not allowed to cross the street on my own." He said in a whisper.

"You're not on your own." House stated.

Ronald held out his hand. House stared at it grimly. He finally sighed and grabbed it with his free hand. The small steps didn't match his long strides so he had to slow down. He opened the door to his beat up gray car and let the kid inside first. He didn't feel like going all the way around to the passenger's side so he let the kid crawl across the seat. He landed in the driver's seat with a thump and threw his cane in the back seat. He turned the ignition on and pulled out of the narrow parking spot.

After a couple of minutes of driving the kid sighed uncomfortably and shifted.

"What?" House asked in frustrated tone.

"I have to pee."

"Well, wait."

"I have to pee now."

"Well, wait."

"I HAVE got to pee!"

"Jesus, Ronald McDonald, WAIT!" He yelled.

The kid looked at him and then looked down, he started to cry.

"Oh, no. No, no, no. Come on now. I'm sorry. Okay, Please don't cry." House whined. He looked down and then at the kid. The hospital was a mile away. He just had to make one mile. "I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry. Um. Music do you like music?" The kid was sobbing now. Practically screaming. "Come on now. I didn't mean to yell." The screaming was making his head throb and his grip tighten on the steering wheel. He pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. His spot was close to the doors and for that he was extremely grateful.

"Alright." He said in an alarmingly calm voice. "Let's get out and let you get your business done."

The kid was still crying. House reached behind him in a painful stretch and pulled his cane from the back seat. He opened the door and stepped out onto the frozen ground. He planted his cane on the ground that wasn't icy. He put all of his weight on his left leg and focused his concentration on getting the screaming kid out of the car.

His right foot went out and hit a patch of ice. His weight was gone and he was sent soaring toward the door of his car. It slammed shut as he hit it and with a thump he landed on the cold hard ground.

He groaned in pain. And rolled on his back only to see the crooked smile of the small Ronald in the window. He was laughing. At him. The kid was laughing at him lying on the ground. And for once in his life he didn't feel angry toward the laughter of someone. The kid wasn't trying to help him get up, wasn't saying 'poor House', pointing in sympathy or pity. He was laughing.

House smirked and realized. This was the beginning of something very weird.

tbc