This story is dedicated to my lovely friend Hayles who bears her constant pain with grace and dignity. House could use a leaf out of her book.

Summary: House's biological father dies and leaves House a bequest in his will. At the will reading House meets an intriguing woman and learns his father enjoyed playing games with people – including his son. Rated T for now, might change later.

Thy Will Be Done
by Gertrude2034

House looked up from his desk, annoyed by the intrusion. He was right in the middle of the latest nephrology journal and, although it might not be the definition of most people's "thrilling read", he was absorbed and resented being torn out of the almost meditative space he'd been in.

"Dr House?"

"That's what it says on the door." He shook his head. How stupid could people be? They still managed to surprise him. The guy standing with one hand holding the door open was well-dressed, but somehow nervous-looking, as if he wasn't quite sure he wanted to come in.

"Dr House, I'm—" the guy began, taking a tentative step forward.

House interrupted with an educated guess. "Look, we're doing everything we can for your wife/girlfriend/sister/cousin. Whoever. Hassling me isn't going to make a difference. Go talk to one of the other doctors. They'll pat you on the back and make you feel better. I'm busy."

For some reason, House's words had the opposite effect to what he'd intended. The guy seemed to straighten up and took a couple of more confident steps, bringing him closer to House's desk.

"That's not what I'm here about, Doctor."

House took in his appearance more fully. Shiny, expensive shoes. An expensively tailored suit. Leather briefcase. Dark circles under his eyes betraying late nights at the office.

House took off his glasses and rubbed his face with the heels of both hands. He affected not to be bothered by such things, but, for any doctor – even him – being sued wasn't a matter of small importance. For House it meant three irritating things: a great deal of hated paperwork, it took up time that he'd rather be spending on just about anything else, and, usually, it cost money. House wasn't generally overly concerned with money, but if his insurance premiums went up much more, he'd seriously have to sit down and look at his practice's viability. He didn't really like to concern himself with such things; he just wanted to solve diagnostic puzzles and let the rest look after itself. But House was no idiot, he knew his balance sheet, understood his profit and loss, knew where his money was and what it was doing.

Enough to know that being sued – again – was going to be a pain in the ass. "Just give me the papers and get out of here," he said tiredly, holding out a resigned hand. Rain began pattering against the window behind him, a meteorological echo of his melancholy.

A confused expression crossed the guy's face, but he sat down in the chair opposite House's desk and opened his briefcase.

"My name is Jake Walker and I'm with Bannister McKinnon, attorneys-at-law."

"How did I guess?" House muttered under his breath.

"I'm here about your father's will." He looked up, pulled a manila envelope from his briefcase and placed it neatly in his lap.

That gave House a start. He frowned and dropped his extended hand. "I thought my mother took care of all that?" He leaned back in his chair and recalled his mother's tentative phone call after the funeral, explaining that she and his father had agreed that the first one to die would leave everything to the other. Then, when they died, it would all go to their son. His mother had been almost apologetic, clearly imagining that House must have been expecting to receive something. House hadn't cared in the slightest. "My mother explained how they'd structured their wills. I'm happy with things the way they are."

"I'm sorry, I think you've misunderstood. I'm not talking about John House," the lawyer explained patiently. "I'm here about your biological father. Unfortunately Mr Barnes died two weeks ago."

House looked at the lawyer and was momentarily speechless. It wasn't something he was terribly familiar with.

His father had died.

Again.

He searched inside himself for an appropriate response, hunted down his elusive emotions to try to work out how he felt. Sad? Grief-stricken? Upset? No, no and no. Confused. Yes. Disturbed. Also yes.

Strange.

"Mr Barnes?" House prompted, sitting up straight in his chair and giving the attorney his full attention. House's gaze seemed to unsettle the man for a moment and he fiddled with his papers before answering, finally clicking his briefcase shut and placing it on the floor.

"Yes, our client, Mr Andrew Barnes, has named you as one of the beneficiaries in his last will and testament."

Andrew Barnes. House considered it for a moment. It was the man he'd suspected all along, a friend of his father's – and, clearly, of his mother's – but not a military man. He didn't exactly know how their lives had intersected.

"I'm sorry you weren't informed of his death sooner, but his family weren't made aware of your existence until, uh, recently."

"Death bed confession?" House asked with a sarcastically raised eyebrow.

"Something like that," the lawyer said hurriedly. "Mr Barnes has been unwell for a while now," he continued, "and following John House's death he amended his will. You had always been included, but Mr Barnes was quite specific in making sure you were only to be contacted after John House's death."

House snorted. What, was that some kind of bizarre chivalry? To not publicly acknowledge your bastard child while the man who'd brought him up was still breathing?

"How did he die?" House was vaguely shocked to hear the words coming out of his mouth – he didn't want it to sound as if he cared. He quickly rationalised it – it was useful to know about any genetic health issues he might be prone to.

"Bowel cancer," the other man answered quickly. "He was diagnosed about two years ago. It was treated and went into remission for a while, but he relapsed about two months ago."

House nodded. Cancer. Boring. It was time to get to the heart of the matter and get this guy out of his office so he could think. "Right, so what did I get? What's my loot? Am I rich or did I get given responsibility for some moth-eaten cat?" House wasn't exactly shaking in anticipation of receiving some astonishing bequest. More likely it would be some piece of family china, he figured, or a painting, or some such thing that would only become another dust-catcher in his apartment. Assuming he actually bothered to take it home.

The lawyer looked only vaguely shocked at House's blatant materialism. "I'm sorry Dr House, but I can't tell you that. Your father left some rather, uh, unusual stipulations in his will."

House couldn't help wincing slightly every time the lawyer said "your father". The words had never meant anything good in the past and, he figured, probably still didn't – even though they now applied to a completely different person.

"One of the stipulations is that you must attend the will reading along with his family. It will be held at our offices in New York, next Monday."

"What?"

The lawyer's professional demeanour didn't waver. "As I said, Dr House, Mr Barnes was very specific. You must attend the will reading in order to discover what he has bequeathed to you."

"With his family," House said, just to be clear.

"Yes, along with his family."

House was completely thrown. For a moment. Then the solution became clear. "I'm not doing it."

The lawyer frowned, but didn't seem particularly disturbed by this turn of events. "I'd strongly advise you to be there, Dr House."

House leaned back in his chair and waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not playing a dead man's game. I don't need any inheritance. You can just share it out among everyone else. Hell, donate it to the cat protection society. I don't care."

"Do you know much about your biological father, Dr House?"

The shrewd look in the lawyer's eyes gave House a moment of pause. In actual fact, he knew very little. The suspicions he'd had throughout his life had been enough. Something had kept him from wanting to explore this other factor in his genetic make-up. He deliberately hadn't wanted to think too much about why his usual curiosity had been lacking in this one particular area, but at some level he knew the reason. He had already been a crappy son to one crappy father. He understood all too well how much that hurt and how intense that pain could be. House was under no illusions that a different man might produce a different result. There was no need to risk another dose.

The lawyer continued without waiting for House to respond. "Just let me say that I think it would be in your interests to be there next Monday. I think it will be very beneficial to you, and not just financially." With that cryptic comment, the young man rose, grabbed his briefcase and pushed a business card across the desk to House. "The address of our offices," he explained. "I hope to see you there at one pm on Monday. Please feel free to call if you have questions, although I can't give you any further information than what I have today."

He walked to the door and opened it, pausing only slightly to wish House a good day.

The glass door swung shut and House pushed his chair away from his desk, spinning around to look out the window.

"Crap." He let out a heartfelt sigh.

-

-

"Jake Walker from Bannister McKinnon, here to see Ms Brecht."

"I'll just see if Catherine is available." The receptionist at the offices of the NJPRC – New Jersey Pain Research Council – picked up her phone.

The exchange could be heard from her office and so without waiting for her phone to ring, she got up, straightened her suit jacket, and headed out towards the reception area. It wasn't everyday a mysterious lawyer booked in an appointment with her – she could only hope he might be there with a bequest. As the Executive Director of a small medical research funding organisation, private donations and general fundraising were her top priority. Without it, they could close their doors right away. They barely scraped by as it was. There was never enough money for medical research, and especially not for the non-media friendly, non-specific field of chronic pain. They had no pink ribbon, no celebrity spokesperson, no concerts. Just thousands of people who lived with pain every day of their lives, some because of injury or disease, others for reasons that had yet to be explained by medical science.

"Mr Walker." She greeted the waiting lawyer with a broad smile. "Lovely to meet you. Shall we go into my office?"

The young and nervous-looking lawyer took her hand in his for a quick handshake and then followed her in the office. As soon as the door closed behind him, he turned to her with a frown.

"Ms Brecht? Catherine Brecht?"

"Yes, that's right." Her smile faded, wondering what this was about. Suddenly she wasn't so sure it was a donation.

"Uh, would you also be known as Kitty Brecht?"

She felt herself go pale. That name belonged in her past. Although she thought of herself by that name, had grown up with it, professionally now she known to everyone as Catherine. There was only one person who'd still call her Kitty.

"Why?" She moved around to her chair and sat down, for some reason wanting to put the barrier of the desk between them.

The lawyer took the seat opposite her and pulled a sheet of paper from his briefcase. After a moment, he looked at her frankly. "I'm here about the estate of Mr Andrew Barnes. You have been named as one of his beneficiaries."

"Andrew? His estate? Oh, God." Kitty put a hand to her mouth and clutched the desk with the other, feeling as if the world had suddenly shifted underneath her.

The lawyer's mouth formed a thin line. "I'm sorry, Ms Brecht, Mrs Barnes led me to understand you'd already been informed about Mr Barnes's passing."

Of course Rachael Barnes would say that she already knew, let the lawyers drop the news on her like a bomb. Just a tiny stab of revenge from the woman who'd never really understood her husband. "No, I . . ." Kitty felt a wave of nausea pass through her. It had been more than five years since she'd last seen Andrew. She'd heard through the grapevine that he'd been ill, but she'd somehow missed hearing this. Clearly the efforts they'd made to put space between each other had been effective. "I . . . didn't know."

"It was about two weeks ago. You knew he had cancer?"

Kitty gave a small nod.

"Unfortunately after a year of remission the cancer returned aggressively. It happened very quickly."

Taking a deep breath, Kitty made an enormous effort to pull herself together. She fished a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. After a few moments she decided she was together enough to continue with the conversation.

"I'm sorry Mr Walker, I just wasn't expecting that news. Andrew was . . . a good friend to me."

He gave her a thin smile. "I understand."

Kitty bristled at the undertone of his voice and the look in his eyes that told her knew exactly what sort of friend he thought Andrew had been to her. She clenched her teeth to prevent herself from saying something she'd regret. No one had ever understood what had been between her and Andrew. No one ever would.

The lawyer handed her his business card. "Ms Brecht, this card has the address of our offices. Mr Barnes's last will and testament will be read there at one pm on Monday. You need to be there in order to be eligible to receive your bequest."

"What?" She sucked in a breath. No. Surely Andrew wouldn't do something like that to her. He liked his games, she remembered that. And he'd never been above manipulating people to get what he wanted. But to force her to be in the same room as his wife and children? Forget it.

"I'm afraid they are the terms of his will, Ms Brecht. And it will be in your best interests to be there. And the best interests of your charity," he added, looking around the office that had clearly seen better days.

Catherine swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, I don't think I can manage it." She hated that her voice was so weak; she sounded like a little girl.

The lawyer nodded as if he'd expected nothing different. "I understand. Nevertheless, I hope to see you on Monday. Good day, Ms Brecht."

The lawyer left her office and closed the door behind him. Kitty let out a shaky breath that was almost a sob.

Andrew. Just what sort of game are you playing?