uh. i don't even know.

sunday morning rain is falling

clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable

It was an unfortunately wet and snowy Sunday morning that found Dr. Reid sitting in the sixth patient room of Princeton-Plainsboro. He folded the paper in his hands twice, neatly, creasing the edges with the pad of his thumb. It was a nervous gesture, he was aware, but that didn't stop him from doing so anyway. He'd read the words seven times already, the he only needed a brief second to retain all one-thousand words on the paper—to know them by memory. Match positive.

What was he to be called now? Dr. Spencer… House?

How strange, was all he could think, there's already a Dr. House. Perhaps it'd be best if he just kept with Dr. Reid.

There was a knock to the patient room. The doctor looked up.

Cameron peered into the room, embellished still by the wan light of the hallway outside. It opened the gloom of the patient room, a dense fog rolling out with the shadows like a weight off his shoulders. He wondered how long he'd been sitting there.

She smiled at him. "Mr. Reid?" It was a pretty smile, perhaps a little nervous. There was a frown in her forehead that suggested she was uncomfortable. Because of his presence? When she'd first came in, there was no hint of it. Perhaps it was after the test had been run.

It must be have been a surprise to her, of course. A clinic patient comes in asking for a paternity test, and she ends up finding her boss' long lost son. Twenty eight years lost, in fact.

He looked up.

She dropped her demeanor at the sight of him. "He's here, you know." She said slowly, genuinely. "If you'd like to meet him."

He frowned. "Does he know?"

She nodded, hesitant.

There was a moment in which Spencer thought about it. Thought about William Reid, the father he'd assumed had abandoned him, who really wasn't his father at all. About his mother, his smart, bright mother (she was smart, of course, but he was so much smarter) and her brief, if not curt, explanation. William is not your father, she said.

William is not your father.

And all he could think was; thank god.

His name was Gergory House, she went on to say. He was a doctor. Then; I've no idea what he's up to now.

Cameron still looked at him, waiting.

And then he thought; well it couldn't get any worse, right?

He was twenty-eight. Far too old to be dreading the reaction of a father. He was supposed to have left that all behind, eighteen years ago. Perhaps not. Daddy issues, he supposed, were a life long ailment.

At any rate, Cameron lead him out of the clinic, lined with sickly, ill looking people, and into the fresh lobby, right down to the elevators. He didn't much like the thought of an awkward ride with this woman, and said he'd prefer the stairs. She didn't seem to mind, and in fact, followed him up them. The rest of the hospital looked like, well, a hospital. It made Reid think of dilaudid, of anthrax and Morgan, "Are you eating jello?" of holding Henry in his hands and of seeing Garcia on that deathly white bed, "Is there any more jello?"

Mostly though, he just thought of Dr. House.

Doctor.

Much more fitting then office-bound lawyer William Reid.

"Is there anything I should know up front?"

Cameron gave him a sidelong glance. "Well…" She began. "Well."

There was a moment as they turned the nurses station. A one nurse Brenda gave him a disapproving glance. He wondered if it was the hair. Personally, he thought it more socially acceptable than the longer hair he'd sported some years ago.

"He's a bit… temperamental." She began slowly. "If he says something mean, he probably doesn't mean it. Sarcasm is just his way of speaking, generally. He walks with a limp—don't ask him about it. Uh, don't say anything he could use against you, try not to stare to much, and well, that's all I can think of for now."

For now. Thought Spencer, morosely. How ominous.

Doctor House's office was empty, though his workroom adjacent was not. Spencer first noted there were four people already in the room. He tried not to tug at the bottom of his shirt. JJ had suggested forgoing his usual, as she said, "unintentional Buddy Holly style" for a more smart casual. It didn't make him feel any more confident, however.

Cameron's face morphed into a very stern, unhappy looking neutrality at the mere look of House, knocking smartly on the door.

She opened it, as House paused in mid speech.

"Dr. House?"

"And here I thought you said you didn't want the job." House rolled his eyes, before gesturing to the board. "Any thoughts?"

On the board, in the chopped, blocky script that vaguely reminded him of his own read; NO PAIN, CONSTIPATION, INTRACRANIAL HYPERTENSION

For a moment, Reid was struck by the words, listed on the white board. For a moment he didn't see symptoms, but a profile. How strange, he thought once more, morbidly, this likeliness.

"Hirschsprung's disease?" Cameron threw out.

"Denied." House drawled.

Dr. Cameron made that pinched face again, like all she wanted to do was both slap House silly, while simultaneously jumping his bones. Reid crinkled his nose.

The infamous doctor's eyes slid to him, and Spencer froze up at the lingering, curious gaze.

"Cheating on Chase, I see." House noted, before turning to a blonde man at his table. "Anything to say, Chase?"

Chase, looking quite unamused, only rolled his eyes. Though he did shoot a furtive, curious glance at Reid as well. In fact, the whole team did.

"Could I have a moment in your office?" Cameron rebuked, as if she hadn't even heard House's suggestive comment at all.

House, for a moment, looked surprised. It's nothing more then a rapid blink of his eye, and then a subtle frown settles impassively over his face. Once more, Spencer startled at the similarities.

The man moved, with—as Cameron had told him prior—a significant limp to his leg. As he opened the door, the entirety of his team stood up in one fluid motion. "Heel, dogs!" He snapped at them, and, like dogs, they all complied in unison. Cameron didn't even blink at the sight, holding the door for him as they entered, before promptly shutting the blinds.

House immediately turned once his team was out of eyesight. "Is there a reason you're disrupting my case?" He asked, to Cameron.

Spencer raised his hand. "Actually, that'd be me." Both their eyes slid to him. "Disrupting the case, I mean." He added.

House gave him an appraising look. One Spencer couldn't decipher. "So you're the kid, huh?" He asked after some time.

Spencer bristled. "Yes, I'm the kid." He shot back, annoyed. "But you can just call me Dr. Reid."

House's eyebrows shot up. "Doctor?" He repeated. The sarcasm was so heavy it near weight the word down, but it was his eyes that betrayed the surprise to his voice. Surprise… and pride?

Spencer nodded.

"What's you're specialty?" The diagnostician questioned.

For a moment, Spencer didn't know how to reply, unsure of what he meant. Then, he quickly shook his head. "No, not a medical doctor. Actually, I have three doctorates—in Mathematics, Chemistry and Engineering, and degrees in Psychology and Sociology."

There was silence, as both Cameron and Dr. House said nothing.

"And I'm working on another degree in Philosophy."

Cameron's mouth fell open a bit, as she gave a surprised, lilting little laugh, turning to House, as if they had some sort of joke Spencer couldn't understand, and he was the punch line. "Apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, huh?" She chuckled, looking stunned.

House, however, continued to study him with a narrowed gaze, before he looked away, guffawing. "Well, it definitely didn't say that in your file."

Spencer blinked. "I have a file?"

Before either of them can reply, the door flew open. A breathless Chase was half into the room. "He's seizing again." was all he managed, before all of them were out the door and briskly walking down the hall.

Cameron made a half-move to follow them, as if it was engrained into her nature to do so. She stopped herself, though, and turned back to Spencer. Her face was apologetic. "I'm sorry. They're in the middle of a big case and—

"That's alright." Spencer held his hands up. "It's fine. I know what that feels like."

"It shouldn't be too long." Cameron was quick to placate, though her face held a vague look of confusion. Spencer quickly remembered she hadn't any idea what he did for a living. For now, he was just Dr. Reid, biological son of Dr. House. "You can… wait around, if you like." She ended, belated, and somewhat helplessly.

Spencer looked at her reproachfully. "Oh no… I should probably start heading—

"Actually!" She started up, tugging him out of House's office. "I have someone who would like to meet you."

He blinked, confused. "You do?" Why would anyone here want to meet him? They had no idea of his work at the BAU—in fact, all they knew was that he was a twenty-eight year old named Spencer Reid. ….Who had biological relations with the renowned diagnostician, who happened to be on residency here. Oh, right.

"How many people know… about me?" He asked her quietly, as they walked along the halls.

She gave him a sidelong glance. "Not as many as you're probably thinking." She said, carefully. "Our Dean of Medicine, of course. Myself, as your doctor. Dr. House, as, well, your biological father…"

She trailed off as they approached a door. The plaque read, "James Wilson, Head of Oncology."

"And Wilson." She added, with a tinge of exasperation to her smile. "But that's only because Wilson is as close to House's best friend as it gets."

She knocked, before swinging the door open.

"Dr. Wilson?"

A man in a lab coat and a boyish, open face looked up at the intrusion. His office, unlike House's, was full of gifts and knick knacks, most likely from patients. From all outwardly appearance he seemed like a kind and caring individual who's first and primary concern was always for his patients: in short, the exact opposite of House.

He looked at Cameron, questioningly.

"I… have someone I'd like you to meet." She said, giving him a meaningful glance. Then she pulled Spencer forward. "This is Spencer Reid."

Wilson's eyes lit up in recognition.

Then he smiled. "Great to meet you." And it sounded sincere.

.

.

.

Wilson spit out his coffee.

"I'm sorry." He coughed. "FBI?" He croaked out.

Spencer nodded, slowly. "Uh—yes. That's where I work. Down in Quantico."

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Wilson managed.

Spencer tilted his head. Wilson had a nice, cozy office. Spencer supposed it had to be, as a lot of people got a lot of shitty news in this office. "The beginning?" He echoed, unsure of what the man meant.

"Of your life." Wilson reiterated.

Spencer shifted uneasily. "Well, I lived with my mother in Las Vegas until I graduated high school when I was twelve—

Once again, Wilson spit out his coffee. As he choked, he motioned for Spencer to continue.

"And I, uh, attended Cal Tech and got my first three doctorates in Math, Chemistry and Engineering. I stayed a little while longer, got two degrees in Psychology and Sociology, before I joined the Academy."

"What are you, a genius or something?" Wilson asked incredulously.

Spencer blinked. "I don't believe genius can be accurately quantified," He parroted from a lifetime ago. "But I do have an IQ of 187, and eidetic memory and can read twenty-thousand words per minute."

Wilson blinked.

With a soft, nostalgic smile, Spencer continued, "Yes, I'm a genius."

"Of course you're smart." Said Wilson, dazedly. He'd finally put his coffee down, as if realizing it'd only come back up.

"Is Dr. House smart?" Spencer questioned curiously. It seemed as if people expected him to be intelligent, as a direct correlation of knowing his father.

"More so than I'd ever tell him in person." Wilson chuckled. "He gets thousands of cases a day from all over the world… mainly because he's widely considered to be the best diagnostician in the world."

"That's a lot to live up to." Spencer noted. He thought of William Reid (funny, how he no longer thought of him as 'father', it was just William) coming home from work and his frustrated face, the tired lines of his brow that seemed to take up permanent residence there. A portrait of unhappiness. Something compelled him to ask, "Does he like it?"

"Hmm?"

"Being a diagnostician."

"Loves it." Wilson quipped, immediately. "Though you'd never hear it from him."

Spencer studied the man in front of him. "There's something no one's telling me." He observed.

Wilson looked up sharply.

"Cameron did the same thing earlier—she looked like she wanted to say more, but stopped. What is it?"

"I'm really not at liberty to say—

"It's the leg, right?" He interrupted. Wilson's face was the only confirmation he needed. "What happened?"

"It's pretty complicated." Wilson rubbed at the back of his head. Nervous gesture. "But really, it's got nothing to do with the leg, it's the—

"Pills?"

Wilson's eyes grew wide. "How did you—?"

"There were quite a few empty prescription bottles in his room. He had two in his pocket." Reid's eyes softened. "Addiction?"

The oncologist nodded slowly.

Huh.

Fuck a DNA test, Doctor House's profile was all he needed to know to confirm.

Like father like son.

"To what?" He asked, quietly.

"Vicodin." Wilson supplied.

Spencer nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. Or, as Morgan would say, his sugar sprinkled with a bit of coffee. Wilson studied his face closely with lingering apprehension, as if waiting for some kind of calamitous reaction. Of what? Spencer's reaction? Wilson must be a genuine friend, to be worried at what Spencer's opinion of House would be. As if protecting his friend's reputation.

"I'm not disgusted." Was all he said.

Wilson looked like he wanted to press the issue, but didn't.

He didn't have to.

"Frankly, I'm also not all that surprised." Spencer replied dryly. "I don't take narcotics. I don't even take Tylenol—much less any higher painkillers."

The oncologist was looking at him questioningly.

"I was addicted to dilaudid." Spencer explained. "I'm clean now, of course." And then, with bemusement, "Perhaps its genetic?"

Wilson only shrugged. He was smiling though, strangely enough. "It's very possible."

.

.

.

Princeton-Plainsboro's menu, for a hospital, was surprisingly extensive. That being said, it also wasn't particularly good; but to that end it wasn't as if Spencer had come for a five star meal. And at any rate, compared to Annapolis General, whose only saving grace had been jello (which Morgan had eaten, anyway) Princeton-Plainsboro may as well have been a resort on a Caribbean island. Everything retained an opulence of neatness, a sterility masked by decorations that looked thrown out of an interior design magazine. Even the rooms he'd seen were spacious and airy looking. Obviously a very wealthy hospital.

He'd been eating by himself at a large round table with a nice floral centerpiece, when suddenly, all at once, as if by some preordained destiny or perhaps just uncanny teamwork, all four of his extra chairs were occupied.

He looked up from his food to see House's team, brimming with excitement.

Obviously nothing was kept secret in this nice, lavish hospital.

"So," Chase began without preamble, with an Aussie accent Spencer hadn't noted prior. "What's it like being related to House?"

"How'd you find out?" Asked the girl before he could think of a reply. Her tag said, 'R. Hadley' but, as the short doctor admonished her with a 'Thirteen!' he assumed she went by Thirteen.

"I took a paternity test." He blinked; the most clear and obvious conclusion in the world, he had assumed. How else did you find these sort of things out?

The team seemed dismayed with such a vague, socially acceptable answer. As if they'd expected something bizarre, or significantly more noteworthy. Perhaps an epic of Homer worthy proportions, from the looks of their blatant disappointment.

He looked at them. "Is that weird?"

"Weird?" The largest of them, whose tag read, 'Foreman', scoffed. "The guy went to his father's funeral to snag a DNA sample to prove he wasn't his father. I thought weird was the normal here."

Reid blinked.

"I thought Wilson was just making that up." Thirteen said, shocked.

The short one, Taub, turned to her with a truly laudable lack of expression. "It's true."

She whistled, leaning back.

"He's your boss, then?" Reid asked to them.

"House doesn't tell us much about himself." Explained Chase, leaning forward, as if to implore him to understand why they were all so enamored at the thought of meeting Reid, the only biological evidence they had that House was human. "Well, actually he doesn't tell anyone much about himself. Generally we have to snoop our way into finding what he's up to."

"And even then," Foreman cut in with an exasperated look. "It usually leads to trouble."

Spencer picked at his salad, curious.

As if sensing his curiosity, Foreman elaborated. "Once, we—Cameron, Chase and I, an hell, even Wilson and Cuddy—had all been under the impression that House had a tumor in his brain and was going to die. We'd been snooping around his files and had thought for the worse. Turns out, he'd just taken some guys scans and put his name on him to try out the new drug that was on trial."

Chase looked annoyed at the very thought. "I cried on that man's shoulder." He added crossly, for extra measure. "Well, almost cried." He amended. "And he didn't even say anything!"

"That's House for you." Thirteen said, idly playing with one of the flowers. "He's an ass."

Then, as if remembering whose company they were in, looked up sharply. "Err—what I mean to say is—"

"It's alright." Spencer waved her off. "I figured as much myself."

"Do you know how he met your mother?" Foreman asked, tactfully changing the subject.

Spencer paused. "No. Though I know they had some sort of long winded affair. She said six months, I think."

"To put up with House," Foreman whistled. "Your mother must really be something."

"Actually," Spencer stabbed his salad with his fork. "My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic."

The team grew very silent. Thirteen dropped her flower.

"You're serious?" She said, after some time.

Spencer only nodded, quite serious. "I'm assuming House doesn't know?"

"The only thing House knows about you is what's in your file." She pointed out. "And whatever you've told him." She added as an afterthought.

"I'd like to keep it that way." He told them all. They nodded fervently. In this hospital though, he figured that meant very little. Word seemed to literally burn through the grapevine.

He couldn't wheedle an actual promise out of any of them, though, because their pagers took the opportune moment to go off simultaneously, and they all bolted out the door.

.

.

.

Lisa Cuddy turned around, furiously, already half way into a sentence. "One more thing, House." She roared. "One more, and I swear I'll—

Her bright blue gaze met Spencer, startled. Even in heels, she had to look quite a ways to see him. "Oh." The woman blinked, dazedly. "Uh, sorry. I thought you were—

"Dr. House." Spencer filled in, amused. "It seems he has quite the reputation for—what was it? Being an ass, I think."

"Well you'd have heard correctly." Cuddy snorted, moving back around her chair. "I was just called to the pediatric ICU. Somehow Dr. House's patient's father has gotten the brilliant idea to destroy his business in hopes of saving his son. I'd find this a bit stranger if it wasn't for the fact that it was House's case."

She paused, looking up at him with a wry, unhappy smile. "House always gets the weird cases."

"I hear he likes them that way, though." Spencer quipped back, taking a seat at the front of the desk.

"Oh yes." Cuddy agreed immediately. "But I think it has less to do with the cases and more to do with him—

The door opened, and Spencer turned in his chair to see two tech guys standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Right, yes it's the sixth door on the left, and please," She looked beseeching toward the tech guys, as if they held a precious child in their hands. "Don't let Dr. House see you."

The nodded, quickly, before leaving. Obviously Spencer's surprise and curiosity lingered on his face as she looked back at him and laughed. "This is what I mean." She said. "This hospital wouldn't be half as crazy without Dr. House running around."

"He's an eccentric character, huh?"

"Eccentric?" Cuddy repeated, incredulously. "Oh no. He's a medical genius—and a cynical, narcissistic asshole. I swear he gives me trouble just to entertain himself." And then, her eyes softened. "But he is the best, you know?"

Spencer only nodded. No, he didn't know, but he was beginning to understand further.

"I hear it runs in the family." Cuddy noted, lightly, amusement coloring her voice. Spencer looked up. "The whole genius thing."

"Well I don't believe genius can be accurately quantified." Was all Spencer replied with, rubbing at his hair, a pink to his cheeks.

Cuddy smiled at him. "You kind of look like him." She observed, benignly.

"I've been told I favor my mother." Reid answered, flustered at the comment. "But then, that was also when my father wasn't actually my father, so…"

As if Cuddy's office didn't have a door at all, it swung open once more, this time revealing House.

"I need a heart transplant." Was his opening.

Cuddy looked at him, flatly. "For your patient who just flatlined?"

"Precisely." House nodded.

"The boy just had a cardiac arrest." Cuddy refuted. "You can't possibly expect me to grant this—

"He's a ten year old boy!"

"No, House." Cuddy barked, like she was attempting to command a wild dog. "And the IP techs are already here to confirm it was your computer so you may as well confess now."

House does not confess. In fact, he stood there, silent, assessing the woman in front of him, as if wondering how much he'll get away with this time.

"Just…" Cuddy's voice goes softer, pleading. "Tell me why you did it."

At this House looked away.

"House."

"Thirteen's a good doctor." Was his only explanation, for a theatrical drama Spencer was beginning to feel quite fortunate for missing most of. "She shouldn't waste her career because of a bad breakup."

Cuddy seemed to take this in stride, nodding. "That's actually almost… nice of you. For once I think you may have genuinely done something with good intentions."

"What can I say?" House shrugged. "I was born with a heart—…"

Then he stilled, his eyes going wide and looking like he didn't see either of them. Cuddy only harrumphed, still standing, crossing her arms.

"Three sizes too small." He ended, blinking like he'd just come to an epiphany.

He looked at Cuddy, who looked back. "It's primary antiphospholipid syndrome."

Cuddy blinked. "What?"

"The coronary vessels. The cardiac arrest was a coronary event," House stressed. Meaning Jack's coronary vessels were obstructed."

To Spencer, who, while certainly has read his fair share of medical books, certainly wasn't a medical doctor, this all sounded like gibberish. It seemed to be the same for Cuddy for a few moments, before she, somewhat disoriented, shot back. "Then start him on—

"Heparin and IV immunoglobulin!" House interrupted, pivoting abruptly on his heel and waltzing right out of the office, to resurrect his patient from the dead, as it were.

Cuddy sighed, looking as if this happened all the time. This appeared to be a common theme in this hospital; no one was ever particularly surprised by Dr. House's antics. Clearly, he did this sort of thing all the time. The whole curing people with bizarre illnesses, getting bizarre cases, arguing with his Dean of Medicine and hacking into someone's computer in what seemed to be good intentions.

Cuddy looked back down at him, sitting sheepishly, as if apologetic for completely forgetting him for a few moments.

"Sorry about that."

"He didn't even say anything to me." Spencer noted with no serious inflection, for once not taking it personally. "Does he have father issues?"

"Considering I had to drag him to his father's funeral, and then when he showed up he ended up stealing a DNA sample from a corpse to prove the man wasn't his father?" Cuddy's brow was raised. "Yes, I'd think he does. Don't take it personally though, I think he just doesn't know how to handle you."

Spencer tilted his head.

"Well, he always has a way of handling certain people." Cuddy explained. "He's stubborn with me, he's sarcastic and degenerate to his team, and with Wilson; well, he's all of the above, but generally a little nicer. He just doesn't know what to do with you—in fact, he probably wants to be nice to you, but doesn't know how."

Spencer only nodded, gathering as much himself.

"Wow. We're really off topic." Cuddy shook her head. "I'm sorry, you probably came in here for something—not a lecture about House."

"Well yes, but I didn't mind it." Spencer looked back down at his phone. He'd received a message from JJ calling him back to Quantico a few minutes ago. "I just got a call, and I have to go back to work. I was just hoping you could give Dr. House my condolences for not staying longer, I figured he was busy and you were probably my best bet at getting a message through to him."

"You'd be correct." Cuddy said lightly, though she looked a little disappointed. "Duty calls."

Spencer nodded, standing. "Pleasure meeting you."

"The same." Cuddy stood once more, shaking his hand pleasantly.

Not even halfway out the office and his phone was ringing once more.

"JJ!" He answered. "Hey, actually, I'm in New Jersey right now, so it's going to take me a little longer to get back to Quantico—what? No you don't have to get me a plane, it's fine. You said seven people dead? All women in their late twenties? It's possible that—…"

Cuddy watched the boy—well, man—go, speaking rapidly into his phone, still a little disbelieving. Only House would create a genius whose occupational hobby was catching serial killers.

.

.

.

"Leaving so soon?"

Spencer spun around.

There, in the cold, was Doctor House. He was cradling what seemed to be a hot mug of coffee, sitting among the slight flurry of snow on one of the benches lining Princeton-Plainsboro's extensive entrance, cane at his side.

Spencer looked down at his phone, where JJ's message lingered on his screen. He smiled, a little sadly. "Yeah. I've been called back to work."

"You never said what you did for a living."

"You never asked." Spencer rebuked quickly.

There was a moment in which neither said anything, as if House expected Spencer to answer. Or perhaps he didn't—Spencer had come to realize that House could extract just as many answers out of what you didn't say, compared to what you did. A skill passed on to him. But Spencer wasn't going to fault him for that. It was quite a useful skill to have, especially as a profiler.

"I'm going to be in Wisconsin," He continued on once more. "And I don't know for how long. But…"

He looked up again at House.

"We could write letters, or something." He suggested, half-heartedly, knowing he wouldn't do so himself.

House snorted, obviously catching the lie. "Don't kid yourself." He said, before smirking. "I'd never write you back."

Spencer gave a brief smile. He'd only been here a few hours, yet he already understood the difference between House mocking you, and House seriously mocking you.

"You can visit, though." He said looking Spencer in the eye. Perhaps the most sincere thing he'd said since Spencer had met him.

"I'll try." The brunette nodded, shaking out the flurries in his hair, before laughing. "Maybe I'll catch some obscure disease, and you'll have to race against the clock to save me."

"Don't count on it." Was House's flat response. "I get to pick my cases."

"Hopefully not, then."

This time, Spencer really did pick up his bag, and carried onwards. He had every intention of just leaving it at that—something a little joking, a something which was much better then he'd expected when he'd come to Princeton-Plainsboro and sat in the sterile smelling clinic waiting room, asking for a paternity test.

But something in him just wanted to see it.

"And I'm a profiler." He added, looking over his shoulder. At first, House's gaze was a blank, vacant neutrality. "I work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI."

And then the man blinked. Hard.

And this time he really did leave.

Sunday morning rain is falling and I'm calling out to you

Hey if you liked it; drop a review!