In a world where Wilson isn't dying of cancer, Cuddy is still Dean of medicine, Taub, Thirteen, Chase and Foreman are House's team and House isn't being sent back to prison…
"House, are you going to get that?"
A loud knock at the door woke Gregory house from him slumber but he made no move to get up.
"HOUSE!" Three more knocks and Wilson, who was staying over due to a late night hockey match on television, decided he couldn't ignore it any longer. House listened to his best friend grunt and grumble as he stomped loudly across the apartment to answer the door. The person knocked again. "I'M COMING!" Wilson roared before grumbling "it's half four in the morning!"
Grinning to himself, House sat up and turned on his lamp before staring at his half-filled bottle of Vicodin pills as he massaged his thigh. The pain wasn't as bad as it had been but it was enough to make him wince every time he moved his leg. He popped open the pills and tipped one, instead of his usual two, onto his palm and threw it into his mouth before chasing it down with a gulp of water.
"House, I think you'd better come out here." Wilson's tone wasn't angry anymore, it was confused, and so House hauled himself up from his mattress, grabbed his cane, and limped from his bedroom and into the living room.
"What" he asked "are the patients coming here now?"
"No" Wilson replied slowly "not by definition but I think one of your hookers left you a present."
House frowned, Wilson had his back to him and was refusing to turn around "is it one of those vibrating rabbits? I hope not, I already have four." He walked around the couch, intrigued as to why Wilson was acting so strange, only to find that his best friend was staring in confusion at something. "Ok" House grinned when he spotted the basket on the arm of the sofa "I'm sure that, as Christmas is two months away, you haven't ordered your hamper just yet."
"There's a note" Wilson stated, passing a dirty slip of paper over to his friend.
Hesitantly, House took the note and unfolded it; "House" he read out loud "it's time for you to man up and take responsibility of your actions. Don't bother trying to find me, you'll only be wasting your time." If this was some kind of joke that Wilson was playing on him, it definitely wasn't very funny. "Wilson, this isn't funny" he stated.
"It's not me!" Wilson told him.
Gregory House was stumped. He stared at the basket before tugging on a free corner of the bundled up blanket inside to reveal a tiny sleeping baby with brown hair. He jumped back as though he'd been electrocuted. "What is that?!" He exclaimed in shock.
"Well" Wilson looked down at the baby and frowned "now, I'm not a genius here, House, so don't take my word for it, ok? But I think that this could quite possibly be your baby."