Disclaimer: Still don't own.

"But there must be something you can do!"

House sighed. Why didn't his mother understand that yelling at the nursing staff was not going to help? The truth was he just didn't want to get better. Most 14-year-olds played with their friends, got in trouble, dreamt about hot, barely-dressed super models. With an overprotective mother and an emotionless colonel for a father, Gregory House hadn't made any friends, couldn't get in trouble, and had very little interest in girls.

'And Mom's surprised I'm depressed,' mused House. He could get better, but life in the hospital was better. Everyone here knew nothing of him, he could get away with murder, and nobody would suspect a thing. Hearing a door close, House glanced towards his own. A small boy, six at most, was crouching by the wall, watching the door intently.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you how to knock?" The little boy jumped, brown eyes snapping up to meet electric blue ones. 'He looks like a lost puppy,' thought House, studying the boy. He had soft brown hair and a kind face, but all kids that age looked kind. He was wearing a white shirt, black pants, and the cleanest sneakers House had ever seen. "You ever play outside?"


"You're shoes," House pointed. "They're too clean."

"Oh," the boy looked down at the articles in question. "Mom doesn't like me to go outside and play. She says it's dangerous." 'It would explain how pale he is.'

"What's your name?

"James Wilson. Who are you?"

"Gregory House. How old are you, Jimmy?" The little boy giggled. "What?"

"Nobody's ever called me 'Jimmy' before." Standing, the boy walked over and crawled onto the chair next to House's bed. "I'm five. How old are you?"


"Really?" James leaned forward, his small hands gripping the bar on House's bed.

"Yup, and," House leaned towards the smaller boy. "I'm from the sun." James' eyes widened in awe, his mouth falling open. 'This is too much fun,' thought House.

"Does that make you a god?" whispered James, still staring at House.

"No, but-"

"But Mom says people who don't live on Earth are either angels or God. Did Mommy lie?" The small boy's eyes grew sad and he glanced down at his hands, sniffing. House growled inside. Why did he feel he needed to keep this kid from crying? 'I'm going soft.' Even as he thought this, House pulled the small boy onto his lap.

"Your mom didn't lie. She just…doesn't know about people like me. I'm…a…" House glanced around the room. His eyes paused on a sticker. "I'm a star!"

"But, you're sick. Can stars get sick?"

"No, but we can die." James' head shot up.

"You can't die!"

"Why not, all things die, even stars."

"But…but…but I don't want you to."

"So? It's not like we're friends or anything."

"We're not?"

"We just met, how can we be friends?" The boy shrugged.

"I just wanted one, and you're the only person I've met who I wanted to be friends with." House blinked.

"Aren't there other kids you know? Kids your own age?" James nodded.

"I don't like them."


"I don't know, I just…don't." House studied the kid.

"Tell you what, let's make a deal. If we meet again in…oh, 10 years, at least, then we'll be friends."

"OK! But…do I have leave right now?"

"No, but I'm taking a nap." That said, House laid down and closed his eyes, feigning sleep. Feeling the small boy shift above him, House opened his eyes to slits and watched the boy. James was carefully shifting himself over to House's side. When he had reached his destination, he stretched out, placing his small head on House's chest. Moving carefully, still pretending to be asleep, House quietly slipped his arm around the boy's small waist. 'I just don't want him to fall off because his mother will be furious. Mine yells enough as it is.' 'Right,' argued a voice in the back of House's mind. "Stupid conscience," muttered House, finally drifting off.

A/N: I'm debating putting up a second chapter where they actually do meet…however many years later. Thoughts?