Part I

By GeeLady

(Sequel to Gone With the World)


Summary: Some will destroy Eden to reach Paradise.

Rating: M for Mature. Slash. Violence. Rape. Language. This is an MPreg!!

Pairing: House plus Wilson/Foreman/Chase

Disclaimer: I manipulate the sexy House and others to my hearts content. No fee's, no earnings,...just fun!




"Choose your friends carefully. Your enemies will choose you." - Yasser Arafat



The living room was set directly off the mud room entrance. The front doors were missing so the interior of the brick house smelled musty and wild and was littered with leaves blown in through the door and the many broken windows.

Wilson walked from there into the kitchen. Large enough to comfortably seat eight, he saw set against one wall a white, long dead electric stove battling for space with an old fashioned upright, black cast iron, wood burning furnace. Above it a sooty stove pipe five inches in diameter, rose four feet above the stoves' heat outlet to a double elbow joint, where it split in two, each pipe disappearing into the wall ten inches below the ceiling. One pipe stretched nine feet into the living room and ended with another very short elbow down-turn fitted with a square heat distribution maw. The other pipe tunneled up one floor and again split, prepared to bring heat into each bedroom if only someone would light a fire.

The snake-god presence of the pipes was suspended nine inches below the ceiling and kept in position by tin clamps screwed into metal fittings set into the ceiling. Every room was anointed with them and the smear and smell of soot on the walls and ceilings.

Wilson had taken enough time to inspect each room and returned to the cars satisfied that they had found their haven. "This is about the best we've seen." He said to Foreman, driving the second car. Wilson glanced over to the vehicle he and House had traveled in but House was paying attention to the tiny infant in his arms, trying to coax a rubber nipple into his mouth. The bottle itself was almost as big as their son.

Wilson felt a exquisite pang of affection as he watched House play with the babys' fingers that were attached to tiny red hands not much bigger than a Robins' foot. House didn't even look up.

"It must be a hundred years old at least but it's brick, so it's sturdy." Wilson explained. "There's a wood burning furnace in the kitchen, two large bedrooms and even an old fashioned pull toilet. Who ever lived here didn't care for updating to modern appliances." But, on the other hand, lucky us. "Check it out."

Foreman got out of the car and looked around. The farm they were about to appropriate was located in a secluded area, too, which suited him just fine. The last thing they needed or wanted was company. By the condition of the yard and the disrepair of the fences and neglected appearance of the place in general, it was obvious the owners had been gone a while, probably since Outbreak.

"Hello Eden." Foreman repeated a thing his mother, a strongly religious woman, used to say back when she knew she was dying. Certainly she was dead now. A short time ago Foreman had stopped feeling the grief in remembering that almost everyone he knew, at least of the female persuasion, was dead.

His children were a comfort and a new reason to live. And not just live, but live well. Live better. His three mates, especially House and his life-giving body, were impetus to carry on strongly and find some happiness again.

Already he could feel it beginning.

Chase brought their other son into the house from the car. The vehicles themselves Wilson drove around back and parked in the decrepit barn out of sight. "We'll have to think of some sort of emergency strategy. You know, in case they owners come back." Chase remarked as he stood in the center of a leaf and twig decorated living room. The hard wood floors showed wear but were not warped or lifting up. No water damage was immediately noticeable.

"This is nice." Chase said, and at Foremans' raised eyebrows, "Well, I mean it will be once we fix the windows and clean it up." He shivered. "And get some heat going."

Wilson walked to the front door. "I'll find some wood."

"Wait." Chase motioned for Wilson to take the baby. "I'll find the wood. And we have to check for nests."

Confused, "Nests?" Wilson asked, taking Reid carefully in his hands and smiling down on his son. Reid was actually Foreman and Houses' son. And Jordan was Chase and Houses'.

His son was still nestled inside Houses' swollen abdomen, probably only hours now from announcing to them that he was about to invade their lives with a whole new set of lungs.

Chase nodded. "Yeah. This place's been empty for yearsf. Small animals move in, build nests and store food and things in the piping. We have to make sure they're clear before we light any fire or we could be smoked out."

Wilson, raised exclusively in a city and in wealth wrapped his blanket mummied son in his warm hands. "Oh." He turned his eyes to the baby and let Chase deal with the things in which Chase was clearly more competent than he. "Coo, coo . . .Hello Reid. Hello tiny baby boy." Wilson held the baby up so he could see the featureless walls and ceiling. There was nothing much to look at yet. "This is your new home."

Reids' nut colored perfect skin held two tiny brown but bright eyes, a square, broad nose and puckered mouth that never stopped moving. He stared away then back, more fascinated by this fwhite-skinned object floating above him and speaking his name. Reid gurgled his approval.


"We need to make formula." House announced the next morning.

Chase, Foreman and Wilson had spent most of the day cleaning out the heating pipes, sweeping out the rooms and boarding up the broken windows. Chase had got a good fire going in the wood burning kitchen furnace and soon, delicious welcoming heat was building in every corner. "We need to keep this fire going pretty well all the time." Chase instructed. "At least for the next month or so." It was only April and the nights were cold this far North and the mornings sharp and humid. By six AM, frost had grown on every branch of the trees and bushes in the yard. Only after the sun had licked them clean by mid morning did the seasons feel like they were passing from winter into spring.

Foreman answered. "I know. We only have a days worth left. By tomorrow night, the babies' will have nothing to eat."

Chase had an idea. "Well, this used to be a farm. There might be animals still hanging around the area. If not, we need to go hunting or trapping today."

House stared at him strangely. "Jordan and Reid can't eat beef. We need milk, eggs, and eventually fruit and vegetables."

Chase stood up, slipping on his shoes. "I know." He jerked his head at Foreman. "Need you."

Foreman followed Chase into the yard. Chase quickly inspected the small buildings adjacent to the large, drafty animal barn. He approached a likely structure made of banged together two by fours and ply-wood. Surrounding it was chicken wire that had sagged in some spots. A rusty trough that had served as a feeding station now held nothing but dirt and leaves. "Well, they had chickens at one time anyway. That's good."

"Yeah. Had. How is that good?" Foreman asked.

Chase found a small door in the shed that lead to another part of it, a lean-to area sealed off from the birds roost. He let out a yelp. "Yes!" Chase pulled out a small sack of chicken feed. "Hungry people might conceivably eat their horses oats if they were hungry enough, but even starving man would probably pass on chicken feed."

Foreman shook his head. "Chase. There are no chickens here. I'm guessing when supplies ran low, that they didn't pass on roast chicken."

"Yeah, but look at the feathers."

Foreman glanced around. On the hard packed feces strewn soil were chicken feathers of varying orange, browns and blacks. None appeared to have been recently shed. "So?"

"Well, they're brown."

"A-a-a-n-d. . .?"

Chase smiled to himself. He looked around until he located a large tin with a two inch high rim on it. Picking it up and, carrying the bag of seed, he walked out of the chicken house. Then he pointed to a light, hand-held cage with a simple swing door held closed by a twist of wire. "Chicken cage. Transport to the market kind. This'll hold about five or six."

Foreman said, "Uh huh. Now if we only had chickens, we could go shopping."

Chase handed the cage to Foreman. "Just carry this and come with me."

Foreman followed Chase across the yard, through a section of barbed wire fence that only had a single wire left intact, both men easily stepping over it. Chase lead him to an area of wheat field overgrown with thistles and wild grass until he came to an area near a small grove of coniferous and white weeping birch trees. Not far was a small meandering stream that was obviously the farms' main water supply.

Chase walked slowly through the trees, looking mostly up instead of where he was going. "It's still early. They might still be . . ." He pointed. "there."

Foreman had no idea what Chase was looking at. "What?"

Chase waved him over. Foreman obeyed and when he trained his eyes on what Chase was pointing to, he was startled to see a chicken, a fat brown bird, nestled in a tree branch about twenty feet off the ground. "Is that a chicken?"

Chase nodded. "Yeah. Brown chickens are called Bantams. They can fly short distances and like to sleep in tree branches. Survival instinct." Chase looked at them fondly. "My aunt had some on her farm near Braidwood in New South Wales. They often escape and breed in the wild, but they never go far from a known source of food."

Foreman silently praised their feathered ingenuity. Survival was the name of the game now as ever. He picked up a small stick and tossed it up, trying to hit the branch where the bird studiously ignored him, his grain-sized black eyes shut against the intruders rudeness, sleeping on. Foreman tried again, then he started to jump and shout, waving his arms.

Chase watched him for a few seconds, enjoying the moment. "What are you doing?"

Foreman looked at him like he was blind. "What does it look like? I'm trying to get them out of the tree. If we want chicken dinner tonight, we're actually going to have to catch a few."

Chase put out a hand to settle his mate down. "Just hang on. Stand over there."

Foreman stopped his wild and fruitless jumping and shouting and stepped aside to watch.

Chase took the bag, poured out a handful of feed into the tin plate and shook it around a little like he was panning for gold, making the feed rattle. He dropped the pan and stood back a few feet.

One by one the birds awoke, spread decoratively colored wings and fluttered to the ground. In a tight flock and without any fear, they bobbed along over to the tin and began to eat, setting up a din of clucking and scratching, trying to get first digs on the food.

Foreman looked over at Chase. "Wipe that smugness off your face and help me get theses chickens into the cage."

Chase addressed the problem of milk by leaving once more on a trip with Foreman, exploring the country and hill sides, eventually coming across a small herd of domesticated goats gone wild. Foreman, learning from Chases' example, had brought along a bucket of chicken feed. Swishing it in the bucket, it sounded enough like oats to draw the skitterish creatures on a meandering trek back to the farm and a small, fenced enclosure not far from the chicken house.

Leaving House to care for the babies for a while, Wilson had used the time in their absence to hammer back in place some of the loser boards that had lost their nails and fallen off, using a fist-sized granite rock.

The goats milled around and Chase hauled them a half bale of musty hay from the feed barn, gratified that the former family had abandoned the place but left behind a fairly good store of animal feed. The goats, along with a few buckets of fresh water from the stream, happily munched dinner from their thoughtful captors.

Chase said as he entered the rust-colored brick house, kicking off his shoes, "I'll milk a couple of the goats tomorrow and you can boil up the milk for Jordan and Reid. There might even be a few chicken eggs by then if any of them are layers." He glanced at Foreman with more smugness. "Unless you want to take a crack at milking?"

Foreman gave him a dirty look but decided he just might. As doctors turned farmers, they were all going to have to wear various hats.

House acknowledged the information with a nod. He would have to find berries perhaps and mash them for their juice. Perhaps there were wild eatables growing nearby and he asked Chase so.

Chase shrugged. "I'll check that out too. Eventually we might not have to go that far. If these people ever had a vegetable garden with anything rooted or perennial, like potatoes or raspberries, there might still be a limited crop come up this year. Usually people miss digging up some potatoes and they're left to root and grow again. Maybe there'll be carrots and onions even. Or even wild onions."

"How do you know all this stuff?" House asked.

"I spent time on my aunts farm as a kid. A lot of time. Dad worked and Mom . . ." He trailed off and House decided not to press him.

"Thanks." House said.

Chase walked over to him. House was occupying the stuffed living room chair. There was a couch also, both upholstered with material that had to be fifty years old at least. It was rough, carpet-like material that left tiny dots on bare skin. Its only advantage was it was tough wearing. Chase passed the couch and crouched down in front of House. He tickled Jordans' fat cheek. "Anything for our tiny boys." Chase quickly kissed House on the lips and House returned to encouraging his babies to suckle.

"I'm going to check upstairs - see where Wilson's planning on sticking us all tonight."




Wilson roped Chase into assisting with bed-making in the largest of two bedrooms. The whole upper floor contained the sleeping area and nothing else. Economy of heat, he supposed.

"Where did you get the sheets and blankets?" Chase asked him. The sheets smelled like they'd been sitting on a shelf for a century but at least there was no odor of mildew.

"Linen closet." Wilson said. "There's a whole stack of sheets and blankets. Quilts, too. The only thing missing is pillows." Not having pillows sucked. But they had a house, beds, food and a farm to get back in shape. Wilson decided to be thankful for what they did have.

Wilson had sorted through the kitchens' amenities and had worked out a dinner for them all. With the last of the food rations, and from a half bag of flour he had found, "I'm going to bake some flat bread, and we'll have stew tonight. I even found some old tea bags." Thank god for pressure sealed jars.

Chase thought he'd share the most interesting thing he had done that day. "Foreman and I have chickens and goats." At Wilsons' round-eyed surprise, "But we have to save them for milk and eggs."


After breakfast of left-over bread and re-heated tea, a bright morning sun saw Chase checking beneath his hens' undersides for spotted eggs and Foreman looking in on the five goats they had managed to lure home with their clever chicken feed in a bucket ruse. Two of the female goats were fatter than the other and he guessed that the Billy had done his duty some months back and the Nanny goats were pregnant. That meant their teats ought to be filling up with milk. "What does goats milk taste like anyway?" He muttered.

He stared at the nattering creatures dubiously. He had no idea how to milk a goat. He had no idea how to lasso one either. Even if he had a rope. He heard shouting of triumph from the chicken house and saw Chase emerge with a small hand-full of eggs.

"Yeah, yeah." He waved him off. "Take them to House. The kids are hungry." Wishing he knew better what he was doing, he found a small stool in the big barn - one obviously made for squatting under an animals stomach and approached the fattest of the two fat Nanny goats. "Take it easy darlin'. Just want some of that good momma' juice."

Whenever he got to within three feet of her, she, having other ideas on the matter, would dodge past him and make for the other side of the pen. "Dammit!"

She kept up the game with the toddling human for a good ten minutes before Foreman threw the bucket to the ground with a string of swear words.

He looked around, hoping no one heard his uncharacteristic outburst. The yard was empty. Everyone was inside.

No. He saw a tiny figure out in the field. Far away in the field, just a stick among the shorter waves of wild grass. A stick standing very still and staring. At least he thought the stick was staring. It was impossible to tell from such a distance. Then the stick turned and began walking away in a hurry.

Foremans' heart pounded in fear. "Goddamn." He quickly walked into the house and through to the kitchen, not bothering to take off his shoes.

House and Wilson were busy coddling the eggs in some boiling water in a tin pot sitting atop the wood burning furnace. Chase was stoking the fire, trying to get it hotter.

They all turned startled faces to him when he came rushing in, his boots clumping without concern that there might be babies sleeping nearby.

He stared at them all. The four of them had traveled hard. They were tired, they needed rest. They wanted a place to build a future. And House was pregnant! He could pop anytime. Plus they had just arrived here not much more than twenty-four hours ago. Things were so much better here. A home, food, animals, shelter, warmth . . . he feared it was all about to end before it even got started.

His face grim, "We're not alone." Foreman told them. "There's someone out there."




"Maybe we should find another place?" Chase suggested.

Wilson shook his head. "We can't. Even if House wasn't about to pop, we only have enough gas to go maybe another hundred miles. What if find we find nothing suitable?"

Foreman sat on the couch, every-so-often looking over toward the plywood they had fashioned as a door. Even with the cross bar they had quickly assembled in place since his shocking sighting of the furtive stranger, the door was thin and he did not feel particularly secure. "I don't know about you guys but even if we explored another fifty miles, leaving ourselves gas enough to get back in case we don't find anything, I'm sick of moving. Back in New Jersey all we ever did was move."

Wilson paced, the worry on his face etched there by this new problem and his concern over House. "We can't go anywhere. At least, I can't. House is about to give birth. I mean he's real close. He laid down a while ago - in pain."

Chase asked, "From his leg or - "

"- Both." Wilson said. "I'm not even going to go to sleep tonight." He waved a hand toward the kitchen. "I've torn sheets and boiled up a sharp knife in case . . ."

They all understood. In case he needed to cut House again to accommodate the babys' entrance into their world which had just gotten a whole lot more complicated again.

Chase offered. "I think we ought to take shifts. Keep an eye out for . . .I don't know - whatever. Prowlers? A big, angry mutant with a cannon?"

"And do what if that or whatever happens?" Foreman asked. "Someone decides to come here to steal, or just kick us out? - we have no weapons. I traded the last gun - the only gun - we had for House."

No one chastised him because no one regretted it at all.

Chase said. "At the risk of appearing like a bush whacking "Crocodile Dundee", I know how to build a long bow. I could start on it tomorrow. I'd have to go out and find the right tree limb and reeds and things and I don't relish doing that in the dark."

Wilson smiled but neither he nor Foreman made a joke of it. Foreman said, "Right now, I think we're all more impressed than amused."

Wilson said. "I think you guys ought to go to bed and get some sleep. I'll take the first watch. If House goes into labor, I'll wake you."

Foreman and Chase reluctantly went to bed.

Sharing a bed, they each, without even discussing it, shed their clothes and slaked the others' stress in a quick bit of sex. Foreman penetrated Chases' smooth young ass. It was the first time he had been inside the young man and it felt so good. Almost as good as fucking House. Almost. Not quite. Nothing even approached the hot, hedonistic, beast-like drive to fuck House. Giving it deep and hard to his delicious breed-mate, feeling his tight hot tunnel, shooting him full of his warm cum, impregnating him - the whole experience was, from beginning to end, something almost other-worldly. It was impossible to resist. It was the beginning of his life and would be the end of his existence. It was nothing if not the Law of his body and mind.

Nature wasn't kidding about repopulating the planet.

But Chase was soft and muscled, his skin smooth against his fingers. Foreman wrapped his big fist around Chases' hard-on and stroked him, all the while pumping him as thoroughly as possible while the worry of what was happening around them invaded his sexual thoughts un-invited again and again.

So he drove his cock into Chase again and again until he came with a silent, shaking shudder, and Chase came then too, shooting his warm wetness through his fingers.

With Chase, Foreman didn't feel the chemical insanity that fucking House gave him, that commanded him back to Houses' body over and over, but making love to Chase was warm and comforting and sexy. So he kissed him deeply before rolling off.

In the next room, House began to moan. By their mutual experiences in Laurents' hated facility, they had all come to learn to distinguish between a moan resulting from injury or ache and that of a man entering the pangs of child-birth. "It's House." Chase whispered in the dark.

"I know." Foreman said. It was time to get up. "He's having Wilsons' baby."