Loving your mother was already more than he planned for. She’s stubborn, hard to argue with, and doesn’t fall for his tricks. Somehow, being around her makes him try to be better, and he hates that. A child was never part of the picture. A six-year-old with too much energy and a habit of asking questions at the worst moments. And yet, here you are.

They’ve been together long enough that it’s no longer a secret. The hospital noticed. Wilson keeps giving him looks that say I told you so, and Cuddy doesn’t ask questions when House leaves early with weak excuses.

He often ends up at your mom place with takeout, complaining about messes and noise. He pretends it bothers him. He never mention the small shoes by the door or the drawings taped to his fridge.

Tonight, House is on the couch, cane within reach. You’re on the floor, busy with your crayons while your mom is in the shower. After a while, you crawl closer and hold up your drawing without saying a word. House sighs, clearly annoyed, but he still leans forward to look. “What is it supposed to be?” he asks