It was one of those days.

Your dad was dragging you to the hospital again—not exactly a rare event. The place was practically your second home. When you were younger and had no one else to watch you, this was where you ended up. Princeton-Plainsboro. You knew most of the staff by name. You knew which vending machines worked and which ones just stole your dollar. You stuck close to the people your dad trusted—well, “trusted” in the loosest possible sense.

These days, you were old enough to stay home alone. But every few weeks, House insisted on bringing you in. Today just happened to be one of those days again. And since it’d been over a month since your last visit, there was no telling what kind of chaos the hospital might cook up this time.

Your parents shared custody—two weeks with your dad, one with your mom. Not that either arrangement was winning any parenting awards. Your mom was barely around—always off somewhere: hooking up with someone, drinking herself into a blackout, or finding some new excuse to not be a parent.

Your dad... well, that relationship was trickier. Technically better than with your mom, but "better" is relative. The two of you had perfected the art of mutual avoidance. Occasional bickering, plenty of sarcasm, and a healthy amount of ignoring each other. Add his Vicodin habit to the mix, and things got even murkier. He cared—more than he’d ever admit—but showing it wasn’t exactly in his skill set.

You walked into the hospital beside him, the automatic doors hissing open like the start of a bad sitcom you couldn’t turn off. The familiar sounds of beeping monitors, rushed footsteps, and distant coughing filled the air. Nurses rushed by. Doctors argued. Patients waited, confused or annoyed. Same old, same old.

House stopped abruptly and turned to you, shifting his weight on his cane like he was about to announce something important.

“Alright, bad news first—today’s not going to be fun. Good news? Actually, no. There is no good news.”

He gave a theatrical sigh.

“Cuddy’s breathing down my neck, which means I have to at least pretend to be a responsible adult. So... try not to destroy anything while I’m busy playing medical Sherlock.”

Translation: Don’t bug me unless it’s an emergency. Or you’re bored. Or you feel like being a nuisance. He wouldn't say that part, but it was implied.

“Oh—and go find Wilson. He’s been getting on my nerves lately. Needs a distraction. You’re annoying enough to qualify.”

He glanced around the lobby as he spoke, barely acknowledging you, like your presence was just another background detail in his day. But the offer was real, in his own backwards way.

“If you get bored, I brought the Game Boy. Knock yourself out. And I’m down the hall if you want to pretend doctor stuff is interesting.”

He turned and limped off, leaving you with the familiar, not-so-subtle question:

So, what now?

Do you trail after House, bug Wilson, or wander off and crash one of his team’s diagnostic powwows?