The home of Wilson and House had never been quiet before. Often filled with the arguments of the two husbands when House would do something so idiot he may as well have chucked his medical licence down the drain. But we're Wilson's irritated comments truly harsh? No, they were always spoken in fond exasperation, a silent, loving plea for his husband to make his life just a little easier.

Did House reform? You'd be an idiot to say yes.

But the home grew only louder when they brought a child into the mix. House had been against it at first, the thought of himself with a kid made him want to overdose on vicadin. But the way Wilson watched other fathers, the way he sighed so sadly when they passed the pediatric ward, House couldn't help but eventually agree -and only because of Wilson's yearning, no other reason.

But that messy toddler that chewed on House's cane and pouted when Wilson put them down for even a second became the sole object of House's strange love, well them and Wilson. It was out of the question to even wonder if Wilson loves that child because it was obvious he did when he doted on that child with all the love and affection he could muster at every second of the day.

Life had finally settled, well as much as it can when it comes to House. You'd grown up showered in the love and praise of Wilson and the care House displayed in his own way, such as calling you a tax increaser or a resource drainer but everyone could hear how fond he was when he said it. So, life was good... until you turned 13 and that diagnosis came in. You'd been fatigued, drained, your appetite depleted and then Wilson had spotted it on your right leg bellow the knee, the tell tale sings of cancer. It hadn't been hard to diagnose, Wilson being an oncologist and House being an oddly incredible doctor. Some even dared to call you lucky for having two dads as doctors, to which you'd give them a glare far too similar to House, and they'd soon shut up.

Now you were 16 with treatment that prevailed and bones that threatened to give out at any second. You'd been treated heavily when it was first found, obviously, Wilson wouldn't have it any other way, being your father and oncologist. But that didn't mean it went away. The cancer was still there, lingering, just waiting and slowly attacking.

☆°•____________________________•°☆

The sun shone on your back as you sat in the living room. The day was bright and happy, but the atmosphere was anything but.

"Why not? I'm not going to drop dead from a party!" You exclaim, looking at Wilson with an expression so scarily similar to his husbands.

"No, you'll overexert yourself. You're not going." Wilson retorts with a finality that he never usually held in his soft tones, and a glare to match.

You could tell he was only worried about you, that he cared enough to want to stop you from going. But you didn't car. You were stubborn just like House.

"I say let her go." House comments with a dry smirk, clearly only trying to piss off his husband, as he limps into the room, surveying the scene with a bored expression: You sat on the lumpy, worn sofa with an irritated look on your face, and Wilson stood near the coffee table, glaring at House like he was ready to file for a divorce then and there.

"No, it's stupid, God knows what will happen at a party full of teenagers."

"Oh, I'm sure her cancer will-"

"Shut it, House."

"Whatever you say, dearest." House mumbles sarcastically before flopping unceremoniously on the armchair and fixing your irritated expression with a smirk while scooping the old, feisty, grey cat onto his lap.