Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing I tell you, I'm living in a box under a bridge with some ramen...okay, that's a lie...but still, I'm a 25 year old college student. I should have just gone to medical school at this point, I'd have the same quantity of student loans... ;)

David Shore/Heel Toe Productions owns House, MD and all related story lines and characters. I am only here to play and will put them back in roughly the same condition I took them out in. ;)

One more, sorry. AN: This is my first House fanfic...and I'm a bit worried about characterization and dialogue. Any and all concrit is most appreciated and will be well used and remembered. :) Thanks so much, and happy reading!

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She had invaded his apartment. Okay, perhaps invaded might be too strong a term, she didn't bring a slathering horde and she didn't break down the door…but…still. In the end, she had come over, hair matted, sleep deprived, all red-rimmed eyes and dragging limbs and more baby implements than he had previously thought actually existed in the world…She had completely and utterly conquered his flat, and, if he was honest, and he rarely was, he himself had been the last to fall to her assault. Yes, he had been well and truly conquered. It had started with a phone call, a rather frantic ordeal that started on the answering machine and ended when he finally picked up the offending device. It was the only way to stop the screeching after all…

"HOUSE! HOUSE!! I KNOW YOU'RE HOME, PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE! NOW! I MEAN IT, PICK UP THE PHONE YOU NARCISSISTIC BASTARD!"

Sighing loudly to himself, wondering what he had done this time, House reached lazily over the back of the sofa and started feeling around for the portable phone Wilson had given him for Christmas the year before. Turning down the inane game show currently on the television, House smirked for a moment at Wilson's naïve citing upon the delivery of the gift that perhaps if the older man didn't have to get up, maybe he would be more willing to actually answer his phone now and again. As per usual, Wilson was wrong, but the oncologist felt he should at least get credit for making an attempt.

"Bordello De La House, please state your prefer---"

"I'm coming over."

"What do you mean you're coming over…haven't you had enough, woman! I can only do so much, I mean, I know I'm irresistible, but a man's gotta have his quality game show time at some poi--" CLICK was the only response the diagnostician was going to get apparently.

Shrugging nonchalantly, wondering for about the millionth time over the past two weeks how Cuddy and the Spawn were getting along after their release from the hospital, but not bothered enough to actually go and check up on them; House hit the "off" button on his portable phone. Settling back into his comfortable couch and his weekend TV marathon in the splendid silence of his bachelor home he sighed in, unbeknownst to him, was a to be a fleeting moment of contentment. His drowsy lolling was interrupted a few moments later by the sound of a key in his apartment door.

"Wonder if he brought beer and food?"

This thought was short lived however when he suddenly realized that unless Wilson had some secrets he had never shared, this could not be his best friend.

The sounds of what could only be a portable air raid siren located directly outside his door was the biggest clue…and it was coming…Oh No.

Struggling up with as much speed as he could muster, House just managed to meet them at the door, and was instantly greeted with a sight he had thought to never live to see. Cuddy was at her wit's end…In all the years he had known her, through med school, residency from hell, and her constant Dean of Medicine hospital crises that never seemed to end…he had never before seen her quite like this. Not even thirteen hours of active labor had done, well, this, to Lisa Cuddy. No, this was a new experience for him, and for once in his life, he valued his existence enough to keep his mouth shut. At this point, she might actually grab his tongue and wrap it around his head if he gave her the chance. In short…the nervous breakdown of Lisa Cuddy was awesome to behold. At least, until she shoved an impossibly tiny, but also somehow impossibly LOUD bundle into his arms and continued moving past him at a clip he hadn't seen her use since about four months previously.

"I'm taking a shower, and you'd better have something resembling food in this place before I get out. Call Wilson if you have to. She's your daughter, and she's been screaming for forty-eight hours. It's your turn." And with that, Cuddy was gone, having closed the bathroom door behind her, and even down the hall House had heard the suddenly loud snick of the lock being sent home.

"Are you sure you don't need help Cuddy? You know, soap can be slippery when wet!" House hollered after her, knowing full well that he wasn't going to get a response, but unable to help himself anyway. If the day came he couldn't come up with a lewd comment for every occasion, well, that would be the day he laid down and just died. Looking down at the bundle he had been so unceremoniously given for the first time, his first thought was that it shouldn't be physically possible for a ten pound infant to make so much noise.

Wincing slightly, he muttered down at the red-faced child in his arms "you definitely got that from your mother. She goes all shrieky like that when she's angry too." Hobbling as well as possible back to the couch, House began to wonder just what he was supposed to do now.

The water hadn't yet turned on in the bathroom, so House assumed that Cuddy had either passed out from exhaustion, or was listening to make sure he didn't drop their daughter or otherwise escape.

"CUDDY!" he bellowed, fighting to be heard over the renewed infant wailing.

Empty seconds passed, and House was beginning to seriously regret his part in the beginning of this disaster.

"CUUUDDY! Cuddy, Oh SHIT, LISA! I-I-oh shit oh shit oh shit" House once again yelled, leaning back over the headrest of the couch, quickly followed by a large text book being conveniently knocked to the floor. House smirked to himself, knowing that the words and especially that loud crash would get Cuddy out of the bathroom in double time. She was too obsessive and protective to let herself not believe that he had dropped their daughter…or worse.

True to his prognosis, Cuddy scrambled out of the bathroom, clutching a towel to herself and skidding to a stop as she came into view of the couch, containing her perfectly alright, if still bawling, baby, and her most irritating doctor. Her look of shock, horror, and anger was quickly replaced with a glare that should have melted steel, but was lost on it's intended recipient, manfully deflected with a grin of boyish innocence that only House could muster.

"If I had only known you wanted to play toga party, you should have let me know! I've got some great bed sheets…although, really, we need some beer to really get this thing started…"

"HOUSE! Look, I'm exhausted, I haven't showered in days, I haven't slept since we left the hospital, I don't even know what day it is anymore, she's literally eating my breasts, can you please just take her for a couple of hours without my supervision? Please?" The pleading was a new side to Cuddy, one House wasn't sure he had ever seen before…desperation was not a good look for her, even if he was vaguely turned on by his emerging towel fantasy.

To her relief, House actually took a moment to be serious about the situation and addressed her in a semi-adult tone of voice. "How do I stop the screaming? I can't sway and hold her at the same time, we really would fall, I'm a cripple remember, and I don't own a rocking chair. If you remember, the one I helped put together is at your place."

With a sigh and a quick look around the ill baby-equipped apartment, Cuddy just shook her head. "I don't know House. Right now, I'm lucky if I can remember how to tie my own shoes. You're the genius, figure something out. It can't be that hard. I really am going to have my bath now, and if you yell like that again, you really better be in trouble, because next time I'm going to quadruple your clinic hours just as soon as I get back from maternity leave. Understood?"

She didn't even wait for an answer, simply turned and headed back to the bathroom, pretending she didn't notice how he made an especial effort to watch her go. Only House was take the time to ogle her ass at a moment like that. She did almost have to give him points for determination…

Turning his full attention to the squirming bundle on his lap for the first time, House took a moment to study "The Spawn" as he called her. She was small, like her mother, but already with a shock of dark, curly hair crowning her splotchy, tear-stained face. He knew he would never be allowed to forget that his daughter's hair had been born roughly two hours before the rest of her. He couldn't tell for sure what color her eyes were yet, they were screwed shut too tightly as the baby continued to shriek, her tiny fists closed and waving angrily as she berated the world she was so recently made a part of. Smiling softly, House continued to study this tiny person, his daughter. Abigail Elizabeth House-Cuddy. They hyphenation of their names surprised him a bit, but he was secretly pleased when he learned of it none-the-less. Not that he would ever let anyone in on that bit of information, after all, he had a reputation to protect. She was not an accident, but nor was she a typically planned child…no, her origination was something unusual, but that was in the nature of her parents' lives it seemed. The House-Cuddy relationship would never be considered normal nor would it ever be easy, after all, he was half of it. But it worked for them, somehow.

"Well. What do we do now?" House asked, wondering, not for the first time, just how he had gotten to this particular moment.

As if recognizing that he was finally addressing her, the baby quieted slowly, with a few hiccups and quiet sighs until she was looking up at him for only the second time in her short life. He found her eyes to be the same color as his own, that bright cerulean blue, the color he saw every time he looked in a mirror, only within hers there were no shadows and no pain. It was almost startling to see those eyes staring back up at him from her soft round face, a tiny pink tongue moving in and out of her mouth as she continued to stare upwards at him. Not entirely sure what to do from that point, House decided to take the unsupervised time to inform his offspring about the way the world worked, at least from the House perspective. Besides, she seemed to like the sound of his voice…not that he'd ever admit to having noted that fact, at least not to anyone with teeth.

"I figure we've got about an hour before your Mom comes back out here and scoops you off back to micromanaged baby land, so I'm going to have to make this pretty quick, so listen up. Everybody lies. I lie, your mom lies, patients lie, everybody. Even you, once you can form words into sentences and then come up with the creativity to glue them all together. But you shouldn't have any trouble in that department. You come from good stock." At this House smirked down at the baby in his arms, and was embarrassingly pleased to note that she seemed to be smiling back at him. He knew better, babies that young don't smile…but every mother he had ever known insisted that medical fact was incorrect, and suddenly House realized why.

"Another corollary, as my ducklings have pointed out -- you'll meet them fairly soon, but more about them later; everybody screws up. Don't trust anybody and never let anyone tell you otherwise. Learn to stand on your own two feet, and never let anyone tell you that humility is a virtue. Humility is for suckers and losers who don't have enough backbone to stand up for themselves. Right. Now, about the ducklings. There's three of them, Chase, the wombat, Foreman, the delinquent, and Cameron, who is pretty but may actually induce spontaneous diabetes. They work for Daddy, do his bidding, make his coffee, answer his mail, break into patient house's because he's a cripple and he can't run from the police as well as they can, anything he tells them at this point. Really, they're useful and I think I'll keep them, but we can't let them know that. It can be our secret, all right? Now, we need to talk about music too. I'm sure that Mommy is making you listen to all that Mozart and Baby Einstein crap, so it's my job to make sure you get some of the good stuff in there too. Now, the best material is from the Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd is good too, and we can't forget that jazz is God's gift to mankind. Now, Uncle Wilson likes show tunes…which means there's no hope for him. Ever. He's doomed, and if you're ever in a vehicle with him, take control of the CD player immediately. Got it? Good. I think that's about enough for now, you're looking pretty tired and Daddy is in desperate need of a Vicodin. Oh, about Vicodin. Despite what Mommy and Uncle Wilson say, Daddy needs his meds, but you don't, drugs make you stupid. And the world is full of enough stupid…they come parading into the clinic every day."

House trailed off from his rambling narrative, watching softly as the baby's eyes began to drift closed, her breathing to deepen, and her body to relax even further into his lap. Realizing that if he didn't do something quickly, his leg was going to mutiny completely, and he was going to be trapped beneath a sleeping baby for who knows how long before Cuddy might come to rescue him. Looking around for a suitable baby receptacle, House noticed the carrier slash car seat Cuddy had deposited a few feet from the couch. Using his cane as a hook, he pulled over the white plastic chair, and with surprising grace, placed his still sleeping daughter down into padded bucket seat. Nodding in pleased triumph, House then set about the maneuver of getting up after such an extended time in a single position, and moved both himself to the piano bench and the baby to within leg's reach. Sitting down to play, one Nike clad foot gently rocking his sleeping daughter, House began picking out notes on the ivory keys. Starting with a couple of scales, followed by a few introductory chords before settling down into a jazzy rendition of "Brahms Lullaby," through a reserved rendition of "Twilight Time," and finally finding himself gently humming along to the old big band tune "Daddy's Little Girl." He had completely forgotten that Cuddy was even in the apartment, and was startled when he looked up to see her leaning against the wall that lead into the hallway from his living room. She stood there with an amused look on her face battling with one that could only be called sentimental. She was dressed in a bathrobe he had forgotten he owned, her hair curling and wet around her shoulders, her eyes still red and dark underneath from lack of sleep, but the harried, frenetic energy of her initial appearance had left her. House smiled back at her, half embarrassed to be caught in such a state, but unwilling to show his discomfiture. At least, not until she opened her mouth.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you might actually have a heart under all those layers of callous, cold, unfeeling cynicism, House. If only I had a camera…Oh, wait a moment, is this my phone? I do believe it is! Smile Greg!" Lisa grinned even as she snapped the picture before he could move or wipe the shocked expression from his face.

"I knew you were evil." House responded, though the smirk he couldn't seem to control belied any anger in his words.

Cuddy continued to stand in silence a moment longer, drinking in the sight of her tiny daughter, the baby grand, and House all in the same setting.

"You know what this means, don't you? I'm going to have to call you any time I can't get her to stop crying. You're the only thing I hadn't tried yet, and lo and behold, it worked. What do you know House, who could've guessed you'd get to be the baby whisperer? I think this picture and the threat of exposure of your secret to the peds department ought to be enough to keep you in clinic for at least a year" Cuddy said as she graced him with a predatory grin before finally moving from her position against the wall and settling herself down on the old leather couch.

Shrugging nonchalantly, House replied simply, "I'm just that good, apparently" choosing to ignore the second half of her statement as he came to join her on the couch, grabbing the handle of the infant carrier on his way over and depositing her on the coffee table. The silence grew until several long moments had passed, House looking at his daughter and surreptitiously at Cuddy from the corner of his eye, comparing them, charting features, taking note of what characteristics this tiny person had inherited from both of them. Cuddy was staring off into nowhere, a distant smile gracing her features as she replayed what she had heard the two of them discussing in her head. Only House could manage to start inflicting his own brand of cynicism on a two-week-old baby.

Before long, House's perusal of the sleeping infant was interrupted when he noticed that Cuddy had fallen asleep sitting up, her face gone slack from exhaustion as she had succumbed to the inevitable. Laughing softly to himself, House gently shoved and prodded her until she was at least half laying down against the armrest of the couch, watching as she found a comfortable spot and began to burrow into the cushions. Shaking his head and thinking of as many barbs as he could about her drooling on his furniture for when she woke up, House found the television remote and turned the TV on low before sinking deeper into the couch and resting his legs on the coffee table next to his sleeping daughter. Who could have known that a home invasion could end so well?