fic: Chimera — Chapter 4

[readingrat]

 

Chapter 4: Suburban Arcadia

In the days following his blitz visit to Paris Pete has ample time to regret having gone there. Messing with Wilson’s head when Wilson is custodian of his DNA carrier wasn’t a good move. Upsetting Lisa was a crappy idea, period, given that she knows whose son the brat really is. Besides, short-circuiting Wilson’s plan was unnecessary: proposing to someone isn’t the same as marrying them, so he should have waited and let the matter fizzle out. Even if Lisa was inclined to accept Wilson’s offer, lots of things could happen to disrupt their forthcoming nuptials. If he had given himself a little more time, he would have found a way to drive them apart without implicating himself in the process. But no, he had to lose his cool and do something stupid and traceable. Way to go, Pete!

He lies low, trying to assess the damage done. At the beginning of the week he gets a call (which he ignores) and two text messages from Lisa. He reads the text messages; they are short, giving little insight into the writer’s mind. Not even he can read much into a text that says, ‘You ok?’ At least she isn’t reviling or threatening him. Then, about two days after they returned to Philly, there’s complete communicative silence, not even broken by the weekly picture of Joel that she normally sends him on Wednesdays. That could mean anything; other than sending him pictures of Joel she doesn’t communicate with him unless it’s to update him on Wilson’s health. Since he has just seen Wilson, there’s no reason for her to get in touch with him, so chances are that all is well. She has probably written his kiss off as an aberration and is getting on with her life, which is something she’s good at (or so he tells himself). As for the Joel update, she knows that he will arrive within a week, so there’s no reason for her to spam him with pictures (except that she’s predictable and a woman of routine).

Wilson is a different matter altogether. Frosty silence from him for the greater part of a week, a silence that Pete doesn’t try to break. (Wilson is always the one to initiate communication, unless Pete wants something specific from Wilson.) Since he is completely off Pete’s radar, it’s difficult to assess just how pissed he is, but on a scale of one to ten Pete thinks it’s probably a seven. An eight isn’t warranted, not when there is no bodily injury involved, while anything below a six would have Wilson communicating his displeasure volubly. The day before Pete is due to leave for Philadelphia — and beginning to wonder whether he should cancel the trip and continue lying low until everyone has calmed down again — Wilson sends him a short email saying he’ll pick him up at the airport. So that’s okay, then.

At the airport Wilson’s greeting is curt, which is fair enough. He beckons to Pete to follow him and strides ahead, heading for a remote corner of the terminal that might or might not lead to the parking area — Pete is never really sure where the parking area is located. Then again, maybe Wilson wants to murder him and dispose of the body in an incinerator for unattended baggage.

Turns out that Wilson is targeting a coffee shop at the end of the terminal. He gets two cups of something sweet and foamy that masquerades as coffee. Thrusting one of the cups at Pete, Wilson gestures at a vacant table. A talk in a public place means that either Wilson wants witnesses or he doesn’t want him at the apartment. Pete revises his estimate of Wilson’s level of annoyance: it’s definitely an eight, if not a nine. But as long as he is feeding Pete, murder isn’t imminent.

“Peace?” Pete asks, saluting him with the cup.

“Truce,” Wilson answers coldly, “and only on my conditions.”

“You do realise that I saved you from a giant mistake,” Pete can’t help pointing out. “You don’t want to marry a woman who has the hots for your friend.”

Wilson’s hands fly up (thankfully without the coffee cup in them) and flap for a moment before thumping back on the table. “House, just … shut up and listen!”

Pete sits up very straight and mimes zipping his lips shut.

Wilson ignores him. “You’ll go and apologise to Cuddy.”

Whatever. Much good it’ll do her.

“And for the rest of your visit you’ll stay away from her.”

They’re on the same page: he’s planning to avoid Lisa as much as is humanly possible anyway, because he values his balls and Lisa would be well within her rights if she went for them. “I’ll be in my room making no noise and pretending I don’t exist,” he drones.

Wilson’s lips twitch slightly; Rachel has undoubtedly put him through all the Harry Potter movies multiple times. But then his expression grows grave again. “So you really don’t want a relationship of any sort with her. She said as much, but I thought she might be mistaken. You’re a bastard, you know,” he adds almost conversationally. His tone becomes business-like again. “You’ll go back to therapy. Two sessions a week while you’re here, to be continued when you get back to England.”

That’s so unexpected and so far beyond the back of Absurdistan that his mouth drops open. Literally. This time he isn’t acting up. Wilson sits back, waiting for his reaction, his verbal reaction. He clears his throat. “I’d want to do that because?”

Wilson has found his way back to his usual cool. “You don’t have to want it. You just have to do it.”

Indeed? “And if I don’t?”

“Then you get on the next flight to London.”

This is ridiculous. Flirting with his friend’s love interest is a violation of the bro code, not of the penal code. “You can’t make me,” he says. He sounds like a toddler, but who cares?

“Try me,” Wilson says with annoying calm. “I’ll inform security that you stalked your ex-girlfriend to Paris, threatened her, and managed to terrify her into submission. They’ll check your police record, and then you’ll be cooling off in a cell quicker than you can say ‘Domestic abuser’.”

He’s serious. He’s dead serious. He’s so serious that a little victorious smile plays on his lips. Pete is about to say that he’ll refute any fairy tale Wilson dishes up when Wilson adds, “Whom do you think they’ll believe, the guy with a history of violence and a criminal record or the settled oncologist whose friends will vouch for his integrity?”

Pete leans back. This is surreal; it’s turning into something from a psycho thriller. He’d like to scoot his chair back and look for an emergency exit; when the hell did Wilson turn into an unpredictable psychopath? “It was one kiss. Nothing else. Don’t you think you’re … overreacting?”

Wilson laughs unpleasantly. “This isn’t about what you did, it’s about why you did it. What did you do when I let you know that I wanted to marry Lisa? Instead of informing me how you felt about it and coming to some sort of understanding — and if I’d known it would upset you so much I’d have backed off, believe me! — you did everything in your power to woo her away from me. Do you realise that normal people don’t behave that way?”

His voice has risen, but when heads turn their way, he lowers it again. “What will you do if she dates someone she likes or, God forbid, invites them in for a cup of coffee? Does she get slammed up against walls again? Or should she invest in speed breakers in front of her house? Should I set aside funds for an office refurbishment?” He pauses rhetorically, then points a finger at Pete. “You don’t see yourself in any sort of relationship with her. That’s fine; I’d strongly advise against it too. But you have to let her get on with her life. You can’t go berserk every time she looks at another guy!” He rubs his forehead. “My God, she didn’t even look at me and you were already in a dither! What do we do with you?”

Oh. … Okay. … He hadn’t really looked at it from Wilson’s perspective, or rather, from the ‘Wilson pre-amnesia’ perspective. “What was that about office refurbishment?” he asks, because that reference is new.

Wilson, his rant over, is deflated. “What? Oh, that! You got mad at me once and smashed some of the stuff in my office. It was … disturbing. Before that you shot a teenager straight in the stomach with a spud gun. Two weeks later you …” He trails off, rolling his hand.

Pete gets the idea. How come no one has ever told him about the demolition spree or the spud gun incident? “You’re worried I’ll turn abusive again,” he says.

“You’re showing all the early symptoms: you’re being obsessive, you’re stalking Cuddy, you’re refusing to talk about how you feel, you’re messing with her love life.” Wilson stabs the table with his index finger at every point he recounts. “We’ve been there before and I don’t need a reprise, thank you!”

“You’re connecting the wrong dots,” Pete feels compelled to point out. He isn’t exactly fussy about other people’s opinion of him, but the fact is that he isn’t losing it over Lisa, so he’d rather not be painted into that corner. With his criminal record, he simply can’t afford it.

“Oh, yes? Then point me to the right ones,” Wilson says.

He could come clean and tell Wilson what his little manipulation was all about, but Wilson is in a foul mood already. It’s not the ideal moment for a major game changer. Pete hasn’t really planned his next steps, but mellowing Wilson before divulging the paternity of his supposed son is kind of a given. Wilson is anything but mellowed at the moment, but hey, there’s time to spare: Pete hasn’t set a date for the return flight. He intends to wait for a fitting moment (or create one, if need be) to lead up to the revelation. That moment can’t come until he has shown Wilson that he, Pete, can be a good father, but that he has no problems sharing if that’s what Wilson wants. In fact, he’d much rather share: as far as children are concerned, he’s the poster boy for sharing. Finders are keepers, and so on.

So, if he doesn’t want to let Wilson in on his dirty little secret right now, what options does he have? Not very many; a show of cooperation is called for here.

“Okay, so … I apologise to Lisa and attend therapy sessions. Got it. Though it’ll be difficult finding a therapist at such short notice,” he points out hopefully.

Wilson raises an eyebrow. “You can have my appointments with Nolan. I’ve been seeing him regularly ever since I took Joel; I’m sure he’ll agree to take you on instead while you’re here. Next appointment is …” He makes a show of pulling out his cell and checking his calendar. “… Thursday afternoon.”

Pete pulls out his phone in turn and pretends to note the appointment in his calendar. “Bit busy on Thursday, but I think I can fit it in.”

“Wonderful!” Wilson says with fake enthusiasm. “Now that we’ve gotten the rules sorted, we can go.” He rises and tosses their cups into the trash.

Pete follows him out of the terminal and to the parking deck with mixed feelings. If Wilson is already getting his thong all in a twist, then Lisa with her history of PTSD could well prefer to stay away from him altogether. Maybe he should stay in a hotel or leave straightaway.

After a drive of some twenty minutes they come to a suburban neighbourhood with wide streets, stone colonials with red, white, or green shutters, and cast-iron lampposts. The front lawns are well kept, red maples and white ash flank the sidewalks. Pete gazes out of the window; Wilson still isn’t exactly a chatty Kathy, so there isn’t much else to do. Suddenly Wilson brakes and draws into a driveway. They come to a halt in front of a double garage with white wooden doors. The fieldstone colonial to which it belongs has multi-paned windows with matching white shutters and a decorative crown over the front door. A chimney rises along the right side gable; next to it an eastern redbud looms over the garage. The front lawn could do with a trim, but other than that the place looks neat — and uninhabited.

“You think this is a good neighbourhood to dispose of my corpse?” Pete asks.

“That’s the new place,” Wilson says. “The workmen are still fixing the bathroom. Lisa should be here, taking a look.”

“Uh,” Pete says, remaining seated.

Wilson, who has gotten out of the car already, walks over to the house’s front door. He raps neatly on the door, then extricates a key from his pocket and lets himself in. Pete gets out of the car slowly, as much out of curiosity as a desire to get this over with.

“Cuddy?” Wilson calls, standing in the open doorway.

Instead of Lisa, a workman appears, wiping his hands on his pants. “Dr Cuddy isn’t here,” he says. “Haven’t seen her today.”

“Oh,” Wilson says, nonplussed.

“She called saying she thought she was coming down with a bug. But we’re almost done, so maybe she should come and take a look,” the workman continues, looking at Wilson expectantly.

“Wait a sec,” Wilson says, pulling out his phone. “Cuddy? Sorry to disturb you, but I’m at the house. The workman says … Yes. … I had no idea … No. … Okay, I’ll take a look. … No, it’s no problem at all. … Sure. … Yes. … Yes, he’s here. Do you want to see him? He’d like to apologise. … Yes. … Okay. I’ll see you later.”

He puts his phone back into his pocket and gestures to the workman. “Dr Cuddy would like me to look at the bathroom.” They disappear inside the house.

Pete follows them into an entryway with hardwood flooring that’s partitioned off from the remainder of the first floor. There’s a stairway going upstairs and a door (white, of course) with a fanlight leading to the downstairs rooms. Through the door there’s a foyer that merges seamlessly into the living area — with fireplace, of course, and massive timber beams. It is partly furnished: shelves are up on the walls already, pictures are stacked on one side, and moving boxes are scattered around the room. He enters the room and opens one of the boxes. It contains books, while another box has wine glasses and whisky tumblers — non-essentials that Lisa can dispense with during the last days or weeks in the old apartment. He looks around, picturing the room furnished and inhabited. It’s light and friendly, with double doors to a deck and a back yard with a lawn and a few large trees, and it makes him feel melancholy. This is a life that’ll never be his. He’ll always stay on the outside, looking in through a frosted window pane, envying others for the comforts they enjoy — family, security, routine — but unable to adapt himself to their lifestyle. He can hear the workmen and Wilson arguing off to the left, so he moves towards the right, through a doorway into a short corridor that opens onto a kitchen with morning room on one side and a small room, presumably a study or a guest room on the other. The kitchen has timber beams like the living area and is fitted with wooden cabinetry painted in a milky blue-green. He’s prepared to bet that the real estate agent praised it as a ‘colonial-inspired style with all modern amenities’. It’s spacious, though; he’ll grant that. Cooking there must be fun.

He drifts back through the house. There’s a bedroom opening off the foyer towards the street, a fairly small room that’s presumably meant for a child. He moves into it and looks around. Empty. There’s a bathroom next to it with ‘normal’ ceramics — presumably not the one that’s causing all the bother. So, is this going to be Lisa’s domain? Because if that’s the master bedroom then he hates to think how small the other bedroom must be. Deciding to check that out, he goes through the door on the left side of the foyer and stops short. This is the master bedroom, a room that would leave nothing to be desired — large, well-lit, facing out towards the back yard — if it weren’t decorated in white-and-purple striped wallpaper with a unicorn border all around and matching purple curtains. At present the only piece of furniture is a long low table, about six by four. He remembers seeing something similar, though smaller, in Rachel’s room in the Germantown apartment, stacked with whatever toys she happens to be playing with. He nods his approval; Rachel can’t play on the floor like other children. Giving her the master bedroom so she has enough table space and room to manoeuvre her wheelchair makes eminent sense.

There’s a door to the left of the one he came in through, and it’s from there that voices are raised in disagreement. He pops his head in through the door. The bathroom is large, as befits the one attached to the master bedroom, and it has been adjusted to Rachel’s needs much as the one in Germantown is: grab rails, lowered toilet, lowered washbasin, ‘drive-in’ shower. The bone of contention, the tiles above the washbasin, are visibly of a different hue than the other tiles in the bathroom; presumably those are the ones that had to be replaced after the washbasin was lowered.

Wilson looks irritated, the workmen look unhappy. “I’ll settle this with your boss,” he says to them.

Then he takes Pete’s arm and drags him out of the bathroom. “Cuddy is gonna freak,” he mutters. “The construction company couldn’t get matching tiles to replace the ones they ruined. Short of retiling the whole bathroom, which will take roughly two weeks and cost a mint, there’s nothing to be done.”

“Rachel won’t care,” Pete points out, “and no one else will want to use a bathroom with everything the wrong height.”

“Let’s hope Cuddy shares your perspective on the problem,” Wilson says. “Want to see the second floor?”

He nods; Wilson is eager to show him around and he is eager to humour Wilson. They go back to the entryway and up the stairs.

“The previous owners partitioned the second floor off for their daughter when she started college,” Wilson explains, “so the unit is self-contained.”

All the rooms have slanted ceilings, making the living space somewhat smaller than downstairs. Living and dining area are similar, with dormers at the windows to support the notion of spaciousness, but the study/guest room has been halved to allow for more room for the kitchen, which doesn’t have an adjacent morning room. The apartment is even emptier than the downstairs one: no moving boxes here as yet and Wilson hasn’t put up curtains or brought over any knick-knacks, which could either be because he doesn’t possess any or because he has put them in storage.

“Here,” Wilson says proudly, pulling open one of the doors. It’s a bedroom, decorated in light green and the only room in the house that’s furnished. Evidently it’s meant to be the Scab’s room: matching nursery furniture in white wood, a border along the wall featuring jungle animals, a mobile hanging from the ceiling, a shelf with stuffed toys. Instead of getting furniture for himself, Wilson has gone all in for the kid. Well, why not? It’s not like he’ll have to eat off the floor as long as he can escape to Lisa’s place.

Wilson is waiting for a reaction, so Pete drawls, “Nice.”

“I’m going to install a swing set and a sandbox in the backyard. And a trampoline,” Wilson continues, undeterred by Pete’s lack of enthusiasm.

“I’m sure Rachel will enjoy those,” he says sarcastically.

Wilson raises an eyebrow. “There are high-backed swings for disabled children, and she can use the trampoline. In fact, the idea came from her physiotherapist.”

Oh, wow, he’s been dissed. He has noticed that Wilson has become more assertive lately, less of a pushover. That’s good for the kid, bad for Pete.

“We’ll need to fence in the back yard, but there’s no hurry.” Wilson precedes him down the stairs and out of the house. “Now that the bathroom is sorted, we’re set to move once Cuddy is back on her feet.”

“What’s with her?”

“I’m not sure,” Wilson says. “She was run down after we got back, but thought it was jet lag at first. It’s not letting up, so she thinks she might be coming down with something.”

“Symptoms?”

“Don’t,” Wilson says.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t objectify her by turning her into one of your patients.” Wilson stops in the doorway and squints into the setting sun. “She’s caught some virus or other and will have to stick it out.”

“You can’t know that.”

“No, but I do know that objectifying people helps you to distance yourself from your feelings. It doesn’t necessarily work out well for the people concerned.”

Looks like Wilson is still pissed. “And I’d want to distance myself from my feelings because, uh, I’m madly in love with her and in denial about it?”

“You’re not pining for her; you’re feeling guilty about messing with her. Don’t interfere with her health; it won’t make her get better and it won’t solve your problem.” He waits for Pete to join him outside before closing the door.

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Fine, you don’t have a problem.” Wilson says, not bothering to hide his disbelief. He pats the stone walls. “Solid stuff. Not like that flimsy shack in Princeton. This one won’t collapse during a hurricane. Perhaps a few tiles will come down, but that’ll be it.”

Pete opens his mouth and shuts it again. Wilson isn’t talking about hurricanes; he’s talking about cars.

“Why,” asks Wilson, walking over to the car, “does Cuddy seem to believe that your interference with my marriage plans has something to do with you,” he flicks his wrist to and fro between them, “and me?”

Pete’s heartbeat accelerates. What has Lisa told Wilson? She can’t have told him the whole truth, because if she had, they wouldn’t be making semi-polite conversation. Nevertheless, she must have dropped a few hints; at this rate it won’t be long before Wilson pieces the truth together. He moves towards the passenger door. “It’s that gay vibe coming off you,” he says.

“Huh,” Wilson says. He seems to be giving the diversion some serious consideration. He fastens his seatbelt and pulls out of the drive after checking the road in his rear mirror. “I’ve noticed that since getting Joel I’ve become more —”

“Feminine,” Pete supplies.

Wilson rolls his eyes. “No. Well, maybe. But I don’t mean softer. In some ways I’ve become tougher, harder. Like steel. Valyrian steel. Strong, but supple.” He glances sideways at Pete. “Besides, women think it’s hot.”

“Is that a Game of Thrones reference? ‘Cause I’ve stopped watching it — too many characters, too little sex.”

“I mean that when women see me with Joel they home in on me as though I was exuding a special kind of pheromone. I get showered with phone numbers like they’re confetti.”

“You’re being besieged by single moms looking for a dad for their kids. They see you as a fellow sufferer.”

“There’s a fair number of those, but there are women of all ages without kids and — surprise, surprise! — non-singles. Women,” he posits, “are subconsciously attracted to guys with kids. For years I took women out on expensive dates, was polite and considerate, made sure I was well-groomed — hey, once I even rented an expensive sports car to impress a chick! — when all I needed to do was borrow someone’s baby.” He grins conspiratorially. “If you apologise nicely to Cuddy, I’ll let you borrow Joel. But only for a few hours in the park,” he clarifies.

“You’d let me use your kid as bait?” Pete asks.

“I prefer ‘eye-catcher’. Trust me, after an afternoon out with my son, you’ll want to have one of your own.”

Pete grunts. “Keep your kid; just give me the phone numbers.”

---

Chapter Index

Comments

[leesarenae.livejournal.com]

I've not reviewed yet, but I've been avidly reading along. I felt I needed to read back a bit, especially to recall Pete and
Cuddy's history. It still rankles to hear Pete think of Cuddy as Lisa.

I was glad to see Pete berate himself for the mad dash to stop the proposal. I don't think Cuddy would ever accept a proposal from Wilson. Even for Joel. I'm at a bit of a loss as to Pete's motives. Is he so enamoured with his son that he doesn't want Cuddy adopting him? This rings false to me. Pete getting Wilson's girlfriend pregnant is right in character. Him caring what happens to the boy less so. Pete on the outside looking in on the tour of the "solid" house was enlightening. Thank you for continuing this wonderful tale. Oh, and I look forward to Nolan!

[readingrat.livejournal.com]

Thanks for joining in. Yes, the story was complicated so far; I had to re-read parts of my own fics to make sure I don't mess up the back story :)

I don't think Cuddy would ever accept a proposal from Wilson. Even for Joel.
No, marrying Wilson in order to solve his childcare problems doesn't sound like something that would appeal to her.

I'm at a bit of a loss as to Pete's motives.
It's complicated and can't be reduced to a single factor. I doubt Pete thought about the long-term consequences when he got Amy pregnant. She wanted to get pregnant, and as far as Pete could make out, it didn't really matter to her who the father was. It seemed likely that the pregnancy would save Wilson's life, that Amy would be happy to have the child, and that Wilson and Amy would get married. Regardless of whether the marriage lasted, the child would have a doting mother and a caring 'father'. Pete would always know what was going on via Wilson, so indirectly, he'd retain 'control' over the child he fathered. In addition he was probably convinced that if Cuddy and Wilson found out about what he did, they'd agree that the end justified the means.

But things don't turn out that way. Amy isn't interested in being a doting mother. If Wilson were to die now, she might well release Joel for adoption, barring Pete from all access to the child. Cuddy wasn't amused at all by what Pete had done, and Wilson, when Pete met him in Paris, made it clear what he thought about fathers who didn't bother about their children. If those two get together and Wilson's adoption plans work out, then there's a possibility that instead of being 'grateful' to Pete for fathering Joel, they'll shut him out altogether. Pete stands to lose all three of them, not just Joel.

The whole matter has strong legal connotations: as long as Joel hasn't formally been adopted by anyone (which was the case as long as both Amy and Wilson pretended that Wilson was the father), Pete has a good chance of getting legal custody or at least visitation rights if he proves that he's the bio dad. Once the parental rights of the birth parents have been terminated and Joel has been adopted by Cuddy and Wilson, there's nothing Pete can do anymore. And that's precisely what Wilson is planning. That takes Joel out of Pete's 'control' completely, and while he may have little interest in parental duties, he hates losing control over anyone to whom he is connected in any way.

A further aspect is that Pete has now actually met Joel. You probably remember the scene in 'Fetal Position' where the unborn child grabs House's finger, and from then on House refers to him as 'the baby', whereas until then he'd only called him 'fetus'. I know quite a few fathers who had a distanced attitude towards their unborn children, only to turn into fluffy piles of mush when their children were born. Pete is never going to go all gooey over a kid, but seeing the child in person makes it more difficult to ignore his rights and treat him like a pawn in a larger game.

I hope that answers your question to some extent.

[menolly-au.livejournal.com]

Well it stands to reason that no woman would be able to resist Wilson with the adorable Joel :) Strong and supple indeed!

Pete/House's first response to anything personal is always to lie low and hope it all disappears somehow. I'm glad Wilson at least sets down some conditions for forgiving him. I feel like there's always this tension between them related to their previous friendship. Wilson remembers all the bad (and good) of that, whereas Pete only knows it from stories he's read/been told. Wilson is (rightly) carrying a lot of baggage into their current relationship whereas Cuddy likes to forget the past as much as is possible and see Pete as a whole new person.

[readingrat.livejournal.com]

no woman would be able to resist Wilson with the adorable Joel :)
And there I was believing that Wilson was irresistible with or without baby. How could fan fiction mislead me so badly?

Strong and supple indeed!
Goodness, when you quote it that way, it sounds really dirty! [Blushing at what I unwittingly wrote.]

I feel like there's always this tension between them related to their previous friendship.
Yes, there is. I think the present state of affairs is always going to be a lot less than what Wilson wants. As I see it, Wilson is the real loser in the 'amnesia affair'; both House and Cuddy benefit, but he doesn't.

Wilson is always interpreting House/Pete's actions in view of the past, while Pete plays the amnesia card for all it is worth — even when it should be clear to him that others might have issues with his behaviour. Cuddy isn't just any old ex; she's the ex through whose house he put a car. If he 'forgets' that whenever it is convenient, then he needn't be surprised if other people 'overreact'.

[cuddyclothes.livejournal.com]

Reading along this story, I'm confused. Does Wilson know Joel's not his child, but doesn't know Wilson knows? I'm writing this after reading your response above.

That aside, I continue to enjoy this story immensely. The scenes in the new house were quite sad. The thoroughness with which you draw each character, whether they are present or not, continues to impress me. And this is such a gratifying read!

[readingrat.livejournal.com]

Does Wilson know Joel's not his child, but doesn't know Wilson knows?
Umm, I'm assuming this is meant to read, "Does Wilson know Joel's not his child, but Amy doesn't know Wilson knows?"
Then the answer is, 'Correct, Wilson suspects that he isn't the father, but Amy doesn't know that. He's been pretending to her that he believes he's the father.'
In case the missing name was 'Cuddy', the answer remains the same.

Thank you for your praise. I'm more than happy if you find the story gratifying.

[yarroway.livejournal.com]

I love the way you work the past into this fic. Just because Pete doesn't remember it doesn't mean it didn't happen.

[readingrat.livejournal.com]

Thanks. You're right. And even if he did remember it, he wouldn't necessarily see everything the way the others do. Truth is relative, although House would be the last person to admit it.