Summary: What happened when House showed Wilson his birthmark.
“House, why did you fake that birthmark?” Wilson said, lightly caressing House’s shoulder. They were laying in bed, the early morning sun filtering through the closed curtains. “What possible reason could you have had?”
“I wanted to know what the jackass really thought,” House answered. His voice had a hint of anger in it. “Calling me a pill-popping sociopath, and then embracing me as his son? What an asshole. And why was my mom faking all that hippie-shit crap? She goes to one peace rally and suddenly she’s Hanoi Jane. She was June Cleaver, give me a break.”
“Then why didn’t you want to see her?” Wilson was genuinely perplexed. “You always said she loved you unconditionally.”
“Not unconditionally enough to pretend Dad—excuse me, my not-Dad—from doing his Great Santini routine on me. If it happened now, somebody would have called Child Services. Especially her.”
“She didn’t know any better, House.”
“Yeah, yeah. Ward Cleaver could have been buggering Beaver for all we know.” House shrugged. “I told that Scottish jerk off that I respected my father. The look on his face…” He rolled over so that he faced Wilson. “Thanks for not blowing my cover.”
“Thanks for not using indelible ink. Have you ever tasted that stuff?”
House raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. “Have you ever tasted that stuff?”
“We all have our secret past, House, even if it is fake.” Wilson lifted the blanket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get the rest of that red-colored Karo syrup off.”“Be my guest.” House grinned as Wilson dove under the covers. Now this was unconditional love.