A/N -

I've been very uninspired lately. I wrote this to get the creative juices flowing, so I can finish up what I've already started. It's helped in the past, so I'm trying it again.

This is AU, after Who's Your Daddy. It's a What If story. What If Cuddy asked House to be her donor.

Anyway, I hope you like it.

House and Cuddy aren't mine, 'cause if they were, they'd have gotten together a LONG time ago. DS owns them, may he have mercy on our Huddy souls this season...

Maybe, Baby

Chapter One

~ Wants and Needs ~

Lisa Cuddy drummed her fingers nervously on her desktop, biting her lower lip. She had plenty of things to do before she left for the day, but this was gnawing at her. It would better to get it done and over with now, before she lost her nerve. She took a deep breath, feeling her stomach knot so painfully that it was almost like a cramp. It's now or never, she told herself, trying not to chicken out. She stood up, and she squared her shoulders, leaving her office.

She made her way through the hospital and to his office. Her stomach was knotting with apprehension so tightly, she thought she had swallowed a lead weight for lunch rather than the salad she had picked at. She stepped into the elevator, her spine stiff and her head held high. She nodded at the few doctors that rode up with her, and the one med student who looked scared shitless. She gave him a warm, reassuring smile that felt brittle even to her. She didn't want to scare the crap out of her med students, but somehow she had become known as the dragon doctor.

It wasn't her fault she had to be ruthless. Unfortunately, in her job it was eat first or be eaten immediately. As small as PPTH was in the world of medicine, it was still a King Kong sized gorilla on her shoulders that made a personal life damn near impossible.

Her world revolved around work. She could feel the tension turn her shoulders into iron. She was nearing forty, and while, professionally she was at the top of her game, personally, she was swimming at the bottom of the heap. She could count her friends on one hand. Oh, sure, she had a plethora of acquaintances, thanks to her job, but no one she could really confide in.

Except for two men. And one she trusted a hell of a lot more than the other.

She shouldn't trust him, she thought as the elevator dinged her floor. Most of the passengers had cleared out on the previous floors, but she still stepped out with two or three of them. She headed towards diagnostics, while they kept going on. From the looks she saw pass between them, they figured one certain pain-in-the-ass was going to get his.

Well, in a way, he was. Or at least, she was going to offer.

She chewed on her cheek nervously as approached those glass walls. It had been two weeks since she had given him those files. Since they had started her twice a day regiment of shots for the in vitro. Since she had dove head first into her plan.

Doubt gnawed at her. Was she really doing the right thing? She really didn't have anyone to confide in, and if she told her other best friend, the entire hospital would have known by then, and she couldn't afford to have that happen. She wasn't sure it could happen, and she couldn't bear the humiliation of everyone knowing she could be a failure as a woman.

No, she could only tell one person, and that was only because the man was so damn snoopy. He had sniffed out her plan, so overly suspicious of her actions. And only because of that one dinner with his best friend. She could still fume at the thought that after reassurances that he wouldn't tell, the man had let her secret slip.

Did everyone she worked with have trust issues?

She came to his office. The blinds were open. That was the one condition of having his own department and office, that he had to have glass walls. The Administration didn't trust him behind closed doors. Not that she could blame the Board of Directors. She had been the one that suggested it. She'd never forget the look of disappointment on his face when he found out that his best buddy was getting an office with four walls that weren't transparent. She informed him that if he wasn't such a sneaky little shit, then he could have been trusted with those walls.

He pouted, she'd smirked. Story of their lives. They were always doing one or the other, depending on who had gotten the upper hand.

Now, she was going to drop a bomb on him that may destroy any respect he had for her.

He was sitting at his desk, so she couldn't hesitate. She couldn't take a step back, or run away. She pulled open the door. She walked across the soft gray carpeting, the familiar click of her heels muffled by the plush material. He tore his eyes away from the scan he was looking at to glance at her. His reading glasses rode low on his craggy nose, and he blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. "If this is about the MRI," he began, irritated.

She stopped dead a few feet away from the desk, and she eyed him suspiciously. "What about...the MRI," she asked, slowly. She hadn't heard anything from radiology, and this bit of information nearly sidetracked her.

"Nothing," he answered quickly. Too quickly. He put the scan down, then leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk. "So," he drawled out, lifting a grizzled eyebrow, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked with a slight leer. "Putting your funbags out on display? For me?"

She met his gaze, though she was sure hers was hard. "First," she growled, "what did you do to the MRI." He opened his mouth to formulate an excuse, but she cut him off. "Never mind. I'll find about it when Radiology tells me. Then, we'll discuss how the repairs are going to come out of your department's budget."

He gave her a smug grin. "What repairs?" he asked, innocently, then he settled back, folding his hands across his belly. "Then this about you coming to ask me to be your baby's daddy."

The statement was a slap, and, unfortunately, true. She felt her irritation rise. "How did you know?" she asked, startled.

He shrugged. "I've been giving you those damn shots for two weeks now, and you haven't made a choice from those profiles you asked me to narrow down; they're still sitting in the third drawer on the right side of your desk, next to the yogurt covered pretzels you so covet when you're getting ready to start your period." She closed her mouth tightly, wondering if she should be insulted or embarrassed. She settled on both as he continued blithely on. "Also, you've not given me anymore profiles to look at, so, you've made your choice, and it doesn't involve any of the popsicles."

She ignored her burning cheeks. Of course he would figure it out. "So.." She felt her throat go dry and the lead weight in her belly grow heavier as she waited for his answer.

He sat up, and he gave her a long, thoughtful look. His glasses balanced on the end of his nose, and he looked at her over the top of the thin frames. Seconds passed, but she swore they were hours. He finally sighed, and he took his glasses off, just to break eye contact with her. She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "I've never wanted to be a dad, Cuddy," he told her frankly. "I'll make a suck-ass father, and I want nothing more than to be taken out of the gene pool." He rubbed his forehead with his hand.

"So, you won't do it?" She couldn't conceal the disappointment in her voice, though she had wanted to. She hated showing weakness in front of him; it always wound up biting her in the ass.

"Didn't say that," he muttered, rubbing his thigh. "This isn't a good idea, Cuddy. You're not ready to be a mom. You can barely handle your job, let alone a kid."

"Thanks for your stunning insight," she informed him, the sarcasm thick. "Now, if you'll excuse me," she turned on her three-inch heel, ready to leave. Humiliation burned in her belly where the lead weight had rested. She had been on a fool's errand, and she had been blinded by her own confidence.

"You know I'm right!" he called after her, causing her to pause as she reached for the door handle. Though her mind was screaming at her body not to turn around and look at him, her muscles betrayed her, and she looked over her right shoulder, cringing at his smug, self-satisfied face.

"If you were ready for this, you would have spent more time looking for a man to do this the fun way. Do you think a ticking biological clock and a turkey baster really makes you mom material? What are you going to do when I do something stupid and you have to spend all night at the hospital. Or if there's a major accident, and you're called in during the middle of the night?" He fixed those arctic blue eyes on hers.

She felt her lip quiver. These were all scenarios she had rationalized to herself, but when they came bluntly out of his mouth, she couldn't come up with a good argument against them. "I want to be a mom," she said, softly, lowering her eyes briefly. Then, she jerked them back up to meet his. "I don't need your permission to be one." There was iron in her voice as she spoke, and the steel returned to her spine. She held her head high. "I just wanted your sperm. Good thing there are other fish in the sea." She walked out, her stride proud.

It wasn't until she was halfway down the stairwell that she allowed herself to slump against the wall. She felt the tears sting her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. The sour bastard's words stung, but she wouldn't cry over them. It was a bitter blow, but one she could recover. "Someone you like," she snorted, angrily. "Yeah, right."

She stood up, brushing the dirt off her gray skirt, straightening it a little. She continued down the stairs, ready to finish her day. A small groan escaped her lips, and she remembered what he had to say about the MRI. She wrinkled her nose up into a small scowl, and she moved that up to the front of the list to deal with.

[H] [H] [H]

She wrinkled her nose up at the blue file in her lap, and she sipped her tea. It was late, but she was used to late nights. She had always had a high metabolism, and she only needed four to six hours of sleep a night. She bumped it up to six to eight hours on the weekend, when she was "off." "Off," though, was a relative term. There was always something to be done.

Like pick a sperm donor.

She picked up the file, and she tossed on the pile she had come to know as the "reject" pile. It was much larger than the other two. The "strongly possible" pile only had one folder in it, and she was considering putting it into the "maybe" pile. She glanced at the coffee table. There were only two more files to look through. She yawned, stretching out the kinks in her lower back. She'd look through those, and then, she'd go to bed. She glanced at her now empty mug, and decided that she'd have a glass of red wine to finish off the night. She deserved a little nightcap after being rejected a little earlier that day.

She stood up, her body stiff from sitting on the couch for so long. She stretched her arms over her head and stood up on her tip toes, trying to loosen up. After stretching for a second, she headed to the kitchen, rubbing the back of her sore neck. She stifled another yawn, and she pulled a wine glass from the cabinet. She pulled a bottle of pinot noir from her small, counter-top wine rack. With a quick twist of the cork screw, she heard a pop echo through the kitchen, and she poured herself a generous portion. .

She walked back into the living room, sipping the rich, red wine. Mellow and fruity, but with a rich spiciness that tickled her tongue, she relished the ambrosia, and she felt her spirits lift. Her task didn't seem so daunting. Smiling slightly, she settled back on the couch, feeling refreshed.

So, of course, a loud, discordant knock echoed from her front door.

She tossed her head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment, debating on whether or not she was going to answer the door. The loud rapping of wood on wood continued to sound, louder with each tap. She leaned forward, putting her glass on the glass-topped coffee table before she lightly got to her feet. Irritated, she strode across the living room into the small foyer, briefly resting her forehead against the door. She didn't really want to answer it, but she didn't want her elderly neighbors to be bothered by the obnoxious man on the other side, either.

With a soft groan, she jerked the door open just as he lifted his cane to strike again. "Finally," he growled, sneering at her. "Took you long enough. Worried that your frozen pops are gonna melt?"

"Shut. Up." she warned, keeping her body in between the door frame and the door, denying him access. "I have to put up with your insults and taunts at work, but I will not put up with it here." Her tone was low and angry. She tossed her hair back over her shoulders. "Now, tell me want you want, and leave."

"Let me in, and I tell you why I'm here," he counter-offered.

"Tell me why your here, and I'll consider not calling the cops," she shot back.

He glowered at her for a second. "Fine," he spat. He rubbed at the back of his neck. "I'm here to," he wrinkled up his nose, as if he smelled something distasteful. "I'm here to apologize," he grunted, casting his eyes to the ground, tapping his cane in a discordant rhythm. "Sort of."

She blinked, then scoffed. "Sort of?"

He rolled his eyes, obviously agitated and irritated. "I stand by my comments earlier. No way in hell that your ready to be a mom, but if it's what you want to do," he sighed, trailing off.

"You'll help me?" She was suspicious of him. Of his motives.

He nodded once. "Lead the way, Kemo Boot-ay."

She rolled her eyes, and moved out the way, so he could enter her home.