"House."
"Yeah?"
"I turn forty-two in a month. Major turning point for chances of successful pregnancy."
"Go talk to Wilson. He'll be sympathetic—and fun."
"I don't want Wilson."
"What are you saying?"
"You know what I'm saying."
"But I can't believe you're saying it."
"I want kids, House. Or even just one. And as irritating and annoying as you are—as little reason you have given me to trust you... I do trust you."
"See, that's a really *bad* reason."
"No. it isn't. And you know it."
"What are you expecting me to say? I *know* you don't want me to be all excited."
"House. The very fact that you told me you knew I didn't want you to be all excited is enough to tell me this is a good idea. Or at least, not as bad as some of the others I've had. I know you're still you, I know you're not gonna be all tactful and responsible. I'm just asking you for sperm, that's all. It doesn't have to be anything more than that."
"What if I want it to be?"
"Haaha—wait... you... you're not joking."
"No, I'm not."
"I...."
"I don't...."
"I never thought that would be an issue."
"You obviously thought wrong."
"I don't know if I want that or not."
"Ok."
"Don't sulk, House."
"I'm not, seriously. I wanted to know the answer to that, but that doesn't mean I won't accept the simple thing you asked me for."
"You're being mature. It's scaring the hell out of me."
"I'm not being mature, I'm jumping at the chance to jump you, no matter what it means."
"Oh. That' makes more sense."
"Yes, yes it does."
"House?"
"Mmm?"
"I'm pregnant."
"Damn."
"What? Why damn?"
"Means I don't get to do you again for at least nine months."
"Heh, House...."