ONE two months
Wilson woke to the sound of House throwing up in the bathroom.
"House, are you alright?" Wilson asked.
"What you think?" snapped House before throwing up some more.
"Did you ever sleep last night, House?"
"Nope," replied House, then he throw up again--or tried to. Wilson winced at the sound of House dry heaving.
"Cuddy, I'm going to have to not come in today," Wilson said over the phone.
"Why?"
"House isn't feeling good, and I'm worried that he might try something stupid."
"House is sick?"
"He's been throwing up all night."
"Sounds like a stomach bug. How are you feeling?"
"Fine, actually."
House limped into the living room, wearing boxers and Wilson's bathrobe.
"Don't you have your own?" asked Wilson.
"Own what?" asked House, feigning innonence.
"Nevermind. Are you feeling up to breakfast?"
"I'm starving," replied House.
"Go back to bed," directed Wilson, getting out the indregents for his Macadamia Nut pancakes.
"Oh goody! Breakfast in bed!" called House as he limped back to his bedroom.
"Maybe you shouldn't have eaten so fast or so much, House," remarked Wilson as House threw up breakfast.
"There's something there," mumbled House, prodding the lower right corner of his stomach--which he quickly regretted, as the action triggered a fresh wave of nausea.
"I'm taking you to the hospital, House," decieded Wilson.
"Why can't you just check out the portable ultrasound machine and bring it here?" demanded House.
"In case it turns out to be a tumor," explained Wilson.
Like it could be anything else, House thought dryly.
"Oh. My. God."
"You're Jewish, Wilson."
"You're pregnant, House. It's not a tumor."
"Great. A parasite. How far along?"
"Two months."
"Can we keep it?"
"If you want it, then it's fine by me."
"We're going to be dads!"
"You know you will start detoxing," Cuddy reminded House.
"That's why we need time off--at least until the baby is born," House replied.
"You got it--but you can still work, House. Can I have your team call you at home?" Cuddy asked.
House nodded.
"I'll let them know."