A/N: So, before you send me a note to tell me that I've accidentally posted chapter one again, please keep reading. Trust me.

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Jess stretched languidly in bed, enjoying the slight, sensual ache in her muscles. They'd gone all week barely seeing each other: he'd been busy with a patient and, since the phone call she'd received on Monday, Jess had sort of avoiding him. She'd been telling herself for a long time that she was being a coward; it was well overdue for her to tell him her news.

But yesterday when he'd called to say he was going to be home by five, she'd felt that familiar rush, and had left work in a flurry of excuses to get herself to 221B Baker Street as fast as possible. As soon as she'd walked in the door he'd easily made her forget about anything other than feeling good and any resolve she'd had to have that serious talk had melted away like her underwear.

"You know, I think we're pretty good at that," House said from the pillow next to her, still breathless.

"Yeah?" she asked lightly, dragging her shoulder-length dark hair over one shoulder.

"Yeah. Still, more practice never hurts." One hand reached over and he ran the back of a finger down her cheek, as tender a gesture as he ever sunk to.

"Ah." She nodded sagely. "Practice makes perfect, so they say."

"So they do," he agreed. "Must be something to it."

He yawned and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. The sight of his surprisingly hard biceps playing under his skin was enough to send a shot of desire through Jessica, despite her very recent satisfaction.

"I need a nap," he said sleepily. "And then some breakfast."

He snuggled himself into the pillow and closed those compelling blue eyes of his. Jessica couldn't help but give a secret smile. Greg House was the best thing that had happened to her in a very, very long time.

She tried to make herself more comfortable amongst the rumpled sheets, but pulled a face when she felt the evidence of their lovemaking growing cold and sticky on her thighs. She hated that.

"I'm gonna have a shower," Jess announced to him, and he grunted a sleepy assent. And at that moment, for some reason, her courage gathered up inside her, all at once."And Greg? After that, I need to talk to you. I've got some work news I need to tell you." Jess knew it was cowardly to start the conversation while he was nearly asleep, but she felt a little sick about what it was she had to tell him. Hopefully she'd be able to build up her courage in the shower.

Mentally running through the toiletries she'd started stocking at his place, she rose from the bed. And then the room seemed to darken a little, stars swimming in at the periphery of her vision. She staggered and sat back down again, hard.

It was Saturday, and she was due to start a new round of contraceptive pills that day. She couldn't remember whether or not she had any left in his bathroom. But that wasn't what had knocked the breath out of her. That was just the thought that sparked the next thought, which had then pretty much wiped out all her thoughts.

"What's the matter? Has sex with me finished you off? Have you had a stroke? A heart attack?" He was joking, but he propped up on one elbow to get a better look at her when she didn't answer immediately.

"No, I haven't had a stroke or a heart attack." She paused. Tell him now or wait? Her shock didn't allow for anything other than blunt honesty. "Or my period."

She sat there, her back to him, and although she couldn't see his face she could practically hear the wheels turning in his head.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

"Yeah," she agreed, still not facing him.

"When were you due?"

"Monday or Tuesday."

"It's Saturday," he said accusingly.

She turned to look at him, feeling defensive. "I know that! I've been…busy." It sounded pathetic even to her. She'd been working twelve-hour days all week. The fact that her period hadn't arrived had just…not occurred to her. Until now.

"Have you peed this morning?"

"What? No."

He rose, groaning when he put his weight on his bad leg and hurriedly began to dress.

"Well, don't," he ordered. "Hold it in. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

Of course Jessica was then immediately seized by the urgent and desperate need to go to the bathroom. But he was right – as usual. She tried to distract herself. It wasn't like she didn't have anything else to think about.

He left without saying another word and Jessica heard the roar of the motorbike as it took off down the street. It felt like just a moment later when she was startled by the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut again. She hadn't moved – just stared at the wall, her mind blank. She wondered exactly how many road rules he'd broken on the drive to and from the drug store.

He walked into the bedroom, still wearing his leather jacket. He held up a bulging brown paper bag.

"Shall we?" he said, as if he was asking her to dance. The idea struck her as funny and she laughed, just a little. She didn't have any idea of what the appropriate response should be to this moment in her life.

Rising from the bed, she grabbed the bag from him, heading to the bathroom. She was just closing the door when his foot stopped it and she realised he was barely half a step behind her.

"What are you doing?" she asked sharply. "It's not the Olympics. You don't have to worry about me switching samples." Sure, they'd been sleeping with each other for close to four months now. He'd even met her mother – begrudgingly and briefly, but he had. Even still, they hadn't got to the using-the-bathroom-in-front-of-each-other stage.

He rolled his eyes and shoved the bathroom door open wider, pushing her gently into the small room in front of him.

"Two tests, two lots of instructions," he said condescendingly. "It'll be faster if you read one lot and I read the other. I imagine the quicker you get to pee the happier you'll be."

"You mean you don't already know exactly how they work?" she said derisively. "And here I thought you knew everything."

"You wanna know how they work?" He posed and took a lecturing tone. "Okay, home pregnancy tests are lateral flow immunochromatographic assays that detect human Chorionic Gonadotropin–"

"Shut up," she muttered, slapping him on the arm. She couldn't help half a smile, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Let's just get this over with." She opened the bag and pulled out two discreetly pastel-coloured boxes, handing one to him and opening one for herself. They were quiet for a minute or two as both read through the highlights from the extensive information leaflets in each box.

About halfway through, Jess sighed and gave up on the complex instructions that seemed like nothing more than litigation-avoidance by the pharmaceutical company. "I'm not reading any further. It's simple. Pee on the stick and this one gives you a blue cross in the little window after five minutes if it's positive. Yours?"

"Same deal. Two blue lines, though."

"Right. There's two in each box. I'll do one from each."

House handed her the plastic stick from his box and then sat down on the edge of the bath. Jessica sighed, but figured peeing was a higher priority than the fight she knew would be required to get rid of him.

Despite his presence, she completed her tasks without difficulty and placed the two plastic sticks side-by-side on the sink, not making eye contact with him. That wasn't too hard because he was staring at the floor, spinning his cane in his hands, looking…worried.

"I'm gonna have a shower." Jess's voice sounded loud breaking into their tiled silence.

"What?" He looked up sharply.

"I need a shower and I've got five minutes. I can be quick." Jessica knew that five minutes sitting in the bathroom with him, watching the second-hand tick around his watch would be unbearable.

The hot water was soothing and while she was doing something as banal as squirting shower gel into her hand and washing her body she could ignore any other thoughts. She deliberately avoided soaping her stomach, knowing House could see her outline through the glass shower screen: she didn't want him thinking she was getting all maudlin. Because she wasn't. Of course, if this was anything like last time, that might happen, but for now she was still completely blank.

When she stepped out of the cubicle, he hadn't moved, still sitting on the bath, spinning his cane. But he looked up at her and she knew.

"Shit," she said quietly and he nodded once, brusquely. She wrapped the towel tightly around herself.

"It could be a false positive," he said. "You need a blood test."

Obviously both of them were going to ignore the infinitesimal chances of two false positives from two different tests, Jess decided.

"I'll make an appointment for Monday."

"Your doctor at your hospital?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "Do you really want this on your record at the place where you're employed? Do I need to remind you that with a name like 'St Mary's' your hospital believes in this book called the bible?" He put a finger against his cheek as if considering something important. "Hmm. Catholics. Unwed single mothers. I wonder how the hospital board will like having one as their media representative?"

Jess shook her head, not wanting to admit that he might just be right. "Greg, patient records are private. There's such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Spoken like a true hospital PR patsy."

She felt sick. It was entirely possible that he was right on the money. With her kind of job, her private life, her health, the way she looked, all of it affected her career. She was the face of the hospital to the world – she had to be the living, breathing embodiment of its ethics and practices. If the hospital found out, would they keep her on?

She could imagine some lab tech or even some junior doctor knowing how valuable the information might be to her superiors – not to mention her enemies; it was impossible to work in a hospital like Princeton General and not make enemies – and how useful it might be for said lab technician to be owed a favour by the powers that be.

And the timing couldn't be worse – what would it mean for the interview she had on Monday? The one she still hadn't told him about.

Damn.

She stormed out of the bathroom, heading straight for the drawer that held some of her clothes and began to dress. He followed a moment later and sat heavily on the bed.

Neither of them spoke, and once Jessica was dressed she sat on the bed next to him. Close but not touching. Jess was already missing the fact that she'd never be able to touch him in such a carefree and light-hearted way again.

After a long moment of silence, he put an arm around her waist and Jess allowed herself the luxury of resting her head on his shoulder.

"How could this happen?" Jess asked quietly. "I'm on the pill."

"I wish I had a dollar for how many times I've heard that in the clinic," he said with a sigh. "No doctor, I couldn't possibly be pregnant," he mimicked. "I'm on the pill. Yes I missed taking a couple every now and then and I might have had a stomach upset and I might also be taking other meds and these things the Chinese doctor gave me and…"

"But I…" Jess interrupted, lifting her head from his shoulder to look him in the eye and prepared to give her defence. She was intelligent, educated, spent half her life explaining complicated medical terminology to laymen. Those women were surely uneducated, didn't know what they were doing.

"It doesn't matter," he said with a shrug. "It's too late to worry now. My mother would say something pithy about spilled milk and a barn door, but I never really understood that anyway."

Jess laughed sadly, shaking her head and pulling away from him.

"What was that work news you wanted to tell me?" he asked.

His question should have sent a jolt of guilt through her, but life had just taken a sudden left-hand turn. New jobs could wait. "I don't think it really matters right now," she said. Besides, guilt had become her best friend for the past few months. A little longer wouldn't hurt.