A few weeks after confessing his newly coupled status to Wilson, House came home – to Alex's apartment, which he now considered home – in the early evening. He was feeling particularly satisfied with himself, he'd had a difficult case that had been solved just as the patient, a three-year-old girl, had been close enough to knock on Death's door, offer Death a girl scout cookie and take half a step inside. Everyone was happy. Even he was happy, although tired to his bones.

He just hoped that Alex was in a good mood. For the past little while she'd been unpredictable – some days cheerful, other days jumpy, sometimes morose and withdrawn. His questioning – whether carefully concerned or incessant berating – had produced no results as to the reason behind her changeable moods. He figured it was just that the honeymoon period of their relationship had worn off and now they were getting to know the "real" side of each other. So Alex was moody? So was he. It wasn't the end of the world.

"Alex?" He tossed his backpack onto the sofa, and hung his cane from the mantle while he pulled off his coat and hung it on a hook by the door. Grabbing his cane again he headed for the kitchen, expecting to find her there. It was where he usually found her when he got home – she loved cooking. House had never thought of himself as an old-fashioned guy, but he had to admit that coming home each night to a woman in the kitchen making him a delicious meal had its definite up-side. Yeah, he might have put on a few pounds, but that was what happiness did, right?

With no sign of her in the kitchen, House proceeded to the bedroom. He wondered if she'd gone out. If she had, he was going to make another attempt to pick the lock on one of the doors down the hall. A few weeks ago he'd discovered that every door in the apartment was locked tight except for the bedroom and bathroom Alex used. When he asked her about it, she simply said they weren't used, so it was a waste to have them open or heated. When he asked again later, Alex had been evasive but had eventually admitted that she didn't have keys for the rooms. She said the owner of the apartment had locked the doors before she'd moved in and she didn't even know what was in there.

Of course, that had been a red rag to a bull for House. Unfortunately the rooms were all on the side of the apartment that faced into the lane down the side of the building rather than the garden, meaning the windows were too high to reach without a ladder. So House had settled for trying to pick the locks. Alex had gone nuts when she'd caught him the first time, so he'd made sure she hadn't caught him again. But it was trying his patience. If he didn't make headway soon, he'd be forced to resort to violence to get his way. How much did a door cost anyway? It couldn't be more than his sanity was worth.

With those thoughts in mind, he was a little disappointed to find Alex in bed, asleep. His snooping would have to wait. He turned to leave her alone, but she seemed to sense his presence and she stirred, shifting on the pillow to look over to the doorway where he stood.

"Hi," she said, smiling sleepily.

"Hi. You okay?"

"Tired."

House frowned. He'd been at the hospital pretty much twenty-four seven for the past couple of days, but he remembered Alex had complained of being tired a few days ago.

"Did you go to work today?"

"No."

He walked in and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Sure you're okay?" He put the back of his hand to her forehead. She definitely had a slight fever and her cheeks had bright pink spots highlighting them.

"I'm just really tired. And a little nauseous."

"You were vomiting last week."

She gave him a weak smile. "I think I have a bug in me."

House felt as if a cold trickle of ice water ran down the back of his neck. He thought back over the past few weeks. Apart from his last patient, he hadn't had any cases that had meant overnight stays in his office for a couple of months. And once Alex was rid of her virginity, she'd been more than eager to make up for lost time. They'd been intimate in one way or another at least every few days. With no breaks for Not tonight darling, my Aunt Flo is in town for at least the last five or six weeks, by his reckoning.

Why hadn't he noticed before now?

"Sore breasts?" he asked, stepping through it because pretending it wasn't happening wouldn't make it go away. When she didn't answer he reached out and squeezed.

"Ouch! What did you do that for?"

"I think you have more than a bug in you." House felt a flood of pure terror wash through him like a tsunami. In the wake of it, bizarrely, was a strong sense of stupid masculine pride. Fifty years old, plus the untold ravages of alcoholism and drug addiction, and my boys can still get the job done. High five!

She struggled to sit up a little. "What do you mean?"

"You're pregnant."

Her eyes opened, wide as saucers. He could almost see her brain make the connections he just had. Finally she let out a long breath. "Merde."

"Indeed."

"I'm going to throw up."

"Go for it." House moved out of the way so she could leap out of bed and he heard her retching in the bathroom. When she returned, the bright spots on her cheeks were an almost comical contrast with the paleness of her face. She crawled back into bed, lifting the comforter back over herself with shaking hands.

"You should go see a doctor tomorrow, get it confirmed."

She nodded, not looking at him.

"Do you want anything to eat? Drink?" he asked.

"Merci, no." She shook her head.

He stood up, figuring that they both needed time to process the information before any conversation about it would be fruitful. Not to mention the fact that he could be wrong. It had happened once or twice. But somehow he felt certain about this in a way he couldn't explain.

House ordered a pizza – he hadn't eaten much all day and despite the gut-churning anxiety, he was still hungry. He sat and watched sitcoms and ate pizza and drank whisky and wondered what it all meant.

Despite having come home more tired than he could remember, it was after midnight before he finally turned off the TV and headed for the bedroom. He undressed and crawled under the covers, still mulling over what had occurred to him as he'd sat on the sofa pondering life, the universe and everything. He actually wouldn't mind being a dad. So it wasn't planned. So his only role model had sucked pole when it came to parenting. He didn't know how to be a parent, but he certainly knew how not to be one. It was a start.

It took a moment before he realized that Alex was sick. Really sick. The sheets were damp with sweat and her breathing was rapid and uneven. He touched a hand to her face and it was burning hot, her whole face now flushed with fever.

Pregnant and febrile. That couldn't be good.

House threw clothes on while he dialed 911. He tried to rouse Alex several times, but while she responded, she didn't seem fully conscious. She was murmuring, mumbling nonsense words and names that House could make out, but couldn't make sense of.

Bath. Jack. Paris. Kevin. Daddy.

Something rang a bell in House's mind. Bath. That nightmare she'd had the first night they'd spent together. She'd said bath over and over again then, too. What did it mean? Quite possibly nothing. Perhaps she'd had a traumatic experience in the bath as a child – just as he himself had.

The paramedics arrived before he could continue the train of thought and then they were on the way to the hospital. In the ambulance, Alex began crying, sobbing hard.

"Alex? Calm down, sweetheart. We're just taking you to the hospital to get checked out."

"It's probably just the fever – it can make people emotional," the paramedic explained.

House bit his lip to refrain from telling the guy where to stick his advice. He held Alex's hand and kissed her palm.

"Don't leave me," Alex pleaded with him, but her eyes were unfocused.

"I won't leave. I promise."

House was relieved when they finally reached the hospital. In the ER he discovered that Cameron was on duty and wasn't sure whether he was happy or not about that. Cameron was a good doctor, yes. Did he need Cameron right in the middle of his personal drama? About that he wasn't so sure. Although at least he knew he could trust her to keep his private life private. Of course Chase would be told, but otherwise it was more than Cameron's peace of mind was worth to go blabbing about the place.

Alex's temperature was 103.5, not life-threatening, but enough to be concerning. Current wisdom said anything over 102 could be dangerous for a fetus in the first few weeks of pregnancy if it wasn't corrected quickly. He watched with an undeniable sense of pride in his former fellow as Cameron efficiently organized everything: cooling blankets, blood draw, a portable ultrasound. She even snapped at a nurse and a junior doctor who didn't obey her directions quickly enough. He nodded to himself but didn't say anything.

The blood test results would confirm the pregnancy, but House didn't want to wait for that. Cameron had not only worked with him long enough to pick up a newly brisk manner, she understood his need for instant evidence. And his need for privacy. She shooed everyone else from the room and within a few moments, House was looking at a fluttering white blob on the ultrasound – a tiny heartbeat.

"Her temperature's already coming down," Cameron noted. "With some Tylenol and some fluids I'm sure she'll be fine. And if you don't think she's been this bad for more than a few hours I don't think there'll be any consequences for the fetus."

"I know," House snapped, but only because he knew it was expected for him to do so. In reality he was kind of glad to hear Cameron's reassuring prognosis. And pleased that she used the word fetus. He might have come to some kind of rationalization about how he'd cope if Alex decided to proceed with the pregnancy, but that didn't mean he was ready to break out the cigars and get all gushy over a baby.

"I'll admit her overnight for observation and let you know when we get the test results back. But if it's just a dose of the flu, you can take her home in the morning."

-

-

By early the next morning, Alex was drowsy but doing much better – from a medical point of view if not a personal comfort one. Her temperature had come down to almost normal, but now all the other symptoms of her flu had hit, along with a stinking dose of morning sickness. House felt sorry for her, but his relief that she was okay was acute enough that he had to be extra-specially nasty to everyone, in case someone noticed. Not to mention he was just plain crabby from lack of sleep.

"When can I go home, doctor?" Alex asked him with a weak smile as he walked back into her room.

"Well, patient," House said, playing along, "according to my pager, you can go home whenever you want." Cameron had just sent through the final all-clear from the blood tests.

"Now. I want to go home now," Alex said, before sneezing and blowing her nose into a tissue.

"You sure? Staying here means someone else cleans up your spew."

She frowned at him. "Why? Where's—" She broke off, biting her lower lip with her front teeth. Her gaze slipped away from him over to the windows.

"Where's what?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter," she muttered. After a pause, her gaze came back to meet his. "I feel . . . kind of . . . confused. Like I'm not awake properly."

"It's probably just the flu. If you still feel like that in a few hours, let me know."

She nodded, but she still looked troubled. House reached out and stroked a lock of hair back from her face before he could stop himself – she looked so miserable, he felt genuinely sorry for her. She flinched away.

Feeling hurt by her rejection of his small gesture, House got all business like. "Who should I call at work to let them know you won't be in?" The question made him remember that there was so much about her he still didn't know. He'd never met a single friend of hers. She'd never met Wilson, either, but House talked about him. She knew he existed. Would know to scroll though his phone and find Wilson's name if an emergency came about.

"Kate," Alex said weakly, staring out the window, not making eye contact.

"Number in your cell phone?"

She nodded.

House went through her purse, rummaging to find her phone. He muttered in frustration at the amount of crap he had to sort through: a notebook held together by a strip of leather, a small make-up purse, at least three pens so far. A tube of chapstick. An iPod. Several pieces of paper with hand-scrawled notes. One of those trashy romance books, looking all frayed and dog-eared, The Italian Princess's Marriage Bargain. He tossed it all aside and finally found her phone buried at the bottom under a crumples heap of what he hoped were clean Kleenex.

Alex had closed her eyes, so House took the phone out into the corridor to let her sleep. She'd have to vacate the room soon, he knew, or Cuddy would come looking to find out why a thousand-dollar-a-night bed was being taken by someone with the flu, but there was time for her to have a nap.

He searched through the contacts in Alex's phone – a very short list that thankfully included only one Kate.

"Hello? Alex?"

"Uh, hi Kate, you don't know me, but I'm Greg, Greg House, I'm calling from Alex's phone."

"Oh." She paused and then asked in a rush, "Is everything okay? Is Alex okay?"

"She's fine, I just wanted to let you know that she won't be coming to work for a couple of days –she's got the flu."

"Oh, poor thing."

"She said you would be able to tell whoever needs to be told."

"Yeah, I'll take care of it. I don't think it will be a problem."

"Thanks."

Kate paused again. "Do you mind if I ask, who are you?"

House was a little taken aback. He figured Alex would have told the people in her life that she was seeing someone. But then, he had no idea who Kate was to Alex, what kind of relationship they shared. "Uh, I'm her . . ." Boyfriend? That sounded wrong. "We've been seeing each other," he said instead, even though that didn't sound right either. It didn't convey either the depth of feeling they shared - or the fact that he'd knocked her up.

"Oh." Kate sounded vaguely miffed about that. As if hurt that she didn't know. Then her voice changed. "Oh! Are you the motorcycle guy? The doctor?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Oh great, that's great." She sounded so happy.

"Well, yeah, I guess it is."

"Alex told me you guys had met, but I didn't know you were still going out."

"Uh-huh." House didn't mean to be rude, but he didn't exactly want to get into a conversation about all that with a woman he'd never met.

"I'm so thrilled she's out there again. She's been a virtual hermit. And of course I understand that, after everything she went through, but it's time she moved on with her life."

House froze at that, wondering if that meant what he thought it did. "So, you know about what happened with her . . . family?" he asked cautiously, phrasing his question as carefully as possible.

"Yes. I don't know how she's gone on, actually. I mean she's changed, but I guess that's to be expected, isn't it?"

House was taken aback by the grief and sadness in Kate's voice. A little over the top for a runaway bride and a family rift, he thought.

"I just keep hanging in there," Kate continued, "hoping that one day she'll go back to her old self. My friends think I should move on, but I just can't. I hated to think she was all alone – but I'm so happy to hear she has you now."

"Greg?" Alex called out from her room.

"I have to go," he said, a little disappointed. He wished he had more time to talk. Perhaps Kate had some more answers about Alex's past. "Perhaps we should get together some time, the three of us," he suggested.

"That'd be great, if Alex agrees," Kate said tentatively, as if her expectation was that wouldn't happen. "Let Alex know I'll arrange her sick leave. Just tell her to let me know when she thinks she'll be back."

"Okay, bye."

House hung up the phone, the vague unsettled feeling he generally ignored at the fore.

Alex was sitting up in bed. "I want to go home. Can you help me?"

The pleading in her eyes and the helpless expression on her face brought a rush of emotions washing over him, quashing his suspicion instantly. He reached out and took her hand. "Of course."

House had always mocked Wilson for needing to be needed, for falling for women who needed his support and protection. But right at that moment, House could entirely understand the appeal.