Two weeks after previous chapter. This is admittedly just transitory filler. But I thought I'd post it anyway.

Chapter 24

"Yowza."

"What?"

"Is that what you're wearing to work?"

"Yes, I thought I'd forgo the top today. I need to work on my tan."

"Isn't it raining right now?"

"Good point. Forget topless. I'll have a wet t-shirt contest."

"Oh now you're just toying with me."

"..."

"Do you think it's too late in the semester for me to enroll in your class?"

"You missed the cut off date by two weeks."

"Are you available for any private instruction?"

"I'll have to check my schedule."

"Because I'm a really slow learner. I think I'm going to need a lot of one on one time...visual aids, lap dances, that sort of thing."

"I'll bet."

"..."

"What are you doing anyway?"

"Range of motion."

"Oh."

"..."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. It's just…I didn't know you stretched."

"Yeah...well, most days it's the only thing standing between my leg and an excruciating muscle spasm."

"How often do you do it?"

"Not as often as I should."

"How come I've never seen you do it before?"

"Because I go out of my way to do it when you're asleep."

"I'm not asleep now."

"I thought you'd left already."

"So it bothers you, that I'm watching you like this?"

"No."

"Your expression says otherwise."

"It doesn't bother me. It just...makes me kind of nervous."

"Is that why you wanted your own bedroom?"

"That and so I could have privacy when I watch bad porn."

"Do you want me to come back when you're done?"

"No."

"I don't want you to be nervous, House."

"It's fine."

"It is?"

"The way I see it, at fifty-one years old...it's nice to know that there are still some things left for me to feel nervous about."

"That's an interesting way to look at it."

"Yeah."

"..."

"So...did you need something? There's no way you came in here just to watch me stretch."

"Actually, yes. I need a shirt."

"You have a whole closet full of shirts...a shrine to the wonders that are the bare midriff and plunging neckline."

"Yeah. I need one that fits over this."

"Over what?"

"My...bump."

"You're what, eighteen weeks? You're barely showing."

"Are you forgetting there's two of them in here?"

"Uh huh...each weighing less than six ounces and measuring about four inches in length. You're basically carrying lab mice at this point."

"Well I feel enormous."

"You're probably just retaining water."

"All the more reason why I want to be comfortable."

"Don't they make special clothes for that?"

"Yes."

"And it didn't occur to you to buy any?"

"I was waiting."

"Until what, you couldn't fit into my clothes either?"

"..."

"Look...you're past the four month mark. You're six weeks from viability. Your chances of going full term just quadrupled."

"I know."

"And you spent three hundred dollars on that state of the art fetal heart monitor. Doesn't it work?"

"It works. It's just hard to tell whose heartbeat is whose without an ultrasound to guide me."

"So get a portable ultrasound. They sell them online for as little as two hundred bucks."

"I know how much they cost. Who do you think ordered all the equipment for the hospital you're working in?"

"And now you're acting bitchy, because you know I'm right."

"I'm acting bitchy because I'm bloated and none of my shirts fit."

"Let me tell you something honey. They weren't fitting all that well before."

"..."

"Now that was completely unnecessary."

"So was your comment."

"So let me get this straight. You can slug me whenever you want. But if I were to do it to you, it would be considered domestic violence?"

"The world is cruel and unjust."

"The world may be unjust. But you're the one who's cruel."

"Are you saying I shouldn't be worried?"

"It's not a matter of should or shouldn't. For the majority of emotionally healthy human beings, protecting one's offspring from uncertain harm isn't a choice. It's an instinct. It's not something they can just turn off or on at will."

"..."

"But whether or not you spend every waking second of the next twenty weeks worrying, the outcome will be the same. If anything, worrying will make it worse, not better. You should be saving your energy for something more important, like something you actually have control over."

"Somehow I never pictured you being the one to tell me that."

"Yeah well...you can blame my therapist. He's the one who reprogrammed me."

"I'll send him a box of chocolates."

"You'll have to send it to him at work. If you send it to his house, his wife will intercept it."

"Is she on some kind of health kick?"

"He's thirty pounds overweight, doesn't exercise, and has a family history of type two diabetes."

"Maybe I'll just send him a gift card."

"Yeah, for a gym membership."

"I'll pick something up when I go shopping for maternity clothes tomorrow."

"Wunderbar."

"But in the meantime, I need something to wear today."

"And you really think the appropriate garment is going to be found in my closet?"

"I'm considered non-staff. They don't exactly have a dress code."

"Must be nice."

"Like you have ever followed a dress code."

"..."

"Look…can I borrow a shirt or not?"

"Fine. But my underwear is off limits."

"Which one?"

"You can take the one that says I'm With Stupid. Since Wilson and I don't hang out anymore, I've had no reason to wear it."

"What about this one?"

"I thought you hated Cheap Trick."

"I do. But it's the only one that matches my pants."

"That is so the wrong reason to wear a t-shirt."

"Oh yeah? What's the right reason?"

"The whole purpose of the t-shirt is to give the impression of spontaneity and a general disinterest in one's appearance. Going out of your way to color coordinate just ruins the entire experience."

"I didn't realize you had so many t-shirts."

"..."

"The Eiffel Tower...you went to Paris? I thought you said you'd never been."

"My parents went in 2005. My mom sent me the shirts. There's a second one in there with a picture of the Louvre on it."

"They don't look like they've ever been worn."

"Because they haven't."

"I want to borrow this one."

"You can have it."

"Really?"

"In fact, take them both."

"Thanks."

"..."

"Oh God."

"What?"

"Oh no."

"What's wrong?"

"I have to sneeze."

"So?"

"..."

"Are you okay?"

"No."

"What happened?"

"..."

"What...you can't tell me?"

"It's...embarrassing."

"Let me guess. You peed your pants."

"..."

"I'll interpret your silence as an affirmative response."

"..."

"Are we talking like a little wet spot or is it more like a few tablespoons worth?"

"Somewhere between the two."

"See this is why my underwear is off limits."

"..."

"Bladder control problems are fairly normal for pregnant women."

"Urinary incontinence doesn't usually present until the third trimester."

"The word usually implies that while most of the time something happens a certain way...the rest of the time, it doesn't."

"Even if this were a direct result of my pregnancy, the fact that it's medically explainable is little comfort, when I have to run to my car between classes to grab a clean pair of underwear."

"Right."

"And naturally you're overflowing with compassion."

"What do you want me to say?"

"You could be slightly more sympathetic."

"I can't personally identify with your problem. I've never peed my pants...at least not while sneezing."

"So you have peed them."

"Sure...I probably wet my bed at some point, when I was a kid."

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"You said you'd never peed your pants while sneezing. You wouldn't say that unless you knew for a fact that you'd peed them at some point, for some other reason."

"Not necessarily."

"..."

"Okay, once."

"Just once?"

"That I can remember."

"Meaning that there may have been incidences that you don't remember?"

"Supposedly."

"..."

"When I was a sophomore in college...I went to this party one night, a couple miles from campus. Upon returning to my dormitory, I was so drunk that I apparently went to the bathroom, sat down on the toilet and proceeded to relieve myself without lowering my pants or underwear."

"And someone witnessed this?"

"No."

"Then how do you know what happened?"

"When I woke up the next day, my pants were soaked."

"Yes...but how did you come to the conclusion that you'd sat down on the toilet seat?"

"I vaguely recalled having been in the bathroom at some point. But also...my pants were wet in the back, as well as the front. If I'd urinated in my sleep, while laying down, my pants would only be wet in the front."

"Interesting."

"..."

"What about the other time?"

"What other time?"

"The other time you wet your pants."

"Why do you need to know?"

"I don't need to know. I'm just curious."

"You think that it'll make you feel better, knowing that at some point in the past, I lost control of my bladder?"

"Maybe."

"When I was seventeen, we were living in Virginia. My parents didn't have a whole lot of money to throw around. So I got a part time job, bussing tables at this little mom and pop kind of burger joint. The place served beer and wine. So you had to be eighteen to wait tables. Otherwise, all you could do was bussing and dish washing."

"..."

"There was this Indian guy working there, Hamal. He'd only been in the US for maybe a year or two. He was the absolute worst waiter I have ever met. It wasn't just the language barrier either. He would screw up the orders constantly, drop stuff, spill stuff. The owners tried to find someone to replace him. But apparently no one else wanted to wait tables for two dollars an hour."

"..."

"Anyway…his English wasn't great. But for some reason, he'd taken to calling everyone Buddy. There was another guy who worked there named Pete…Pete was a line cook. For some reason, he absolutely hated being called Buddy. I never did find out why. But suffice to say, Pete eventually grew so irritated by it, that he hatched a plan…the goal of which was to stop Hamal from using the word Buddy."

"..."

"It was Cinco de Mayo...and the owners of the restaurant were having this huge party at their house. I was the youngest person who had been invited, and the only minor in attendance. My dad would never have let me go, if he'd been home. But he was out of town and my mom didn't care, so I went."

"..."

"Soon after I arrived at the party, Pete took me aside and filled me in on his brilliant plan. It sounded harmless enough. So I agreed to help him."

"What did he want you to do?"

"Well...about ten minutes later, we cornered Hamal. We rather convincingly feigned interest in his well being and then proceeded to inform him that the word Buddy was in fact an insult and he might get beaten up or arrested for using it."

"And he fell for it?"

"He wasn't terribly bright."

"..."

"Anyway...he actually thanked us for telling him, if you can believe it. Unfortunately it didn't end there."

"What do you mean?"

"Well since he would no longer be using the word Buddy, Hamal wanted to know what he should call people instead."

"A reasonable question."

"True...but we weren't prepared with an answer, mostly because it never even occurred to us that he would even ask. But he did ask and Pete spit out the first thing he could think of."

"Which was?"

"Mother Fucker."

"Oh my God."

"Yeah...so Hamal spent the whole night calling people that. And most of the people at the party were intoxicated. So no one really thought much of it."

"What does this have to do with you peeing your pants?"

"I'm getting to that."

"..."

"The following Sunday, I was working the lunch shift, which was normally very busy, due to all of the church goers. The place was packed. Hamal was waiting tables, as usual. I just happened to be within earshot when he brought these two old ladies their check."

"What did he say to them?"

"Do either of you mother fuckers want some dessert?"

"..."

"I came very close to emptying my bladder right there. I had to hide in the bathroom, because I couldn't stop laughing."

"What happened to Hamal?"

"Nothing. Like I said, no one else wanted to wait tables for two dollars an hour."

"..."

"So...do you feel better now or do you want me to piss myself in solidarity?"

"I don't think that will be necessary."

"Good, because these are my favorite pants."