Summary, disclaimer, etc. in chapter 1.

A lighter piece with a fluff factor 3 and a squick factor 8. I must have my rude humor. ;)

WARNING: If references to certain (particularly female) bodily functions bother you, skip this one.

Scare

September 1998

House tapped lightly on the bathroom door. "Stace?" he called. "You all right in there?"

He could vaguely distinguish slight movement and harsh breathing. He had to wait a moment before the answer came, heavy and miserable.

"No."

"Can I come in?" he asked.

He waited for the answer. She hadn't felt well when they'd gotten up and had been in and out of the bathroom since then. He'd been sympathetic, going so far as to crush a few cubes of ice when his offers of fizzy beverages and crackers were refused, but he'd really been more interested in the article he was working on. Now, though, he was starting to worry.

He heard a groan and then, "Why not."

He opened the door and entered, and, well, there was no other way to say it.

"You look like crap."

"Thanks, that's just what I wanted to hear," Stacy said to the floor. She was kneeling in front of the toilet, arms crossed over the bowl with her head resting on them.

"I was going to ask if you were okay but that's obvious," he said. He questioned her briefly about her symptoms. "Nasty bug," he said after his questions were answered. "I'll call something in that'll make you feel better."

"Greg," she said before he could leave. "There's something I have to tell you. I wasn't going to, but now…" She glanced up at him, hesitant and cringing. "I'm late. Four days."

It took House a moment to register what she was telling him. Then he exploded.

"WHAT!"

"God, you're supportive," Stacy said dryly, putting her head down on her arms again.

"But—what about your birth control pills?" House asked quickly.

"I was so busy a few weeks ago that I missed a few days," Stacy said.

"How could you forget!" House nearly shouted.

"Hey, you could've worn a condom," Stacy pointed out.

House threw up his hands, feeling persecuted. "The one time I didn't have one with me," he said. "If you'd keep some in your purse it wouldn't be a problem."

"You could've brought one," Stacy mumbled to the floor, "or not cornered me in my office at lunch every day that week."

"You weren't complaining then," House said slyly.

Stacy looked up and glared meanly at him, paled, and put her head back down.

"Okay," House said, beginning to pace. "Here's what we'll do. You're vomiting, you're dehydrated. We'll go to the hospital and get you some fluids and a blood test."

"No!" Stacy said vehemently. "I'm not doing that. I hate having blood drawn—and you're horrible at it. Go get one of those home kits."

House shook his head. "It's too early," he said. "Urine tests aren't sensitive enough to detect a low hCG serum level and it would be low at this point."

Stacy groaned. "Don't blood tests take a while to come back?" she asked pitifully.

"Not if you know the techs well enough," House said.

"It's probably just a virus," she said miserably. "I don't want to go anywhere."

"Then let me take a look," House said. "If you're about to start, I'll be able to tell."

She glanced up at him. "Um, no," she said.

"It's not like I'm not down there often enough," House said with a smile.

"Yes, but you're not my gynecologist," Stacy pointed out. She shuddered. "Eww."

"Come on," House cajoled. "A Q-tip would do it." He held up his right forefinger and smiled again. "Or this."

Stacy's withering glare wasn't exactly encouraging.

"You don't have to enjoy it," House said rolling his eyes. He rifled around in a drawer, came up with a Q-tip, and started twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. "Y'know, you could do it. I don't even have to be here." He thrust the Q-tip upward in the air and said, "As far up as it can go, swab around, and if it's brown or rusty, no little Greg and Stacy juniors are on the way." He paused. "Or we can go to the hospital," he said with a shrug. "It's up to you."

Stacy sighed heavily. "I already checked," she said. "Clear. No brown. Nothing. Just clear."

"What did you use?" House asked immediately.

"Toilet paper," Stacy answered.

House shook his head. "Nope. Doesn't work. Gotta get all the way up there." He handed her the Q-tip.

Stacy glanced at the door and back to him. House made a disappointed face.

"You wanted to watch?" Stacy asked, disbelieving and somewhat indignant.

House shrugged. "Just supervising the test…" he said. Stacy gave him a doubtful look. "And it's kinda sexy," he added in a mumble.

"Out," she said.

"Okay, okay," House said as he left, cracking the door behind him. "Puritan," he called from the hall.

"Creep," Stacy called back.

"You like it," House called.

"Shut up, Greg."

House waited for a moment, then called, "What's taking so long?"

He waited for an answer. Nothing. "Stace?"

He was about to knock on the door frame and stick his head in when he heard "OhthankGod" from behind the door.

"I hope that's a negative," House said before he entered.

Stacy, now seated on the toilet, wordlessly offered him the Q-tip.

He took it and sniffed the used end. "Yep, that's negative. You're low on iron too." He grinned: he could literally see Stacy's stomach turn.

"Disgusting," she muttered, swallowing thickly.

"Of course, this could be evidence of spotting," House said as he tossed the Q-tip in the trash. "A blood test would confirm or deny our little experiment."

Stacy groaned.

"All right, all right," House said, giving in though he knew he'd be apprehensive until he was certain she'd started her period. "I'll call in something to make you feel better." He bent down and kissed the top of her head. "I'm glad we're not pregnant," he said softly, his hand lingering in her hair.

"So am I," she said, leaning in to his chest.

"Really?" he asked cautiously, a slight tremor in his voice.

"I'm too old," she said. "Wouldn't be any good at it."

"You're sure?" he asked.

"Are you?"

"Yeah."

And he was sure. Yes. He was.

"Greg?"

"What?"

"You better move now or I'm gonna throw up on you."

House quickly did as he was told. "I'll be back in about twenty minutes," he said, closing the door behind him.

He didn't wait for an answer.