1 Month (it's never lupus)
There's something wrong with Cuddy. House knows that, as much as he doesn't want to. He tries to look at the facts objectively, as if every fragile ounce of his happiness isn't wrapped up in her well-being. But it's not easy.
It's the fatigue he notices first. Not her usual House I've had enough of your antics and need you to act like an adult now kind of tired or even the I've been at the hospital for over 13 hours so get me a glass of wine sort of tired. Lately Cuddy is exhausted in a way that borders on narcolepsy. She falls asleep in Rachel's room in the middle of a story about a bird who only has one wing but can still get stuff done. (House reads bedtime stories now, like a real domesticated adult and he doesn't hate the way Rachel laughs at his off-book commentary or the way Cuddy usually watches them with palpable warmth). That night, Rachel suggests that the bird with one wing could use a "tiny bird cane," which House finds amusing, and which Cuddy would've no doubt enjoyed, had she not passed out while he was only on the second page.
The next day at work, Cuddy can barely keep her eyes open during her meeting with insurance reps. House stands outside the conference room, just beyond her vision, watching as she starts to doze off. His two least favorite corporate assholes stare at her, and then at each other, like they're about to report her to the non-existent principal's office. Desperate to save her from embarrassment (because it's only fun when he's the one embarrassing her), House bursts through the doors claiming he needs her for a medical emergency. Rather than her normal disapproving death glare and exasperated apology, she silently follows him out of the room. She doesn't even question when his fake emergency is not an emergency at all, and instead is a lazily argued request for a biopsy.
When Cuddy sleeps through her alarm a few days later, House is convinced he's living in an alternate universe. Not once in their entire relationship has he ever been up before her, unless he hadn't gone to sleep in the first place. He studies her breathing in and out, not sure if he should wake her or let her body get the rest it clearly needs. He decides on the latter, and manages to get Rachel up, ready, fed, and dropped off at school.
Two hours later, Cuddy is still asleep, so House finally nudges her shoulder. "Hey— it's ten thirty."
"Okay," she answers without moving.
"As proud as I am that you're picking up my bad habits, I'm a little worried you might castrate me for not waking you up sooner."
"I'm not sleeping," she says unconvincingly.
"Right. Your eyes are closed, but you're awake and getting dressed as we speak. Hot outfit today, I approve. Those skimpy silk shorts will be the talk of the doctor's lounge."
Cuddy groans but gets up and walks into the bathroom like a zombie. House follows her, somewhere between fascinated and terrified. He joins her in the shower and she clings to him like she's too tired to stand on her own.
"What's up with you?" He asks, as he struggles to maintain their balance — the only saving grace is the metal safety bar she had installed for him.
"I feel awful," she states the obvious, her head resting against his chest. "Every joint in my body aches. Half of Rachel's class was out with a nasty virus last week, including her teacher."
"So the rugrat brought it home."
"Most likely."
House feels the tension in his muscles relax, because the explanation makes sense, which means he can stop worrying about it being something worse. Even though he can't remember Cuddy ever getting sick before, she is only human. It was bound to happen eventually.
He grabs her overpriced lavender soap and a washcloth because he wants to prove that he can take care of her the same way she so often cares for him, especially on mornings when his leg is stiff and painful. He carefully washes her body even though it's hard for him to maneuver with his leg and her lethargy.
"Thank you," she says when he's finished.
"As your doctor, it is my highly valued medical opinion that you should stay home today."
Cuddy doesn't bother to put up a fight. "I guess I might as well, since it's almost 11."
"And I might as well stay home with you."
"It's not like I can let you run around the hospital without my supervision anyway."
House leans down and kisses her.
"Germs," she protests, pulling away. "The last thing you need right now is my saliva. I don't want you to get this, too."
"I was inside a pillow fort with Rachel for an hour and a half last night. I'm sure I've already been compromised. Besides, we're in the shower. This is a notoriously germ-free zone."
Cuddy looks at him endearingly. "You know my saliva is still contagious in the shower, Dr. House."
"Whatever."
And he kisses her again.
—/—
Unfortunately, House's relief only lasts a few days, because Cuddy's exhaustion persists, and her appetite dwindles next. She has ginger tea in the morning instead of her usual post-yoga smoothie, she picks at her salad at lunch, and orders take-out that she avoids eating for dinner. While House and Rachel happily scarf down their pizza, Cuddy sits at the table staring off into space.
"Not hungry?" House asks.
"I'll have something later. My stomach feels off."
"Off how?"
"I think it's acid reflux."
"Since when do you get acid reflux?"
"Maybe since today when one of my employees cost a guy six of his ten toes."
"You took off somebody's toes?" Rachel turns to House, instantly deducing that it was him.
"It's no big deal. I left the important ones."
Rachel laughs and there's tomato sauce on her cheeks, but House knows Cuddy well enough to know that she's deflecting.
After a week her face looks thinner, her cheekbones more prominent, like she's sinking into herself. At night he runs it all through his mind, and he can't sleep. Unlike Cuddy, who sleeps constantly. As she's nestled against him, he feels her skin through her shirt, warm and wet; not outright burning, but heated and clammy.
He adds low grade fever to his mental list of symptoms as he continues to panic. A million horrible possibilities consume him. He needs to talk to the person who makes him feel less panicked, but he can't when she's the one he's panicking over. All he really wants to do is wake her up and tell her that she's been his world for so long that there's no point to life if she's not with him. She makes him feel like he can do anything. Anything except lose her.
—/—
"Cuddy looks really pale," Wilson says, as they stand outside the clinic. "Is she okay?"
House sighs, not surprised by the question. He knows Cuddy best, but Wilson knows her second best, and the dark circles under her eyes are visible from several feet away.
"No, she definitely isn't okay."
"Has she been to a doctor?"
"She's dating a diagnostician."
"Then what's the diagnosis?"
"I think it's autoimmune."
It's the first time he's acknowledged the horrific thought that's been nagging him for days. The extreme fatigue, joint pain, gastrointestinal manifestations, low grade fevers. It all adds up. Yet instead of support, Wilson gives him a judgmental glare. "House. Come on."
"What? You think it's something else?"
"I think there's a good reason that doctors don't treat loved ones. You're projecting."
"You're the one who brought up how sick she looks and now you're telling me I'm projecting?"
"She probably has the flu or something, but you deal with autoimmune disease all the time. You're only seeing one because you love her."
"I can't believe you're somehow making this about me. Look at her."
"I am looking. I see an overworked woman who needs IV fluids and then a two-week vacation."
"She's been sleeping way more than usual, but she's not getting any better. I bet it's lupus. Do you know how ironic that would be? It's never lupus, until it's the woman I love."
Wilson rolls his eyes. "There's no way it's lupus."
House continues undeterred. "It could also be her thyroid. Would explain the weight loss."
"She's an endocrinologist."
"So?"
"So, I think she'd be able to figure that one out for herself."
"No, because doctors make the worst patients. I need to somehow do an ANA without her knowing."
"Please do not medically assault your girlfriend."
"But…"
"You know what the real problem is?" Wilson interrupts.
"No, but I'm sure you're about to tell me."
"Cuddy doesn't take care of herself. She takes care of Rachel and you and the whole hospital. She puts herself last and she's been doing it for years. I'm surprised it hasn't caught up to her before now."
"Maybe."
House would love to believe it, because it would be an easy fix, but life isn't usually that simple for them.
"She has to learn how to prioritize herself or she's going to burn out," Wilson continues. "You need to step up and help her. How many times has Cuddy stepped up for you? Kicked your ass when you needed it? It's your turn."
"To kick her ass?"
"In a loving way."
They both stop talking because Cuddy walks through the doors and into the lobby. She approaches them, unsteady on her feet. "House," she calls out to him.
She sounds distressed and appears shaken in a way that makes him cringe with how out of character it is for her. Cuddy is the constant, the stability — she's what holds everything together, even though she rarely gets credit for it. It physically pains him to see her like this. In fact, the worse Cuddy gets, the more his leg aches.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know. I'm dizzy."
He leans his cane against the desk, grabs onto her shoulders, and tries to steady her. "Have you eaten anything today?"
Her knees buckle beneath her before she can answer. He watches the remaining color drain from her face as she collapses against him. He manages to stop her from hitting the ground, scoops her into his arms, and starts limping towards the clinic.
"Do you need help?" Wilson asks as he follows close behind. "Your leg?"
"My leg is fine."
It isn't fine, it throbs with every step, but he's sure as hell not going to let Wilson be the one to carry his unconscious girlfriend. House pushes through concerned nurses, finds an empty clinic room, and gently sets Cuddy down on an exam table. He checks her pulse with his fingers, relieved to find a steady rhythm, and then elevates her feet.
Wilson opens the door, armed with an ice pack and a juice box. House wordlessly takes the ice and places it against Cuddy's cheek. Her eyes flutter open a few seconds later and she slowly processes her surroundings. "I... fainted."
"You did," House confirms. "Nice and dramatically in the lobby."
"I must've gotten dehydrated."
"Here," Wilson hands over the juice. "Drink this."
"Thanks."
Cuddy sits up and slowly sips the apple juice. House pushes her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You're okay," he tells her.
But he knows it's a lie.
He wonders if she knows it too.
—/—
Cuddy lets House drive her home, not that he gave her much of a choice —she barely had a chance to tell her assistant she was leaving before House dragged her out the door. She's grateful he did though. It feels so good to be in bed, resting her body, which feels weaker than she can ever remember.
"Thank you for the ride," she says, as House stares at her from the bedroom doorway, his arms crossed about his chest.
"It's funny how you say that like I'm going back to work."
"There's no reason for you to be here if I'm just going to sleep."
"You shouldn't be alone if you're dizzy."
"I'm not dizzy now. I'm tired and I have a headache."
"You're probably still dehydrated. I should've admitted your stubborn ass."
She can tell that he's frustrated with her, and that he's looking for some kind of reassurance. "I promise I'll hydrate here."
"Do you have any idea what it was like to watch you collapse?"
Of course, Cuddy is all too familiar with the feeling. "Considering you've passed out in front of me at least three times, and that I had to give you mouth to mouth when your heart stopped? I'd say I have a pretty good idea."
"And you think that's something to aspire to? A role reversal with me on Vicodin?"
She's a bit taken back by the seriousness of his line of questioning. "Maybe I haven't been doing the best job taking care of myself lately."
"You think?" House says sarcastically.
"It's not like I'm doing it on purpose. I can't get the flu in the middle of budget deadlines and contract negotiations. That one day I took off set me back a week, if not more."
"I know I can't stop you from thinking like a workaholic, but I will handcuff you to this bed for non-sexy reasons if I have to."
Cuddy laughs a little, because she knows he means it, and can picture him doing it so clearly. "I believe it."
"If you won't take care of yourself for my sake, think of Cuddy junior."
The reference to Rachel is well-intentioned, but it also reminds her of one more thing she's supposed to be doing instead of letting herself relax. "She..."
"Has soccer practice after school, which means she finishes too late for Marina to pick her up," House knowingly completes. "Give me a little credit. I do read your ridiculously detailed mom-calendar after I'm done making fun of it. I can get Rachel when it's time. Right now, we're taking a nap."
It's not that Cuddy doesn't want him to stay, but he has important obligations of his own. "I'm afraid Jeremy will die while you're here babysitting me, and I don't want to be responsible for that."
"Who?"
"Your patient."
"I don't care about my patient," he says, taking off his shoes and joining her in bed. "I care about you."
It's not the first time he's made clear that she comes first, but it still overwhelms her to hear it. Cuddy never imagined that anything could be more important to House than puzzles and power, let alone her. Most days she feels unworthy of being his first priority, especially when literal lives are on the line.
"He won't die," House adds, as if sensing her hesitation. "At least not right now. We started broad spectrum antibiotics. My team will call if they need me."
Cuddy knows that the argument is lost and accepts her place in House's arms. Within a few minutes, she drifts off to sleep.
A few hours later, she's woken up by an aggressive wave of nausea. She gets out of bed, runs to the bathroom, and vomits into the toilet for what feels like forever. When she's finally done and looks into the mirror, she can see in her own reflection that something is very wrong. Maybe it's the flu, or maybe it's her lack of self-care, but part of her starts to worry that maybe it's something worse.
She walks back into the bedroom and immediately notices two things. First, that House is gone — but one glance at the clock confirms he must've left to pick up Rachel. The second thing she notices is that the baby monitor, which is sitting on her dresser, is turned on and flashing three green lights. It doesn't make any sense, because it wasn't there earlier, and Rachel isn't even home. She picks it up and wanders into the living room, not sure exactly what she's looking for. She finds it when she glances out the window and sees Wilson's car sitting outside her house like a security detail. She should've known better than to think House would leave without assurance that she was somehow being looked after.
"Seriously, Wilson?" Cuddy speaks directly into the monitor, certain he has its pair. "Get in here."
She watches him exit the car and hesitantly walk up the pathway. She swings her front door open before he even reaches it. "House made me do it," he says defensively in greeting.
"Like I don't already know that."
"His patient had an allergic reaction, and his team couldn't figure out what to do next. He went to the hospital before picking up Rachel, but he wanted to make sure you were okay."
"And you thought...what? That you'd hear me faint over the baby monitor and come running into the house?
Wilson shrugs. "That was the plan."
"For two smart people, I swear you're both so stupid. Why didn't you wait inside? You know where the key is."
"He said you wanted space. Well, actually, he said 'I'll kill you if you bother mom while she's taking a nap,' but I speak House, so I understood the subtext."
Cuddy has no idea why it all comes into focus, so clearly and abruptly, but perhaps it's a combination of things: the use of the word mom, the baby monitor in one hand while the other rests on her aching stomach, the acid she can still taste in the back of her throat.
This must be how House feels when he suddenly has the answer to a question he didn't even know he was asking.
"Oh my god," she says out loud, gripping onto the door frame for support.
"What's wrong?" Wilson steps closer to her, voice dripping with concern.
"Oh my god," she repeats. "I'm…"
"Dizzy again?"
"Yes."
It's not what she was going to say, but it's also not a lie. The world around her is spinning so fast that she's afraid she might collapse for the second time in one day. And it's not because she's dehydrated or sleep deprived or because she has the flu or something worse. It's because the weight of her realization is physically too much to bear.
—/—
By the weekend House comes up with a plan. He accepts that it would be too hard to get Cuddy's blood without her noticing. She can be a relatively deep sleeper at times, but a needle piercing her skin would most likely wake her up. So House decides to start with urinalysis. That way he can look at her protein levels and red blood cells to make sure nothing is amiss with her kidneys, which he can't stop thinking about, because of the potential of lupus.
It's not like it's even that hard, it's not like he doesn't know Cuddy's routine well enough to pull it off. She always has to pee exactly twenty-five minutes after they eat dinner. All he has to do is bribe Rachel into helping him out, which is also an easy task when armed with the right candy. He offers an extra-large bag of M&Ms in exchange for her participation in what he calls a top secret, but vitally important, mission.
When Cuddy goes to the bathroom at the precise time House expected her to, he hovers right outside the door. "Now kid," he says into the baby monitor (and who knew the monitors would be such a useful tool in all his latest schemes?). A second later, right on schedule, Rachel screams bloody murder, and House hides in the bedroom closet. A concerned Cuddy predictably goes running towards her daughter's room without flushing the toilet, giving House the perfect opportunity.
He quietly sneaks back into the bathroom, armed with a sterile cup he stole from the clinic. He manages to get what he needs and is fastening the top back on when he hears a voice from right behind him.
"What are you doing?"
House spins around and comes face to face with a very confused Cuddy. Damn Rachel for not being able to keep up the act long enough. He should have specified how long she needed to fake cry for. He chastises himself for such a rookie mistake.
"Nothing."
"Are you... is that…. mine?"
"Of course not," he says innocently, like there's nothing strange about what she walked in on. "It's my patient's."
Cuddy pushes past him so she can flush the toilet and wash her hands. "You're such a liar," she accuses. "Why would you bring that here?"
"Because Taub and Foreman are having another lovers' quarrel and I can't focus at work."
"House," Cuddy warns impatiently. "Rachel just screamed her head off but was absolutely fine when I got to her. Do you know something about that?"
"Of course not. Had my headphones in. Didn't even hear her."
"Oh, yeah? Where are your headphones then? And where did Rachel get M&Ms?"
"Uh…"
Cuddy sighs in defeat. "Well obviously you already know."
He could pretend otherwise, but he's too mentally exhausted to keep up the charade. "Of course, I know," he concedes. "You really thought I wouldn't figure it out? Do you know how insulting that is?"
"I thought there would've been more observable freaking out if you knew."
"I've been freaking out all the hours you've been asleep. Which has been a lot of hours. Which is part of how I knew. You should've come to me the second you suspected."
"I wanted to be sure before I told you," Cuddy defends. "You could've said something to me instead of doing...this."
"I wanted to be sure before I brought it up to you," he rebuts. "When did you find out?"
"I first suspected the day I fainted, but I did the test yesterday."
House feels his heart sink into his stomach at the confirmation of his worst fears. He has no idea when she would've had time to get the ANA done — he's been tracking her every move by hacking into her daily schedule, but Cuddy can be sneaky when she needs to be. Before he can respond, before he can muster up the courage to ask her how bad it is, Cuddy holds up a hand to stop him. "Please don't say anything yet. I have something for you."
When she walks out of the bathroom, House assumes she's going to get the results of her blood test. He hopes that maybe there's a small chance it will say something better than what he's been imagining. Instead, Cuddy comes back with a gift bag.
"What the hell is that?"
"Can you put the cup down first?" She scrunches her nose in disgust. "I can't take this conversation seriously while you're holding that."
He puts it down, but keeps his eyes focused on her. "Why do you have a gift bag?"
"You know my friend Morgan from yoga?"
"No."
"She has her own Etsy shop."
"What?"
"She did me a huge favor by getting this done so quickly."
House feels himself growing agitated, fueled by nerves and anticipation. "I don't understand."
"Why don't you open it? Then maybe you'll understand."
Cuddy is smiling. It's a nervous smile, but she's smiling nonetheless. It doesn't make any sense because people don't smile about being diagnosed with incurable, chronic diseases.
House takes a deep breath, reaches into the bag, and pulls out a tiny leather jacket. One that looks exactly like his own, right down to an identical Rtai Sports patch and red and white stripes on the sleeves. It's so small it could fit one of Rachel's dolls.
"I went back and forth about whether or not to do this," Cuddy says. "I wanted to tell you in a happy way, but I don't...I don't know if you're anything close to happy about it. If I'm being honest, I don't even know if I'm happy about it. When Morgan was done making this, my first thought was that it's going to make it so much more depressing when I lose the baby."
House stares at her, dumbfounded, his mind short-circuiting. For as fast as his brain usually works, he's unable to process what's happening.
"I guess I figured maybe we could still have this part, where I get to tell you. Unless you're about to lose it on me. Which is… it's okay, House. You can if you need to. I can't believe this happened either. And it probably won't happen, in the end. We both know my...history. I still wanted us to have this one, normal moment. Well, as normal as possible after you find your boyfriend fishing through your toilet. I guess it wouldn't be us if it was completely normal."
Cuddy is saying a whole lot of words, but House has only managed to hear a single one of them. "Baby?"
"House?" She questions, confused by his confusion.
He finally gets it, and the enormity of it washes over him. "You're pregnant."
She nods in confirmation. "You knew that already."
It's as close to an out of body experience as House has ever had, which is amazing, considering there are zero drugs in his system. "No, I didn't."
"But...you were..." Cuddy gestures to the toilet. "You were doing a pregnancy test."
"I wasn't. I thought you were sick. I thought you had lupus. I wanted to check your kidneys."
"Lupus?! What are you talking about?"
"Fatigue, low grade fevers, joint pain, gastrointestinal issues, fainting," he rattles off her symptoms, more to himself than to her, trying to figure out how he could've gotten it so wrong. "That's textbook autoimmune."
"But...it's never lupus."
"Yeah, which is why I figured you were going to have it. Do you not see the irony of the love of my life getting lupus? It was too perfect. I was getting ready to call Alanis Morissette and everything."
"You're serious."
"Seriously a moron," House exhales, simultaneously feeling stupid and scared out of his mind. "I can't believe Wilson was right."
"Wilson knows I'm pregnant?"
"No, but he said I was projecting. He said I couldn't think straight because it was you. And he was right. Because of course you're pregnant. I knew you were vomiting, sometimes in the mornings. Plus, I know your whole cycle. I've had it memorized for years. How did I not see something so obvious?"
"I'm more concerned with how you feel about..."
"Relieved that you're not sick," House cuts her off. "And annoyed that I'm incapable of thinking rationally about you. I really, really hate you sometimes."
"Thanks," Cuddy smirks, a brief moment of levity. "That's exactly what a pregnant woman wants to hear from her boyfriend."
"I hate the way you break my brain," he clarifies. "I was convinced you were going to have a very different, very difficult life. All I could think about was something happening to you."
"I'm okay."
"But I was so... sure. I need a minute to readjust."
"I'm still adjusting myself."
House sits down on the edge of the bathtub, grabs at his pulsating thigh. "You don't know if you're happy about this?" he catches up to her earlier statement. "You think you're going to miscarry."
"Yes."
"You're not happy because you're scared."
"I'm trying to feel happiness. But right now I mostly feel dread. An impending sense of doom. Like I just have to wait around, completely powerless, until the worst happens. I'm trying to push through it, but it's hard."
House nods, because he knows what it's like to feel powerless against your own body. He knows what it's like to be betrayed by it.
"I don't want you to not want our baby," Cuddy says softly. "But it's like... maybe a part of me doesn't want you to want the baby too much because I don't want to hurt you when I lose it."
"You're worried about hurting me?" House asks incredulously. Sometimes Cuddy is selfless to the point of insanity.
"I don't even have the words for how hard losing a baby is. You might pretend to be detached, especially if we lose it early on. But I know it would hurt you in the end. I never want to be the one hurting you."
"That doesn't even make sense. It wouldn't be you hurting me."
"I'll still feel like it's my fault. And this is all going to be so much worse because… well, because we..."
House gets that she's trying to say a miscarriage would be even harder because it's his baby this time around, but he doesn't know how he could possibly begin to respond to that, so he changes the subject to something he can handle. "Did you go to the doctor yet?"
"No. I did the home test. I'd like you to come with me to the first appointment."
"I will. But I'm also thinking, you've lost a lot of weight. You've been violently ill to the point I was convinced you were dying. This kind of extreme morning sickness usually means the placenta is making more hormones. You might be miserable, but you're less likely to have a miscarriage. Your body didn't react this way last time, right? I mean, I'd remember…"
"It wasn't like this last time at all."
"So maybe that means it will end differently."
"Do you want it to end differently?"
The question takes his breath away. "Are you asking me if I want you to have a miscarriage?"
"No," she says, quickly assuaging his guilt. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm asking if you're okay with us possibly having a baby? On the off chance that I somehow get through this pregnancy."
House picks up the leather jacket that's barely bigger than his own hand, runs his fingers over the material. He was preparing himself for a world without Cuddy, or a world with less of her, and instead he might get a world with more Cuddy. A whole new person with Cuddy's traits.
"I'm not detached," he says. "I'm not going to pretend to be. I don't know exactly what I'm feeling, besides bad that my spawn is already making your life hell, but it's not… detachment. I'll never be detached from anything related to you. I'll never not want a part of you. That's...the best I can do right now."
Cuddy bites her bottom lip, tears filling her eyes. She sits down next to him, and wraps both arms around him. He ignores the ten thousand fears bubbling to the surface and focuses on four words over and over as he breathes in and out. More Cuddy, not less. More Cuddy, not less. More Cuddy, not less.
"Hey," she says, after a few seconds of comfortable silence. "You called me the love of your life a minute ago."
"Because you are, idiot."
"Idiot? I'm not the world-famous diagnostician who thought a baby was lupus."
"We're never going to speak of that again."
"Are you kidding? I'm never going to let you live it down."
He figures that's fair, considering the absurdity of it. "I can't believe you told some yoga bitch who I've never even heard of that you're pregnant before you told me."
"You've met her multiple times, House. And I needed help with the present."
"Can I ask you a serious question?"
"About Morgan?"
"About us."
"Of course," Cuddy answers, bracing herself for whatever he's going to say. "Anything."
"Is there some specific reason we need to have every life-changing conversation in a bathroom?"
Cuddy laughs, loud and heartening. The best sound in the world. He kisses the top of her head. None of it feels real yet, but she grounds him in the moment.
More Cuddy, not less.
2 months
(they don't take pregnant women at mayfield)
One of the best parts about being a doctor is fully understanding everything that's going on in your own body — it's always made Cuddy feel in control. But one of the worst parts about being a doctor is knowing everything that could go wrong and remembering all the horrible outcomes you've witnessed in vivid detail. Every morning, Cuddy wakes up with an already racing heart, anxiety pulsating through her. She tries to drown out her thoughts by putting in her headphones and turning on her meditation app as she brews her herbal tea. The app tells her to be grateful, which she is. She hasn't fainted again since House started obsessively monitoring her — he's been treating her with anti-nausea meds and IV fluids filled with vitamins and electrolytes. Her OBGYN said that despite her extreme morning sickness, there's nothing to be concerned about so far. Her hCG levels are well within range and House uses an at home baby doppler to hear the heartbeat at least twice a day. Cuddy still feels exhausted, she still throws up multiple times a day, but it's getting more manageable. What's not manageable is that she spends almost every waking moment imagining worst case scenarios. She can't believe that House is somehow handling everything so much better than she is.
It's Sunday morning, and they're planning on going to the park because House thinks fresh air will be good for her (and it's always good for Rachel). It sounded like a great idea when she agreed to it, but suddenly the prospect of going out feels impossible. The only place she feels safe is at home, and preferably in House's embrace. So Cuddy takes out her headphones, walks into the bedroom with her mug of tea, and tries to act casual.
"What if we forget the park and hang out here today?" She asks, like the outcome doesn't matter to her.
But House is House, which means he sees right through her. "Avoiding the outside world isn't going to make you less likely to lose the baby."
"I know that. Can't I just want to stay home with my boyfriend?"
"Sure, but that's not what this is. I mean, I'm not going to argue about being lazy and watching TV all day. But I don't buy your reasoning."
"I don't care if you buy it."
She feels guilty for the annoyed tone of her voice. It's not House's fault that she's about to burst into tears. Instead of being irritated at her, he pats the spot next to him in bed. She gets in and puts her mug down on the dresser.
House leans forward and speaks directly to her stomach. "Your mom seriously needs to chillax."
It should make her happy, but it pushes her closer to the edge instead. She flashes back to the last time he talked to her stomach like this, the two of them in the parking garage. She was denying she was pregnant then, but he knew better than to believe her. "Please don't," she begs. "It's so sweet, House. But I… I can't."
"Are you okay?"
She almost tells him. He, of all people, would understand how she feels; how she can't get it to stop, how it's getting worse instead of better. The words are on the tip of her tongue, but then Rachel barrels into the room, still in her pajamas. "Are we gonna go to the park?" she asks, remembering the outing she was promised.
"Nah," House informs her. "We're going to have a pajama party instead."
"In the daytime?"
"Yup. I suggest you get your butt over here before someone decides we're not allowed to watch the monster trucks for kids show that I found on YouTube."
Rachel's eyes light up, like they always do when House is showering her with attention. "Trucks!" she exclaims, the park quickly forgotten.
Cuddy swallows her fear as Rachel climbs into bed and House pulls out his laptop. As he plays the video, she tries to focus on one stupid cartoon truck crushing another cartoon truck, on the way Rachel laughs at the ridiculous narration, and on how beautiful it is that House genuinely enjoys her enjoyment.
But what she's really focused on is how much longer it'll be until she's crying on the bathroom floor, cramps rippling through her, and blood trickling down her legs.
—/—
On Monday House is scribbling seemingly disconnected symptoms on the white board when, out of his peripheral vision, he notices Wilson step into the office. "Go away," he says, trying not to lose his train of thought. "I'm about to have an epiphany."
"House. Cuddy needs you."
He can tell by the worried look on his best friend's face that it's not work related. Wilson is the only other person who knows about the pregnancy; Cuddy was reluctant to share it, but Wilson kept asking about her health, and could sense the two of them keeping something from him. Eventually Cuddy caved and told him, but warned that she didn't want to talk about it (or even hear House and Wilson talk about it) until they hit at least the three-month mark. Until now, Wilson has kept his promise.
House turns and walks out of the office so fast that his team barely has time to register it. He quickly limps down the hallway, Wilson at his side. "What happened?"
"I don't know. She's in her office and won't let anyone near her."
The two of them step onto the elevator. "I don't think it's what you're thinking," Wilson says once the doors close and they're alone. "I didn't see... blood."
That doesn't necessarily mean it wasn't there. "What did you see?"
"We were in a meeting and she lost her train of thought and started shaking. She got up and practically ran out of the room, knocked her chair over on the way out. I followed her because I was worried she might faint again, but she yelled at me to go get you."
House says nothing in response. It feels like the world is moving in slow motion. When the elevator stops on the second floor to let in more people, House wants to push them all out of his way and speed up time. All he can think about is getting to Cuddy.
Finally, they arrive in the lobby, and House instructs Wilson to stay put while he heads to Cuddy's office. When he gets inside, he sees her sitting on her couch with her knees pulled close to her chest.
"House," she chokes out. "Something's wrong."
He assumes the worst when he sees the tears streaming down her face, her small body trembling. "Do you have bleeding? Cramps? Pain?"
"No. I'm…I feel like I can't... breathe."
House looks at her again, really looks at her, and sees exactly what's going on. "Cuddy, you're having an anxiety attack."
"No."
"Yes." He says matter of factly. He realizes she isn't in the danger he was so afraid of, but also knows he still has to do something to help. He sits down next to her, puts his hand on her knee. "Everything's... fine," he offers, somewhat awkwardly.
"You don't know that," she whines with shallow breath. "You might be the best doctor in the world, but you can't stop a miscarriage."
"Might be the best doctor in the world?!" He jokes, before getting serious. "I'm not saying I can stop a miscarriage. I'm not lying to you or being optimistic. I wouldn't do that—I'm not even capable of it."
"Then how can you say everything's fine?"
"Because right now you're not having a miscarriage. And because we'll get through whatever happens. I'm looking at our track record of surviving shitty things together and thinking you have no grounds to argue with me."
House has never truly had to be there for someone, aside from Wilson during his stupid divorces. But that didn't require the emotional depth he needs to muster now. It comes to him easier than he would've suspected, if only because he knows Cuddy better than he knows himself. It also helps that he's all too familiar with spiraling out of control.
Cuddy nods and exhales deeply, which he hopes means she believes him. "I was in a meeting, but I couldn't focus on what anyone was saying. Then the room started spinning and it felt like I was choking. I had to get out."
"Can I show you something?" House pulls a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. He may not be the best at outright comfort, but he can show her the science, and help her make sense of what's happening. "It's the blood work I did on you the other day. Your cortisol levels are insane. They're triple normal. That's how I knew you were having anxiety."
"Oh," Cuddy looks at the numbers herself. "I guess this explains why I've been waking up with my heart jumping out of my chest."
"You have?"
"Yeah. I usually calm down once I'm distracted at work, but today I couldn't."
"And I know you've been having nightmares."
"They're always about miscarriages."
"And you can barely leave the house aside from work."
"I know."
"This stress has you in fight or flight mode. Now would be a great time to use all that yoga breathing."
"I'm trying, but nothing is working. I feel like a ticking time bomb. It's so consuming. I can't think about anything else. And now… now I'm having anxiety that my anxiety about this baby is going to be what kills it. Cortisol levels that high…"
"We'll get you on a cortisol manager."
"Okay," she says, sounding unsure, which means he still has to convince her.
"You don't have to obsess about your health, or this baby's health, because I'm going to obsess about both," he promises. "I don't know how much that helps the anxiety, but you know when I obsess about something, I don't stop."
"It helps. I'm sorry that I'm such a disaster."
Cuddy looks embarrassed, which is insane, considering what she's gotten him through. "You're saying that to me? I think you're taking this whole role reversal a little too far. Thankfully, I don't think they take pregnant women at Mayfield."
Cuddy tries and fails to stifle a laugh at the joke. "Shut up. That's not even funny."
"And yet you're laughing," he points out.
"Yeah. I'm clearly just as screwed up as you are."
"Good point," he says, an idea striking him. "Do you trust me?"
"Of course. When I ran out of that meeting all I could think about was getting to you."
That's what they've been doing for their whole lives— just trying to get to each other. To where they are now— to being together, even when they're both still scared.
And while he doesn't particularly like the solution he's come up with, Cuddy getting through this and feeling better matters more than anything else, his pride included.
"I think maybe there's someone you should meet."
—/—
Cuddy sits on the couch in the waiting room, bouncing her leg up and down, no idea what to expect. She's never been to therapy before, which probably isn't great, considering who her mother is. She's not intimidated by the idea of talking to a stranger. But she's a little nervous about meeting House's former therapist, who apparently already knows a lot about her.
"House?" Nolan walks out of his office, obviously not expecting to see them. The surprise on his face makes Cuddy slightly concerned about what House did to get her an appointment.
"Did you miss me?" House grins mischievously.
"You made an appointment under a fake name."
"I thought you'd appreciate the element of surprise."
"You know I don't appreciate games."
Nolan turns and starts to walk away. He has a commanding presence, though Cuddy wouldn't expect anything less from the man who kept House in therapy for a whole year.
"Wait," House stands and calls after him. "This isn't a game, and the appointment isn't even for me."
Cuddy takes that as her cue to stand as well. "Hi."
"This is Dr. Cuddy," House introduces her. "I'm sure you remember the name — since she was the starring subject of so many of our sessions. We've been together since….not that long after I stormed out of here pretending I wasn't in love with her. Feel free to gloat about that."
"The appointment is for you?" Nolan looks directly at her.
"Yes. If that's okay."
"And we're going to waive all that doctor-patient confidentiality nonsense," House says. "My insanity is her insanity, so to speak. You can use what you already know from shrinking me to shrink her."
House is making jokes because he doesn't want to admit that he actually respects Nolan, so Cuddy takes that task upon herself. "House thinks you can help me."
"That's odd, considering House didn't think I could help him."
"But youdid help him. He's sober and stable."
"And happy," House adds.
"And happy," Cuddy repeats.
That, more than anything, appears impossible for Nolan to resist. "Alright, Dr. Cuddy," he gestures towards his door. "Why don't you come inside?"
—/—
"So," Nolan begins once they're alone, "if I remember correctly, the last I heard, House was running around with a book written by your…great-grandfather?"
"Wow. Good memory."
It feels like a lifetime ago— the days before she truly had House; sometimes it hurts to remember that there was ever a time they were so bad at communication.
"Was it the book that did it?"
"No," Cuddy sits down on the couch and tries to get comfortable. "There was a crane that collapsed in Trenton. House and I worked the scene. It was horrible. We were treating this woman, Hannah, and House had to amputate her leg. We witnessed this beautiful moment between her and her husband and then she... didn't make it. I showed up at his apartment that same night and told him I loved him, and we've been together since."
"That's a rather dramatic story."
"House and I have always had our fair share of drama."
"Are you two doing okay now?"
"We're great. I'm not here because of something he did."
"Why are you here?"
"I had a panic attack at work," she admits for the first time. "It came out of nowhere. I'm the Dean of Medicine. I've been in a thousand high pressure situations before and never once…."
"Out of nowhere?" Nolan skeptically interrupts.
"Well, I'm pregnant."
"Congratulations," he says, a hint of a smile on his face (she briefly wonders if he's counting them as a success story). "Is there something about the pregnancy that's making you anxious?"
"I was pregnant once before and had a miscarriage."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"But I guess it's more than that," she confesses. "I had a long journey to motherhood the first time. I did a few rounds of IVF that failed and then when it finally took, I had the miscarriage. There was also a baby I was supposed to adopt, but it fell through."
"How far along in the process of adoption?"
"Far. The mom changed her mind after giving birth. I had already named the baby. But I don't…I'm not saying I regret any of it. I could never regret it, because it all led to me adopting my daughter, Rachel."
"What was that adoption process like?"
"With Rachel? It was unexpected to say the least. House and I were treating a teenage girl who we thought had cancer. It turned out to be preeclampsia and there was nothing we could do for her. She admitted to giving birth and leaving the baby in an empty building near a soup kitchen."
"And that baby was Rachel?"
"It was. I found her and brought her to the hospital and was able to adopt her from there."
Nolan jots something down on his notepad before continuing. "I want to talk a bit more about loss," he says when he looks back up at her. "Besides the miscarriage and the first adoption, have you experienced any other major losses?"
"Yes." Cuddy sees her father's face in her mind. She's been missing him even more than usual lately, has spent a lot of time wishing he could've met House. "My dad died. It was a while ago, but we didn't see it coming."
"How did it happen?"
"Stroke. He was in front of me one minute and gone the next."
"You were there?"
"My mom and sister were out, but I was home. I was the one who called the ambulance."
"And what about House?"
The abrupt subject change confuses her, because House isn't dead, he's only on the other side of the door. "What about him?"
"It's been a while, so forgive me if I'm mistaken, but I believe there have been many times you thought you may have lost him?"
Cuddy scoffs out loud. "That's the understatement of the century. It would take more than one appointment for us to talk about every time I thought I was about to lose House."
For years she was afraid he would slip away from her— both emotionally and physically. She can't pretend that watching him deteriorate didn't impact her.
"Do any of them stick out?"
"The time he electroshocked his brain to try and save Wilson's girlfriend and I sat at his bedside not knowing if he was ever going to wake up again," Cuddy recalls. "He was also taken hostage once with a bunch of clinic patients. This crazy guy showed up at the hospital demanding a diagnosis and barged into my office with a gun. House was only in there because he was playing some ridiculous prank on me."
"That sounds like House."
"The guy who took them hostage wanted me to personally deliver all of his medicine. The leader of the SWAT team thought I was completely out of my mind for agreeing to do it. He kept accusing me of being in love with House, which was true, but I was still denying it."
"You went in because you wanted to see him, to make sure he was alright."
"Yes," Cuddy agrees. "I still remember how sick I felt every time I had to leave him in there, no idea how it would end."
"I can imagine."
"Not long after we started dating, we thought House got smallpox from one of his patients. He was trapped in an isolation room and I was pushed up against the glass that was separating us, and I thought that…. I really thought he might die that time. Somehow I'm always the one standing on the other side of a door completely helpless."
"Dr. Cuddy, in less than ten minutes you've rattled off a laundry list of traumatic events in a startlingly casual manner. Any one of the experiences you mentioned would be enough to give a person anxiety."
"But," Cuddy protests. "They didn't happen to me."
"How do you mean?"
"House is the one who's been shot and taken hostage and has a hole in his thigh. Rachel is the one who was abandoned. I had a miscarriage, but I've treated women who've had five and seem to be able to…. move on with their lives."
"You feel unworthy of your anxiety, which I find quite telling about you as a person. But you're a doctor, so I know you know that PTSD also happens to people who witness their loved ones in danger."
"That applies to people who have…" she trails off, realizing halfway through her sentence that the criteria could very well apply to her.
She's been getting through things for so long, dealing with each crisis as it comes, that she never stopped to consider the toll it's taken on her.
"You saw your father die. You've witnessed the man you love in danger so many times that you could barely narrow them down."
"You think I have PTSD?"
"A form of it, yes. I think maybe you haven't let yourself fully feel it until now, but this pregnancy has brought it to the surface. Even the good things in your life have been surrounded by trauma. Someone died before you finally got together with House. Someone died before you got Rachel, too. You've always had tragedies before something good, so why would you expect something good without tragedy?"
"Oh." Cuddy starts to cry, feeling exposed in a way that makes her uncomfortable. She finds it bizarre that someone she's known for less than a half hour can see her so clearly.
Nolan hands her a box of tissues. "Do you mind if we bring House in here for a minute? I think it might be helpful."
Cuddy dries her eyes and nods in agreement, even if a part of her doesn't want House to see her like this. Nolan stands to go get him.
"Geez," House says when he enters the office a few seconds later and takes in the sight of her. "You already made her cry?"
"In fairness to Dr. Nolan, I think my raging hormones gave him a bit of a head start."
House sits down next to her on the couch, their shoulders touching. Nolan ignores their banter and gets right back to business. "House — what would you say if I told you I suspect Cuddy is dealing with PTSD?"
"That makes sense," House answers without hesitation. "Cuddy has seen some shit, as the kids say."
"I'm glad you agree, because her first reaction was to tell me she hasn't been through anything traumatic enough to warrant that."
"Of course it was."
"That doesn't surprise you?"
"Nope. She's a caretaker, which is great and everything, especially since I'm one of the people she takes care of. But it also means she holds her own stuff in way too much. She's got to...stop doing that for at least the next seven months. Especially since half the fucked-up situations she's been in were my fault."
"That's ridiculous, House. You didn't cause my miscarriage or make my dad have a stroke, did you?"
"No. That's why I said half."
"And the stuff you were involved in wasn't your fault. You didn't bring a gun to my office or make a crane collapse in Trenton. Even with the Vicodin, it's not like you got addicted on purpose. It stemmed from a physical issue."
"Either way, caring about me has brought a lot of drama into your life."
"Caring about you is not a burden on me," Cuddy corrects, not liking the implication. "And being pregnant doesn't mean I can magically stop."
"I don't think he's asking you to stop caring about him," Nolan jumps in to clarify. "I think he's acknowledging what you've been through together and offering to carry a little more emotional weight than he usually does, which seems like a reasonable offer."
"She probably thinks it'll be too much for me to handle and I'll freak out and relapse."
"That's not true," Cuddy insists. "In fact, you don't seem freaked out in the least bit about the possibility of us having a baby."
"Because right now you're the puzzle, Cuddy. My emotionally stunted brain can only deal with one thing at a time. I can't even process the fact that we might have a baby, because I'm too busy calculating how many calories you've been able to keep down so I can make sure you're not about to collapse."
"I'm the puzzle," Cuddy chastises herself for not seeing it sooner. It makes perfect sense. He's looking at it like an equation. Cuddy + x = no miscarriage. He can't focus on the baby when he's trying to solve for x. Because if there's anything House can handle even less than his own pain, it's hers. "Of course."
"Why do you two keep saying you might have a baby?" Nolan asks.
"She doesn't want to say we definitely are, because she's convinced she's going to have a miscarriage."
"Is that true?"
Cuddy is aware of how stupid it sounds out loud. "I guess I don't want to jinx anything by talking about the future."
"I understand the temptation to avoid it," Nolan empathizes. "But I want you to try and talk about this baby once a week in a way that completely assumes he or she is going to be okay. I want you to actively choose to be brave in confronting that possibility."
"What do you mean?" Cuddy questions.
"Maybe you two have a conservation about…. decorating the nursery. Where you assume there is going to be a nursery to decorate and push back against the thoughts telling you otherwise. Do you think you can do that?"
"I can try. But how am I supposed to fix the rest of it?"
"You're doing it right now. You're here. We'll talk once a week. We'll work on reframing your thought process."
"Cuddy loves challenges," House says, as if he's showing her off. "She also loves to-do lists. She'll kick therapy's ass and be a much better patient than I was."
"I do love a challenge."
She knows it's not going to be easy. But House, as usual, is right: giving her something tangible to do about the situation already makes her feel like she's taken some power back. And knowing they're in it together makes her feel like the future she's been so afraid to picture might be within reach.
—/—
That night House wakes up and realizes Cuddy isn't in bed next to him. His first thought is to check the bathroom, assuming she might be sick again. When she isn't there, he wanders down the hall and finds her in the kitchen standing in front of the open fridge. "What're you doing?" He asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "It's one thirty in the morning."
"Looking for food. I'm suddenly starving."
Maybe it's the weight off her shoulders that has allowed her appetite to briefly reappear, but House isn't going to question it. "I can make you something."
"There's nothing to make. We need to grocery shop."
House takes a few steps closer to her so that he can investigate the fridge himself. "What are you talking about? There's bread and cheese, which means I can make you my world-famous grilled cheese."
He expects her to be disgusted by the greasy, carb-filled suggestion, but her face lights up instead. "That sounds amazing."
"Pregnancy-craving-Cuddy is going to be fun," he muses.
Cuddy takes a seat at the table and gazes at him lovingly. "You're pretty sexy when you're doting on me."
House would do anything to keep her looking at him like that, and he can't believe it's as simple as making her a sandwich in the middle of the night. When he's done cooking, he puts the plate down on the table, sits down across from her, and watches her take her first bite.
"Good?"
"S'good," she says with her mouth full. "I'm probably going to puke it up in like an hour, but I don't even care right now."
"You're sexy when you're eating junk food after midnight."
"Thank you for this, House," she says with the utmost sincerity. "And for bringing me to Nolan."
"Anything for my baby mama."
"Do you think we could try what he said? The thing where we talk like we're definitely having the baby?"
"Sure," House agrees, though he's unclear on exactly what conversation she wants to have.
Cuddy takes a deep breath and then asks. "Would you prefer a boy or a girl?"
"A girl," House says right away.
"Really?"
"You're surprised."
"Completely."
"You think I want a boy just because I am one? That's very sexist of you. Besides, I've got a good thing going with the Cuddy girls — feels like I should keep the streak going with another one."
"But three of us? Under one roof? I don't know if you've thought this through."
The truth is that when House thinks about the baby in terms of simply adding another tiny version of Rachel to their home, it doesn't scare him as much — that combined with his aversion to father-son relationships makes it an easy choice.
"Please. I can handle three of you. What's your preference?"
"I honestly don't care."
"Yeah, yeah. You just want the baby to be healthy. You still have to answer the question."
"I guess if I hadto pick, I'd say a boy."
"You want a mini me walking around? Now I don't think you've thought this through."
"But then we'd have one of each."
"Gross," House feigns disgust. "And what's next? A white picket fence?"
"Of course not. The picket fence can be any color you want, House."
He laughs at the proof that they can banter about anything. "You want to turn this into a bet? I say girl, you say boy, 100 bucks to whoever wins?"
"Our traditional betting currency is clinic duty."
"I guess we should probably start betting in diaper duty instead."
"I could get behind that."
"Loser owes twenty diaper changes?" House proposes.
"Make it fifty."
"Deal," House extends his hand, which Cuddy shakes. And what they don't say is that there could be no diapers to change at all. Cuddy looks genuinely happy for the first time in weeks.
"I guess that was my first act of bravery," she says, her hand still in his.
House thinks of Cuddy bringing in meds into a hostage situation, climbing under rubble to help him save a patient, walking into the dark unknown to rescue her daughter, caring about him at his lowest, taking a chance on building a life with him. Between the two of them, she's always been the brave one. She's always been the one to take on pain and heartbreak headfirst and keep loving anyway.
He looks at her and feels proud. Of what she's done and what she's about to do.
"It's hardly your first, Cuddy."
3 months
(princeton plainsboro's royal baby)
"I need to think about something else," Cuddy says as they sit in the waiting room of her OBGYN's office. It's her twelve-week checkup, a day she's been apprehensive about since the very beginning— and it isn't helping matters that the doctor is running forty-minutes behind schedule. "Distract me."
"I'd love to," House smirks as he starts to get up from his seat. "I think I saw a supply closet in the hallway."
Cuddy rolls her eyes and puts out her arm to block him from moving anywhere. "Believe it or not, there are ways to distract me that don't involve your penis."
"Those are the boring ways," he disputes, before coming up with a conversation that he's sure will keep her mind occupied. "But speaking of fun with little Greg, I wonder when our spawn was conceived."
"I know exactly when."
"How? We have way too much sex to narrow it down."
"You need to lower your voice," she warns, looking around the crowded room. "Do you remember that Sunday morning when we both woke up early and it was raining?"
"Nope."
Except House does remember. They had a particularly domestic Saturday — spent all day playing board and video games with Rachel and then went out for dinner and a movie. The next morning, he miraculously woke up only a few minutes after Cuddy. It was cold and rainy, and he rolled on top of her before they had even said good morning. The intensity of their connection reminded him of the day after Trenton, but with less grime and dust and somehow even more love. He recalls what Cuddy whispered to him, and how much it meant to him. Not that he's planning to admit it in the gynecologist's office of all places.
"Yes, you do," Cuddy calls him out. "We were so connected I had goosebumps."
"Good point. I totally forgot about the correlation between goosebumps and conception."
Cuddy ignores his sarcasm. "The timing matches up."
"Didn't you also jump me in your car that night?"
She laughs. "Oh sure, that you remember perfectly."
"It was very memorable! I was innocently sitting in the passenger seat when suddenly…."
"Innocently? Your hands were all over my thighs on the drive home."
"When suddenly you climbed on top of me and had your evil way with me. And the timing matches up just as well."
"You can think whatever you want, House. I know in my heart that it was the sweet love making, and not the driveway quickie."
"That's definitely not what I'm going to tell Wilson. He deserves to know he was inside the house babysitting Rachel while rugrat number two was being conceived."
Cuddy lifts her hand, most likely to smack him on the chest, but they get called back before she can.
"Saved by the bell," he stands and follows her into the appointment. "Or by the incompetent nurse, is probably the more accurate statement."
—/—
Cuddy is getting settled on the exam table, but when she turns around, she finds that House is the one holding her chart. "What are you doing? Where'd Linda go?"
"I told Nurse Ratched that we don't need her services."
"I can't turn my back for a single second without you causing trouble."
"Yeah, that's not breaking news. Besides, what's the big deal? I think I can handle taking your vitals."
Perhaps the antics are all part of his distraction strategy, but Cuddy doesn't appreciate the terrorizing of nurses she's known for years. Before she can lecture him, he's wrapping the cuff around her arm to take her blood pressure. "It's still a little low, but better than last time," he tells her. "Get on the scale."
She's used to House the defiant employee, and House the surprisingly sweet boyfriend, but House the overly attentive doctor is still new to her. "This is so weird. How do I get you to act like this in the clinic?"
"You don't," he says matter-of-factly. "Hey, you're up four pounds. Guess we're sticking to the grilled cheese regiment."
Just then, the door opens, and Dr. Brianna McArthur walks into the room. "I heard someone was scaring off my nurses. Somehow I knew who the culprit was without even having to ask."
Cuddy has known Brianna for a long time, she worked with her all through IVF and the miscarriage. She's affiliated with Princeton Plainsboro but thankfully also has an office about twenty minutes away, which gives them a chance of keeping their secret from the hospital.
"Updated her chart," House says, handing over the file as Cuddy gets ready for the exam. "And attached her latest blood work. She needs an iron supplement but the cortisol manager is working and her blood sugar is perfect. You're welcome."
"I think we might need to have a conversation about boundaries," Brianna says. "You are this baby's father, Dr. House. You are talented and brilliant, but you're not an expert in this field."
"I appreciate the appeal to my ego, and the fact that you clearly know your audience. But I'm not trying to be an expert — all I did was take her blood pressure and write down her weight."
"You're updating her chart, drawing conclusions about her care. There is a very good reason doctors don't treat their own families."
Cuddy gets it, she really does — especially after the lupus debacle, she knows that House can't be objective about her. Still, there's something about House being involved that makes her feel cared for in a way she's unwilling to give up. She remembers that moment years ago, when she told Emma Sloan that she would trust House to save her own, hypothetical baby. Now it's their baby, and it's no longer hypothetical. There's no way she's going to push him out of the process, even when he's being aggressive and inappropriate.
"You're right," Cuddy admits. "Except that House makes me feel calm. I know that's the opposite of how he makes most people feel, including you. But me being calm is good for the baby. So if there's any possible way you can just...let him be a crazy person, I would consider it a personal favor."
House smiles smugly, in a way that almost makes Cuddy wish she hadn't just defended him.
Brianna ignores him. "You're the patient, Lisa. I trust your judgement. I can let some of it slide, but I'm going to have to draw lines as we get closer to the delivery."
"Of course. We understand. Don't we, House?"
"Yup." He answers half-heartedly.
"Do you want him to do the ultrasound?" Brianna offers, somewhat begrudgingly.
"No. I want him to get his ass over here and hold my hand like a normal boyfriend."
The second House is next to her, their fingers entwined, all forms of distraction evaporate, and she's left with nothing but the all too familiar fear. Cuddy closes her eyes, terrified of what she'll see if she looks at the monitor. She feels the gel on her stomach and the pressure of the transducer against her skin and still she keeps her eyes firmly shut. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears.
"Cuddy," House says, after a few agonizingly long seconds. "Open your eyes."
"Is everything okay?" She begs for reassurance, unable to follow the instruction or read the tone of his voice.
"Yes," Brianna tells her. "Everything looks great."
Cuddy doesn't know if she can believe it until she hears it from the one person she trusts more than anyone else.
"Open your eyes," House says again, answering her silent plea. "You're missing everything."
When she finally gives in and looks, she's met with the most beautiful sight she's seen since the day she first laid eyes on Rachel: their baby— safe and sound and healthy.
—/—
"You relieved?" House asks when they're back in the car. Cuddy sits in the passenger seat with the ultrasound print out in her lap, running her fingertips over the outline of the baby.
"I am."
"But?"
"Maybe not as much as I expected?" She admits, a little ashamed of it. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm so happy. Probably the happiest I've ever been. But I think I'm going to be anxious the whole time. I'm going to be waiting for something to go wrong until I have this baby in my arms."
"That's okay." If House is disappointed, he doesn't show it. "That's why we pay Nolan the big bucks."
"Thank you for getting us here."
"Doing you in the car to conceive this child truly was my pleasure."
She loves his sense of humor, but she also needs him to know how grateful she is for his patience and support and how he refuses to judge her for being scared. "No, I meant…"
"I know what you meant."
"Good," she accepts, shifting the focus to him. "How are you doing with all this?"
"Honestly? I didn't expect to think it was this cool."
"The ultrasound?"
"Yeah," he confirms, taking the printout from her. "No offense, but the last one was kind of boring. Basically just a blob. This one…" he doesn't finish the sentence, just stares at the picture in his hands.
Cuddy recognizes the look on his face as the same one he has right before he solves a case. She knows he's inching closer to fully realizing the profound ways in which their lives will change if they have this baby. She wants him to take all the time he needs. It's the least she can give him in return for everything he's given her. "You hang on to that for me, okay?"
He smiles at her and slips the ultrasound into his jacket pocket.
—/—
Back at the hospital, House sits at his desk, pretending to be working, but thinking over the last few hours instead. Cuddy rests on his chair, dozing in and out of sleep after an emotionally draining morning. His team comes in from the outer office, barging in as a unified front. "We need to talk to you," Foreman says.
House looks at them, lined up in a row, foreboding expressions on their faces. "You're a couple of years late for an intervention, don't you think?"
"We want to talk to both of you," Foreman clarifies, glancing at Cuddy.
Cuddy sits up, regaining her bearings, and acting as if she never fell asleep. "About what?"
"Frankly, we want to know what the hell is going on with you two."
Talking to Cuddy in an accusatory tone is never a good idea, and House braces himself for how it's going to blow up their faces.
Cuddy clears her throat. "Excuse me?"
"You've been acting bizarre for months. We deserve to know what's happening."
"I know I have a slightly different relationship with this team than with the rest of my employees, but I am still your boss. And House and I do have a right to some degree of privacy."
Taub scoffs at the use of House's name and the word privacy in the same sentence. Which, okay— he doesn't exactly give his own team that right, but that's beside the point.
"You do have a right to privacy," Thirteen agrees. "Except that whatever is happening is starting to impact our work."
This grabs Cuddy's attention, which isn't surprising, because House knows she worries about distracting him from saving lives. "How?" Cuddy asks. "I know for a fact that House hasn't lost a patient since…"
"Don't humor them," House jumps in to save her from revealing too much in her exhausted state. "My work is as brilliant as ever. They're bored of their own lives and want to invade ours. I guess they don't know that's what daytime soaps are for. Apparently, I've taught them nothing."
"So it's not weird that Cuddy is asleep in your office in the middle of the day?" Chase questions. "Or that you two are suddenly attached at the hip?"
"Suddenly?" House mocks the notion. "We've been dating for almost two years."
"Yeah, and in those two years, plus all the years we had to suffer watching you two dance around each other, you never spent all day together at the hospital. You were never one of those couples. Now we can't find one of you without the other. And there's a lot of whispering and hand holding."
"It's true," Taub says. "Cuddy's barely in her office anymore. She's always up here."
House scowls. "Cuddy is your boss and can be wherever the hell she wants."
"We're not complaining," Taub clarifies. "Do you know how much easier it is to not have to go downstairs to get her approval for something? But the rest of the hospital..."
"People are complaining about me being up here?" Cuddy asks, furrowing her brow. House wants to shut them all up, because the last thing she needs is to be worried about work.
"There are a lot of rumors," Foreman says. "And it's harder to defend you guys when we don't know what's true and what's not."
Wilson did tell House a few weeks ago that the hospital has been talking. He didn't give it too much thought, because the hospital is always talking. He wasn't going to stress out Cuddy even more by telling her about it. Now he wonders if maybe he underestimated the rumor mill. "What the hell are people saying?" He demands.
Chase shrugs. "We've heard it all at this point."
"For example?" House pushes, but none of them want to be the first to share. "One of you better spit it out or I'm going to start firing people."
"One of the most popular rumors is that you relapsed and Cuddy is trying to keep it a secret," Thirteen tells them. "But we know you aren't high, because we know what that looks like."
House has to laugh. It's Cuddy who looks like hell and still people assume he's the one in trouble and that helping him is what's causing her to drown. Not that he blames them. Cuddy has an invincible air about her at work. He's one of the only people who gets to see her raw and vulnerable.
"At one point I heard Rachel is sick," Thirteen continues. "But Wilson shut that one down fast."
House feels his blood boil at the mention of Rachel. "I hate this place."
"Oh, and some people think you're doing it in clinic rooms because you keep sneaking off to them randomly during the day," Taub adds.
"I was giving her fluids, but not those kinds!"
Chase ignores him, looks directly at Cuddy. "Are you okay?"
House realizes something that both fascinates and surprises him. "Are you worried about her?"
"Yeah," Chase admits. "Which also makes me worried about you, because I don't think you can function if something is wrong with Cuddy."
Cuddy softens instantly when she figures out this isn't an attack. House watches her transform from pissed off boss to appreciative friend. "Just tell them."
"You can do it."
"No. They're your kids, House."
They do belong to him, in a weird way. These four, who never seem capable of shaking him, despite their many attempts at it. The closest thing he's ever had to consistency in his life is their unconventional unit. Cuddy, Wilson, and this team. House looks at them, wide-eyed with curiosity, and has to reach down somewhere deep inside himself to produce two simple words. "Cuddy's pregnant."
The admission is met with stunned silence and mouths agape.
"What's the matter? Pregnancy wasn't on the never-ending list of rumors?"
"Well," Chase hesitatingly explains. "We kind of thought she... couldn't?"
"So much for privacy." Cuddy sighs before telling them the whole story. "I had a nightmare of a first trimester. House has been my shadow more than usual, but only because he's been keeping me alive, giving me IVs in clinic rooms so I could still work. I'd actually appreciate it if you could start spreading the truth around the hospital. I'll tell the board next month, but it'd be great if the gossip shut down before then."
"Are you kidding me?" Chase says. "We'd love to. This will be like announcing the royal baby."
"Princeton Plainsboro's royal baby," Thirteen amends. "Which is even cooler."
Foreman picks up the ultrasound, examining it for proof it's real, and not some kind of House-like prank. "You're really having a baby?"
And in that moment of his team staring at him with confusion and awe and maybe excitement, it finally hits him. Cuddy is going to be okay. She's going to make it through this pregnancy. And despite the anxiety of the last three months, he's pretty sure their kid is, too. There are no guarantees, like everything else in life, but the likelihood is that this baby is going to be fine. He sees Cuddy watching him and knows she knows exactly what's happening. The flip has switched. Reality has seeped in, with all its endless possibilities.
"Yeah," House says. "We're really having a baby."
