5.
She took off her coat as she stepped off the street and into the bar, and slinging it over her arm she surveyed the room.
It had been a few days since she found out. Since everything changed. And since then, House had thrown himself into a new case. She'd found herself likewise trying to occupy her every waking moment with work - it was as good a way as any to distract herself from the constant disarray of her thoughts, not to mention the frequent bouts of nausea, and the occasional dash to the closest bathroom as a direct result of said nausea.
She finally spotted his familiar, slightly rumpled figure across the room, seated at the far end of the bar, and she watched him as she made her way over. He'd probably spotted her the moment she entered. He was most likely plotting an escape strategy right now.
Because for all that he'd said they would be discussing the matter further, in practice they hadn't exchanged a single word since that night except to argue about his latest patient. He'd finished with the case now, though, and she felt as if she couldn't put it off any longer. Besides, he'd come to her last time - it was only fair she made the next move.
"Glad one of us at least gets to drown our sorrows," she greeted him as she took the place next to him, hanging her coat and handbag over the back of the barstool.
"Personally, I'm glad it's me," he replied.
The bartender appeared as she sat down, and she ordered orange juice with a sigh.
"How'd you know I was here?" he said. She just looked at him and he closed his eyes in realisation. "Wilson. Traitor. Can't tell the guy anything."
She waited till her drink appeared in front of her before speaking. "You've been avoiding me."
"I've been working."
"Nice change - usually you avoid both me and work." She grinned at him. He just rolled his eyes and so she went on more seriously, "Wilson - he hasn't said anything, but he knows, doesn't he." It wasn't a question, and he just shrugged. Of course Wilson knew.
"Who've you told?" he muttered, staring straight ahead as he took a swallow of what looked like scotch.
"Just my sister. I had to swear her to secrecy because otherwise she would have gone running to my mother. And there is no way I'm ready for her to know."
"Mama Cuddy not going to be happy for her little girl?"
"No, she'll be ecstatic. She'll be pleased and supportive - all the while making it clear through not-so-subtle hints that I'm really only doing this to be difficult, and to spite her, and that's all before she finds out that you're not Jewish, and we're not getting married."
"We're not? And here I've been hoping you'd make an honest man out of me."
That didn't require a response, so instead she asked, "What about your parents? I'm going to take a wild guess that you haven't told them they're going to be grandparents."
He looked appropriately disturbed by the thought. Of course, she thought. He wasn't about to tell his family when he himself was still turning the decision over in his mind.
It was part of the reason she'd tracked him down here tonight. She needed to know one way or the other - whether he was in or out. She didn't know how to broach the topic besides hinting around it, however. It wasn't her usual style, she preferred to come right out and ask. But then she thought of their confrontation in her office. It hadn't gone particularly well, and she didn't want to start another argument with him.
She took a sip of her orange juice, put the glass back down and stirred the straw around idly. Silent beside her, he seemed just as happy to focus on his own drink.
She looked at his face in profile - an attractive face, she'd always thought so. An attractive man all around, if all the women who seemed to throw themselves at him on a regular basis were anything to go by. She'd even been one of them that night - that one night that was going to have such considerable, not to mention long-lasting consequences.
Had it been worth it? She certainly remembered enjoying herself at the time. She remembered falling into bed with him in a disorganised tumble of limbs and clothing. She remembered laughing when he hooked his cane around the back of her knee as she fumbled in the bedside-table drawer, and falling back into his arms and plying his mouth with hasty, drunken kisses.
She remembered waking up some hours later with her head spinning, sitting up and squinting in the sudden light from the bathroom. She remembered turning towards him, reaching for him as he climbed back into bed...
At first she didn't know if she was awake or asleep - maybe she was somewhere in between. The room spun and shifted or maybe it was the mattress dipping beneath his sudden weight as he clambered clumsily back between the sheets. Head still fuzzy from the after-effects of booze and sleep, her eyes stung in the dim light and so she closed them.
Her breasts brushed his arm as she turned to him, or maybe he turned to her. Maybe it didn't matter. His hand slid around her back, pulling her closer and she moved, mouth blindly reaching for his.
He followed when she rolled onto her back, and she welcomed his body as it covered hers like a warm, heavy blanket. She called him House like she didn't know any other name for him, and he buried his face in her neck. She ran her fingers through his hair. Everything was warm, slow and sleepy, and all she knew was the slow simmer of her body, the feel of him as he moved over her, the way he murmured her name.
She reached down between their bodies to touch herself and the pleasure rose inside her and all around her like a dream...
And that was it, she thought. That was the moment it happened. The next thing she knew she was waking up, sick as a dog, with House snoring next to her, and having to face the reality of what she'd done.
Now she was having a baby with the man and she still wasn't sure how she felt about his role in all of it.
The silence was stretching out between them and she knew he wasn't going to be the one to break it.
"I have to start making plans," she began carefully. "There's a lot to think about, especially with my job and the hospital. So much is going to change and I need to start thinking about it sooner rather than later, starting with how I'm going to play this. The clock is ticking and eventually people are going to know whether I've told them or not, so what I really need right now is for you to give me an answer. Just... tell me. Do you want to have anything to do with this or not? Are you in or out?"
She took a deep breath once she stopped talking. She didn't know what his response would be. When it came, though, he seemed to have disregarded every single word she'd said, and really, she should have expected that.
"You think too much." He gave her a condescending look. "One of those girl things you can't help - you're multitasking your ass off, trying to work and be pregnant and solve all the problems in your life all at the same time. Me, I'm a guy. I only worry about one thing at a time. Like right now - see? My drink is empty. This," he rattled the ice in his glass, "is going to occupy me for at least the next few minutes. Longer if this idiot bartender doesn't get his head out of his ass and do his damn job!" He raised his voice towards the end of his spiel, earning a dark look from the young man currently filling orders down the other end of the bar.
"None of that helps me a whole lot," she pointed out.
After a moment's pause he said, "Well there's still time, you know."
"Time to change my mind, you mean?"
He returned her gaze, unfazed by her sharp response. And she sat there, unmoving, waiting to hear what he would say.