A/N: Thanks for the encouragement guys. My fragile little writer's ego really appreciates it!
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House left Jess in his office and went to gather the necessary supplies and forms. They'd travelled wordlessly all the way into the hospital – he'd driven them in his car, not on the bike as they normally would, and with that seemingly minor decision House realised things had already changed. When they'd first met one of the things that had drawn them together was their shared love of motorbikes – Jess hadn't ridden for years and loved sitting behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist. He'd even let her ride by herself a couple of times.
It wasn't until he started to prepare to draw her blood that he felt compelled to break the silence.
"I'm writing you up as a clinic patient of mine," he said matter-of-factly as he tightened the tourniquet strap. He realised this was the first time she'd ever been in his office and seeing her sitting there at his desk was uncomfortably incongruent, a blending of the personal and professional that he strove to keep separate. "I'll put a rush on the results. Should have them later tonight or first thing tomorrow."
She looked away as the needle sunk into the vein in her arm, biting on her lower lip. He frowned and tried harder to be careful – he had to admit he was a bit out of practice. Maybe there was an entirely more practical reason that Cuddy insisted on him doing clinic time.
Jess didn't say anything as he filled out the requisite paperwork. She spun gently from side to side in the chair, holding the little ball of cotton to the crease of her elbow; if it hadn't been for the dazed and shocked expression on her face she could have passed for a bored child.
He wrote "Laura Spencer" on the labels of the vials, his own little joke, and quickly put the vials and paperwork into a small plastic bag.
"Gimme a second." He disappeared down the corridor and around to the lab, dropping off the samples and forms to a bored looking lab technician. Lucky it was a weekend, because the usual staff would all have sniffed a rat straight away: Dr House lowering himself to deliver samples to pathology?
When he got back, she'd rolled her sleeve back into place and managed to give him a weak smile.
"Feel okay?" he asked. He hoped she'd think he meant her arm but he saw her swallow a lump in her throat. No. She was too clever by half to fall for that. That's why he was with her.
"Don't really know how I feel. You?" Admirably, her voice didn't waver at all. Must be all that practice she had holding press conferences, he figured.
"Same." House wondered how long it would take before they stopped dancing around this. The blood tests were a formality, he knew that, and figured she probably did too. He wanted to do them because he wanted to know, wanted to be sure. Not just hear it from someone else, but see the test results in black and white. Tests don't lie.
"Greg, I think…" She broke off and looked away from him. "I think I'm gonna grab a cab to my apartment and go feel uncertain by myself for a while." Then she turned back and met his eyes. "Is that okay?"
He nodded. He didn't really know what to say anyway.
She picked up her purse and stood, walking over to him. She put a hand on his cheek and raised herself on tiptoes to press a light, hesitant kiss to his lips. He felt her tremble then, and did the only thing he could think of: he kissed her back, passionately. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her body into his and sighed when her lips parted and her hand went around the back of his neck to pull herself closer.
The kiss went on for a long moment, both of them seeming reluctant to end it; to end what felt like the eye of the storm, a moment of peace where no difficult information needed to be processed. But eventually the need to breathe, reality, crashed in. They stood, foreheads touching and eyes closed, each sharing the other's breath for a minute. He stroked a hand through her dark, silky curtain of hair. Then Jess stood back, squeezed his hand, and walked out.
House went over to his desk and sat down heavily. He picked up his over-size tennis ball and began banging it against the wall, his stand-by thinking position.
He mentally began reviewing the last six months that had lead to this point. He remembered exactly when it had started. On that damn bus.
His memory of events immediately after the bus crash was still fuzzy and patched. Some things he remembered clearly, others he wasn't even sure were real. Like sitting on the bus with Amber when she told him he wasn't dead yet. And his confession to her.
I don't want to be miserable.
It was as if the universe had simply been waiting for him to say those words. To admit out loud that he no longer wanted to punish and be punished for whatever crimes he felt required it.
Sure, it had taken time and perseverance, but he'd mended bridges with Wilson. Then there'd been the infectious diseases conference Cuddy had forced him to go to – telling him that a trip somewhere sunny would be good for him. That was where he'd met Jessica Mitchell, keynote speaker and head of PR and media relations at St Mary's General. Since then she'd practically moved in.
In recent weeks he'd started to get nervous. Life – his life – wasn't supposed to be like this. Easy. Happy. Contented. Something was going to come along and mess it up.
Probably him.
And it seemed like he just had. Well, his gametes had anyway. Or…
House sat up straighter, a new train of thought occurring to him. Could this be just another, new step in this happy, contented life? Daddy House? He remembered his friend, Dylan Crandall, saying that he knew he wanted to be a father because it felt good. And that was reason enough.
House had held plenty of babies in his life; hell, he had helped a few into the world back in his intern days and saved a lot more since then. He thought about how different it would be to hold a tiny bundle that was his, something that belonged to him, was part of him.
And Jess. Of course. Her creamy skin and beautiful dark brown hair and sparkling green eyes; the woman who laughed at his jokes and put up with him just the right amount – enough to get along, not enough to be a doormat. The woman who let him put his
smelly feet in her lap when they watched TV; who would get up in the morning to make him a coffee and bring it back to bed; the woman who every now and then would rip his clothes off and make love to him in a desperate way that made him feel like a desirable, sexy man instead of a miserable old cripple.
Jess, bound to him through co-creation. A permanent link with another person for the rest of his life.
For some reason the thought didn't scare him half as much as he thought it should.
He sighed and caught the ball one last time before setting it down on the desk.
Yeah, maybe life was too good. Something had to fuck it up soon.
Probably him.