House's mouth dropped open. He started to talk, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"Before you say anything, let me just go first," she said, boss-style. "First of all, yes I'm sure it's yours. I know you think I'm the Mayor of Slutsville or something, but I'm not. I haven't had sex with anyone other than you in five months."

House began to protest her characterization of his opinion, but she cut him off.

"Also, no I'm not on the pill. It's not like I planned any of this—I think we both know that our little hook-up was about as spontaneous as it gets. But I haven't been on birth control in a while. And by the way, it's not like you couldn't have worn a condom! Birth control is not the sole responsibility of the woman!"

He tried to protest again, but she kept talking:

"You know I was trying to get pregnant. What you may not know is that… I had a miscarriage last year."

His eyes widened.

"Cuddy, I. . ."

"Because of my age and a few other factors, it's hard for me to get pregnant and harder still to stay pregnant. I know you don't want a kid. You've made that extremely clear. At the same time, last year when I was looking for a sperm donor I got the distinct impression that you might've been willing if I'd actually asked—which of course I didn't do. The point is"—she looked down at her hands, which were clenched in her lap. "The point is, I've thought about this long and hard and I want to try to take this baby to term. I don't expect anything of you. In fact, I expect nothing. You can be whatever you want to this child: Acquaintance, friendly uncle, complete stranger, right up to actually playing an active role in his or her life. It's totally up to you. But whatever you think of this situation, I don't care. I know that's not very progressive of me, or maybe even fair, but it is what it is. I'm having this baby. House."

She stopped.

House gaped at her, silently.

She folded her arms.

"Don't you have anything you want to say?" she said.

"I was just making sure you were done," he said. "You are done, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said, slightly sheepishly.

"Did you practice that in front of the mirror?"

"Kind of. . ."

He smiled softly.

"First of all, I'm sorry about the miscarriage. I had no idea."

"Why would you?"

"I seem to recall saying something really horrible to you once about you being a terrible mother. I . . . was being an ass. On purpose. When I'm jonesing for drugs I can be. . ."

"Forget it House. Past history."

They exchanged a look.

"As for you being pregnant now . . . I don't know what to say."

"That's a first."

"It's just a lot to absorb, Cuddy. Am I allowed to be even a little freaked out?"

She swallowed a bit.

"Yes," she said. Then she gave a rueful smile: "I know I was."

"So can I think about it?"

"Of course."

"I'll tell you tomorrow, okay?"

"No rush," she said. "We have time. Well, eight months to be exact."

"Wow," he said, scratching his head. "Plot twist, huh?"

"Big one," she said.

Then she stood up.

"I'm going to get going," she said, chuckling ironically. "I just thought I'd drop this little bombshell on you and leave."

He walked her to the door.

"And House?" she said.

"Yeah?"

"I'm not telling anyone about this. Not at least until the second trimester. So please keep it just between us."

"Of course," he said.

"Not even Wilson."

"Not even Wilson."

Then a though crossed her mind.

"He doesn't know we had sex, does he?" she asked, aghast.

"No!" House said, indignantly. (One of the great paradoxes of Gregory House: He was a rule breaker in all things except for when it came to chivalry and loyalty. In those things, he was a veritable puritan.)

"Okay, good. Keep it that way."

"I intend to," House said. Then he cocked his head: "And Cuddy? If this is what you really want then. . .congratulations."

She smiled.

"I think it is," she said. "Thanks House."
#####

The minute she left, House reached into his pocket, pulled out a bottle of Vicodin and swallowed two pills, quickly.

Then he finished his scotch and poured himself another glass.

"Fuck me," he said under his breath.

He paced his apartment, listlessly, until his leg started to hurt. Then he found an old tennis ball in the closet and tossed it against the wall until his neighbor complained.

His head was spinning. He sat at the kitchen table, tried to breathe, to clear his head, but he felt like he could actually feel the blood coursing around in his skull.

Finally, he picked up the phone.

"I have a problem," he told Wilson.

"Well that's a shock."

"And I need your advice."

"Okay, that is sort of a shock."

"Only, I can't tell you what the problem is."

"That makes zero sense, House."

"It's a decision I have to make. It's extremely important. Lives are literally hanging in the balance—and I have no fucking clue what to do."

"House, you're going to have to be a little more specific than that."

"I can't."

Wilson chuckled.

"Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"Forget it," House said, starting to hang up. "This was a bad idea."

"Wait!" Wilson said. Then he thought it over: "I know when I have a hard decision to make it sometimes helps to write a list of pros and cons."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"It can help consolidate your own opinions on a subject. I'm just saying it's helped me in the past."

"Useless as always, Wilson," House said, hanging up.

He sat there for a second with his head in his hands. Then he grabbed a piece of paper and pen from the desk.

On the top he wrote: "Baby." Then he drew a line down the middle of the page. On the left side he wrote: "Pros" and on the right side he wrote "Cons."

Under "cons":

1. Don't like babies.

2. Crying. Shitting. No sleep.

3. People constantly cooing in my vicinity. I hate cooing.

4. Baby showers: The scourge of mankind.

5. I have a shitty father. Odds are, I will be a shitty father, too.

6. I'm old enough to be this kid's grandfather.

7. Old guys at the playground are the worst.

8. Who wants a father with a fucking limp?

9. No peace and quiet.

10. Kids are expensive as hell.

11. They destroy nice things.

12. I have zero patience.

13. I'm an addict.

He stared at that last entry for a minute, underlined it twice, then attempted to find some "pros":

1. Will possibly make Cuddy happy.

2. Biological curiosity: What would our baby be like?

He tapped his pen against the desk, then went back to the "Con" side. By the time he was finished, he had 85 cons and 2 pros. He sighed and had another drink.

#######

House found Cuddy the next day in the clinic, where she was doing a consult on a patient.

"I made my decision," he said to her, jangling his leg nervously.

She looked at him.

"I'm in the middle of something. Can I meet you in my office in five minutes?"

"Make it two," he said, limping away.

When she arrived, he was already sitting in the chair across from her desk.

"This time I need you to let me talk, okay?" he said.

"Okay."

"I know that I'm an addict and a jerk and not anyone's idea of what a father should look like." He looked at her, to see if she agreed. But her face was inscrutable. "But the thing is. . ." he gripped his cane. "The thing is, Cuddy. I can love this kid. I know I can. Because it's going to be my baby, too. I made it. Well, uh, helped make it. And I want to be involved in its life. As much as you'll let me. I want to change the diapers and burp it and have photos of the damn thing in my wallet. If you'll let me, I want be its father."

He folded his arms, somewhat defensively.

Cuddy's mouth dropped open

"Are you trying to sell yourself to me?" she said.

He laughed, in a self-deprecating sort of way.

"I guess I am."

"You know what you're saying, House?"

"I do."

"Life as you know it is going to radically change."

"I'm prepared for that."

"And you'll have to spend a lot more time with me," she chuckled.

"I'm …prepared for that, too," he said.

"Then I …accept," she said.

"Really?" he said, genuinely shocked.

"Of course," she said, smiling. "This is what I was hoping you would say all along. I just didn't want to pressure you. History tells me, you don't respond well to pressure."

"But you know I suck at all that. . .emotional stuff. I'm not exactly a hugger."

"There are all different ways to be a good parent," she countered. "And besides, the Gregory House I know is good at everything he puts his mind too." Then she gave a slightly dirty smile. "And yes, I'm thinking about what you think I'm thinking about."

He smiled back at her, pleased.

"You always did have an inordinately high opinion of me," he said.

"Au contraire. I've always seen you quite clearly," she said.

They contemplated each other. Then Cuddy said: "And to get our journey into truly uncharted territory off on the right foot, I'm going to hug you now. Non-negotiable."

"If you must," he said mirthfully.

"I must."

She walked up to him, put her arms around him, buried her head in the crook of his neck, and he thought: I could get used to this.

That was when there was the sound of a throat being cleared.

They disentangled, like they had been caught doing something shameful.

It was Cameron.

"We, uh, got the result of those tests," she said sheepishly.

The awkwardness of Cameron witnessing their hug clearly had to be addressed.

"Cuddy's trying a new office policy," House said. "Hugs, not drugs." He pulled a bottle of Vicodin out of his pocket and dramatically tossed a pill in his mouth. "Didn't work." Then he gave Cuddy an apologetic look. She nodded understandingly.

He followed Cameron back out in the hallway.

"Gimme," he said, thrusting out his hand for the test results.

"Oh noooo," Cameron said, chuckling. "First you're going to tell me why you and Dr. Cuddy were hugging. Because that was unprecedented."

"Dr. Cuddy just received some, uh, news," House said.

"She did? What kind of news?"

House gestured for Cameron to lean in close, so he could whisper in her ear. Slightly excited to be sharing a secret with him, she leaned in expectantly.

"She just found out that it's NONE OF YOUR GOD DAMN BUSINESS!" he shouted.

"Ouch!" she said, withdrawing and rubbing her ear. "Okay, okay. I get the message."

"Just trying to be both loud and clear."
#######

"You'll never guess what I saw today," Cameron said to Chase, at lunch.

"The Loch Ness Monster?" he offered.

"Surprisingly close. House hugging Cuddy."

"Gregory House?"

"I know, right?"

"Huh."

"Huh? That's all you can say. What do you think it means?"

"I think he's banging her," Chase said, munching on his sandwich. "He pretty much told us so himself."

"He was joking."

"Or pretending to joke to deflect from the fact that he's. . .banging her."

Cameron wrinkled her nose.

"That doesn't sound like House at all."

Chase shrugged.

"If you say so."

"Besides, this wasn't a sex hug. It was …warm."

"People having sex can feel warmly toward each other," he said, sulkily.

"I know. I'm just saying. Something's up with those two and I'm going to get to the bottom of it."

######

A few days later, House found Cuddy emerging from the ladies room on the third floor, looking a little green around the gills.

"I hope you just vomited," he said. "Because otherwise, you need a new shade of foundation."

"I just puked my guts out," she assured him, wearily.

He smiled. "It's a good sign. Means your hormones are doing what they're supposed to be doing."

"Tell that to my poor stomach."

"Next time you feel the need to vomit, page me," he cracked. "I always like to see you on your knees."

"Very funny, House," she said.

But the next day, he was in her office brandishing a large shopping bag.

"What's that?" she said, wrinkling her nose.

"A very special Cuddy Feels Cruddy care kit," he said. He began pulling items out of the bag: Vitamin B-6, brewer's yeast, a box of peppermint tea, ginger chews, two 2-liter bottles of water, a DVD copy of The Notebook ("for when you're feeling extra hormonal"), and a set of knee pads.

She laughed when he got to the knee pads.

"You're too much," she said.

Several nights later, he called her.

"Hey!" she said, surprised to be hearing from him.

"Just checkin' in," he said. "You need anything? Pickles? Sardines? Pickled sardines?"

"I'm good," she said.

"You sure? You're six weeks pregnant. You must be craving something."

"Actually. . .pickles sound good," she admitted.

"You're such a cliché," he said.

"But not regular pickles, those little French ones they serve with pate? Cornichon?"

"You're an expensive cliché," he said, writing it down. "What else?"

"There's this gelato I like? Salted caramel."

"What brand?"

"I don't know. The container is black."

"You'd make a lousy detective. What else?"

"If they have any of those wasabi peas? The crunchy ones they serve at bars?"

"Where do you even buy this shit?"

"The gourmet grocer," she said.

"Naturally. What else?"

"A martini, extra dry, with 3 olives," she sighed.

"Sorry, mama. But I'll get the other stuff." And he hung up.

He was at her place, about an hour later.

When she opened the door, he was leaning against the doorframe, sexily, holding a paper bag.

"Why do I feel like you're my drug dealer?" she laughed.

He looked impossibly good, in a black tee-shirt, his motorcycle jacket and snug jeans. (For her part, she was dressed in tee-shirt and yoga pants. She wasn't showing at all yet—still looked as fit and slender as ever.)

"Did I get the right gelato?" he asked, when she pulled out the ice cream.

"This is the stuff," she said. "You want some?"

"It's all you."

"Drink? Just because I'm dry doesn't mean you have to be."

"Yeah?" he said, looking at his watch. It was 9 o clock. "You sure?"

"Come on in."

She poured him a glass of scotch and opened up the pint of ice cream. She sat next to him on the couch and began eating from the pint directly with a spoon. He watched her, amused.

"You've got to try this, it's delicious."

She fed him with her own spoon—and as he licked the ice cream from the spoon, the gesture suddenly felt intimate, flirty.

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"That's actually pretty good," he said. Then he playfully grabbed the pint from her, shoved a giant spoonful in his mouth.

"Hey! You can't take food from a pregnant lady! That's just mean."

"Awww, poor baby," he said. He fed her a spoonful. She licked the gelato slowly, in such a sexy way he actually got a little aroused.

"So what else are you craving, Cuddy?" he asked, leaning in, hopefully.

"What did you have in mind?" she said.

"This," he said.

And he kissed her. Her lips tasted like salted caramel gelato and the tantalizing promise of sex.

"A woman could crave that, too," she said, kissing him back, hard.

House quickly put down the ice cream. They fell back onto the couch and she immediately unsnapped his pants. Her eagerness only served to make him more hot for her. In moments, he was inside her, grabbing her ass, kissing her throat, her mouth, her breasts, moaning her name, as they rocked together on the couch.

Afterward, he held her in his arms, stroking her hair. "I swear, I wasn't planning for that to happen," he said. "This wasn't my master plan: Bring you pickles, get laid."

"It's okay," she said, nuzzling him a bit. "I think having sex with the father of your unborn child is well within the rules."

"So you wanna do it again?" he said.

######

He came over a couple of days later, ostensibly to watch The Notebook, but Cuddy kept inching closer and closer to him on the couch, until she was practically in his lap and then he was rubbing her back and then the back rubs turned to neck rubs which turned to boob rubs and then she faced him and straddled him and bit his lower lip hard and then they were going at it again—which, of course, was the only reason he had ever agreed to watch The Notebook in the first place.

The next time he came over, she showed him the room she was going to turn into the nursery.

"I think I'm going to paint it yellow," she said.

"I'm sure there will be more than enough yellow in this room," he cracked.

"Not urine yellow! Cheery yellow. I want to get the room painted sooner rather than later and yellow is gender neutral."

"How bout black? That's gender neutral. We could create an awesome little goth baby."

"Very funny," she said. Then she smiled at him: "Tell the truth: would you prefer a boy or a girl?"

"Don't care."

"Liar! Of course you care."

"I just want the little ankle-biter to have ten fingers and ten toes. And not have one of those precious names, like Atticus or Delilah or Otto."

"I was hoping we'd name the baby after my father. Is that okay?"

"Of course," he said. "What was his name?"

"Axl," she said.

"Axl? Like Axl Rose?"

She burst out laughing.

"I'm just messing with you. It was David."

"You little minx," he said, and laughing, he pinned her up against the wall and began kissing her.

That night, they had sex twice—once in the future nursery, not yet painted yellow, and once in the bedroom. After, House climbed out of bed and began searching for his clothing in the dark.

"Where are you going?" she whispered, groggily.

"Home?" he said, cautiously.

"Why don't you stay?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. My feet are cold. Come warm me up."

And he hopped back into bed gratefully.

#####

They didn't see each other for a few days, which was normal. It's not like they had an actual schedule or had even put a name on what they were: Not quite boyfriend and girlfriend. Co-parents with benefits?

But House had found himself thinking about Cuddy and the baby all day, so he called her.

"I've decided I'd prefer a girl," he said, when she answered the phone.

"House. . ."

"Because, let's face it, girls tend to be closer to their mothers which can only be a good thing as far as our little spawn is concerned. . ."

"House. . . "

"And if she looks like you, all the better. We've definitely got a beauty and the beast situation here. . ."

"HOUSE!"

He suddenly realized that her voice sounded agitated.

"What?"

"I lost the baby."

To be continued . . .

p.s. Sooo sorry about this guys. This was my plot idea all along. If you want to read a happy story where House and Cuddy DO have a baby, I recommend Special Delivery (S2) or First Comes Love (S7).