Hi, everyone. I was watching "Fetal Position" recently and some of the themes of different arcs at that time were coming together for me and itching my brain, so I decided to write this longer fic to explore them. I never thought I'd write another Huddy-baby-themed fic (the first one was hard enough) but this one is a little different. It takes off from Cuddy's fertility treatments, not with House and Cuddy in an established relationship. It begins immediately following episode 3X17 "Fetal Position." I'm also not going to post all at once, but I have it mostly written in longhand and will update promptly. I think it will be four chapters long. I hope you like it.

[H] [H] [H]

House entered his apartment and paused. He looked at the tickets to Vancouver Island that Cuddy had given him, then promptly ripped them up. She had said it was "big," this vacation planning. So what did it mean that he'd never actually intended to go anywhere, but was using his week off to seclude himself in his apartment with music and drugs? Moreover, what did it mean that he couldn't admit that that was his plan, but instead pretended to obsess over the details of overly-complicated trips? Was he just messing with all of them? With himself?

He sat on the sofa and stared at the flickering image on the television. He sipped his drink, popped his pills. But despite the distraction and medication, he could not stop feeling it. His finger—What? Itched?—with the memory of the baby's, er, fetus's tiny finger grasp. He rubbed the spot with the pad of his thumb.

He was making too much of this. It was a remarkable surgery, hence all the people in the observation theater. And it contained a remarkable moment, hence the stunned silence. But it didn't mean anything about him, about his life. Except that he couldn't help noticing how rarely someone voluntarily touched him.

And Cuddy, scolding him to "affix the pulse-ox," her eyes burning with concern for that baby—FETUS—didn't stick with him for any particular reason either. It was just Cuddy throwing her weight around… as he'd handled a child… that she had determined would live.

Fuck, he thought. It was all getting clearer, despite his buzz and the absence of Wilson's psychoanalysis.

The patient—Emma. He'd accused Cuddy of seeing herself in her. Well, what did it mean, then, that he'd spent more time with her than he ever did with patients? He'd listened to her, flirted with her, argued with her while respecting her perspective somewhat. What did it mean that he wanted desperately to throw the fetus away in order to ensure her survival? Cuddy wasn't the only one using her as a proxy for Cuddy.

Fuck… Get outta my head, Wilson.

"I thought you'd be incommunicado by now, globetrotter," Wilson teased upon answering his phone, knowing full well House wouldn't be leaving his apartment for a full week. "Layover in Beirut?" He heard only silence. "House?" There was a beat, then:

"I think I wanna make a kid with Cuddy."

Another beat, then:

"Bold move."

"Which part?" House asked.

Wilson laughed. "Like the two are separable." More silence. "How do you know Cuddy even wants to have a baby with anyone?"

"Shut up. I know you know."

Wilson cleared his throat awkwardly. "Know what?"

"Christ, Wilson. That Cuddy's been trying to get pregnant."

"What makes you so sure I know that?"

"Because I know when you act like you know something I don't know."

There was a pause as Wilson mulled this over. "Is it, like, my walk?"

"You're getting distracted."

"Right, right. You as sperm donor."

"Fuck," House sighed, drinking more.

"Yeah, you're fucked," Wilson agreed. "But I'm excited to watch."

"Kinky bastard."

Wilson snorted. "Usually you two eventually invite me to participate. You know, when the pain gets too intense," he teased.

"Forget it," House countered. "This will be all flowers and sunshine and rainbow-puking unicorns. We won't need you." He snorted at the idea himself.

"Clearly. When I think House and Cuddy I think rainbow unicorns."

"And puke."

"And puke."

House sighed. "Night, Wilson."

"Have a nice trip. Take pictures."

[H] [H] [H]

Cuddy heard the knock and, at this hour, figured it was him before she even opened the door. Why he would be harassing her on the eve of his vacation was not yet clear, but she braced herself for whatever was aimed straight at her, pulling her cardigan tighter around her and opening the door, only halfway, a hand braced on it for prompt slamming.

When he came into her vision as the door swung inward, he was disheveled—notably more than usual—and looked slightly manic in the eyes, even as he was trying to appear nonchalant in his choice to lean against the door frame.

"House," she said evenly. It was neither a greeting nor a question, but rather a statement of fact. It was House.

"Alright, alright, already," he complained. "I'll give you my sperm."

Cuddy tucked in her lips and cocked her head. She was sure she'd heard him right, but less sure of his meaning. So she raised her eyebrows. "You'll what?"

House started entering the home without invitation, lumbering through the doorway with such graceless movement, Cuddy had to sidestep out of the way or be crashed out of it.

"My seed. My juice. My 'sample,'" he said, making air quotes at her. "Whatever it is the lesbians and childless forty-somethings are calling it these days." He pulled a specimen cup out of his jacket pocket.

Cuddy eyed the cup. "Hmmm. That's generous of you, House, but I don't recall asking for your… sample."

"You may not have asked for it explicitly, but I can read between the lines, Miss Please-Inject-Me."

"With fertility meds," she protested.

"Look, you can't be waving that rotundus ass in my face twice a day without the thought occurring to you. Especially when the menu of alternatives consists of dweebs and assholes."

"Oh, I'm sorry, you're not in one of those categories?" she sniped.

"No. I'm not. I'm the guy helping you with this."

"I don't need your help."

"Well…" He was stymied. He couldn't admit to her that he wanted this. "I'm giving it to you anyway."

"Um, so you basically came over to date rape me with a sperm sample?" she laughed.

"I came over," he began, thinking of a retort that commented on how she was "asking for it," wearing that cardigan, but was suddenly struck with some emotional pangs from earlier in the day. In the operating room. In his apartment. "I came over because I want you to have my baby," he suddenly admitted. Cuddy looked stunned.

"Why?" she asked carefully.

House's brow furrowed. "Because I do. I don't know why." He blinked. "And I think you do too."

They stared at each other for a full minute, each waiting for the other to propel this forward or stop it in its tracks.

"Okay," Cuddy finally said. House nodded as if that were the response he'd expected all along. He walked to her bathroom, leaving her pacing and ill-at-ease. Ten minutes later he walked out empty-handed, smacked her hard on the ass, and left.

[H] [H] [H]

Over the next two weeks, House studied Cuddy, checking for any signs of change. She, for the most part, acted as if the potential of them procreating were the furthest thing from her mind, a nonexistent facet of her life even. He realized that skill was how she had been hiding her efforts all these months. So he looked for clues: signs of fatigue, nausea, even vague, non-scientific things like a glow or twinkle.

"House, what else do you want?" she asked, irritated that he was still in her office. "I told you to get the parents' consent for the biopsy. It's fine. Go. Biopsy." She made a shooing motion with her hand.

He came back to the present and nodded. He took the chance to raise an eyebrow at her, the most explicit he'd been about the whole thing since he'd shown up unannounced to masturbate in her half-bath.

Cuddy arched her brow back at him and shrugged. "Get used to it," she told him. "It's not like a light goes on. No alarm bells or whistles." She waved her hand at the calm air.

He nodded and grinned. "You'll tell me, right?"

His vulnerability in that moment was like a punch to her gut, reminding her that she'd been in this experience alone, but now she'd let a new heart (Did House actually have one?) into the messy process.

"No, I'm gonna wear Spanx for nine months and surprise you."

He nodded once again, then smirked. "You said 'spank.'"

Cuddy sighed. "Consent. Biopsy."

"Yes, mistress," he replied, walking out.

[H] [H] [H]

Two days later he saw her eating frozen yogurt in the cafeteria. He walked toward her, grabbing a spoon on his way. He dropped into the seat across from her and dug into the melty edge of the yogurt.

"Bummer," was all he said.

Cuddy offered a half-grin. "It's funny. I'm always both disappointed and relieved."

"Relieved?"

"The two times it…'took'… I miscarried in the first trimester. That's devastating. So I know if it happens again, there will be a moment of joy, and then the fear of going through all that again will start." She sucked some sweetness off her spoon. "I don't know if that makes sense."

House frowned slightly and used the tip of his spoon to stir sprinkles around. "Potential happiness cuing fear of pain? Never heard of it," he said. Cuddy chuckled bitterly. "I suggest a mild drug problem for that."

"Mild?" she poked.

"Nice."

Cuddy laughed. "For two smart, accomplished, attractive people, we sure suck at this," she mused.

"At what?" he asked, a little defensive since he'd only gotten one try so far.

"Life," she replied.

"Oh, that. Yeah… There are worse things to suck at."

Cuddy laughed again, loudly this time. Her Cuddy laugh. "Like what?"

"Sex. Bowling." He ate a huge bite of the dessert. "Oral sex," he added through his mouthful.

She was cracking up. "It's weird how sometimes you are the only person who understands me."

House shifted in his seat, then raised his eyes from his spoon to meet her gaze. "Yeah," he said, before sliding his eyes to the side. "Back atcha."

She watched him, orally fixating on the plastic spoon, scanning the cafeteria with his careful eyes, looking for distraction from the intimacy. And in that moment, she wished she'd actually used his sperm sample.

[H] [H] [H]

House showed up at her door again four weeks after his first surprise visit. He walked in quickly, gave her a waggle of his eyebrows, and started limping toward the bathroom. She caught his arm.

"Are you sure about this, House?" she asked him.

House's eyes narrowed as he studied her. "Why would you ask that?"

"I mean, you do… on occasion… do things impetuously."

"I'm not changing my mind, Cuddy." She caught a hint of panic in his expression.

"You really want a child? I've never gotten that from you."

"I like kids," he said defensively.

"You do realize they grow up into adults, right? You're not so fond of those."

"Which is why I'm trying to create a superior species here."

"Oh, good, So your intentions aren't creepy or anything." She grinned at him.

House paused his joking for a second and asked her, "You still… want this?"

Cuddy blinked and held her arms out to the sides. "Of course."

House nodded once, then grabbed her ass—"for luck"—and went into the bathroom.

[H] [H] [H]

Cuddy walked into Wilson's office and went straight to the glass door, staring outside, across the balcony, to House's office.

Wilson looked up at her. "Um… hi."

"I need your help."

"Okay."

"It's about House."

"You don't say," he said sarcastically.

"It's complicated."

"You don't say," he repeated.

"He… volunteered to be…" She trailed off, chickening out.

"Your sperm donor?"

Cuddy turned toward him, her eyes wide. "You know?"

"House told me."

Cuddy sighed. "You don't say."

They stared at each other. She shrugged finally and took a seat.

"You pregnant?" Wilson inquired.

"No," she replied sullenly.

"You change your mind?"

"Not exactly." They stared at each other again.

"I thought you needed my help," Wilson reminded her.

"I don't want his sperm sample," Cuddy answered. Wilson raised his eyebrows, signaling her to say more. "I threw it down the sink both times," she explained. She inhaled sharply, then quickly added, "I think I want him."

Wilson grinned smugly and sat back in his desk chair. "You don't say."

Cuddy glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Cuddy. You thought you could grapple with the possibility of having his baby and not grapple with the possibility of having him?"

Cuddy considered that. "I thought we could have a baby and that would be enough. But now…" She thought for a moment.

"Now you want to get laid," Wilson teased.

"Now I just want… making this baby… to mean something. To be memorable," she corrected him. "That's enough."

Wilson shook his head sadly. "Cuddy, you both confide in me. House about his hunger for drugs, answers, truth, vengeance. You about your hunger for order, control, justice, perfection. But there's one theme that runs through both of your lives constantly." He stopped and she looked at him, eager for some guidance to sort out these feelings. He continued, "You're both insatiable. Nothing is ever 'enough.'"

Cuddy felt the truth of this as a pang for more that was familiar and trusted. "I have to tell him," she concluded. "I have to tell him what I did."

"He won't take it well," Wilson cautioned, already aware he wasn't going to be able to talk her out of this decision. "He trusts you. Like he trusts me. He'll feel betrayed."

"But if I explain it was because I want more, he'll understand."

"Or," Wilson cautioned again, "He'll feel afraid of that, and betrayed."

Cuddy bit her lip. "I guess that's the risk I have to take."

"Why?" Wilson asked. "Why not tell him you want… a 'memorable' insemination, without telling him you didn't really try the last two times?"

"Because it's dishonest," she told him. "And he trusts us for a reason. And he'll think it's just about improving my chances of getting pregnant. He'd never know that I always wanted more."

Wilson scratched the back of his head, frustrated. "You guys and the more."