Cuddy entered Wilson's office and collapsed wordlessly onto this couch.

Wilson peered at her.

"Well, they do say married couples begin to look alike. . ." he said.

She ignored him.

"I need to share this with someone or I might actually lose my mind," she said.

"That's what I'm here for," Wilson said, leaning back in his chair. "All your oncological and secret-unloading needs."

Cuddy glanced at the door to make sure it was firmly closed.

"The thing is," she whispered. "I might be a little. . . pregnant."

"No such thing as a little pregnant," Wilson countered.

"Okay, a lot then."

"Whoa . . . How's House handling the news?"
"Hard to say," Cuddy admitted. "Since I haven't technically told him yet."

Wilson narrowed his eyes.

"Unless I missed that day in human reproduction class, I'm pretty sure he had a starring role in this blessed production."

"But he's going to freak out," Cuddy said. "I'm freaking out."

"How did this even happen? You two are doctors. Do I need to brush you up on the importance of birth control?"

"I'm 42. I've tried to get pregnant before. . . and failed. We didn't think we were in much danger. . ."

"Cuddy, you know better than that."

"To be honest, House and I engaged in all sorts of reckless behavior over our honeymoon."

Wilson shook his head, but had to chuckle.

"Your honeymoon, huh? There are young couples desperate to get pregnant. And a 42-year-old woman and her drug-addled 51-year-old husband get pregnant the week after they get married.

"Ain't life grand?" Cuddy said, ironically.

Wilson was quiet for a moment, contemplating her predicament.

"Well, have you two talked about having kids?"
"Are you kidding? We haven't even talked about whether or not we want a joint checking account. . ."

"You have to tell him, Cuddy. Sooner rather than later, right? If my math is correct, you're about 6 weeks pregnant."

Cuddy nodded. "What do you think he's going to say?" she asked meekly.

"I'm pretty sure he wasn't expecting this."
"Neither of us were."
"Then I guess you'll have to deal with it. . .together."
"But do you think he'll want the baby?"

"Do you?"
Cuddy looked at him, blinked.

"I think maybe. . .I do."

#######

She kept trying to find the right moment to tell House, but she kept chickening out.

In the end, he made the decision for her.

"What's up with you?" he asked. "Are you sick?"
They were driving to the hospital together. Cuddy kept her eyes on the road, tried not to look alarmed.

"Why do you ask?" she said.

"You haven't been eating well. And for the last few mornings, you've flushed the toilet twice. . .I can only assume that you've thrown up."

"There are other reasons I might flush twice," Cuddy said defensively. "I sometimes flush cottonballs and Q-tips when I'm done putting on my makeup."
"I already checked. You threw those things in the garbage."
It was like being married to a bloodhound.

"And you haven't had your customary glass of wine when you get home, either," House said.

Cuddy sighed. This wasn't necessarily how she wanted to tell him—she was thinking something more along the lines of after a nice dinner, maybe even after sex—but what could she do?

"Remember all that unprotected sex we had on our honeymoon?" she said.

"Is there any word less sexy than unprotected?" he said, musingly. "You take a perfectly great word like sex. . .and then ruin it by putting an ominous word like 'unprotected' in front of it. . ."
"House," she said, trying to focus him.

"I'm listening," he said. "Why do ask? You pregnant?"
He chuckled. But almost the second he said it, Cuddy watched his facial expression change from mirthful to grave.

"Holy crap," he said slowly. "You are pregnant."

"Surprise!" she said, ironically.

"How did this even . . ."

"You were there, House. You know."

"True. . ."
They had pulled into the PPTH parking garage. She cut the engine, studied his face.

"Say something," she said.

"I'm processing," he said.

"You process everything in 10 second flat," she said.

"This isn't quite the same as figuring out what topping I want on my pizza."

"No," she said.

"Do you want it?" he said.

"So our baby is an it?" she said.

"There is no baby. There's an embryo, the size of a pencil eraser."
"You want to abort," she said, feeling her eyes begin to fill with tears.

"I didn't say that," he said. "It's just that I'm . . .51."

He looked at her, noticed that she was crying.

"Oh Christ," he said.

"No, that's fine. Aborting is obviously the reasonable thing to do," she said, swallowing hard.

She opened the door and began briskly walking toward the elevator.

He flew open his door, limped after her quickly.

"Cuddy. . .I. . .let's just talk about this, okay?"

The elevator arrived. They both stepped in. She pressed the button for the lobby, then pressed it again.

"There's nothing left to discuss," she said.

"Of course there is. . ." he said. He was looking at her, but she didn't return his gaze. "You blindsided me. Just give me a chance to think it over, okay?"

"It's too late," she said, smoothing her skirt and putting her game face on as the elevator door opened. "You've already made yourself perfectly clear."

#######

He went to her office a few hours later.

She was sitting at her desk, pretending to read.

"You really want this baby, huh?" he said.

"I don't know what I want," she admitted, finally looking at him.

"We would make a pretty fucking awesome baby," he said.

She started to cry again, felt silly. Damn hormones.

"That's what I was thinking," she sniffed.

"And a kid brother for Rachel to boss around," House said.

"Or sister. . ."

He hobbled up to her desk.

"Or sister," he said softly. "So you wanna do this thing? You wanna bring a little unshaven baby with a bad attitude, a dirty onesie, and a limp into this world?"

"Kind of," she said.

She stood up and let him hug her.

"Let's have a baby then," he said.

########