Chapter Two

Cuddy wandered around the yard a bit, taking a moment to enjoy the mildness of the 
spring. The back acreage of Blue Brook was extensive, and for the most part uncleared; 
she liked it that way. There was enough expanse of lawn to satisfy the concept of yard, 
and the rise of trees surrounding the outer edges of the property gave it a cozy feel of 
enclosure.



She headed for the brook itself, following a path she and House had worn through the 
trees and underbrush. The dappled light here was beautiful on the ferns and warm dirt, 
and Cuddy liked the patterns they made here. She looked towards the rise, knowing on 
the other side the brook would be flowing through a few thickets of cattails.



It was still all so marvelous for a city girl like herself, and Cuddy liked having time to enjoy 
it. When she took to the woods with House he was sometimes quiet, enjoying it along 
with her. Other times he pointed out things that she missed: an owl’s nest; a clump of 
Queen Anne’s Lace; a beehive cunningly tucked in the underhang of a fallen log. When 
she asked how he’d spotted them, he had shrugged. “I look. More importantly, I see.”



House was still an enigma; Cuddy wondered if she’d ever know him completely and 
suspected she never would—that there would always be a part of him standing off from 
the rest of the world, looking, and seeing.



She sighed.



And yet she loved him. He treated her as an equal, and their quiet times were as good as 
any of their skirmishes; as fulfilling as their moments of passion and pettinesses.



The glint of sunlight on the brook was as beautiful as ever, and as she watched, Cuddy 
caught sight of a pair of green jewel dragonflies skimming over the water. They moved in 
tandem shooting out over the surface in a delicate show of weightlessness. Holding her 
breath, she watched them dance on the breeze then shoot to the other bank.



Cuddy brushed her hair back with one hand. The workout at the gym had been good and 
she really should go shower, but it felt nice to be out in the fresh air. She hadn’t wanted to 
go to the gym lately; most mornings it was hard to get out of bed, but right here and now 
felt wonderful.



Besides, there was another reason for the workout, one that House would probably sneer 
at, but she was determined to do anyway, whether or not he approved. She’d already 
proven she could be as stubborn as he was—maybe even MORE so given the right circumstances. Checking her watch she sighed and looked over the brook once more, 
savoring the pretty sight, then turned to head back, wishing the thought of Sauerbraten 
didn’t make her feel so queasy.

“Cuddy . . . may be pregnant,” House admitted reluctantly. He didn’t look at Emily as he 
said it, preferring to keep his gaze on Oliver, who lay curled up in the big dog basket, 
resting. For a moment, the kitchen was silent, and Emily finally made her way to the 
refrigerator, pulling out milk and pouring some in her mug. She waved it at House, who 
declined with a shake of his head.



“You don’t sound sure. Have you tested?”



“No,” House replied, “at this point in time it’s merely a suspicion, not a confirmed fact.”



“Ah,” Emily nodded, “a possibility, but not a certainty.”



“Precisely,” came the low reply. “Although my source is generally correct in an irritatingly old-fashioned way.”



Emily dimpled and said nothing; Mrs. Farber was nothing if not a legend, and even James 
knew her infallibility on matters of weather, sports and off-track betting. Carrying her cup 
to the breakfast nook, Emily pulled up a chair and lowered herself into it, groaning a little. 
House watched her and shook his head.



“You’re not surprised. Or commenting about my hesitation here.”



“I’m not, and I don’t need to. The only thing I’m curious about is why you’re not talking to 
Lisa about this, seeing how she’s the other significant party in the process.”



“Stop sounding like Wilson,” House snapped, but with less annoyance than usual. He 
shifted away from slouching over the counter and made his way to the nook, settling in 
opposite his hostess.



She shrugged. “You must have talked about this scenario prior to getting married.”



“We did. Sort of,” House replied with an exasperated sigh. “What we agreed on was that 
if we ever got into this situation again, we’d take—“



Emily waved a hand in his face. “—Whoa, whoa, keyword ‘again’?”



It was odd to see House blush, Emily thought. His reputation for shamelessness and 
chutzpah was legendary, but the pink flush over his thin cheeks was no hallucination. His 
mouth twitched. “—Again. We had a false alarm back in November.”



“False as in late; or false as in . . . ?” Emily asked delicately. House met her eye 
somewhat defiantly.



“Late. Seems that the tiny distraction of being shot and hospitalized left us a little behind 
in the pill department—at least her pills.”



Emily nodded, and rubbed her abdomen absently, wishing the contraction would loosen 
up. She’d been dealing with a few odd Braxton-Hicks throughout the week, and it was 
getting annoying. She gestured to House with her free hand to continue. He gave an exaggerated shrug in return.



“House—what did you actually discuss last time?”



“That if the situation ever came up again we’d deal with it appropriately,” he muttered. 
Emily looked at him dryly.



“Which is guy talk for ‘we dodged a bullet and we’re not talking about it.’”



“Hey, you can afford to be glib; you wanted a bun in the oven,” came the cranky retort.



Emily drew in a deep, calming breath. “So you have doubts. It’s pretty common and 
pretty natural, House, especially for a man in your situation. You’ve been single most of 
your life, you live with chronic pain and you hate any sort of change to your routine that 
you yourself don’t initiate. That’s a lot to deal with.”



“I don’t play well with others---it’s been documented since kindergarten,” he admitted, 
half in sour jest, half in earnest. “I’m not fatherhood material except in the barest 
biological sense.”



“And yet . . . “ Emily began, then stopped. House eyed her, waiting for the statement to 
be finished. She said nothing, her eyes on him.



He sneered back. “And yet nothing.”



“And yet,” she continued serenely, “you get along well with kids in general. The only clinic patients you’re actually GOOD to are kids, House. You’re never condescending, you’re 
fairly patient with them—sure their parents are idiots but as for the children themselves--“



“—They’re not my kids!” House snarled. “I’m not responsible for them twenty-four-
seven! I can dose them or vaccinate them and bounce them out on their sore little asses 
within twenty minutes! I don’t have to clean them, feed them, or decide what play outfit or 
college they need! It’s easy to deal with other people’s little people when you can limit the contact.”



During this entire outburst, Emily sat watching House alertly. She kept her expression 
neutral, and when he glowered into his coffee, she spoke. “So ask Lisa to have an 
abortion.”



He winced; deep in the middle of that pained expression was a clear hint of something 
Emily suspected might be there, and she sighed inwardly when she saw it.



“I . . . . can’t do that.”



“Not this time, huh?” Emily probed. House gazed at her, and then bit his lips in defeat. 
She shifted in the chair, rubbing her stomach once more. “What makes this situation 
different from the last one, House?”



He spoke slowly and heavily. “Because she’s my wife. Because if there was anyone on 
the planet who’d do the absolute best for a kid it would be Lisa. Because she won’t say it 
to me, but I know she wants a baby.”



Emily nodded sagely, catching his little slip; House almost never referred to his wife by 
anything other than her maiden name. She cleared her throat. “And the deeper reason 
you don’t want one?”



House stared at her, his gaze blue and bleak. Emily stared back, feeling an odd 
compassion for the stubborn man sitting across from her. He growled. “I’ve given you my reasons.”



“You’ve given me your rationale, House. The glib and easy answer, but we both know 
there’s more to it, otherwise you’d already be talking to Lisa.”

The tiny prickle of panic that had been growing in House’s chest was much larger now, 
and he gritted his teeth, not used to dealing with this sort of issue anymore. Ever since 
Farber’s smug proclamation he’d been holding the anxiety at bay, but here he was, sitting 
with a mental health professional for God’s sake, fighting to justify his mindset.



This was . . . so not his thing.



But another part of him understood the odd compelling need to air the situation, and much 
as he appreciated Wilson’s capacity to listen, the man was too damned close to everyone involved to have any sort of objectivity. No, better to make Doctor Mansfield earn her 
money this time around.



“If you’re looking to peel back the layers of my ego, it may take a decade,” he retorted. 
“Wilson Jr. will already be in preteen puberty angst.”



“Be that as it may, you’ve got something on your mind, House, and I have a suspicion it 
has a lot to do with your own childhood.”



“Who has the glib answers now?” he muttered feeling defensive, “When in doubt, blame 
the upbringing—is that the sort of tripe they’re still pushing in Shrink 101?”



Emily slammed her coffee cup down hard enough to make Oliver whine; House flinched 
at her action, eyeing her uneasily. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them 
again, calm once more as she leaned forward as much as she could. “It’s interesting that 
in the entire time you’ve been sitting here, you’ve been forthcoming and honest, Greg—
all the way up until I mentioned your childhood. You went for the redirect and threw in 
an insult to make the distraction more effective, but it stands out pretty obviously. You 
want to keep your past a dark secret, that’s fine by me—I’ve got a full calendar coming 
up for the next eighteen years—but if you’re convinced you’re going to be a crappy dad 
because bad things happened to you when you were a kid, then I can assure you you’re 
wrong. We do NOT become our parents, House. We rise above.”



The silence in the kitchen reigned for a long moment, and House concentrated on fighting 
the lancing pain in his thigh. He was tense and that meant all his muscles were reacting, 
even the phantom ones.



Across from him, Emily winced once more and House sighed. “Maybe you’re right. 
Maybe we don’t actually follow the roles laid down for us and sometimes on us but the 
odds are against it, so why take a chance?”



Emily smiled. “Because the risks in life are what keep us moving forward, Greg. And look 
at it this way—whatever evil influence you think you’ll have, Lisa will more than counter it, 
yes?”



House said nothing, but the sharp pang of something desperately hopeful within his chest 
hurt. He rose up, taking his cup and hers to the sink; Emily began to protest. “Hey I 
wasn’t done with that—“

“Sure you are. And you might want to call Jimmy and get him check on your contractions 
there—I timed them at fifteen minutes apart so far,” House muttered. She shook her 
head, but House gave her a slightly exasperated look and shrugged. “Oookay fine. 
You’re still hours from the hard pushing anyway. Glad we had this little chat.”



She looked mulish; an expression House was already familiar with at home, but bit her lip 
and pulled out her cell phone just the same.



House lingered, waiting until she’d reached Wilson, trying to act nonchalant, even grinning 
at the squawk that came from the cell phone. He slipped out, leaving Emily to calm the 
man down, and headed for his bike.



He rode.



Normally House had no compunction about taking off, particularly on a weekend; it was 
one of the undiminished joys of his life, to maintain that freedom to soar out along the 
highway. Cuddy came along occasionally, but somehow she understood it was his solitary pleasure and kept to her own pursuits and social life on Saturdays, more than willing to rendezvous with him once they were back for the evening. House had explored most of 
the roads within a seventy mile radius of Blue Brook, but today he turned back for the 
dairy, his mind full. He reached home within half an hour and rolled the bike into the 
garage, then stepped into the lift for the second floor, and the master bedroom.



Cuddy was asleep. House stood in the doorway of the elevator, just looking at her curled 
up on her side, already rounding up for warmth. Very quietly he lurched in and made his 
way to the bedside, drawn here in the quick, instinctive way he always was when saw her asleep. He lifted the sheet and looked at her carefully.



The objective medical point of view House had wanted to use rapidly evaporated at the 
sight of her adorable naked ass and mocha spaghetti strap tee shirt, and even as he 
growled to himself House felt the undeniable surge of arousal tingle through him.



He lifted the sheet higher.



“When you’re done ogling my butt would you mind either getting in or putting the sheet 
back down?”



“I’m not ogling, I’m studying. How can I stay a connoisseur of the gluteus beauteous if I 
don’t work your ass off?”



“House—“ Growling a little, Cuddy rolled over to face him, vastly improving the view, as 
far as House was concerned. He reached over his shoulders to pull his tee shirt off, 
clawing it over his head in one swift move, then reached for his belt buckle. Cuddy 
propped her head on one hand and watched him, a small smirk on her face. “What do 
you think you’re doing? Farber’s downstairs!”



“And she should stay there,” he grunted, stepping out of his pants and shifting to climb 
into the bed. “But if you’re thinking of inviting someone for a threesome—“



“—Not interested, unless it’s David Duchovny,” she replied sweetly, sliding her arms 
around House’s ribs. He pouted momentarily, but Cuddy grinned and kissed House 
soundly. “Kidding. Mostly.”



“Right,” he grunted, but he already had his arms around her and was nosing her neck. 
“You smell good. What are you doing in bed at noon anyway?” House tried to make the 
question nonchalant. Cuddy sighed and reached down under the covers.



“I just got tired, that’s all. The workout was more tiring than I realized, and since it’s the 
weekend I thought I’d take a nap.” As she spoke, Cuddy’s hands were moving busily, and 
House lay back, his eyes half-closed in bliss.



“Unnnnnnn . . . . “



“I found your note,” she added, shifting her stroke a bit. House sighed with pleasure and 
tried to focus on her words but it was damned difficult. She was draped over his right side, 
close and warm and smelling like musk and heaven.



“Note?”



“On the hammock. Nine stars, huh? What’s the top of the scale?”



“Keep stroking and you’ll top more than the scale, She-Beast,” He warned and Cuddy 
laughed with just enough lewdness to make his pulse jump.



“I intend to—“ she purred, “Toe-ta-lee.”