A Little Life Less Ordinary

Disclaimer: House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: House/Cuddy

Summary: "You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

Author's Note: I have no idea what possessed me to write for House, M.D. This is my first attempt ever to write something for this fandom. And so if it sucks, please let me know; I won't darken your doorways (computer screens) again.

Part One

In which the discovery is made . . .

.: Chapter One :.

He should have known. There was no better clue than the fact that the door was undoubtedly locked. Adding that to the clear view of her eerily empty office; House hadn't really needed to ask secretary number 356 where their industrious boss was. Not here, was the obvious answer, but yet the words still came tumbling out of his mouth,

"Where is she?" The question sounded distinctly like a gruff bark. He was on his last vicodin – he needed no better explanation than that.

Secretary number 356 turned an unearthly shade of green, clashing quite wonderfully with his very metro-sexual flowery pink shirt and snazzy white tie. Come to think of it, House mused silently to himself, this guy could probably give Chase a run for his money in the prize for the most colour-blind wombat of the year.

"She's gone home," spluttered the Aussie. Another Aussie, just like he'd predicted. Good lord, Princeton Plainsboro was going to be overrun with them, and at the rate Cuddy was hiring them would soon turn into a fully fledged antipodean colony. He was going to have to grill her on her soon to be spiralling out of control fetish.

"When?" he asked.

The guy looked like he was about seconds away from peeing his pants – if he hadn't already.

"Two hours ago," he managed to somehow spit out.

Funny how a crippled guy at least twenty years his senior could scare the holy crap out of him. Secretary number 356 had in fact been warned by his predecessor, secretary number 355, to beware the madman with the almighty stick of intimidation. He'd laughed it off, with a roll of the eyes and a disbelieving snort.

Now he feared he'd never be able to roll his eyes again; what with them being three inches out of their sockets. Any further and his eyes would permanently stay in that position – as if someone had quite intentionally hit him round the back of the head with a frying pan. Further ponderation would probably result in the conclusion that House's cane would do the job just as effectively, if not better.

"Why?" House asked, his blue eyes burning holes through his forehead.

"I'm not sure," he said, and then thinking better of his answer, he changed his mind a split second later, "she said she wasn't feeling well."

He feared the worst when House's eyes glazed over, but then the unexpected happened. Eyes flicking very briefly to her empty office, House turned away. Hobbling towards the glass doors, he offered no other abrupt question and limped out into the clinic.

Secretary number 356 released the breath he was well aware he'd been holding and promptly turned to his computer to type his letter of resignation.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The sound of the bike's engine died down as he turned the key in the ignition.

He argued he was curious. All men of medicine were. You were in the wrong profession if you weren't. He therefore didn't bother to entertain the prospect that he was maybe a little, even if unwillingly, concerned.

Finding himself once again at her front door, he lifted his cane and rapped hard once against the wood.

Nothing happened. Either Cuddy didn't hear him or she was ignoring him. Neither option was attractive.

He tried again; a little more insistently this time. By that phrase of words, that meant continuously for the next two minutes. Cuddy either had the patience to rival Mother Theresa's or she'd gone deaf in the space of three hours. It was neither, as House suddenly found the front door being opened with such brute, he nearly stumbled backward with surprise.

"What?"

Hair frizzy, cheeks flaming, chest heaving and eyes a suspiciously swollen red, House found himself clamouring silently for words. Preferably the right words in the right order.

"That how you always welcome your guests, Cuddy?"

"I must have missed hospitality 101, what do you want House?"

Ignoring the question, he said, "I certainly hope not. How on earth did you get a job running a hospital then?"

Not bothering with a display of her usual impatience, she repeated the question, "What do you want House?"

"Tea," House smiled, although it was more smirk than actual smile. He didn't wait for Cuddy's response as he barraged past her and into her home uninvited.

Cuddy mouthed a silent "tea?" incredulously behind him as she shut her door. He hated tea.

It seemed House hadn't been kidding. Limping his way through her home like it was his own; he found her kitchen with ease and promptly started raiding the kitchen cupboards for teabags.

Sighing, for she had no energy left to roll her eyes, she poured water into the kettle and left it to boil.

Of course it just so happened that House hadn't in fact been after tea. He was in search of evidence; and the lack of caffeine be it in teabags or coffee beans was all the evidence he needed.

"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth.

Cuddy's mouth had opened of its own volition; realising House had yet to see her expression, she snapped it shut pronto.

"For the five hundredth time, House, I'm not pregnant." The words rolled off her tongue easily. Months of spouting that same sentence and the muscles in her mouth had morphed into an automaton. It was an impressively executed believable lie – not that she knew it herself. She'd all but given up on trying to become a mother, and so she had believed those words would forever remain the unvarnished truth; no matter how much she wished for the contrary.

It figured that House would work it out before her.

Oddly, House's smirk had disappeared as he turned to face her.

She was stood by the small kitchen breakfast table; one hand resting against the backrest of one of the wooden chairs. Her fingers were twitching to an unheard beat. The movement was so slight, that the small indication of her agitation was almost entirely missable. But House had noticed. Just like he had noticed a lot of things in the last two weeks.

Without fail, every day on the hour, she would manage to drink her way through four cups of coffee until lunch. House had wondered whether the caffeine would kill her liver before the vicodin would kill his. The odds were surprisingly closer than one would think. The sudden disappearance of those hourly coffee breaks, after the rather comical sight of her screwing her nose up in disgust at the smell of freshly ground coffee beans one morning, had been no coincidence. Neither had been the gradually increasing piles of food stacked on to her lunch tray. He'd made the obligatory glib comment about eating for two, to which Cuddy had replied with a disturbingly earnest, "I wish."

There of course were the more, should he say, aesthetically pleasing changes one normally associated with a woman with child. But despite spending more time than usual to scrutinise Cuddy's bosom; it seemed she continued to remain inexplicably oblivious.

It wasn't the fact she was pregnant that intrigued him but more the fact she had yet to realise it herself. It was also, however unlikely, possible that she was in denial. He was well aware she'd miscarried before. The primal human mechanisms to protect itself from hurt would forever be bubbling under the surface, never mind how much the homo sapien evolved.

He smiled that same infuriating knowing smile. He was rewarded with another, "I'm not pregnant," ground out between her teeth.

He didn't reply with the obvious, "Yes you are." It seemed a little redundant; she would only retort with the words, "No I'm not," and therein would begin the five year olds' vicious circle of screwed up logic.

Instead, he turned abruptly, and headed without a word towards her bathroom.

Cuddy followed, exasperatedly behind him. Her eyes widened with surprise and fast igniting fury as she watched House, with a blatant disregard for her privacy, rummage through her bathroom cabinet.

"House! You can't just-"

Her words were cut off as she just narrowly missed being hit by the flying box of super absorbent tampons that he had thrown over his shoulder.

"House!"

"Here we are," he turned around, grinning. In his hand he held a pregnancy test kit. The last of the small stock she had accumulated. She had carried out so many of the stupid tests; she'd thought she had wiped the pharmacy clear of all its supplies.

Her face had turned a rather spectacular shade of red. House couldn't quite distinguish whether the plum red tomato look was the result of sheer embarrassment or anger – the pointed glare she had directed his way made him more inclined to go with the latter.

"One way to find out," he said, opening the box and offering her the little white stick he'd found inside. The unneeded white sheet of instructions fluttered silently on to the floor.

"No!" Cuddy yelled, "I'm not taking a test just to satisfy your curiosity, no."

"Come on, Cuddy, I dare you."

Her eyes widened further, if that were even possible, "What are you? Five? I said no!"

"So you're not even just a little curious," House said, his mouth twisting into a subtle smirk, his blue eyes laughing at her, "Unless you're scared."

She spluttered a little, "I'm not scared, I just fail to see the point in wasting a perfectly good pregnancy test."

"What this little thing," he waved the white stick around, "Come on, can't cost much. I'll tell you what; if it's negative I'll buy you another one."

"No," Cuddy repeated, "I'm not taking the damn test." And that seemed to be final, as she spun on her heels and walked out of the bathroom, leaving House to stare at her disappearing back.

It didn't take him long to hobble out after her – his mind swimming simultaneous laps; not knowing what to do with this new piece of information, for her reaction undoubtedly confirmed his long standing suspicion that she really was scared. It was either the prospect of not being pregnant and another, however small, flame of hope being extinguished, or it was the prospect of being pregnant and the fear of miscarrying for a second time.

"I'll do an extra week of clinic," he said.

She stopped in her tracks.

"Why is this so important to you?" she asked.

He shrugged, "Doesn't bother me either way, like you say, I'm just curious."

"Haven't struck up a little bet with Wilson?"

He feigned hurt, "How could you think I'd do something like that?"

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips; it didn't escape House's notice.

"Two weeks."

"One and a half."

"Two."

"Fine. Two weeks. Now go pee on the damn stick."

She grabbed the plastic stick from his hand and walked past him back towards her bathroom.

"Need me to hold your hand?" he called out after her.

She let out a small chuckle, which was followed by the sound of the bathroom door shutting and being locked.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

He wondered around her front room; pulling out books from the shelves, staring at photographs of unknown Cuddy relatives, half watching the second hand on the wall clock – his mind far too occupied with thoughts of his dark haired boss currently sat on the toilet lid staring at her future. He would have laughed at the ludicrousness of the synonymity of the words 'future' and 'pee covered plastic stick,' but that was the joys of modern medicine.

He had no idea why this mattered to him so much, if it at all. After all, she wasn't pregnant with his kid. Treacherous thoughts argued that's exactly what it was, but before he could thankfully analyse it any further, he heard the bathroom door creak open.

He waited.

And sure enough she appeared. With her teeth biting down on her lower lip, hand carrying the test limply by her side, and face a ghostly white, she opened her mouth to speak.

Voice hoarse, the words were those he had expected all along.

"I'm pregnant."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

A/N 2: Please review and let me know what you thought; I've been in two conflicting minds about posting this and so feedback would be greatly appreciated.

SmilinStar

xxx