James Wilson was walking briskly through the hospital halls, clipboard in hand, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He couldn't help but worry about his wife, who, despite being seven months pregnant, was still adamant about coming to work every day. Wilson admired her determination, of course, but he was increasingly aware of the toll it seemed to be taking. The way she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, the moments when she thought no one was watching and her hand instinctively went to her back, all of it gnawed at him. He wanted to say something, to push her toward maternity leave for her own sake, but he knew her well enough to know that it wouldn't go over smoothly.

The hospital staff, on the other hand, were less subtle about their concerns. Gregory House had been the most vocal, predictably. Earlier that morning, House had barged into Wilson's office, his cane thumping loudly against the floor.

"Your wife is waddling around like a penguin in labor. Why hasn't she parked herself at home yet?"

House asked, his tone dripping with mockery but laced with genuine concern. Wilson had sighed, torn between defending his wife's autonomy and admitting House had a point.

"She's fine, House," Wilson replied, though the hesitation in his voice was obvious. "She's stubborn, but she knows her limits."

House had scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, stubbornness is a great prenatal care plan."

Even Lisa Cuddy had weighed in. She'd practically cornered Wilson in the cafeteria, crossing her arms and giving him the kind of pointed look that made him feel like a reprimanded teenager.

"James, she's exhausted. I know you can see it," Cuddy said firmly. "I've already reassigned most of her workload to paperwork, but she still refuses to slow down."

Wilson had nodded, appreciating Cuddy's understanding but feeling helpless.

"I'll talk to her,"

he promised, though he wasn't sure what he could say that would convince her to take a step back. His wife's presence at the hospital was clearly about more than just work, she wanted to be there, maybe even to be closer to him during the day. That thought filled him with equal parts warmth and guilt.

When Wilson finally found her in the office, surrounded by a mountain of paperwork and snacking on what looked like asparagus and olives, he had to fight back a smile. She always managed to surprise him, even in the little things. Stepping inside, he placed a hand on the back of her chair and leaned down slightly, his voice gentle but tinged with concern

"Hey, you're eating... that," he teased lightly, motioning to the unusual combination. "How are you feeling? Be honest with me."

He could see the faint shadows under her eyes, the subtle tension in her shoulders, and it only deepened his worry.