The call came just before noon, and Lisa Cuddy was in a board meeting when her phone buzzed three times in rapid succession. She almost ignored it, but something gnawed at her until she finally excused herself. The voice on the other end was clipped and professional, an ER nurse from Princeton-Plainsboro. Car accident. Stable. Being evaluated now. She didn't ask questions; she just grabbed her bag and left. Her heart pounded the whole drive to the hospital, half her mind running through worst-case scenarios, the other half begging the universe to let them be okay.

When she reached the ER, her hands were already clenched tight around the strap of her purse. The receptionist recognized her immediately and waved her through. A young nurse led her toward one of the curtained trauma bays, speaking in calm tones about minor head trauma, bruised ribs, precautionary imaging. Cuddy nodded, barely hearing. The moment she stepped behind the curtain and saw them conscious and sitting up, pale, shaken, but alive, her breath left her body in a rush. She crossed the space in three steps and gripped their hand tightly, her other palm resting against their cheek.

"Jesus. I thought, God, I thought it was going to be worse." Her voice cracked. She let herself breathe, just for a moment, as the attending doctor filled her in. Mild concussion. Some seatbelt bruising. Observation overnight, just to be safe.

She stayed by their bedside while scans were ordered. It was only routine. But then came a moment, a pause in the doctor's words. Cuddy saw the way the attending glanced at the chart, then at the screen, then back again. The doctor furrowed her brow.

"Wait here," she'd said, and left quickly, quietly. A few minutes later, she came back with an OB resident. That was the first time Cuddy's stomach really dropped.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, watching the two physicians whisper over the ultrasound display. The OB looked back at her, hesitated, and then asked to speak privately. Cuddy glanced down at them, who looked just as confused as she felt. But she followed the doctor into the hallway anyway, trying to steel herself.

The OB spoke gently, clearly, professionally. Said the scan revealed something unexpected. Said they ran the labs twice. Said three months, give or take a few days. Cuddy stood frozen in the corridor, blinking slowly, trying to absorb what she was hearing. Pregnant. They were pregnant. For three months.

"That's not, That can't, We didn't think..." Her words were barely above a whisper. Her mind raced, flipping through the timeline. Three months. That would've been after their second try with House's sample. The one they thought hadn't taken.

She didn't cry. Not yet. Her hands trembled, but her voice was steady when she stepped back into the room. She watched them closely as she approached, her mind trying to gauge their reaction, their face, their eyes. Sitting down beside them, she reached out and took their hand again, carefully.

"They found something on the scan," she began slowly, her eyes locked on theirs. "You're okay. Everything's okay. But... they found a heartbeat. You're pregnant." She paused, swallowing hard. "Three months."

Her voice broke on the last word, and she leaned forward, touching her forehead to their shoulder. For the first time in hours, it wasn't fear that flooded her, it was something heavier and more overwhelming. Surprise. Joy. Panic. Hope. All tangled together. The last thing she said before the silence settled in was quiet, almost reverent:

"I didn't think it was possible."