The room's too quiet now.

The others had finally cleared out — Wilson hovering like a golden retriever with a medical degree, Cuddy mothering you into a pillow fortress, and even Foreman throwing in a “Just stay still and don’t do anything stupid.”

But now it’s just House.

He didn’t ask to stay. Didn’t say a word, actually. Just rolled his chair over with a screech like nails on your spine, plopped down, and made himself look aggressively bored. His cane’s leaning against the wall like even it’s done with him.

You close your eyes.

“You know,” he starts, already insufferable, “I’ve seen a lot of things that defy medical explanation — near-death experiences, spontaneous remission, Chase's hair somehow getting shinier — but you hiding a parasite for five months? That takes the cake.”

“I didn’t hide it.”

“No? It just snuck in there like a college roommate and didn’t pay rent?”

You crack an eye open. “It’s called a cryptic pregnancy.”

“Oh good, you Googled it. That makes it better.”

You groan, but he’s not done.

“I mean really — five months. That’s not ‘oops, missed a period.’ That’s ‘surprise, there’s a foot in your spleen.’ You skipped the baby bump and went straight to plot twist.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I’m suffering, thank you. Emotionally. Spiritually. Visually. The trauma of almost missing a surprise birth because you were too busy having what you thought was gas — it’s going to haunt me.”

You sigh, then shift under the blanket. He’s still watching you, face unreadable beneath the smugness.

Then, with a weird softness disguised as snark: “You okay?”

You blink. “Yeah. Tired.”

“Good. Would be really awkward if you died now. I’d have to pretend to care at the funeral.”

You smile despite yourself. “Touching.”

“You know me. Walking Hallmark card.” He leans back, feet now propped up on the end of your bed like a total gremlin. “Seriously though — baby’s fine. You’re fine. For now. Unless you spontaneously combust or start lactating pure sarcasm.”

You laugh.

Then, quieter: “Thanks for staying.”

He shrugs. “They’ve got coffee in the waiting area. And I wanted to see if you’d do the whole glow thing everyone talks about. So far, it's more like mild LED bulb.”

You throw a pillow at him.

He catches it. Stays put.