Ok, this picks up my House/Entourage story where I left it, and takes it into AU. I can't explain it, except maybe I like the idea of Johnny and Turtle Mr. Mom-ing it.
I think I'll start a new story about that, though.

SIX WEEKS LATER

"...I'm Lisa Cuddy, and this has been a Medical Minute."

Going on-camera still makes Lisa nervous, enough that there's always a tiny ripple in her stomach before and after, and she can't quite bring herself to admit that this has turned into more than temporary leave from PPTH. But she likes being able to confront medical misinformation, uh head-on, so to speak, and it's great after so many years alone, to have someone so great to come home to. But she still gets clutched when her line producer, Norman, motions for her to stay after she finishes taping.

"This isn't about the health-care commentary, is it?" Cuddy asks. "Because if I don't get to do it, I'm walking,Norman. Because..."

"You don't need this job. Mazel tov, darling. You're the only person in LA that doesn't. Mr. Murphy told me already...and Mr. Gold. Such a mouth on him. So, anyway, yeah, you're all set to talk single-pager on Friday."

"Single-payer...well, never mind. So, what's up, Norman?"
She is irrationally disappointed that her big House-a-like moment has come to nothing, but Norman started producing with Sid Caesar and has seen a lot of everything. Maybe House himself would only get that bored shrug that reminds Cuddy of her grandfather(and given what might be up hormone-wise, is already threatening to make her emotional as hell.)

There was an uncomfortable silence as Norman looked her up and down. "Look, Dr. Cuddy...this didn't come from me. I think you look terrific..."

"But?"

"Those assholes at the network have been telling me you've looked 'a little puffy' lately. But personally? I'm sick of stick girls."

"Thanks, Norman. I'm glad you've got my back."

For a moment, Lisa does nothing, feeling the confusion of a world in which the least life-altering option is menopause. Or some quick little surgical...something that she could ask Wilson for a referral and sneak back into New Jersey to correct. Or if it was only Drama's off-hour culinary training to blame,instead of the one time Vince pleaded with her to meet him in his trailer...but she can't turn down a miracle because it's not convenient.

She worries about Vince, though, and watches him sleep for two nights as if he's her baby, but she doesn't know what to tell him. He's not working...maybe he'll panic.(Just because he hasn't before...he's never been somebody's father before, either.) She supposed she knew it wasn't flop sweat that made her puke before all those broadcasts, but she'd been thinking like any other patient, all mystery and denial and crossed fingers...she was glad medical minute viewers couldn't see her now.

But she was happy. Very happy. Just *crazy* confused, as Turtle might say.

But there was no point in worrying till she knows. So she wakes early(Vince barely stirs as she tells him "Early call, sweetie,") and sneaks out to buy and take the test,which confirms the earth-shattering news that, G-d willing, she'd be giving birth to a little Chase, in the absence of all the thousands of gestational horrors she had to will herself not to think about. Which, she supposes, makes the first person she tells the craziest chioce of all, but she's never been any good at making girlfriends and, well, she's not sure why, but he's got to be the first.

"House, the stick's blue. I'm pregnant."

"Not it.I haven't touched you like that in decades, Lisa. Is the himbo psyched?"

"I haven't told him yet."

"I understand there's nothing like the moment when those vacant blue eyes look at you in wonder and those little hands grip your finger, but you tell him he has to make time for the baby, too, okay?"

"Shut up, House."

Gestation a House/Entourage AU starting after Queens Boulevard

"So, are you,like, absolutely sure?"He was cute, as always, but Cuddy found herself hoping their child would inherit her ability with language.Although it was crazy to think movie-star teenspeak would be inheritable, wasn't it?

"I am a doctor, Vincent. And I took a few extra tests to make sure. Absolutely."She found herself leaning on that last word and she wondered if the hormones were making her bitchy already. Luckily Vince was sort of immune to subtext. At least of the non-erotic variety.

"Yeah, I know. Stupid question..But I had to ask, right? It's the first thing E's gonna say, for one. But I should have known you'd think of everything...how many extra tests?"

There was no way to make this sound casual, but Lisa still tried. "Oh, not that many...just four.
"

"Four?" He sounded amused rather than offended. Lisa hoped the baby got that, too.But her eyebrows.

"Well, I had to be sure...just three store tests and then I checked with one of my...girls at Cedars."

"Oh, great...you should just take out an ad on TMZ. and you know they hate me, anyway."

"Not unless they have a reason to look for Daisy Buchanan's pregnancy test."

"Who's she?"

"Me. And a character in The Great Gatsby...English, tenth grade?"

"Robert Redford's in the movie, right?"

"Yeah...don't tell me you got hand-jobs from your English teacher, too!"

"No, just Spanish. She still sends me Christmas cards. So, should I start rounding up pickles and ice cream now?"

"No...great as that thought is, sweetie, I think I should let things mellow out in there right now."

"Sure, but say the word and it's yours...Drama'll be at fuckin' defcon 7 making you eat your veggies and shit, Lisa. It'll work out."

Oy. Drama. Lisa took a deep breath. At least with Drama in and out, there would be someone else around who knew that "folic acid" wasn't an Eastern bloc NBA prospect. And he would try his damnedest to be helpful at all times. But the fact remained that Cuddy would have a shadow with a deep-seated wish for calf implants.

This was a thought that already had the potential to make her wake up screaming. Lisa took a last sip of water and put the empty glass down with a clatter in the sudden silence. She reached for some unused store of working-with-House diplomacy and said "It's okay with me if you don't want to tell Drama right away. I know he's stressing about the auditions and all that. I don't want to put him out."

"Not tell him? Oh, he'll be glad to be an Uncle...check it out. Uncle Drama. Unless you think he'll be all weird about feeling old and all of his 'dust in the wind' emo crap."

"Could be," Lisa suggested, and hated herself. But she needed at least a week before hearing all his theories about pregnancies in many lands or reading to her belly in French, or whatever Drama-thing he would come up with.

Seriously, I can't decide if this is really awesome, or should come with a warning for diabetics

"E, say something." Vince studied his closest friend's face. "Or, you know, blink. You've got a serious Madame Tussaud's thing going on right now."

"Remember that article, Vin, where you said you felt like two different people...Vinny Chase from the neighborhood, and Vincent Chase, movie star? At the time, Vin, I gotta tell you, I didn't get it."

"You told me you did."

"Vince, I tell you a lot of shit...what, was that the one time you listened? Anyway, I get it now. Because as happy as E, your friend, wants to be, that is, if you're happy..being as how this is unexpected and all that..."

"Life is unexpected, E." And for the first time in months, Eric couldn't meet Lisa's eye, as he'd become accustomed to doing whenever the actor had one of his more groundless flights of optimism. He was afraid of what he might find there, either way. For he *had* counted on her to be one of the few people he talked to every day to remember what life was like Out There, he supposed it would be wrong for Lisa to start growing a new life with "Can you believe this guy?"-face.

"Well, okay then,"E. said. "E. from Queens is happy for you both, though having his 'brother' start making babies is making him feel older than fuck, to be honest."

"Don't blame that on me," Vince said. "You always were a worrywart. Born old."

"Like you didn't put years on me, you prettyboy fuck."

"Like you haven't loved every minute of it."

"Actually, I did. For most of the time not immediately post- Mandy, sure, but that isn't stopping Eric Murphy, rookie TV producer, from quietly shitting a brick about Medical Minute,Vin. This wasn't supposed to happen...why aren't you flipping out more than me? Your life's gonna *change*, Vince. I'm just going to be neurotic Uncle E that used to make a TV show, but you do know, Vin, that once you have a baby with a woman, even you, the luckiest, most charming, asshole that ever lived(and I say that with love) will not be able to send her off with a kiss and a consolation prize."

"It'll be fine...you know why? Because I keep thinking of other things that aren't supposed to happen. Like a guy from Queens becoming a frickin' movie star, and his friend leaving the food court in the mall for a career in entertainment management and television production. Lisa loves Medical Minute...she wants to keep doing it."

"One day, you're gonna have to stop playing the Sbarro's card, Vince."

"I'll do it until you stop responding to it, E. Which should probably keep it safe for about...fifty years. You are just too easy. Pizza boy."

"Great, if you want to sound like Ari."

"Below the belt, E. Not cool."

"That's what she said...you smell different."

"I don't know about you, E. Sniffing other guys. But if you must know, my aftershave makes Lisa yak. I had to stop wearing it to have a hope of getting close to her...that was hard not to take personal...especially learning it the hard way."

"Euw...Vince," Suddenly E. was reminded of when he learned that his friend had stuck his tongue in a girl's mouth.And the girl hadn't seemed to mind.

"I second that emotion, brother. Not where she can hear me, of course...shit, I guess I can act, after all. How about that?"

"Yeah, Vince...how about that?"

"P.S 184 forever, right?"

"Yeah."

"I understand there's nothing like the moment when those vacant blue eyes look at you in wonder and those little hands grip your finger, but you tell him he has to make time for the baby, too, okay?"

One of the all time great lines.

Sometimes it scares me that I could get in House's head. Thank you. Even though I, personally, love Vince Chase and think he's a lot deeper than he looks, I have to concede that he'd pretty much have to be. It's fun coming up with those burns though, because the Entourage-verse kind of rolls over for Vin, and if it doesn't, those are bad guys. Personally, I think Vince needs a Snape, if you'll follow me. Somebody who's on his side, but still makes it kind of hard for him for some sort of personal reason. If I've had one, it wouldn't be weird for a huge movie star to have one, right?

The whole hospital thing in House last week made me think of another show with a (possibly) crazy character. House/Cupid1.0

With some difficulty, House ducked Alvy in the dining hall, though his bipolar roommate was the closest to a human equivalent to Julie Wilson's barky dog that House had ever seen.As he limped by, he heard the phrase "thinks he's stupid," and congratulated the unseen bearer of the sentiment on his apparent discernment. As the overheard chat between doctor and social worker went on, House heard "Mount Olympus" "wood nymphs" and an impressive display of graphic sexual acts.Oh, House thought, he thinks he's *cupid*

The blonde social worker argued with Cupid. "Now, Mr. Hale...we've talked about your sitting on the tables...is that appropriate use of hospital furniture?"

House rolled his eyes. The minor deity appeared not to notice. "Hey, I'm Trevor Hale...I'm inappropriate. Not half as much as if I had her spread-eagled on top of it...you know what I mean?"

"Greg House...doctor, addict, and master manipulator." The men shook hands.

"Hey, that's cool...I've worked with brainy guys before. And might I add that's a nice metaphor you've got there."

"That's what she said."

"Funny...I like it. And the ladies do too. Unless your interests lie elsewhere..."

"They definitely do not."

"Really? Because I may not look like it in yet another cuckoo's nest, man, but I've been at this for a long time, and you do sort of give off a bi vibe...of course, who doesn't when the right centaur comes along...this culture over-politicizes Eros...it's horrible." He bounded off the table.

"You don't seem to have a problem with it."

"I go back thousands of years...it gives you mad perspective as well as more fig-leaved tchotchkes than you can shake a stick at, doc. But there's nothing betwen me and Honeypants, MSW except a mutual migraine, I swear. If you've lost the on-ramp to passion, she's not even looking at the same map. But I do like to screw with her in the non-naked sense...now, it's much more fun to be crazy in Chicago."

"I know this one...it has something to do with that baseball team that loses all the time, right?"

"Hey, ease up on the Cubbies. But, no, even though half their hitters had romantic setbacks last year, baseball is only part of it..part of it is my last doctor, Claire.She was dark and lovely, and a total pain in my ass."

"I might know the type."

"Then you feel my pain."

"I didn't say that. Do I look like Oprah? Or Bill Clinton?"

"A little, around the eyes...I'm just fucking with you."

"I never would have guessed."House replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Well, you know, look where we are. I figure my worst problem isn't over-exposition."

House shrugged. "I have to go make a spleen in crafts. When I get back, we can talk about how your devotion to a losing franchise isn't rational and, that, statistically, you'd be happier as a Yankee fan."

"Argh...moneyball?! I'd rather die first. That is, if I could die, being immortal. And when are you medical types going to learn that being happy isn't measured by statistics?"

"You really can't die?"

"No. I'm a god. Like "Deus ex machina' without the machina. You're a genius; keep up." Trevor's tone was elaborately patient.

"Bummer. Because if you can't die, where's your incentive to do things. Like stop eating jello in your bathrobe and..."

"Well, you know what the poet said 'Only God can make a spleen' And, you know, right this minute, it's kind of hard to tell you busted ass at Johns Hopkins."

"Stop reading my file. You know, I could report you for that."

"You wouldn't though, I can tell."

A story appeared in my head. The way things have been, I greet all stories with eager, open arms.

Stargate Atlantis/SG-1, for Christmas

After declassification of the Stargate Program, thousands upon thousands of letters and emails poured in to the special addresses that had been set up. An entire staff supplied with the official FAQ answered the messages. There were standard replies for the xenophobes and the xenophiles, the people who decried the costs of the project, and the ones who wanted autographed pictures of everyone who had gone out into space.

One letter, though, was passed up to the director of the department, then to the PR officer, then to the assistant of the commanding officer.

Jack O'Neill leaned his elbows on his desk while he rubbed his temples fretfully. "It was supposed to solve problems, they said. The people would settle down eventually, they said." He opened his eyes and stared down at a flier that had been discovered that announced the Church of the Ancients. A glowing figure stood with arms outstretched, and it didn't take too much squinting to see that the figure's face was Daniel Jackson's. Rumor had it that a dart board had appeared in Daniel's office and that this flier appeared on the board regularly.

A knock on his office door made him groan. "Yes?"

"Sorry to interrupt, sir," Walter said. He was carrying a piece of paper. Jack hated pieces of paper. "An odd email has come in to the comment line."

"Not another question about the sex habits of the Wraith?"

"No, sir."

"Nothing about sex in zero-G?"

"Um, no, sir."

"Because I've noticed a trend in these emails."

"It's from a six-year-old, sir."

"I've become very cynical in my old age, Walter." He put out a hand. "Let me see."

Walter handed over the printout. Jack tried extending his arm far enough to read the small print, then sighed and reached for his reading glasses.

"Dear Stargate Command:

"My name is Dylan, and I'm 6 years old. Does Santa go to Atlantis? I watched Santa last year on your Norad tracker, and Mommy says they couldn't show Santa going to Atlantis because we weren't supposed to know Atlantis exists. But now we do know, and I don't think Santa has time to get to Atlantis on Christmas Eve along with everybody else, even with wormholes. Don't they get to have Christmas?"

"Huh," Jack said.

"Santa going to Atlantis is not included in the standard FAQ sheet, sir," Walter replied. "The response team doesn't know what to say."

"What, nobody down there has read 'Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus'?"

"I don't think they wanted to put Stargate Command in a position of officially declaring Santa Claus as real."

"Hmph. If I have to put up with a universe with the Ori and the Wraith, I'm having Santa Claus, too." He pulled off his glasses decisively. "Get me whoever's in charge of the Santa Tracker on the phone."

"Yes, sir."

• 13 minutes later*

"General? Colonel Evangelyne McDonald, Norad Santa Tracker, Line 3."

"Thanks, Walter. Colonel McDonald, this is General O'Neill over at SGC."

"How do you do, General?" Colonel McDonald's voice sounded very puzzled. "It's an honor to speak to the SGC, but are you sure you've reached the correct department?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure. Listen, we got an email from a kid who's a fan of your Santa Tracker, and he wants to know if Santa goes to Atlantis and why you don't show him headed, I don't know, out of the galaxy."

Colonel McDonald laughed. "We got a couple of emails like that this year. We told them that Norad is only geared to track Santa in Earth space and we don't have the range to track him to the Pegasus Galaxy."

Jack nodded. "Good answer, but I've got a clever kid here who's worried that Santa doesn't have time to get there and back on Christmas Eve. Do you think if your computer people and my computer people had a brief chat that we could account for a few minutes flight time?"

"Well, I don't see why not. We've got him scheduled for a stop at the International Space Station, (continued...)

( continues...) I think that's a good jumping off point for a trip to Pegasus. Someone's bound to ask if he takes a tour through the other galaxies, you know."

"We'll tell them that he drops off a special load in Atlantis and that the folks out there take care of distribution."

She laughed again. "I'll make sure to get the FAQ updated on our end. Anything else, General?"

"Nope, good working with you, Colonel. Merry Christmas."

"Joyeux Noel, General."

Jack hung up the phone. "Walter!"

"Sir?"

"We've got some work to do."

• Christmas Eve*

Dylan stared at the computer screen. "Mommy!"

"What is it, honey?"

"Mommy, look!"

She leaned over to look at the update page of the Norad Santa Track. Santa had just finished at the International Space Station, and the Next Stop ticker said "Pegasus Galaxy, Atlantis. We regret we have no tracking systems in that area but we should pick Santa up again in about ten minutes when he returns to Earth."

"They *do* get Christmas, Mommy! But how can he get there so fast?

She kissed Dylan's head and chuckled. "I think between Santa and the Stargate, anything's possible."

Look, when I wrote this I thought it was too dumb to post(Jilli, I tease because I love) but I'm just dying to get attention for my Yuletide fic and I have to stay in the wind for a bit, so, here's one of my only attempts at RPF.

The Only Kind Of RPF I Could Ever Write

"Hey, isn't that..."

"Nah, what are the odds...just cause it's Chicago and we're f2fing here...no, it's definitely not."

"I think it is...huh, not quite as foamy in person, is he?"

"It's eight AM...who's sexy now?"

"Fay.."

"The accent gives her an unfair advantage."

"Quick, Fay, .say 'Don't hate the player, hate the game."

"Aw, look, she's blushing...is Not!Piven looking over here?"

"Dude, I love that you're not typing that? And yet, still hear the exclamation point."

"Cool."

"I dare somebody to go over there and tell him he's not as hot in person."

"Jilli, send Clovis."

"Clovis actually did stab the President of Paraguay with a fork...he hates to be reminded.And I have my suspicions about what happened to that man's sushi, besides.Come, Clovis!"And the head of Gothic Charm School swept grandly out of the coffee shop.

"Well, I have to know if it is." I pushed forward and when it seemed that he would be looking, pushed back. Several times.

Finally, an unmistakable voice yelled out "Speak! Declare yourself...go ahead and say it, I know you want to.But not too loudly...it seems you might want to hug it out on a day when my voice in my own head is too loud." he winced.

"Well, here's the thing. I'm dying."

"Did you close out a season too? Jesus, I'm not the young sprout I used to be. But you may not quote me on that."

"No, the details are too painful,..."

"How about your friend?"

"No, she's healthy...she's just British."

"Ok, then I *want* her to say 'hug it out, bitch" but at Wimbledon sound levels, please."

She does and charms us both.

"Okay, now, I have two questions... do you know Mary Poppins of the Damned that was just in here, and are you absolutely sure you're dying?"

"Her name is Jilli and she's very cool."

"I'm sure she's the most normal grown person that ever went out with a stuffed rabbit in public."

"Hey, I saw a picture of you with Lindsay Lohan!"

"Point taken. Reluctantly.And you never answered my second question."

"Well, you know, eventually. With global warming and all that, who knows?"

"Eventually?"

Ok, I wrote this because apparently I'll never see Malibu without thinking of somebody's mangy trailer in the background. Or maybe I want to seduce Nick Hornby.(If I do, write me hot, okay, Nick? Ta ever so.) [link] It's Entourage/ Rockford files. Gen, just a little comment fic.