You are going to crawl out of your skin. You don't know if you're supposed to be excited, or nervous, or call Cameron and tell her you're sick and you're not going to be able to make it to the concert today, and you're really sorry but probably Blythe is better off without you anyway.
You shrug on your jacket and you clutch your cane so hard that your knuckles are white. You're going, you have to. This is your one shot, and if you fuck this up, you're not going to get another chance.
You stop on the way to the theatre and you buy a little bouquet of pink roses. Little girls like flowers, right? You should know if your daughter likes flowers.
Cameron and Robert are waiting for you when you enter the lobby and you take a deep breath and walk over. Robert has his hand on the small of her back, and she looks pale. You clear your throat and extend your hand to Robert, who shakes it.
"It's nice to meet you, Dr. House," he says, and you think Cameron has found the one person in the world nicer than herself because you know if you were in his shoes, there would be no hand shaking.
You shake his hand, "Likewise, Dr. Andrews," you say and Cameron looks a little less pale. You turn to her, but you don't know what to say to her. She is leaning back against Robert like she's scared of you, and her palm is over her rounded stomach protectively. You'd forgotten she was pregnant, she was hardly showing at the conference, but that was almost four months ago.
"Her song is up third," Cameron finally speaks, "so we should get our seats."
You nod and you follow them into the theatre. You sit on Cameron's right, and Robert on her left and you watch him reach over and take her hand and turn your head away and swallow. No one said this was going to be easy.
You watch the first two dances with half an eye, because watching the little girls mess up dance steps is better than watching Cameron and her husband. The third song starts and Robert pulls out a video camera and Cameron leans over to you, her palm warm on your leg and she whispers where Blythe is, pointing out the tiniest child on the right.
You think you're going to cry. Those pictures you memorized don't compare to seeing her in person and you don't take your eyes from her once. The three-minute song is over before you realize and when she scampers offstage with the rest of her class, you want to go after her.
The rest of the concert is awkward anticipation, and when it ends you follow Robert and Cameron back into the lobby, where a hundred little girls in tutus are running around, screaming joyously. Your eyes scan the room looking for her and suddenly you hear the same little voice you heard on the phone.
"Mama, mama I didn't mess up! I membered all my steps, Mama!" and a little redheaded fireball launches herself at Cameron. Cameron laughs and scoops her up, cuddling her and kissing her face. Robert kisses her little cheek and then Cameron turns and sets Blythe down in front of you.
You can't seem to find your voice as you carefully lower yourself to your knees, so you can be closer to eye level with Blythe and you hand her the little flowers.
"Hello, Blythe. I'm Greg," you tell her, and your heart screams that you're her i daddy /i but you're not, and you have to accept that.
"She knows who you are," Cameron's soft voice filters over, and Blythe looks at the flowers and then looks back at you. You realize that while she looks like you, she has Cameron's tiny bone structure and all of Cameron's mannerisms. She's the perfect mix of the two of you, and you gave her away.
She gives you a smile then, and she steps towards you and wraps her tiny arms around your neck. Your heart stops and for a minute you are frozen, but then you move and you wrap her in your arms and this is your daughter, and she's here.
She kisses you on the cheek and beams at you, "Did you see me dance?" she asks hopefully, and Cameron takes the flowers from her before she crushes them.
"I did," you tell her, "You were very beautiful, Blythe." i And I'm so, so sorry I left you. I promise I'll never leave you again. I promise that I'll do whatever I can for you. /i