Chapter 4-House

Tapping his fingers pensively on the end of his cane, House stared sightlessly out the window of Cameron's big, sunny, friendly living room. The room, hell, the whole damn apartment, screamed Cameron. The family photos on the wall, the brightly colored rag rug in the middle of the room, the lacy white curtains hanging over the windows. The couch he was on was soft and comfortable, and on the coffee table by his knees was an eclectic mix of medical journals and women's magazines.

She'd set a bassinet under the window, and there was a co-sleeper next to the bed in her room where he'd tucked her in-or rather, she'd tucked herself in, turning her back on him angrily after he'd forced her to take her pills and check her blood pressure, which was much higher than it should have been. She'd been asleep just a few minutes later, and House had stared at that co-sleeper for what felt like hours before walking out the door.

Jesus. Pressing the handle angrily into his skin, House banged his head into it. He should have never touched her. He'd spent years keeping his hands to himself, pretending not to notice every time she looked at him with those puppy dog eyes, asking him for something he knew full damn well he wasn't capable of giving her. She was too young, too idealistic for the kind of sordid affair they would have had if he'd ever given in. He'd reminded himself constantly of the difference in their ages, the fact that he was her boss and, eventually, the fact that she was married to Chase.

More importantly, Cameron was the kind of genuinely good person he never had been, never could be. She had too much potential to waste it on him, and he knew it. He'd known it from the minute she'd walked into his office for her interview and held out her hand, her smile all but lighting up the room. So what the hell had possessed him to walk into that bar? If he'd just stood and stared for a minute, giving himself one last look at her before heading on his way, they wouldn't be here right now.

But no. He'd gone with impulse, unable to resist the chance to be in her company just one more time. To remember her with that drunk, happy smile instead of the teary, angry goodbye she'd given him in his office.

Everything after that was a blur. He remembered lots of tequila, shooting row after row in silence until the bartender called last call. They hadn't been able to find a cab, and when he'd fallen and pulled her down onto that bench he wasn't entirely able to convince himself it was an accident. He'd wanted her forever, and while he was a little fuzzy on some of the details what he did remember was enough to wake him up in the middle of the night, sweaty and reaching for…what?

He wanted to scream that one time shouldn't have been enough to screw up their entire lives, but he was a doctor. He knew better. All it took was once, and they sure as hell hadn't given a thought to protection when she'd tugged at his belt buckle and he'd slipped up her skirt.

And now she was pregnant. It hadn't seemed real to him, before. When Wilson had told him, he'd struggled to wrap his mind around it. Sitting on the edge of the tub, however, he hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from the noticeable curve of her formerly flat stomach. It was inconceivable that he and Cameron, of all people, were having a baby, but it was impossible to deny the round, puffy truth of it…just like it was impossible not to realize that this pregnancy was going very, very wrong, and unless someone did something about it there was a chance that both Cameron and his daughter were going to die.

Restless, he pushed himself up from the couch and paced around the room, pausing to smile, just a little, at the framed photo of her, Foreman, Chase and himself that sat on her mantle. He remembered that day. She and Chase had just gotten engaged, and she was full of smiles and laughter when she'd pulled him into the photo. It felt like an eternity ago, back when she still believed in him, and he could pat himself on the back and reassure himself that he wasn't such a bad person, because look. He let Cameron go, and she was happy. He'd been right all along.

'How the mighty have fallen,' he thought dryly, taking a lap around and peeking through the open bedroom door to look at the woman sleeping on the blue and lavender bed. God, she was such a girl. Her eyes were puffy from crying, her face and hands swollen from the fluid she was retaining. What wasn't fluid was gaunt, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

He wondered what was keeping her awake at night. Was she afraid?

The idea made him uncomfortable. He'd never wanted to be responsible for someone else's happiness, damn it. It was why he sucked at relationships so badly. As much as he wanted to, though, he couldn't walk away from this one. He may have hated his father with a passion, but there was one lesson his father had drilled into his head the first time he'd caught him nabbing a Playboy magazine that House absolutely agreed with.

A real man didn't knock a woman up and then walk away.

House had never given a damn about living up to his father's expectations, but he knew he would this time. Not for his dad. Not even for his daughter-god knew, that little girl would probably be better off without him in her life. Even though his feet ached to walk out that door, walk far and fast in the other direction and pretend like he didn't know a single thing that he'd learned in the last 48 hours, he knew he wouldn't. The idea of Cameron lying alone in that bed of hers, crying because she was pregnant and alone and afraid, made him ache in ways he didn't even think he was capable of.

No, he would do it for Cameron. He just had no idea what "it" was.

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