By eleven o'clock, she'd ruled out five types of parasites and was testing for a sixth and final one. She'd test for additional immune and genetic disorders closer to sunrise.
Behind her, she heard footsteps and the sound of a cane rhythmically hitting the floor. A hand found its way to her shoulder.
She hung her head. "You have to let me work," she said. "What did you come up with differential-wise?"
"Everything on the list is genetic, which doesn't make sense. You can't have three unrelated kids in the same neighborhood die of the same genetic neurological disorder."
"Just because it's improbable doesn't make it impossible," Cameron said. "Wait … what happened the last time we saw a genetic 'coincidence'? The husband and wife who turned out to be half-siblings?"
"You're saying somebody on that block has a very big … secret?"
"I'll have DNA tests run on the hair and skin samples."
"Test them all. Have Taub or Thirteen call every parent in a ten-block radius. Tomorrow you'll stick needles in every kid under the age of twelve."
"Good." Cameron turned back to her work.
"You okay?" From him, it was a rare question.
"Sure."
He sat on a stool and lifted his right leg slowly as he stared intently at the supposed mother of his child. "You've been crying, though. The lab's where you go to cry."
"I don't understand why you think of me as a weepy and weak-willed type."
"Because you're a woman," House joked, tilting his head as he emphasized the last word.
"Leave me alone."
"Or you're a talented doctor who's been in this game for six years but is still freaked out by death, which is definitely worse than just being a woman. You have to stop thinking about your personal history with death every time you see it."
"I was thinking of my baby," she said. Suddenly, she grabbed one of House's hands and pressed it to her abdomen.
He seemed alarmed by her move. "It's not 'miraculous,' you know," he said, looking sideways into her eyes.
"I know. It's gestation."
"Is it mine?" he asked her for the first time in six weeks.
"Are you interested because it could be your child or because I won't tell you if it's yours?"
"What?"
"You don't care about anything. You're only ever interested, not invested."
"Wilson-isms," he noted.
"This isn't about Wilson."
"Is it mine?"
"Can't answer that," she said.
"Because of Wilson?"
"No, me. House. Me."