Two days later, Wilson found Cameron sleeping in the chaise in House's office while House observed baby Amber's surgery downstairs. Cameron woke up, startled when Wilson opened the door.

"I couldn't watch," she explained. "I can't deal with false hope."

"And you're taking a lot of Percocet, I heard." He sat at the edge of the chair. "They shouldn't have discharged you so early."

"Sarah had to make a large hysterotomy. There was no other way to get Amber straight from womb to respirator. I'm okay. It's painful, but it's healing."

"They've checked for infection?"

"Yes, and I'm clear." She sat up slowly and patted his shoulder. "Thank you so much for getting me through this pregnancy. And thank you for giving my daughter an eighth of a percent of a chance that she didn't have before."

Wilson looked up at the ceiling. "You've been staying with him?"

"Yes, but once this is –"

"You don't have to explain."

"For myself, I –"

"He loves you," Wilson interrupted. "I have not seen this side of him since Stacy. Sarah Kishore came to my office yesterday to tell me that House had stopped her in the cafeteria to ask why you were in so much pain, and what could be done about it. The poor woman thought she had a brain tumor that was causing her to hallucinate a genuinely concerned House."

"You know," she said, "I cannot take another heartbreak."

"He can't take another heartbreak either."

"Do you know what it's like to feel that if one more thing happens, you'll never recover?"

His mouth opened slightly and his lazy eye turned in towards his nose. "Yes, actually."

"For the first time in my life, I'm choosing to preserve myself rather than save someone else."

"House would say, 'eww, profundity.'" Wilson squeezed Cameron's hand. "An eighth of a percent," he said, and it was almost like praying.

House walked in, throwing the door open with his left hand, lifting his cane with his right. "Don't look hopeful," he said, "because we are nowhere near out of the water yet. But they just removed a mass of herniated tissue from the interior of Amber's right lung."

His tongue tripped when he pronounced his daughter's name.

Cameron gasped and sat up straighter. "It wasn't genetic."

"We never would have known otherwise." It was his way of thanking Wilson. "But like I said, we're not out of the water. If they're successful with lung number two, she has an eighty percent chance of survival."

Tears ran down Cameron's face as she wrapped her arms around Wilson, who still sat at the edge of the chaise. "You were right," she told him, practically gasping in gratitude.

"This could be … we can apply for funding here at PPTH to run trials," Wilson said. "There'll be a new protocol – new diagnostic criteria – for genetic congenital pulmonary hernia, thanks to your daughter." He paused to survey House and Cameron. "I think … I'm going to talk to Cuddy, if that's all right with the two of you."

"Go on, boy," House teased, pointing his cane at the door.

Once Wilson left, Cameron stood and slid her hands around House's waist, resting her head on his chest. "Are you going to watch the left lung?" she asked.

"They're probably halfway done already."

She was surprised that he was choosing her over a really interesting operation, though not entirely shocked that he was hugging her back, wanting to make it better for her. "As a doctor," he said, "you are thinking that eighty percent isn't as good as it might sound to your average parent. You understand what it means that one in every five babies in Amber's condition will not survive."

"I'm not thinking that, because it's too hard to imagine right now. I'm acting like an average parent and denying that possibility. It's better that way."

"She could be responsible for a new diagnostic protocol, like Wilson said. We shouldn't expect any less."

"Not from our daughter," she said with a slight smile.

"Let me be a part of her life," he begged, "not that I deserve it."