"I swear if this is some practical joke, I'm going to kill both of you." She stops halfway into his hospital room, her gaze flicking over his body lying motionless on the bed with wires attached to his body and connecting him the machines that demand to be heard before finding Wilson looking at her with dark circles under his eyes.

"Someone got a hold of him outside his apartment last night."

Cameron shuts her eyes, a strong wave of nausea overcoming her senses as her head simultaneously begins to feel light and quite unsteady. His arms are holding onto her shoulders when she realizes he's trying to get her attention.

"Cameron? You okay? Here, sit down."

He just looks like he's sleeping. God, he can't really be in a coma. There's no way.

"Cameron?!"

She quits looking at the man who'd just hours ago had broken her heart in her own apartment and turns her focus back onto the man asking a million confused questions with dark brown eyes.

"I just heard about it. I thought…I thought it was a joke. I figured when you didn't call back that you'd found him and went drinking or somewhere together. Why didn't you call me?" It's not hysteria creeping into her voice. It can't be.

Wilson frowns softly, his left calf beginning to ache from his crouching position. "Why didn't I--. I didn't think about it. I just…."

The hand covering her face is nothing like her own, but she recognizes the lines of her palm covering her eyes and the slight scent of the doughnut she'd eaten on the way here, before she knew about House, before, before, before.

"Tell me," her throat catches softly with her eyes still covered, " there's no brain damage."

"You know we can't tell. We won't know un…until he wakes up."

The strange hands fall from her face to her lap. Unless. Unless or until. There's a strong need to hold her still nearly flat abdomen, to feel something alive and growing, to know there is still something to hold onto, but she doesn't.

"I'm pregnant with House's kid."

Not expecting the short laugh, she stares at him as he genuinely believes she's joshing him. If only. He must realize it by then since his laugh fades out, just like in the many movies she's watched with the comatose man lying beside her.

"You're serious?"

"Yeah."

They both hold the others tired and completely worried stares before Wilson glances down her stomach and then to his friend in a delightful coma.

-

Cameron, determined not to get angry, merely glances at the young new doctor who'd bumped into her with doughnut and coffee in hand and offered an 'I'm sorry' before skirting out of the situation so fast, there's no one around to help her pick up the paperwork she'd been forced to relinquish to the floor.

Bracing one hand on the wall and the other on her extended stomach, Cameron slowly and gingerly squats, hoping with all her might she'll have enough energy to pull herself up.

If Chase hadn't watched her cry her soul out a few nights earlier, he would have kept walking, not wanting to face her again. But things have changed since then, and he doesn't keep walking. In fact, he makes the detour, turning to his left down the McCarthy wing just to see her, reminding him of the early times when such an act had been done for stolen smiles and shared lips.

"Here, let me help you."

She sighs, still picking up the papers one by one and not meeting his eyes. "Thanks. I feel like a whale."

He bites his lip, holding the last of the mishandled papers in his hand. "You're eight months pregnant."

"Today," Cameron smiles, forgetting the darkness between them and instantly seeing the flash of hurt as it crosses over his face. Her smile falters substantially as she grasps the loose sheaf of papers in his outstretched hand. "Chase, I – ."

"You need help getting up?"

It shouldn't take over a year for her to keep reminding herself she broke his heart twice. "Can you just give me an arm?"

Even the smell of her hasn't changed, he thinks as they slowly ease up into a standing position.

"Thanks, Chase."

Cameron wants to give him something, anything more than 'thanks', but she knows there's no point. There aren't a lot of points in her life anymore, and so all she can do is nod at him as she walks away, taking the same route he'd come to find her with another unmade point nearly colliding into her.

If it had been anyone other than House she probably would have dropped her paperwork again, but he's the one person that makes her clench more than relax instinctively. Their bodies brush against each other and she can almost tell herself that she doesn't miss it, the soft contact of his fabric on hers, his skin on her own, of his breath falling down her neck.

All he does is glance at her, silence surrounding him as he steps to the side and begins his trademarked limp past her.

She fights the need to turn and watch him, just to see if for once he looks back. If she had, she'd have seen Chase watching the crippled man with a wary eye, a newfound determination gathering in his bones as he contemplates his greatest deed ever. But she doesn't.

-

"What the hell is your problem?"

"My mama took away my baba?"

"She's pregnant with your kid. Yours."

House stands from behind his desk, his humor non-existent at the mere mention of his situation. "Get out."

Chase uncrosses his arms, letting them fall to his sides calmly as he tips his chin forward at House's next jab.

"Pretty boy, this has nothing to do with you."

Without hesitation, Chase takes a step closer, meeting the desk at his thighs and relishing that he's so close to House and the man doesn't even know it. He sure as hell will now.

"You don't get to treat her this way. She's under enough stress as it is. You don't get to be an ass to her!"

House doesn't even realize that he's reached for the comfortable walking stick, until he slams the cane down on his desk. The whack as it hits the solid wood and the soft fluttering a few loose pieces of paper doesn't begin to express his annoyance.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

"Neither do you!"

"I might be a crippled but you've got five seconds to get your ass out of here before I kick it out!"

"Let me see you try! I'm pretty sure my two healthy young legs aren't a match for you!"

They move at the same time. Two grown men rounding the desk with nothing but hostility washing off their skin and expressions as they face each other with just a breath between them.

"I'm a generous crippled. One last chance."

"I'm not leaving until I say what needs to be said."

"There's not a damn thing to be said, Chase! It's none of your business! Do you understand that!?"

"No, it's not my business. But I care about Cameron! Even if you don't, I do! What's hard to understand about that!?"

"So, what? You're here to ask for my blessings to date her again!? Don't bother!"

Chase leans forward, surprised that he dares to get so close to the man who'd once ruled his life. This is no time for memories of a past that's so far gone, it's not even forgotten. It's 'never was.'

"If anyone's asking for blessings, I think that falls on you."

There's a great pleasure in balling his fist in the surgeon's scrubs at the point where the V meets his t-shirt underneath. House doesn't mind that the younger man doesn't gasp or try to wrangle free as he pushes him into the glass wall separating his office from the conference room. Chase's back makes contact and the wall shudders briefly under their bodies as the older man finally lets go with a step back.

House opens his mouth, but after second thought, shuts it as he stares at the blonde man before him who doesn't look shaken at all. If anything, he looks like he's vindicated, and that rubs House in a way he can't express. He reaches for his cane, lying forgotten on the cluttered desk before in a silent scream. That's become familiar.

"I envy you, House."

Chase watches House's back tense, his shoulders stiffening and his head dropping slightly as his entire body stands still at the sound of a voice that's so different from his own, and yet just the same. Chase rubs the back of his neck slowly, feeling the ache of an entire year finally bearing down on him as responsibility.

"She's having your child." He bites the corner of his lower lips lightly as he folds his arms, the wall still holding his body up. "And you just walk past her without saying a word."

"It doesn't matter," House interrupts gruffly, not bothering to turn around, feeling something like safety as he stares at his desk. "You don't matter."

"I don't," Chase agrees, wondering why House is suddenly listening now after their small tussle. "She does and your baby should."

"I don't need someone to tell me what I should care about."

"But you're listening to me, aren't you?"

With a shake of his shoulders, House moves out of his hypnotic state and turns around to face Chase. "And now I'm not."

"She never told you what happened between me and her?"

"Amnesia, idiot. I wouldn't remember even if I wanted to." House begins limping towards the door.

Chase doesn't move, content to stay in his idle pace of storytelling. "I was the one who left her."

He spies House's hand freeze on the door handle and although he's afraid that if he moves, he'll lose whatever gravity he has on his former boss, he's tired of worrying about what he does. Chase moves to sit in the chair in front of the desk, wondering if the bastard in denial-land will understand the invitation. Give in to the curiosity.

He does.