Title: Tragic - PT 3
Rating: R (language)
Summary: Cameron's life full of tragedy... (Cam's POV - kind of) in her eyes, and how she copes - or doesn't.
Disclaimer: Don't own any of it, just playing...
Note: PT 3 - can't keep rereading it.

Note: As always, I hate good punctuation, I am horrible with grammar, and I reserve everything to be a work in progress...

xxxxxxx

The next few months bring great changes and rebirth into your life. You start to feel blessed for the little things again. When you first feel the baby move, you are so overcome with emotion and love that you are choked up with tears. You thought your well of tears was empty, you discover that you have another kind of well, a better one. You just wish that you weren't alone in your apartment. The numbness is fading. You find another ledge to temporarily rest on.

The terms of the fellowships are coming to an end. Chase takes a position in California. Foreman a staff position in the hospital. You stay in Diagnostics, you can't imagine any more changes. Honestly, you're too attached to House, even if all you have now is an honest to god friendship, an odd friendship, but one that has become honest (so you think).

Foreman, Cuddy, Wilson, and House become your family. You love them (some more than others). They have worried greatly about you, and you are tired of their pity. You always thought you were strong, though you faltered for a while. For some reason they feel the need to be your cheerleaders, you laugh at the idea of House with pompoms. They help you find a two-bedroom apartment, Wilson takes you shopping for a crib, Foreman for a car seat, Cuddy for baby clothes, and House for a stroller, of course it has to be the most high-tech stroller, but you don't care. You find yourself smiling again, and it feels good.

House asks you if you want to find out the sex of the baby so you can paint your nursery. You don't want to. You'll paint it yellow, hopefully the sunny color will overtake any black that surrounded the baby in the womb. Your family helps you paint the baby's room. They are overprotective of you, because you are pregnant and getting fat, and don't really let you paint anything at all. You cook them a dinner of thanks. It is a lovely meal that lasts late into the night, but leaves you and House still sitting at the dining room table long after everyone has gone. You're laughing, he's laughing. You're not even sure what you're talking about anymore, but you wish he would push the plates off the table (you insisted no one lift a finger) and fuck you right under the chandelier. You eye the fixture and think there's just enough clearance (and screw the plates, you can always buy more). He's changed a bit, mellowed, the fact that he laughing is evidence of it. The fact that he's here at you dinner table and enjoying himself (with you!) is another. You like seeing him throw his head back in a full belly laugh, but all you want to do is straddle his lap and run your tongue along his collar bone, up his neck to his ear and bite his lobe. Pregnancy hormones are getting the best of you.

You catch your breath. Your mind is not on the conversation. He notices. Asks if you're okay, if the baby is okay. You tell him you're fine, you just have a little cramp in your back and you need to walk around a bit (everyone lies). You start to gather up dishes and bring them to the kitchen. You wish he would leave now. He is never good at taking polite notice of things. As you stand at the sink, you suddenly jump as you feel his hands on what was your waist and your lower-back, and he starts to massage your tense muscles (wrong ones). "Better?" He questions. You want to melt against the counter, your knuckles turning white. Yes, barely a whisper. "Let me," he says. Let you what? you think, do anything you possibly want to my body, you want to raise an eyebrow. His hips nudge yours over and he turns the faucet on and dips his hands into the soapy water. Oh, to be that plate. . .

You go to the bathroom and rinse your face with cold water. What has become of your sense, you wonder? You look at yourself in the mirror and just are not sure who it is that you are looking at anymore. All you know is that you see a wanton woman, a cat in heat. You really should lie down. He needs to leave. Because you don't think he'll be what you need him to be, although you're not sure what that is anymore. You think about a cold shower. You're in the bathroom so long that when you return the dining room and kitchen are totally cleaned up and you are shocked. House is sitting on the couch, feet on coffee table, remote in hand, like he belongs there every day (he does). "You okay?" he asks. Fine, just tired.

"Come sit with me a little," he says. Now you raise an eyebrow. (Who is this man? Where is House? He is being way.too.nice.)

"I'm not going to bite," he tells you. You fold your arms around yourself and sit on the couch. You are tired and achy (all kinds of achy). He takes your feet in his lap, and rubs them.

"I want to talk to you," he tells you. He turns off the television, you know he's serious now. Talking is never really his thing so you wonder what he's up to. You nod to him as an indication of green light, because you're not sure what kind of game this is.

He tells you that he's glad that you're doing better and that you are happier. You can tell that he is struggling with words, because he won't look at you. For some reason (probably Wilson) he must feel the need to tell you something. "I care about you. You . . . you mean a lot to me, and I just want you to know that," he glances at you quickly, you try to keep your expression as blank as possible because you don't know what this is about, and you're afraid you'll scare him away (you need him). He tells you that he's there for you whenever you need anything. Then he quickly gets up, kisses you on the forehead and exits stage left. You sit there in amazement. Not a word having left your mouth. You crawl over to the other side of the couch where he was sitting, picking up the pillow his head was propped up with. You crush it in your arms and inhale his scent, tears fall on the pillow as you fall asleep.

Monday, Stacey comes to see you. You're much more civil to her then you were a year or so ago, especially since she won your case, you feel indebted to her (not a feeling you like). She tells you that Lisa wanted her to talk to you. About a will, a living will and a medical proxy, because you have no family, you will need to appoint someone. You are told to think about it, and she will help you have papers drawn up that will be in your best interest and in the best interest of the baby. You didn't have that foresight, you wish you had. You tell her you will come by soon and let her know who it will be (though you both know who it will be).

You go to see House. You tell him that you want him to make your medical decisions if anything goes wrong. He doesn't look at you, you see him swallow hard. You tell him you want him to make the choices for your child should anything happen to you. He says nothing. He lifts his head, you look into his eyes, your gazes lock. He looks scared momentarily, but nods okay. This is a grim moment, and you have asked (more than) a lot from him and he has agreed. There is a chance he will be connected to you for life. There's a chance that he could possibly raise your child, and he has accepted. You couldn't have been more blatant in telling him how much you want him in your life; he didn't back down.

You knock on Stacey's door. You tell her House will be your proxy (ironic) and the guardian of all other details. (It's your way of telling her you trust him more than she ever did and you're not even sleeping with him. Right now, House would be proud of how smug you're feeling.) She nods and says she'll come by with the papers when they're ready to be signed.

You start walking around blissfully pregnant. You're feeling fat, the baby is kicking up a storm, you're happy. Again. The light in your soul is a little brighter. House is no longer just your boss, but you don't what he is. He's been changing, Wilson points it out to you (he doesn't have to) and you don't try to figure out why. He tells you because House started to take care of someone else for a change. You try not to think about what that means, because whatever it is you two have right now, you're okay with it. You don't want him to go away, and people tend to leave your life a little too often. You realize House is right, you are damaged, more than he is.

You are signing charts at the nurse's station. You finally started seeing patients again. You hear Stacey ask House what the hell does he think he's doing? That it is potentially a lot of responsibility, and he agreed to it. What was he thinking? You freeze. You feel bile in your throat. Hatred for her? Or fear of his response? He tells her it's none of her damn business, not anymore. She's just the lawyer, file the fucking papers and leave it alone. You hear him stump-stalk away. Your stomach is in your throat, but you try to convince yourself that the baby is just getting too big and pressing everything in funny ways.

You pull an old-Cameron move and hide the rest of the day in the lab (you're not allowed to work in the clinic at this stage of your pregnancy, House's orders). You are glad there is money in your lab coat pocket. You know you're not thinking clearly, but you decide to walk home. If it gets to be too much, you'll take the bus. You leave your car, purse and keys in your office, you don't go back there. Yes, your head is not always logical, you've often been a fool in your life anyway. You are glad that your neighbor Mrs. Kelly is home, she invites you in for tea. She thinks you're lovely (she doesn't know the truth), and keeps you company until the super shows up with the spare key.

You go into the bathroom and run the tub, filling it with lukewarm water and bubbles. You eye the tub cautiously as you attempt to lower yourself into the water. Once in, you have no idea how you're getting out, but you don't care. The warm water feels good against your skin, rinsing over you, washing your day away. You start to drift away, the early evening sun filling your bathroom, warming it. . .

You are suddenly shocked awake when the bathroom door flies open and the light flicked on. House is standing there, a look on his face that you don't recognize. You are confused. "Cameron! Where the hell have you been?" he screams at you.

Sorry, you mutter, you explain you decided to walk home. Suddenly you realize how naked you are. You cover your breasts with your arm.

"You've had me worried sick!"

He sighs, closes the toilet lid and sits down. "Nice tits." You smile. He laughs.

He helps you out of the tub, and hands you a towel. He doesn't look at you. Suddenly you hate your big fat body. He waits for you in the living you. You tell him (lie to him) that you needed some fresh air and took a little walk, and just found yourself almost home, so you just kept going. He looks at you in disbelief. He gets up, puts your kettle on (he makes himself very well at home in your home), picks up the phone and orders chinese, already knowing what your favorites are. He tells you that you exasperate him. That you're getting too close to labor to do things like this, just to please tell him when you need a walkabout or something. When he couldn't find you, and your car was in the garage still, he took the liberty of fishing through your purse for your keys. He tells you that he'll pick you up tomorrow morning. You tell him you can take the bus. His glare tells you it's a futile argument. He tells you he's making a spare of your house key for emergencies.

The kettle whistles, you excuse yourself to your room to get dressed, as he busies himself in your kitchen with mugs and tea bags. You lay down on your bed in your robe and cry. You think he cares more about the baby than anything else. You rub your belly hoping that you will be a good mother and your child will love you, because you deserve that. You fall asleep. What you don't is House is standing in your doorway watching you sob. He pulls a cover over you and wipes a tear off your face with his thumb. He sits on the edge of your bed, his back against the headboard, one hand stroking your belly, the other stroking your hair the way your mom used to when you were a little girl to calm you down. You actually awake rested.

You find a note on your nightstand. It tells you that you are taking the day off. House is going by the office to pickup your coat and purse, and he'll be by around ten. He's taking the day off with you. He signs his name Greg, and he makes the "G" overly loopy. You smile. The post script at the bottom tells you that you're both going to do something fun today.

You're moving on. You're progressing (sometimes). You still have no idea what you're doing, but you started realizing a while ago that if you make a roadmap for life it is usually obsolete by the time you get to those roads. There are lots of new highways and routes, and it can get confusing. You just have to find a new path.

END PT3