I don't really know what to make of this chapter. It's…well. It's what it is, I guess. Anyway, probably only one or two more chapter left (I'm so depressed…what else will I write?), depending on how ell I can draw it all out with out the story moving like molasses. Hope you enjoy this chapter.


There were times in his life that Gregory House wished that he had never become a doctor.

Take, for instance, the time his father attacked Emily after House called the police on him. Had he not been a doctor, he may have been able to convince himself that Emily would be fine and that there would be no memory loss. But of course, he knew better. And then there was the recent situation with Cameron. If he didn't know better, he could have told himself that the bleeding meant nothing, that her baby was safe – that their baby was safe. But his brain refused to buy it. These were the few times he actually cursed his knowledge.

It was two nights after Cameron's appointment with 'Dr. Pompous,' two nights after her first meeting with his mother that House was beginning to feel that anxious twinge in his stomach when he knew something was wrong, medically speaking. They had all been sitting in the back yard on a rickety old picnic table that House remembered his father building when he was younger. Margaret had wrapped a thick fleece blanket around her frail frame despite the fact that it was nearly ninety-five degrees outside. She and Cameron were talking about something; House strongly suspected it had something to do with his refusal to shave. Cameron looked tired, though he was pretty sure she had been sleeping well the last few nights. When she had come out of the exam room days earlier, he'd seen the tears she was trying to force back. It may have been rumored that he was a misanthropic bastard, but he could read Cameron's face like an open book. Only problem was that he didn't quite like the ending to this story. She hadn't mentioned that day since, and House was getting frustrated. If she continued to ignore it, he was determined to say something.

Michael was standing over the grill, concentrating on flipping the burgers so that they were all equally cooked on both sides. The top of his balding head was already thoroughly sunburned. Emily was talking – he wouldn't have been able to tell except that her lips were moving; he wasn't listening – when he noticed his mother was wincing every few seconds, pressing bony fingertips into her chest. From where he sat, he could see her chest rising and falling quickly with every breath.

"Mom," House said edgily, though he had tried for concern. "Mom, are you alright?" Margaret looked up, smiling uneasily when she caught her son's worried stare.

"Fine, Greg," she replied shakily. "I'm fine." And when her hand dropped back to her lap and she went back to the conversation with Cameron, House believed her. The doctor in him was screaming that he check her out, because the apparent pain in her chest and sudden rapid breathing were warning signs for multiple fatal conditions. But for the first time, he was ignoring that particular instinct.

At least until she leaned forward, let out one violent cough, splattering blood over Cameron's jeans, before fainting face first in the grass.


It took them all a few seconds to register what had happened, but Cameron recovered first, reaching down to find a pulse, yelling over her shoulder at Michael to call an ambulance. She didn't need to glance up at House to know that he was panic-stricken. He wanted to get off his ass and help his mother who was dying before his eyes, but his legs would not move. Through the haze, he could hear the incessant wailing of the ambulance sirens. It was a sound that froze the very marrow of his bones. It always meant bad news, even from the doctors' standing.

House watched on, his fingers gripping his cane so tight that he had lost feeling in them, as the paramedics loaded his mother onto the stretcher. Cameron was shouting orders at them. House could tell how scared she was; she never got this aggressive unless she was terrified. Emily was shouting at him angrilybut he could not hear her. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Cameron went to the gate to see that the paramedics got Margaret safely in the ambulance, and watched as Emily and Michael climbed in after. She turned back to find that House had not moved, still staring at the spot where his mother had fallen. He looked so shattered to Cameron, that for a moment she was afraid that if she did anything to break him out of this trance, he might cry.

"Greg?" she asked tentatively. She rarely called him by his first name, but his last name – the one they used while shouting at each other in the conference room and while having sex on his leather couch – seem almost too harsh for this delicate moment.

"I wanted to be an astronomer," he said quietly, his eyes still locked on that patch of grass. Cameron drew her brows together, trying to figure out if she had heard him right.

"What?"

"When I was little, I wanted to be an astronomer." He brought a trembling hand up to his eyes, and Cameron watched as he swallowed thickly a few times before continuing. "If I weren't a doctor, I wouldn'thave this nervous flutter in the pit of my stomach right now."

"That's not —"

"It is," he interrupted. "It is true. I might have otherwise been able to convince myself that she'd be fine." His hand dropped to his lap, and he turned his head to meet her questioning eyes. "She's not going to be fine, is she?" He'd said it as more of a statement, but Cameron could still hear the plea for some sort of reassurance behind it. She took a few steady steps forward, kneeling in the grass beside him.

"Do you want me to pull the empathetic doctor thing?" She knew that trying to make light of the situation was a futile business, but she did not particularly like that somber look that had overtaken House's face.

"Whatever you do, don't pull the empathetic doctor thing. Doctors that do that to me usually end up in need of their own doctor." He made an attempt at a smile, but it only made Cameron's heart lurch with pity for him.

Cameron leaned up, pressing her lips gently to his temple. "Let's get to the hospital then," she whispered.

House shook his head. "No. She's unconscious now…and they won't catch the clot in time." He glanced up at Cameron's puzzled expression. He tilted his head to the side, proceeding to explain. "Classic signs of a pulmonary embolism. But she's unconscious now…I don't want to be around when it's over for her. I'm not good with dying people." Cameron felt tears sting her eyes as she reached out to clasp his hand.

"So what would you like to do now?" she asked him, fighting to keep her voice strong.

House looked at her thoughtfully as a ghost of a smile flitted across his face.

"Movie?"


When they stepped out into the chilly night air two hours later, House was unsurprised to find seven new voice messages on his phone. His mother had passed away at nine forty-seven that evening, of a blood clotin her lungs – completely unrelated to her cancer. Cameron had instinctively wrapped her arms around his waist, but he did not seem to need the comfort. They had gone back to the hotel, had a quick shower, and fallen asleep under the scratchy blankets. They didn't leave for Princeton for another three days, but, as House informed her as he pulled her in close before they drifted to sleep, he had no intention of leaving their hotel room for the remainder of the trip.