Week Three – News

The next week, Cuddy considering calling the man who she had been on the… well, she couldn't exactly call it a date, or could she? On the whatever it had been exactly when House had driven his car into the living room.

But that was no real way to begin a conversation.

"Hello? Remember me? My ex may have instilled PTSD in you… Sorry."

No, it was safe to say that her love life was flatlined for the foreseeable future, but maybe that was okay. An ex with leukemia who had also left a hole in her living room was more than enough to deal with right now.

Instead, she filled her days with hospital work, trying not to wonder when and if House would be back to continue his treatment. It was House, after all, and there was no way to make the man do anything that he didn't want to do. Not to mention, if Cuddy asked him, he would just be more likely to resist.

So she just had to keep quiet, even if it was driving her up the wall – and it was. Was House just so selfish that he didn't care what his behavior did to other people? Was he really just the child who broke all the other kids' toys and then walked off like it was nothing?

She didn't believe that, ever, and she still didn't, even as this all rained down on her like a meteorite exploding in mid-air.

But what about this Cameron plan, now? She was fidgeting at not being able to question House directly, but what kind of answer could she even get out of him that wouldn't be full of sarcasm and bite? The only thing she could do would be to let House come to her, and let the rest of it sort itself out.

Cuddy reached over and touched the phone, ran two fingers over the sleekness of it. She could call House, she really could, but she wouldn't. She wouldn't.

Cameron made her way to the drug store. Maybe it was time to check – or maybe it wasn't. Maybe it had all been a stupid idea, a way to fill her little fantasies from before, and one that hadn't worked. She wasn't the same person she had been when she couldn't stop mooning over House, and there was nothing that she could do to change that, least of all sleeping with him.

But she couldn't deny the fact that she had.

And now she needed to figure out if, what was the phrase, it took? Or something…

She reached out on the rack and looked; there were about five competing brands. Was one better than another? They all did the same thing, didn't they? Was she cutting corners… oh, hell, she could do a blood test herself given that she was a doctor, this was just seeing if she would have any need to go that route.

Then why was she so damn nervous? It was just a stupid little stick that wouldn't even necessarily give the right answer.

She looked around, as if someone who knew her would just happen to be walking around the same pharmacy and would have nothing better to do than to spy on her. Then again, considering House, who knew?

She let herself wondering about House's new life, whatever it had become in the year since she had left. Had he hired new fellows she hadn't seen?

It didn't seem likely; House was a creature of habit. He hadn't ever replaced Kutner – then again, he'd only intended two and gotten permission for three, she remembered that. The number had evened itself out.

Then everything had happened with Chase and the dictator and she had left, too, the number had gone down by another.

Now, she was back – tipping the scales, if you put too much weight on a see-saw, someone goes flying.

Would it be her?

She walked up to the counter, conspiratorially shoved the test down and paid for it, imagining herself hidden in a trenchcoat and wearing a mask instead of in the nice blouse and skirt that she was donning. She held her breath until the transaction was complete, feeling that the cashier was going to say something… anything… about what she'd bought and then she would snap and it'd be a big scene.

Then she drove home. Drove home and took the test – notoneyoucanpassorfail,her mind mockingly teased, remembernow,it'snotwhetheryouwinorlose,it'swhetheryou'vereachedfertilization– and then blinked at it.

Really, she couldn't remember what the signs meant, anymore – maybe they needed some kind of vocal box in these sticks that would just yell the answer at you.

But there was an answer, and she stood waiting for a few moments before she threw it down and swallowed, crossing her arms and wondering what in the fuck she was going to tell House.

"My dear Wilson, what brings you here?" House inquired as he peeked out through the door of his apartment.

"Uh, I can't show concern about my best friend who has leukemia?" Wilson retorted. "Has that gone out of vogue nowadays?"

"No," House responded, sticking out his cane. "But I get the feeling that you don't want to talk about the fact that I have leukemia. You want to talk about the fact that Cameron wants me to knock her up."

"Not quite so harshly as all that, but maybe," Wilson replied, sighing. "Please tell me you haven't taken her up on the offer."

"I can't," House said simply, opening his door a little wider. Wilson stepped in, made his way to the couch, and sat down as House joined him.

"Oh, well, thank you, that's a load off my back," Wilson told him, letting out a breath.

"No," House replied with a smirk. "I can't tell you that I haven't taken her up on her offer, because I have." Wilson stared at him, slackjawed and wide-eyed.

"Really, House? You slept with Cameron?"

"Years ago you would have been applauding this."

Years ago, Wilson would have. But times had changed… and this was a bad idea, everything about it. He could see disaster heading straight towards them, faster than a car going 200 miles an hour on a salted race track.