The re-runs of 'Secret diary of a Call Girl' play with no sound, not unusual, but he's not even staring at the television. Resting one arm under his head, House's other hand thumps his chest rhythmically as he stares at the ceiling from his supine position.

Things have quieted down at the hospital, which is strange since it's just been one day since he and Cameron waved their respective white flags in the air. He hasn't seen Chase, which isn't strange, but awkward.

Wilson tracked him down earlier today, a curious air of calm surrounding him as he sat down at the lunch table. They'd talked about everything except Cameron and the baby, which was good. As much as he needs Wilson, he can't just forget that the man was willing to raise a child that was his best friend's.

And as much as he would like to go back to the way things were before, he realizes the only reason he's even here is because he couldn't keep his nose out of her business. He really should learn to let sleeping dogs lie.

But now there' a kid. His kid.

'Brennan', he almost says out loud to no one but his shelves and books. It should mean something, the name that is, as it filters through his mind. But it doesn't because the kid's still not real, not quite human, barely even his. This is supposed to be the part where he feels the connection isn't it? Where the child growing inside of her is suddenly and undeniably his and no one else's, and some type of bond is supposed to link father and child.

He's reminded of his father. No, this isn't that part.

And that unnerves him.

House sits, moving his limbs slowly until he's leaning on his knees, his head almost bowed in the position of a prayer. There are some things a child shouldn't be subjected to, especially by his own father, his own blood. He's been shown more than once that love is rarely love, and it's never unconditional. Just because the kid is his, doesn't mean he'll even care. Just because he feels possessive of the kid now, doesn't mean he will a year from now.

He won't be like his father; he can't be. But what if he ends up like him anyways? He can't chance that.

Having every intention of breaking it to her easily, that civility is all he can offer her and her child, House squares his shoulders as she opens her door.

"House."

"Keeping me out here so you can protect your food stash?"

She's torn between making him stay out here because the last time he was inside it didn't end well, and letting him in since he's actually come here of his own accord. That shouldn't be punished. It should be celebrated. Cameron steps aside, allowing the door to swing open from the slight force of his cane.

Was it really over five months ago that he was standing here last?

"It's pretty late. What are you doing here?"

"I, uh," he suddenly doesn't want to tell her. "I remembered you saying you couldn't put together the crib." House nods in the direction of the crib, still halfway finished in the corner of the living room.

"And you're here to…fix it?"

"Sure," he replies as he begins to walk over, only to have her stand in front of the unhinged pieces so she's blocking him.

"Please, I uh, I don't want you to put it together."

House looks at her, reading the rest of the statement in her body language. 'Just in case I won't need it anyways.' He pushes it.

"What are you going to do when the kid comes? Have your sock drawer ready?"

"No," she sighs, "I'll have it finished it by then."

"I can do it now."

Cameron takes a step towards him as he tries to advance, holding her hand up so that it pushes against the center of his t-shirt and she can feel his sternum pressing against her palm. "I don't want you to touch it."

'You might jinx it,' he reads, and abruptly he's tired of having to read between the lines she creates. She's the one who wanted this and now she's trying to stop him. She's…Christ, she's the one telling him all she wants is civility.

As if her hand is burning his flesh, House steps back quickly, turning his body away so she can't try to see what he's thinking.

"What do you want from me?" he asks, his voice huskier than it's been in a long while. All of a sudden, it doesn't matter that he came here to dash any forlorn hope in her. Now he's here to know where they stand after the forfeit.

If only she knew. "What do you want from me?"

"Cameron," he begins to limp slowly, needing to rid some of his frustration. "I don't know what I'm doing. You want one thing and the next thing I know you change your mind."

"The same goes for you."

Well, that's the truth. House stops, leaning against the kitchen counter and barely able to see her silhouette out of the corner of his eye. They just seem to be missing each other. He wonders if it's on purpose, and if it is, on whose side.

"Look, House." Cameron leans against the chair beside her coffee table. "You made it clear that you don't want a baby. So, I…I don't know why you're doing this. But I think it's good. That you're trying, because you normally don't. But I'm not asking you to take responsibility."

He turns his head, needing to see her expression, needing to see if the lines are meant to be read, but she's not lying this time. She empties the space between them slowly, her bare feet not even whispering on the floor.

They stand there for a long time, comfortable and itchy at the same time at the memories that are just at the cusp of being remembered. Cameron imagines this is a month ago, before everything spiraled out of control, when they still had a good chance, when they were both more innocent.

"I'm not here to make promises, Cameron."

She glances down, and when she stares at him again, he's surprised to see the hint of tilted lips. "I never expected you to. I just kinda wanted you to. A long time ago, anyways."

Leaning into him, he thinks she's going to kiss him or hug him for some insane reason, and his eyelids lower as his nose takes in a breath to inhale the scent of something cinnamoney and peanut-buttery. That's when he hears the slight rustle of papers beside his arm and he looks behind him to see the open parenting books, papers with test results and cards that wish her well, along with a few ultrasounds that beg for his attention.

"Are you going to ask if I want one?"

Cameron feels her hands falter for just a beat before she stuffs what she can in a book and closes the lid so he can't snoop. There's only so much she can offer, no matter how far he's come to her since even he isn't exempt from the sides of Karma.

"No."

"I would've said no anyways."

Putting space between them again, she makes her way towards the door and opens it for him, watching as he taps against his thigh before finally limping towards her.

"Really?" She means for it to sound less heavy than it is, a kind of joke to try and balance the darkness in their lives and talks. He stops right beside her, looking down at her as if he wants to bite her, taste her. She wants him to make the joke.

"No."

And then he's gone, almost as if he was never here, as if he never left, but that's how it's always been between them.

He thinks, as he waits for the elevator, that Chase is wrong.


Cameron shakes her head as she throws her bag on her coffee table and meanders over to where he's sitting on the counter in her small kitchen.


"We were supposed to meet at that pizza place on Welch Street an hour ago."


House shrugs his shoulder as he braces his hands on either side of his hips and shoves himself down to the floor on one leg. Reaching for his cane, he merely glances at her as she grabs it before he can.


"I had something I had to do."


"And you couldn't call?"


"No, I could've. I just didn't."


"Where were you?"

"Somewhere. Gimme."

She holds the cane behind her and braces one hand in front of her. "Just answer the question."


"You're not my keeper."


"I am your girlfriend."


"Means nothing."

"Why won't you tell me?"


"Because it's none of your business! Now, give me my cane."


"You don't have to yell, House."


"If you'd stop acting like such a girl, I wouldn't. What I do is my own business."


"I waited for you for an hour!"


"So? I don't care."


"You," she shuts her mouth tightly and extends the cane in her hand. "Go."


Cameron doesn't watch as he walks out, instead, resigning herself to leaning against the counter. Happy two month anniversary.

There's only so much rejection anyone can take.

Yeah, but they're pretty much kung-fu masters of rejection.