Disclaimer: DOH

A/N: Ah, to ocein. As of...Chapter36 I believe, Cameron's 3 weeks from...bursting (lol), so now she'd be about 2 weeks away. Help? I hope so. :)

Edit: I forgot to add the real chapter 36, which is 'Forget your fears,' not 'Jacket for one.' But now it's up. My apologies.

"I thought," Cameron looks down at her fingers fidgeting with each other before finding the courage to face him again. "I thought I should apologize for earlier. I don't know why I just snapped."

House stares at her before glancing over her shoulder and bringing the milk to his lips for a long draught.

"Pleading for forgiveness usually involves getting down on your knees, bringing a few sacrifices, maybe even some gold."

"Sorry," she deadpans, "I forgot my two lambs and treasure chest at the hut."

"I'll settle for the getting down on your knees."

She raises an eyebrow. "I'll settle for sacrificing a hundred lambs and stealing the Queen's jewels."

"You're really not up on this absolution thing are you?"

"Look, before you try to get me to kill your neighbor's cat in the name of redemption, I really did want to say I'm sorry. Bye."

Without thinking, he steps into the short hallway, surprised by his next words just as much as she is.

"You hungry?"

"That was delicious."

"That was heaven,"House corrects as he hoists his right leg onto the coffee table beside his empty plate.

"Where'd you buy it?"

"Why would you assume that I didn't somehow find some new talent after my coma?"

"Because I've tasted what you've cooked," Cameron hands her plate to him and he just raises an eyebrow at her before snatching it away and placing it on top of his, "and none of it involved what we just ate. So, who made it?"

"Wilson. The best part of trying to mend our unstable friendship is that he gives me his food at work and brings me food for home."

"I'll have to tell him to stop."

"You do that, and I'll have to kill you. Slowly, painfully, tortuously."

"I'd kill you first."

"Pfft."

"You don't think I could?"

"I'm twice your size and I hate to admit it, but twice as smart. I know. It's okay though. At least you're twice as hot as me."

"The thing is, because I'm smaller I maneuver better. And I may not be as smart as you, but I'm so much nicer than you are so no one would ever expect me. And yeah, you're right. I am pretty stunning."

"Should I be worried it sounds like this isn't the first time you've thought about this?"

"Not at all," she replies with a smile as she nestles into the crook of the sofa. Her eyes close, hands intertwining over her extended abdomen, feet comfortably shifting on the floor as a commercial intrudes on the show they're barely watching.

House glances at her from the corner of his eye, wondering what she'd do if he sat on the cushion next to her. Then he wonders why he'd even think it to begin with. Resting his head back, he shuts his eyes. It's a moment he doesn't realize is beyond boring in his old definition. It's…domestic, homey, comfortable.

"House?"

"Mhhm?"

"I really am sorry about earlier." When he doesn't say anything, she frowns and bites her lip gently. "I just….It was a Murphy's Law kind of morning."

"Cameron, it's nothing. Some people would even say I deserved it."

"True," she tilts her head slightly to the left, inhaling the scent of their eaten dinner. "But I shouldn't have done it just because I was…losing my mind."

"You're about two weeks away from giving birth. You shouldn't be working anyways."

"Says who? I can still move, walk, read. I'm not some kind of leper who needs to be shut in an apartment."

"You're the senior attending of an ER. It's too much stress."

"I need the work."

"Yeah, because you love being short staffed and losing your mind."

Sometime after he doesn't hear a retort, he opens his eyes, turning his head to look at her with a frown on his face. She's focused on their plates, her eyes clear and almost dark, her mouth solid and nearly pursed. When she changes her focus to him, he blinks at the sudden motion, the radical shift in her piercing stare.

"I don't know if I…if I can do this, House."

She hardly expects an answer, and honestly, she counts on it. Anything he says will be glib, monotonous and superficial, because he doesn't know the half of it. But she needs to say this out loud, to hear her voice carry the fear she hasn't let herself think of, to connect with him briefly.

"I had this boy, eighteen months," Cameron folds her arms over her chest slowly as she finds her courage.

"They brought him off the ambulance trying to revive him and I took over since Jerry was with another girl. We all knew he was dead. He'd been dead before he was rolled in but we couldn't," her throat thickens so much she has to stop, lowering her head as she clears it and finding herself suddenly not wanting to look at him.

"We couldn't stop. And we couldn't save him."

"What was wrong with him?"

Somehow, it's comforting and grating at once, that he would ask the 'what?'

"The mother gave him a pill bottle full of iron to play with since he liked the sound. The father came home a few hours later and checked up on the boy since he'd been in his crib. That's when he called 911."

"You…you're a doctor. You know these things happen."

"I know. I know." She looks at him again with the edges of her lips turning downward. "I just…I can't…."

Telling himself not to push, he watches her, the tips of his fingers beginning to tingle with restlessness and slight fear. She needs him to listen, and it's taken him long enough to finally understand.

"House, you don't – there's something –."

Cameron shakes her head, bringing her hands to her cheeks to cool them, to distract herself maybe. It's a long few moments before she turns to him again, letting her arms fall to her sides and not minding that she's on the steep edge of losing her fragmented composure in front of someone she knows won't be able to handle it. This has always been about her fears though, not his.

When she speaks, her voice is so low and she has to force herself to put more strength behind her words as she locks onto his blue eyes.

"You don't understand what it's like. I, I don't know if I can do this because I can't lose Brennan. I can't lose an…" With a breath she covers her mouth with a shaky left hand and closes her eyes for a few seconds.

"I wake up everyday expecting the worst because that's my luck. Because I just know it won't happen, House. I just know it'll be the day I miscarry. And I don't think I can handle that a…. Not after everything."

When she cries softly, barely allowing the tears to more than trickle down her cheeks, he looks away, lowering his chin as he stares at the coffee table before somehow finding himself turning back towards her with his brow deeply furrowed. She doesn't look at him, doesn't ask for anything, doesn't speak.

If he let himself, he would say it's about time she say it out loud. It's about time she face that all signs point to 'go' this time around. She doesn't need to hear it however, and even if she did, he doubts she'd believe it. Which is why, after she brings the cuff of her blouse to wipe her eyes, he shifts closer to her and his left hand reaches out for her right one, brushing against her thigh before clasping onto her swollen fingers.

They're cool, more tired looking than he remembers, more hopeless than they used to feel against his. His palm glides over the top of her hand before he lets it move backwards, permitting his fingertips to circle her knuckles slowly and then moving upwards so that his fingers are on top of hers perfectly and symmetrically, small and large, broken and broken.

Without looking at her and without giving away that he knows her shared secret with Chase, he breaks the silence.

"It explains the crib you haven't fixed. The apartment you haven't moved out of. The sonograms that don't show the sex. The lack of the constant touching and smiling at your stomach. The job you bury yourself in."

House furrows his brow even deeper as his hand shifts to the left and his fingers spread between hers so that they try to fit each other. Carefully, he begins to curl them inward, marveling at how comfortable the action is, how simple it is. His fingers slide downward lazily and stop at the webbings between her fingers, almost waiting for her to pull away, to gain some sense. When she doesn't, he curls his fingers inwards until he can feel the skin of her palm.

"House?"

The catch is audible, but he stays focused on their hands, their misplaced, never will work out, damaged hands. And then she surprises him. The tips of her fingers curl under his, shyly and cautiously, waiting for the psyche no doubt.

"I should go."

She doesn't move, nearly mesmerized by the sight of their hands, by the profile of his intense face.

"Thank you."

The words cause him to finally look at her, noticing her face has lost the complete sadness from moments ago. He doesn't even realize her fingers are loosening themselves from his grasp until he feels them brushing across his wrist.

"Cameron…."

She waits, and then she smiles sadly. "What, House?"

If only he knew. She must read it in his expression because she sighs, giving him one last long look before heaving herself up from the sofa.

By the time she's gone with a few mundane words of seeing him tomorrow escaping her lips, he's standing and leaning over the table for their plates, thinking about what he wants, what he needs, and whether she should have to deal with any of it all over again.