Chapter 27

Price, Jasper and Foreman exited the conference room with instructions for a few more tests to run before going home for the night. The patient was receiving blood transfusions, which would give them time to find the underlying cause of the anemia. This left House and Cameron alone together. Glancing at his watch, House decided it was close enough to quitting time for him, and told Cameron he was going home. He waited for her response to see if he'd be going alone or not.

"How much worse is it?" she asked.

"I'll manage," House said tiredly.

"How much worse?" she insisted quietly.

"Worse," House said. "Maybe a six on the pain scale."

"When's your next appointment?" Cameron asked.

"Next week," House answered. He moved haltingly back into his office and began packing up his Ipod and other toys. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to act around her. His normal reaction to this line of questioning would have been defensive. Even yesterday, he would have accused her of trying to fix him and sticking her nose in where it wasn't needed. Now he knew that wasn't true and he felt a little lost, like a boat torn free from its mooring.

"Then let's get you home to bed," Cameron said. He shouldered his bag and grimaced at the extra weight. Cameron hesitated, torn between wanting to take it from him and not wanting to start a fight. She looked at him, and House looked back. He really looked, for the first time in a long time, without expecting to see anything. He'd gotten so used to predicting how other people would react that he often found what he was looking for whether it was there or not. This time he left all those preconceived notions behind and really saw her. No pity, no guilt, just love. He handed her the bag.

"Rob, where's my shampoo?" Jasper called from the bathroom. She had been looking forward to a long, hot shower when she got home from work, only to get home and be practically assaulted by the piles of boxes. They'd decided to start moving his things in slowly, since her place was a little bigger and closer to the hospital, but she hadn't really expected so much stuff so soon.

"It's under the sink, but you really shouldn't use that," Chase called from the living room. Annoyed, but anxious to avoid an argument, Jasper merely opened the cabinet under the sink and took out her shampoo. She turned the shower up as hot as she could stand it and stepped inside. Within minutes, clouds of steam billowed through the room as Jasper was just beginning to wash away the remnants of another exhausting day. Just as Jasper reached for her shampoo the shower curtain pulled back slightly and Chase stuck his head in.

"Mikki …"

"AHH!" Jasper screamed and jumped, slipping on the wet shower floor and cracking her head hard against the tiled wall. "Dammit Rob!" Jasper spat, holding her hand against her now throbbing skull.

"Sorry," Chase said. "You okay?"

"Fine. I'm fine," Jasper said. She sighed a deep, lung-emptying sigh. "Rob, I had a really long day and I'd really just like to drown in here for a little while. Okay?"

"Sure you don't want some company?" Chase asked suggestively.

"Really, really sure," Jasper said. Chase stood back from the shower a little quickly. He was upset, Jasper could tell from the way he pressed his lips into a thin line. He snapped the shower curtain closed and banged the bathroom door shut on his way out. She was beginning to wonder if maybe it wasn't a little too soon for this.

Foreman looked over the paperwork spread out over his dining room table for easily the hundredth time that evening. He'd never been indecisive before, but as decisions went this was a big one and if working for House all these years had taught him anything, it was to think hard before you acted.

Foreman cast his eyes around the apartment. It was familiar and comfortable, but there was nothing about it that was special. There were no great memories to play out in front of him; there was no laughter to soak the walls or even tears to soak the floors. It just wasn't home.

He sighed, allowing himself that small luxury before he picked up the pen and began signing the papers that were going to change everything about his life.

Wilson watched Cuddy turning uncomfortably in her sleep. At nearly six months pregnant, she could no longer sleep on her stomach and was usually restless at night. She moaned a little, and Wilson smiled, knowing that soon she would turning over to face him and would begin subtly letting him know that she wasn't really sleeping.

She'd finally gotten over the morning sickness, and even her cravings and weird aversions seemed to be tapering off. She was still a little overly emotional at times, but the pregnancy hormones seemed to be doing one thing and one thing only at the moment, and that one thing was making her horny as a teenager. Wilson wasn't complaining; in fact he rather enjoyed being the pursued rather than the pursuer for a change. They'd settled easily back into their life together and he was more determined than ever not to screw this relationship up.

Just as he'd known she would, Cuddy rolled over once more and let her arm drape over his stomach. In less than her usually quiet fashion, she reached down and began tugging off his sweatpants, apparently too much in the mood to even pretend to be coy. Wilson smiled and lifted his hips to make it easier for her. Before long she was calling out his name and he hers. Sated, Cuddy rolled back over and promptly began snoring. Wilson chuckled, close to sleep himself.

Price was busy at home poring over every old hematology textbook he could find. Randy's condition was driving him mad. There were just so many possible causes and no good way to narrow them down without doing so many lab tests he feared he might go blind.

Coupled with this nagging puzzle was the fact that there was a slip of paper propped up against the phone on the edge of his desk. He'd already thrown that particular slip of paper away four times today. Twice at the hospital and twice since he'd been home. Yet each time he felt somehow compelled to dig it out of the trash and smooth out its wrinkles. Once he'd actually caught himself with his hand on the receiver.

Price tried desperately to put it out of his mind, but the more he tried to convince himself that he wasn't interested in that phone number, the more frequently he found himself staring at it. When he realized he'd read the same paragraph four times with absolutely no understanding of what it said, or worse yet any memory of the words, he pushed the book from him in utter frustration. Was House right about him?