CHAPTER TWENTY – TWO
Later that night…
"I want pancakes."
"Make 'em yourself."
"But honey," House whined. "I almost burned your kitchen down before."
"Oh, is that why you wanted to stay at my place?" she sighed. "Fine, whiner," Cameron mumbled as she sat up in bed.
"Come here," House whispered.
"Hey! You just said you wanted…"
"I want you," he said sheepishly.
"That doesn't make me feel any better," she said as she lay on her side beside him.
"I can make you feel better," he purred.
"Oh, you already have, twice. Be right back, I have to go to the bathroom."
Cameron walked to the living room first and took her bottle of Vicodin off from the top of the cabinet behind a ceramic figurine. She put two in her mouth and downed them with water on the table. Her stomach hurt, her head hurt. Her leg would stop hurting in a minute. But it wasn't her leg, really. It never had been. She could never have imagined she'd have gotten as bad as she was; somehow it just made her feel…better, calmer. But she wasn't as bad as House was. She was only doing 50mg a day, a far cry from House's 80mg, but bad for her. It was out of control. Way out of control.
"You know, your leg shouldn't be hurting after two months," came House's voice from the bedroom doorway.
She turned around so fast she almost dropped the bottle but gained control of herself. "House, you…"
He took several steps toward her and stopped just a few feet short of touching her, grabbed the bottle out of her hand and looked at the name of the medication.
"You have been taking some of mine, too." It was silent between them for a moment. "And you have a problem."
"Look, it's no big deal, really."
"No big deal? Come on! Do I look like a moron or do I just smell like one? But I'm impressed. I didn't start to hide mine until three years."
She looked at him speechless.
"Cameron, look, you don't need it. It'll be easy for you to get off it…"
"Really, you think?"
"Why? I don't get it."
"Yeah, well, neither do I," she said, burying her face in her hands.
HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD
Wilson walked into the door of the apartment and hollered out for Debra. There was no answer. He went to the bathroom but she wasn't in the tub, nor was she sleeping in bed.
"Debra! Where are you?"
He walked back to the living room and noticed something moving outside on the balcony. He went out to her.
"Hey, babe. I've been hollering for you. Why didn't you…" Wilson stopped because he noticed a tear fall from her cheek. "What's wrong?"
She didn't look at him but only sniffed and wiped her nose. "Jim, I'm…I'm…"
Wilson knew it was coming, he just didn't know when. After House said she was pregnant he didn't believe her. At first he thought it was because he didn't want to believe it because he didn't want to make Debra his ex-wife number four. But he knew it couldn't have been his.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and held her close. She put her head on his shoulder and let him hold her. After a few minutes she composed herself and looked up at him.
"Jim, I'm pregnant," she finally said.
"Debra," he said with a smile. "How far along?"
"Just shy of two months."
Wilson calculated in his head where they were and whether they'd had sex yet.
"That would have been the first time…the night we went to see Chicago."
"Yeah, I know."
"I can't…Debra, I'm infertile."
She looked up at him in shock. "Jim, I've never…it's not Jer…it's yours."
Wilson pulled her away from him and shook her, as if that would make her tell him it wasn't his.
"You…you think it's not yours? James, how could you say that?! How could you think that?" she screamed, stepping back from him and running her fingers through her hair, as Wilson often did.
"How do you know you're infertile? It's possible a few…"
"No, it's not," Wilson replied, his soul crushed.
Tears rolled down her face as Debra went back into the apartment, headed for the bedroom and slammed the door. Wilson followed her and stood at the door, his heart sunk when he heard the door lock.
He stood by the door, his head against the door, his eyes closed, his eyes beginning to tear.