Disclaimer: I don't own House--but I'm making plans. Who's with me?
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"It's mini-House!"
House stared at his son's leg. The first thing that came to his mind was, "Shit."
Christopher's lower leg had a peculiar depression, as though there was an invisible string wrapped tightly around it and making the area shrink in proportion to the rest of his leg.
It just happened to be on the same side that House had to favor after his infarction. The fates could not have a worse sense of humor.
He knew what his son had. Without a word, he raised his arms, asking Cameron silently for her to hand the baby to him. Cameron raised a dark auburn brow at him before hesitantly handing over Christopher to his outstretched arms.
House raised Christopher up by the armpits until they were seeing cyan eye to cyan eye; the baby pouted at him, kicking his legs energetically as he met his father's unwavering stare.
To Cameron and Wilson's bemusement, House suddenly smirked. Christopher's angry pout changed into a confused look at House's sudden change of facial expression before he cooed.
It sounded like a question.
House then moved to the conference table, setting Christopher down on his back. He rolled up the other leg of his stretchy pants—a dark blue Blue's Clues baby outfit—and compared the length of both the baby's legs. He had to grab both dimpled limbs as Christopher intensified the kicks; the baby went back to gumming on the plastic donut and staring seriously at the fuzzy-faced stranger holding his legs. Cameron moved to the other side of the table, holding her baby's torso in place, simply looking on as House inspected his son's legs.
"His right leg is a little shorter than the left," he muttered. Without thinking, he rubbed the amniotic banding on Christopher's right leg. "When did you find out he had it?" he asked aloud, rather sharply. Christopher jumped at the tone, and House apprehensively, but gently, patted Christopher's upper thigh, not caring that Cameron might still be looking.
Wilson raised an eyebrow, releasing the breath he didn't realize he was holding when House started raising his voice a few minutes ago.
"The OB-GYN found it when I had an ultrasound early in my third trimester," Cameron said softly. She gently tousled the wispy, curly auburn hair (Cameron's color, House observed) of her son. "We weren't sure when it happened—who does? The OB-GYN did assure me that the banding won't harm him or—disfigure him much."
She swallowed. "She also told me that I didn't have much water in me when I was carrying him…" she trailed off, covering her mouth with her hand as she breathed deeply through her nose to try and compose herself. She knew that 50 per cent of babies who have this congenital defect either die in the womb or enter the world with worse defects than what Christopher had; she should be grateful that it wasn't worse, but still...
She felt a warm hand squeeze her left shoulder and heard Wilson murmur, "It's not your fault" over and over again from behind her. She didn't hear House say softly, "It really isn't your fault."
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For the moment, he centered his focus completely on little Christopher, letting Wilson comfort Cameron. He had quite a shock—it's not everyday your former underling returns from obscurity in order to provide you with proof you've procreated with her. And it was obvious that he had procreated with her…
The baby had wisps of curly, bright auburn hair; House had mahogany-brown hair at birth, but it was curly, too. Christopher's face was oval, framing Blythe—and Greg—House's dark blue eyes, his little chin had a hint of a cleft, and the depression above his mouth was deep. His little body was longish, promising a lanky physique—and an active one, if his vigorous kicking was anything to go by—provided that they get rid of the amniotic band around his lower leg first.
House leaned down to pick Christopher up; the baby was no longer apprehensive about him. He stopped slurping on his toy long enough to extended a chubby right hand to House's chin, rubbing soft-skinned knuckles across the rough texture. House leaned on his good leg, cradling his new-found son in the crook of his arm.
After two small failed attempts at finding a comfortable position for the both of them, House looked up to see Cameron staring at him, smiling through tear-filled eyes, and Wilson grinning at him like an idiot.
Jimbo has some explaining to do…
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It was around this time that Chase and Foreman returned to the conference room.
"Cameron!"
"Hey, welcome back!"
Cameron wiped the tears from her face before turning around to greet her former co-workers. Chase stepped forward and enveloped her into a hug; Foreman hung back, with a strange smile on his face. The neurologist could no longer shift back into his old big brother role around Cameron after their spat about his stealing her article and the fact that he willingly "exposed" her to the then-unknown disease he was afflicted with. It had been more than a year, but words have been said and actions done that couldn't be taken back.
Cameron had said so herself.
This was why he was surprised when Cameron, after Chase released her from his hug, turned around and smiled at him. The smile was warm, and it made Foreman smile back; it was better than indifference or hostility.
"Welcome back," he said, extending a hand to her. A hug would have been too personal, and too soon.
"Thanks," Cameron replied, taking his hand and shaking it briefly.
"Whose baby is that?" Chase suddenly asked. He turned to House and Wilson after hugging Cameron, gawking momentarily at Christopher cradled in House's left arm. The infant's resemblance to the man holding him was mind-boggling.
House raised an eyebrow at Chase. "What? Haven't you heard—the stork made an express delivery after I placed an order twenty years ago," he said in a sarcastically joyful tone, raising Christopher a little in his arm—Christopher squealed at that—in order to get his "point" across. "I thought they forgot all about me and my need to satisfy my paternal instincts. Wilson here has agreed to play Mommy, but I had to turn him down—he's on a dry spell at the moment, and someone's gotta feed the kid. I was going to ask Cuddy to fill in the position…"
Wilson rolled his eyes, fighting to keep from laughing from the hilarity of it and from relief. He opted to turn around instead, feigning interest on the list of symptoms on the whiteboard. Cameron just rolled her eyes; Foreman stared at the baby, looking at Cameron and then at House.
Chase was still dumb-founded.
"It's—a mini-House! A clone—oh, my God!" he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. His gaze now turned to Cameron, his mouth opened wide to ask for an explanation. It took him five seconds of staring at Cameron before he closed his trap and turned his head to House, then Christopher—who became saucer-eyed himself as he watched the antics of the blond stranger—then back to Cameron, who was looking at the intensivist with a cocked eyebrow, crossing her arms and preparing for the revelation.
"You—you—you" the Australian stuttered, pointing at Cameron before moving his finger to House's direction. Foreman just stared—he already came to a conclusion (the correct one)—but he'd rather let the white man voice it out, for old times' sake.
"You—jumped—him!" Chase said in an accusatory tone. "And you had his kid!"
With the way he said it, he could have also said, "How could you!"
"So we did," Cameron replied, turning to walk to House and retrieve her son; he was squirming in House's arm and making sounds of irritation, a sign that his diaper was wet. "I'll go change Christopher first, then I have to meet with Dr. Cuddy; I have some paperwork to go over with her before I start working in the Immunology Department next Monday. I'll see you guys around. Come on, Chris."
Upon hearing the first part of Cameron's statement, House's face contorted into one of horror and disgust, and he made a big show of handing over Christopher back to his mother. As he passed the baby to Cameron, he purposefully brushed a hand over Cameron's, lingering there for a moment before drawing away.
Cameron looked at him. House looked back.
"Well, what're you waiting for?" House grouched. "I don't know how much that diaper's going to hold, and Maintenance just shampooed the carpet. Chase is going to be put out if he has to run back home to use his stash of shampoo to clean up the mess. Hey, it could even bring some sheen to this carpet!"
Foreman's shoulders shook as he snickered quietly. Chase immediately looked sullen.
"I'll go ahead of you, Cameron," Wilson piped up, still grinning. "I have to give Cuddy some—ah—warning first." The oncologist immediately headed out of the door before House could call him back and interrogate him. Cameron followed suit with Christopher looking back at House from her shoulder; she grabbed a gigantic blue bag from one of the chairs on her way to the door.
House stared after her until she got away from his line of vision, turning around to his remaining two minions.
"Well? Whaddaya got? I assumed you've got something new about Amy—"
"Her name's Anne," Foreman interrupted. "And we did find something in her MRI."
"Give it to me, homie," House muttered, turning to the whiteboard.
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Dare I continue?