Almost done...
A humming Cameron pushed Christopher's stroller out of Dr. Landers' office. Lying back in the stroller, Christopher was gnawing madly at a large red lollipop.
Two perky young interns were heading towards them. The Asian girl nudged her African-American companion and nodded in Christopher's direction. They started squealing behind their clipboards.
"Oh, looky at the cute widdle baby!!!" the Asian girl gushed. She looked up at Cameron and said, "He such a cutie! How old is he?"
A proud Cameron announced, "Seven months and three days. He's 20 pounds, 3 ounces, in case you're wondering."
"Cool," the African-American intern piped in. The two girls leaned over and started cooing at the baby. Christopher stopped gnawing at his lollipop to stare at them for a minute, then he resumed worrying his two front teeth and sore gums on the lollipop.
"Aw, he's teething," the Asian girl observed.
Cameron nodded, fighting off a grin.
--
Last month
Cameron carefully turned around and left the room, keeping the door open in case Christopher or House wakes up. She went to the kitchen and placed her purchases on the table top.
On the way, she noticed that the answering machine had some messages. The first one had been played already.
"House, its me," Wilson's voice resonated from the machine. "Something came up with the—uh—patient. Might come in later. Call Cameron and tell her for me, 'k? Don't wait up."
A quirk with this answering machine—Cameron's and Wilson's busy lives didn't offer them time to go out and get a new one—made the newest message play later. When Cameron heard the soft, familiar female voice, her throat went dry.
--
The first thing Christopher registered upon waking up was the music playing in the background.
He yawned and blinked, licking his pink lips noisily. He rubbed his drool-covered face on the wide expanse of bare, hairy chest he had slept on and yawned again. He felt something itch and hurt in his gums. Instinct told him that to relieve himself of this discomfort, he had to rub his gums on something—anything.
Christopher rubbed his small hands on the expanse of roughness, delighting in this new texture. The chest rumbled, and the man who took care of him started to make sounds of amusement, not waking. Fascinated, Christopher rubbed his hands on the chest again—and discovered a nipple…
--
Edgy after listening to the second message on the answering machine, Cameron took the time to digest the information she received from it and set out the plates and silverware. She was about to unpack the Chinese take-out when she heard House yowl in a mixture of surprise and disgust from her bedroom. Coming in a close second was Christopher's cry of fright.
Alarmed, Cameron dropped the carton of noodles and ran to the bedroom. House was standing, favoring his good leg and holding a traumatized Christopher in his arms, trying to soothe him.
"What did you do to my baby, House?!" Cameron bit out. She strode over to Christopher and snatched him away from his father.
"ME?!" House said indignantly. He raised a right hand to his left pectoral and rubbed it. "I just slept on your bed after feeding Nemo the Horrible there. He thanked me by covering me with drool and turning on my…well, he bit me!"
"Bit you?!" Cameron thundered. Christopher wailed even louder, and Cameron took the moment to calm herself by comforting her son, rubbing his sturdy back and lowering his head to the crook of her neck. "Where did he bite you?"
"Uh…"
Anger dissolved into shock as Cameron finally took in House massaging his left pectoral. The shock lasted for five seconds and escaped Cameron as peals of hysterical laughter. Christopher looked up at his mother before turning to look at House. His father looked at his son wryly, sighed, then he limped away from the scene towards Cameron's closet.
"The sooner he gets weaned," he muttered loudly, turning on the light and rummaging around for a towel, "the better."
--
After Cameron and Christopher calmed down, House was handed a t-shirt of Wilson's to wear during dinner. His soiled t-shirt was tumbling in the washing machine while they ate. Cameron fed her son from a bottle, delighted at how much he consumed, as she listened to House explain—or exaggerate—how he managed to coax the baby into feeding from the bottle.
"…before I gave up and attempted to take him for a ride on my bike…"
"Then I'd have killed you," Cameron butted in, glaring at House, who didn't buckle at the look thrown his way.
"…I took him into your room and played some CDs on it. He started guzzling on the first bottle after listening to the third singer—Nat King Cole. My son's got taste."
House paused here and finished off his Peking duck. Cameron beamed down at her son, who had already finished his bottle and was now using his gums to pull on the plastic nipple.
"He's also teething—or he thinks your nipple produces milk, too," Cameron muttered, raising her son up in order to hide her smirk and shakes of mirth. House glared at his son, who smiled back at him.
--
After dinner, Cameron stuffed House's shirt into the dryer while he bathed Christopher. The baby was handed over to his mother, wrapped tightly in his towel. Cameron glowered at House.
"What is he, an Eskimo?" Cameron muttered as she unwrapped her son.
"It's nighttime—he might get cold!" House explained.
Cameron snorted and finished dressing up her son in a dark green sleep suit with feet. By the time she combed his hair, Christopher was yawning. He fell asleep minutes later.
Meanwhile, House left for the laundry room. The dryer was finished with his shirt, and he was in the process of removing Wilson's McGill t-shirt (it fitted him rather snugly) when Cameron approached him from behind.
"Can we talk?" she asked softly.
House turned around to her, the shirt stuck halfway off him around the shoulders. Cameron fought off a giggle.
"Only if you help me take off this shirt," House said. "And no nipple-nipping while you're at it!"
"Me, a nipple-nipper?" Cameron asked derisively as she walked closer to House and helped him take off the shirt. "If I recall, you were doing most of the 'nipping'…"
Cameron stalled as House removed the shirt.
She visually lapped up the view:
Wide shoulders, wide chest covered in dark hairs, trailing a path down south over well-defined abdominals.
Muscular arms, nicely veined—proof of the man's former prowess as a sportsman.
Skin—good Lord…so much visual.
And it was getting closer…
--
Wilson arrived at the house at around 11:15 PM. The adjective "glowing" would be the best to describe this member of the gender, who was humming as he parked the car and locked it.
Fibbing about going to work to have the longest, most satisfying quickie with Lisa Cuddy—life can't get any worse for James Wilson. Well, there was that problem of Julie and her pit-bull lawyer, but Wilson pushed that uncomfortable thought in the back of his mind, savoring the moment of satisfaction.
When he opened the lights, the first things he saw were two pairs of underpants outside Cameron's bedroom door: a pair of panties and boxers. Wilson's feeling of euphoria dimmed and escalated when he found more articles of men's and women's clothing making a trail from the bedroom to the laundry room.
"About time," Wilson whispered.
He turned off the light and walked towards the answering machine. He pressed play and listened to the remaining message on the machine:
"James, its Blythe—Blythe House. John and I will be flying in from Springfield on Greg's birthday, around 3 in the afternoon. Will you come pick us up? I can't take all this silly secrecy—what's all this about?"