Cameron shone a light into her clinic patient's yellow eyes. Mrs. Kleyner's pupils were the same size; though she was having problems with muscular coordination, this was clearly not a stroke. The jaundice suggested possible liver failure.

"Last night I woke up at two in the morning and couldn't see," the middle-aged woman sitting on the exam table said. "And now I can see just fine. I don't understand what happened."

A possible diagnosis dawned on Cameron almost immediately.

"Mrs. Kleyner, do you take those over-the-counter pills that are supposed to prevent colds?"

"Yes," she said. "Everyone at work has been sneezing and coughing, and I don't want to come down with anything before my niece's wedding."

"How many times a day do you take them?"

"Three. I dissolve one in a glass of water three times a day."

"For how long?"

"The last ten days or so."

"And you've been taking a regular multivitamin?"

"Every morning."

Cameron sighed, slightly exasperated by yet another patient who thought she could save herself with magic vitamins. "I have to admit you," she said. "You've got hypervitaminosis A … vitamin A poisoning."

"But the cold medicine, it's all-natural," the patient said. "Just vitamins and herbs."

"And it was invented by a teacher, someone who undoubtedly understands the common cold inside and out, much better than, say, a doctor." Cameron immediately chided herself for the House-like response. Maybe her hormones were getting the better of her. "I'm sorry," she added. "Don't worry, you won't have any permanent liver damage. I'll come see you tomorrow morning and explain the medical reasons why all you need to take every morning is your calcium and Vitamin D and why vitamins can't fight colds."

After she made arrangements for Mrs. Kleyner and logged her clinic hours for the day, Cameron went upstairs to Wilson's office.

The oncologist sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, sport coat hanging on the wall. He'd lost five pounds or so in the last ten days. She could see it in his face.

When he smiled at her – lips around his teeth, eyes blinking furiously – all the panic she'd been experiencing melted away for just a minute.

"How are you doing?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"As well as can be expected." He stood and hugged her warmly. "You were right. So much 'sympathy' out there it could make a person sick."

"You have a minute?" she asked.

"I have half an hour."

"Can I ask you about House?"

Wilson shrugged and propped himself up against the wall. "Look, Allison, I intellectually know the bus accident wasn't his fault, but I can't think about this. I can't. I can't."

She touched his shoulder lightly and swept her hand down to his elbow. "It'll be a lot easier on you if you don't imagine that her death was 'meant to be' or part of a 'plan.' There's less anger that way."

"You're more like House in that respect," he said. "You assume that if there was a deity, life would be fair. Life isn't fair, so …"

"But life in the last couple of weeks has been –"

"Radically unfair." Wilson looked up at the ceiling and breathed out through rounded lips. "When I get my head together, we'll talk about House, I promise."

"I need to talk about him now," she said, sitting in one of the chairs in front of Wilson's desk. "You are the only person who can help me."

He paused to consider Cameron's plea and then swallowed hard, repeatedly blinking again. "Oh, God."

"I only intended for it to be a one-night thing. I was a little off after Chase left, and –"

"And he didn't intend for it to be just one night?" Wilson asked.

"No," she said, looking down at the floor. "Tomorrow morning I have an appointment in obstetrics." Her hands shaking, she unzipped her purse and took out a prescription bottle. "I am supposed to take these tonight, so I have to make a definitive decision within the next couple of hours."

Wilson moved towards Cameron and braced himself against his desk. A mix of anger and concern was written on his face. "Make sure that after the procedure they run a complete blood panel and test for every STD under the sun. He only has sex with hookers." He wrinkled his forehead. "Not that –"

"I know." She laughed slightly. "We used a condom."

"Which obviously didn't serve its purpose. You could have some kind of virus that we haven't seen since the sixteenth century."

"I'll get tested tomorrow, then." One corner of her mouth turned up. "I don't think Sarah's able to test for pirate diseases from the 1540's, though."

"Allison?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you having second thoughts? This is House." Wilson tapped his fingers on the desk. "Ah. You're having second thoughts because this is House."

"No. At first I thought it was Chase's, and I was going to go through with the pregnancy because it made sense. But once Sarah confirmed I was three weeks along …"

"Do not harbor illusions about the man."

"I'm not 'in love' with House."

"If you want to have a child on your own, there are other options. Do not have his child just because you believe somewhere in the back of your mind that he'll change as soon as the baby's born."

"I know he won't."

"House doesn't mean to destroy people who are close to him." Here Wilson started to choke on his own words a bit. "He is just very bad at being human, and he cannot be trusted with a child's life. I've known him longer than you have, and I know for sure that he had a host of personality problems before the infarction. He will not change."

"Are you saying this because of me, or because of Amber?"

"Both," Wilson answered honestly. "He's alive; she's dead. That should be all you need to make your decision." When she didn't respond, he added, "You're too young to get dragged into his sphere."

"What if I made a decision that had nothing to do with House?"

"I wouldn't believe you," he said.

"What if I'm afraid that if I don't have a baby now – a year before my promotion – I'll be reduced to having to choose between a baby and a career?"

"You want to go through with it," he said flatly.

"Yes."

He stood up again and paced around the office furiously. "You have to promise me something," he said, stopping at the bookshelf. "If you need anything – whether it's money, someone to help you carry groceries when you're in your second and third trimesters, anything – you will come to me. Promise me you won't go to him at all."

"Would it be unethical," she asked, standing slowly, "if no matter how many times he asks, I never confirm that he's the father?"

"Yes. But having known him for over a decade, I can assure you that unethical is the best way to go."