The pain woke her up. It was like the million tiny needles that had shot into her head and grown. It was getting worse. Where was that damn Vicodin? She grabbed for the pill bottle, feeling something smooth and vaguely cylindrical...

A loud shattering noise, ringing through her ears. That was a glass. Cameron grabbed the sheets, trembling. The pain was still worsening, and she held on for dear life, her knuckles as pale as her face.

Light. Blindingly bright. She writhed in agony, pulling the sheets over her head. It left as quickly as it came.

"Doctor Cameron?"

She knew that voice. Who was it, though? She didn't know. She couldn't think straight. She was in too much pain.

"Cameron? Are you alright?" She heard the crunch of the visitor stepping on the broken glass. "Cameron?" She still didn't know who it was. A woman?

A warmer hand was put up to her cold, clammy forehead. "Oh my God. Have you taken the pills?"

She shook her head, making the smallest movements possible. "It hurts like hell."

She felt the small, hard pills brought up to her mouth, followed by water, and she swallowed them, arms wrapped around her knees, waiting for the pain to subside.

The woman stooped down, bringing her face close to hers. "Doctor Cameron, I know this may not be easy for you, but we need to talk. Meet me in my office when you're feeling a little better, alright?" Office? Whose office? Thinking felt impossible. She could hardly process what was happening.

A new presence was in the doorway, blocking the little light that filtered through it. "Doctor Cuddy? What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night."

Cuddy. The woman was Cuddy. Why would the dean of medicine be here?

"Just checking in," she replied, with a faint smile. "Is there something you need?"

The figure nodded. "Yeah, I was gonna run some tests. Try to find out the extent of the neurological damage caused."

"Go ahead and run them. But make sure she comes down to my office afterward."

"What's going on?" she whispered, huddled under the blankets. She was in trouble, wasn't she? Why else would the boss want to talk to her so badly? "Am I... getting fired?"

Cuddy recoiled in surprise. "Of course not, why would you think-"

She squinted at the silhouetted figure. "Who's in the doorway?"

The woman looked back, forehead creased in worry. "That's Doctor Foreman."

He walked closer, an equally concerned look on his face. "You don't recognize me?"

She squinted at his face, the features seeming strange for some reason, as if they were all shifted slightly. She checked them off in her head. Dark skin, the shadow of hair on his head... it was all there, but it wasn't right. "I do... you just look... different."

"How many black men in lab coats are running around this hospital?" He stopped, raising a hand up. "Actually, don't answer that."

Cuddy sighed, standing up. "I think you've got this under control," she said, taking a polite leave.

Foreman nodded and grabbed some gloves, pulling them on. "Okay, Cameron, I'm gonna take some..." He looked at the floor cautiously through the darkness, the glittery pieces of glass suddenly very visible in the scant rays of light that escaped the hall. "You know, I think I'm gonna call a janitor first."

"You wanted to see me?" She took a seat at the opposite side of the desk, fidgeting with her fingers. She rarely got called up to Cuddy's office. Everything that usually affected her was typically discussed through House. It had to be serious, or something that concerned her directly. She wouldn't be surprised if she ended up being chastised for something she didn't remember doing.

"Yes, and I don't think this should wait." She folded her hands on the desk. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks." That was only partially true. The pain was definitely at a lower level, but the nausea had returned, to some degree. Vicodin really did work its magic, she had to admit. No wonder House was an addict.

Cuddy sighed, getting up and closing the blinds despite the fact there was no one in the darkened halls. "I don't know how to tell you this, but..." She sat, clasping her hands together, too tightly. "Cameron, you're pregnant."

"What?"

She felt like she had been hit by a bus. She couldn't breathe; her heart was racing. She looked down at her abdomen, couldn't see anything unusual. "That can't be possible."

"You came in about a week ago, asking for an ultrasound."

She shook her head in disbelief. A baby. She had made a baby. In six months? "How... far along am I?"

"About seven weeks, I think." Cuddy walked over to her.

Still pretty early on, then. But... She turned her head away, thinking. Babies had fathers. She thought of Chase, lying in the hospital bed. If they were together, then... "Is the baby..."

"Yes?" She placed a hand on her shoulder, a warm, motherly look in her eyes as she gazed down at her.

She shook her head. "Is it... the father..."

She nodded, suddenly understanding. "It's Chase's, yes." She took a deep breath, seeming to pick out her words carefully before responding. "You told me you wanted to confirm the pregnancy before telling him."

"Does he... know?"

Cuddy shook her head. "I don't know, I'm sorry."

Cameron returned to her room, her head spinning from more than just the injury. Her pregnancy was just another item on the quickly growing laundry list of things she needed to tell Chase. Needed, but didn't want, to tell. How was she meant to break anything off when there was literally a tiny human being cementing them together? She lay down, tugging the thin sheets loosely over her body. The bed was stiff and unfamiliar. She'd seen them on a daily basis, yet, sleeping in one, sleeping in one was different. Despite living alone, she felt a strange emptiness around her, like lying in a dark void. The things that should be making her world seemed to be crumbling it beneath her unsteady feet.