She was holding someone's hand. They were walking side by side, through a field of brilliant yellow flowers. She felt peaceful, more at rest than she had for a long time, as if this was the one place she truly belonged. It felt... perfect, but something was off. She looked up at her companion, but she couldn't see them. It was like a thick fog was obscuring her vision, blocking everything above the chest.

"Who are you?"

The figure didn't respond, only squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Please, I need to know." She stopped walking.

The figure tilted their head. "Don't you know already?"

They were right. She did know. But before her lips could form a name, the image seemed to slowly fade away, replaced with the glow of the hospital room lights.

"Good morning," Foreman said, walking in holding her chart.

"Hey," she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Do you have my results?"

"Not yet," he said, "but I'm gonna ask you some questions, alright?"

She nodded, straightening up a bit.

"Have any new memories popped up at all? Any improvements from yesterday?"

Had there been? She looked at his face, trying to think if she had remembered anything. "You look less strange."

He smiled. "That's good to hear. Anything besides that?"

She shrugged, still unable to recall anything. "I don't know. I had a dream. It felt real."

"...Okay." Foreman nodded slowly. "Well, it's a bit concerning that you don't seem to be getting any large portions of memory back, seeing that it's been over 24 hours since the injury, but..." he looked down at her with an unreadable expression. "There's no indication that the memory loss is permanent yet. We'll know more after I do your MRI later this afternoon." He started to leave, but stopped, suddenly remembering something. "Oh yeah, and your parents said they'd be coming in."

She nodded, watching him leave. No real portions of memory had come back. But she hadn't done anything to change that. She'd been running away from the only person who knew what had happened, knew what her life was like in those six months. She couldn't keep hiding and wishing that it would all come back, that she would suddenly be in love again, that all the pieces would magically fall back into place. She had to know what she was missing... but that would mean talking to Chase.

House slammed his hands on the dean's desk, the sound ringing through the office. "What do you mean their clinic hours are mine?! I've got a patient who's dying here! I don't have time to tell people they're idiots for thinking their cold is Ebola!"

Cuddy sighed, unfazed, crossing her legs. "House, they can't work. Not in this current situation. Take some responsibility for your team."

"Give the hours to Foreman!"

She pressed her lips together, unamused. "Doctor Foreman has already agreed to take half of the uncovered clinic hours", she said slowly, as if talking to a small child. "Plus, he is currently in charge of Doctor Cameron's case."

House dismissed the thought, waving his hand. "We have other neurologists!"

Cuddy leaned across the desk, shooting daggers with her eyes. "Foreman wanted the case."

House scoffed. "Then cut him two-thirds, I don't care."

Cuddy shook her head, sitting back down with a sigh. "House. Please. I don't have any other bargaining chips here."

"I'm not taking those hours."

"Look, I've already arranged for a series of interviews, but until you hire someone, the clinic hours are split 50/50."

House raised an eyebrow. "You think I want to hire someone?"

Cuddy placed a pile of applicant files in front of him, looking intently into his eyes. "I think you need to hire someone."

He looked at the files as if they were a pile of dirty laundry. "And what makes you think that-"

"They would help cover the excess clinic hours, for one thing."

House nodded, considering this. He got up to leave, but turned his head at the last moment. "What did you tell Cameron last night?"

"What?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He blinked. "Did I stutter?"

"How do you know that I-"

"Oh, come on, it's obvious. For the last week, you've had this glazed over look in your eyes every time..." He narrowed his eyes, looking at her with the trace of a smug grin on his lips. "Ah." He walked out the door, stopping right before it swung shut, and stuck his head back in.

"So, is that shirt new? Because it really shows off your-"

"House."

"What happened that day?" Cameron demanded, marching through the door of his room.

Chase dropped the book he was reading, fumbling to keep it from falling off the bed. "What- why are you looking at me like that?"

She folded her arms over her chest tightly. "I need to know."

He continued to have a dumbfounded expression plastered onto his face. "Yeah, but you're looking at me like I'm the one who pushed you. We got mugged." He held her gaze a moment before looking away, unable to maintain eye contact. "And I was stupid enough to try to look brave in front of you."

"I'm sorry." Her heart sank as he looked back up at her like a dejected puppy. Not because of the somewhat predictable cause of their injuries, but because of the love that seemed to pour out of his every orifice looking at her. Love that she didn't reciprocate, couldn't reciprocate. She pulled up a chair, somewhat awkwardly, in an attempt to lighten the mood. "How are you feeling?"

"Great, actually," he said with a cheesy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Though that might be just the morphine talking."

She nodded, unsure of how to react. "Do... you want to talk about the stuff I don't remember?" As long as he was telling her things, she didn't have to tell him anything back. She didn't want to even think about telling him anything yet. Definitely not about the incoming little bundle of joy.

His eyes lit up. "Yeah." He twiddled his thumbs, unsure of how to start. "Well... before we started dating, I fell in love with you, and you couldn't have cared less."

She smirked, if only for a second. That sounded familiar. Maybe too familiar.

"Anyway, I was convinced that you loved me too, and..." he laughed, looking down, "I decided to remind you, every Tuesday, that I liked you, until you would admit it." He shook his head. "It's so stupid now that I look back on it."

Cameron felt her head shake reflexively. She was trying to picture what he was saying, trying to see herself living through these events, trying to remember. Nothing. She felt nothing. It was no different than hearing someone describe a dream that she had happened to feature in. She looked back quickly, realizing he was still talking.

"...I had basically given up before you showed up at my door telling me you wanted to hear me say it, just one more time." He looked at her fondly, the expression faltering when he saw that her face was almost devoid of emotion. "Sorry, do you want me to stop?"

"No, go on," she insisted. "It's just... it's weird hearing things about me that I can't remember happening. You could lie to me and I wouldn't even know."

He nodded, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Anyway, we went out that night, and I guess that was our first real date."

It didn't feel as strange as she was worried it would be to sit and listen to the stories. In fact, she was grateful to be able to fill in some of the gaps. Chase wasn't the greatest storyteller, often going on long tangents and laughing at his own jokes. Yet, despite it all, she was so wrapped up in it all that she almost didn't realize that she was smiling too.

A loud clattering noise rang down the hallway, snapping her out of the trance. It was getting louder, frantic footsteps pattering behind it.

"House, what do you think you're doing?!" Foreman ran down the hall, quickly catching up with the whiteboard-pushing doctor.

"Cuddy hasn't gotten me a team yet." He rolled the board into the room, the cacophony of the wheels bouncing off the walls. "Good to see that everyone's here," he announced, addressing them like a class.

Foreman sighed, standing in the doorway. "Cameron is concussed. Her cognitive function is-"

"He's not," House said, pointing at Chase, before looking back. "What, you thought everyone could just get a free 'hurt' pass?"

Foreman frowned. "That's what usually happens when you're injured, yes."

"Not at this hospital, Eric," House retorted, smirking at Foreman's displeased reaction to hearing his first name. "Otherwise I'd have never showed up at all."

"You show up late every day!" Foreman exclaimed.

"And yet, you are always on time."

Foreman rolled his eyes, looking away.

While the neurologist sulked, Chase was scrutinizing the symptoms on the board. "Which ones are the most recent?"

"Top to bottom," House snapped. "Did you hit your head too?"

Chase shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, it's you. You never know."

Cameron squinted at the words on the board, despite knowing it couldn't be good for her brain. Rash, stomach pain, elevated white count... She read the list twice before something clicked. "These symptoms look a lot like that one guy, the bowler."

"Yeah, you're..." Chase started, before snapping his eyes to Foreman's, "...right. That was two months ago."

"Yeah, I know," she said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. She looked up, eyes widening. "Wait."

The two men were in awe. "You remembered something," Foreman said, before turning and rushing out of the room.

"Seriously?" House exclaimed, raising his arms in the air.

Foreman walked back in with a clipboard, jotting down notes. "Sorry. Just got to make a note of this."

"Right. Can we talk about my patient?"

Cameron shrugged. "Male, mid sixties, no history of-"

House wagged his finger in her face. "Uh uh uh, you're concussed." He stopped, reconsidering. "Or maybe that's just a really good excuse to tell you to shut up whenever I want. Go sit in the corner and look pretty." He looked at Chase. "And you, quit ogling. She's not going anywhere."

"I'm not ogling," he said, looking somewhat offended.

"Right, and I don't have a bum leg." House tapped his cane on the board. "Differential diagnosis."

Chase shrugged. "Could be a parasite. That could explain the brain inflammation and elevated white count."

House looked at Foreman with a pointed look. "I told you this was a good idea."

Foreman sighed. "Doesn't seem to correlate with the fever. It could simply be a neurological issue. There might be underlying causes that we've overlooked."

"Pneumonia?" Chase suggested.

"Doesn't explain the rash," House said, pointing the marker at the mentioned symptom.

Cameron wrapped her arms around her knees, looking out the open door. A nurse was pushing a cart down the hallway, filled with miscellaneous medical equipment. It felt weird to be on the other side of operations, not that she hadn't been in hospitals before as a patient. She had gotten check-ups and the like, just like every other person, but being in this hospital, the one she happened to work at, definitely felt different.

A thwack to the arm made her look back at the others in the room, a small bottle rolling back and forth on the floor.

"I guess she didn't catch," House mused, knocking it closer to her with his cane.

She leaned over and picked the small container up. House's Vicodin. "What...?"

"You take some out and swallow it," he said, writing something on the board.

She tipped it over, knocking out two of the small, white pills. House turned his head, looking back. "With your mouth. How hard did you hit your head?"

She glared at him, swallowing the pills dry.

"Okay, so Chase-" he looked at the man lying in the bed before turning and pointing- "Foreman, start him on broad spectrum antibiotics, and..." he scanned the occupants of the room quickly, "Foreman, go check out their place afterwards."

Foreman sighed. "I guess it's all me now," he said, throwing his hands up in defeat as he walked out of the room.

"Cameron," House announced, watching the neurologist leave, "let's talk in the hall."

Great. Whatever he had to say, it couldn't be good. Something outrageous and morally bankrupt, maybe some deep, dark secret she didn't even know she was keeping. She stood, following him out. "What's going on?"

House leaned on his cane, the motion causing him to loom over her smaller frame. "Does Chase know that you're pregnant?"

Shock contracted her chest as she looked at him, outraged. "How do you know that? Did Cuddy tell you?"

"You think I need her to tell me? Come on, give me more credit." He tapped his chin with a finger. "Interestingly enough, a lot of the symptoms you've been exhibiting could be from either the head injury or the metaphorical bread in the oven. Convenient cover-up, huh? Now, I'm assuming by the horrified look on your pretty face that he doesn't know. In that case..." He stuck his head back into the room. "She's pregnant."

Cameron's face somehow contorted into a more outraged expression as she marched up to him, resisting the urge to shove him into the wall. "You bastard!"

House shrugged. "He was going to find out sooner or later."

"Cameron," Chase called from the bed.

House's pager beeped, and he looked down at it briefly before putting it back on his waistband. "Whoops, looks like I have an interview to go to. Have fun talking to daddy." He walked away without a passing glance.

She should've known he would find out. She should've known he would tell. Slimy, dark dread wrestled with the white-hot threads of anger in her stomach. She walked huffily back into the room and sat back in the same seat.

"Is it true?" Chase said, eyes wide.

She looked at him, blue eyes shining with hope, and she could feel the annoyed expression melting away.

"Cameron?" He repeated, reaching out a hand to try and take hers.

She ignored his hand, and he awkwardly dropped it back into his lap. "Yeah. It's true."

He shook his head, completely at a loss. "That's amazing," he whispered. "That's absolutely amazing."

Shoot. He was happy. What if it was intentional? There was no way she could... rob him of the chance to be a dad. "Were we... trying to get pregnant?"

He shook his head again, stunned. "Not at all." He looked at her, face completely slack. "We're gonna be parents," he whispered.

She had to tell him. She couldn't keep this facade up any longer, couldn't entertain false hope. "Chase, I..." I don't love you, she thought, but the words didn't come out.

He didn't seem to have noticed what she was trying to say. "How did you find out?"

She was almost glad to avoid it. "Cuddy told me I went in for an ultrasound a week ago."

The look in his eyes seemed to harden, a sudden seriousness turning his soft features to stone. "You need to get another one. Fast."

She looked at him, confused. What did he mean? The baby wasn't going anywhere.

"The baby, Cameron," he said, a gentle look of concern melting the hardness away. "We need to make sure nothing happened during... when we got mugged."

"I-" she looked away. "I don't even know if I want to keep it yet."

It was his turn to be confused. "What? Why?"

She shrugged, not knowing what to say. She had to tell him now. There was no going back. "Because...because I don't love you."

To her surprise, he didn't seem too affected. He didn't break down, didn't cry, didn't even look particularly sad. He nodded once. "I know."

"I don't want to give you false hope, I..." She shook her head. His indifference wasn't comforting, it just made things harder. This was an enormous deal, how could he just sit around? Couldn't he tell how important a decision this was? "Just think about it," she insisted. "Imagine our kid grows up. She'll say, 'why don't daddy and mommy love each other?' She'll ask about us, and I'll say, 'I don't know, sweetie, I don't know.'"

He took this in, nodding again.

"How can you be so calm?" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands in frustration.

He shrugged. "Because I know you'll make the right choice. I'm not worried."

She shook her head, standing up. "Those drugs are messing with your head," she huffed, walking out. She didn't look behind as she left.