Coffee. It’s something she hadn’t thought she’d miss, but her dreams of a deep, rich, wonderfully blended coffee drink tend to reassure her, that she in fact, does. Sighing as some male nurse rests his styrofoam cup down on the nurses’ station, she closes her eyes, inhaling the strong scent of...Brazilian nut, toasted almond, and was that --.

“Cameron?”

“Huh?”

Her reply makes him nearly laugh, but the look of pure desire at the coffee cup does make him laugh. He disregards the murderous look on her features.

“I’m going to say this no caffeine, no coffee thing, is getting to you?”

She lets her left elbow rest on the station, not deigning to give him an answer. “Taub still giving you a hard time?”

“You know, not so much. I’m getting worried.”

“Well, it’s been about three months. I guess he’s finally getting used to the idea that you’re the head honcho.”

“How are you?”

“Would everyone stop asking me that?” She jerkily tucks her hair behind her left ear. “Three months. He’s not dead. He was a colleague, not my...secret lover.”

---

Bright lights cause him to close his eyes exactly one second after he’s first opened them. In the dark, his mind begins to whir. His other sensations heighten.

Sight. Cross that one off. He knows it’s bright, he’s alone, and in the hospital.

Taste. There’s mint from a toothpaste. His mouth is gummy, very gummy.

Smell. The hospital holds a scent he’s more than comfortable with. He can smell his body, which surprises him because he doesn’t smell like the soap he usually buys.

Hear. Machines inside his room, tell him his heart rate is on the slow side. Voices from outside his private room tell him that it’s almost lunch. Gina says something about taking her smoke break. She only does that before she eats.

Touch. The bed sheets scratch against his skin, making him almost itchy. Reaching up to his face, he feels the growth. It’s not abnormally long, which isn’t what gives him pause. It’s unusually short.

---

He glances, more out of habit than anything else, to where House’s room is situated opposite where they stand. When he sees the hand move to the face, he starts, his body moving without asking his brain what it’s doing.

---

As Foreman enters the room, his eyes finally peer open again. He almost says something before he sees her behind the station. Her hair is astonishingly light blonde, ridiculously wavy, and cut just two inches past her shoulders. Even from this distance, he can see the lines around her mouth and the beginning hint of a crease in her forehead. He wonders how she’d matured so quickly. He also wonders how she’d gained that plump bosom, barely hidden by her dark green blouse.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Get that damn light out of my eyes! I’m fine.”

Foreman looks on dubiously as the man begins to sit up.

“I need you-.”

“Six, eleven, fifty-nine. Gregory House reported for duty. Now, tell me what happened before I fire you.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation as he closes his mouth, catching the slip and lowering the file.

“What was that?”

House sighs, frustrated as he begins to lean forward to grab the file in Foreman’s hand.

“I said-.”

It’s then that she must have gotten over her shock because she moves four steps away from the station that had hid most of her body. At first, it doesn’t register.

She’s Cameron. She’s the littlest duckling. She’s the weakest. She’s Cameron.

His mouth drops open of its own accord and she stops suddenly in the middle of the corridor, noticing his reaction. He can almost breathe her breaths, though it’s utterly impossible.

The brightness of her face, dims in one flashing moment. Hesitantly, her hands go to the sides her belly, swollen and round under the white doctor’s coat.

“What the hell happened to me, Foreman?”

---

A/N: So...there's honestly no telling when I'm going to update or how frequently I will. Or even if I will. In any case, I know the House coma has been done before, and probably much better than I will attempt, but I've had this idea since Chapter 12 of "Almost."