Mental minefield

A.N. As is my wont, I've redirected to Cameron (and adapted) some of the dialogue House speaks to Cuddy in the show. Only the truly hardcore fans will know which lines I mean. There's a fair bit of swearing in this. I read recently that "obscenity is the distinguishing hallmark of a sadly limited vocabulary". Needless to say, I disagree.


That afternoon Wilson was walking towards the elevator when he spotted House chatting to his fellows a little further down at a junction in the corridor. By the time he was within hailing distance, Chase and Cameron had headed off in one direction whilst Foreman had gone in another. House stood alone for a moment or two, eyes lost in that familiar far-off glaze—it took him a couple of seconds to register Wilson's presence, and when he did the greeting was a distracted one.

The oncologist waved a hand in front of his friend's face. "How's the case going?", he asked, drawing level.

"Open and shut. We'll have her cured and home in time for Seth Meyers. Or maybe she's a Sean Hannity fan".

"You're struggling, aren't you?".

The two walked to the elevator.

"For now. The woman's progressing pretty rapidly through our list of symptoms".

"Which are?".

House snorted. "Don't worry about that. I'm not so desperate that I need your valuable input quite yet".

Now it was Wilson's turn to shrug as they entered the elevator and the doors slid shut. "Suit yourself. How did the run with Cameron go on Friday?".

"What if I told you that I won?", mused House, glancing sidelong at his friend, who raised his eyebrows.

"Bullshit you won". Wilson folded his arms.

"Why is that so hard to believe? Don't you have faith in me?".

"No. And even if I did, which I don't, I'd still back Cameron all the way. She's half your size and age, lighter on her feet…oh, and not crippled".

The elevator opened on their floor and they walked out.

"Hey", replied House, "you can't insult disabled people, that's just not right. Anyway, I'm in tip top shape nowadays. We have our friend Mr. Ketamine to thank for that. I think he's a gentile, though, so don't tell Cuddy...or, er, yourself".

The pair stood aside to let a gurney flanked by a team of doctors rush past, before continuing on.

"Hand it over or I'll tell Cameron on you".

House sighed but fished out his wallet, peeling off the bills. A deal was a deal. "Fine. But I'll have you know it was really close. I was only a few seconds behind. Cameron gave me a kiss when I paid up to her on Friday. But I'm absolutely fine with you not doing that". The memory of that kiss, and what they'd done afterwards, came back to him and he shook his head a little, trying to retain his focus. As he'd confided after their run, she was beginning to inhabit his brain even during a case, an area of his mind which had previously been a completely woman-free zone.

"That makes two of us, then", replied Wilson, depositing the money safely inside his jacket, as far away from House's thieving fingers as possible. The two had reached Diagnostics and they stopped by the glass. "You wanna hang out tonight or are you both still loved up?".

House had walked halfway through the door, but at his friend's words he doubled back: "I'm not-, we're not, er, loved up. It's not even, I mean, I haven't; she hasn't-".

Wilson raised an eyebrow, always delighted when his usually composed companion was at a loss for words. "I swear, sometimes you are positively Churchillian".

"Don't you have oncology to do? Go find the cure for cancer. People are counting on you".

"Actually, I'm attending a Board meeting in fifteen minutes at Cuddy's invitation". Wilson decided against elaborating on this. If the sponsor checked out, House would have to meet him eventually, but there was no point informing the other until the deal was done. "So, are we on for tonight or what?".

"Probably gonna have to postpone. This case is looking like it may be an all-nighter and I know you like to get your full eight hours". House had been blasé about it earlier, but the fact was they had little inkling as to what was affecting their patient. Even if he himself didn't stay at the hospital through the night (after all, that's what fellows were for), it was at the very least likely to be a late finish.

"Alright. I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then". With that, Wilson waved and headed off.

"Have fun at the Board meeting, nerd!", called House down the hallway before entering his office.

"Takes one to know one, loser!", came the resounding reply.

House wrote several key words up on his personal whiteboard and sank into the chair, picking up the baseball resting by the monitor. It was a strange constellation of symptoms, and sometimes there was nothing for it but to sit in silence and let his brain work through the problem. None of the usual tests had turned up anything conclusive, which led him to think that the answer was to be found in her environment. Cameron and Chase were on the way to her college dormitory. To his knowledge, none of the other cheerleaders had taken ill, so that ruled out communal areas like changing and shower rooms.

While he thought, House's mind flicked inevitably back to Cameron. Though she was too professional to say anything, he could sense her slight unease at accompanying Chase. But it had been made clear early on, and again this morning, that there would not be special treatment. He wasn't worried, though—Cameron had shown herself to be resilient and conscientious, and had made it plain over the weekend that she was willing to work hard in ensuring their team functioned smoothly in spite of the changed situation between them both.

Focus.

House shook his head and tossed the ball from hand to hand, working through the list once more. The answer was here somewhere.


The three fellows were seated around the conference table looking at their boss as he paced back and forth. The clock on the wall displayed the time as approaching one in the morning, and they were still no closer to diagnosing the cheerleader who was critically ill but, for now, stable, despite a significant seizure ten minutes previously. "Think! What would make her seize?", asked House, whirling around to face his employees.

"Pesticide poisoning?", suggested Cameron, running a hand through her hair.

"Carbamates or organophosphates", added Foreman.

"Organochlorine…inhalation or absorption, though?". Chase this time. "But I've already got a rush on the bloods and the earliest we get the results is tomorrow first thing. If it's an organophosphate, we'll know then".

"What's her native heart rate at the minute, without the pads?".

"Holding steady at thirty-six. We can't take her off them yet—too risky", stated Foreman.

"Yes, thank you, Sherlock". House turned back to the window and looked out into the pitch black for a few moments. The dark silhouettes of trees loomed in the middle distance, swaying in the autumn wind. "If it's poisoning we can expect liver toxicity to increase overnight. I want, er…", he stumbled.

"Poonam", supplied Cameron.

"Poonam? What the hell kind of name is that?".

"I think it's Indian".

"Whatever. I want the nurses checking in on her every half hour. The rest of you can go home, get some sleep. There's nothing more you can do for now. I want the blood results on my desk as soon as humanly possible tomorrow and we'll wrap this thing up".

The fellows got up and wearily made their way to the door.

"What are you gonna do?", asked Chase.

"Watch porn", he replied in a beat. The two men made a face and prepared to leave, but Cameron lingered. "Go", he reiterated, "get some sleep. We'll reconvene bright and early".

House waited until the trio had left before venturing back into his office where, as he'd done earlier in the day, he sat in his chair gazing at the whiteboard. After a few moments he got up and added 'organophosphates?' in thick black marker. Foreman was probably right there, and that's what annoyed him—he should have seen it. A basic deduction missed. House wanted to spend the next thirty minutes thinking the whole problem through, checking and double-checking his insights. Logic was meant to be his forte, but recently…

House sat in the darkened room for some time, deep in thought. It wasn't just tonight. Over the last several months, he'd noticed how fewer of the team's breakthroughs had been down to him: Cameron had figured out the Sjögren's syndrome case, was in fact basing her paper on it; Cuddy had correctly determined sarcoidosis in their most recent one. Even in the porphyria diagnosis before the German meal Foreman had taken half the credit. Then there was the time he'd ridden off on his bike halfway through a case to get away from the possibility that Cameron might leave him for Chase. Focus had been lost, of this he was certain. The cause was obvious. He sighed and span a baseball from hand to hand.

Suddenly the door to his office opened and Cameron walked in carrying two takeout coffees and donuts.

Again, he sighed. "I thought I told you to go home".

"I brought you a pick-me-up from the 7-Eleven opposite".

"I'm not thirsty. Or hungry". House's voice was low.

Cameron looked at the other for a moment or two, detecting the tone. "That's fine. I'll leave it here just in case".

"Why are you doing this?", asked House, replacing the ball.

"It's just donuts and coffee", she replied, still standing by the desk.

He shook his head and spread his arms widely, encompassing the room. "No. I mean, why are you doing this?".

Cameron grasped immediately what her boss meant. "We've been through why I like you, House", she answered slowly.

The coffees remained untouched in their cardboard holders.

The man got up and started pacing, just as he'd done in the conference room earlier. "Yeah, well, it's…ah, fuck it…fuck it".

"What's the matter, House?". She knew instinctively that the next few minutes would need to be handled delicately.

"Nothing", he grunted immediately, turning away to look out of the window but seeing only his reflection in the glass.

"I don't believe you".

Suddenly he whirled around, eyes flashing. "I don't give a shit if you don't believe me—it's the truth".

The outburst surprised Cameron, but she walked towards him all the same. "I don't believe you", she repeated levelly.

House sneered and his voice dripped with sarcasm. "Well, I can say it again, but I don't really wanna go round in circles".

Cameron walked up to the other and folded her arms. "Speak to me".

He rolled his eyes. "I think we're already doing that: my gums are flapping; yours are flapping. Ergo, we are speaking".

"Enough. I want the truth".

Now House shook his head.

"I'm not leaving here until I get the fucking truth, House. So, if you wanna play it that way, I suggest you settle in for a long night because we already know you can't outrun me". Cameron widened her stance and met his gaze unflinchingly. All those years of experience dealing with brothers was certainly coming in handy. As she had realised months ago, House may be unique, but he was still a man.

The hours of frustrated discussion, lack of food and sleep, and disgruntlement burst its bounds as he rounded on his girlfriend. "The truth? Fine. These last few months I have been an absolutely shit doctor. I've missed diagnoses, abandoned the hospital in the middle of a case, groped you in a fucking stairwell rather than focusing on what I do, which is saving lives. When I sit in front of this whiteboard-", he jabbed at it so hard that the legs rocked back, "-I don't see symptoms anymore. I see, I see…".

"What do you see, House?", she prompted gently, completely at odds with the other's anger.

"I see you, Cameron", he replied fiercely, slapping the whiteboard with his palm. "I see your face, your hair, your body. I hear your voice. You're in my fucking head. It's not right. I am a worse doctor now than I was four months ago. And it's your fault I'm like this. People will die because of it. It's a goddam miracle that nobody has yet, though there's still time because that cheerleader is hanging on by a thread. It's…it's not right", House finished, his anger burnt out, looking at the floor.

Cameron reached up and stroked his cheek, speaking softly. "House, listen. I know how important medicine is to you, and I'm sorry that I've trespassed upon it. But I'm also not sorry, because I finally have what I want".

"People will die, though. What you or I want doesn't matter against that", he replied, still refusing to meet her eye.

"We're a team, House. If you've been distracted, you have to trust us to pick up the slack until you adapt to our situation. You don't need to do everything yourself and it will get easier".

"But how on earth can you know that? Because right now I'm struggling to focus on anything that isn't you".

"I know because I've been through it".

"With your husband?".

The woman tilted her head, and the smile which had been dancing around her mouth widened. "No. With you".

He looked surprised. "You seem to be coping much better than I am".

"I've had a lot of practice. I think I mastered my feelings for you about….", she tapped a finger against her lips as she thought back, "…one and a half years ago. Give or take a couple of months. I've already told you how disappointed I was when you kept rejecting me: my standards slipped, though I had Foreman and Chase to help me out. After a couple of months, I learnt to deal with it by compartmentalising my work, my life, and my feelings for you".

House's eyes glazed as he thought back. "I don't remember you making any mistakes".

"You were too busy with Stacy to notice".

It never ceased to amaze Cameron how quickly House's flashes of anger transitioned into thoughtfulness and calm. Either way, it was telling that the man's preoccupation was once again emerging. She yearned for the day that he would look at her just as he'd looked at Stacy through the glass of Mark Warner's hospital room. Obviously, she couldn't compete with their history and the years of affection which had accumulated over that period, but she, they, were at the very least making tangible progress. An exhilarating thought, and worth enduring any amount of anger from House.

House grunted before turning to sit on the edge of the desk. She was right to say that he'd also been distracted when Stacy had come back—he could distinctly recall missing a case simply to catch a rat in her loft; going to her house only to spend time in her company. Maybe that was a useful parallel. And yet, as he'd told Wilson a while ago, this relationship felt different. Stacy had been familiar, comfortable. There was passion, yes, but it was measured, and thoughts of her hadn't occupied his brain to quite this degree. Perhaps Cameron was right in saying that it was just a matter of time; a matter of adapting.

House sat up and flicked her nose with his thumb, causing her to wrinkle it characteristically. "You're annoying".

She raised an eyebrow. "Says you?".

He reached across to the coffee and took a sip. "Look, I take your point, but I'm still going to sit here and stare at my whiteboard for a while".

"You don't think it's poisoning?".

"I think it is. But I still want to work it through. By myself", he added.

"No problem", she replied, patting him on the cheek before collecting her own drink and heading for the door.

"Where are you going?".

"Home. You literally just said you wanted to be alone".

"I said I wanted to think by myself. I didn't say I wanted you to leave. If you're right and it really is a case of adapting, then we may as well start now".

Cameron sighed, pretending to be irritated. "Has it occurred to you that I might actually want to go and sleep? It's two in the morning".

House was now munching on a donut. "Your words say one thing, your little face says something else. If you really wanted to sleep, you wouldn't have returned".

"Fine. What're you thinking?", she asked, walking back into the room. His insight had been correct.

"Park yourself in that chair over there and read a book while I conjure up my mental magic". Having made quick work of the first donut, he was starting on his second, which didn't escape Cameron's attention, who stood with hands on hips. "What?", he queried through a mouthful of sugar and cream.

"First, you said you weren't hungry; second, didn't your mom teach you that sharing is caring?".

House rolled his eyes but tossed over the bag. "There you go. Knock yourself out".

She sat down and peeked inside, double-checking it wasn't empty. "I don't have a book".

House rummaged around in his drawers before spinning one across the room. "Try this".

Cameron caught it and recited the title. "Lesbian Prison Stories. This looks…well thumbed".

"That's one way of putting it", he grinned. "Now shush. I have to focus".

With this, he picked up the oversized tennis ball on his desk and began throwing it from hand to hand. Cameron, meanwhile, settled in to read.

Time passed, the only sound an occasional slurp of coffee, the turning of a page, the pat pat of a ball, both doctors lost in their own world. House ran through everything, turning each symptom over in his mind, occasionally consulting a reference volume on the shelf by his chair, but generally keeping movement to a minimum. After forty-five minutes of careful study, he was satisfied enough to glance over to Cameron in the chair. She was fast asleep, the book open against her chest.

As quietly as he could, House took his coat from the stand and draped it over the other. The movement caused a stir. "Shh, go back to sleep", he whispered.

"There's room in this chair for both of us. We can just nap for a bit".

"It looks a tight squeeze".

"We've done it before. Sit", she mumbled.

House scoffed but nevertheless did as asked, and the pair snuggled up.

"Is it poisoning, then?".

"Mmm. But she'll keep 'til the morning".

"So, it was a wasted evening", she murmured sleepily.

"It wasn't wasted. It was exactly what I needed", he replied, head back against the rest.

There was no reply and the sound of Cameron's regular breathing indicated that she had fallen asleep. After a few minutes, and with a half-smile on his lips, House had, too.