Women

The following morning found the three fellows in the office drinking coffee and doing their own thing. Chase was busy at a crossword, absentmindedly chewing the end of his pen and leaning back so that two legs of his chair were off the ground. Foreman was reading a medical journal, every now and then making small noises of disagreement. Cameron, meanwhile, was busy working on her article based off the Sjögren's syndrome case. She was making a list of the literature she still wanted to consult and was beginning to thrash out a plan. Once these preliminary stages were done, the writing would follow quickly.

There was the seed of an excellent paper here, but she wanted to get House's opinion before progressing too far. The last time she had sought his feedback on her work, the article had sat on his desk unread for months. Hopefully this time would be different. House himself published very rarely, but when he did release a paper (often at Cuddy's threat of double clinic hours until it was submitted) it invariably ended up in the best journals. His last two had appeared in the New England Medical Journal and The Lancet. Cameron wasn't aiming that high herself, but it was something to aspire to. She mentally chastised herself for allowing her thoughts to drift to her boss when she was meant to be working, but it couldn't be helped.

House possessed a seemingly effortless genius and she didn't know him well enough yet to decide whether it truly was effortless, or whether he worked hard behind the scenes. His home, which she had only once entered and for a fleeting minute or so, would tell her—the type of books he read, the state of his writing desk, the evidence of his discarded doodlings. Perhaps as their relationship developed, she could ask him how his brain worked, how he thought when confronted with a medical problem, or anything else for that matter. She supposed that this was at the root of her overpowering attraction for the man. Like him, she was endlessly curious about their mutual allure. The physical things were a bonus. She loved to see him happier in his skin, mobile, free from Vicodin; but in truth she would desire him just as much if he were forced back to his old life, cane in hand and pills in pocket, if only because these were simply props for House, not House himself—they didn't define the man. But his mind did, and that was what drew her in.

As if detecting that she was now thinking about their boss, Foreman tossed the journal aside and looked at his colleagues. "So what did you think of ze German restaurant last night?". They'd not yet had a debrief and he was curious to get their take on House's antics at dinner.

"I thought it was great", replied Cameron. But not just because of the food, she thought, suppressing a smile.

"Chase?".

"It was fine? I dunno what you want me to say. The Germans like their meat just as much as Australians, so it's all good as far as I'm concerned". Chase went back to his crossword.

"What did you guys make of House, though?". Foreman addressed the question to both but looked at Cameron as he spoke.

She met his gaze levelly. "He seemed on good form to me, but I'm hardly a House expert".

Chase sighed, aware that his colleague was fishing for information. "I agree with Cameron. I didn't see anything weird. If anything he was even more sarcastic than usual".

"Quite. He seems happier and I don't know why". Again, Foreman looked at the woman opposite, whose heart had leapt in her chest at his observation that House appeared happier.

Still, she had grown suddenly tired of these indirect questions. "Hey, what's with all the deep looks, Foreman? If you've got something to say to me, say it. The suspense is killing me". Cameron folded her arms across her chest.

"Fine. Are you seeing House?", he asked, meeting her gaze. Chase also looked up, crossword momentarily forgotten.

"What on earth gave you that idea?".

"Nothing in particular", he admitted, lacing his hands together on the glass table. "But you've been sharing a fair few glances recently".

Cameron scoffed. "Forgive me for looking at members of the opposite sex. Please don't alert the church elders".

Foreman persevered. "And you seemed pretty close to him at dinner last night".

"What do you mean by that?", she asked, daring him to say what he thought out loud.

The other's eyes darted to Chase so quickly that the latter couldn't have seen it from his position at the side of the room. "Nothing. Forget I said anything", he finished, holding up his hand in a conciliatory gesture and picking up the journal again.

"Good". Cameron's heart rate returned to its normal pace. "I'm going to make another cup of coffee if you guys want one". The others nodded and she went over to the pot. At that, the door to the adjoining office opened and House walked in, earphones blaring, slinging his rucksack onto the easy chair and hanging up his leather jacket. "House?", Cameron called through the wall.

No reply.

"House!", she tried again, louder.

Still nothing.

"HOUSE!", she bellowed, causing the other fellows to jump slightly.

Finally, House removed his buds and looked at her accusingly. "What? This better be good—Roger Daltrey's about to let loose".

Cameron put her hands on her hips and spoke from the other room, still through the wall. "I'm making coffee. Would you like a cup?".

"I suppose that's a valid reason to cut Daltrey off. Go on then", he replied, slouching at his desk and turning on the computer.

Cameron turned back to the pot, but not before she caught Chase and Foreman looking at her oddly. "What?", she demanded. The tone was almost exactly the same as House's.

The two men looked at each other. "Err, nothing. Coffee would be good, thanks", Chase muttered into his paper. For such a small person, Cameron had a very loud voice when it was required.

After a few minutes' brewing, she distributed the mugs and handed one to her boss as he walked into the larger office, ensuring that their fingers brushed. "Cheers, Camster", he said, taking a sip. "Mmm, lovely. You see, men? This is how you make the bossman happy".

Cameron simply rolled her eyes and sat back down to her article planning.

House wandered over to stand by the window. "Thanks for inviting me out last night, Foreman. It was nowhere near as bad as I was expecting, and I feel like our relationship has developed somewhat".

Cameron's heart rate increased once more, though she remained looking at the papers on the table. Foreman inclined his head in acknowledgement.

House's voice changed. "Ugh, speaking of the bossman. All troops—atten…shun!".

Cuddy burst into the office wearing a harried look. Her normally immaculate curly hair was a little frazzled and there was a sheen of perspiration on her forehead. She glared round the room at the doctors, all of whom were sipping coffee and had looked up in mild interest. "What the hell is going on in here?", she demanded.

"My apologies, ma'am, for this breach of discipline. Employees Chase, Cameron, and Foreman: you will all stand to attention and salute the overlord", House intoned in a British accent from the window. No one moved. "My soldiers are mutinous, mistress. I request reinforcements from headquarters".

Cuddy put her hands on her hips. She was having none of it. "House, you and your staff are needed immediately in the ER. There's been a huge pile-up and injured are coming in by the ambulance-load".

The fellows immediately began heading for the exit.

"Huh, so that's what all the furore was about downstairs. It made it really hard to listen to Baba O'Riley". House paused. "Don't worry, though. I managed".

"I'm not messing around. Go. Now". The three doctors quietly left the room, leaving their boss and his boss to a face-off.

"But moooom-".

"-now". Cuddy's tone brooked no argument, and House had no desire to test her wrath.

He adopted a whiny voice as he placed his mug in the sink. "Fine. But just so you know, I'm twice the doctor you'll ever be!".

Cuddy laughed. "Ohh, ouch. Best take me to the burns unit after that".

"You're right, sorry, that wasn't great", House said as he walked to the door beside her. "I had something of a late night and I'm not at my best. Walk me down?".

"Sure thing, kiddo", replied Cuddy, tapping his butt affectionately as he ambled past. "How's it going with Cameron? Been on that date yet?".

"Tomorrow". They reached the elevator and pressed the button.

"Ah. Nervous?". Cuddy glanced sidelong at her subordinate.

House turned sharply to face her, his blue eyes momentarily unsure, stripped of their irony. "Yes", he answered truthfully, "I am. Hookers are far less stress".

Cuddy placed a hand on his shoulder. "Remember what I said. Be yourself. Cameron will take care of the rest". They entered the elevator.

"What makes you say that?".

"She's a woman. Contrary to what you may believe, we are not just a walking pair of tits. We can vote now, and some of us even run hospitals".

"Don't I know it", House muttered as the doors opened and they entered the hustle and bustle of the lobby.


Seven hours, innumerable broken bones, and countless pints of transfused blood later, House sat on a gurney alongside Wilson, who had also been roped in to assist with the backlog of patients, sipping coffee from a flask. They had been on their feet all day and their legs hurt. House massaged his thigh absentmindedly. It ached. Ordinarily he'd ignore it, but it wasn't the first time in the two months since he'd returned that it had caused him unexpected discomfort. He thought back to when he had crouched down by the pharmacy, soon after his 'assessment' with Cameron.

Cameron. She was in his head, and had been all afternoon. He hadn't lied when confessing his nervousness to Cuddy. As he reflected on their previous 'dates'—the monster trucks and the restaurant—he recognised that he'd been nervous at the start of both evenings. Wilson would say it was a good thing, since it showed he cared. He did care. That was the frightening thing. He'd been casting bones, bandaging gashes, wiping up blood all day, and all he could think about was her. What is wrong with you?

"…still think he's in with a good shout", said Wilson.

"Sorry, what was that?". House flicked back to reality.

Wilson gave him a strange look. "I said that I still think Wilder is in with a good shout".

Boxing. "Yeah, for sure. But the Brits think Tyson Fury is the real deal, and they know a thing or two about fighting. Ask the Germans".

"I think you'll find that it was the Americans who won the war".

House took the flask and poured himself another cup. "Spoken like a true believer. Don't trust everything the media tells you, man. Question it all. Find out for yourself".

The other nodded indulgently, watching as his friend's eyes followed Cameron's movements in another part of the ER. She was speaking to a nurse and bandaging a young boy's arm at the same time. "You like her, don't you", Wilson stated, knowing the answer.

"Guilty, your honour".

"So what's the problem?".

"Huh? There's no problem".

Wilson said nothing, turning back to the scene before them, seemingly satisfied with this response. Most of the patients had been dealt with but the ER was still busy, and doctors and nurses hurried about. "If I have to get out my pliers, I will, you know", he continued after a few moments.

House chuckled mirthlessly. The pair were quiet for the next couple of minutes. As he had done countless times before, Wilson waited for the other to speak in his own time. "The problem is", House began, "precisely that I like her. It's hard to explain. With Stacy it felt different. I cared for her deeply of course, but she never made me nervous. It all felt very…", House struggled to find the right word, "normal, I guess. And then when she went behind my back and consented to my leg surgery, it tarnished everything and there was no going back".

Again, Wilson remained silent, anticipating more.

"I guess I'm still unsure how I'm meant to feel about Cameron", House continued, looking at the floor. "I know what I feel, but I don't know how I should be feeling it; and I'm afraid that, if this all goes wrong and I fuck it up, there'll be no going back. It'll be tarnished, as it was with Stacy".

Wilson sat back against the wall and closed his eyes. Suddenly he started laughing, gently at first but then deeply.

"What the hell is so funny?", House asked angrily, jabbing the other in the ribs with his elbow.

Wilson calmed down, dabbing at his eyes with the heel of his palms, and blowing his nose into a crumpled tissue. "House, I heard everything you just said and I fail to see any problem at all".

The other looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"You're still wrapping your head around your feelings for Cameron and you're apprehensive for the future as it relates to your past, right? Is that a fair summation?".

"Maybe...".

"Welcome to an adult relationship, buddy. No, scratch that. Welcome to the club of being any man ever; hell, welcome to the club of being human. I knew you weren't an unfeeling robot". Wilson succumbed to another burst of the giggles. "Thanks, House. I needed that, I really did. Thank you".

House arched an eyebrow, though his anger had drained away. "I'm glad my inner doubts are a source of mirth to you, Jimmy".

Wilson patted the other's knee. "You'll be OK, House. You'll be OK".

Cuddy caught sight of the relaxed pair and glared, offering them a couple of firm gestures from across the room. Break time was over. "I can't speak for you", muttered House, slipping down from the gurney onto his still aching feet, "but I swear these women will be the death of me".

The two best friends shared a knowing glance before wading back into the fray.


As always, thanks for reading. I'm a few ahead of you and we've some absolute crackers lined up. Well, I like them...