Mistake

House had made a mistake.

Wilson sat in his office that afternoon thinking over what he had just read, doublechecking what had initially only been an informed hunch. Unlike his friend, he didn't possess an encyclopaedic knowledge. Obviously, he had undergone 'basic training' in med school, but oncology quickly emerged as a specialism. The file seemed fairly conclusive, though, and the patient would need to undergo a series of tests. Once that had been done, treatment and prognosis remained. With a bit of luck, everything would work out for the best. There were lots of drugs available for this kind of condition.

House had made a mistake.

That was the issue. And really in one sense it wasn't an issue. Clubbing was hard to detect at the best of times. Even with the other symptoms, most other doctors would, also, have determined stress and anxiety to be the cause and, also, prescribed relaxants or anti-depressants. Ahmed would have been caught further down the line. But House floated far above 'most other doctors', a once-in-a-generation talent. Everyone makes mistakes, yes, but the nephrologist wasn't 'everyone'.

House had made a mistake.

Wilson sighed and got up from his chair, wandering to the window and its familiar view out onto the hospital grounds. This was a nice office. Prime real estate. Across the way was Diagnostics and its balcony. The lights were off in the conference room, so House hadn't been striding from the clinic to return there. Maybe he and his fellows were currently occupied with a patient. Regardless, if his mind were on medicine, and an urgent development in their case had pulled him away, there was not a chance that he'd have missed the clubbing in Ahmed's fingers. No, there must be another reason.

Down below, an ambulance pulled up to the main entrance and several paramedics piled in, squawking radios audible even through the glass. Before long, it had raced out of sight until only a faint siren could be heard on the breeze. Once again, Wilson's gaze flicked back to his friend's office, thinking over prior conversations. Nobody's perfect. House had confided a few weeks ago that he feared losing his edge; and Wilson, to be sure, had also stated as much upon the former's return from London. Was this mistake an(other) example of that? Was House becoming…careless? Distracted?

Wilson didn't know.

What he did know was that mistakes cost lives. Clinic errors were one thing, but what if they spilled over into other areas? The fellows would have his back, surely, until such time as the single-minded purpose which defined Gregory House returned. Right?

He ran a hand through his thick brown hair.

The slightly concerning thing was the possibility that this missed diagnosis was not an isolated occurrence but one mistake among several. If Wilson had not been in the clinic this morning, Ahmed would have slipped through the net. A sobering thought.

House had made a mistake.

It wasn't a big deal.

Everyone made mistakes.

Everyone except House.

Fuck.

Perhaps Wilson could chalk this up to coincidence and move on. But then the nervously smiling face of Amina Ahmed shimmered through his mind. No. A doctor's duty was to his patients. He returned to the computer and tabbed back to the email from Nurse Brenda downstairs. For his own peace of mind he hit 'reply' and set about typing a response, pondering each word carefully. It took him half an hour to write a single paragraph, and when it was done he sat back, decidedly uncomfortable. But only one course of action lay open. The mouse cursor hovered accusingly, daring him to consign this email to the trash.

For a full five minutes Wilson hesitated. Then he hit 'send'.

Perhaps this was a mistake. And perhaps it wasn't. Only time would tell.


"That was fun", said House as he rebuttoned his shirt. The gloom meant that he couldn't actually see Cameron's features properly, though her teeth glinted a little as she smiled.

"Yep. How's your leg?". Their position had been somewhat demanding.

"I'm more concerned about my heart. One of these days you're gonna stroke me out".

Cameron punched him on the arm. "Don't joke about that".

House rubbed the spot as he peaked outside. "Coast is clear. Let's go".

She ran a hand through her hair, attempting to make it appear like she had not just been messing about in a janitor's closet. "Y'know", she mused as they wandered down the corridor, "I never did get my free shot".

"Hmm. Want to take it now?".

"I could. Or I could wait 'til you least expect it; leave the threat hanging over you, like the sword of Damocles".

He glanced down sharply. "How do you know about Damocles' sword?". Funnily enough, he had invoked it the night he'd confessed the hallucination to Wilson all those months ago.

"No need to sound quite so surprised", she laughed. "You may find this hard to believe, but I'm not just a pretty face".

"Who says so?".

"Me. I say so". Cameron neglected to mention that House himself had also said as much their first day together, after the conflict resolution in the lab. Good times.

House grunted and the pair walked in silence down the stairs to their own floor. "Where did the others go, by the way?", he asked eventually.

"Library. They decided on a journal but need to redraft their article in line with its house style. Have you decided on somewhere for yours?". Cameron had long assumed prime responsibility for House's emails and knew how many offers and queries he had received post-London. But, not wishing to interfere, she had left the article business to him.

"Nah. Kinda thinking I won't bother at this stage".

"What?". Cameron stopped in the corridor, forcing him to do likewise. "You have to publish".

"Why? So that people half as smart as me can read it and write hate mail in response?".

"No. Because it's…it's scientifically significant", she replied, waving a hand in the air.

House scoffed. "I don't care about that".

"Well, I do. I really want you to publish it, House. Seriously. It'd be a mistake if you didn't".

"Dunno about that. Safer just to leave what happened at the conference in London…at the conference in London. If I published, and someone found out about Powell, I'd be fucked".

"No. I'd be fucked. You did nothing wrong".

"We're not discussing this issue again, Cameron. I said my piece a while back", he replied wearily as they resumed their walk.

"You said yourself the paper is safe. Wilson read it, and having heard it in person, I think it is safe. No one's going to find out. You were fine presenting it; why not publishing it?".

"Because once it's out there, it's out there. We can't run the risk that someone might catch on, however unlikely it might be".

"They won't catch on. Everything is hypothetical. There's absolutely no suggestion that this is reality. Even Foreman and Chase don't know".

"Still, it's a risk I'm unwilling to take. Why do you care so much about this, anyway? You were asking me not to give the paper initially".

"That's true", she nodded. "And I was wrong to do so".

"Dunno, actually. There's risk to both of us, sure, but I at least get all the credit".

"I'm completely fine with that".

"Why?", he asked, genuinely mystified.

"Because, my love, I told myself that I wouldn't interfere with what you do. One of my first ground rules. If you refused to publish because of me…I wouldn't like that at all. And secondly, from a personal perspective, I'm proud of you and what you've achieved with it. Actually, I'm proud from a professional perspective, too". Cameron delivered the words facing forwards, and she sensed House glance down at her.

A few moments passed in silence.

Eventually he shook his head, speaking softly: "sneaky bitch…".

Cameron pretended not to hear. "Hmm?".

The pair had reached the department and both walked into the office, House to his chair, Cameron to perch on the desk edge looking down at him. "I said that you're a sneaky bitch", he said. "When have you ever said 'my love'? I thought we'd got past Love is a Two-Way Street. Trying to manipulate me, you are".

"Hmm. I'd think you'd be too smart to fall for that, House. Anyway, I say it all the time".

"Yeah? To whom?". House picked up a ball and began to toss it from hand to hand, leaning back in the chair.

"Umm. My brothers". The response lacked confidence.

"Is that so? I didn't know you were from the hillbilly region of Chicago. Well, whatever floats your boat".

"Did I say brothers? I meant my…clarinet? Yes, my clarinet".

"You call your clarinet 'my love'? How exactly are you playing it? Or shouldn't I ask…?". House's eyes were gleeful as Cameron proceeded to flush red with embarrassment.

"What? No, no, I play it with my mouth, the normal wa-, y'know, I'm not even gonna engage", she retorted, ruffling her hair with a hand and looking crossly at him.

"Smart. Best to admit defeat, eh, Camster? I win this round". House folded his arms and grinned moronically in her direction.

The immunologist sighed, feigning dejection as she stood up. "I don't mind losing every now and then, buster. Besides, I'll always be hotter than you anyway, so…".

House nodded sagely. "True. Can't deny that". Silence fell for a few moments before he continued: "listen, I don't think we should get into the habit of smexing at work. It was fine today as a one-off, but some boundaries might be useful. The last thing we need is Foreman and Chase asking questions".

Cameron hid her disappointment with a smile. "No one calls it 'smexing'".

"Best clean your ears out, CB, 'cos I just did".

"I'm happy with whatever you want to do. But I enjoyed it".

"It was a fun one", he agreed. "And you are indeed very bendy. We'll, ah, remember that for the future", he said, intentionally echoing a comment she had made in London. That time was a highlight for both of them. A reminder of quite how good things could get. Each sought ways to reference the trip, to make it seem continually immediate. Cameron, for instance, had already installed as her phone background the picture of them laughing together in the Chinese restaurant. House would never openly descend to such sentimentality, but even he found himself thanking a God he didn't believe in for instigating his acceptance of the conference invitation.

She laughed and finally moved to the dividing door. "Coffee? Then I'd best catch up on some of your old case files".

"Sounds good. Time for Prescription Passion. Sure you don't wanna watch?", he asked, already thumbing over to the correct channel.

"Nah. I'll be back with your drink".


Cameron worked diligently for an hour or so but reached a natural pause and sat back in the chair, stretching her arms as television sounds filtered through the glass. This had long ceased to annoy her, actually causing a feeling of warm comfort to arise. Sometimes she feared that their relationship might be changing House. This change was something he had told her a short time ago, and it gave her decidedly mixed feelings, for it had never been an intention.

Above all, she just wanted him to be himself: funny and disarmingly endearing, yes, but also grumpy, obnoxious, and ironic. To an outsider, she supposed this desire might seem strange—why would you want the worst aspects of your partner to remain intact? But she loved House's individuality. As far as she was concerned, it was her job, not his, to be flexible and understanding. She knew this meant their relationship existed somewhat one-sidedly, but it didn't bother her in the slightest.

So whenever House's television blared, it proved reassuring. Not just because it signalled him simply to be close, but also because it proved that, whatever had developed between them, however they had each impacted the other, the TV-loving part of him, in all its idiosyncratic banality, survived. If the day ever came that he stopped watching ridiculous dramas, or stopped dishing out bitingly sarcastic comments, then that was the day to become concerned for some fundamental paradigm shift. Until that point, everything was golden.

Cameron rose, went to the sink, and filled a glass with water, bringing it back to the desk. Something else he had said, that they would have to cut back on sex at work, was not welcome news. Chiefly because it meant that one of her fantasies would remain unfulfilled. But still, if he wasn't comfortable, then she would accept it.

Or would she…

The next chart on the pile lay before her, and she read it half-heartedly while her mind raced. It might be sort of fun to tease House a bit, just as he had her this morning. Nothing too silly, of course. For one thing, there were others in this office whom she had no intention of enticing. For another, this was work, and even if she were absolutely willing to get naked in the privacy of a janitor's closet with a man she adored—I mean, who wouldn't be?—this did not extend to dressing or behaving provocatively in sight of everyone else. If she were to do this, it would need to be tasteful and, as far as possible, targeted.

Cameron nodded to herself, thinking over the idea for a few minutes, liking it more and more. The most important thing: that House was comfortable. After all, she didn't want to upset the delicate balance they had struck between superior/subordinate, boyfriend/girlfriend. A bit of harmless flirtation never hurt anyone, though. And now was as good a time as any to start.

She took out her compact, touching up a couple of areas. Then she removed her band and brushed her hair so that it fell down around her shoulders. After this, she undid an extra button on her blouse and dabbed a little perfume under her jaw. Suitably prepared, she picked up a file and knocked on the dividing door.

House looked at her quizzically but gestured nonetheless, his eyes quickly returning to the TV. "What the hell are you knocking for? It's just us".

"Dr. House, I'm having some difficulty reading your writing on this file". Cameron stayed where she was just inside the threshold.

His gaze flickered suspiciously at her formality, but the dialogue on the screen quickly drew him back. "Fine, hurry up. Things are coming to a head and Julio is gonna mark his territory right in front of Brock".

"OK, thanks, Dr. House. Hang on, let me find it", she murmured, sauntering through and intentionally placing herself in his sightline to the television while thumbing the pages randomly.

"You're in the way, woman", came a loud sigh.

"Oh, there we are. Here, sorry". Now, she went to face him, leaning over the desk in an exaggerated fashion, paper in hand.

House's eyes fell inevitably to her plunging neckline and she suppressed a smirk. "What bit are you struggling with?", he asked eventually, somewhat distracted.

"The whole last paragraph, I think. Let me just jog my memory". This time, she changed position to lean over him directly, intentionally brushing her hair to his cheek and speaking in an artificially throaty whisper. "Yes", she murmured, tracing the lines with a finger, "just the last bit, please, Dr. House".

As expected, this behaviour caused a flurry of questions.

"What's going on? Why are you calling me 'Dr. House'?", he muttered in a tight voice.

"Because that's your name? You said you wanted boundaries so I figured we should start now".

"Are you wearing perfume?".

"No more than usual. Now. The file?".

The man's eyes narrowed, but Cameron was attentive enough to see dilated pupils. Bingo. "So", he cleared his throat, apparently satisfied, "this says…".

For the next ten minutes, House explained something that she knew already. Deciphering the bossman's hieroglyphics had been more of a first year thing. Regardless, she made little murmurs of understanding and brushed his arm as if by accident. Every now and then, she saw his eyes dart down her top. Unfortunately, it was just a plain bra. When they finished, Cameron stood back and retrieved the folder. "That's very helpful, thanks".

"Didn't you have a hairband in before?".

"Hmm, can't recall, honestly. Anyway, if that's all-".

House's hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. "-what are you doing?".

"All these questions. Obviously, I'm going to finish your files. House?", she prompted, glancing pointedly down to their interlocked hands.

He stared at her so hard the relaxed composure she had cultivated nearly cracked. Those blue eyes will be the death of me. At length, he released her. "Any other problems, wait 'til after this finishes. I don't wanna rewind it again. OK?".

"'kay", she managed, mortified to find her throat unexpectedly thick. Pathetic.

House smiled mirthlessly and took up the remote control. Cameron, meanwhile, left the room, trying to decide if it had been a mistake attempting to seduce him, realising that the tables had been unexpectedly turned.


A.N. Happy Monday. I hope people are still deriving some enjoyment from this (I know I am. The slower upload schedule isn't down to declining interest but Real Life™ commitments). I'm very aware that we're in a holding pattern at the moment. It is, as Gandalf would say, "the deep breath before the plunge"…