Nobody's perfect

House was traipsing across the lobby the following Tuesday. The weekend walk had taken more out of him than he would care to admit, and even several days after, his muscles still ached. Fortunately, none of the pain emanated from his leg. Or at least, no serious pain did. He was enough of a realist to accept that the ketamine treatment would likely not last forever, and, every morning, a small part of his subconscious feared waking up to discover things were not as they had been the night before. No matter how content he might be at the moment (and, as he had told Cameron, he was more than content), a black dog lingered in the background, the sum of all his fears and pain. The task was to keep that dog in its cage. And away from Cameron.

"Dr. House? Hi, sorry". Fiona Townsend, who had evidently just left Cuddy's office, made her way up to him by the elevator.

"Which floor?", he asked.

"No floor. I just wondered if I could talk to you for a few minutes?". Fiona hovered close by, remaining a respectful distance, as if aware that he disliked people invading his personal space.

"I'm heading to the office, so you'll need to follow". Not waiting for an answer, he entered and pressed the button for Diagnostics.

"That's fine. Did you enjoy Friday's party?", she asked, the doors sliding shut.

House scoffed. "If it would save you some awkwardness, I'm absolutely fine skipping the small talk".

"It's not small talk. I'd actually like to know; helps me keep abreast of the workforce. Finger on the pulse and all that". Townsend ran a hand through her hair and half-turned towards him.

"It was great".

"Yeah, it was decent", she agreed.

"Well, I'm glad that's sorted. What would you like to discuss?".

Rather than show offence at House's snappiness, Fiona smiled. "Are you happy with your staff?".

"Define 'happy'", he grunted as the elevator dinged and they walked out.

"As in, are you happy with their performance? If you wanted to change personnel, or maybe hire an extra hand or two, the firm would be able to facilitate-".

"-what do you think is going on here, Miss Townsend?", asked House, intentionally lengthening his stride so that the other had to hurry, her heels clicking along the corridor.

"I prefer 'Fiona'".

"My question still stands".

"As I told you on Friday, we are very interested in Diagnostics and really want to ensure that you have everything you need to succeed". Townsend's expression remained impassive. Both Cameron and Cuddy had suspected her of harbouring feelings for him, but if so she was keeping them well hidden.

The pair had reached the department and House entered, slinging his backpack under the desk before taking a seat and levelling his gaze at the other. A quick glance through the glass revealed all fellows to be present and correct. "Well, I have everything I need", he said finally.

"OK. But if you do think of anything in the meantime, my line is open. Honestly, whatever it is, I'll be more than willing to consider it. Here…", she fished around in her bag and pushed a card across the desk, "…are my details. My personal cell's on there too, just in case". With that, she flashed him a radiant smile and spoke from the door: "have a great day, Dr. House".

He watched her go, thoughtful, spinning the card between his fingers. Vogler had been easily dealt with since he was easily read. The subtler ones, though, were always tougher to figure out. Both the Townsends appeared genuine, to be sure, but looks could be deceiving. The real question was whether House needed to figure them out. On a professional level, Fiona had assured him on Friday, and again just now, that Diagnostics would enjoy a free rein. Vogler had frequently loomed large in these corridors; summoned House to his office; forced him to sell products. But this regime promised a lighter touch. So that just left the personal level. There, things were simple. He was with Cameron. Period.

The thought caused him to glance across and watch her, just talking with Foreman and Chase. That golden hair, the way it framed her pale face one day, or caught up in a ponytail the next, never ceased to excite him. Her graceful mouth always seemed ready to smile these days. Rare now were the frowns and grimaces. A sudden feeling of possessiveness swept through him as he dropped the card and went in to join the others. Mine.

"Morning", she smiled from her position at the sink.

House stood next to her as Foreman asked whether they had a case, to which he shook his head.

"Here". Cameron handed him a coffee.

"So, what's the plan today, then?", said Chase, half an eye still on his crossword.

"The plan? Oh, I don't know…", murmured House, stealthily dropping a hand to his girlfriend's butt while sipping his drink. Cameron inhaled softly but didn't move away. Their position hindered the others' view.

"I guess we could finalise our London articles for journal submission", suggested Foreman. "You up for that, Chase? Still need to decide on a home for it".

"Sure. Where did you send yours off to again, Cameron?". Chase stopped chewing the end of his pencil and looked towards her.

"Huh? Sorry, what?". The hand had found its way to the hem of her blouse and she felt a finger trail delicately along her waist, House's calloused skin a stark contrast to the smoothness of her own.

"Which journal did you settle on?".

"Oh", she cleared her throat. "It was American Journal of Medicine. Sent it off last week". House's finger dipped provocatively southwards, teasing the top of her panties which, for work, were a plain fabric. The man himself took another sip of coffee, nodding along to the conversation.

"That'd be great if they accept it for publication. AJM, wow", whistled Foreman.

"Yep. Fingers, er, crossed", murmured Cameron.

"No need to cross fingers, Camster. You've done…very well with it". House looked downwards, his eyes darkening.

Before she could muster a suitable response, the office phone rang and she went over, reluctantly, to answer it. "Diagnostics? Yes. Hang on. S'for you", she said after a second, holding it out to House.

He spoke rapidly into the receiver, annoyed that his moment with Cameron had been disturbed. "I've already told accounting that the new flatscreen is to be billed to Oncology, care of James Wilson. What? No. No. Oh. Oh, for God's sake, fine. I'll be down".

"What was that?", asked Foreman, eyebrows raised.

"Clinic. Turns out I'm due, and Cuddy has held up my requisition until I log a few hours. Cunning minx. See you plebs later". House left the department, sharing an anguished glance with his girlfriend at their suspended fun.

"My asthma. They said they'd fix it but it didn't make any difference at all".

House's clinic patient was a middle-aged woman with light brown hair who reminded him of Cameron's mother. For this reason, he decided to be nice and respectful. "Well, sometimes doctors make mistakes…", he glanced down at her file, "…Anna…and we need to work twice as hard to fix them. Are you using your inhaler?".

"All the time. I go through one a week". This woman really did have a touch of Sandra Cameron about her. Except she was uglier, more nasal and less elegant.

House suppressed a scoff-eyeroll-guffaw and maintained his caring demeanour. "Are you, ah, sure you're using it right?".

"Do I look like an idiot?".

"Nope. Why don't you show me how your inhaler works?".

The woman sighed but took out the gadget, proceeding to spray each side of her face with it. "See? Nothing".

He stared at the patient for a second or two before trying manfully to correct the issue. "You need to, er, to, to…". But it was futile, and he suddenly collapsed into hysterics, professional façade well and truly destroyed. "I'm sorry…I'm…sorry…", he managed between gasps, "…you need to…in your mouth…".

Anna looked annoyed. "You mean I have to swallow it? I don't-".

House, who had done his best to recover, creased once again. "-you…haha…you don't like to…swallow. Of course…", he wheezed, "…fuck, of course…please…sorry…I shouldn't swear…!".

"Jerk!", she exclaimed, taking up her handbag and marching from the room in righteous indignation.

House laughed to himself in the deserted room for a full two minutes. "Well", he murmured, wiping away a tear, "this clinic duty is off to a roaring start".

Six examinations later, House was thoroughly bored. So far there had been a runny nose, a sore throat, two cases of crotch rot…and some other stuff. To make matters worse, Cuddy must have tipped off the clinic staff, because whenever he attempted to kick back with his Gameboy, there was a mysterious knock at the door and another blue file being waved before his face. House could never understand how Cuddy got everyone doing her bidding. I mean, sure, she was the boss. But it always seemed like Big Tits and the nurses were in on it together: all members of the 'Let's Persecute House' brigade. Disgusting.

A knock on the door interrupted his stewing. Nurse Brenda. Or Glenda. "Dr. House, your next patient? Mrs. Amina Ahmed…here is the file".

He sighed. Time was he'd have clubbed the woman with his cane than face another patient. But not today. "Fine, send her in. I'm going on break aft-".

Brenda/Glenda immediately left the room, leaving House scowling. Another person entered shortly afterwards. "Mrs. Ahmed, I assume?", he asked, browsing the file as he paced.

"Hello, yes". The woman, who was small and mousy with a somewhat nervous smile, hovered by the door.

"You may sit", said House, waving a hand. "So, you've been experiencing chest pains and heart palpitations?".

"That's right, yes", she replied, perched on the edge of a seat, clutching her handbag.

"Well, you'll be relieved to hear that it's actually very common. Have you been under stress lately? Maybe a bit anxious?". House tried not to let his boredom show. Stressed out housewives were not diagnostically interesting. And things had looked so promising after the inhaler lady, too.

"Yes. My marriage is, it's…". The words trailed off and she tried to put on a brave face. "I mean, the 'why' doesn't matter, does it?".

"Not really, no", House admitted. "But for your own well-being I suggest you, er, eradicate the tension source. I could explain the biology, but essentially background stress causes the body some distress. Do you have a history of heart trouble in your fam-". Suddenly his phone buzzed. "-sorry, one second…", he murmured, pulling it out. It was a text from Cameron, containing three words:

Fuck me. Please.

House's heartbeat quickened, and it took him a few seconds to notice the woman looking at him expectantly. "Sorry", he repeated, clearing his throat. "What was that?".

"I said that I don't think I have a history of it, no".

"OK, great. Well, in that case, I can prescribe you a light relaxant. Should help keep you calm. If you find that the pain isn't going away after a month or so, even with the pills, then head back in and we'll order a full suite of tests". He rapidly filled out a prescription and handed it over. "Here you go. Just give that to the pharmacist on the way out".

"That was fast. Thanks".

But House was already out of the door.

By the time House reached his floor, he was jogging. This morning, teasing Cameron in front of the others, had been a bad idea. Wired all day. An especially boring clinic duty didn't help, either. As he had mused months ago after their first kiss, sometimes it was better to get such feelings out of the system. Cameron's comment, that humans were different from animals because of their impulse control, flashed through his brain. Maybe so, but humans were still animals. And animals had to breed. Or rather, had to engage in activities that might lead to breeding. The thought caused him to reach down and pat his wallet, knowing what it contained. This was no time to be making little Houses.

Cameron was already waiting in his office, pacing around, turning suddenly at the door's opening and running into his arms. "This is your fault", she breathed as they embraced.

"Mmm. Where are the others?".

"I was kinda hoping we could do this without them, to be quite honest".

But he was in no mood to joke around. "The office is a touch risky, don't you think? Maybe we ought to start somewhere safe".

"Hmm. Ever done it in a janitor's closet?".

The pair remained in close as they negotiated.

"No, but there's a first time for everything. Let's check the one upstairs. Hopefully there's enough room, hey?", he murmured, kissing her forehead.

"Where there's a will, there's a way. If all else fails, I'm very bendy".

It had been a throwaway comment in the heat of the moment, and Cameron had already turned towards the door, but suddenly she felt him grab her hair, which she had kept loose, from behind. The act forced her to stand still as he walked up. Rather than replying, House pulled a little more, forcing her head to tilt back slowly until their eyes met. His were dark. "You'd like that? Getting fucked in a hospital closet while people walk past? Fumbling around in the dark like some back-alley slut?".

"Yes", she croaked, already beginning to feel her arousal build, loving when he took control.

Finally he released her hair. "Let's go, then, Bombshell".

Wilson had made his way down to the pharmacy on the ground floor. One of his patients was on a waiting list for an experimental drug which had only just been approved for a limited initial rollout, and he wanted to check if the hospital had received it yet. Really, an email would have sufficed, but he had been cooped up in the office all day with mountains of paperwork and fancied a change of scenery. As he reached the counter he saw House out of the corner of his eye. The man was striding to the elevator purposefully, and Wilson spent a few moments wondering the cause. When he turned back to the counter, a woman had beaten him to first place.

"Sorry", she said. "Did I jump in ahead of you?".

"Oh, no problem. Please", he gestured for her to go ahead.

"Great, thanks". The woman spoke to the pharmacist, who went away to retrieve the medicine she needed. While she waited, she fiddled with the clasp of her handbag, which looked like it was broken. "I dropped it last week", she explained, tracking his gaze. "Should probably get a new one, but I'm pretty attached to this thing".

"Mmm". Wilson had not in fact been looking at the clasp, but the fingers playing with it. "Well, it's distinctive, I'll give you that", he offered, dragging his eyes to her face, which seemed nervous, as if constantly expecting to disappoint or be disappointed.

"My cousin in Pakistan is something of an artisan with leather and fabrics. He sent me this a few years back".

"Ah. I'm James Wilson, by the way".

"Amina Ahmed", she smiled back as the pharmacist returned and briefly explained dosage. "This is me, then. Bye, James Wilson".

He inclined his head, watching her go. Following his own brief conversation with the pharmacist (the shipment was still in transit), he went straight over to the nurse's station. "Hi, Brenda".

"Dr. Wilson", she smiled. "How can I help?".

"Just seen a patient leaving the clinic. Amina Ahmed. Would you happen to have her information handy, please?".

"Of course. Is anything the matter? She was in exam room three not ten minutes ago. I have it here. Was just about to file it away, actually". Brenda recovered the chart and watched as Wilson rapidly scanned the pages. "Is anything the matter?", she asked again.

But the other scarcely heard her as he processed the words with a growing sense of unease. As expected, given the medicine Ahmed had been collecting at the pharmacy, her doctor had missed the signs of clubbing around her fingers. As expected, the physical symptom he had spotted was just one player in the cardio orchestra. Wilson's own heart sank as his eyes reached the doctor's signature at the bottom. "Listen", he said to Brenda, "would you email this to me directly? I need to go over it in more detail before moving ahead".

"Moving ahead with what? What's going on?".

Wilson sighed. "Mrs. Ahmed very likely has heart disease. But I'll need to examine her myself".

"But Dr. House didn't mention anything about-".

"-I know". That's what terrifies me.

"I'll email it over straightaway", said the nurse in a tight voice, aware of the implication.

"Thanks". Wilson handed the file back before leaving the clinic, his head spinning, his mouth dry.