"Which one of you is Doctor House?"

He turned slightly, glancing in the direction of the low inquisitive voice.

"The skinny brunette." he said without thought.

The man was innocuous enough but House felt compelled to watch him as he turned to his younger colleague. There was something in the man's eyes, he thought letting the marker return to his pocket and his cane to his right hand.

There was a flash of cool steel.

House lurched forward on his good leg, swinging his cane upwards trying to dislodge the weapon.

A sickening crack of a bullet catching up with its own pressure wave as it shot from the end of the barrel faster than the speed of sound echoed through the room.

The shooter looked confused as the gun flew from his fierce grip and tumbled to the floor.

With a grunt House swung his cane in a high arc before bringing it forcefully down on the man's head.

The confused look disappeared from his face as all his muscles slackened and he slumped unconscious to the floor.

House's breath was fast and shallow as he looked from the fallen man to his team.

Two shocked male faces looked back at him.

Cameron.

He moved forward around the tangle of loose limbs on the floor in front of him, not caring if he kicked one.

His rapid breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell upon Cameron.

He stared down at her still unconscious form. She lay there on the would-be clean carpet, her hair fanned out around her head, her eyes closed, laying slightly on her side, blood seeping around a hole in her lab coat at her right shoulder. He could hear the ragged shaky breathing from where he was standing.

After a seconds pause he was kneeling painfully at her side assessing the wound and barking orders.

"Foreman, watch him. Chase get a crash team in here STAT and call security."

He could barely hear the two doctors follow his orders, all his focus on Cameron.

He sighed worriedly, applying pressure to the oozing and bubbling wound; her lung was punctured. Air escaped through the hole in her chest.

She moaned at his touch, her breathing becoming shallower and shakier with each passing second.

He watched her skin grow unnaturally pale as the liquid that would give it color seeped through the tiny gaps of his fingers and over his hand.

"Cameron."

"House?" she gurgled, an unnatural red tinge to the lips contrasting with her pallid skin.

"Don't talk. You were shot. Everything's going to be fine." he said, his left hand moving to her neck feeling her fast heartbeat beneath his fingers.

Her body shuddered, blood on her lips contrasting horribly with the blue tinge creeping across her skin, her breathing rate increasing and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

"Cameron!" he shouted calling her back to him, his hand cupping her cheek. "Look at me." he said forcefully willing her now open eyes to focus on his. "You are going into shock, I know it hurts but you need to calm down."

Her skin felt cold beneath his palm, contrasting with the warmth that spread across the hand at her wound.

"Focus on me. Breathe slowly."

Her eyes continued to see through him for a moment, but determination moved through them an instant later, her scared green eyes focusing on him. An eternity seemed to pass before her breathing began to slow slightly; she grimaced at the pain it caused.

"Good." he said soothingly, his thumb brushing her cheek.

The distant sounds of a crash team running down the hall reached his ears through an eerie silence; a sweeter sound he'd never heard.

Her breath rasped deeply, a bubble of crimson liquid reaching her lips and dribbling at the corner of her mouth as her eyes lost focus and closed over.

"Cameron. Cameron!" he shouted, "Stay with me!"

Her eyes fluttered open. Exhaustion, pain and fear filled those normally warm and hopeful eyes.

"House..." she whispered.

"What happened?!" asked a doctor at the front of a crash team, gurney and other emergency equipment.

Chase spouted off medical jargon as people swept in around him and Cameron.

His blood stained right hand was moved from her shoulder replaced quickly with a gloved hand and sterile pad.

His fingers brushed her cheek once more before he fell back, his shoulders slamming against the glass wall; her pained eyes were still focused on his through the throng of bodies.

Then she was gone, pulled swiftly and efficiently onto a backboard and transferred to the bed waiting outside the room.

Chase left with the team, leading the life saving work on his friend and colleague.

Foreman had the shooter on his stomach, hands held tightly to the small of his back. The man was either still unconscious or had given into his fate not offering the slightest of struggles.

House sat still and stared at his right hand.

Her blood.

Cameron's blood.

On his hand.

Wilson stood at the threshold of the conference room watching the crash team and gurney disappeared into the elevator. Hearing the doors close, and silence descend on the hallway, Wilson stepped into the room. His gaze connected with Foreman's worried eyes before turning to his friend.

"What happened?" Wilson asked softly, pulling House from his reverie.

House's eyes still mesmerized by the blood on his fingers, his voice sounded a quiet monotone rumble.

"I shot Cameron."

Silence stretched through the room, both Foreman and Wilson shocked at his statement.

Two security guards arrived at the open door seconds later.

"Where's the gun?" asked the older guard, as the younger man stepped forward wrapping handcuffs around the shooters wrists.

House looked across the floor; the gun lay on the other side of the open door in the corner of the room. His fingers twitched at the thought of wrapping around the grip and trigger and firing the rest of the clip in to the shooters head and chest. He almost wished it was within his grasp, he was almost regretful that it wasn't.

"Okay you have to get out of here until the cops arrive." the older man stated, keeping his eye on the cool steel and the rooms occupants.

Foreman had the sense (or stupidity) to grab the patient's folder before stepping out of the room.

Wilson followed.

House still sat on the floor watched as the young guard shook the man until he groaned as consciousness returned, then attempted to pull the man to his feet.

House was on his feet faster, limping forward, his cane lay forgotten on the floor.

He regarded the man's unfocused eyes for a moment as he stood shakily in front of him.

His bloody right hand fisted.

The sound of cracking bone echoed through the room as House's fist connected with the man's cheek.

House watched as the shooter lent heavily against the guard, his broken cheek bone already beginning to swell under a bloody fist print.

"That's it." The older guard said, half in understanding, half in annoyance. "Get him out of here, Dave. Doctor House, you too."

'Dave' pulled the shooter out into the hall, those once malevolent and uncaring eyes filled with pain and regret at the sound of the other guard's voice.

House watched the guard push the man down the corridor and out of sight, only then did he un-fist his hand.

The movement caused him to wince, his own bones fractured by the force of his right hook.

His blood stained hand fell limp at his side as he hobbled to where his cane lay. He reached over pulling it between the long fingers of his left hand. Straightening for a moment he stared at the small pool of blood on the carpet.

It was small, tiny, almost unnoticeable; only because the blood that should be pooled there on the floor was filling her right lung and chest cavity.

It was serious.

It was life threatening.

And it was his doing.

With a grim face and dull emotionless eyes, he turned from the bloody stain and left the room.

Wilson walked beside him as he made his way to down the hall.

Silence stretched between them, Wilson could see that House was deep in thought, and despite his curiosity about the whole situation he knew it was best to wait until House wanted to talk about the what happened.

Reaching a restroom House pushed the door with his left hand and made his way to the sinks.

Wilson lent against the tiled white wall as he watched House wash away Cameron's blood from his tender and swollen hand.

"You should get that checked out."

The silence that answered him told Wilson that it would be a long time before House would go through the motions of his hand being x-rayed and set in a cast.

Once his hand was clean House let it hang limp at his side before moving more awkwardly than normal with his cane in the wrong hand.

Wilson stopped him as he reached for the door, House's eyes down cast unable to look his best friend in the eye.

"It's not your fault."

Wilson's hand squeezed House's stiff right shoulder.

House didn't move.

They stood there in silence but for the drip of water from House's limp hand.

Wilson sighed and removed his hand. He watched his friend move as if he hadn't spoken and head out of the restroom and in the direction of the elevators.

"How could it be his fault?" Wilson asked aloud, watching a broken man disappear from view