I'm so sorry for the late update! Thank you for the reviews, i really appreciate it. Leave more!

(ps sorry for all the typos and House MD does not belong to me.)

"House! Are you even listening?" Cuddy demanded.

"Your breasts were distracting me," House had in fact not been paying any attention at all—but not for the reason given. He was more lost on trying to recall the night he had had hours ago. Mentally he was making a list of what he knew about it. He had drank (enough to get hungover, very badly hungover). He had had 2 girls over. He had had 2 girls who had left their underwear at his house. How many had been and remembered their own?

"You have a minor in your care who is being abused by her parents. And you're more focused with the cut of my t shirt?" The dean of medicine spat out the accusation like it was poisonous. "I was saying, that you need to call CPS. You cannot leave a suspected abuse victim with the abusers! You suspect abuse. You do a physical."

"Which we did!"

"And then you call CPS. You do not continue to allow her to sit besides two people who are suspected of causing their child harm."

"We're not calling CPS because that takes time away from curing our patient. Which is actually my job, not family therapist. After Cameron discovered the scarring our patient tried to get out of her bed and run." Cuddy's eye brows furrowed; curiosity was obvious on her face and it brought a smirk to House's. "She made it to the door, pulling IV and screaming 'you can't kill me' before Cameron realized just what was going on. She also realized a disturbance in her gait. Diplegic gait and psychosis have been added to the list of symptoms. Which means whatever this is is getting worse and fast. CPS is going to slow down whether or not she gets what she needs. Which is...help. Something you pay me to give to people."

"You have to get the parents out of there," Cuddy said after a moment or so of silent debate. "And as soon as you figure out what is wrong, you call CPS." House was already starting for the door of Dr. Cuddy's office when he realized she was caving. He stopped at the front and swallowed two white pills before exiting completely.

He was greeted by Foreman who looked apathetic, Chase who looked irritated, and Cameron who looked like she was going to have an aneurysm if she didn't say exactly what was on her mind.

So House didn't even give her a chance to speak,"Psychosis, gait disturbance, fainting, blepharospasm, partial blindness. Go." He used his cane to help him through the hallway in front of his team.

"Vasovagal syncope could explain t-"

"It doesn't explain everything. Wrong. Next idea?" House asked, shooting down Chase's idea as the made their way to the elevator.

"Hypoglycemia isn't a bad choice," Foreman offered. "An extreme case could add up to her symptoms. Its a long shot but.."

"Blood sugar was below normal but not enough to cause something like that," Cameron interrupted as they all entered the elevator. "I really think we should call CPS. This goes against our oaths as doctors."

"Actually, letting our patient get worse goes against our oaths as doctors. She's safe in the hospital. What are her parents gonna do?"

"Think about the mental issues she must be having right now, being so close to her parents. Do you really think that this is the right thing to do?"

"Saving her life is the right thing to do, Cameron," Chase intervened as the elevator came to a stop at the correct floor. "Everything else is just a bonus." Cameron swallowed a response but shook her head. She wouldn't risk House's wrath, even if not telling went against her moral code.

"Chase, attach her to an EEG to see for any seizure activity. Cameron, run her blood again and see if the levels have changed at all. Foreman, see if you can't get the mom to talk. I have a feeling the step dad is the unfriendly one. And no, that's not just cause he's black," House wasn't paying any attention to Foreman's eye roll or Chase's unsettled laughter. He limped past them and straight into his own office. He hesitated, swallowed two pills, and then locked the glass door. House's damaged body carried him to his chair where he immediately started to massage the pain that was running through him.

"How did Cuddy not realize you were hungover?" House was starting to regret the fact that he had left one of the doors to his office unlocked. Wilson had just entered the other way and was now sitting across from him with a worried expression. "Or maybe she did. And she just didn't care. Why are you hungover?"

"Well, when you drink an excess of alcohol your bo-"

"House, shut up. You know what I meant. Usually you process alcohol better. So this means you either drank way too much or you only drank last night," Wilson's eyes were moving over his friend in an attempt to figure out what had happened. "What happened last night? Was your leg hurting?"

I have no idea what happened. "My leg is always hurting," House snapped as he took a sharp breath. Another streak of pain ran through him and he reached for the Vicodin. Wilson stopped him and took it from the desk before he could. "Dammit it Wilson, who are you my mom? Give that back to me."

"How many have you had today?" The oncologist demanded. House just rolled his eyes at his friend's nagging. He just wanted the damn pill bottle back. "House, this is almost empty and I prescribed it to you a week ago. How many have you had today?"

"I don't know, Wilson. Eight? Ten? Too damn few! I need those back. I am in pain. Why do you think I take them? Its not cause I like pills. Its because I need them," House snarled as his fists slammed down on the desk. Wilson shook his head and placed the pill bottle in his coat pocket.

"You need help, House. Painkillers, alcohol, and sex can only do so much. They only numb. They don't fix. When they go away you're left with the same pain as before, and worse."

House's eyes were dangerous as he saw the Vicodin disappear. He was about to stand up and demand it back but Wilson had beaten him to it. He walked out of the room, unlocked the front door, and let it slam behind him.

House's head fell to his hands and he took a sharp breath. He didn't know what pain was physical and what pain was mental, and he needed to figure that out. He needed to figure himself out. He pulled his desk drawer open and pulled out another bottle. He had so many hidden everywhere, too many. He pushed himself out of his chair, limped over to the doors. Then he locked both of them, let the curtains cover the glass, and then laid down on the ground. He swallowed three more Vicodin and let himself slip into a peaceful state of unconsciousness.

His patient didn't matter now. He hadn't even matter her. He didn't care about her. He just carried about getting rid of all the pain.