Chapter 10

They were having hot, sweaty sex in his room. She was smothering his mouth with hers. He could feel her breasts pushing up against his chest as he pounded into her like a piston in an engine. They were both hot and sweaty, grunting with each thrust. Molly dug into his back with her nails causing a cross between pain and pleasure that drove him harder, finally bringing them both to climax.

Opening his eyes, he looked down at the mess in the bed and winced. He took a breath and tried to replay the dream in his head. It was the same dream and the same mess the second night in a row. He didn't bother to worry about changing the sheets, he was going to be picked up in an hour and he still hadn't packed.

He was sick of the room; he'd spent the last forty-eight hours holed up in it avoiding Molly. She had done the same although neither knew the other wasn't roaming the halls. House packed his bags and at 9:45 am went up to get his discharge papers. He was pleased to find the corridors mostly empty and soon remembered that Monday from 9:30 to 11:00 am Molly had group therapy in the other building. The papers were read: he signed out, went back to his room, grabbed his bag and went out the front doors to wait outside for Wilson.

He was five minutes early to House's relief. Throwing his bag into the backseat, he climbed in and nodded a hello at Wilson. "What's hangin' bro?"

"How do you feel?" Wilson asked as he started the engine.

"Like Angelina Jolie in Girl Interrupted. I feel like I just broke out of the nut farm."

"You have your discharge papers, right?"

"Don't worry Clarise, I are sane."

"I don't know. I think I see a little fava bean on your chin."

"Yeah, I ran out of Chianti to wash it down."

"Cuddy says you can have another week if you need it, but then she expects you back."

"Cuddy." He shook his head remembering the fantasy and hallucinations that had sent him into Mayfield the first time. "I remember the first time I was in she came and saw me once. It was half an hour of torture. What do you say to someone that you made love to in a hallucination? Was it good for you?"

Wilson chuckled.

House looked out the window and sighed. "I met someone."

No response.

House said sarcastically, "Gee House, I'm happy for you. What's her name, what's she like?"

Wilson was grim. "What about Cuddy? I thought you two were…getting along."

"We were. But, she expects me to be damaged. I need someone who expects me to be healed."

"What are you saying?"

"She expects me to screw up and I'll be happy to oblige, meet her expectations. I need someone to expect me not to screw up. Molly will hold my feet to the fire—like you, only with a little more force because she…" He looked around trying to think of what Molly did that made him want to behave. "I don't know."

"And you met her in Mayfield? Do they let you fraternize with the inmates?"

"They frowned, but we did a run around…we ran around and drove them nuts."

"What was she in for?"

House sighed. "Life…the way she's going."

Wilson grimaced and shook his head. "That bad? You fell for a woman that's going to be in a loony bin all her life? Why am I not shocked?"

"She might get out for time served and good--really good--behavior."

"Oh, so you slept with her. Was that why you needed the rubber?"

"I slept with her." His voice was noncommittal.

"But?"

"I didn't sleep with her. I got a little action, but no internal combustion if you know what I mean."

"So, again I ask, what was she in for?"

"You remember the Trenton Mauler?"

Wilson looked over, "Yeah, he killed a few women, maimed that one and then went quiet. Did they catch him?"

"I don't know." House answered. "Anyway, she's the one he let live."

Wilson jerked his head around to stare at House in disbelief. "The Trenton police detective?"

"Watch where you're going!" House said, pointing forward. "Yeah, Molly Collins."

Wilson wrinkled up his nose. "House, you know what he did to her?"

"Raped and stabbed her and left her in an abandoned lot."

Wilson shook his head, "Not just that. My friend, you know the one, Doug Ricco, was in emergency when she was brought in barely hanging on. What did she tell you?"

"She didn't. I read a few newspaper articles."

"This guy tortured her for thirty days, tying her up in a small room and raping her night and day. Occasionally he'd use a tool to do the raping, gouged her vagina. He stabbed her twice and once in the uterus. They brought in a plastic surgeon from California to do the work. They weren't sure if she'd heal without a lot of scar tissue. It's possible she's infertile and unable to have sex or have sex that works for her. I mean, I don't know for sure, but my friend was speculating."

House thought he'd throw up. He was revolted by the thought that anyone could do that to Molly, little Molly, his Molly. He wanted to drive back to Mayfield, but knew Wilson wouldn't turn around. When they got to House's apartment, Wilson helped him with his luggage and then stayed for a quick beer. House was waiting for him to leave. As soon as Wilson was out the door, House pulled out the hard stuff, knocked back a few and spent the rest of the day lost in TIVO.

He made it through to Thursday afternoon and then broke down. He kept having dreams--dreams of them having sex, dreams of them holding each other, dreams of her pushing him away, dreams of him losing her forever. Something inside told him that his new plan wasn't going to work with her. She wasn't going to be manipulated into a relationship after she got out.

House pulled out a card from his wallet and picked up the phone and began dialing the number on it.

"Mayfield Psychiatric Facility. How can I help you?" The female receptionist asked without any emotion.

"Molly Collins."

"Patient or Staff?"

"Patient."

There was a pause. "Sorry, but I don't have a number for her."

"She was there Monday morning!"

"That was Monday morning sir. I don't have a phone number for her now."

"Then get me Dr. Christy."

"Yes, sir. Putting you through."

"Dr. Christy's office." House recognized her assistant's voice.

"Put me through to Dr. Christy."

"Dr. Christy is in session. I can take a –"

"This is an emergency; tell her Dr. James Wilson is calling from Princeton Plainsboro."

"Just a moment please."

There was a pause.

"Dr. Christy."

"Where the hell is Molly?" House yelled into the receiver.

"House?"

"No, it's Sigmund Freud back from the dead and I'm pissed. Now where's Molly?"

"Well, that's rich considering that you told her you loved her and then ditched her. She gone, Dr. House."

"Gone?"

"As in no longer here."

"Where did she go?"

"I can't share that with you." There was a click.

House dialed back, but Christy refused to take the call.

He called several times, trying to get orderlies that he knew worked at the hospital to answer, but no one was biting. House threw the phone across the living room where it smashed against the wall, parts flying everywhere.

Showering, he dressed and grabbed his keys to his motorcycle. At first it wouldn't kick over, but after several minutes of cussing and then an offer of peace to the motorcycle God, he heard the roar of the engine, gunning it as he took off down the road. He was at Mayfield an hour later demanding to see Christy, but she wouldn't come to the front desk and he was physically refused entrance to the rest of the building by several bulky guards.

House refused to leave, sitting in the lobby, waiting for Christy to appear. He found it ironic that he was sitting back in the lobby of Mayfield so quickly after his exit. Every orderly, nurse and staff that House recognized was grilled when they exited through the lobby to the parking lot. The only thing that he was able to garner was that on Tuesday she was gone and Christy was pissed about it. Finally at 6:00 pm Christy had to go through the lobby to sign out for the night. She shook her head when she saw House sitting in the lobby watching her sign the register.

"Who will rid me of this turbulent priest!" She cried out theatrically.

House shrugged and walked with her as they made their way across the parking lot.

"Dr. House, I can't tell you anything, so this is a complete waste."

House pulled on her arm to stop her. "Just tell me-- is she is alright."

"House." She said with sympathy. Swallowing, Christy looked around. "You might try her brother, Walter Collins, in Eldridge Park."

"You're pissed about her. Something happened that wasn't in your control and now you're pissed." House studied her, hoping she'd say something, but she didn't.

She gave him a curt laugh and opened the door to her Honda Accord. After a Queen's wave from Christy, he watched as she drove out of the parking lot.

House went home and spent some time Googling Walter Collins, finally finding a phone number and an address for him. Dialing the number, he was surprised when a small girl's voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is Walter Collins there?"

"My Daddy is outside mowing the lawn."

"Could you go get him—no wait! Is your Aunt Molly there?"

"No. She's in the hospital."

"Well, not now, she's not in the hospital now."

"I visited her in the hospital with my Daddy this morning."

"You did?"

"She had needles in her arms."

House hung up and began to make phone calls to the various hospitals near Mayfield and Eldridge Park. He finally found her at St. Francis Medical Center in Trenton. By noon, House was walking into the medical center, asking for her room, inferring he was one of her personal physicians.

Storming the nurses desk, House asked to see her chart, showing his identification from PPTH. The nurse handed the file to him and went on her way. House went over to a chair and sat down to read through. When he was done, he went into her room and immediately saw the bandages on her wrist.

The monitors all droned on with a steady chirp. She was asleep, probably due to the painkillers. He took a seat next to her bed and leaned forward on his knees to think through what he should do. Half an hour after he arrived she began to stir. Her eyes were turned to the window, away from him, so he cleared his throat.

Molly turned and saw his face, the blue eyes smiling kindly at her. "Greg? What are you doing here? I thought you didn't want to see me?"

"Seems I'm an idiot and had trouble getting my head out of my butt." He glanced over at her bandages. "Looks like you're in the wrong place at the wrong time again."

She held up her bandaged wrist. "Well, seems not all sharp objects were removed from Mayfield."

"I'm completely baffled. Crazy Freddie went after Schizo Tom? And you just happened to get between them?"

She coughed slightly to clear the congestion in her voice. "I'm a cop. He had a knife and he was going hog wild. Poor Tom already had three stab wounds went I jumped in."

"Let me see where he got you in the chest." House walked up to the bed and looked down at her hospital gown, the kind that opened in the front. He gently peeled back part of the flap and saw the bloodied bandage. "It says in your chart that your lung collapsed and now you have pneumonia."

"I did have pneumonia, but I'm better."

"They'll probably release you in a day. I'll come and pick you up when they do. Give me your house key and I'll pack you a bag."

She raised an eyebrow and frowned. "Bag? Where do you think I'm going?"

"You're coming home with me. I need someone to clean the house and cook for me."

She snorted, then laughed at him. He gave her a big grin back.

House sat on her bed, "I screwed up as usual. I didn't want to go back to Mayfield so I—well you know what I did. I don't care if Harlequin is still living at your house. You're coming home with me."

"Harlan. And he came to the hospital yesterday. He wants to try and make it work."

House froze then looked out the window, making sure that she didn't see the fear in him. "And what did you say?"

"I said that I wanted him out of the house by the end of the month."

House started to breathe again. "Good. You'll enjoy Princeton--great restaurants, jazz clubs, entertainment. We'll have a good time."

"Oh, no! I'm not going with you either. You dumped me for no good—"

"Hey, I just spent two days hunting you down to tell you I made a mistake. I'm here and I want you, crappy vagina and all."

She blushed deep red. "I don't know if it's a crappy vagina or not."

"I'm willing to take it on. If it's crappy, we'll have really good oral sex. I'm not concerned." He took a deep breath. "Molly, you know you love me. So, let's just give it a week together. Move in for a week. If you have to use your revolved by the end of it, then we'll know it didn't work out."

Molly felt overwhelmed. She had spent every night for the last week crying over him and here he was, telling her that he wanted another chance. She wasn't sure what she should do.

House could tell she was on the precipice. "Molly, one week won't kill you. What? Do you need to hear me say it?"

Molly nodded.

"I love you. Now, I'll pick you up when they let you out."

"What if I decide to go back to Mayfield?"

He gave her a one sided smile, "But you won't. Christy is all pissed and that means you told her that you weren't going back."

"Well, Sherlock, once again you're right."

"Of course."