A few things I want to explain cuz I've gotten some questions/statements. Cuddy's going off on House may not be in character, but she is fed up and extremely angry at House for what she feels he did to Wilson. We've never really quite seen Cuddy really, REALLY ticked at him, have we:o)

This chapter starts out with House talking to his conscience, which is represented by the

Again, thanks for the comments and reviews. They are much appreciated.

CHAPTER TEN – When Conscience Speaks, Listen

Back in House's room he's awake, still worrying about Wilson. He can't stop the thoughts that are running through his head:

'I'm not responsible for Wilson's accident. It was a fluke. I'm NOT!'

Didn't you send him home to hide your stash?

'Yes, but only to prevent Mom from seeing it. Dad would have absolutely…'

Who cares about your father? You're not a kid, you're a man now. It's your life.

'You're right. I don't care what Dad would think. It's Mom I'm worried about. She's the one that is going to be heartbroken. I just can't do that to her.'

Yeah, that'd be just plain cruel. You're a bad son.

'I am NOT!'

You're a bad person.

'No, no, I'm not. I'm a good person.'

You'd only be happier if you were dead.

'Shut up, shut UP!'

Die! DIE! Why not? You've already killed him!

'No…no…no…'

House feels the sweat pour down both sides of his face and he brings his hand up to wipe it dry, but it isn't sweat. They are tears, quite a few tears, more tears than he's cried since Stacy left. Without even thinking he reaches for the panel on the inside of the rail of the bed and presses the button to up his morphine.

But he's not hurting, though, not physically anyway. At the moment it's his heart that is breaking, his soul that is slowly dying. He's killed Wilson. He chose. He decided to take drugs over a friendship.

'Go away pain, go away…' And he drifts off to sleep, not a peaceful sleep, but sleep nonetheless.

HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD

Both Cuddy and Cameron have their faces practically pressed against the panel of glass that overlooks the operating room while the doctors and nurses below work to revive Wilson. They've been working on him for the past ten minutes and there is still no pulse, no brain wave, nothing. They've shocked his heart three times now and given him a total of 60cc Provexro, which would technically kill any human being.

"Damn! I'm going to have to open his chest to massage his heart," the doctor says as he looks at his nurse, who quickly goes for a chest cutter when suddenly she thinks she hears the 'beep' of the heart monitor. She turns, stops and listens but the noise from the others are making it difficult for her to hear.

"Pat? Is he back?" she asks the anesthesiologist as she approaches the table, but didn't hand the cutters to the doctor just yet. She nods her head and there is a collective sigh in the room, as there is in the observation room, and they start to get Wilson back to sinus rhythm and his heart beating normally.

Chase takes a few steps closer to Cameron, who's standing in front of the window with her arms crossed tightly across her chest. He looks at her, deeply, and sees the outside of her left eye is wet, and soon a plump, wet tear falls down her cheek onto her collar bone. He puts his right arm around her shoulder and she doesn't pull away. On the contrary, she seems to melt in his arms. Her body presses closer to his and he just holds her tighter, trying to reassure her that Wilson is going to make it.

HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD

House is in his late teens and he's walking through a forest of deep green trees, thick, so tall and dense that they block the sun from beaming down on him. He hears the sounds of birds chirping in the trees, little creatures scurrying under the brush around him, the sound of water trickling from a stream somewhere. But with all the noise that surrounds him it is quiet, oddly quiet, almost deafening.

"This isn't right," he says out loud to no one, not a human, anyway. His head flies from the right to left, keeping guard, expecting someone to jump out and attack him.

But then he hears something even more bizarre off in the distance, a familiar sound, a voice. The voice sounds hollow, deep, disembodied. He hesitates a moment before he heads off toward the sound. As he gets closer the sound grows louder and he can feel his heart pumping faster as the fear builds up within him.

"WHHHHYYYYYY?" a cry echoes around him from all sides.

He looks straight ahead, knowing the sound is coming from the bend to the left only 100 feet away. He slowly takes one step closer, not picking up his feet but more scurrying them along, thinking that will delay the inevitable.

Closer, closer, closer he walks, and as he turns the bend of the path he sees…

Dr. James Wilson, his head in the shade of a pine tree. His head and only his head, wears a menacing grin. His brown eyes are looking at House, almost through to his soul when Wilson's head asks, "Why? Why? Why did you kill me?"

House is speechless as the goose bumps build up on his arms and he begins to shiver. It's not from the cold, though, it's from the seeing rest of Wilson's body that is lying under a bush beside the pine tree…….

"Greg, Greg, honey! Wake up!"

House's eyes shoot open and he bolts up in bed, grimacing and screaming at both the pain and the dream he's just had. "Wilson…Wilson…Wil...," he mutters as he looks at his mom but doesn't really see her.

"You had a nightmare, baby. You're fine. Now lie down before you bust your stitches," Blythe says lovingly as she wipes the sweat from his cheeks.

He looks at his mom and slowly recognition returns to his eyes. "Oh, Mom," he says softly. "Maw…Mom…"

"Sshhh, Greg. I'm here, Dad's here. You're fine, baby."

"Wil...son…how' Wilsah?"

"He's been out of surgery for over an hour now."

"Heees okay? Iz hee okay?" House mutters, slurring his words.

"Oh, Greg. James is fine. He's fine."

He looks at her confused, like he's seen her for the first time. "He's ok? He's okay." He takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. "He's ok…hees okay…" And he drifts off to sleep.

Blythe looks at John, who stands on the other side of the bed and gives him a look of worry and concern. She's afraid she's going to lose her boy. She's never seen him like this, never. She looks back down at her sleeping son.

"Don't take him from me, Lord. We need him, I need him. Please," she prays then breaks into tears.

John walks to the other side of the bed, takes her by her shoulders and slowly walks her out of House's room to the sitting area in the hall. He gently sits her down and holds her hand.

"Bly, he'll be fine. He's a tough kid. I didn't raise no sissy boy. He's got the skin of an armadillo, that boy."

"John, I hope you're right. I really hope you are right."