Summery: Just read…


Spoilers: Up until midway through "Heavy" and takes a twist.


Rating: PG-13


Disclaimer: You know I don't own it! I play. If I did own it, House would be locked away in a room somewhere just for me.

A/N: Sorry about the delay in chapters yet again. Life has been rough for the past few months. Well, the entire year actually. But I'm getting back into the writing mode again. I'm actually working on all of my House stories right now, even the Veronica Mars crossover. So keep an eye out, I'll be updating more often now. Thanks to everyone who stuck around. Sorry this chapter is so short, but I'm just getting back into the swing of things so be patient.

"Dr. House, may I have a word with you," Dr. Stevens asked, poking his head into the office.

House's eyes didn't leave his Gameboy. "Do you need a consult?"

"Well, no—"

"And neither do I. Go away."

Dr. Stevens ignored his order and stepped completely inside the office, closing the door. House still didn't look up but said, "It's Friday morning, doctor. I was planning on getting an early start on the weekend. You are beginning to ruin it."

Still ignoring him, Stevens proceeded to House's desk and sat down in the chair across from him.

House finally looked up. "Okay, now I'm annoyed. Do you not understand English? Because I can tell you to get the hell out in Hindi, Spanish, Portuguese, and Latin."

"This is about Dr. Cameron."

"What? Do you want to gossip about how good she is in bed," he snapped. "Sorry, I wouldn't know. Besides, I only gossip about those things with Wilson." He looked back down at his Gameboy. "I don't have time for you."

Stevens grabbed the toy out of House's hands and laid it in his lap. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," he said, angrily, "and will restrain myself from beating the hell out of you like someone should have a long time ago."

"And I'll pretend that you didn't just grab my Gameboy and I won't break your fingers. After all," he replied, swinging his cane up and slamming it down on the desk to make a point, "you are a surgeon."

They stared at each other for a minute in silence. Finally, Dr. Stevens spoke. "I am Allison's friend. I am not her boyfriend, and I am not sleeping with her."

House shrugged. "Your loss."

"Actually, if you don't get your head out of your ass, it will be your loss."

House glanced over at him quizzically.

"You know exactly what I mean, Dr. House." He paused. "As I was trying to say before, Allison has become a very good friend of mine. And people who purposely hurt my friends do not rank high in my book."

"So that's what this is about? She's upset because I didn't make it to therapy with her? Sue me for being busy!"

"After months of escorting her to and from therapy, all of a sudden you were busy." Stevens scoffed at the idea. "So maybe you were busy. You couldn't even let her know? You left a victim of sexual assault alone. She trusted you and you abandoned her."

"She needed to break free eventually," House muttered. "I was too accommodating to her."

"Eventually," he repeated. "Not cold turkey. She called me hysterical—after trying to get in touch with you of course, but you were avoiding her for some godforsaken reason—just so she had someone to walk her to her car. Do you know how hard it still is for her to walk through that parking lot?"

House turned his head to the side, silent and sullen. Dr. Stevens threw the Gameboy on the desk and got up to leave. "If you ever hurt her again, you'll be sorry."

"Or what? You'll beat up a cripple?"

"No, I don't need to," he answered, opening the door and walking out. "You're doing quite enough damage on your own."