They'd made it about halfway across the room when the thoughts connected in Lydia's mind. She knew who lived in Short Hills, who House would trust with something important. She knew who House had sent her package to. She didn't need him anymore.

House was shuffling forward, oblivious to anything other than the action of walking, as he tried not to lean too much of his weight on Lydia allowing his cane to take most of the abuse. The tablets had certainly taken the edge off the pain, but they had also left him feeling weaker, less coordinated, if that were possible. He had to focus hard just to get his legs to cooperate, to shift one foot in front of the other. It didn't take much, a shift in weight, a slight twist and he was completely off balance. His arm slipped off her shoulder and he dropped to the side like a stone. His reflexes too slow, dulled by the medication, so he could not get his arm out in time to ease the impact; cracked and broken ribs took the full force of his weight as his side hit the floor. He vaguely heard the seemingly panicked apology as he fell.

"Oh God! I'm sorry House, I'm so sorry I'm..."

Then his world exploded into pain, white light stealing his vision as it shattered into a million stars. He rolled over, the entire side of his body a seething mass of angry snake like nerve endings, hissing and biting their response. He rolled again, unable to see, unable to hear, unable to scream, unable to breath. There was nothing but pain, tearing, blinding pain.

"I'm so sorry..." Lydia continued to mutter, even as her foot impacted with the side of his head, finally ending his agony as he drifted into oblivion. She stepped back watching, waiting, making sure that he really was unconscious. Her voice trailed to a whisper. "I'm sorry but I don't think I need you anymore."

[H]

Johnson called Cuddy again, heading to Short Hills, he had absolutely zero idea who lived there, or what address he was going to, but it was a lead. He was surprised at how quickly Cuddy answered considering it was a work day, but he didn't question it.

"House apparently sent a package to Short Hills. By the sound of it, the package must be important considering there is a high likelihood it is related to the beating he took. Anyone you know live around there that House would send a package to?"

"The only person I can think of that House knows out there is Stacy, but she doesn't know anything about this." This was partially a lie, there was a good chance Stacy did know about this and was lying to protect House but Cuddy didn't want to face that possibility. She didn't want to come to terms with the fact that House is trusting not only another woman with this mystery but an ex-girlfriend. She didn't want to admit to herself that she was jealous that House wouldn't pick her, even though she knew she was the reason he wouldn't chose her.

"Got an address?"

"Yes, it's around her somewhere." Johnson could hear Cuddy clicking on her blackberry searching for the address. Why or how she still had this address was a complete mystery to her but she was thankful it was still there.

[H]

Johnson pulled the car to a stop in front of Stacy Warner's house and climbed out, his eyes automatically scanning the street. He stepped forward, his foot barely hitting the driveway before he sensed that something was wrong. By the time he reached the door and realised that it was slightly open his entire skin was tingling. Should have called for backup. He now moved up and across to the other side of the door and drew his weapon, self defense only, he assured himself as he pushed the door open.

He moved in quickly and quietly, not knowing what to expect but knowing that something was wrong. Each swept one side in an arc with his gun, stopping and listening for a moment, looking for any signs of movement. Only when he was satisfied that there were none did he step into the hallway.

His stomach turned as he found two empty but trashed rooms. He reached the kitchen at the back of the house, by now the smell of blood was unmistakeable, it's coppery tang hanging heavily in the air.

His heart was pounding now; beads of sweat covered his forehead as the adrenaline kicked up his metabolism. He swept his gun around the inside of the room. There was no one there. He took a cautious step forward and that was when he noticed the first of the blood. It was smeared across the doors of the cupboards. He forced his feet to take another step forward, gun still raised. Her eyes now drawn to the floor as he rounded the breakfast bar the blood following the contours in the flooring, taking advantage of any slight indentations to find it's own level, but it was rounded at the edges in ways that water could never be. Perfect rounded edges, except where it had been smeared. He found himself concentrating on it, fascinated by it, because he did not really want to move on and locate its source. He swallowed, forcing his legs to take another reluctant step forward and then another until a scream shocked him into reality.

"Get the fuck out of my house!" Mark Warner yelled jumping from behind a doorway, frying pan in hand ready to attack.

"Private detective Johnson!" Johnson screamed, quickly putting the gun away and repeating that phrase until Mark lowered the pan.

Once the threat was gone, Johnson collected his breath and explained himself. "I was hired by a Dr. Lisa Cuddy to look into a case where House was assaulted..." he elaborated. He saw a bruised and scared Stacy peer at him from behind her husband's protection as Johnson went on. He told them about how the many different series of events led him to the Warner household and that he was not a threat to their safety.

"I'm sorry." Mark said as he placed the pan on the table, "we thought you were with that lunatic woman."

"I can assure you I am in no way affiliated with that monster."

Johnson could feel the tension immediately disappear from the room as Stacy and Mark sat down at the dining table and invited Johnson to join her.

"Are you hurt?" Johnson asked a clearly shaken up Stacy.

"No. I'm the one who attacked her." Stacy said

"Self defense!" Mark assured, "she had no choice."

"I grabbed the knife when I heard someone rummaging through our house and she went crazy. She was screaming at me to give her the package..." Stacy shook her head not ready to fully discuss the event.

"I came running when I heard all the noise but by the time I got there the woman was gone, Stacy managed to scare her off by stabbing her."

Johnson nodded as he took notes. "Do you think it was a fatal injury?"

Stacy shook her head, "I cut her arm and hand pretty good but she will live."

Mark placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Do you know anything about the package?"

Mark scoffed, "my wife has just been assaulted in our home, she wouldn't sacrifice her safety for some dumb package! Especially if House is involved, she left him in the past."

Stacy continued to stare at her feet, an action that did not go unnoticed by Johnson.

"Is that true Mrs. Warner?" He asked

"I'm sorry." Stacy said, "I haven't spoken to House in years. I truly don't know what package she is talking about."

Johnson sighed disappointingly, another dead end. "I'm sorry that you had to become involved in all this." He said, "I hope the police are on their way?" Stacy nodded. "I'm sorry I came to bother you."

Johnson exited the home and slammed his car door shut in frustration. He was annoyed that a doctor of all people would be involved in his toughest case yet. He just couldn't catch a break. He rested his head on the steering wheel in frustration when a miracle happened, his friend at the FBI managed to get some information to him that would greatly help his case.

"Johnson." He said in the phone defeated.

"Hey it's Fuller." The agent said.

Johnson sat up, "Fuller! Tell me you have a lead!" Johnson more begged than stated.

"Boy have you stumbled onto something big..." Fuller began, "we knew Dr. House was involved in this but we only knew about it because we had an agent on the inside, and he risked his own life to get the beating to stop. Our guy talked them into taking a break when House passed out. It was the best that he could do without getting himself killed, but he was prepared to blow the whole operation to get him out before they started in on him again."

"Considerate of him," Johnson's tone dripped sarcasm.

"Hey, he was gonna blow months of hard work and risk his own life further to get House out."

"Was?"

"Turned out he didn't have to, House managed to escape, before they got back. They shot the guard who let him escape through the head. At the time we didn't know how Dr. House was involved, we still don't. But someone is corrupt and everyone is a suspect."

Johnson shook his head. "Not House," he stated. "Now, since you obviously know a lot more about what's going on, why don't you share."

"I told you there's no connection. This is an FBI case there's no reason to..."

"Oh there is a reason, in fact there's more than one reason. I'd say any case where an innocent civilian is beaten half to death falls under my jurisdiction, and, even if that weren't the case... You owe me."

Fuller sighed, it was true, he did owe Johnson. Hell, he owed him everything. Johnson sacrificed his own career to save Fuller's job and he knew it. "Okay, okay... here's everything I know..."

[H]

House moved his arm lazily, fumbling for the alarm. The insistent ringing was annoying, but he could find no means to stop it, as his hand met empty air. He moved it, experimentally probing the surface, only hard wood met his fingertips, curiosity forcing his brain into ever higher states of awareness. Sensations registering slowly at first, then in an exponentially increasing rush as disorientation took over. It wasn't his alarm clock it was a cell phone, blurry eyes opened and attempted to focus on it across the floor. He was lying on the floor. The surface cold and hard, and he was shivering, and, God, every single part of him hurt, from his fingertips to the roots of his hair. His head was pounding. His eyes refused to focus properly, and the damn phone was still ringing.

He forced himself to move, drawing in a sharp breath as he rolled onto his knees. He pulled one hand across his chest as he tried to force an awkward crawl across to the phone. Maybe the person at the other end would have some answers. Could explain why he was here, why everything hurt. Why...? The phone stopped ringing. He stopped with it, blinking as it finally swam into focus, only a couple of feet away now, not that it had been much more before. He continued his awkward three-limbed movement but the urgency had gone now. He moved even more slowly, quite a feat since he had barely been moving before. His entire focus was still on the cell phone, on controlling the pain and the shivers enough to move towards it. He gave a sigh of relief as he reached it, but instead of grabbing for it he maneuvered carefully to a seated position by it. Leaning his back gingerly against the bed, he blinked his eyes once more as he looked down at it. It was in the position Lydia had left it. After she'd answered the wrong number. She had placed it on the floor before talking to him, before asking for the location they were going to. He drew in a deep breath as he realized that she had left without him, but he did not have time to consider it further as broken ribs protested the violent movement of the ribcage. Tendrils of fire shooting out across his side and he could do nothing but ride out the waves, swallow back the accompanying nausea and try to force his breathing to slow from the rapid panting gasps that threatened to take over.

When he could think clearly again, when the pain wasn't wiping all thoughts, he gently probed the region where his ribs had been cracked. Somehow he'd done more damage, they were broken now, he was sure of it. It must have been when he'd fallen. Lydia was helping him to the car and he'd fallen.

She tripped you.

The stray thought barely registered. He dismissed it. He'd fallen, she'd decided to go without him, or she'd gone for help.

She didn't want you with her. She tripped you.

He dismissed it again. There was no way that she could know where he'd sent the package. She needed him to find where it was. It didn't make any sense that he had done anything other than fallen, besides she'd asked for his help. It just didn't make sense that she would hurt him. He turned his attention back to the cell phone, picking it up he checked the missed call number. It wasn't one he recognized. He checked back through the phone's memory. The number had called this phone five times in the last few days. He stared for a moment more. It was the only number that had called this phone today. So it couldn't have been a wrong number. She'd known who'd called. He checked again, whoever it was had left a voicemail message. He hit the button that would take him there.

[H]

Lydia tried to control her speed as she headed out of the city. The last thing she needed was to be pulled over. She'd cleaned off most of the blood but she'd only managed to find a loose sweater to fit her, nothing to replace her skirt, which was still splattered in patterns of an unmistakable coppery red. As were her shoes, damn, she was annoyed about that. She really liked those shoes and they were ruined now. Why hadn't she remembered to take them off? She hit the steering wheel in frustration.

She couldn't believe that she still didn't have the package, her package; it was like the whole world was conspiring against her. She was so sure Stacy had the package, that House would pick a woman, he would pick someone who wouldn't be an obvious choice. Damn House, she hit the steering wheel again. Why hadn't she brought him with her? She had just left him on the floor. In her eagerness to get to her package, she had just left him there. Damn him, if she'd brought him he could have told her where it was. Now she had to go all the back to that godforsaken cabin, but this time he would tell her. No more tricks, no more asking for help. This time he would tell her.

[H]

"The package contains uncut diamonds. A lot of them about 100 million dollars worth. So although we know Dr. House is involved we don't know why he's involved."

"For love." Johnson stated

Fuller let out a small chuckle, "must be some girl if he's willing to get involved in this mess."

"Apparently so, Lydia Kane is the lucky woman."There was a tense silence on the other end of the phone. "You know her?" Johnson asked.

"She's the wild card in all of this. The reason why we haven't got a nice string of arrests and a package of diamonds sitting in the FBI evidence lock up." He paused, not willing to give up more information without getting something back. "So, how's she connected to House?"

"He was in love with her, she broke it off and it seems that House, despite appearances to the contrary, never really got over her. So when she came and asked him for help..."

"...she seemed like that fair maiden in distress." Fuller completed the sentence with a slight nod. "She's anything but- she's dangerous, very dangerous."

Johnson nodded; House had already almost died because of his involvement with her. The fact that she was dangerous was something he knew only too well, something he was trying hard not to think about. "I know," he stated quietly.

"Diamonds are an extremely effective currency for organized crime to deal in. They're small, they're portable and before they're cut they're almost impossible to trace. Not to mention the fact that they have an international value. They can be used to buy, drugs, weapons, finance terror organizations. The only problems you ever have is checking their authenticity and getting them into the country in the first place." Fuller paused momentarily gathering his thoughts. "About six months ago we got wind of an operation that was smuggling them in in plain sight. They were making use of regular shipments of semi-precious stones and custom jewelry coming in from a company in Austria. The company ships thousands of small packages through the mail to different customers across the country, and, although customs does random sampling, the chances of the package carrying the genuine diamonds being picked up, and the chances of the diamonds being recognized for what they are, is very slim."

"They put a package worth 100 million dollars in the mail?" Johnson repeated in shock

"According to our sources they test shipped a thousand packages through the service before deciding that it was an acceptable risk, and at least as likely to succeed as using a mule to carry them through customs. The problem was we had no way of knowing where the package was going, we managed to get agents in at both ends but it took six months for them to get anywhere, by the time they did we believe at least two packages had made it through." He let out a sigh. "That was when we caught a break, or thought we had. Lawerence Kane was one small link in a long blind chain. The security was that no one was supposed to know anyone else, or what they were handling. He was being paid five thousand dollars to collect the package and pass it on, no questions asked, but someone did know. They knew Lawerence Kane's identity and they knew what he was about to pick up. They let him know the true worth of the package's contents, told him that he should keep it and split it with them, I got the impression that there was a veiled threat of an 'or else' that went along with that. Anyway, that was when he contacted us, he suddenly realized that what he was involved in was dangerous, and he didn't trust that the person who had given him the information, wouldn't just shoot him when he handed the package over. We set up a meet but Lawerence Kane didn't show. He was already dead, and we were no closer to the package or the person who betrayed the organization."

"But you think it was a Fed?"

"Or a cop. Kane was scared, but he did refer to the person who wanted him to hand over the package as 'one of you, sworn to serve and protect,'"

Johnson gave a frustrated nod; to a layman all of the law protection agencies were the same, all together on the same side, fighting a common cause. It was only the agencies themselves that seemed to make the distinction. Lawerence Kane's comment certainly wasn't conducive to working out which particular agency the rogue had come from, but Johnson had his suspicions. The fact that Detective Sergeant Will Adams was the first Detective on the scene when Lawerence Kane's body was found was surely too much of a coincidence.

"That was when the lovely Mrs. Kane first appeared on the radar. The speculation is that she found out what her husband was about to do and decided that the money was worth the risk. The only mistake she made was not waiting for her husband to pick up the package first."

"So, she needed someone who could impersonate her husband and pick it up for her, and that's where Dr. House came in."

Fuller nodded. "At this stage the organization still didn't know that Kane was dead, but they did know that they had a leak, so they staked out the Friendship Station Post Office, waiting for Kane to come pick up the package."

"But that doesn't explain why they picked up House instead of Lawerence Kane, didn't they know what Lawerence looked like?"

"Sure they did," Fuller stated calmly, "They knew what he looked like, because they had Kane's place staked out Saturday afternoon when Dr. House visited it."

"So, why not pick him up then?"

"Oh they probably would have, but on his way out House got involved in a struggle with a mystery assailant. House, or Kane as they thought, took a bullet to the chest and they ducked for cover. When they came up for air House had made his escape, as had the mystery gunman. They had no choice but to switch to the Post Office. They figured there was no way Kane was coming back to his apartment."

Johnson let out a sigh; only House could get himself involved in something so complicated.

"When he turned up at the post office the next day they picked up on him straight away. But it was too late he'd already forwarded the package."

[H]

House listened as the electronic voicemail menu started up, impatiently pressing the button that would play the most recent message.

"This is beyond a joke," the impatient male voice sounded at the other end of the line and then there was some muttered cursing, followed by a deep breath as the speaker clearly brought himself under a little more control. "You'd better get back to me as soon as you get this message." The anger was clearly rising again. "You didn't tell me that the guy you were getting to play hubby was a fucking world famous doctor! I fucking shot him! His buddies are now all over this. Do you have any idea how much trouble we're in? How much this raises the stakes? Of course you don't because you're crazy. I should have known that from the way you carved your husband up, killing him before he could collect the..."

But House didn't hear any more of the message as the cell dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers. His mind seemed to accelerate and slow down all at the same time, as links formed seamlessly in his head. The meeting at the apartment building had been a set up. He'd been ready to get the cops involved in this, to ask for help from the people he trusted. She had had to convince him that the police were in on the conspiracy, that she would be killed if taken in to custody, but the cop had been in on it all along. She'd had him shot and beaten; she'd set him up from the beginning. She'd killed Lawerence. Oh God! She'd killed Lawerence...

The force of the betrayal hit him like an express train, just as it had done the last time she'd destroyed him, only this time it was worse. This time he'd had his doubts all along. Those little niggling voices in the back of his mind that he'd suppressed, ignored. On some level he'd known all along, and still he'd allowed her to use him. He'd wanted to believe her so badly, needed to believe her. He'd needed her to need him because his psyche still believed that he wasn't good enough for her, for anyone. Somewhere buried deep under all the years of experience and layers of bravado was a lost and lonely child seeking to recapture that first moment of love and connection with another human being. A connection he'd found with another lost soul, but just like his father, she had no love to give- only destruction.

Breathe... breathe! His mind desperately screamed the command, but against the weight on his chest, the force of impact from her abuse, he didn't think he could. Everything was frozen, paralyzed, his vision began to swim and he closed his eyes tightly, but it didn't stop the swirling motion, until finally automatic responses kicked in, drowning out his consciousness that could not move against the pressure, and he drew in a great hacking swirling breath, and it must have caused pain. At some level the grating of broken ribs must have been agonizing, but he honestly couldn't feel it through the onslaught of emotion. Gradually he became aware that he was taking in panting gasps, and he was on his feet and he was moving, and he had the cell phone firmly gripped once more in his hand, and he knew that he had to call Wilson. He had to tell him about Lydia, to warn him. He had to apologize for his own stupidity. He had to... His hand was pressing the buttons. He was outside now. He could see trees, sky... He was outside and the cell was ringing and...

"This is doctor Wilson?" The voice answered from the other end of the line.

House opened his mouth, his lips moved, no sound came out.

"Who is this?" the tone was impatient.

House tried again, he knew his lips were moving, but still there was no sound.

"Look I don't have time for games I'm hanging up"

House expected to hear the click expected the line to go dead, but for some reason it didn't.

There was a long pause. "House?"

House knew that he still hadn't made a sound. How did Wilson know? The tone was no longer harsh, it was hesitant, hopeful, it gave House a surge of confidence and suddenly he could speak, he could apologize for what he had done. He could warn Wilson...

"Wilson," this time the word came out, shaky and weak but it was there. "Look, I really screwed up this time, but I thought she was... I was trying to help and there were too many unknowns and I didn't want to..." his voice was fading, his breathing too rapid and shallow in the face of the trauma his body had suffered, but he pressed on, moving deeper into the tree-line as he spoke. "I mean, I didn't... Look the important thing is..."

"House," Wilson tried to interrupt, tried to get House to pause to listen to him. "House," his tone was sharp but it was having no effect. "House," he tried, "Listen to me!" That got a pause. "I just need you to tell me where you are. Where are you?"

House listened to the question, but the answer was unimportant. "Lydia Kane, Lydia Kane. I think she might be dangerous and she's going to..."

The line went dead. "House, are you still there, House!" Wilson yelled, in a fruitless gesture, House had been cut off mid-sentence. He pulled his cell from his ear and stared at it. The call had been ended. It took every ounce of his self-restraint not to throw it down to the ground and smash it into pieces.