A/N: Sorry for the long wait. RF got a hold of me and nearly choked me. Anyways, yes, the last memory of the last chap was what happened to House. I mentioned it in 2 earlier chapters and just decided to elaborate.

I think I have to dedicate this to..."Lisa" for giving me the idea of the motorcyle. LOL. Many thanks to everyone!

Disclaimer: DOH

Maybe, if the road hadn't glistened with the recently dropped rain, it would have been fine. Maybe, if he had followed the speed limit as he should have, it wouldn't have happened. Maybe, if he hadn't walked out on her nearly four months ago, his ass would be planted in a comfortable sofa instead of on soft dirt lining the highway.

House looks down at his left leg, admiring the ratted and frayed denim covered in his blood. His ass no doubt is bruised. His left side and back would be sore for a few days due to the awkward position he'd been in as he'd lost control around the curve. When he hears the sound of tires on the road, he turns his head slowly into the blaring head lights coming his way.

The truck slows to a stop and the man behind the wheel opens the door and steps out, the engine still idling. In the dark, the man could be a teenager, his sneakers, jeans, and t-shirt, the passing fad of the misunderstood youth.

"You're an idiot."

The Australian voice holds no resentment, no curiosity, no fear. House wonders who this man has become.

"And you're British. Come on. Help me up."

Chase leans down on House's right side, gently hefting him up by his waist. "You've got two bad legs, now. Lean on me."

"When you're not stroooong. I'll help you…carry ooonnnn."

"Stop it," the younger man orders as they take one step forward and his new patient nearly slips forward. "If you want, I'm pretty sure I can carry you."

"The hell you can," House mutters as he puts an arm around Chase's shoulders.

Finally fighting their way to the truck, House leans back in the seat, grimacing as his head hits the headrest. "Don't forget my cane."

"That stick survived?"

Leaning his head out of the window, House sucks in a large breath. "And pull the bike off the road, Big!"

"You could call Cameron, you know. She does work in the ER."

"And miss out on this male bonding time? I don't think so. Ow!"

"Sorry," Chase breathes, lessening the pressure of his hands as he spreads the ointment over the scrapes on House's calf.

House fingers the towel on his right thigh, even in his pain refusing Chase to see what hid there. "You're enjoying this."

"Not really."

"I fired you because of Foreman. This must be some sort of vindication for you."

"I don't need vindication. I'm over it. Here, hold your bandage while I get some tape."

"You're not going to ask what happened?"

Chase unwound the tape, cleanly tearing it off with two fingers, before grabbing the bandage from the fingers of the non-motile man half laying before him on the exam bed in the ER. "Don't really care. You'll need an MRI."

"I'm fine."

He leans back in the chair he's sitting in. "You were just in a motorcycle accident. It's protocol since it's you."

"What? Does Cuddy have guidelines if I come in hurt?"

"Quarterly memos. I'll go schedule a time for you." As he pulls the curtain open in front of him, he turns slightly. "Wait here."

"Yes, Capitàn!" House salutes, his face tired and too haggard for Chase to take seriously.

Alone, the weight begins to bear on him again. The night's events, the very ones he'd been trying to forget as he drove in the barely sprinkling rain, begin to replay in his mind. He still doesn't quite believe it. There's no way he can comprehend the relationship with Cameron even though, in his shifty memories, the feeling that he recalls is something that he'd felt only with Stacy.

He fights it now, the rush of that feeling threatening to make him think of her in a softer light. She'd lied to him; she deserved no such spot with him. Without thinking about it, he fingers the scar in his left eyebrow, the bald slit differing from the areas beside it filled with short hairs. House is sure what he feels for her now isn't the same as what he remembers.

He doesn't even want to think about the kid, his kid. It blows his mind and he can't quite wrap his head around the knowledge. Possessiveness has been built within him since the days of never having anything to call his own as he'd traveled from place to place. That's what had scared him the most when she'd told him she was pregnant: the automatic wave of possessiveness that washed over him as he'd eyed her still flat abdomen. Now, almost four months later and one night of harsh realization later, he wonders why he hadn't noticed it before.

Even though he hadn't remembered, he'd had to be near her, asking about her, knowing where she was. But he couldn't be a parent. Of this, he had no doubt.

The curtain rustles, drawing House's attention to the shadow on the other side.

"Finally! Let's get this over wi…."

The curtain opens with a smooth motion, the hands never faltering and the body refusing to move away.

"You're a miracle, House."

"I don't want you here. Chase!"

"He's the one who called me. What the hell were you thinking?"

House doesn't bother answering. Sitting upright, he tries to swing his legs over so he can try to stand.

"House, you can't just--."

"Back off, Wilson!"