Okay, I think this is a lot to digest, so I kind of left it at a neutral place. I know y'all want House back in Jersey and he is on his way. But here's a little about his Dad and Debra. I think it ended kind of abruptly, but I've lost my mojo and will continue tonight or tomorrow.

There is one more pivotal scene with House and Debra. I am purposefully not dwelling into House and Papa House's relationship, only because it doesn't really apply here.

Thanks for the reviews. I hope I'm pleasing everyone as I try to take in readers' thoughts and/or suggestions.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Two days later House was on the plane back to New Jersey. A lot had happened those two days, and he wanted to forget about all of it. But he was left with nothing but memories …

The day before he had gone to the hospital with his mom and aunt, not to see his dad off but to check with the doctor about after-care so he could break it down easier to his mom; Debra decided to stay at the house to clean things up a bit.

When they walked into his room he was already dressed and eating his lunch before he was discharged. Blythe went to give her husband a kiss and House stood by the door, as if he were hiding from his father, while Sharon stood beside him.

"You ready to go, honey?" Blythe asked as she sat on his bed.

"Yes, definitely. This food is horrific; I'll need to come back so they can clean out my bowels."

"John," Blythe started to say but he cut her off.

"Well, I'll be damned. My only son actually came to visit me," he said very mean and condescending when he saw House standing by the door.

"Hey, dad," House answered, almost in a whisper.

"Well, let's get out of here," John said as he pushed away the rolling tray and stood up.

"Now, John. We have to wait for the nurse to bring the wheelchair," Blythe said as she handed John his jacket and he put it on.

"I don't need a damned wheelchair!" John exclaimed. "I can walk out on my own two feet. I'm not a cripple, you know."

Those words stung House – no, felt as if his father had shot an arrow into his stomach. But it wasn't as bad as when he was a child. Whenever he'd do something bad (and as an 8 year-old wasn't all that bad) he had to wait for his father to come home, they'd sit and eat dinner then his father would punish him. The butterflies had returned with a vengeance, to the 47 year-man, not the 8 year-old child, making him nauseous and trying hard to push back the cramping.

Just then a nurse came in with a wheelchair and John lost his battle with having to use it. The nurse escorted them out; House had gone ahead of them all to get the car and bring it around to the entrance. It gave him the opportunity to down a few vicodin and take a deep breath before the journey home.

He was not looking forward to it, although he thought John would just go straight to bed. But that thought disappeared as soon as he remembered his father never rested; he was always on the go. The only good thing he had to look forward to was seeing Debra, but he didn't have time to figure out exactly why.

The drive back to his parents' house was quiet, with the exception of Blythe asking John what he wanted for dinner. John was rude, snippy and testy with his wife. She did nothing, nor did she stand up to her husband.

Just like always, things never change House thought to himself.

When they got back to the house, House was surprised when his father said he was tired from the trip and did lie down. Blythe helped him get settled into their bed. Debra had started dinner by just finishing up preparing the roast beef and put it in the oven. She had just started peeling the carrots and potatoes when House joined her in the kitchen. Sharon and Blythe stayed in the living room, a place House didn't want to be at the moment. He just wasn't in the mood to listen to his mom give an excuse as to why she never stood up for herself, or for her son when he was a child…hell, even now.

"How did it go, Greg?" Debra asked as she worked, occasionally looking up at him.

"Oh, just freakin' peachy," House grunted. "I wasn't there five minutes before he started in on me."

Debra nodded her head. "Sometimes that's how some people deal with their stress, which doesn't really help anyone, especially the one they're hurting."

House sauntered toward the kitchen table and sat down heavily in a chair. He sighed deeply, considered his words then said, "Debra, forget what I said last night…about you getting high. You have your issues and your own way of dealing with them, and I have mine."

Debra stopped peeling and looked at him. "I'm sorry I went off on you about you having a rough childhood. I shouldn't have said that. My dad had things a little better than your dad did, but that doesn't mean my dad is a perfect man."

House frowned and looked at her intently. "What do you mean?"

She hesitated a moment before she said, "He drinks. But I push myself away from him when he does, which really isn't all that often. With your dad, you push away all the time because he's such a judgmental bastard all the time. I wish things could have been different for you, but if you think about it, that's what makes us the way we are now. You have the gift of sizing people up and knowing the real truth, while the rest of us drudge along not knowing what it is we are good at so we can put it to good use, like you."

"Oh, I'm no saint."

Debra laughed. "Oh, I never said you were!" she said as she pushed a bowl and peeler his way and placed a potato in front of him. "Now help me peel this stuff. There's too much for one person."

"But I'm not good at this!" House protested.

Debra leaned in and whispered, "Fake it, just like you fake liking your dad."

"That was harsh," House said. "True, but harsh."

"We'll get through it, you know," she said with a smile. "Life can't suck all the time."

"Yes it…" Just then House's cell phone rang. "…House," he answered. He was silent for a few seconds before he excused himself to the patio out back.

Debra continued to peel the vegetables but inadvertently sliced the corner of her thumb beside her nail. She cursed and went to the sink to rinse the blood off and noticed House standing underneath the kitchen window. She smiled as she noticed the bald spot on the top of his head and made a mental note to tease him about it later.

But then she heard his voice; it was tense and angry. He was yelling at someone named Wilson. She didn't want to eavesdrop, but when she heard him say, "I don't know how I feel about Cameron." She just knew she had to keep listening.

"… how are her vitals … does she remember anything prior to the accident … did she ask for me …" House was silent for a moment, then he said, "… take the letter out of the top drawer … she what? Oh, shit." House kicked his left foot in the gravel at the foot of the flower bed, sending the tiny rocks against the bricks of the house. "Gotta go."

House closed his cell phone and placed it in his pocket. He turned around too quickly for Debra to duck to avoid him seeing her and all she could do was wave and smile, like she hadn't heard a thing. House didn't smile back at her but looked at her suspiciously.

"You wanna a cig?" Debra asked through the window as she wrapped her thumb in a paper towel. He nodded his head and she said, "Give me a sec."

A few minutes later they were sitting on the rocking bench in the garden again, but neither one was making it rock. Debra wasn't going to pester House. She just hoped he would share with her who Cameron was and why he wrote her a letter.

"Did you catch the whole conversation?" House finally asked as he finished his cigarette and flicked it into the garden.

"Uh, Uncle John doesn't like butts in his garden," she told him. "Just warning ya."

"Fine, I've been warned," he said curtly. "How much did you hear?"

Debra finished her cigarette and put it out in the ashtray beside the bench. "Just from you 'not knowing how you feel about Cameron' on," she answered. "But it wasn't intentional. Look, I cut myself with the peeler," she said as she showed him her thumb, still wrapped in the bloody paper towel.

"I guess you wanna know what I was talking about, huh?"

"No, actually," she told him, "it's none of my business." She used psychology on her cousin, hoping he would tell her anyway and he wouldn't feel as if she pushed him.

"You're right, it isn't," House told her.

Well, I guess I know why I'm not a shrink, Debra thought to herself.

"HEY! You two get in here! These won't get peeled on their own!" Debra's mom yelled out from the sliding glass door.