CHAPTER NINE

Back at House's apartment, he had been playing his piano for the past hour, non-stop. His fingers pounded at the keys out of frustration, anger, whatever else emotion he had, taking it all out on the keys. He hit the last note of the tune he was playing and threw his hands on the top, hung his head and cursed. Beside his hand was his bottle of vicodin, which had shook with the strength of his fists. He reached out, poured three into his palm and downed them dry. He hoped the 15mg would make him numb, numb to his pain, anger, everything else he was feeling at the moment.

A few seconds later the phone rang. He wanted to ignore it, but when the answering machine came on and he heard Wilson's voice, he hurried to the phone to talk to him, thinking it might be Wilson with news on Debra getting situated in the room.

"Hey, House," Wilson said when he heard the phone being picked up.

"How's Debra?" House asked, not bothering to ask how Wilson was.

"She's fine, she's sleeping. Look, she wants you to come over tomorrow. Do you think you could find it in your busy schedule to come see your cousin?" he said snottily.

House frowned and pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it, wondering why the hell Wilson had such the attitude. "Yeah, fine. What time?"

"Whenever you can make it, 'bout noon? Think it'd be nice if she got out. Maybe take her to lunch?"

"Sure, sounds good."

"House?" Wilson asked. "Debra thinks you are mad at her." Wilson hesitated a moment. "Are you?"

House took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his stomach doing somersaults. "No, no, of course not. Oh, man," he said regretfully.

House didn't have the courage to tell Wilson about what happened between him and Cameron.

"I'll talk to her tomorrow, ok?" House suggested.

"Okay, fine. Don't let her down," Wilson said then hung up the phone.

House fell on the couch and buried his face in his hands, throwing his head back and cursing into them. He suddenly felt like the worst man in the world, and he had been more than once in his life.

He needed to talk to someone, and badly. He didn't know who to call. Then it came to him. He picked up the phone and dialed a number.

'You've reached Allison Cameron. I'm away from the phone but leave a message and I'll call you back, unless you are Dr Gregory House.' Beeep

"Cameron, it is Gregory House and I need to talk to you." She didn't pick up. "Come on, I know you're there! You're a cripple, temporarily anyway, you can't go anywhere!"

Still there was no pick up.

He slammed the phone down and sat down heavily on the couch again. He was getting so tired of this going back and forth with her! Hated it! He couldn't find it in him to tell her straight up how he felt; there was no way in heII.

He looked over at the liquor cabinet to check out his stock and he only had vodka. Vodka alone never got him drunk, but with the 15mg of vicodin, it would sure make him feel a lot better.

HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD

Over at Cameron's apartment, she was sitting with her brother, Jack, watching the Friday night movie when she heard the answering machine and listened to House's message as he talked.

"That's your boss! Why didn't you answer it when you heard his voice?" Jack asked.

"Because it's Friday night, and I don't feel like going into work," she lied.

She stuffed her mouth with a heaping spoonful of Ben and Jerry's Chunkey Monkey.

HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD

Over in Debra's hotel room, she finally woke up to a dark room, no light outside the window and only the flashing lights of the t.v. from Wilson's room. She slowly sat up, rubbed her eyes, yawned then got out of bed.

She was surprised at how tired she was as she scooted herself into the bathroom. She certainly hadn't expected her body to be so weak, but she was only human. She flushed the toilet and looked in the mirror. She would have screamed if she thought Wilson was awake, but she wasn't sure so she though against it.

She laughed quietly to herself, combed her hair and put it in a pony tail. She panicked for a second thinking she had on her night shirt, but looked down to see she was still wearing her street clothes. She chuckled under her breath at how such a girl she was acting, and feeling.

She got the courage to walk into Wilson's room, finally, and saw him asleep on the bed, his head against the back of the headboard, under pillows with a little bit of drool out of the corner of his mouth.

She noticed the clock radio on the nightstand and saw it was 10:30 pm. She couldn't believe how late it was. Then the smell of pizza waifed into her nostrils and turned her head to where it was coming from. She noticed the closed pizza container sitting on the small table with two chairs set by the window. Next to the pizza was a three-quarters full liter of Coke by a bucket of ice with an empty plastic cup. Her stomach screamed at her to stuff it into her mouth.

She hurried over to the table and attacked the box, grabbed a piece and shoved it in her mouth, chewing as fast as she could. A piece of pepperoni slipped off the pizza but she caught it, shoved it in her mouth and took another bite.

"I'd eat that slow if I were you. It'll give you…"

At Wilson's voice she jumped, causing the slice to slip out of her hand and fall to the carpet. She turned around so quickly she started to choke on the food she still had in her mouth.

Wilson quickly got off the bed and ran to her, but by the time he got there she'd gotten her composure and hit her collarbone to loosen what little left there was in her mouth. Her face grimaced in pain because she'd hit the tip of her scar but put her hand out to indicate she was okay.

"…indigestion, or choke to death," Wilson finished.

He put some ice from the bucket, which was almost empty, into the cup and poured some Coke into it, handing it to her. She slowly drank it and finally caught her breath.

She started to laugh. "I feel like such a moron."

"Oh, don't be…I mean feel like that. It's fine. Funny, actually," he said and smirked at her.

"Thanks, 'preciate your kindness," she answered then sat down at the table. "Why didn't you wake me?"

Wilson sat down at the table next to her and poured himself a glass of coke. "Because you need sleep, lots of it," he told her.

"Ah, okay."

She finished off two other pieces and finished off three glasses of Coke, granted they were small, and that was a lot for her first 'real meal.'

"I called How…Greg," he told her as she wiped her fingers.

"So?" she said coldly.

He frowned at her because he didn't think it would bother her that House hadn't kept in touch with her.

"Debra, look. I don't know if you know about Cameron but he's still dealing with how he feels…"

"That's not really my problem," she snipped. "Look, when I stayed with them one summer Greg caught a real bad summer cold and was in bed for three days. I brought him peppermint candy, magazines, comic books, anything I could think of to make him feel better. I even bought him a little teddy bear out of my allowance. It cost three weeks' worth! And there I lay in the hospital after a heart transplant and he didn't have the balls to come visit me?!"

Wilson could only nod his head because he knew exactly what she was feeling. And it was justified. He had to change the subject awful quick before she'd get herself worked up too much and raise her blood pressure, which would send her into cardiac arrest in her unstable condition.

"Are you done eating?" he asked.

She closed her eyes and threw herself against the back of the chair. "Yeah, sorry, god, I'm such an idiot. Thanks…thanks for the pizza. You don't have to do all this for me, Jim."

"Hey, I don't mind, really," he answered as he stood up. "Come on, Medical Stories is coming on and I've missed the past two months' worth. Watch it with me?"

She smiled at him and as he walked to the bed she pulled the chair over beside the bed to face the t.v. Wilson turned and looked at her funny; he thought she'd stay on the bed with him because she'd be more comfortable.

James, you're such an idiot! He thought to himself as he sat down on the bed, his back against the headboard.

Debra noticed his look of trepidation and said, "I'll be more comfortable here." She sat down and waited for the show to come on. Several minutes passed and she remembered the night shirt he bought her. "I'll be right back."

She went into her bathroom, brushed her teeth, took her medication, including two pain pills, pulled out the night shirt and checked to make sure it was long enough and didn't show too much of anything then put it on. She came back into Wilson's room and sat back down in the chair.

"Nice fit, Jim," she said with a smile.

Wilson watched her the whole way and she took his breath away. The v-neck of the night shirt covered just the tip of the scar, and just a smidgeon of the top of her breast, and the bottom fell just below her knee. That was the first time he ever noticed how blue her eyes were; the nightshirt was a navy blue, and it made her eyes pop even more.

"Do you want a pillow?" he asked, after his heart stopped pounding in his chest.

"Yeah, sure, that'd be great."

He handed it to her and she held onto it, one end resting under her chin. The show came on and they watched the first 15 minutes of it before the commercial came on.

"Debra, you and House are so diff…"

When he turned to look at her her head was slumped to one side in a very uncomfortable position, sure to make any neck crack. He scooted over to her and called her name quietly. She jerked her head up, woke up fully then groaned at the crick in her neck, rubbing it hard.

"You should go to bed, Debra."

"No, no, I'm…well, does that offer still stand to share the bed? Just for the show?" she added at the last second with a sly grin on her face.

Lose the grin, moron!

"Of course," Wilson said, but his voice squeaked.

She crawled on the bed and he helped her position the pillow against the headboard beside him. The show came back on and they started to watch it again.

"She's got cellulitis, you idiot doctor!" Wilson screamed at the t.v.

He felt the bed shake when he realized he'd woken her up again.

"Debra, seriously, you need to go to bed."

She turned to him, sadness in her eyes and said, "I don't want to dream again."

At first he didn't know what she meant but then her nightmare clicked into his brain. He debated with himself for what seemed like forever before he said, "You can sleep here. I'll sleep under the blanket and you get the sheets. How does that sound?"

Oh, god…you did NOT just invite her to share the bed, did you???

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Ok, now the good stuff starts!!!!! And I don't mean in a "M" rating by any means! That's not what this story is about.

I still cannot go to bed without finishing where I want to leave it for a day or two. It's 1:20 am and I have to go to work in six hours. Uggh, I'm an idiot.