Hi, all! Glad you are still hanging in there with me! Thanks again for the posts and I hope don't disappoint. This is the chapter I wanted to get out of my system, but worked on another chapter. Now that I have the last chapter, I need to fill in the blanks. Hope you like! Steph

CHAPTER TEN

House was flying pretty high by now, with the vicodin and vodka in his system he was sufficiently numb throughout his entire body. Wilson had every right to be angry with House for his reluctance not to visit Debra when she was recouping from surgery, and so did Debra. He knew she felt horribly guilty for all that happened and House never told her that it was okay and not to worry about it.

He just felt his chance with Cameron was slowly creeping away and he was now mad at himself for not talking with her about how he felt. But he decided to do just that, and he'd invite her over on Sunday for dinner. He just hoped she'd come to her senses and at least try to understand where he was coming from.

But, first he had to see his cousin. He didn't even bother looking at the clock to see what time it was. He went into his bedroom and fished around for something in the closet that Debra had given him a long time ago. It was her turn now, and she needed it more than he did. He put it in a small plastic bag, grabbed the key to his bike and headed off to the hotel.

When he arrived there, he went to the clerk and asked for Debra House's room. The clerk looked in the computer but didn't offer the room number. He insisted he had to call first to protect their guests. As the clerk dialed the number and waited for a response, House stared at him impatiently. After several minutes he replaced the phone in the cradle.

"I'm sorry, sir, there seems to be no answer."

"It's ok, I have another friend here," House said as he walked away and headed for the elevator, the clerk hollering out for him the whole way.

After he got off the elevator he walked down the hall toward Wilson's room, a smile on his face. He knew she'd be surprised what he had for her, after all, she hadn't seen it in, what, over thirty years? He approached the door, took it out of the bag and stuck it in front of the peephole then knocked several times. Three loud knocks later, Wilson finally came to the door and opened it, whispering that Debra had just fallen asleep and they needed to be quiet then stepped aside and let House in.

House walked in and looked at the open door between the two rooms, with no Debra sleeping in the bed. He frowned and looked at Wilson confused. Then he saw something move under the covers on his bed but he recognized the color of her hair. His eyes burned with anger, betrayal…he was fuming inside.

"Why is she in your bed?" House asked, with his voice louder than Wilson wanted it to be.

"House, shhh! Come on, we'll talk in her room."

The two men walked to the adjoining room but not before House had a better chance to see Debra and what she was wearing. While the nightshirt was covering her safely while she was sitting or standing, the material had slipped over her shoulder a little bit, exposing more of her breast than he wanted Wilson to see.

Wilson quickly explained to House about the room, her nightmare and how she ended up sleeping in his bed, his best friend's bed. House was livid and spewed out every untrue and vicious digs at him, his face growing redder with anger every second.

"House, hold on! How in the hell would you think I'd even do such a thing to a friend?" Wilson shouted back.

"That didn't stop me from being with…" House realized what he'd just said and took a deep breath.

"And yeah, I know about you and Julie. But, I was with someone else, too, so, no big deal. But I am not you, House! I wouldn't do that to a friend."

House shook his head and was speechless for a second; he thought they'd been careful back then and he didn't know. But that didn't matter. Debra was his cousin, family, and Wilson took advantage of her. Even in House's book that was unforgivable. He took a step closer to Wilson, but Wilson didn't step back away from him. House's arm came up so quickly Wilson didn't have time to react.

Just then a voice in the doorway called out, "What the hell is going on…NO! Greg! Don't!"

It was too late. The cane flew into the air his fist met Wilson's chin, his head turned sharply to the right and he went flying back onto the end of the bed. Wilson sat up halfway and looked at House as he rubbed his chin then wiped the blood from the left corner of his mouth. House just stood there, dumfounded that he actually hit his best friend. Debra rushed to Wilson and sat down next to him, checking out his mouth and make sure her cousin hadn't done too much damage.

"Greg, what were you thinking?!" she asked then realized she was in her nightshirt and knew what House thought. "Oh, god, no! Nothing happened between us! I fell asleep during Medical Mysteries," she insisted, exactly what Wilson tried to convince House of only minutes earlier.

House's eyes tore into Wilson's face. "I…I don't believe you," he said.

"Greg, go home," Debra told him as she wet her thumb and wiped more blood that had trickled down his chin from where Wilson bit his lip.

"No! When did you two…at the hospital, ah, right, that's it," House said. "You basta…"

"Greg! Go HOME!" Debra screamed at him. "You've done enough."

He had never been ordered by anyone to immediately concede to their demand, besides his boss, and he didn't know how he felt about it. He suddenly realized he held the brown teddy bear she'd given him when they were kids in his left hand, but couldn't find any words to make the situation better.

"Thought you'd want this," he said softly, almost with shame. He placed the teddy bear on the entertainment stand by the t.v. and walked out the door into the hallway, toward the elevator.

"Jim, oh, god! I'm so…"

"Debra, it's okay. I can see why…"

"No, no! There's no excuse for what he…oh, I need to get you some ice. It's already starting to swell," she said as she stood. "Be right back."

She glanced at the teddy bear as she walked through the door but dismissed it, grabbed the ice bucket, room key and headed out into the hallway. She had noticed the time, 2:30am, and wasn't too concerned about meeting anyone in the hall at that late hour in her night clothes.

The elevators were around the corner at the end of the hall by the refreshment room and as she walked by she noticed out of the corner of her eye House was still there waiting. She continued to walk and prayed he hadn't seen her.

But he did. He followed her into the room and stood just outside the doorway, watching the machine fill the bucket.

"Deb…ra, I'm sorry. I should have believed…"

"Yeah! You should have!" she barked at him but still avoided eye contact. "Nothing happened! You were the one that asked him to watch me!"

"I just…seeing you in his bed…thought…"

Suddenly she felt something cold on her fingers and realized the ice was pouring over the sides of the bucket. She cursed, poured some out then turned to face him for the first time, taking a few steps closer.

"Yeah, I knew. You could never keep anything from me. And, by the way," she said as she started to walk down the hall. "Wilson was the best lover I've ever had!" Of course it wasn't true, but after what House did she didn't care what he thought. She wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt her, and that just wasn't in Debra's being.

House turned and looked at her in shock, watching her walk back to Wilson's room. His mind raced trying to think of what to say, which usually wasn't a problem. But now, this was different. He'd hurt someone he truly loved, and he felt like an utter and complete jerk.

"Deb…wait," he called out softly to her as he took a few steps towards her.

He noticed her steps weren't straight, almost about to trip and a few ice cubes fell out of the bucket. He called her name again and she suddenly stopped, and he felt better that she was listening and they could talk about what happened.

But then the bucket of ice fell to the carpet, scattering the cubes everywhere. She leaned against the wall with her shoulder, and slowly slid to the floor, her head slunched down in front of her.

In a mad dash, or mad limping dash, he rushed to her. When he reached her he lifted her head and tried to get her attention, placing his finger on the inside of her wrist to feel for her pulse, which was incredibly fast. He could tell she was having trouble focusing on him and she whispered his name.

"Haarrr," she said, and he knew she was talking about her heart.

"Oh, god…Wilson! WILSON!!"