CHAPTER THIRTEEN – Part Two

The gasp that escaped Wilson's lips broke the shocked silence in the room.

"But just once. I was seven, and just came back from seeing you in Germany." She was referring to House. "Remember when we played football and I threw the ball at your crotch?" A small giggle escaped her; House grinned slightly and nodded his head. "You couldn't walk for an hour. Okay, wait…I'm jumping ahead."

"Debra, you don't have to do this," Wilson told her.

"I know…I want to…I need to."

Here is where she breathed in again heavily, holding it in for several seconds. She closed her eyes and relayed what happened.

"I started second grade that fall and came home the first day all excited and couldn't wait for Dad to get home to show him my book that I got from the library. It was Curious George. I don't know if I got it because it was Dad's name or not. Anyway, I was in my room and reading it when Mom called me and Danny for dinner. Apparently Dad was in a foul mood and already had a drink before we started to eat; that's what Danny warned me before we went down. I brought the book to the table to show him and Dad went ballistic."

She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling and continued. "'Don't bring that shit to the table.'" She said that in a deep, man voice, imitating her father. "He threw the book across the dining room floor and the hard cover tore away from the pages. I cried, he yelled, Mom yelled at Dad, I cried, Danny ate, I cried." Her voice started to shake and it was apparent she was having trouble speaking of the memory of that night; Wilson held her hand tighter.

"Mom must have talked with him because he came in later with the book; he had tried to repair it as best as he could, which for a seven year-old is a big deal. You wouldn't think a seven year-old would remember that, but I think the reason why I do is because I remember the smell of the liquor on his breath. And…"

House seemed to sway a bit from shifting the weight of his right leg to his left. Debra saw his movement from the corner of her eye and looked at her cousin. "Sit." He sat down, thankfully. This is where she wanted to be – in between the only two men in her life she ever truly loved.

"He was all lovey-dovey at first but I pushed him away – as best as a child could, which isn't much. I was on the bed in my one-piece pajamas and he sat…on the bed beside me. He wanted a hug and a kiss for forgiveness and I wouldn't. I think I cried; I'm not sure. I went to stand – actually I rolled over, and landed on my face on the carpet. He ran over and picked me up…"

She closed her eyes again, as if what she was saying hadn't actually happened. Too many minutes ticked by and the silence was killing both men. Wilson nodded to House because he thought she had fallen asleep.

"…and put me back on the bed…" The two men looked at each other and settled back in. "But when he did, his hand slipped up my pajamas…inside my thigh…just touched my…" Her eyes flew up as the memory flooded back to her.

"And you kicked him," House whispered, completely enthralled in her story.

"Yep. Good timing, thanks for playing," she teased, trying to force a smile but failed miserably; Wilson squeezed her hand again, gently rubbing her thumb joint with his thumb. A sob escaped her throat but she wasn't quite done, yet. She closed her eyes one last time.

"He grabbed his crotch and rolled over, howling in pain. I ran out of the bedroom and ran for Mom, who didn't do diddly-shit, by the way. So, no, I don't want to see them."

Again there was silence between the three. House was intensely curious why it appeared she and her mother were rather close, but that must not have been the case. He made a mental note to question her about it later.

"I'm tired," she whispered.

House and Wilson looked at the other. Wilson had tears in his eyes but they didn't fall; House had none.

"Jmmmsss, stay wi' me."

House stood, gave Wilson a nod and left the two alone. He walked a solemn walk down the hallway, eventually rode the elevator and strolled down another hallway to his office. The door closed behind him but he didn't bother turning on the light. He walked straight to his desk led by the light reflecting from the balcony and sat in the chair.

Without thinking, he pulled a bottle of Whiskey from the bottom drawer, the glass beside it and filled it half full. He brought it to his mouth and finished half of the liquor in one swallow. He looked out toward the empty hallway and stared, thinking of what Debra just told them.

There are three different types of abuse: physical, mental and sexual. Which do you think is the worst? Whichever one you answer, you'd be wrong. They are all equally devastating. House had only suffered two; Debra suffered one. Tit-for-tat and all-that. But had she only suffered one?

Suddenly the glass wall between his office and hallway grew blurry, waving both vertically and horizontally. He thought for one split second he was on LSD again, and he sure as hell knew he wasn't drunk yet. He then felt a wet, warm liquid drop from his left eye. He never wiped it away. A second later a tear rolled down his right cheek as he tried to blink it away. That, too, he never wiped away. He let them fall, and the next, and the next. He took the half-full bottle of Whiskey and glass to his recliner and sat down in it heavily, planning on staying there until he finished the bottle.

For all of House's life, he'd felt as if he were alone – a single rose on a multi-branched rose bush; a single geese flying south for the winter; a man walking alone in a desert that never ended nor offered an oasis for water and rest.

He'd never rest. He'd never live – he had never lived. The nightmares, the fears, the insecurities – they were all a part of who he was. And he was alone. Or so he thought. But he had Debra, the one person who lived his nightmare, and understood him, and had come out so much 'better' than him.

He sighed heavily and finished the last of the liquor in his glass. His face contorted with a sour-puss expression as the Whiskey burned his throat. He made one "accch" sound as it went down. Without thinking, he poured another glass and finished that off within five minutes. Hell, there was only one more glass-ful in the bottle, so he poured that but only nursed it.

House felt like the Grinch when he realized that Christmas wasn't about material possessions. It felt to him his heart grew 'three times larger that day.' The reason?

Because he was no longer alone. Maybe with Debra, through Debra, he could deal with his past. Hell, who was he kidding?

HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD

Oh, my head. Why is it so damned bright in here? Somebody shoot me. Oh, they already did.

House soon realized he was still in his recliner in his office and he was very comfortable and warm. Something felt heavy on top of him and forced his eyes open, blinking constantly to adjust his eyes to the brightness of the new day. He found a blanket draped over him and he looked off into the diagnostics room. Cameron was sitting at the desk in the corner searching something on the internet.

Good girl…downloading my porn. I should hire her.

He grunted and sat up, his leg grunted even louder. He'd fallen asleep – as he would say but he'd actually passed out – with his left foot under his right leg, which put pressure on the leg regardless. He looked over at the table beside the chair and saw his bottle of Vicodin and a glass of water. He looked up and Cameron and silently thanked her. His second thought was his cane, but she'd set it against the wall. He smiled.

A few minutes later he managed to walk into the diagnostics room and had a faint smile on his lips as he looked at Cameron on his way to the coffee machine. Cameron simply stared at him as he walked back to her. He set his right butt cheek on the edge of the desk and sipped the coffee.

"Thanks," he said softly.

"You're welcome. You okay?"

"Yeah. Where are the boys?"

"Doing your clinic duty," she said as she leaned forward and put her left arm around his back and rolled closer to him.

"Ah, I knew there was a reason I didn't fire them. Where's Gregory?" he asked alarmed. It dawned on him that Wilson might still be with Debra upstairs and wondered who Gregory was with.

"I brought him in to the daycare. Wilson's still with Debra. I'm only here for a couple of hours, though. I promised him I'd take him to the petting zoo."

"Isn't he too young to go to a petting zoo?" House asked sheepishly.

"No. He's got this cute book with animals and the texture of their skin and…"

House's expression never changed and it dawned on Cameron what he was really referring to.

"You're such a dirty old man, you know that?!" she teased with a little laugh.

"You are just learning that? You're slow."

She leaned in and gave him a warm, sweet, loving, long kiss, which seemed to them lasted forever. They didn't even hear the throat clear in the doorway between his office until something hit House in his back.

"Ow! Damn!" he yelled as he rubbed his back and turned to see Wilson standing in the door, looking at the floor. House followed his gaze to his red and yellow (having been named 'Rellow') ball rolling toward the book case.

"Debra's awake," he informed them.

"Great. How's she doing, Wilson?" Cameron asked as she rolled away from House and he stood up beside her.

"She's good." He walked in and sat in the chair of the conference table. "She'll be fine. She's strong."

"Want coffee?" House asked.

"No, not after you gave me those amphetamines," he said with a smile.

"Man, would you let it go?!"

Cameron stood, brushed her shoulder seductively against House's shoulder and said, "I'm going up to see her."