I'm going on vacation, and probably won't get another chapter posted for a couple weeks. This one is extra long to make up for it. :) Enjoy!

TITLE: Chapter 7: Crumbling

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: none yet

RATING: R-ish

WARNINGS: Violence, language

SUMMARY: Chris's worst fears are realized.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

SOUNDTRCK: .com/playlist?list=PL0E97EE610F950F6A&feature=mh_lolz

Chris stepped off the bus, and hurried across the street. She carried three duffel bags full of laundry, and her usual back pack. In her mind, she was sure she looked like any other bag lady or hobo, carrying a life's collection of junk, as she trudged through the streets. In fact, she stood out like a quarter surrounded by pennies in a wishing fountain, too bright, too clean, and (if the onlookers were being totally honest with themselves) too pale for these streets.

House, who was making his way home from his favorite strip joint, recognized her from almost a block away. She skipped over a puddle in the broken pavement, as he pulled up beside her. It had rained all afternoon, and the sky was still threatening and overcast. She heard the car slowing behind her, and instinctively moved all the way to the inside of the sidewalk, so that one of her bags scraped the building as she walked.

"How much for an hour?" House called out of the passenger side window.

It seemed as if her entire body uncoiled, when she heard the familiar voice, even though all she'd really done was turn to look at him. "More than you've got."

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Home," she answered.

"From where?" he knew this area well enough. Even in the daylight every business on this street was either distasteful, illegal, or a cover for both.

"The Laundromat," she patted one of the duffel bags.

House thought about this before asking, "Which one?"

"Why do you care what Laundromat I use?"

"I don't. I'm just want to know why you're lying. There's a stop on Third, closer to your house."

"I missed the stop."

"Bullshit," House was enjoying this. "I'll give you a ride, if you tell me what you're doing out here."

"I don't really need a ride." As soon as she said it, a few drops of rain landed on his windshield. She looked up and another drop fell on her cheek. She looked around, wondering how he could have possibly made that happen. House pushed the car door open. She situated all her laundry in the backseat, and climbed in next to him. "Fine, but it's really not that interesting."

House just waited as the rain came heavier outside the car.

"You're not even going to drive until I tell you?" she asked.

"Nope."

"So we can just sit here until the rain stops?" she smirked.

"Is it that bad? Is it drugs?" House asked.

"No," She rolled her eyes.

"Are you a prostitute?" He raised one eyebrow and grinned.

"NO! Would I have a dozen other jobs if I were a hooker?" she huffed. She knew he'd just said it to get a rise out of her, but it worked.

"I wouldn't think so, unless you were really, really bad at it." He was still grinning.

She laughed and gave a resigned sigh. "There was a creepy guy on the bus. He's probably harmless, but he got off at Third, after I had already rung for the stop, and I just…" she shivered a little. "I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't want to be alone with him." She looked out the window.

"You're a great liar." Coming from House this sounded like the highest compliment, instead of an accusation.

"What?" she blinked back at him.

"Really great, you should get an agent. If you hadn't avoided the question so much, I would have bought that, but there's nothing embarrassing about that story. There's no reason not to tell me the first time I asked."

"I didn't want to sound paranoid, or crazy, or…" she gave it up. The look on his face told her she was never going to sell it.

He watched her and waited for the real answer, as a low-rider blaring gangster rap rolled past. The music shook the car, but Chris could still feel the trembling in her stomach after it past.

"There's a newsstand right next to the stop on Third." Chris finally said.

House started the car. "You just don't want to be exposed to the liberal media brainwashing?"

"It rained. The guy who owns it pulls everything into the booth, and covers stuff with plastic, but some papers still get wet… every time." She paused, hoping with all her heart that he wouldn't ask for more of an explanation. "I can't take the smell."

House nodded, he couldn't actually recall the smell of wet newspaper, but he knew how a certain scent could jog the memory. "You have any other weird phobias?"

"No," she lied. She couldn't lay face down during sex either, but he didn't need to know that, did he? She had to use the first stall in public restrooms, because she'd read that statistically the first stall was the least used, and therefore the cleanest. Some people might have thought it compulsive. Her sunscreen use was definitely compulsive, but there was nothing wrong with being cautious, right?

"Where did you learn to speak Spanish?" He changed the subject as much out of mercy as curiosity.

"Where did you learn that I speak Spanish?" She was grateful for the non sequitur.

"It's on your resume."

"Wilson gave you my resume?" She wasn't that surprised that he would, but a little surprised that he did, that House had even asked him for it.

"That's one way to put it. Wilson and HR both loaned me a copy." He focused on the road.

"You stole it… twice? Why?" she looked at him, not looking at her, and felt her face flush. She could not stifle her smile. He was researching her. That was the biggest compliment a man like House could bestow.

"Why did you Google me?" He brushed off her question, but noted the pleased expression on her face, out of the corner of his eye.

Her eyes grew wider and she felt her face heating up even more. She had Googled him, but she hadn't even used a hospital computer. "How do you know that?"

"You just told me." He smiled, at least he wasn't the only one doing research.

She groaned, annoyed that she'd fallen for that, but couldn't help laughing. "This is like foreplay for you isn't it?"

House laughed too, before turning the subject back to her. "You spoke English to your mom. Does your dad speak Spanish, grandparents?"

"I don't know. I never met any of them. I learned Spanish in school and talking with neighbors." Chris explained.

"I thought you took French."

"I did, in high school. I took Spanish in middle school and it's never hard to find someone to practice on. There's also the internet."

"Are you really CPR certified?"

"It's great for babysitting. I've never had to use it, but parents like knowing I could." Was he going to go over her whole resume? She considered saying "foreplay" again, just to distract him.

"It must have been expensive."

"It was through the school, taught entirely by volunteers from the Red Cross and CDC and a few EMT's and firefighters."

"Is there any class you won't take?"

"Not if it's free." She shook her head. "I told you I like trying new things." She wanted to ask him to wait, while she put the laundry up. Heck, maybe she'd just drop it off. They could get a drink. He didn't seem like the type who would mind drinking before five o'clock.

They were on her street and as they pulled closer, they both saw that her front door was ajar. "Oh God," Chris whispered, steeling herself up for whatever she was about to find. The house had been broken into before, but that was years ago. Her mother's condition had deteriorated a lot since then.

She was out of the car before he could put it in park. He followed her, never even considering staying in the car. She was beyond caring what he did at that point.

"Shit!" Chris tore through the house, "Mom?"

She checked the living room and kitchen first. Nothing seemed out of place. They didn't have much worth stealing, but even the TV and VCR were still there. She went to her mother's room and checked the closet and under the bed. She crossed the hall to her room and House was next to her. Her bed was on its side with the mattress on the floor.

"She's not here." Chris said, when she noticed House had followed her in.

"Where would she go?"

"Nowhere." She looked up at House, like he was the crazy one. "She doesn't leave, ever. Will you drive around the block? If you see her, call her Sherry and tell her you know me. Don't try to get her in the car. Just call me. Tell her you're calling me."

"Turn on your phone." House told her.

"What?"

"I called you, when I was pulling up next to you. It's turned off."

"Shit," She nodded.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to check the yard and then the alleys. She wouldn't go far… unless she's lost." She was moving down the hall, away from him before she finished her thought.

They went opposite ways, House out the front and Chris out the back. After a few seconds, he heard her call his name. When he made it to the back yard Chris was kneeling by the steps beside her mother, who had scrapes and bruises on her arms and face.

"Call 911," Chris shouted over her shoulder. "What happened? Did they hurt you?"

"We need to get those stairs fixed." Sherry replied.

"Who was here Momma?" Chris asked.

"Stupid little prick, I shut him up."

"Where did he go?" Chris only saw her mother.

House was dialing the number and surveying the scene. There was a fence along the back of the property. It was overgrown with weeds and tall grass, but the blades near the gate were bent and recently walked on. A few were even caught in the gate's latch. As he gave the address, he walked to the fence and looked out into the alley.

"Make it two ambulances." He told the dispatcher.

"I don't need an ambulance. I'm fine." Chris looked up at him and saw that he wasn't looking at her. She started to yell at him. He was a doctor. Why wasn't he checking her mom? Something in his face stopped her.

"It's not for you."

"What?" She turned to her mother and then back to House, before standing and walking just a few steps closer to the gate. She peered over it from a distance. Tommy Thompson lay in the alley face down in a puddle of blood. House was forcing the gate open. He knelt beside Tommy and pressed his fingers to his throat. He didn't have to speak, when he looked up at her.

Chris put her hands in front of her as if she would catch herself, but there was nothing to grasp. Her breath was short. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Finally she crumbled to the ground and pulled her knees to her chest. Letting her head rest on her knees, she stared at her mother.

This couldn't be happening. She'd known she needed to be home more. She'd known it wasn't safe to leave her mother there alone, but could she really have killed someone, killed Tommy? What was he doing there? Would her mother go to jail? How could she have let this happen?

The police arrived first. They spoke to House mostly. He showed them to the alley and answered their questions, in a quiet steady voice. They tried to speak to Sherrice. They were getting mad because her answers didn't make sense. Chris wanted to explain that that was normal, but again no words came out.

An officer came to talk to Chris, while the EMT's examined her mother and Tommy. He was asking if she was on drugs, or if her mother was on drugs? Did she recognize the man in the alley? When he knelt in front of her, she shook her head, not in answer, but to clear it. She had to snap out of this trance.

"No, no drugs. She takes an antidepressant and multivitamin every morning and a vitamin D once a week. Yes, I know him. He came here to scare me, or hurt me, or… I don't know. I am testifying against him in a rape trial next month." They had her Sherry on a gurney and were wheeling her away. Chris stood to follow them, and the officer held out a hand to steady her. "I have to go with her."

"We're not done here." The officer told her, in a calm, would be soothing voice.

"That's my mother. You can question me at the hospital or you can arrest me." Her tone was stern. She knew he was just doing his job, but she didn't really give a damn about his job. Where had he been when Tommy was breaking into her house? Where had she been? If she'd just taken her regular stop maybe she could have stopped this.

"I can give you a ride to the hospital, but you can't see the suspect until we've got our statement."

"Suspect? He broke into our house. She was defending herself." Chris narrowed her eyes.

"He's not on the property." The officer pointed out.

"That doesn't mean it wasn't self defense."

"Is that your pan?" He pointed to a cast iron skillet in the alley.

"What?" She hadn't noticed the skillet before, but now she recognized it. She nodded, and a feeling of total defeat swallowed her up. "Yes."

When House walked into the waiting room, Chris was lying on her back on one of the benches. She had one leg folded under her and the other dangling over the back of the seat. A text book lay across her chest. She held her phone in one hand, and the other was pressed against her eyes.

An hour before, she'd been in a mostly empty storage closet, crying the type of heavy sobs that make it impossible to breath. She'd cried until she was light headed and felt hollow inside. Then she'd taken as deep a breath as she could manage, wiped her face, and walked back to the waiting room as if she'd only been out to smoke. There was no trace of her tears, when he looked at her now

House stood over her, but didn't speak. She was surprised to see him, but glad for any distraction. She stood and immediately starting to pace in front of him. She blurted out every thought that had gone through her mind while she tried to think of who to call and what to do. Well the relevant thoughts, not the self loathing desperate ones, or the ones about running away and never looking back.

"I still can't even see her. The cops can't get a statement because she's crazy. The doctors are trying to rule out every potential, medical cause for crazy. I keep saying this is just normal, but I clearly don't know shit. She's screwed. Either they decide she's not crazy and throw her in jail or they decide she is crazy and they throw her in a hospital."

"Maybe a hospital can help." House offered.

"She's been to doctors. She's been to therapy. She's been on every medication, had her hair falling out, stopped sleeping, and stopped getting out of bed. They can't help her. They'll label and dose her, and throw away the key." Her eyes didn't focus and her voice shook just a little. "Unless there's a pill to replace her children and their innocence, there's nothing they can do."

"Then it's better this way." House said what anyone else would have the sense, or maybe decency, not to say.

"Better?" The flash in her eyes suggested that he might be out of line.

"A hospital is prepared to care for her and protect her. It's better for both of you."

"Better?" She repeated. She had stopped pacing and moved towards him. She might have been preparing to take a swing at him.

"Easier at least," House nodded.

She closed her eyes and took a deep, heavy breath. "Easier? Yes, it would be easier. I could sell the shithole, get a car, get a shitty apartment, or a decent apartment and a shitty roommate but…" Her eyes were boring a hole through his t-shirt. "She's all I have left."

She gave into her weariness and leaned into him. Her head rested on the logo, she'd been staring through a moment before. House put his arms around her and had the sense, or maybe the decency, to keep quiet. She was shocked, by the wave of comfort that his embrace gave her.

House saw her eyes change from brown to warm gold, as they filled with tears. He saw her face flush and heard her breath catch. He found himself completely disarmed, by her lack of defenses. He waited helplessly, for this strong, beautiful girl to crumble in front of him.

She wanted to crumble, to cry, to wail for everything that was lost, for the lives that wouldn't be lived, because of her failures. She wanted to collapse under the weight on her shoulders, into his arms and just weep. She couldn't though, not now, and not in front of him. When she looked up at him, his eyes were even sadder than usual, sad for her. It hurt to look at him, to be seen by him.

Instead she kissed him.

The kiss sent a tremor through both of their bodies. When he didn't fight, she slipped her hand behind his neck and pulled him in closer. She shut out any thought that wasn't about his lips and his arms, and about keeping them right where they were.

He pulled away gently, until they were a few inches apart. "You're upset."

"So comfort me." Her voice was a throaty purr, that sent blood rushing from his brain directly to his crotch.

"No." He stepped back.

"What, you're suddenly all chivalrous?" She didn't understand him. How could he flirt with her and tease her, and then reject her now, when it felt like his touch was the only thing that could keep her sane.

"I'm not going to take advantage of you."

"Why not, isn't that what you're good at?" Her tone was vicious. All the passion she'd thrown into the kiss now simmered just under the surface, looking for a fight.

"You're having a bad day. You survived a trauma. You have boundary issues. You don't place appropriate significance on sexual relationships." House tried to sound clinical and detached.

"Did you just call me a slut in psycho babble?" She didn't give him a chance to respond. "I haven't had sex in over two years and before that… nothing, not even a hand job since I was fifteen."

House cocked his head to one side as he processed this information. He was pretty sure she's said something important, but his brain kept looping back to the word "hand-job". Chris could almost hear the gears turning in his brain.

"Then why are you doing this?" He finally said.

"Why am I kissing you?"

"Yeah." He gave a sheepish nod, but held eye contact this time.

"I like you, you idiot." It was true. She liked him, and she liked anything that kept her from thinking about the mess she was in.

"Why?"

"At the moment, I have no fucking idea." She glared at him.

"Wilson was right."

"Right, about what?" She asked.

"You're looking for a father figure. You haven't made a move in months, and now that you might be losing your mom, you've got to have it, right here in the waiting room."

"Right, normal people never use sex to relieve stress." She kind of wanted to punch him again.

"It's more than that."

"First of all, any daddy issues I ever had were trumped by the gang rape dead sister issues. Second, I make straight A's, hold down multiple jobs, and take care of her." Her voice trembled as she pointed down the hall, towards her mother's room. "I don't do drugs. I didn't even have a drink for my twenty-first birthday. I don't need a fucking role model, and I don't need this from you." She tore out of the room and down the hall, without a glance back at him.

She fumed all the way down to the ground floor, and pulled out a cigarette, while she walked the requisite twenty feet away from the entrance. She lit it and took a deep drag. She knew she wasn't even mad, not at House at least. Screaming at him was just a distraction. Kissing him would have been more fun, but screaming was better than nothing.

She was smoking her third cigarette, when he appeared in the door way. Once again she was surprised to see him. Why was he still there?

"They're looking for you. You can see her now." He told her.

"Thank you." She stammered, crushing the butt under her boot.

"Turn on your phone. You're killing my leg."

She laughed a short sudden laugh that almost brought tears to her eyes and nodded. She wanted to say something but nothing seemed to fit. He nodded back, giving her permission to rush ahead of him and take the stairs two at time. It was all she could do not to let the tears flow until her back was to him.

After her mother fell asleep, Chris talked with the nurses and decided to put off calling Rachel until the next day. She washed her face in the restroom, bought a bottle of water from a machine, and settled down for a long night in the waiting room. She pulled a couple benches together and lay with her back pack for a pillow, knowing she wouldn't sleep.

"Make yourself at home." House said, as he walked in with two cups of coffee. He stood in front of her, until she sat up and made room for him, where her head had been.

"Why are you still here?" She asked as he sat and handed her a cup.

"I can leave." He offered.

"No. I didn't mean..." She sighed. "Thank you." She took a sip of the coffee and failed not to make a face. It was really sweet.

"I didn't know how you took it." House took her cup and handed her his. It was strong and black just like she liked it. The way he liked it too actually.

"What are you doing here?" She looked at the cup, and her shoe, and her fingernails.

"I checked her chart; just to be sure they weren't missing anything." He told her.

"And?"

"Nothing stands out."

Chris nodded and they drank their coffee. After a while Chris put hers on the table and lay down again. Her head was next to his good leg. She bent her knees and pressed her palms to her thighs. He looked down at her, and then they both looked away.

"So what happened to your leg?" She asked.

"I cut myself shaving" House said.

"What were you shaving, exactly?" She gave a weak imitation of a playful grin. "Oh come on. You know all my baggage… and unless your brother ripped your leg off and raped you with it mine's probably worse."

House laughed, shook his head, and then told her the story. He had two well rehearsed versions. Both were totally true, but one was clinical and neat. The other took longer and grazed the topics of Stacy and his stubbornness, even in the face of death. He told Chris the latter.

"So you left her?" Chris asked when he was finished. It wasn't that she didn't care about his leg, but the outcome of that part was pretty obvious. She wanted to know more about this woman, who had loved him enough to make him hate her.

"It was mutual toward the end."

"But she saved your life?"

"Maybe, but …" He had had that argument so many times, with so many people, including himself, that he couldn't help but become defensive.

Chris held one finger up to shush him. "I'm not taking her side. I'm just saying that it's crap. She could either respect you and let you die, or love you and let them butcher your leg. You couldn't forgive her for loving you more than she respected you."

"You're right. Now I see the error of my ways. I should call her right now." House rolled his eyes.

"It's sad. That's all. I won't say anything else." She stretched her legs. "It worked out ok for me though."