"No, I gotta do this for myself," I insisted, reaching to trying and grab the phone. Barely able to move without agonizing pain in my chest and shoulder, I screamed, and fell back against the mattress. "Ah, crap! You'd think this wouldn't hurt so much with all the painkillers." The phone continued to ring. "Hand it over."

Kutner picked up the receiver said, "Hang on a minute," into the mouth piece and then placed the thing face down on my tray. He massaged my shoulder softly. The pain melted away. "Better?" I shrugged, cautiously. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I have to. But, if it sounds like I'm folding, take the phone away from me and hang up." He made sad puppy dog eyes. "He only gets one phone call! I can't pretend I'm not around." The kid sighed, loudly. "It's not like he's here and trying to climb into my bed. Besides, I have to be the one to end it. If I don't, probably just go back to him..." Finally he gave me the handset. "What do you want, Wilson?"

"You were bleeding, and you kept asking for me, and some stupid security guard tackled me when I tried to go with and hold your hand, and I had no idea if you were even alive or dead. No one will tell me anything! I need to know you're alive. I need to hear your voice. I need to be sure you're alright."

"Of course I'm not alright! You fucking stabbed me," I shouted. I could hear him all but sobbing. I almost felt bad for the guy. Almost. Then, I realized that this was just another attempt to manipulate me. Everything he did was designed to force me to do what he wanted. "Seriously, what do you really want?"

"But you're going to be alright. You'll get better, won't you," he asked, worriedly. I reached for Kutner's hand and squeezed it with all the strength in my pathetic, weak body. I managed to laugh into the phone.

"Chase managed to fix the hole you made in my heart, and sewed me back up. I needed two pints of blood, and I'm on antibiotics in case that filthy knife you plunged in my chest gave me a massive infection, but I won't lose any organs and, with a lot of physical therapy, I should regain some function in my right arm." Meanwhile I probably won't be able to walk anymore, 'cuz my left arm is significantly weaker than my right and I can't hold myself up with it. "At least you didn't make them rip half my arm out," I muttered.

"I'm so sorry, Baby," he whispered, lovingly. No, he doesn't love you, I thought. He was just trying to get back on my good side. "I am sorry." He was always all are. Even my dad used to apologize after beating the shit out of me. My hands were shaking, I could barely breathe. My heart was literally ripping in half. I could picture Jimmy in some dank, dirty prison, dressed in an orange jumpsuit, shoulders slumped, head lowered, dark bags under his red, bloodshot eyes. He was scared at the aspect of spending any real time in prison. I felt guilty and wanted to help but Kutner's smile gave me strength, although for the life of me I couldn't understand why.

"So are you sorry for the rape or for the forcing me to suck you off while simultaneously threatening to leave? Or are you sorry for trying to kill me," I asked, sounding far more brave than I felt. "Or are you sorry for all the other shit you've done to me over the last twenty years? Or for what you did to your wives or for what you did to Amber the night day before died? She told me you raped her too, that's why she came to get me!" I knew saying this to him was probably a mistake but figured I was safe since he was in prison. "I'm hanging up right now, and never speaking to you again."

"I'm sorry for all of it," he admitted. I looked away, biting down on my lower lip to keep from saying anything more. "I've been terrible to you and I don't expect you to ever forgive me. In fact, I want you to press charges. I need to go to jail. That's the only way I'll stay in therapy, the only way I can get better for you." Damn he's good, I thought. He knew all the right buttons to push to make me do what he wanted. Luckily I was strong enough to stand up for myself, barely.

"No, you just think you can make me forgive you, get me to drop the charges so you can go home. You told me to call the cops when you broke my arm too, remember? We came home, and I actually worked up the nerve to call 9-1-1 and you begged me to help you, broke down, sobbed and admitted that your dad used to hit you and your brothers sometimes. The only reason I didn't send you to prison was because I thought you were punishing yourself enough," I admitted, looking away from Lawrence. Suddenly I really did care what that idiot man-child thought of me. I heard Wilson sigh, grinding his teeth, but the guy kept his cool. He didn't scream at me. "You got any new lies or are you slinging more of the same old bullshit?"

"I will always love you, even if you do press charges and make them send me jail. I love you so much, but I have a problem that I need help for. I belong in this place," he sobbed.

"I'm not the one sending you to jail," I said, barely able to keep from crying myself. "You tried to kill me. I can't hide that! I can't do this anymore. It's over. We're over. That's what you want anyway, right?" My hands continued trembling; I was so scared I was physically shaking. That's when it hit me. Wilson never really intended to leave. He said he was to make me beg him to stay, to gain even more power over me. Even after he read about my telling Amber to leave him things didn't change.

He decided that if he couldn't have me, then no one should. He was going to kill me and then himself, I was about 76% sure. This came to me so quickly that I had time to say what I'd discovered before he responded but I didn't. I let Jimmy try and defend himself, too see if he would bother with the truth.

"Not like this, never like this," he swore, once again sounding almost sweet, but I knew better. "House, I do love you; I didn't mean any of the cruel things I said in my office. You—you're right. We should be done. You should leave me. You deserve to be with someone good, somebody who will treat you right." He just kept doing that, saying the exact same thing over and over in slightly different ways.

"Stop," I demanded. "I can't. I just can't anymore. I'm not strong enough, Jimmy." He sighed. This time it wasn't because he was angry at me, but out of genuine concern. "Well the good news is you won't have to worry about working together anymore. Even if you don't lose your license for this, no hospital in this country will hire you again, and I'm quitting my job here. Might even retire completely."

"You can't do that," he screeched. I sighed this time. Why the Hell not? "You are the best diagnostician in the world. And I'm not just saying that. The world needs you to be a doctor. You can't leave." Goodie, you're Henry Jekyll today. Just what I need!

"I don't exactly hold your opinion in the highest regard right about now. Stop trying to make me forgive you or I really will hang up." It was a lie. I didn't have the strength to hang up on him. I wasn't positive I could disobey Jimmy if he told me to convince everybody that I'd stabbed myself and he tried to stop me. Part of me wondered if I'd ever be able to say no to him.

"No you won't," he said, forcefully. Guy actually sounded happy about it. "You still love me, still want me back." Damnit, I thought. He isn't gonna get better, he won't ever change. I knew that if he did get convicted on attempted murder (which seemed unlikely) he'd probably only get sentenced to 20 years in prison at the very most, and be out on parole in 15 with good behavior. I knew he would come after me as soon as he got out. And the worst part was that he was right. I did want him back. If he came home with an apology and whatever narcotics he'd been able to sneak out of the prison, I'd probably forgive him…and take the drugs. Wilson wasn't the one who needed therapy. Well, he did but I needed it more.

"Okay, you're right but Kutner's sitting right next to me, and he will." Wilson didn't say anything. I started to feel guilty. "All the idiots are taking turns keeping an eye on me," I muttered, in a pathetic attempt to excuse my having basically cheated on him. I felt very guilty for being in bed with another man and didn't want Jimmy to think I was doing something wrong and get mad at me. I was about to add, 'apparently Cuddy is stupid enough to think you'll break out of jail and try to kill me again,' or something.

"Do you at least feel safe now that I'm in jail?" Nope. "Greg, I wanna—I'm sorry," he whispered. "Will you, uh. Can you…I am sorry. I'm gonna tell my lawyer to talk to the prosecutor. To not even ask for bail."

"Oh good, the guilt trip, we haven't seen that one in a while." He sounded like he was about to scream at me or reach through the phone line and smack me across the face.

"Tell me what to do," he pleaded. "If you want me to confess to what I've done I can do that. I'll go to anger management, lots and lots and lots of treatment. I won't hurt you anymore," Wilson lied. "Never again, House; never again."

"Leave me alone, forever," I said but what I really meant was, "Come back, promise not to hurt me anymore, and keep the promise this time." He knew it. I knew it. Hell, even Kutner knew it. There just wasn't anything us do. Jimmy and me were both broken and we belonged together, like those left over screws and bolts you find after putting together a piece of cheep, crappy furniture.

"Alright, I'll do it. I'll stay away," he swore. It was a lie.

"Damn straight," I murmured, "won't be able to touch me through the bars of your cell. And that's exactly where you're going." Only, we both knew I'd never testify and without me, he had a good chance at get off easy.

"Do you have any idea what jail will be like for someone who looks like me? I'm gonna get passed around more than a—I don't even need a metaphor for it. You know what will happen."

"Well metaphors are usually my territory," I said, proud of myself for not giving in to him yet. "Bang your head against the wall a couple dozen times. That'll break your own nose, cover your pretty face in bruises…bad guys will stay away just long enough for you to find the biggest, toughest guy in the place and kneecap him. I know you're not as tough as you useda be, after all beating up on a cripple is easy as fuck but you'll do fine, eventually," I said, laughing a little. "The crazy guy never gets raped, even if he looks like a chick. People are too scared he'll bite their dick off just for the Hell of it."

"And how are you going to survive without me writing prescriptions four times a week? Who's gonna hold you after your nightmares, drive your drunk ass home, take the 3:00 AM phone calls? What about monster trucks? You're so busy thinking about the bad between us, you forgot the good stuff I do." I almost hung up then, but I knew he'd see it as a sign of my weakness, call back somehow, and be able to talk me into doing whatever he wanted me to.

"I'll figure out a way to survive. It's what I do. Listen, Jimmy, I'd love to hear you tell me what a pathetic screw up I am for the next couple hours but if I don't hang up soon, I'm gonna take you back, and I can't—next time you won't screw it up. Next time you're actually gonna kill me," I said, took a deep breath and was about to let Kutner hang up for me when Wilson said something else.

"I do love you, and I wanna get better so we can be together again some day," he told me, with 100% conviction. He really, truly meant that. Then again, he almost always meant whatever he said in the moment. Just like how Jimmy was always sorry afterwards, he always wanted to stop. He just had no control over his temper. But, who knows, I thought. Maybe this time he will do better. If he got real help in prison and didn't try to hurt or trick me, I might consider talking to him when he came back, but that was a really big if.

"Me too, Jimmy," I said, and then, "Goodbye."

"I love you," he sobbed, but after all these years those words didn't mean much. Jimmy always said he loved me; my father even said 'I love you, Greggy,' while he was fucking my pre-pubescent brains out. Maybe love is a prerequisite for abusive relationships. All that anger has to come from passion of some kind.

Maybe not.

Either way, I had always believed that love was something completely messed up and cruel, not something good or pure between two people. I can't even comprehend basic human emotions, I realized all of the sudden, and wasn't sure what I ought to do with my life or myself. "House," he called out, more than a little bit concerned. He almost sounded like he still expected me to say it back.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," I muttered. I wanted not to repeat that phrase. I wanted not to feel anything for him. I wanted to be brave and strong, and kind, and everything else that I'm supposed to be, and wasn't. "I love you too," I confessed at last, "but that doesn't—I'm not. I'm sorry," I whispered, pathetically. Kutner grabbed the phone out of my hand and slammed the receiver down. "What'd you do that for? I wasn't gonna fold." Lawrence wrapped his arms around me tightly.

"Yes you were. You were thirty seconds away from dropping the charges, getting rid of me and the rest of your body guards, checking out against medical advice and going home with him," he told me. I shrugged. "You said goodbye; you said you loved him, you yelled at the guy. You swore you wouldn't forgive him, what else did you wanna say?" I shrugged again, and depressed the button on my Morphine pump. "You wanted to hear him say he loved you again. You wanted him to apologize and mean it, and most importantly, you wanted him to promise not to hurt you any more and keep that promise," he figured out. I never should have hired you, I thought. Maybe if I'd picked CTB Jimmy might have stayed away from her and we woulda been okay. "But we both know that he'll never do that. He won't stop. He's not capable. Not just yet," Kutner warned. "He might get better eventually. He could do well in therapy, and being in prison might rehabilitate him; I hope it does. I hope it does because Wilson's the only friend you've ever really had, and you aren't gonna do so good without him."

"Please stop. I know that, all those things. I'm a pathetic, needy, pussy cripple who can't survive on his own and needs to be taken care of by ten-year-olds. Jimmy's an asshole who may or may not start being nice to me one day. But, chances are, he's probably going to leave prison the exact same guy he went in as and will most likely never really be good to anyone. That was the point of your diatribe, correct?"

"I guess it didn't really have one, I just wanted to cheer you up, but wasn't completely sure how to do it; so I was sort of…I dunno what I'm doing. Sorry." I leaned back in the bed and let Kutner put his arms around my shoulders, even though I was slightly uncomfortable in that position. "I don't know what I was thinking, Greg; sorry." I shrugged again, whatever. "Wanna try and get some more sleep before breakfast?" I wasn't sure what I should do or say. "If the answer is no, or I'm not tired, that's fine. I won't force anything on you. You can go a day without sleep. Especially since you're in the hospital and won't have to get out of bed except for maybe thirty minutes this afternoon."

"Enough," I grunted, annoyed. "If I promise to try and sleep will you shut up?" He shrugged, uncomfortably. I made a sound to try and show off how annoyed I was. He was hiding or holding something back. "That's not even close to good enough. I want an answer, a real one. Doesn't matter what the answer is."

"Well it would be mean to keep talking while you were trying to sleep, wouldn't it?" I nodded, sort of curling up at his side. I was having a hard time finding a comfortable position, which is the norm for any hospital bed. "I'll shut up now, okay?" I nodded, and let him pull the covers up over my shoulders again, as he kissed the top of my head. I didn't particularly like that, but I wasn't disgusted by it either. It just felt weird to have someone be so tender with or even around me. I awoke sometime later. There was a food tray on the table by my bed.

"How much of this crap do I hafta eat," I moaned. He gave me the puppy dog eyes again, and I pulled away from him slightly. Kutner reached for the table, swinging it around so it was right over my lap. "I can't really move my arm," I said, as pathetically as possible. He nodded, and took the lid off my meal tray for me. "Oh God, that smells awful. Doesn't look very good either."

"You want to go on IV nutrition? I'm not trying to threaten you, I just—it might go down more easily, so to speak." I smiled, which I'm pretty sure had been his intention.

"No, I think I'll try and tackle this garbage," I muttered, and watched Lawrence cut up pieces of food, spear a bit of crappy hospital pancake onto his fork, dip it in syrup and bring it towards my mouth. I ate the thing begrudgingly. "Wilson is a really good cook. He makes these pancakes with macadamia nuts inside," I explained, pouting. "I really am the most pathetic person on the planet, and don't bother telling me otherwise." He patted my good arm. I thought I told you to stop doing that.

"You don't need me to tell you all the things you're good at or how you're human and have your faults, right?" I shook my head. "Wilson was a huge part of your life for almost twenty years. Even if he hadn't ever laid a hand on you, even if you were just friends for two decades and he walked away because he was depressed over Amber dying, you'd still miss him like crazy. Losing him would have destroyed you no matter how good or bad he was. And Wilson is perfect, except that he occasionally beats the crap out of and rapes you. Why wouldn't you want the only person who's ever really loved you back?"

I shrugged, not really sure what to do, say or think. I wasn't getting better, which wasn't surprising as it had only been a day but part of me really expected things to change right away. He tried to give me more hunks of undercooked pancakes and rotten-smelling eggs, but I twisted out of his reach. "Stop fighting, or they're gonna come in here, stick a tube down your nose and into your stomach to force-feed you."

"They hardly ever do that anymore, and if I say my stomach is really, really, really, really, really upset, they won't even bother in my case. Someone'll bring me a Ruben for lunch and it'll make up for this. I'm not anorexic. Besides, no one cares. Leave me alone." He sighed. "I'm an ass. Only you and Cuddy care if I live and she only gives a crap 'cause I'm an asset to the hospital. And you…well, I'm old enough to be your dad. Let's leave it at that."

"You're probably right. But I—we—can't leave you alone. Cuddy won't let us. I'm gonna need to leave in a little while this afternoon, I wanna go out and buy some stuff to keep you entertained for a little while. Probably only work for, like, ten minutes but it's better than nothing, right?" I smiled, weakly, and then sighed. "I'll see if she'll let you be alone with the doctor when you go down for physical therapy."

"What if I don't wanna do that," I asked, but what I really thought was isn't it a little soon to be starting PT? I just had surgery and can barely move; what exactly do they expect me to do?

"You don't wanna get better," he teased, way more shocked by me than I'd ever seen him. I sighed, loudly. "I know, you probably have significant loss of function but you need to regain as much use of your arm as you can."

"Excuse me," I managed to grunt. Kutner was dangerously close to figuring out a secret—if he hadn't already done so—I'd been hiding from the world for most of my life. Even Wilson didn't know about it.

"You favor your right arm, even use the cane on that side, which is weird because your injury is on the same side and most people tend to use a cane opposite their injury. Like they're supposed to." He put his hand on top of mine.

"Since when do I ever do anything I'm supposed to?" Besides wearing a helmet when I ride my bike, and use a seatbelt in the car—technically both of those are on Jimmy's orders though—and not peeing on myself in public? "I'm a rebel, what can I say?"

"You were abused by your dad, then Wilson, and most likely by a few others in between. My guess is that your left arm has been broken or inured twice as many times than the other one, which is why it didn't heal as well, which is why it's weaker, which is why you use the cane on the correct side. If your right arm doesn't get stronger, you won't be able to support yourself on it, and won't be able to use the cane anymore. You'll have to start using a wheelchair or—if your lucky a—walker." I sighed yet again, and looked away. I hate having people know my private stuff. I hate having people know anything about me, and in two days Kutner had learned more than Jimmy did in the first five years of our relationship.

"Eleven fractures to one or more—at a time—of the various wrist bones and three to my upper arm before I was eighteen. When I was little, my dad would grab me by the arm and yank up, twisting the thing. He did that all the time. After a while, I figured out that if he grabbed my left arm instead of my right one, I could still write, and brush my teeth, feed myself, and stuff until I got the casts off. I was six when I learned. Before that, I'd had an even number on each side. Only managed to break righty on two more occasions, and I was drunk one of those times. Not sure if it counts," I admitted. "You happy now or do you wanna get your rocks off? 'Cause if that's the cause I can tell you all about my daddy doing me." He looked completely humiliated, as I'd wanted. "Sorry, I sort of overreacted there." I still don't know why I do those sorts of things. "I just—once I start I can't stop. Gets me in trouble all the time."

"You didn't wanna talk about it and I pushed you. This time was my fault. Wilson knows your buttons too. Sometimes it doesn't hurt him more than it hurts you. As far as the PT goes, I think they just wanna check you out, see if all your parts are in working order, check the oil, make sure you got enough air in your tires."

"Oh, that was just pitiful," I snickered. He smiled, as if to say I did it on purpose."Pointing out what a huge idiot you are isn't going to make me feel better about getting raped, stabbed, and dumped all in one day." He apologized. "What are you going out to buy?"

"A magic kit, they sell this box full of tricks, a special deck of cards, and a wand at a toy store I sometimes go to. Take your shot." I did. "If you really don't want to show me," he started to say, and blushed a little. "I like watching you do that stuff last time, and it seemed like you sort of enjoyed it too." I tried to make my face look like I didn't give a crap, but it was a tiny bit fun doing those tricks. He was the least bad to hang out with too.

"Maybe I kinda, sort of, didn't completely hate it," I said, quietly. "But you don't hafta go out and buy me anything. I—just feels sort of weird. Like you're buying me—I dunno… Maybe I'm a little afraid of you trying to buy my affection or something." He's doing what Wilson does when he gives you stronger pain meds because he wants something. This is what you're worth to him, a $20 magic kit. At least Jimmy thinks you're worth stuff that could theoretically sell for thousands of dollars.

"I'm not buying the kit for you. It's going to be my magic kit; you'll just be borrowing it to show me how to do the tricks." I shrugged, and stared at the TV. "Take a couple more bites," he practically begged. I said no, but didn't fight when he brought another forkful of pancake to my mouth. "Just two more, please?" I did what he said, and sat back to watch some show I had no interest in at all. He kept quiet and sat in the chair by my bed for the next couple of hours. He moved out of the bed because during the day people actually walked in and out of my room and up and down the hall, and there was more of a chance of us being seen. At least that was what I thought. I fell asleep again, compliments of the narcotics, and didn't have any nightmares. The next time I woke up, Cameron and Kutner were standing close by but probably standing as far away from me as they could get. I could hear them arguing. I kept my eyes shut; so they wouldn't notice me.

"He'll probably stay asleep the whole time you're gone; don't worry about it," she said but Kutner refused to walk away without telling me. I liked that.

"I'm not going to leave while he's still asleep. He's in the middle of a difficult transition we should make sure he's—as comfortable as possible. Go get your hair done or something. Or get him a freaking sandwich. Nobody cares who's here, as long as House isn't alone."

"I'm not incompetent. I can handle him. What exactly do you think is going to happen if you leave us alone?" I wasn't too worried about her figuring out that I didn't despise him half as much as the rest of them, but I was worried that someone might figure out about him liking me and me not shutting the kid down straight off.

"Of course you're not incompetent. I wasn't suggesting…look, Alison, he's been through—" Kutner started to explain. Then, he realized I wasn't sleeping anymore but that she had no idea. So he did something to cheer me up a little. "He doesn't react well to change and I don't want House to freak out. It's stupid of me, really. There's no reason you wouldn't do a great job at taking care of him. I'll call you when he wakes up. Unless you want to climb into bed with House, maybe hold, cuddle, or screw him." I had to bite down on the inside of my cheek (hard) to keep from laughing.

"Fine," Cameron huffed, and—I assume—stormed off. There was a short pause. Then, Kutner sat back down on the mattress, his body so close I could feel the fabric of his jeans against the back of my hand. He leaned in and kissed my hair once again.

"She's gone; you can stop pretending to sleep," he explained, whispering almost directly into my ear. I opened my eyes. "I'm sorry I almost blew our cover, but I don't think—like I said to her, you wouldn't of done so good if you had fallen asleep in the hospital, with me and woken up alone. Well, with Cameron here you wouldn't be alone, but it's still weird. I gave you some more pain meds while you were asleep. Your…I thought you'd wake up if it started to hurt again, and I didn't want to interrupt your sleep cycle. Is that okay?"

"Is it okay that you helped me get stoned? Yeah, I have a huge problem with what you did. Bad Kutner! You're fired," I mocked. He looked away, blushing slightly.

"But that's not the problem, is it?" I didn't like that he knew this, but I nodded all the same. "You'd rather be awake when you take your meds. Because it would really suck if you were awake and in pain and couldn't do anything, since someone maxed out your pain meds while you were sleeping. Right?" I looked away pathetically. "Do you want me to shut up and leave you alone?" I tried to shrug but he was looking at me like a parent or something, so stern, concerned, and whatever that I couldn't. "Want me to shut up and stay?" I nodded, staring at the television again. There isn't much to do when you're stuck in the hospital, and TV is a great way to kill time.

"What is this Nickelodeon," I mocked, referring to his choice of programming. Kutner only blushed a little bit. Then, he got all nervous and concerned again.

"You said having the TV on helped you sleep. I just—I'm not watching this. Not really. Did I do something wrong? Did I screw up?" His eyes were big and full of worry.

"No, you didn't screw up. I knew you were a little kid, but shit man." He changed the channel quickly. "You really like me don't you? Cameron thought she was in love with me, but she just wanted—and technically still does—to fix me. But you…you actually likeme."

"Why is this so surprising? Didn't I say the exact same thing last night," he asked, reaching up and stroking the side of my cheek. He kissed my hair again. I didn't push him away this time. "I'm sorry; I don't really know what you need." I shrugged. "I'm gonna go—now," he explained as Cameron returned. I nodded, and curled up as much as I could. It wasn't a trying to hide from an imaginary monster or attempting to get back into some fetal state; I feel more comfortable on my side with my legs bent a little. I looked back over my shoulder, watching Lawrence getting smaller and smaller until the elevator doors shut and he disappeared. Part of me was positively terrified that he might be leaving forever. Shit, I thought; I'm falling for him.