It was all in slow motion. I saw their four faces, and then fell back, falling stories from the ground. I saw all their faces over the ledge as I descended. The air below me waved my arms and legs around as I came plunging--merely Sekunden before impact, a whisper appeared to echo in my ear....

I Liebe you, House

Then--

><><><

--Yes...Falling stories from above, I came down for the last few Sekunden very gracefully. Not onto cement--a bed.
A bed. A bed. I was right.
As long as I stayed there, I slowly began to hear, smell, and feel all my surroundings. I began to feel a pain--I felt like I wast trampled Von a bull, oder thrown across a lacrosse field.
The fall, strangely enough, had nothing to do with this...Again, I fell
Onto a bed.

Wilson had walked into the ICU to check on House, finding Cuddy already there. She was sitting on a chair asleep, using House's jacke as a blanket. He walked over to her, and stroked her head. She woke up right after.

"What, Wilson?" she asked sleepily.
"You've been here since the accident. You've gone Home at least an Stunde a Tag this entire month." he stated.
"Your point?" she asked, as she pulled his jacke over her shoulders.
"He's in a coma. He's been for a month. Waiting for him to wake up--"
"Don't start this again. I admitted him. He's under my care. I should be the one waiting for him to wake up again." Wilson just stood there staring at her. He didn't know what to say at this point.
"If this visit, is medically relevant tell me now. If it isn't, and you're going to convince me to leave, get out." she said.

Suddenly, he turned the other way. He was looking at House, opening his eyes. Slowly, as if just waking up after a long nap, his eyelids opened up. He was facing the ceiling, looking at all white. Mouth slightly hanging he tried to come conscious. Cuddy had sat up in her chair as they both looked at each other, watching him. He turned his head to look at them, both in a shock.

"You idiot." Cuddy sagte in tears.
"You're back...You're back..?" he sagte weakly.
"I--never left."
"She's been here since she admitted you." Wilson added.
"Why..."
"Because--you're an idiot, who runs around like a maniac, always doing something stupid."
"Hence...you have to sit at my bedside every day. Du got Rachel, don't you..."
"Since when do Du care about her?"
"I don't..." he defended slightly.
"She's with my mom."
"Where as you, should be at Mayfield. Instead, Du handle the first Monat juvenilely, and decide to escape and get yourself hit Von a car." Wilson stated sternly.
"That explains...the three broken ribs...the fractures on my legs...and..the..con..cussion.."
"You feel all that?" he asked him.
"No, I guessed. Actually, I went off the coma..for a few hours and looked..through my file, went right back when Du weren't looking." he uttered sarcastically.
"You've been out for a month. You've missed a lot. And after this--you are going back to Mayfield." Cuddy spoke to him slightly controlling through her broken, and shaky voice. He just looked at her, and gave a nod, before resting his head fully back and closed his eyes. Cuddy looked up at Wilson, and he began to urge her out.
"I'll take over from here," he had sagte at the door. She gave a nod and walked out. Wilson just slowly turned around, shifted his hands into his pockets and looked at him.

"I sent her out--for a reason." Wilson sagte finally.
"I know." he retorted.
"You ran away. Got yourself hit--and you've been in a coma for about a month. The fact that you've shown no remorse towards this reminds me that you're still House and that I shouldn't be surprised. But sometimes, I hoped if you'd surprise me."
"Don't higher your expectations, you'll just be filled with disappointment," he stated with his eyes still closed.
"You're Schauspielen like--none of this is your fault."
"It isn't."
"If Du hadn't run away--"
"If they hadn't pissed me off, and if that guy was sober he would've noticed me on the road and I wouldn't have gotten hit."
"He was sober. I just don't think he was expecting a cripple to waltz by, j-walking across the main road at four in the morning."
"Just goes to Zeigen how alert Du should really be while driving, at all times." he sagte sarcastically.
"He hit Du head on, and tossed Du up in the air. We were scared, that Du wouldn't wake up again. Cuddy was suicidal for two weeks! Cameron was just as worse. Chase--attended to Du like a son. The team--haven't taken a case since. And I'm sure Du can take a few wild guesses for me." House opened his eyes and looked directly at Wilson.
"You knew I would eventually wake up. Don't tell me that Du were all scared to death. If Du were worried, that's all your own damn fault."
"We're sorry for caring. I'll make sure to post a memo."
"Oh don't pout. I got hit Von a car, banged my head, broke a few bones--"
"You could've died. Died House!"
"Yeah, I could've. But do Du know how many other people were dying at the moment when I was in a coma? Du all wouldn't know, because Du were too busy holding my goddamn hand!"
"Just because Du don't give a damn, doesn't mean we don't House! If the human race were incapable of giving a damn, we would all be at each others throats, and we would die out. Giving a damn is humane, it's what we do! Now if Du had just stayed there--"
"I'd be better, yeah. Lock up House in the asylum! He's crazy and doesn't know what he's doing, so we're going to help him cope with this Von keeping him in solitary confinement!"
"You have deeper problems here, House. Two former colleagues died before you, Du we're abused as a child, Du had become a cripple despite your own wishes. I'm not surprised that Du were hallucinating, because if Du weren't, there would be something even worse than this. You've brushed all these things off your shoulders, and now Du have to pay for it. It's not the vicodin that's got Du in there House. It's the pain. And Du have to deal with it." Stifling for a little bit, they stood in silence.

"Talk to Cuddy." Wilson began.
"Give her a dose of your old banter. Du owe her that much right now." Wilson turned for the door, and sagte something quickly before walking all the way out.
"And it wouldn't kill Du to Zeigen some humility about this, and admit you're still a juvenile delinquent..." he had walked out, and House snickered in his bed, thinking how good it was to be back in reality.

---

Later that night - 8:00 p.m.

Wilson was walking up the stairs to House's apartment. He had requested a few things at his home, so he ventured out to get them. The door, when he had got there, was surprisingly already opened. Being cautious, he carefully walked in. Cuddy was sitting at the piano, holding loose leaf paper in her hand. She was saddened as she read through. Wilson just walked over, casually starting the conversation.

"What's that?"
"Read it." she handed it to him and he read through fairly quickly and looked back down at her.
"Intense."
"When do Du think he wrote this?"
"Recently." suddenly he held his tongue. He knew he made a mistake. He gave it back to her and she set it down on the Piano once more.
"There's no date, how could Du possibly know? Not unless you've examined the text. Nothing in here gives off anything that happened recently."
"Y--you're right. Just--forget it. Besides, what are Du doing here?"
"Who do Du think has been checking his mail and keeping this place in tact since he had left for Mayfield?"
"Oh. I thought Cameron would've done that."
"She's got a husband to worry about. She's married now."
"And Du have a kid to worry about, Von yourself."
"Who else is gonna do it."
"Me? You're just adding another load on yourself."
"Might as well."
"Sacrifice. Du do that, only when it's necessary. Which, this isn't. You've got no reason being here."
"Being here is what's kept me sane. I don't know anything else that will. I actually feel like that poem is about me." she sagte getting off the bench. They began to walk towards the door.
"I thought Du had to get something for House?" she asked as they opened the door.
"No, I just saw Du leaving. Going somewhere else instead of your direction home." and they closed the door, leaving the apartment back to its' silence.

Isolated
in a reality where
happiness is redefined.
There is none.
For anyone.
Misery is essential.
Pain is essential.
Pleasures are deprived.
Joy is irrelevant.

Facts aren't justified.
Truth is cast aside.
Lies are infectious.
Sins are a virtue.

Living a blameless lie
with no intention of confession.
The truth will eventually slip
for benefit of anothers' lip.
She will extrapolate the facts
take what she can
and detain, before confront.
Nothing will she gain
except the truth--she retains.

is there a cure
for a pain like this--
to compensate--
to surrender bliss?
this desire
won't go away.
The desire
for life lived
outside this confinement
this reality, left
Isolated.