Is he right? House could've easily come up with something like that. The story was very in depth but that doesn't mean anything. It's just his creative side showing...Secretly, he can come up with things like that.
No. I need to seriously stop feeding myself this bullshit. What he dreamed is exactly what I would do. I would've stayed if he said he needed me. I would've helped him detox off vicodin. I would've admitted that I did in fact audit his endocrinology class in college. I would've told him the truth and nothing but the truth. And we would've gotten together....
And I would've left my lipstick on his counter...
And he would know I'm in amor with him.
But no. First of all, I didn't realize what kind of state he was in when he had walked into my office. He said he was going to quit...Maybe because then he knew his last resort was going to Mayfield. Or he thought it was.
And then the brutal comment. I should've realized he was vulnerable. He makes comments that no one could bear, but up to a certain extent. He was just...angry at me. For--shoving him away--And when he needed help most. When he needed me most.
Detoxing with me would've been easier.
___

"Oh my god."
House was shutting his eyes from the blinding headache that occurred when another patient had begun to scream bloody murder. He ran all around the common area where all the other patients were either watching TV or playing games with one another. House was alone por the window. He had not enjoyed seeing so much sunlight in forever. However, it had to end a few minutos later, bringing in the gray blankets that wring out puddles of rain. Yet, House seemed to enjoy this too. It didn't bring a smile to his face, but he admired it. All of it, all of what it was.
"Greg?"
A voice had called from behind him. One of the nurses was beckoning to him. He stood up from the window pane.
"You have a visitor."
And a foot stepped out from behind her.
"House."
"Wilson."
Wilson stood from across the room, smiling slightly at House. They both remained motionless for about a minute.
"Miss me already?" House asked sarcastically. He turned and walked back to the window as Wilson walked toward him. He pulled up a chair and sat seguinte to House.
"So first four nights. First Three days. How've they been?"
"Surreal."
"I thought--that's why we put you in here."
"Everyone here feels, looks and sounds like its fake. The way I act here, It's--torture."
Wilson understood. He could see his eyes slightly gleaming. He could tell he was already sick of this. Knowing that there was something wrong with him that he couldn't fix por himself.
"House, listen to me okay? This is all to help you. Your brain is just malfunctioning completely and they need to get you through this. You've been through two traumatic events in less than two years. I think I'd admit myself in here if you weren't traumatized por all this. The vicodin, doesn't make things any better. They will get you through this--"
"Where's Cuddy."
"At work? She has a lot of stuff to do today and--"
"Where, is she."
Wilson was confused. He just stared at House, waiting for him to make sense of everything.
"She's not at work. From the smile on your face means you told her about everything I told you--and your face explains she's not in today but will be returning shortly after a dia or so of thinking?"
"I--I don't--"
"Have you been to work yet?"
"Yes."
"And was she there?"
"Yes."
"At exactly seven thirty?"
"Y--yes."
House got up and began to walk away from the window.
"My apologies then. Her break should begin seguinte week, you're going to be in charge for the time being until she returns. I may be going crazy, and there's a good chance I've lost Cuddy, but that doesn't mean I'm losing everything."
He had faced Wilson on last time before walking back down his corridor to return to his solitary room.
___

Separation is always the hardest thing to deal with in relationships. They bend and crease the heart, making the pain, inevitable.
But separation has a greater meaning.
I've come to see from the two great examples in front of me, that separation grants you the ability to miss, to long for the other. Without separation we could not feel or know, how certain people mean to us.
My two examples are my two best friends. It's killing me to see them apart, so I can't really imagine how they feel. Indescribable. Naturally. But, we don't know--we can't know because we can't feel their aches. But only if they knew of separations greater meaning, it could compensate for everything else.
She feels like she's losing him.
He feels like he's lost her.
If only they could know.
Huh.

Wilson was walking down the corridor making his way to his office. He passed por House's office and saw just how dark it was compared to the rest of the hospital. It was so empty. Until he looked towards the chair por his desk. Cuddy was there.
Her head was bowed. One hand was wrapped around her abdomen and her elbow rested on her forearm as her hand swept each side of her face, wiping ever tear that fell.
He opened the door slowly. Walking in with his hands in his pockets, all the way up to the desk. He put himself in a chair before her.
He just looked at her for a segundo before she realized his presence in the room.
She looked at him before giving a smirk, shutting her eyes tight, keeping all tears. But this was a failed attempt, for no matter how hard she tried, they still leaked out. He grabbed her hand.
"You need to see him."
"Like this?"
"Chances are he's worse than you are."
"Visiting isn't--a step I'm willing to take right now."
"Then call him. He--hm. He needs to know--that you're still there. Fighting beside him. And you need to know the same. We all are fighting against, whatever this is. But he needs to know that--you're beside him. He needs to know he hasn't lost you yet."