Author's Note: Not mine, I just like to play. But, there is a CHARACTER DEATH Do not flame me for doing this…it's simply a literary piece that I hope will NEVER happen on the show. As always, Dylan provides the lyrics.

Well my nerves are exploding

And my body is tense

I feel like the whole world

Got me pinned up against the fence

I been hit too hard

Seen too much

Nothing can heal me now

But your touch

I just don't know what I'm gonna do

Two things in life were harder than anything else for her—endings and beginnings.

And now she stood here under a blue sky and the sun that belied the cold and she was looking at an ending and dreading a beginning. The only thing that was constant and that she wasn't questioning at the moment was why the sky was blue and that the sun would always rise in the east and set in the west. Uncertainty dwelled not within those two observations and she knew and took comfort in un-shifting facts like those.

It had been a long year and a battle that she hadn't want to face. But he had begged her to face it with him, and, unlike Stacy had, she stayed with him. She never questioned herself in her devotion to him and she lived with the fact that nice people do nice things for other human beings who don't have any one to care for them.

He never said he loved her and she never told him she did. There relationship bespoke the color gray—there were many unresolved questions that were now buried in the myriad of browns.

She was dressed in black and alone for everyone had left, including Wilson. They knew this was her moment and she needed to be alone—with him. She had nursed him when no one else had dared look at his sallow face. She loved him even as he deteriorated into violence.

She stood now in front of his grave; the red roses were gripped tightly in her hands, the thorns cutting gashes into them. Her pent-up sadness exploded, not as tears, for she had cried too many of those already, but as anger.

"Damn you, you bastard!" She screamed and threw the flowers on the ground. She collapsed onto her knees; her bloodied hands covered her face.

"Damn you. Why did you hurt me so!" She asked to no one in particular as she cried.

"I loved you and you knew it! Why did you never give me the one thing I wanted?" She spat unhappily.

"You're going to make me catch my death of a cold out here. You'd probably come up with some stupid sarcastic comment right around now to try to protect yourself from my tirade," she whispered to the ground.

"You know something else? You might as well want to know. You gave me what I wanted, you certainly did. All those nights we spent together in bed. Oh, yes, they were brilliant. I shared my deepest secrets with you and you lied to me about all of yours. But guess what else, Greg. I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant. And you have to leave me!" Her voice was screeching now, and she was a sight, the blood dripping from her hands, her black coat and brown hair whipping around her.

She picked up the loose dirt and squeezed it between her fingers, feeling the moist earth move through her bloodied hands. It was oddly calming. She let it fall back down to the ground. She heard the sound of a car approaching and didn't even bother to lift her head. Whomever it was probably just wanted to see someone else buried in the graveyard. House didn't have many friends.

This was the ending that she had been dreading for many ages. He had fallen ill last September, when the leaves around Princeton-Plainsboro had been changing into their fall glory. It was quick and sudden and a very bad diagnosis by Wilson, his best friend, and the oncologist. Cancer, moving quickly, chemo could help, but we're not sure how much it can do, was what Wilson told his best friend.

House was a smart man and he did what he could to help himself and save his patients. Cameron and the rest had watched him lose his hair and his strength from the chemo. He lasted until that Christmas, when he knew his resignation was due. He bid everyone a farewell, but it was she who was nowhere to be found. She wasn't just beautiful—she was smart. So she waited by his car and offered to drive him home. He no longer had the strength to argue with the fervor he used to and could only shake his head. It was that night in his bed that he asked her to stay with him.

House was a fighter and lasted for several more months. There were chemotherapy appointments she had to take him to and work she needed to do to keep the food on the table. He did not like to be nursed and she found the Vicodin in his room daily. Wilson visited as much as he could, as did Foreman and Cuddy. These visits brought little comfort—the end was inevitable and they all knew that. House was resigned to his fate and Cameron gave him what earthly comfort she could.

She was with him when he died one September after he had been diagnosed. It was she and Wilson as House passed quietly. No sarcastic comments. He went down quietly. And now he left her here.

The new beginning was a baby she didn't want. Oh, House, even in his bitterness would have welcomed a child. That's what she believed and told herself to make her feel better.

"Cameron, here."

Wilson held out a handkerchief.

"Your hands are bleeding. He wouldn't want you to be like this."

She took the white cloth and soothed her dirty brown and red hands. They ached, but not as much as her heart.

"He loved you, you know," Wilson told her.

"I know. I know," she replied quietly.

There was the setting sun in the west and the blue sky above. They were her constants in the life. She needed every constant she could get.

There were the words he didn't say to her and the words she didn't say to him. There was the gray and the brown.

There were the endings and beginnings.

Author's Note: Let me explain. The baby is the beginning; House's death was the ending. Please don't harm me because I killed the darling Dr. House. I love him as much as you all do.
Bellsie