Dr. Allison Cameron was dying. There was no hope, it was inevitable. Dr. Gregory House knew this. He had resigned himself to the
eventuality of her death. She had weeks, if she was lucky, days, maybe. Hours were most likely, and minutes was a possibility.

He stood in the corridor outside her hospital room, still in his scrubs, after the open heart surgery he had just performed. He had just ripped the woman that he loved open in the hopes that somehow, someway, he could help her, cure her, and there was nothing to be done. She was dying. For all he knew, in his ten minute absence from her side, she could be dead already.

An orderly stepped into the hall beside him, removing his face mask. "Dr House?" He was nervous. His boss had been on edge, almost maniacal, concerning the case of Dr. Allison Cameron. The doctor who could not be cured, no matter how hard anyone, and everyone, tried. No matter how hard House tried. The orderly knew that House was in agony.

"Yes?" Dr House barked, not even turning towards the source of the voice,

"What is it?" But House knew what it was. She was dead. The only light in his world, his only saving grace, was dead, would soon enough be a part of the Earth. She had left him behind, shattered. He wasn't sure if he could pick up the pieces.

The orderly cleared his throat. "Sir, she hasn't got long... she's asking for you."

So she wasn't dead yet. He should be relieved. And she was asking for him. They had so much to talk about, he and Cameron, so much that they both had left unsaid. But what was the use? She was broken, she was dying. How much of a conversation could they truly have now? How much of a conversation did he want to have? Could he confess his love to her, on her deathbed? Would she do the same? Perhaps. Perhaps everything would be all right, and in the moment before she died, there would be complete clarity. Perhaps he could marry her, posthumously, and become more tortured than he already was.

He entered the room of the dying.

Immediately upon entering, he had a strong urge to flee, but he held his ground. It seemed as though the whole world was crammed into Dr. Cameron's small room, and they were all waiting. Waiting for her to die. Her parents were there, one on either side of her, each grasping the hand they were nearest. The mother was sobbing uncontrollably, her racking cries the only sound in the silent room, besides that of the cacophony of medical equipment that was Cameron's only link between living and dying.

Wilson was there, Foreman was there, so was Chase, the pretentious bastard. Here to atone for his sins, no doubt. He supposed he couldn't be hypocritical. Cuddy was there. Vogler was there, looking even more corpulent and pompous then he had the last time House had seen him. His large forehead was creased in concentration, his countenance sorrowful. No doubt he was spinning the PR of all this in his head as he sat there, watching one of the finest doctors at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital fade away to nothing. No doubt he was considering how to present this to the media, how he could do it in such a way that it would cost him the least money, the least negative publicity.

But House pushed his thoughts of Vogler to the back of his mind. These moments -these last moments- with Allison Cameron shouldn't be about politics, about anger, or greed. They were his, and they were hers. He was going to make things right.

He nodded to the crowd before him, and Wilson met his eyes. Both men regarded one another, each noticing that the other looked tired, and defeated, and that their eyes were nothing short of puffy, and red.

He stepped up to Cameron's bedside.

Cameron's mother, seemingly noticing him for the first time, vacated the seat next to her daughter and motioned for him to sit. He did so gladly, and he picked up the hand that her mother had dropped, lacing his fingers in hers, massaging it gently. Fuck propriety. This was all he had left of Cameron.

As if sensing his presence, Cameron's eyes fluttered open, and slowly, laboriously, she turned her face towards him. Her eyes were full of unshed tears, and her face was drawn, and white. She was slipping away, as good as gone, he knew that now.

"House."

Her voice was barely audible, a husky whisper, filled with pain and longing, denial and acceptance.

House squeezed her hand tighter, impossibly tight. "Cam-" He cleared his throat. "Yes?"

She blinked her large doe eyes at him, once. They were heavily lidded, and a murky film had developed over them. She was on the cusp of sleep now, almost gone. "Promise me-"

She was fading fast. Promise her what? He'd promise her anything, anything.

"Cameron..." he met her eyes, drinking the sight of her in, no matter how much it pained him. He was crying, the tears flowing freely, unchecked down his cheeks. If only he had...

Weakly, she dislodged her hand from his own, and brought it to his face, allowing her fingers to plane over his features, to cup his cheek, to brush errant tears away. She smiled, weakly. "Promise me, House," she said, her voice stronger now, as though she were summoning the last of her strength, so he would understand how much this meant to her, "Promise me that you will take care of our son."

He said nothing, but his eyes said it all. She knew. He knew. She needn't even have asked that. Their son. Of course, of course, he, Gregory House, would protect and cherish what was left of Allison once she was gone. Of course, of course he was the father of her baby. How could he have been so blind? He had known, somehow, that her quitting had more to do with House than she cared to admit, more to do with what had essentially been a one night stand than it did with Vogler and all the politics of the hospital,
She had left before she had begun to show, and when she had returned, with a toddler and a maternal glow about her, he had suspected, but she had said nothing. He was a patient man. He could wait to hear it from her. And so he had.

He squeezed her hand. She had his answer. She had known it all along.

"I love you, Gregory House." She said, and he nodded, his eyes clouded with tears once more.

"Allison, I-"

The heart monitor that had been tracking her condition flatlined, and the long, mournful beep of the machine filled the room. Mrs. Cameron began to cry. Allison Cameron was gone. And House hadn't even had the chance to say-

Wilson rose from his seat, and ventured to stand by House, shaking his shoulder roughly, and he laughed. "Hey, Greg, I can't believe it... Greg, I really can't. You actually slept through the end of "General Hospital". Haven't you been talking about how you've been waiting for this episode for weeks? Greg?"

House woke with a start and swatted Wilson's hand away. He turned groggy eyes to the television, and sure enough, the theme of "General Hospital" was playing, the credits were scrolling down the screen. A fucking dream. That's all it had been. He was still here, in the hospital, with the same problems. Vogler was, well, as he had been in the dream, a self-involved, pompous asshole-one who wanted to singularly and totally destroy him. Cuddy was still on his case. And Cameron- Cameron was still gone.

He let his head drop into his hands in defeat. She was gone, and there was no getting her back. No replacing her. She might as well be dead, with the chances he had of seeing her again. He had replayed the exchange they had had in his apartment a thousand times, each time willing it to go differently. But it didn't matter that one time he swept her into his arms and kissed her, and that in another he had confessed his feelings for her. Because these imaginings weren't real, like the dream hadn't been real. She was gone, and she wasn't coming back

Wilson knew, as he always did, the source of House's internal turmoil and agony, but said nothing. It was, in his opinion, up to no one but Gregory House to figure out his feelings for Allison Cameron. It might take House a week, it might take him a year, but Wilson knew, eventually, that it would happen. And if it didn't... well, Dr. House would remain angry and misanthropic, tortured, miserable, and alone. Wilson hoped he would come to his senses sooner or later. But for now, he left Gregory House alone, head in hands, seeing her expressive face, her deep blue eyes and sensitive, girlish mouth, behind his closed eyelids.