House Stocking Stuffer 09' for queenzulu, who requested House/Foreman. Hope this fits!
"Hey. You're not dead."
Not very reassuring words to wake up to (considering the voice was more disappointed than anything else), but since he hadn't expected to wake up at all, they were a pleasant improvement. Blearily, Foreman opened his eyes just in time for a piercing light to shine into his eyes.
"Ugh!" he said, batting the penlight out of the way. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, he looked around for a moment before his gaze settled on the woman across from him. She tucked the penlight back into the lab coat and stared back at him austerely, her legs crossed under the seat.
"You know," he said at last, "It's normally House that does the hallucinations. Not me."
She shrugged. "You want to become House, don't you? That means the whole package: daddy issues, hallucinations, angst galore."
"I don't..." he began, then stopped, examining his surroundings with a more clinical eye. "A bus?"
"Oh yes. Well done, you," Amber said, rolling her eyes. "Any other gems you have to add to this conversation?"
He crossed his arms defensively across his chest, still unable to fully process what exactly was going on. "Fine. If I'm hallucinating, why the hell am I hallucinating this? I'm not the one who..."
She shrugged. "Why are you asking me? You're not dead, that's all I know." She paused. "And it was stupid."
He blinked at the non sequitur before memory sparked, forcing him to look away from her flat stare. "It was right."
"Yes, but since when did you start channeling Kutner? And no, he's not going to show up anytime soon," she added. "Back to the subject at hand: namely, your stupidity. You seriously thought that stopping him would help you?"
"I didn't..." he trailed off. "I did it because I was right! And he was wrong!"
"Since when do you care? You hate him, remember?"
The words were sharp, accusatory. Foreman looked at Amber for a long moment, eyes narrowed. "I don't hate him," he said finally. "I just don't like him."
"Then why'd you stop him?"
"Because..."
He shifted uncomfortably in the seat, tracing his fingers along the worn white leather. Amber watched him, her steady gaze refusing to grant unearned absolution.
"He doesn't need another you," he said finally.
"How very altruistic of you," she snorted, turning her gaze to the blank panorama outside the windows.
"None of do," he said flatly. "House isn't capable of caring. But he's perfectly capable of making our lives a living hell if he doesn't get what he wants. That's the only reason why I did it."
She turned back to him, one eyebrow arched in skepticism.
"It is," he stated firmly, his hands clenching on the leather. "I don't care about him. He's a bastard who specializes in making everyone miserable. And I sure as hell don't want to be him."
"Well, good," she said softly. "As long as self-preservation is the only reason. As long as we're clear on that."
Foreman looked away. The bus was vibrating slightly, providing a welcome distraction. He looked at Amber as the shaking increased in intensity, but she seemed undisturbed, placidly tucking a sprig of blond hair behind her ear.
"What's going on?" he said finally as the blinding white began to flicker and dim, throwing shadows across his face. "The bus..."
"You're not dead," she repeated, turning her head to look at him. "There's no hiding, Foreman. Not here, not for long."
He winced and looked away, holding onto the seat in front of him for support. "I'm not hiding," he said fiercely.
"Then get off the bus."
"No!" The word forced itself out before he could stop it, and he froze, shocked by its intensity. Amber looked at him knowingly, her head tilted to one side.
"Get off," she said, but her voice was gentler this time. "You don't have to do anything, Foreman. At least, not yet."
"What, almost dying wasn't enough?"
She smiled and shook her head. "You know House--he always wants more, doesn't he? Your best is never enough."
"I don't know if I have more to give," he said blankly as the bus continued to sway. "I've pretty much pushed it as far as it'll go."
She shrugged. "You'll be surprised as what you can do. House, too."
He looked at her for a long moment: her slight knowing gaze, the way she seemed perfectly composed despite the erratic shaking of the bus. "Who the hell are you?" he said finally. "If I'm not really dead...are you a hallucination? Or a ghost? Or what?"
"Do I have to be absolutely defined?" she said calmly, tilting her head to regard him as he stood up. "Why can't I just exist?"
"Because..." he said, fumbling helplessly for words. "It's not logical. It's not right."
"Few things are," she agreed quietly. "But here's your chance to set at least one thing right."
"I can't..."
"You can, Foreman. What you can't do is hide from the consequences." She looked at him, her gaze solemn and understanding. "Get off the bus."
He swallowed. Nodded. His heart was an erratic thread in his ears, his breath faint and irregular. But it was there, pulling him to the one place—person—that he desperately wanted to hide from.
But you can't always get what you want. He'd heard that particular gem before. Probably House's favorite saying, next to everybody lies and nothing changes.
"Nothing does change," he whispered to himself, almost like a prayer. "Nothing will change."
Stepping off the bus, Foreman woke up.