HowI wanted to write this because (No offense to your wonderfully written stories), But I'm sorta sick of the suicide fictions for Greg, He's not the only one who deals with depression you know. But still, to some peoples POV this story could be crap, so….

Anyway, this story is set after 'Mistake'…

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- Final Hour -

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He dropped his keys absent mindedly on the kitchen counter, barely hearing the loud clink echoing throughout his empty kitchen. He dropped his bag so it leant against the dividing wall and then walked into the lounge room. The night air was freezing cold, even when he wore his jacket. He was numb and shaking, but he couldn't care less.

He half collapsed onto the sofa, one hand resting upon the hard arm of the sturdy piece of furniture. He raised his eyes up to the ceiling and tried to hold back a single tear, biting his top lip determinedly. His eyes shone as they began to brim with repressed tears.

He reflected on the events that had happened in the last few months, sorrow rising in his chest, tightening his windpipe as he fought to breathe.

He had hated his father, loathed him for abandoning him and his mother as a young boy. But he had loved him all the same; he couldn't have stopped loving his father, ever. It was a love one could not abandon, the love for a family member. He had tried to detest him, tried to loathe his every fiber. He felt his father deserved it, but he just couldn't…couldn't stay angry at him

That is why when the fated words had entered his ears his heart stopped and his whole body had become rigid. He didn't want to face the fact he was mourning, so he bit back the pain for six whole months. Six long months of feeling the torture, He had hardly gotten by…but he had hidden it well

Now Foreman was a temporary boss, House was irritated by Chase's very presence. The sorrow had become overwhelming as he realised House had known the whole time his father had been dying…he didn't even get to say a proper goodbye to his closest bloodline.

He gripped his leg tightly and looked down at the floor, finally admitting a salty tear to pass through his eye and fall onto the carpet. The room was dark; the only light was navy blue filtering in from the blinds in great parallel shafts. He could barely see…

He didn't care though; he could do what he had to do without his eyes.

He had to do it now, he thought to himself as he slowly slid a bottle of Vicodin pills from his jacket. Because if he didn't House was going to find out he did it and kill him the next day anyway. He had stolen the maniacal doctor's pills, and if he turned up tomorrow he was going to pay.

It didn't matter because he wasn't going to work tomorrow anyway; he smirked to himself as he unscrewed the cap with a refreshing pop, and then read the label. The overdose information, what the limit was.

Then one, small deathly pill at a time, he broke that limit. Tears running endlessly down his face as he forcefully swallowed the pills. Occasionally a surge of doubt and regret washed over him, but he kept taking them until the bottle was done.

Then he staggered over to his cabinet, took a bottle of whisky and downed the bottle, ignoring the burning in his chest.

He raised his head, letting his hand drop, and the horribly empty bottle crash to the floor in a flurry of glass shards. He peered down at them dully, the blue moonlight reflecting off them and making shining spots on the walls.

And as the world began to spin uncontrollably, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head he smiled at the wind crashing through his body, and the blood in his veins turning to ice. He fell backwards onto the floor, unconscious

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House picked up his empty Vicodin bottle mourning, focusing on the tiny letters…seeing where the ink had run where the cold tears had hit it. His blue eyes flickered in the darkness, and he limped back outside and down the three stairs.

In the shadows of the street and ambulance had pulled over, and two men in teal outfits were lifting the limp Chase up by the arms, his head hanging so his dead eyes weren't visible. His blonde hair fell forwards messily, and Cameron cried into Foreman's chest as she couldn't watch anymore. House could see the moonlight shine of the drying tears on his young dead colleagues face as they hoisted him into the ambulance. He saw how one hand was gripped slightly

He limped over, his eyes gleaming. Analyzing the cold hand as he gently uncurled it, retrieving a small tear stained note.

He read the words and his eyes widened; he stared into Chase's face with a surge of regret and loss. His skin was deathly pale, the area around his eyes a terrible shade of grey, his lips were ajar slightly, from when he last breathed. From his last struggling heartbeat. He choked slightly on his words as he forced them from his mouth sadly

"Sorry" he whispered very quietly, and then he walked away, listening to the sobs of Cameron as he went. Foreman stared ahead absently, trying to remain strong; he let Cameron cry into him, he knew she needed it.

House had dropped the note, and it had fallen onto the pavement, forgotten in the emptiness of the night. The world already seemed a little dimmer

- Why didn't you tell me? -

-αιвσυ

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Authors Note - Pretty Please Review Me?

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