Excuse the fact that this starts off in third person and moves into first person. I like it that way and I'm not changing it. This takes place during distractions. SPOILERS! While House is on LSD he gets a visit from Dr. Wilson with surprising results. My Fiction Writing teacher has outlawed disclaimers so I'm doubling my fanfic disclaimers. ;-) Sorry folks.

"Picture yourself in a boat on a river,
with tangerine trees and marmalade skies
somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly,
a girl with kaleidoscope eyes.
Cellophane flowers of yellow and green,
Towering over your head.
Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes,
and she's gone. —," John Lennon and Paul McCartney

Dr. Gregory House sat down on the bench having exited the shower. There were currently several thoughts flying through his mind.

This towel is too short and scratchy. The floor is cold and probably dirty. This bench is too hard.

Hard Bench. Is there such a thing as a soft bench?

Soft . . .Soft . . . Like his hands. Soft because James uses hand cream. Washing your hands all day, as a doctor does, can make them crack.

Crack . . .crackers . . .cookies . . .candy . . .chips. Damn I'm hungry. Whoa! What was that? Big blue swirling waves rolling across the floor. Like a painting of the ocean only the painting is alive, swirling and moving and shaking. The room is filling up with that milky blue swirling water, but I'm not scared. Not scared. Nothing to fear. Just lay back and let the water take me away. Away.

Away.

Away.

Footsteps across the floor, rubber on tile—but that's impossible. Someone's running through the water. Hope they don't get to wet. Lyrics of a song I haven't heard in years. Follow her down to a bridge by a fountain where rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies, everyone smiles as you drift past the flowers that grow so incredibly high. Newspaper taxis appear on the shore, waiting to take you away. Climb in the back with your head in the clouds, and you're gone.

"House," A voice, a sharp loud booming voice over the music, shouting. Yelling. Oh God . . .it's Wilson. That's great. Just great. "What is the mater with you?"

"Nothing. I'm great. Say, why aren't you wet? There's water everywhere." When I look at Wilson he's surrounded by flowing lines. Everything blurs. I watch as the water rolls over him again and again but he stays dry.

"What did you do?" A pause. A long, flowery yellowish pink pause. "It doesn't mater. We have to get you out of here before someone else sees you like this." He leans over my shoulder and his tie, some ugly purple and red thing, dangles in my face as it starts to spin. It bends and flexes like a clown shaping a tiny ugly balloon. Then there's something on my back. Millions of soft tiny bunny rabbits standing perfectly still. No—that's not right. It's a rope. Wilson's head over me. It's huge. Like the size of a blimp or an UFO. I'm standing now, in the water but it's not pushing n me. I can move just fine. It's almost like there's nothing there. James's fingers reach all the way across of the room. Some of them hold me up others reach for my cane. They dance back towards us as we walk down the hall. Everything is just nice.

Warm.

Fuzzy.

A little dry, maybe, but nice. There's a room and a bed. And then I'm lying down.

"When did Cuddy put movie screens on the ceilings. It's the sunset. It's orange and red and pink." There's a loud boom, click and some sort of monster jumps from the room and out into the hall.

"I'm going to sit in that chair," Wilson points with mile long fingers. "Until whatever this is wears off. That was really stupid you know? You should have at least called me. I—why did you do this?" Yellow waves send his words to me. This is amazing.

"Why sit in the chair? This bed is HUGE. It's like ten beds. And it's soft too. Think it's made out of clouds." I reach out for him but this giant red wall shoots up in front of him. James sends me an angry beam from his eyes—like something out of a superman cartoon. Then he disappears. Two seconds later, or maybe its more like two minutes, he's next to me on the bed.

His hands are so soft and so light. He touches me. His fingers dance across my body. Fingers a million feet long. They start to run down, down, down. The robe—the rabbit robe—is gone. It disappeared. I turn; a sharp red fire shoots out of my leg. Damnit! It quickly vanishes as he and I are face to face. James.

"This is a bad idea. You don't know where you are or what you're doing. I can't do this. I shouldn't."

"Shut up." My fingers are surprisingly short and small. They look almost yellow as I pull the buttons off his shirt. They keep growing back. They are never gone. His shirt never seems to get open. I keep trying and trying but nothing happens. Every time I touch one of the buttons to undo it, my hand is back at my side. "What the hell is going on? These stupid buttons have magical powers."

"That's it I'm not doing this with you while you're out of your mind." A kiss. His whole body flushes a pinkish color and this wave of energy pushes off from his pants. I feel my smile growing past my face. "Not a good idea," he murmurs as the clothes disappear. My hand on him. He's so big. His body is this bluish color like after a storm when you go outside and the air is calm and the wind is soft and the whole world is wet. That's how he feels. I'm on the bed and he's on top of me. His fingers are inside me. There's pressure as a rabbit hole opens up inside of me. Then he's inside. Colors swirling, melting. Everything perfect, colors, lots and lots of colors and music. It's so loud I can see it. Not the words they don't appear like in some music video or foreign film. The music is just in the air and I feel full, complete, and perfect.

Dr. Gregory House opened his eyes several hours later in some strange room. He ways lying on a bed, a hospital bed, hard and sticky and cold. There is a slight pain in his head and the usual dull ache in his leg, but for the most part he feels fine. He turns to the side, and spies Dr. James Wilson sitting up on the bed with him watching. Wilson's shirt is unbuttoned and his tie is on the floor.

"Was I any good?" House asks blinking a few times. "Or did the drugs totally fuck me up?"

"You where pretty fucked up, but--, do you honestly not remember or are you just trying to see what I say so you can use it to—to be you."

"I remember most of what happened. It's all sort of hazy, but it's all . . .I'm not sure. My migraine is gone."

"I think that I probably shouldn't have done that. It was a mistake. I'm sorry. Look I should get back to work. People are looking for us. If they find one of us, they will stop looking."

"Oh come on, James. That wasn't our first time. It was hardly the first time we've had sex with me under the influence of one substance or another. Relax. It's fine. I'm fine. You're fine. Everything is fine." And it was, for now.

Picture yourself on a train in a station,
With plasticine porters with looking glass ties,
Suddenly someone is there at the turnstyle,
The girl with the kaleidoscope eyes.