AN: I just love one-shots

AN: So… taking a break from the story I started, as you can see. I never really like writing super long stories. I started a new one, though. I'll probably finish that one before I post it. I'm also working on another oneshot. This one just came to me for some reason, and it only took around half an hour to write. I really hope you like it. It's just really House's thoughts…

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I'm 13, I don't own anything major. Duh…

He is sitting at a picnic table in the jogger's park again. He doesn't care that the sun is almost done setting and the temperature has dropped. He doesn't care that the park is now empty. He's always liked it that way, even before the infarction.

He remembers what it's like to run. He remembers before the infarction when he would run almost every day, except when he was too lazy to get out of bed. He remembers before the ketamine wore off and he would run twice or even three times every day.

He likes to observe the runners in the park. He sometimes sees Cuddy, Wilson, Foreman, Cameron, or Chase. He always follows their every stride, until they disappear behind the trees and the scenery. He never sees them looking back at him.

He loves the beauty of the park. He watches the birds in the pond sometimes, right behind his favorite table to sit on. He notices the squirrels scurrying up the trees. He had always thought that the scenery looked better blurred than still. He worries that he would never see his favorite sight again.

But now he's a cripple. Such a harsh sounding word for a harsh ailment, he sometimes thought. Now the word is almost meaningless to him. It's as if he always was a cripple. He can't run from this problem. He can't run, period. His memories of running are now starting to slowly fade, and he does not want this to happen.

So he takes a Vicodin, gets up, and runs. He doesn't care about the pain stinging his leg, he doesn't care that he left his cane behind. All he cares about are the trees, flowers, and animals rushing past him and the feeling of freedom. The feeling of not letting his leg take over his life.

So he runs, ignoring the stares of the few late night joggers, and the pain in his leg. He knows that some of the pain in his leg is a good kind of pain. For a moment he is happy. He is running. He keeps running until he collapses into the grass, still with a smile on his face.

And you know something?

He doesn't ever look back.