This is the first chapter in a long piece that will detail the daydreams, fantasies and nightmares of the staff at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

"I had that dream again last night," I almost told House over breakfast this morning, but then I chickened out and didn't say a word. In stead we ate in total silence. I almost told him twice on the way into the hospital, and again at lunch.

I almost mentioned it when House drags me out of my office in the middle of me telling a patient that her biopsy reveled the mass is cancerous—stage four in fact—I almost tell him because I'm pissed enough not to care that it would upset him, but I never do.

Eventually we go back to the apartment and I start on dinner, while he just sits on the couch watching TV. The whole day goes by and I end up back in bed, with House fast asleep and me still sitting up and I haven't as much mentioned the dream. I've had the same nightmare hundreds of times since we met, and while they aren't identical every time, they are close.

House is sick, bad enough that he needs to be in a hospital. Sometimes we're at Princeton Plainsboro, other times I have no idea. Last night, his team was there and they were trying to treat him, but he argued with them every time they wanted to do a test. He sore he knew what was wrong with him. He told me, Cameron, Chase, Cuddy and even Foreman, that if everyone would just listen, he could fix this.

So I got all of the doctors to come into his room. House was laying there, pale as a sheet, wearing a hospital gown, and he had about a hundred different tubes and wires coming in and out of him. There was a heart monitor attached to his chest. He's got an O2 monitor on his finger, an IV and about fifty or sixty other things I couldn't even identify.

When everyone came in, we all looked at him, waiting but he didn't speak. He'd fallen asleep. So I went over and I touched his shoulder, lightly, waking him up.

"Good," House says, taking a look around the room. "You're all here." Then he flashed a smile at me, winked, and leaned forward. "You're probably wondering why I asked you here. Well, I know what's making me sick, and you idiots don't." Even in my dreams House mocks us. "I have—," he begins, but never finishes.

Then all of the sudden everything goes horribly wrong. His eyes close as he falls back to the bed and all of the alarms start to go off. I'm frozen in the same position, while everyone else works on him.

First they do chest compressions and mouth to mouth but the alarms don't stop and his lips turn blue. Then someone gets out a kit and intubates him. All I can ever do is watch. I watch as someone else grabs a set of defibrillator paddles, shouts clear, and zaps his chest. They work on him for what seems like hours, but nothing happens.

Eventually it gets to the point where I can't even hear the alarms anymore, but even I could, it wouldn't matter. Everyone has given up. I watch helplessly as they stoop trying to save them. I hear a voice say, time of death and then I scream.

"No! Do it again! He's not dead! He can't be! Why aren't you helping him? You're killing him!" I scream and scream all of that stereotypical stuff, but no one listens to me. I even try to run to his side and save him myself, but every time I pick up an instrument, it vanishes right out of my hand.

Then there's someone at my side, Cuddy, I think, and she's trying to tell me that they did everything they could. She's giving the speech we've all given a hundred million times before, but I know that it's not true. I always think that because it was House they didn't try as hard. They don't care and even though his body's cold and blue, and I should know that he's gone, I refuse to believe it.

In the dream I fight with everyone right up until the end, when they pull a sheet up over his head. I start to cry and then I wake up, still sobbing. That is my worst nightmare. It's one of those reoccurring dreams and even though I've had it more than a hundred times, since House and I first got together, I haven't once mentioned it to him. I'm not sure I ever plan on telling him. There's really no point. He'd just laugh at me and it wouldn't go away. So I never told him, and I probably never will. I'll just keep on dreaming it forever.