I wrote this little fiction last June but the idea came when I saw the promo of "Help me" in May. I surely didn't expected the season to end that well for House and Cuddy so here's my take on what I thought would happen.

Before letting you read, you have to know that I'm french so there probably will be some mistakes – hopefully not too much – so I would really appreciate if someone could beta-read me. Plus, it is a translation of the french version I wrote last year so some sentences might look akward, sorry for that.

Disclamer : I asked Santa to give me the rights on House and all his little friends but once again, he forgot me. So I'm just gonna keep crying in my bedroom and writing stupid things. No copyright infringement intended.

I hope you will enjoy my little story ! =)

First part : « I don't love you »

She was driving. Maybe she was driving too fast but it felt like she wouldn't bear to spend anymore time away from him. As she just left the man who helped and loved her these past months, while she was literally living for someone else without admitting it, she wondered how she could have fooled herself for such a long time. She wondered how she managed to look at herself in the mirror every morning.

« I don't love you. » When the words came out of her mouth, she swallowed hard. And the shadow in his eyes at this moment hurt her. She could see the pain on his face, even if she knew he was trying to hide it. She could see that he stopped hoping. How could he believe such a thing? Even she knew, when she pronounced them, that her words were nothing else but lies. So how come, him, who could detect lies better than anybody else, didn't see that she didn't thought what she said ? How couldn't he notice, when he was the one who knew her best in the world?

She had a bad feeling since Foreman announced her Hannah's death. He had also told her that when House left, he seemed really upset. But she already knew that. Tonight, he gave everything he has to save Hannah, he admitted things he had been hiding for years and she, one of the person he loved the most, had rejected him. Knowing that the patient for who he'd done everything he could had died must have really hurt him.

Barely realizing what she was doing, she ran to her car to go see him.

Finally, she was in his street. Parking on the pavement, she glanced at the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were reddened by tears and guilt and her hair was a mess, hardly held by an elastic.

Her eyes fell on her hands, where she could see blood. His blood. The blood coming from the shoulder's wound she had took care of earlier.

The sight of the blood took her away from her thought and she started to panic again. She burst out of her car, praying that he hadn't done anything stupid.

She knocked at his door. No answer. She took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. She was expecting it; he probably wouldn't want to see anybody. She took the spare key she had and came in, looking for him.

A low light in the bathroom and a mass on the floor caught her attention. A mass on the floor. His body. She rushed to him.

« - House. »

He grumbled. He was still conscious. She checked his pulse and noticed that it was abnormally slow. He seemed to have trouble breathing.

She glanced around her. The mirror which used to be above the sink was now broken in pieces in the bathtub. Seven years of misery, she thought, as if he needed that. Then, she spotted a little orange object in the hand of the diagnostician. Reluctant, she slowly opened his fingers and discovered, as she feared, the bottle of Vicodin. Almost empty. How many did he take ?

She shivered.

She kneeled next to him, taking his hand as if it was a life preserver, hoping that the pressure of her hand would be enough to keep him awake.

She grabbed her cell phone.

« - Wilson ? » she said with a trembling voice when the oncologist picked up.

« - Cuddy ? Is everything okay? » he asked in a worried tone.

House's breathing became more and more uneven and she literally panicked.

« - Wilson… I… House ! I came to see House ! We have to call 911, he's having a Vicodin overdose! I'm so sorry Wilson, I…" She burst into tears.

« - Cuddy, calm down! » he said in a tone which wasn't calm at all. "I'll be there with an ambulance as soon as I can!"

He hung up. She dropped her cell phone and turned to House, caressing his rough cheek with the tip of her fingers.

« - House, don't close your eyes… » she muttered, begging.

She could see him blink but his eyes were still open. He was still there, with her.

Trying not to be overwhelmed by the situation, she let her medical reflexes take the panic over. To ease his breathing, she opened his jacket and took the belt off his jeans.

« Come on ! You're not gonna say aything about the fact that I'm taking off your clothes ? I thought you've been waiting for that moment for a long time !" She tried, hoping to make him react. Nothing.

His eyes were closing and the pressure on her hand was getting weaker. She could feel that he was letting go.

« -House ! Stay with me ! » The fear was overwhelming. His pulse was way too slow and his eyes were almost closed. She could feel that he was giving up. In spite of her pleas, the way she was holding him and the kisses she trailed along his jaw, she was losing him.

« I love you. » she whispered.

30 minutes earlier.

« I don't love you. » He could still hear her voice. And the pain that he was feeling in his heart didn't leave him since she pronounced those words in a cold voice, chasing the last hopes he had about them.

But she was right. He had nothing. Nothing. His whole life was a failure, a disappointment. Even his father saw it coming, and that's why he had been so hard on him. He was already disappointing him back then. He disappointed his mother when he got kicked out of the med school in Michigan, but she forgave him when he became a famous diagnostician. He had disappointed Wilson several times, especially when he had been responsible for his girlfriend's death, even if Wilson didn't blame him.

And Cuddy. He disappointed her several times too, when he had been too proud to admit his feeling for her while she had been ready to have a relationship with him, one year before. He couldn't blame her for the fact that she moved on. He couldn't blame her for succeeding where he failed.

He was in pain. His leg was really killing him since he stopped Vicodin, his shoulder still hurt after the crane collapsed, and his heart, this little thing which was beating inside of him, and which he tried to reckon only as a vital organ since Stacy left, which has been hurting for a few months.

Stacy. He thought he was going through hell when he had his infarction and when she left him. She had decided for him, against his will, but she was also leaving. He felt betrayed, left alone.

But today, he was realizing that the pain he felt when she left was nothing compared to the pain caused by Cuddy's rejection.

What he has been trying to prevent for years was finally happening. His feelings had overcome his mind.

He had made efforts. Spent weeks in a psychiatric hospital. Stopped the Vicodin. He had even opened himself a little, talking to Nolan, trying to talk with her. But it was too late. "I am moving on, Wilson is moving on…"

So much effort for nothing. It was too late. He had lost her.

He looked at the pills in his hand and felt like a wave of well-being was coming over him. Vicodin. His best friend. His worst enemy. The one who had locked him, little by little, into a world of pure and simple madness. The one who, by staying by his side, had taken away him from the others But now, when anyone else had left, it was still there. It was the only thing he could rely on. Then, he returned the hand to his mouth and made this gesture which had become an automatism after so many years. He swallowed two pills. After a few minutes, the pain weakened, he was less suffering. He opened the bottle for the second time. After all, now, he had nothing more to lose. He just wanted the pain to leave. He took several other pills.

A wave of well-being broke out once again while the bathroom around him was becoming more and more blurry.

He could hear her. She was there, in the living-room, calling him. She was looking for him. Probably to finish him off, he thought.

« - House. » She was talking to him. He liked the way she pronounced his name. Screaming it in the hospital's lobby, in a reproachful tone when he was saying something stupid, or like tonight, in a tone he couldn't identify.

He wanted to answer, ask her to keep talking, to pronounce his name one last time to erase the memory of her previous words. But he couldn't.

He felt her hand holding his, and a soft caress on his cheek. Soft words, she was begging. Everything seemed so unreal. It must be.

Maybe it was a hallucination? He didn't have a clue. And he didn't really care. He wasn't in pain anymore; he wasn't feeling anything at all. He was in a sort of thick smog, floating above the floor. He was flying. So he closed his eyes and let go.

Right after Cuddy's call, Wilson, who was still at the hospital, had warned Foreman who helped him finding ER to go to House's apartment. He was literally scared to death by what he was going to find out and he could see that Foreman, who was sitting next to him, didn't seem reassured either.

After a certain amount of time, they finally were at the diagnostician's door, which was still open. But just when they were about to enter House's apartment, they heard Cuddy's terrified scream fill the air.

« HOUSE ! »

End of the first part.

So ? Should I stop translating and hide myself ? Reviews please !