Disclaimer. Not Mine NEver Mine! Never EvEr The Grinning Psychopath's!

Go, gotta go, gotta get away, away from Cuddy, away from Foreman who was spouting off some nonsense, about it not being my fault. But most of all I had to get the fuck! Away! From those accusing brown eyes.

.

I had failed her, my patient was dead, I had taken a chance, and had lost. Fuck! When is that fucking asshole foreman gonna shut the fuck up!

I whirled around to face him. "That's the point! I did everything right! she died anyway!"

.

"House I-" I cut him off. "Get out of my Way foreman!" I growled. Clenching my fists, ready to fight.

He eyed, my fists. Then did as he was told.

.

I limped, all the way to my apartment. Not having the patience to wait for a cab, and having left my bike back at the accident.

And Fuck a jackrabbit, in the ass with a screwdriver, if my leg wasn't screaming at me, by the time I made it, to my apartment.

.

I settled down, on my couch, and rubbed my thigh. Trying my best, to quench the fires, that radiated from my thigh.

Fuck it was bad, it hadn't been this bad since, I was forced to Detox for good.

I found my mind, wondering to the loose floorboard, directly under the leg of the table. No fuck! I can't let my mind wonder like that. Fuck! I reached into my jacket pocket, and pulled out the bottle of Ibuprofen, and popped four small red pills.

.

I waited twenty minutes for the pills to take affect. It was like throwing an ice cube into a fucking fire. It wasn't enough, FUCK! I let out a guttural howl of agony, when the remaining muscles in my leg spasmed. I fell to the floor, gasping, for breath.

Fuck and hellfire, and brimstone! "FUCK!" I screamed! This was just too much.

.

I sat up, and got my good leg, against the table, and shoved hard. The table toppled over.

I reached, an unsteady hand. Towards the floorboard, but stopped, when I heard a footfall behind me.

.

I slowly, turned, to find myself facing, Thirteen. Of all people. My gaze went to her sad face, to her right hand, which held a amber cylindrical bottle. Of Oxycodone.

"Looking for this?" she asked, shaking the bottle gently. I nodded dumbly.

.

"I've been having, a bad day. House, a really bad day." she sighed, and leaned back against the wall.

She looked down at the bottle in her hands, and shook her head in wonder, "My huntingtons is getting worse, I'm having moments, moments where I can't control my hands, can't help but shake."

.

She looked up from the bottle at me, "So I decided to come here, to the only other person, I know of, who's about as fucked up as me," she sighed, and popped the cap off the bottle of Oxycodone, dumped a pill into her hand, and swallowed as I had so, so many times.

"I have maybe five good years in me." She sighed, and threw the bottle to me. "So how's your day been?" she asked, a synthetic smile plastered across her face, as the pill began to take affect.

.

.

.

After the initial shock, of having Thirteen! Of all people in my apartment, and having HER! Find my stash of Oxycodone, and actually INGESTING one of the little white pills.

I had brought out, an old bottle of tequila, I'd had stashed away, for a special occasion.

.

And if, celebrating, the end of the age of bliss, and beginning of the age of Synthetic happiness. didn't count as a special occasion. well fuck me sideways, if i knew what was.

We huddled, together on the couch, joking, and laughing, to the best of our ability, under the circumstances. The fires of agony, had been quenched by the cool, tender hands of mistress Oxycodone.

.

That devilish addictive girl, that's always there for you, when the wife Vicodin's not doing her damn job and keeping you happy, or when Vicodin, the bitch that she is, has decided to leave you, for some other bastard.

.

.

We kept up our banter, till 1:AM by then we were both, blissfully drunk, and stoned out of our minds. But not so much, that we would end up on the floor, hungover, and near death from an overdose.

At 3:AM, we were both, sober enough, that we realized, that we would be, paying for sleeping on the couch, instead of a proper bed, with lots, and lots of pain.

.

I don't think the kiss was intentional, nor do I think what followed after, we had gotten to our feet, and she had, leaned up to kiss me, presumably on the cheek, after I had offered to allow her, to sleep in my bed, but instead full on the lips.

All I know is that, at five AM, I lay awake, with a lovely, naked, sleeping Thirteen in my arms. Thinking about happiness.

I blinked my eyes open, and discovered that I lay fully clothed, except for my jacket, on my couch. With a nearly empty bottle of pills in my hand.

.

I blinked again, and the scene was back to me, in bed with Thirteen, also with a bottle of pills in my hand. What the hell?

I blinked again, and the scene change back. I sighed and looked down, to find, that the bottle of pills were no longer in my hand, but on an upright, table right in front of me.

I groaned, confused beyond belief. I swept up the bottle of pills, leaned back into my couch, and thought.

*Synthetic happiness, a poor substitute for real happiness, but better than no happiness at all.* I twirled the bottle, for a minute, before removed the cap, and popping the 3 remaining pills, into my hand, and dry swallowing them all.

.

I blinked, and I was laying alone and naked in my bed, the clock read 9:00. I saw an fresh orange plastic cylinder of Oxycodone 5MG. Pinning down a white sheet of paper.

I swept up both the pills, and the paper. The message on the paper was short and simple.

I won't tell on you, if you won't tell on me. I looked at the name of the prescriber. It Read Remy B. Hadley. I sighed, was this Reality? Or was it just another hallucination.

.

I decided it really didn't matter. I popped the cap off the bottle of pills, dumped six into my hand, and popped them into mouth. I then closed my eyes, and didn't open them again.