"You picture me, I'm walking too far ahead

"You picture me, I'm walking too far ahead
you're calling to me, I can't hear what you've said.
Then you say, go slow; I fall behind
the second hand unwinds
If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you Ill be waiting
Time after time," Cyndi Lauper.

My original plan had been to stay up all night, in case he had a dream or woke up thinking that our whole evening wasn't real, terrified to open his eyes and discover I wasn't actually there. I told myself House needed me more than I needed sleep, but I must have drifted off all the same. One minute I was laying there staring out the window at the dark purple sky, feeling his chest rise and fall under my hand, and then all of the sudden, the sun was shining in, filling up the entire room with light. I looked around me carefully, only half aware of the fact that Greg was no longer in my arms. Somewhere in the distance I heard water running, and the soft sound of someone singing, a woman's voice. This realization hit me a lot more quickly, and in an instant, I completely forgot about Greg. It's Amber. She's here! She came back! I was ecstatic, for about fifteen seconds.

"This is just another stupid dream," I muttered to myself deciding it would be more painful to see her again, knowing full well that I probably wouldn't remember any of this come morning. "Wake up," I ordered my body. "Wake up; wake up; wake up—wake up!"

"Not yet," her voice called out, much closer this time. I spun around. Amber stood before me in that silky black bathrobe, her hair up in a towel. "We need to talk." Great, I thought, even in my dreams she's pissed at me. "I'm not mad; I'm worried about you. Okay, I'm mad too. House was hospitalized for two weeks, after I died, and you didn't even call him."

"I was in pain!"

"You were angry."

"And in pain! I miss you so—" I went to hug her, but as if she were a real ghost, my arms went right through my girlfriend's body. "I love you. I couldn't think, couldn't sleep. I barely ate. I couldn't deal with his crap and mine."

"You blamed him."

"Well, I couldn't help it. He did it! He killed you!" I couldn't believe those words had just come out of my mouth. "Aren't you supposed to comfort me? Say, 'I love you James,' and stuff like that?"

"Well that doesn't sound like something I'd do," she chuckled, but hugged me anyway. Then, she smacked my face. "Do any of those things sound like me?" Amber asked, inspecting my cheek gently. "You're fine. We both know House is a jerk, and we both know why."

"He told you?" I asked shocked. She shook her head. "Then, how do you know?" She laughed at me. "Oh. What else do you know?"

"Everything. Listen to me. I'm not in pain. I'm not scared. I'm wonderful, but when I check on you, I see you ignoring a sick, hurt, scared friend, ignoring him, yelling at him, hurting him, hurting yourself! You don't eat. This is the first time you've slept in—days. What are you trying to do?"

"I thought it would be easier if we weren't around each other for a while, but he would never be okay with that. I thought I could make him so mad at me that it wouldn't hurt when I wasn't there."

"James, I'm inside your head. Don't lie to me, not unless you want me to never, ever come back here again. What are you trying to do?"

"I wanted to hurt him," I admitted, looking away. "And I know House well enough to know exactly which buttons to push. So I told him the last thing in the world he needed to hear, and now I don't think he'll ever trust me again."

"Well, luckily House barely understands what the word means. That's one of his best qualities. As long as you don't hurt him again, don't say those kinds of things, as long as you stay here, where you belong, in four months, eight months, a year—it'll be like that incident never happened."

"I'm not exactly in the best shape to be…" Amber kissed me again, and then leaned in close so she could whisper in my ear.

"I love you, James Wilson, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you. I didn't want to do that. Be me at me. Be mad at God. We can handle it. Don't take your pain out on House, or I'll come back here, and kick your ass."

"Why do you like him all of the sudden? You hated House. You two both hated each other. I get why he's been trying to say nice stuff about you…but how—why do you like him now?"

"Because I know. I told you, James. I see everything now. You two were made for each other and he needs to be treated well. He's still hurting. Don't let him—don't ever do that to him again, got it?" I nodded, clasping onto her again. "I know. I know. I know, and I'm sorry, but it's time for you to wake up now. You've got to go back to him." Then, something weird happened, she opened her mouth and said something, but it came out in House's voice, "wake up."

"What?"

"Wake up!" House repeated the words, shaking me by the shoulders a bit. "Jimmy?" he asked, looking up at me, helplessly. Someone was knocking on the door, and the phone was ringing. "It's Cuddy."

"On the phone or at the door?" I asked, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Greg was sort of massaging his leg, in his, I'm such a pitiful cripple, thing.I knew he wasn't really hurting that bad, but he was asking for my help. So, I smiled at him, touched his hair gently, and got up. "She's calling and knocking on the door?"

"At least somebody's horny," he said, laughing, but then sat quietly while I opened the front door. "You can go away now. I'm fine. He isn't, but uh—all things considered…" Cuddy stared at me awkwardly.

"I thought you were leaving," she said, dropping her phone into her purse, and forcing her way into the apartment. "I've been trying to get a hold of both of you for three hours!"

"We were asleep. Um—about that whole resigning thing…is there any way we can pretended it didn't happen?" I watched as she looked me over, trying to figure out what was happening. "I'm not going to flake out or anything. We talked; I don't wanna—you guys were right. I don't really want to leave. We're gonna need a few more weeks, though—you know, time off to deal with our problems."

"If you wanna stay, we're both—if you're looking for a fun time, feel free to hang out. I've got a super-sized pack of condoms and all kinds of neat toys in my bedroom," Greg offered.

"Shut up, House," we both said, at almost the same time. He stood up, heading for the kitchen. "Just—you can go, Lisa. We'll be okay." She hugged me, tightly, and then stepped back. "So can I have my job back, or what?" She nodded, turned away, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "See you—later." She nodded again, and left. I found House sitting at the table, picking through a box of Lucky Charms. "Are you okay?'

"Why wouldn't I be? he asked, taking a swig from the carton of milk he had taken from the fridge. "Want some?" he nodded towards both. I shook my head, going through the refrigerator and pantry. "There isn't much food here. You wanna go grocery shopping later?"

"Not really."

"You usually order them online or just stop by a Wawa's after work?" I joked, but he didn't respond. "Can I at least get a pity laugh, or something? And you never answered my question. Not really."

"That's because I don't really know the answer to it. I've never actually told anybody about—my dad, before. I mean uh—Cameron sort of guessed, but I lied—well no. It's not a lie. I just didn't tell her everything. I hid under the…I well you know, you were here the day she met my folks. I don't tell people about him, because—because it's tough as—it's like…I hate thinking about it. Talking about what happened is a million times worse. "

"I didn't plan on falling asleep. I figured you weren't gonna sleep so well, and my plan was to stay awake in case you needed anything. But I sort of screwed up, wasn't there when you needed me to be." He looked at me oddly, taking a long swig from the milk carton.

"I take it we're not talking about last night anymore, are we?" he asked, pushing the Lucky Charms box out of his way so we could see each other. "You feel asleep last night 'cuz you've been staying awake at all costs, only resting when you pass out from total exhaustion, and were in desperate need of forty winks. You look a lot better today, and to be honest, I really need you at your best if I'm ever gonna get better. So it's fine. I don't mind that you fell asleep. As far as the stuff from before that goes, we'll nothing we can do about that. Yeah, it hurt, and sure I felt like I was being…like we were never gonna see each other again, that—like I said last night." You're afraid that I'm gonna go from caring, to treating you like everyone else does, I thought.

"Are you okay with me knowing about what your dad did to you? Maybe even feel, like, maybe we could talk some more? Or I could—I am feeling better today. If you're ready to listen, and not tell me I'm an idiot, I wouldn't mind sharing a little something with you." I wanted to tell him about my "dream" more than anything else in the world.

"I'm not very good at this," he said, almost sounding ashamed of the fact. "You sure we should be—sure I'm the one who should be doing this for you? I—I don't know what to—what I'm supposeda. What do I do?" He looked like a rabbit caught in a snare or a deer in headlights. I think mostly he was afraid that he'd say the wrong thing and make me mad.

"Well that's how you know it was a dream…sorry. It's just." House's legs were shaking slightly, like he was terrified. "I didn't mean that—I'm sorry. I'll shut up and never, ever say anything ever again."

"No, you're absolutely right. I said the exact same thing, and you wanna know what she said? She did hate you, when she was alive. But now—she said everything gets…that you know everything, after you die, and I know in my head it doesn't make sense to think of this as something real. I took all the new information I learned a yesterday and my subconscious turned it into a lesson with a nice big bow on top, but I don't think it was that. Don't tell me how irrational it is, don't" I sobbed, and Greg wrapped his arms around my body, and held on to me tightly. He rubbed my back and shoulders, awkwardly, but he was clearly concerned.

"Yeah, I know. I'm not gonna be like—I'm not completely sure what you're talking about, but that doesn't mean you can't…my beliefs don't make your—oh great—you're really crying. My beliefs don't invalidate yours. If you think it was real then, maybe it was sort of, not completely stupid."

"Wow, I think that may have been the nicest thing you have ever said to me." I lifted my head from his chest. "Oh gosh, I got your shirt all wet." He sort of smiled, and nodded. Lie I've never done that before, he was probably thinking."Wow, it really does help. I'm feeling much better now, thanks. You did good, House."

"I'm not an idiot; I know how to sit there and not be an ass. I usually don't, but that doesn't mean I can't. You're not gonna be doing that a lot are you?" he asked, scratching his beard.

"I honestly don't know. I don't. I wish I did, but maybe, sorry, Greg, but it just. I just. This sucks. I'm in a lot of pain, and I'm scared, and I'm lost and confused and as messed up as you are."

"Well we're screwed," he said with a sigh, pushing back in his chair. "Last night I didn't sleep so good, but I'm lucky enough to have not remembered anything from the dream I had, except for—I saw him—he was…huge. It was dark, really dark. And I remember the way he used to look at me, like I was a big slice of cake or a water fountain in the middle of the desert or something…" This time it was my turn to hug him, but Greg wasn't thrilled with the idea. "Don't really wanna be touched right now. Okay? Okay?' I nodded, letting him go, which of course was instantly, followed by him grabbing my arms, yanking me forward, and wrapping them around his body. "I don't know what I want. How messed up is that?"

"I'm sorry. I wish I could make it not hurt any more. I wish I could make the dreams stop. I wish I could keep myself from saying things, doing things to you, making you feel like…"

"Wishing doesn't work. You keep saying the same thing over and over, and I don't like that you keep repeating it. It would be great if it meant something, or it helped, but you aren't really…I remember. Just—I don't care so much about the dreams. You think I don't have these stupid fantasies of my own?" House sort of pouted. "You wanna know about my wishes? I wish I could control my reaction to the dreams. I wish I could wake up and say, "it was just a nightmare, he can't hurt you any more,' and that scared feeling I used to get when I was five would just go away." House stood up, walking away. "I'm not avoiding the conversation. I really have to change my shirt…and everything. I was wearing this yesterday. And it's wet and dirty."

"I have to go outside, 'cuz all my stuff is still in the car. It—um, might take a minute. Not exactly sure where the box with my jeans and stuff inside is. Are you okay for a couple minutes while I go dig through the car?" He nodded, and the two of us went our separate ways.

The rest of the day went pretty much the way things usually did with us. Greg was quiet, unless he was making rude sarcastic remarks. He ate, watched TV, and told the occasionally joke, but very little else. Usually I would have suggested a game of cards or that we play x-box or something, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere, and I knew the man well enough to know when to just leave him with his thoughts.

"How come you decided to drive over here last night? I mean, you said…well actually you didn't say, I sort of. In your office, I was trying to get attention, and then you told me we weren't friends anymore, maybe we never were. So, I went home to try and think of a way to prove otherwise, get you back, even if it meant—but then I saw you sitting outside on the street. And don't try and tell me it was all lies and bullshit. I've gotten good at knowing when I'm being lied to, especially when you're trying to tell me something not true." House looked like he might be on the verge of tears himself at this point. I was being irrational, telling him stuff that didn't have any rhyme or reason behind it, and he was confused.

"Well, I guess I did mean it at the time, but I was mad and in pain, in a lot of pain. Sometimes you say stuff in situations, things that you otherwise would never so much as think of, and when it's over, just have to pray—I had to hope my friends wouldn't hate me, that at least a couple of them—well you actually. You're the one I was really worried about because everyone else can handle me telling them that stuff, but you—that's why I couldn't just walk away. I said a mean—horrible, horrible thing to you. So I came here, but I was scared that neither one of us could ever get passed it. That's why I didn't go right up and knock on the door."

"That's your big insight? 'I only meant it then because I was in pain, but now I don't feel that way anymore?' That doesn't make sense! It's not rational, in fact it's completely insane, and in case you were wondering, I don't like insane because it doesn't tend to end well. If you meant it yesterday you could go back to meaning it again. You could think those things some day, one day, alter." That's what he's really afraid of, I realized. He doesn't know how I feel, or how long things are going to stay that way.

"Well, I can understand how those things would scare the Hell out of you, but we—unless you get really, really, really drunk and—I don't think there is something you could do that would make me hurt like that ever again, so it's okay. We're safe."

"What if I—kill one of your ex-wives, or I run over that stupid dog? Or—okay so I can't think of anymore; doesn't mean there aren't any. What if I do one of—what if I really, really, really, really screw up again?" He's really freaking out here, be careful, I thought.

"Okay, number 1. Take my ex-wives, kill them…please! I don't care. Actually, I do care; I'd be much happier if they were gone, and yes, Hector is like a child to me, but he's also very old. He's gonna—pretty soon anyway, and while I wouldn't be thrilled, I wouldn't. Plus, now that I know what made you—like this, I think I can help."

"I don't believe you," he confessed, looking away.

"And you shouldn't. I have violated your trust in every way imaginable. I hurt you, yelled, abandoned you, told you we were never going to be friends again, and left you. I acted like you didn't have any feelings. I wouldn't be surprised if you never believe anything I ever tell you again. I hope you will, but…I'm horrible." He sort of shrugged, looking away, towards Steve McQueen's cage.

"He's—I'm. You didn't ever try and hold me down and do—stuff and you won't ever do that. So at least we have that. You could have done a lot worse to me. Maybe, one day, I'll believe whatever you tell me. I want us to sit on the balcony and throw water balloons at people, you know?"

"We can do that right now—well right now we aren't at the hospital, but we could go up on the roof of your buildings. It's not all that high, so people might see us, but it's sort of the point."

"It was a metaphor. Well technically, I do wanna do that, but…when. Remember after you and Julie first got separated, you moved in here and cooked for me, and I…well, that was fun. I miss doing stuff like that." Greg was still staring at the rat.

"But you aren't thinking about those things, are you?" I asked, trying to decide whether or not I should touch him. He reached for my hand, blindingly, and then squeezed it, hard. "Or we could just sit here and break my fingers."

"Sorry." He relaxed his grip, slightly. "We stayed with my grandmother for almost a year once. I'm pretty sure my mom was trying to work up the nerve leave him. Don't remember exactly what made her take me away, something he did. Either he hit her, or did something really bad to her…or she caught him hurting me—not touching me, 'cuz if she had known about that she never would have let him anywhere near me," he explained. "I remember lying awake at night and feeling, warm, comfortable, and I had a full belly, but I was terrified, still waiting for him to come into my room and...hurt me. We were gone for like a year. Then, one night I realized that I was safe. My mom and Oma would protect me from my father. I was—really, really safe. I was okay. I was gonna tell them. So I rolled over, curled up, fell asleep, and had good drams for the first time that I could ever remember." House bit down on his lip, and I tried to massage his hand, but he pulled away.

I watched him carefully, trying to figure out what to do to make him feel less horrible. "I went down to breakfast the next morning, smiling. I remember it smelled like pancakes. My grandmother used to make special ones just for me, with chocolate chips in them. It was summer and there was music playing. She used to have the radio on all the time, even at night. The noise helped me sleep, guess that's why I watch the TV while I pass out on the couch now…anyway, I was standing in the kitchen, and I said, 'Mommy, Mommy, I hafta tell you something.' That's when I saw him. He gave me this look like—'don't even think about it.' I—and my mom is smiling and I just didn't know what to do.

"Then my dad says, 'what is it, Buddy, what do you wanna tell us?' I was so scared I almost wet myself. So, I said, 'I think I've got a loose tooth,' which was true, but… She told me later, 'your daddy and I have been talking to each other, trying to work out our problems, and I think it's finally going to be okay for us to move back home.' She said—he promised it was gonna be better. He was gonna be nice to us, but…she left it up to me. She asked me 'what do you think we should do, Greg?' He was—he was sitting right there! What could I do? How was I supposed to react to that? I had to say yes, just went back to living with him."

"She didn't know. I've met your mother and she loves you more than anything in the world. If she'd had any idea what your father was doing, she would have stopped him. That woman would have gone to the ends of the Earth to keep her little boy safe, and I'm sorry you never got to—"

"I know, but…he told me that if I ever said anything, he would kill her, 'and I'd get away with it too, Greggy.' He used to call me that, stupid, patronizing bastard. 'And then it'll just be us. No more Mommy sneaking you food in the middle of the night. No more baby toys, just you and me, doing whatever I tell you, whenever I tell you,' and then he would laugh, and do—he put his…you don't actually want me to go into the details do you? Please, I can't. It's—I told you he molested me, what else do you wanna know?" House shook his head. Then he stood up, and walked across the room.

"You don't have o go into the details, unless. You don't have to tell me everything. I'm never going to make you, now if you ever feel like telling me specific things for—if you think it will help, then…and you aren't listening to me, are you?"

"Hey," he said to the rat. "You didn't eat today. Come on. That's the good stuff. The pet store charges more for that than most of my food. What's wrong?" The rat responded by standing on its hind legs, pressing his front paws against the cage, as if reaching up for his master. "You know, we go through this at least twice a month. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were scamming me." Steve squeaked, jumping up towards Greg. "Can you go to the kitchen and grab a package of cheese and peanut butter crackers, and the little blue bowl?" he asked me. "I think his digestive track is messed up. Sometimes he just doesn't eat. If it happened more, I wouldn't do this, but he's so—it's so rare. I crumble them up and he's okay with those, but..."

"Have you tried taking him to the vet?" I asked, stupidly.

"Yeah four times, cost me a total of almost five grand, and he didn't find nothin'. Of course, by the time I bring Steve McQueen in, whatever was wrong, resolved itself. I think…maybe he picks up on my being…on my not feeling so good. I must make his food smell weird or something." He broke off a bit of cracker, held it in his cupped palm, and lowered his hand into the cage. The rat sniffed him carefully then gobbled it up, squeaking happily. House patted his head with one hand, breaking more crackers with the other. "There you go, lousy, stinking cheat." He said those last few words in an almost sweet sounding voice, no sweet isn't the right word. He sounded nice, despite what he was saying, obviously the animal couldn't tell the difference. "Useda think he did it on purpose, but he's just not that smart. He only goes after it every once in a while, just not that organized. He's a rat; his brain's the size of a peanut."

"You sure go through a lot of trouble for that thing," I said, standing next to him. House shrugged. "It's okay that you care about him. It's a good thing."

"Yeah, yeah, makes me human, means I can care about other living things too, blah, blah, blah. Next you're gonna wrap everything up like an after school special telling me I'm fine just the way I am. Then, I cry and music plays and we all live happily ever after." He sighed, rubbing his face.

"No, I'm not going to do that. You have your problems, and I have mine, but that doesn't mean…it doesn't. Nevermind. You did—thank you for today. It helped, being able to just talk to you, and it means a lot that you trusted me enough to tell me what your father did to you. I'm sorry for being—for abandoning you this summer."

"I'd call it a Mulligan, but I don't wanna start all over again," he explained. "Does that need more explanation? Sometimes, I don't realize that stuff. I just think that everyone understands how I think, until I can see that look on their face like I just spoke in another language or—and that's when I explain. Kutner's getting good at the whole metaphor thingy, but he's also kind of annoying. I think I should fire them and hire 40 new applicants."

"Yeah, you're not exactly thinking clearly right now, might not be the best time to start making those sorts of decisions about your life."

"Oh shut up, like I'm not going to make fun of you just because you're totally pathetic and depressed about the bi—about Amber. I can only pretend that you're not an idiot for so long before my head explodes."

"You can call her the b-word again. I'm not gonna get mad and walk out of here. You didn't like Amber when she was alive, and pretending that you did just makes…it's sort of like saying that…I dunno exactly. I have this really intelligent idea in my head, but I don't know how to express myself." House laughed. "Guess now I know how you feel most of the time."

"I can express myself just fine, it's just getting the stupid, "normal" people to understand what I'm saying that's difficult." I laughed a little, but obviously he thought he deserved a greater response, because he put the rat down, hobbled over, and elbowed me in the rib cage. "How are you doing?" he asked after a few minutes.

"I think I'm a little better now. I still feel…I don't know exactly how to describe it, but. Have you ever. I just. This is different than getting divorced, or dumped, or even when my grand parents died. It's different than when my brother disappeared. I've never felt anything like this, and you are not going to die until the exact same time that I do so that I never have to feel it again, okay?"

Greg stared at me for a few minutes, studying my face, in a childish attempt to either read my mind or scare me into taking it back, but when neither worked, he said, "I guess you're have to make the same promise to me, but—yeah, okay. Whatever." I wrapped my arms around him, and said that I wouldn't ever leave him again. I could tell that House didn't actually believe me, but he wasn't going to say anything. That night we didn't do anything fancy for dinner, and neither one of us felt much lie having sex, so we curled up on the sofa together and watched Vertigo until we fell asleep around 3:00. I slept through the night without so much as a hint at a nightmare, and even though he didn't do as well, Greg woke up feeling much better than he had in a long time and for the first time since Amber's death so did I.