House fell asleep fast enough on his recliner. When he opened his eyes he wasn't in the least surprised to see Death sitting on the ground near him; he was sitting on the ground too, but the grass was soft so he didn't mind. He didn't even need to check his hand to make sure this was a dream since he found himself in a beautiful garden full of flowers. The only thing he did wonder about was: whose dream was this.
"Nice garden," House opened.
"Thank you," Death accepted looking up from the garland of poppies and wheat and other things House wasn't sure he recognised. "I like it."
"So this is the Garden of Death?"
"Hmm," Death nodded. "Not what you were expecting?"
"Not really," House admitted. "I would have thought the Garden of Death would be more barren."
"Why? In nature death means life," Death pointed out. "The flowers die, make seeds, the seeds fall on the ground and new flowers grow. Circle of life, you know."
"You have a point," House accepted. "Old things die and make room for the new."
"It's not quite that simple with human beings, though," Death observed as she finished the garland and set it on her head.
"So, are you going to be here every time I fall asleep from now on?" House asked dryly.
"Gosh, that would be annoying," Death replied. "Besides it would get rather monotonous, too. For both of us."
"But how long are you going to hang around then?" House queried.
"That depends on your answer to my question," Death reminded him.
"Oh yes, let's discuss the meaning of Life," House invited flippantly.
"I'm not interested in the meaning of Life in general," Death pointed out gently. "Just the meaning of your life."
"But don't we need to have some general frame of reference first?" House suggested.
"Nice try," Death acknowledged. "I know you hate personal questions and discussions but you cannot escape this time. Death is always very personal, no getting away from that. I end individual lives, each unique and different. Some deaths make this world a better place, some deprive this world of something priceless but the perception of the world is rarely the same as the perception of the individual about to die. Most lives I just take because it's time. Sometimes I have to end a life even when it shouldn't be the time yet, but prolonging it would be cruel – for one reason or another. And sometimes, just sometimes something about the person gets my attention and I need to know more."
"And you need to know more about me?" House asked. "Why?"
"I don't really know," Death mused. "Something to do with your personality I think. You're different. The people around you see you as some kind of a force of nature; you are almost larger than life. You used to be almost painfully alive."
"You got that painful part right, at least," House was feeling almost embarrassed.
"I know," Death replied quietly with a strange flash of compassion in her eyes. "But you were still alive. There were puzzles in this life for you to solve, things you wanted to know! You were not ready to let go. Now it's like you just don't care enough to hang on. I can't read you anymore like I did before. And I need to know."
"I don't know," House shrugged. "I'm not sure what it is you are asking and I'm not sure I have any answers. I don't want to kill myself that much I do know. But has my life meaning? I don't know. Sure I'm a doctor and I save lives, some of them probably lives that matter, but there are plenty of doctors and some of them are as good as I am. But does my life have personal meaning to me? I think I know myself well enough to know most of my motivations and reasons for doing things, but I rarely do any deeper soul-searching – of course that could be because I don't believe in souls. I always thought you just hang in here the best you can and then when your time is up, its up and nothing you can do about it."
"Normally that is the case," Death agreed. "But sometimes there is something you can do. Sometimes it really is the will to live that makes all the difference. Or the will to die."
"And now you want me to find out which I have?" House asked. "To be or not to be; that is the question."
"But only you can tell if it is nobler to withstand the slings and arrows of capricious fate," Death smiled. "I cannot even tell you if you will dream, perchance."
"And you are not going away until I have given you an answer?" House ventured.
"No, I will not go away until I know if your life matters to you," Death stated.
"I'm not waking up from this dream until I have the answer," House suddenly realised. "Am I?"
"No," Death answered. "This is it."
"I'm dying?" It was only fractionally a question, mostly just a realization.
"That is one option," Death affirmed. House saw tears in her eyes and he frowned in puzzlement. As one tear started to make its way down her cheek he caught it with his thumb.
"Why are you crying?" House wanted to know.
"One of us should," Death shrugged.
"You behave like my life really mattered to you," House was mystified.
"But does it matter to you?" Death repeated her question.
House looked down and rubbed his fingers together feeling the almost ice-cold tear he had caught. He thought for a moment and then he looked up: "I don't know."
----------------------------
As soon as House had settled in his recliner Henry had gone to the conference room and started to sort out the mail. He had been at it for about twenty minutes when Dr Chase walked in.
"Dr Dobson?" Chase checked.
"Mr Dobson," Henry replied. "Though you can call me Henry. I'm House's assistant, not a doctor."
"But didn't I see you working on the diagnosis?" Chase was confused.
"Yes," Henry nodded. "Due to my previous job I have an extensive knowledge of medicine and House saw no reason not to take advantage of that. In addition to that, part of my duties is to observe the candidates to the fellowships and the easiest way to do it is from a position of equality."
"Well, after three years with him, nothing surprises me anymore," Chase sighed. "However, that was not why I came here. I need a word with House."
"He is asleep, so unless it's something urgent and something I cannot help you with, I'd rather not wake him up," Henry said.
"It's not urgent," Chase revealed. "I just need to borrow the plastic surgeon you have among the candidates."
"I'll let him know as soon as he ... My God!" Henry had looked up towards House's office as he spoke and suddenly he sprung up staring at House.
"What?" Chase was alarmed.
"I'm sorry, nothing," Henry shook his head as if to clear it. "The light just hit the glass strangely and I thought I saw someone else there as well. I'm ..." Henry's voice petered out as he took another look at House. "There is something wrong now."
Chase turned to look too and to him it seemed that House was just sleeping. Except that some voice at the back of his head suddenly reminded him that he has seen House sleep before – several times – and Henry was right. Something was wrong. They both rushed to House and when Chase touched him he realised that House's skin was pale, cool and clammy and his pulse was rapid but weak.
"Looks like hypovolemic shock," Henry stated anxiously.
"I concur," Chase agreed. "Just wish I knew where and why!" With Henry's help Chase quickly got rid of House's shirt and t-shirt.
"Look at the liver," Henry said. There was some discoloration around the area.
"But he isn't jaundiced," Chase frowned.
"It isn't necessarily his liver that is failing," Henry reminded him. "Liver is full of blood vessels. It's possible that the electrocution damaged some, or even just one of them. It may have been bleeding slowly since then and only now either got bigger or finally reached a critical point."
"Surely House would have noticed," Chase wondered as he reached for the phone to get help.
"He would expect some soreness anyway," Henry insisted. "And some of the symptoms would be masked by the Vicodin he takes for his leg."
"Could be," Chase agreed. "It will have to do as a working theory for now. I will have to go poking into his liver anyway and after that we may know more. Let's hope it really is just a leaking blood vessel and that I can repair it."
The team Chase had called came quickly and they took House. Chase and Henry followed but had to take another elevator.
"I still cannot believe that House didn't notice anything," Chase sighed.
"Actually," Henry pondered. "He may have."
"What do you mean?" Chase asked.
"The reason he was sleeping in his office was because he had slept badly last night," Henry explained. "He had been dreaming of Death."
"He had dreams about dying?" Chase found that strange for some reason.
"No, not of dying," Henry explained. "He said he had a dream where he was talking with Death."
"You mean the Grim Reaper?" Chase was surprised. "How very Ingmar Bergman."
"Except that House's Death was a woman," Henry nodded.
"But did they play chess?" Chase was trying to alleviate his anxiety.
"House didn't say," Henry was willing to co-operate; he wasn't feeling too calm either.
"Was She who you thought you saw in his office?" Chase suddenly made some connections. "Death, I mean."
"Perspective of you," Henry noted. "Yes. Having just had that conversation with him, when the light hit the glass partially blinding me, I did, for a very short moment, think that a woman in white was holding House. Sort of like a Pietà, if you know what I mean. For a second there I could have sworn I even saw tears on her cheeks. Of course it was just my overactive imagination, but it did give me a bit of a shock."
"I think House can be grateful that you have an overactive imagination," Chase said as they reached the surgical wing. "If you hadn't had Death on your mind, you might not have noticed that he wasn't just sleeping but there was something wrong with him as well."
"Let's hope we were in time," Henry sighed. "I don't think this hospital is ready to lose him yet. I know I'm not."
"Me neither," Chase nodded. "And I'd hate to see what it would do to Dr Wilson or Dr Cuddy."
