I never told you that I loved you. That was my biggest mistake. I never told you that I see you. I see you even when I'm not awake.

Alone in his bed, he stares at the ceiling. He breaks his gaze long enough to glance down at his right thigh and throws the blanket over to his hip so he won't have to look at it. The scar. The emptiness. The horror. House scratches his bare chest lazily before returning it back under his head to begin his staring contest with the ceiling once more.

His face still stings. Although he won't admit it aloud, he knows that it was a step too far. It was a step he shouldn't have taken, and wishes he could take back. He remembers the look on her face, the look in her eyes, as he stared at her. It wasn't love, it wasn't compassion, it wasn't pity, and it wasn't even anger. It was apathy. With that step too far, he had shown her that he didn't care. And she had shown him, that neither did she. Her actions had spoken of anger, but her gaze, her gaze had given up. She had given up on him.

For a man who didn't want to be in love, he found himself in a predicament. He realized he was staring at the ceiling because of a woman. A woman he didn't even like. A woman he didn't love. A woman who had one finger around him, and that concerned him. No one had been able to touch him for years. But there she was. Only three years knowing him, and she had a small claim to him.

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Alone in her bed, she stares at the wall. Lying on her side, she brings her hand forward to stare at. The same hand had held her husband's dying one, had held a row of flowers, had written thousands of notes, and had slapped the one man that she couldn't get out of her system. Instead of keeping it in her sight, she draws up her blanket so that only her chin is exposed and begins her staring contest with the monotonous wall again.

Her mind can't get over his words. Did he really think that of her? She had never known until now, how much of a child he was. She hadn't wanted to see how hurtful and spiteful he was, just because of his own physical pain. He saved lives without thinking of consequences, blurring the lines of ethics, but he always did it to save someone. She had found that heroic at one point, but not anymore. Now, she sees him as a man wanting to control everything. Control. That's what he wants, she thinks.

A tear falls down and she quickly wipes it away. It shouldn't hurt like it does, but for some reason, she can't help it. A part of her knew that he was just in pain. A part of her knew though, that he had said it purposely. She can't forgive that. She can't even begin to understand it. To think that he thinks of her like that, is crushing.

"Damn him," she says to no one but her ghosts.

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He closes his eyes and tells himself it doesn't matter. He tells himself that he doesn't care what she thinks of him, and he doesn't. He's never cared before, and he doesn't care now. After a few minutes, he can feel his body relax and sleep begins to overcome him.

She finally finds her eyes closing and surrenders to sleep. She doesn't want to dream of him. She doesn't want to see him. Her hate for him is there. Her love for him is fading. All this she thinks to herself before everything becomes dark.

The first thing he sees is her. Her green eyes are cold and hard where they used to be warm and soft. He sees her tears that he has caused, and in his dream, he reaches for her. In this dream, she takes a step back and turns her face away from him. Instead of saying anything, she walks away, leaving behind a note at his feet.

The first thing she sees is him. His blue eyes are warm and inviting when usually they are cold and thinking. She tries to hold him even in her anguish, but he cuts her down with his harsh words before she can reach him. He's a cold man, she thinks. He smirks and tells her she never had a chance before limping away.

When she opens her eyes in the middle of the night, she knows that whatever he may say doesn't change how she feels. No matter how hard she can wish for her love to go away, it will be there. For as long as she cares, he will hurt her. He will hurt her, and she will let him. She will let him, until she can finally let him go, and then she can be free.

His head turns and he glances at the clock before looking at his hand that had held the imaginary letter that he hadn't been able to read. He hates himself for dreaming about her. He doesn't want to dream about her. He doesn't want to dream about anybody. All he wants is for life to go on the way it had before. A frustrated sigh escapes him as he rubs his face and tries to sit up. Reaching for the vicodin, he stares at the pills in his palm before pouring them down his throat. A swallow later, he grabs his cane, knowing sleep is far away. Even in his dreams, he can't get away from her. Maybe with his pain, he can.

A/N: So, I guess I'm not letting this die. Thanks for reviewing and showing that at least some people are reading to see where this goes. So, thanks.