Here it is, the final chapter. Thanks for the reviews, much appreciated!
Chapter 9
"House," she said, "House, can you hear me?" Cuddy kept her hand on his shoulder.
"House. HOUSE!" Cuddy shook House by the shoulders, desperately trying to wake him, "Dammit House, wake up." He lay on a table inside one of the clinic's exam rooms, cane haphazardly thrown on the floor, one arm on his chest and the other hanging off the table.
"House? What the hell did you take?" Cuddy looked at him with concern.
He woke with a start, gasping for air. House looked around the room, somewhat dazed and then reached up to touch his chin, checking to be sure his beard was still in place. He sighed in relief, all the while with Cuddy looking at him in bewilderment. She could see the beads of cold sweat on his forehead, he was somewhat pale and both his pulse and breathing were rapid.
Wilson came running up to the exam room door, "I got the page, where is he? What happened? House? House, are you OK?"
"I'm not dead." House said. It was neither a question, nor a statement.
"House, what did you take?" Cuddy asked.
"Nothing."
"Nothing? Your heart is beating a mile a minute, you're nearly out of breath, what's wrong?"
"I thought I was dead. I was dead. I was dead and you and…" House's eyes grew wide, "Did you sleep with Wilson?"
Cuddy was stunned by his response, "House! Wilson and I, uh no. You're not dead, you never were dead. How long have you been in here? Are you on acid?"
"I had a headache, I died of a heart attack, Kutner wanted the whiteboard, I gave Chase my bike. I saw Andie."
"House, Andie is alive. And what heart attack?" Wilson was having a hard time following House's train of thought.
"I know, but she was there. The night janitor was there, Stacy, Crandall, Amber, they were all there."
"And I suppose the scarecrow, the lion and the tin man too? What are you talking about House?" Wilson took his penlight out and tried to check House's pupils before House batted his hand away.
"My funeral."
"Your funeral?"
"I told you, I died of a heart attack."
"OK House, lay back. I want an EKG. Stay put." Cuddy left the clinic exam room to order the test.
"House, what were you doing in here?" Wilson asked.
"I must have dozed off." House reached up and gently touched his arm, in the same spot it had hurt in his dream. This time, there was no pain.
"House, it was nightmare. You were never dead. Is there something wrong with your arm?"
"Arm's fine. Are you still on your antidepressants?"
Wilson looked taken aback, "Why?"
"Just checking. And Amber, are you still living with her?"
"House."
"Well, are you?"
Wilson pursed his lips, "Not that it's any of your business, but yes I'm still taking my antidepressants and yes, I'm still with Amber. It's only been a couple of hours since you saw her drop me off this morning."
"Good."
"Are you sure you're ok?"
"Fine. No headache even."
"EKG's normal, breathing is normal, pulse is fine. House, I still think you should go home, take the rest of the afternoon off today." Cuddy handed the chart to him.
"No."
"No? Why not?"
"I don't want to die alone."
"House, you're not dying today or any time soon. Your heart's in good shape, your mind on the other hand…" Wilson cracked a smile.
"Shut up, you try living through your own death."
"Fine, if you're not going home at least take it easy in your office." Cuddy shook her head.
"I never thought I'd hear those words out of your mouth."
"That makes two of us. Honestly House, you need to start taking better care of yourself."
"I'm perfectly healthy, Wilson just said so."
Cuddy frowned and headed out the door with Wilson in tow. As they stepped out into the hallway, House could hear her say, "It's like he doesn't even care."
"Hey, I heard that," he shouted, "I care if the dean of medicine and the boy wonder oncologist sleep together over my dead body." Wilson rolled his eyes and Cuddy's mouth dropped open, neither quite understood what he was getting at.
"Sure, not a problem." Foreman was on the phone as House as he walked into the conference room.
"Tell Cuddy I don't need a babysitter."
Foreman frowned, "Yes, that was him. OK, will do." Foreman hung up the phone and looked up at House, "She said to tell you that you're to sit in your recliner with your feet up or it's extra clinic duty for a month."
"I don't negotiate with terrorists." House pulled up a chair at the conference table, sat in it and put his feet up on the chair next to him, "Happy now? So, who's the patient? Wait, let me guess, a little brat puking her brains out at night without any recollection of it during the day?"
"Good try, taking classes in mental telepathy? You got ripped off. Try a fifty year old man with blood in his urine, heart palpitations and the fun part: dementia."
House smirked, "It was worth a shot." He turned his attention to the other three fellows sitting at the conference room, "Kutner, under no circumstances are you allowed to take the whiteboard upon my death. And you're not allowed anywhere near my coffin either. Got it?"
"Uh, sure. Expecting to die any time soon?" Kutner looked perplexed.
"Nope, you guys are stuck with me. Differential diagnosis, go."
His fellows were soon off to run tests. House sat behind his desk and looked around, everything seemed normal and in its place. He picked up the magic 8 ball and asked, "It was just a nightmare, right?" He shook the ball and turned it upside down, "You may rely on it."
The end.
