House was running. Not specifically going anywhere, but he relished in the fact that he was running. He stopped for a moment and checked his pulse. It was at least 130, that was good. He smiled to himself and leaned breathed heavily.

"Greg,"

He looked up and saw Stacy smiling at him. She was wearing that dress that she wore when they visited her brother at his Miami Beach house. She hated wearing the damn thing, but when she wore it she looked stunning.

House grinned and went up to her. She smiled softly and kissed his cheek. They stood there for a moment, just watching each other breathe.

A loud thump sounded in House's ears. He ignored it.

Stacy looked up at him.

There was another loud thump.

"I think someone is calling you," She said.

"Yeah well, tell them that the telephone is a better means of communication." He muttered.

Stacy laughed. She looked back at him. "You can't stay here."

"Why not?" He asked.

"Because, you know this isn't real." She replied. "This is something that your subconscious has created so you won't get bored."

"Well, tell it that it's supposed to convince me that this is real and it's doing a crappy job."

There was anther loud thump. House sighed and nodded. "Alright, I'm coming! Keep your mitts on!"

…

House blinked. He was in ICU. An IV was hooked up to his left arm. He looked at it thoughtfully. Nice, liquid vicodin. He looked around. Wilson was sitting on one of the chairs with House's cane in his hands. He was tapping it slowly on the floor while watching his best friend's monitor.

"You are the biggest idiot I have ever met," Wilson said agitated.

House smiled and rubbed his forehead. "I appreciate your concern."

Wilson jumped up and threw the cane on the floor.

"You know I can't reach for that," House said.

"This is not concern, House!" Wilson cried. "You purposely tried to kill yourself!"

"It's actually called suicide," House said. "But I guess that works."

"What… W-what the hell were you thinking? If you were thinking at all! You almost gave me a heart attack. And you gave yourself one in the process!" Wilson sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "Were you upset?"

"No,"

"Mad?"

"No,"

"Then what? You can only show some emotion if you're going to kill yourself every time you do? I'd hate to be your psychiatrist."

"I don't need a psychiatrist." House muttered.

"No!" Wilson said sarcastically. "Trying to kill yourself is considered the perfect point of mental health."

"It is if you're a cripple."

"Is that what this is about?" Wilson asked. "The miserable fact that you can't run anymore?"

"I can't walk that well either," House replied. "And no, it was about Stacy."

"Makes sense," Wilson said, shrugging as he paced angrily.

House frowned. "How does that make sense?"

"You were half conscious and calling for her." He replied.

"Oh," House leaned back on his pillow.

"House," Wilson said. "Please, tell what was going through your head when you took those damn pills."

House sighed and shook his head. "No," He said.

"Why not?" Wilson asked.

"Because, you'll somehow insinuate yourself and make me feel guilty about making you feel guilty." He replied. "I don't want that."

"House," Wilson tried again.

"Just go," House snapped. "Cuddy will discharge me in a couple of days, and then if I'm feeling all cuddly and open, I might talk to you."

Wilson sighed. "If you keep shutting people out, you're going to die alone." He picked up his jacket and the cane and left it at arms length at the edge of House's bed. He took one last look at his friend and left the ICU.

House watched him leave; knowing that what he said was true. He touched his leg, feeling the bumpy bandages that had been wrapped around it. It was a bloody shoddy job. He'd have to tell Cuddy to fire the stupid intern that did them.

…

Cuddy slid open the ICU doors. She folded her arms and stared at the drugged up House.

"I heard from Wilson what you did to yourself," She said.

House looked at her with a quizzical expression playing on his face.

"Did he also tell you that he is a secret arms dealer working for the USSR? Bringing about communism again, they are and Wilson is helping them." He smiled.

"You took a drug overdose!" Cuddy cried. "And you stabbed yourself almost destroying what little muscle you had left."

"Doesn't sound like me," House frowned.

"House," Cuddy sighed and sat on the edge of his bed. "I know you're hurting, physically and emotionally. But this is no way to handle it. You are in here more times than other patients."

"What do you want me to do? Leave the hospital, offer my services to some witch doctor shack in Africa?" House closed his eyes.

"No," She replied, softly.

"Only because I'm the hospital's biggest asset," House muttered.

"Yeah, well, you're also the hospital's biggest ass." She replied.

"Et," House said. "You forgot the 'et' part." He pouted slightly.

She tugged at a lock of her hair. "House," She said gently. "I need to know that you aren't going to have some sorta suicide attempt every other week. I need to know, your health won't compromise the health of any patients you are willing to treat. I need that promise from you. Otherwise, you can't work here."

House opened his eyes and stared at Cuddy. She looked as beautiful as she did the day they met in med school. If not even more so. Although the top she was wearing made her look more like a prostitute than a dean of medicine.

He nodded slowly.

Cuddy sighed a welcome relief. "That's good to know." She said. "You're office is ready and there is about fifty resumes ready for you to choose a team."

"Am I under pressure to choose in a constricted amount of time?" House asked sheepishly.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "You know what," She said. "Take as much time as you need. That means there is more money for me to spend helping Wilson's cancer kids." She stood up and began to move towards the door.

"Cuddy?" House called after her.

She turned back, hand resting on the glass. "Yes, House?"

He looked at her for a minute deliberating whether he should tell her how nice she looked today. He sighed.

"Fire that intern who did my bandages." He said finally.

She smiled back at him. "Wasn't an intern." She replied.

"Nurse then," House said.

"Wasn't a nurse."

"Surgeon?"

Cuddy shook her head, biting her lip mischievously.

"Who was it then?" House asked.

She pressed her finger against her lips. "Mom's the Word," She said. Then she was gone.

House leaned back on his pillows and smiled to himself.