Chapter 2 - Gregory House

A long-lasting darkness clouded his senses.

A darkness as frightening as it was peaceful. A dimension without worry and without pain, but also without joy or happiness.

An endless void.

House couldn't tell how much time had passed before he finally awoke from his dreamless sleep. Inside his skull boomed dull noises and a matching, throbbing pain spread rapidly in his head. A strained sigh escaped him before he forced himself to open his eyes and realized that he was in almost complete darkness.

The quiet room in which he was lying on a bed was bathed in the pale light of the moon, which shone through the tilted window. Outside, the stars twinkled in the midnight blue sky. The wind rustled pleasantly, quietly and evenly through the leaves of the trees in the distance.

House looked around. In such darkness he could only see the shadowy silhouettes of some of the furniture that were evenly spaced around the room. At first he couldn't answer where he was and why he came to such a place, but soon he remembered his brief waking up on the street and the blood that had flowed from his skull. He saw the doctors taking care of him, tending his wounds and fighting for his life in the process. And he also remembered the strange figure who had found him and talked to him as if he should know him.

Thoughtfully, House raised a hand and carefully placed it on his forehead, where he felt the coarse bandage wrapped tightly around his head. And in other parts of his body, too, he felt plasters and bandages covering his wounds and catching the escaping blood.

But House had no answer to how it came about.

The memory of the accident that he apparently must have had in order to find himself in such a situation had been radically erased from his mind, and as hard as he tried, he was unable to restore it. When the throbbing in his head got stronger and the roar in his ears louder, he gave up the attempt and sank deeper into his pillow. His troubled mind began to realize that he had been taken and admitted to the hospital.

Taking a deep breath, House closed his eyes again and listened for a while to the rhythmic sound of the clock, which judging by the noise was hanging on the wall across from him, but which he could not read due to the lack of lighting. He lay there for a few seconds until he noticed that the tactful ticking of the clock was accompanied by another, quieter and more even tone.

Frowning, House opened his eyes again and lifted his head, turned it to his left and, sitting in an armchair, saw the slumped figure of a man with his eyes closed and his arms crossed over his chest. House realized that he was sleeping.

He tried hard to recognize the facial features of his counterpart, while he leaned far in his bed in the direction of the strange figure until he almost slipped over the edge and only saved himself from falling out of bed by letting his left arm flick up and catch himself noisily on the bedside table. The metal frame rattled loudly, causing House to back away in shock, because it sent a terrible pain through his already bruised skull.

Apparently his visit felt the same, because the man opened his eyes with an incomprehensible murmur and blinked at him for a moment, confused. But the more seconds passed, the clearer the gaze became from the narrow eyes of the stranger, until he suddenly seemed wide awake, jumped out of his chair and hurried to the patient's bed.

"You're awake!" he burst out and now that he was standing in front of House, the latter recognized his face and assigned it to the same man who had greeted him when he first woke up. But that was all he could say about him, for although the thought that he should know his name bothered him, his memories were swept blank when he tried to recall it. House narrowed his eyes suspiciously and scrutinized his counterpart, recognizing the dwindling joy in his brown eyes and the shadow that instead fell over his face. "You don't know who I am, do you?" said the trembling voice and House shook his head with a frown.

"I suppose I should know," he replied. With every word his rough, dry throat ached, which was why he tried hard to clear his throat, but that didn't bring any improvement either. The stranger immediately stepped back from his bed, grabbed a plastic cup from a dispenser and filled it with water from a sink in the corner of the room. He walked quickly back to House and handed him the cool drink without saying a word. House accepted it just as silently and completely emptied the contents in just a few seconds. Relieved, he closed his eyes for a moment while the water cooled his throat, then he opened them again and looked briskly at his visitor.

"We are friends, right?" he asked now in a much clearer, undisguised curious voice. "What's your name?"

House recognized the pain that flashed in his counterpart's eyes and seemed to rob him of speech for a moment. In silence, he left him the time he needed until he had collected himself and pronounced his name in a husky voice, "James Wilson."

House's heart jumped, expecting the name to make him remember something, but was disappointed to find that there was still a yawning emptiness in his head. And Wilson seemed to notice that too, for he sighed heavily. Without a word, he pulled the chair he had slept in closer to the hospital bed and dropped into it.

"What do you know about yourself?"