Author's Note: I started out with six, but I must make it five. There's no way I'm gonna get a sixth chappie, since I'm headed for vaca and I really have another idea up my sleeves (this was originally the last one, so it doesn't matter.) Consider the fourth chappie two-in-one, since it was a lot to write (I had to do Cameron/Vogler…'nuff said.)

"We communicate in apologies."

--Adam Sandler to Paz Vega in Spanglish

Sometimes conversations keep us sane. Even if it is a one-sided, I-need-this type they keep us sane. Interaction with another human being is integral to life. Without it, people become lonesome and the world seems a little darker. And, most importantly, conversations let us say we're sorry.

""""""

Through his lips slip another I'm sorry. Through hers there is silence. He pats back her hair gently and wishes that life would be fair. He knows that life is not fair and he wishes he could curse God, but like the Sister said, one can't be angry at something they think doesn't exist.

"You'll wake up," he whispers into her ear, "tomorrow I'll take you to dinner and we'll really have a date."

He whispers sweet nothings into her ear when she's dying, but he can't do it when she's alive. He's a terrible person.

Blood has seeped through her pink shirt and he curses and throws his cane to his side. People are gathering, staring and someone's shouting "Call 911!" He can hear the dialing of several cell phones and the frantic relaying of information to the dispatcher.

"Yes, right outside Princeton. Uh-huh, yes. Looks to be a female. I don't know, there's a lot of blood…"

He wants to scream. He wants to scream that he's "a doctor damn it! I'm supposed to save her life!"

I'm Gregory House, and I cannot save her life.

She has (it's not had yet) a crush on him and he just couldn't bear to see her brilliance be diminished by the empty thoughts of love. He makes her work for he rewards, and work she does. But this isn't supposed to be a reward. She's not supposed to bleed to death in his arms.

"She's bleeding to death!" He snaps to the nearest person. They look at him oddly, and try to talk to him.

"But, sir—"

"Shut the hell up. Where are the EMTs?"

"On their way. You should—"

"We're both doctors. I know what I should do in this situation."

He knows what he should do, but instead presses her to his chest. Maybe he can stop the bleeding this way. Can't she feel the apologies leaving his chest?

"I'm sorry. Cameron, come on, Allison. Come on! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I do like you. I really do. Everyone does. Everyone lies, and I'm not exempt. God, Cameron…" his voice starts to crack.

There is a cacophony of sirens around him that is as silent to him as all the jabbering people who have pulled over to watch the grotesque scene are. He hates the human condition of being drawn to tragedies. Tragedies, gossip, and scandal make those whose lives are boring seem colorful—alive at another's dying expense.

He wants to scream for these people to stop staring. He pushes Cameron's long hair away from her bloodied face. He can almost see her smile. He is reminded of the song…the screeching tires, the busting glass, the sound that I heard last…

"Don't. Oh, God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

More sorries that couldn't make anything better. It reminds him of the reason he never says the words in the first place. Humility is an excellent virtue, but it's for people like Wilson and Cuddy who need it. He does not.

Gregory House apologizing. He is surprised some Candid Camera group does not jump out from the bushes claiming they had "punk'd" him. He'd kill Chase and Foreman if that were the truth. But he knows it is not, for Cameron lies bleeding on the ground. He's a doctor; he can tell the difference between fake blood and real.

And this blood seeping out her is most definitely real.

It is his fault that Cameron lays on the ground bleeding. If he had hit the deer, they might be in the same situation, but they might not. If he hadn't swerved, if he hadn't taken her, if they left five minutes earlier…

"If," he whispers into her ear as he holds her bleeding body.

"Sir, we need you to release her, please. We're here to treat her," an EMT that reminds him of Chase informs him.

"No," he murmurs into her hair.

"Sir, please."

It is a command and House is not used to taking commands.

"I'm Dr. Gregory House, damn it!"

"Sir…"

The voice trails off as two EMTs pull him away from her body. The other Chase-clone EMT bends down to feel her pulse.

"Get two stretchers over here, stat!"

The EMTs leave him and get the stretchers. It is only then when it registers in his mind that there are two stretches being requested.

He listens to the EMTs' chatter, as he is strapped onto the stretcher.

"Male is bleeding profusely from several deep cuts. There may be some internal damage. Female is unconscious and appears to have several broken ribs. One large cut from her sternum to her abdomen."

"Where's all the blood from?"

"This guy right here. Some of the people on the scene say he's delirious. Loss of blood combined with the shock, probably."

Now, House really wants to shout that they're crazy and he's a "doctor, damn it!" But, he can't, because an oxygen mask is being slipped on his face. It's a shame Cuddy never thought of this method to make him shut up.

He wants to be by her, but he can see they are going to be transported in different ambulances. He reaches out his fingers towards her gurney, but he cannot reach. She's too far away, too far away, too damn far away…

And all fades to black.

""""""

Conversations—humans' desperate attempts at filling the not fillable void of static silence. Conversations are periods of time in which something or nothing occurs. They are all disconnected—dispersed throughout days and weeks. They can be important and they can be meaningless—but for a few minutes or seconds they take the pain of loneliness away.

This was a collection of conversations. They were not related, except for the recurring characters. Snippets of "what-ifs" and "could have beens" in different times and places—

Yes, like a conversation.