-1Author's Note: Just a little ficlet I wrote while on lunch break at work. I'm not a House/Stacy shipper, but I think House has a whole bunch of issues to deal with pertaining to her before he can open up to Cameron:). Enjoy...flame...whatever. I did not use a beta, so if there are any screw-ups blame me:P.

Runner's High
By Housecam

He was always running.

He felt at peace when he ran. The wind was in his face, drying the trickles of sweat that ran down his cheeks. His feet pounded the pavement, punishing it for thinking it had power over him. His muscles ached, but what a sweet pain it was. It was powerful. He could feel the rush of adrenaline from his head to his toes. The burning in his lungs was almost unbearable, but he was close. He knew it.

He looked up ahead and saw the finish line. And she was there, cheering him on. He pushed harder, quickening his pace, keeping his eyes on the prize. 'Good thing I bought these Nike's' he thought. 'Two hundred bucks, but they were damn worth it'. He could see her waving, calling his name, urging him on. His muscles were protesting, begging him for mercy, but he pressed on, eager to feel that burst of energy. It was intoxicating...liberating. Whenever it hit him he felt powerful, like no one could get in his way. Not Cuddy, not Vogler ('rat bastard'), no one.

The runner's high.

And it hit him...just like that.

The burning in his lungs stopped and the aching in his legs let go. He felt free and light as air. He saw Stacy still waving from the finish line, so he once again picked up the pace.

What a high it was! He reveled in the heady feeling he got from it. It was far better than any amount of Vicodin. His mind was clear and he had one goal in mind: make it to the finish line and to Stacy. To finally make it to her this time.

But as he got closer he saw what he had seen dozens of times before. Stacy's face took on a sullen frown as she turned away from him.

'I'll make it this time. I won't lose her this time' he thought.

He pumped his legs harder, hell-bent on making it to her before she disappeared again. He yelled her name, but she never turned around. His thigh began to ache, a dull ache that shot through his frame like a jolt of electricity. His chest felt tight and his face burned, the tears marking a fiery trail down his cheeks. His leg gave out and he was falling.

The twinge in his thigh awoke him, the weight of his cane against his leg a reminder that it was all just a dream. He was in his office, the only light filtering in from the streetlights just outside his window.

And, as always, he was alone.

The end

Reviews are lovely, as always