It's Tuesday; there is no House tonight and I am feeling especially evil. So, I've provided this chapter to bring each and every one of you into my world so we can suffer together. :o)

Wow, think I need aspirin. Lol

Thanks for the wonderful reviews, and for AtreidesHeir who is kinda my muse (or muser? What's a male muse? Arent' muses female? Sigh).

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – Slip, Sliding Away

House awakens later that morning by a nurse who is readjusting the injection site of the I.V. tube. He grunts and turns his head toward the nurse, not bothering to open his eyes; he can feel the sun shining in the room and he knows it will seer into his eyes. After a moment he can tell the nurse moves into the stream of light and he slowly opens his eyes.

"Well, hello, sleepy head," says a familiar voice, coming from a familiar face, but not at all an acceptable scenario.

"Wilson," he starts to say, looking confused and peculiar at him. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Nah! I feel fine, really. I just have a little headache but a dose of morphine will do the trick." Wilson answers with a smile on his face.

"But, you don't have a cast on your arm…the concussion…"

"Oh, don't need a cast now, House. I am 100 cured – well, 99 because I still have the headache."

"This…I don't understand…this can't be real. You don't sound like the Wilson I know and loved," House stammers, albeit a bit comical with that last word.

"Oh, I am a much better person now. I'm happy. And you will be glad to know there is an afterlife; or, maybe not."

House's mouth drops and the space above his nose wrinkles in many lines as his eyes dig deeper into Wilson, trying to understand what exactly is going on. "Oh, wait. I get it! I'm dreaming! This isn't real! Because there IS no afterlife," House says and relaxes back down in the bed, closing his eyes and waiting to wake up again to reality this time.

The room grows silent and after a few minutes he dares to open his eyes. The first thing he sees as his lids slowly rise is Wilson's waist, then his chest, then his face. 'Okay, he's still here. But he's not supposed to be here. Wait, afterlife? What the hell…oh, no, no, no, no, no...'

"No…no…no!" House screams as he bolts up in a sitting position, instantaneously crying out loud as the pain rips through his body. He throws himself back down, not once opening his eyes. He's afraid to; he's afraid of what he'll see. 'It was a nightmare. That's all it was. A nightmare,' he thinks to himself.

"Nope, sorry, Ace," Wilson's voice rings through his ears. "It's no nightmare. Let's just say it's a dream, a nice dream even. Sorry, but I can't help with any wet dreams," Wilson says with a laugh.

House opens his eyes, looks at Wilson and asks, "Then why are you here?"

"I'm here because it's time for me to go now. I've been allowed to come back to tell you something."

"Fine, I'll bite. It's a dream, anyway, right? Hey! Can you get Angelina Jolie for me?" House laughs a little unnervingly.

"Nope, she's in Namibia. She had a girl," Wilson tells him calmly, his voice almost angelic.

"Damn."

"Anyway, I came back to tell you I don't blame you."

House looks at him confused and asks, "Of course you don't…wait, don't blame me for what?"

"I didn't have to take your bike. Heck, I shouldn't have gone in the first place. But I did, because that's what I'd do for a friend. I wanted to protect you, I've always done that. But you are on your own, now. I won't be around to protect you anymore."

House continues to look at Wilson perplexed; he's not sure anymore if this is a real dream or a dream within a dream. If it was a dream, can it possibly be true that Wilson is in the room with House? If that's the case then that means…

"Wilson!" House cries out, his body shuddering as the rest of his body becomes awake, his head tossing back and forth to wake himself up from the nightmare. "WILSON!"

"House, HOUSE! It's okay. It was a dream." He hears a recognizable voice and feels something pressing against his forehead; it's cold and damp and actually feels good to him.

"Wils…he died…he's gone…," he mutters out loud, almost incoherently.

"No, no, House. Wilson is fine. He's still in I.C.U. but he's going to be okay."

"No, he said…blames me…," House mumbles as his head slowly stops tossing to and fro.

"Give him 20cc Noxtria," a disembodied voice says.

"No, no, don' put me out. Need…to see…Wilson…"

Within a few seconds he feels his head become foggy and his body slowly melts away. "Staaayyy awaak…gotta staaay awaaa…" and in seconds he is out cold.

Cuddy checks the vitals on the monitor beside House's bed and her shoulders visibly ease, but her face still shows much concern. She turns back to House and continues to pat his forehead and face with the damp washcloth.

"Cuddy, why did you lie to him?" says another female voice, who has been watching the two from the door of the room.

"Because with the fever as high as it is and him having nightmares, it only means the infection is getting worse. He doesn't need to know Wilson slipped into a coma overnight," Cuddy tells Cameron, and continues to pat the sweat away from House's forehead and brow.