Author's Note: Hello all! As you can tell by the date on my profile, I'm new, but I've been reading on for ages. Anyway, this is my first posted story, and it is the sixth story I've written in a matter of two years. But I'm not that slow; I just worked on a forty-six page horror up until May of this year, and, it is so awful, the computer freezes whenever I open it. Anyway, please, as you usually would, read and review; lavish yourself in the tranquil—okay, maybe not tranquil—pools of my work. Thank you very much!

Disclaimer: Even if I did own House, I would still make him an abrasive son-of-a-gun with a whip of sarcasm. Otherwise, it's not House.

Spoiler: Unless you count inspiration from "Honeymoon", ("I will not have sex with you! Not again. It was miserable that first time… All that desperate administrative need.") then, no. But, really, there are no spoilers as of yet.

Note: The part about the red shroud, it's a dream, and then it shoots to a flashback. But, after the horizontal rule, it's back to the present. Just thought I'd let you know.


The Land of Qualms

Chapter One: Vacuum

"Cuddy, I'm not having sex with you again."

A grating glare adorned her eyes, a subtle darkening mimicking a transition between sunset and night.

"You don't have to."

He turned around, his blue eyes flowing over with curiosity, which masked the anxiety that was crawling up his skin like the limelight.

"I'm pregnant."

For a fleeting second, his eyes seemed to widen, as though they were searching for the air of euphoria that at one point had danced about his features. But, to their misfortune, it had disappeared long ago.

"Well then, I guess those shirts you love will have to go bye-bye for a few months." And, with that, House limped down the hall, the jangling of his Vicodin bottle like a baby's rattle.

A baby's rattle. Could this be a perverse reality? She started after him, her slender form casting shadows that frolicked upon the walls. Inside, she felt disoriented, like a winding road, and it seemed as though she had become feeble, like she was naked in front of a crowd of spectators. And, in that crowd, there he was, staring at her intently, gazing upon her being, and all she could envision were those callous eyes. Then she remembered. It was all a dream.

Sodium patterns threw themselves against the white backdrop. And there she stood, her eyes grazing over the crowd, finding familiarity to be dominant in its presence. But one face in particular bestowed an unsettled feeling in core. His blue eyes scanned her body, every curve accentuated by the light shining upon her crimson shroud. The air around them sang, waves of life curling at their feet that bowed humbly. The sky was filled with color, spectrums shining down upon the ground in a foreign manner. The alien glow shone down upon her, washing over her body like a sheet of rain. But, with a sudden intensity, the shroud was torn from her body, floating gently on waves of wind.

Cuddy moaned slightly as the pasty cover was removed from her body, abstract patterns dancing in the light of the sunrise. She turned over only to see him. House. Her temples throbbed, pulsing violently as blood rushed through, and she gazed down over her body, observing the absence of the blanket.

"House…"

"What? I had to pee."


"House!"

"What?"

"Did you even hear what I said?"

Mock inquiry over-whelmed his features for a moment, before subsiding and allowing uniform petulance to settle. He sat down on one of the chairs lining the hall, his contours instantly conforming to it.

"Why no, Cuddy. Could you please repeat yourself?"

"Greg…"

"Oh fine. You're such a buzz kill."

"I'm not joking here."

"Well, do you ever joke?"

"I'm pregnant… With your child."

He paused for moment, the realization dawning on him in a slow, sensuous manner.

"I know I'm a doctor and all, and should already know this, but, please, tell me how you came to this oddly disgusting conclusion."

"Please, this is hard enough for me to cope with as it is. I don't need your sarcasm as well."

"Right. So we're all so supposed to feel bad for you because you're paid twice as much and have more authority… Just because you're pregnant? Cuddy, you amaze me."

He rested his head on the crest of his cane, stroking his hand lightly over the polished wood, unsettling the glimmers of light that were radiating from it. He looked up at her with his blue eyes, the innocence reflecting his true inner feelings toward the situation.

"If you're not to be serious about this, I'm going to go ahead and do what I planned."

"And that would be?"

"I think you can guess."

She irately went, and he watched her go, sighing morosely like the winds of a storm. His inner-most feelings seemed to be exposed, vulnerable to attack by invisible predators. He felt as though he was the one holding the dagger over the mistress's heart, listening to her begging, her pleading. And yet, even in dominance, he still had the audacity to murder. For now and at the hour, he would be the one burdened by the accusations.

"Pray for us now and at the hour of our death."

Not that it was murder, but more of a permissible form of death. But, even so, his heart felt heavy, as though coated with constellations of melancholy.

Now, even for him, the slightly candid air that had enveloped the situation had disappeared, leaving only the reality to stand on feeble legs. He was going to be a father, yet, he was still in denial over her words. It was as though he could not grasp the concept, like it rested on the extreme edge of a plain, but, even though he continued to progress towards it, it remained out of proximity.

"I'm pregnant… With your child."

In a scientific manner, he could easily discern how this had occurred. Life force to life force. Man to woman. And, finally, lust overcoming hate. But, realistically, his mind was in a slight haze. Clouds of inconceivability roamed about his conscience, prowling. Rather, beyond these shadows, a maze had appeared, and, in it, his neglected emotions rested, waiting for death. But that did not mean they did not fulfill their duty, or what ever little duty they had. He stood up with effort, his erected figure contradicting the monotonous corridors of the hospital. He gazed out upon the scene before him: nothing. He was in the vacuum of his life, wandering aimlessly into oblivion, peering out beyond the edges of the world he dominated. And that was the way it would remain forever; forever lost in the curse of uniformity, a vast pallor that retreated in every direction, but never found escape. But, although his inner world was desolate, uninhabited by the lush life that would never start anew, he knew that his external life could contrast it. He meandered down the hall, the void moving in pursuit with him like a shadow.


Author's Note: Alas, the end of chapter one is here. How very melancholic— at least for me. No, but really, I will post another chapter as soon as I can for those loyal readers. Anyway, please, constructive criticism is appreciated, as well as praise. Flaming is a no in my book, so, respect my portrayal of the characters. Thank you!