Thanks to everyone who loved this story and let me know about what they thought while it was in progress! This is the last chapter! Boo, hoo... I really felt sad finishing it, but there are more stories calling to me and I must answer! I could always do a follow-up on this one, but not for a while, maybe. A sequel would be nice...

Please let me know what you think! Don't hesitate to review! I am sorry to all those who will be mad at me for ending this, but I will write more stories, I promise! Thanks!

Pain

She looked so peaceful while asleep, House thought as he walked into her hospital room. He shut the door behind him and pulled the curtains shut for privacy. The lights had been dimmed, hardly any light in the room at all; House had to squint before his eyes became adjusted to the dark in order to see her face.

He stood there for minutes on end, ignoring his leg and it's painful protest to sit. He simply looked at her, taking in every slight detail of her appearance. How beautiful she was, simply laying there in front of him, unaware of his presence, not knowing the thoughts that flashed through his mind. He could almost see himself beside her, holding her, accepting that he could actually feel like other people felt without punishing himself for it. He could imagine waking up every morning to her face, her body next to his, her hair across him... But he knew it was not meant to be.

Finally, unable to stand any longer, he pulled a chair beside her bed, as close as he could get it without hurting himself while sitting down, his cane hanging off the chair arm. She looked tough. Beneath the covers, House guessed where her stitches were and wondered how far her bruise had formed. A rib had been broken, so House knew her chest must have been taped. Her arms lay by her sides, one arm in a cast, the arm closest to him covered in heavy purple bruises. There must have been quite an impact in order to cause such bruises to form so fast. There was a long cut across her cheek, not quite deep enough for stitches. Other than that cut, her face was untouched.

House carefully ran a finger along the cut, which was just starting to close on its own, scabbed over. His finger felt every little ridge of the wound. Carefully, as not to wake her, he brushed back the wisps of hair from her eyes, her hair as soft as he thought it would be. They had put her in a deep sleep so when she would wake up, her body would have started the healing process with as little pain as initially possible. Her skin was pale where it had not been cut or bruises and her eyelashes cast a shadow over her cheeks.

Gently, he took her hand, the poor, bruised hand, and held it, her fingers long and delicate. He bowed his head and shut his eyes: What had he become? A sap with a bleeding heart? No. He struggled inside with his instinct to walk away, to ignore her, to ignore everything. And, when ignoring was not an option, to bite back viciously. But, if he really felt the way he did, he would not leave her; he would not abandon her to the pain that would come to her when she woke up. He could lessen the pain in her heart by being there for her while she battled the pain in her body. He recalled the two pills in his pocket and took them out of the bottle, looking at them intently. She needed them more than he did and, with hardly a sound, he placed them on the bedside table. He was not going to run away from his own pain any longer.

This didn't change who he would be on the outside. He would always be feared, he would always be disliked for his toxic attitude, but he didn't have to put himself through hell just to make a point. He had been doing that for years and years, long before he even knew she existed, and would always be himself. But he didn't need to hurt himself needlessly any longer.

He didn't know if she would accept him. He wasn't sure if she would still love him after this. Again, his doubt came flooding back. If she had given up on him already, how would he bounce back. What if he told her everything and she pushed him away? House knew he wouldn't be so willing to accept someone who had hurt him over and over again. That was what she had done to him without realizing it. Every glance was a sharp pain to him, every movement a poison. But he was sitting there, waiting to accept her.

Softly, as not to wake her or to let anyone know he was there, he started to sing the song that had started all of this, to say the words that had brought her to him in his mind so many times. He was going to sit there until she woke up. She was going to feel her hand in his and hear his voice saying what she had been longing for him to say. And maybe she would have him as her own. Just maybe. But, until he knew, he sang gently, waiting for her.

"As I sit here in the night,

When the lightening cuts the sky,

I sometimes think I hear your voice

Like a distant lullaby.

Alone here in the darkness,

I once thought nothing could go wrong,

And as I sit here thinking,

I hear a distant song.

Now to leave the night,

I need to think my journey thought.

But I can't help my thoughts that wander;

They always wander back to you.

So I put my foot out on the road,

And the lightning cuts the sky,

And I do hear your voice-

It's my nightly lullaby."

Thank you! That was the end! The words at the end could either be the lyrics to 'the song' or just a closing poem to the story; it works either way. I won't babble any further. Thank you for reading and I hope to hear some feedback! Onward to new stories!