It is a dream sequence, in case anyone's wondering.

Soft lips whispered against House's ear as he sat at the piano, hands flowing over the keys and throwing out the sounds of a guitar, eyes fixed on the condensation pouring down a glass of scotch. He felt warm, chocolate brown eyes stroking the back of his neck. "It goes like this," silken words echoed in his mind. "The 4th, the 5th, the minor fall and the major lift."

"Hey, stranger." House mumbled over the music soaking into him. "Past, present or future?"

"Past."

"Did God tell you that I had to change my ways or go to hell? 'Cus I don't believe a word of it; that guy's always had it in for me."

"Since when did you believe in him?"

Eyes always fixed on the glass, on the tracks of water and the melting ice diluting amber liquid. "I don't believe in anything. You're nothing but worms and meat."

"But I'm still here." The words were tempting, caressing.

"I wish you would go. Leave me be."

House was alone in the dark. One room, one dark room and he knew there was a door somewhere but it was too noisy. If the music would just stop, if the drumming and strumming would leave and the piano would be silenced, he might be able to remember where it was. He might be able to hear the voice telling him how to get out. Light flashed and in a brief moment that lasted forever House saw the door to his right, Wilson holding his cane to the left and Vogler behind the glass holding a clipboard. Then dark again and the music stopped. His ears ached in the silence, buzzing, ringing. Breathing echoed around him; his breath and Wilson's mingling into a sound more deafening than the music.

House was sat on his couch with Chinese takeout in his hand. A man whose hair smelled of coconut walked in and handed him a beer. They laughed and talked and smiled and learnt everything they had to know and House could not hear a word of it. Breath still stung in his ears and drowned out the rest of the world. He felt the vibrations of his own voice deep in his throat as he spoke but couldn't process what he was saying. A carton of takeout fell to the floor, the remnants sinking into the thick carpet pile. House left it to stain.

Coconut filled his nostrils as the couch dipped beside him. Warmth radiated from the body next to him. Breathing stopped, his own chest was still and so was Wilson's. The chocolate brown eyes glazed and did not move, the skin turned dull and grey and House felt the warmth drain away from him far too soon.

Icy air tingled over House's skin when the blue lips moved. "I've seen your flag on the marble arch."

"You never saw anything." House couldn't feel the vibrations anymore.

"I saw you."

"Lies. Everybody lies; you're just one more body." House felt cold hands close over his face and darkness consumed him again, all the more terrifying when it was accompanied by silence. "The world still moves without you."

"You don't."

House was lying in a hospital bed wearing a gown, with an IV hooked up to his right wrist and blood draining from his left. A green tie hung where his chart should be. A man sat beside him, nose crinkled from a smile that had spread across his perfect features. The man spoke with relief in his voice, "You woke up."

"You didn't." House replied.

"I'm not sleeping. She left you a gift."

"I've seen this room before."

"You work here. Today you get to be the puzzle."

"Think you can solve me?"

Wilson laughed. "If I can't, I'll die trying."

House stood shivering on the balcony that joined their offices. It was night and the stars were shining but the moon was no where to be seen. He stood close to James, looking directly at him, taking in the image of his face, his body, his life.

James cast his eyes down with something like regret. "Remember when I moved in you?"

"Never happened." House shook his head.

"You've thought about it. You've dreamt of me before."

"Dreams don't mean what they say."

"When you kissed me and touched me, came for me and made me come for you, held me and whispered that you loved me, when you woke up with wet sheets, what did those dreams mean?" Wilson leant in close, they were brow to brow and cobalt blue eyes locked with chocolate brown ones.

"Probably just some sort of issues with my parents."

So close to him, Wilson laughed.

"You know what? You left. You don't get answers anymore."

""Anymore?" When did I get them before?"

"You never asked before." House retorted. He found himself where he had began, back to square one with lips whispering against his ear and a glass of scotch the only thing in his line of sight. The ice had melted now, amber liquid sat warm and dilute in a dry glass.

"The 4th, the 5th, the minor fall and the major lift."

"Shhh." House played piano. He felt warm lips pressed to the back of his neck, a tongue firmly working away the knots in his muscles. Guiding hands coaxed him away from the piano and lead him to the bedroom, supporting him but never allowing him to turn around and see the face. Coconut and bitter, dark chocolate engulfed him.

Red and black. Crimson. Sheets and sodium light. Slick, sweat, friction. Burning. Pulsing. Throbbing, pounding rhythm. Writhing. Sheets; bitter, binding, torn. Electrical shocks. Cobalt. Chocolate. Luminosity. Salt skin. Silk. Force and pressure and penetration. Hollow. Clutching, craving. Tangled. Saturated. Bucking. Arching. Cold and broken release.