CHAPTER 3: AWAKENING
House was burning with fever. He lay on the hospital bed, surgery had just been performed. Luckily, the tumors were gone, and his leg didn't have to be amputated. Dominika was sitting at the edge of the bed, having got no sleep, anxiously watching over the sick man. Occasionally, her nominal husband would let out a grunt or a sigh, upon which she would slightly squeeze his hand and whisper, "I'm here, it's gonna be fine". Her touch seemed to have a soothing effect on him. She cast a look on his face. He now looked calm, almost tranquil, the previous expression of discomfort replaced by a more relaxed one. The doctors had said he was soon going to wake up, as the anaesthetic wore off. She earnestly wished he was going to feel better when he regained his senses. Dominika blinked and rubbed her eyes, trying her best not to fall asleep.
Gregory House was in the throes of fever dreams, each one more intense than its predecessor. First, it was Stacy. Stacy was hovering above him, while he was unable to move. "Why, House? I just tried to do my best. I thought it would turn out for the best", she said, looking straight at his eyes. "Really? Here's the result of your actions. I got to continue living with that useless chunk of flesh!", he answered in protest, adding, "I wouldn't wish that to mine own worst enemy!". "But I loved you. Even after you ended our relationship", she said, her face now downcast. "And you got married to Mark", he shot back. "I'd leave him for you", she remarked. "What's the point of all this? We've both made our decisions", he responded. "The point is I'm still in your mind, House. You haven't moved on...", her voice trailed off. In an instant, she was gone. "No, don't go away!", he pleaded, now enveloped in darkness. A soft voice said, out of nowhere, "I'm here, it's gonna be fine". For a moment, House felt as if he'd reached a place he could feel secure, free from his anguish.
A speck of light appeared, another figure hovering over him. House had some trouble focusing on her features but, as his focus became clearer, he could see it was Amber! "You are supposed to be dead", House observed. "And how are you so sure you are alive?", she asked quizzically, cocking an eyebrow at his direction. "My leg hurts like hell", he replied. "Not more than Wilson's heart when I died", she retorted, adding, "Do you ever think about that, House? You do, because, if you didn't, I wouldn't be here". "You shouldn't. Last time I saw you, I had to go to a mental hospital", he answered. "Who told you you are sane? If you were, you wouldn't try that compound. You tried to fix it and look what happened. Maybe you don't have all the answers", she quipped, her intense gaze still fixed upon him. "Don't blame me. I didn't force you to pick me up, didn't drive the vehicle that hit the bus, didn't give you the pills that ultimately killed you", he said, trying to look away from her, but not being able to. "It's not me who blames you, it's yourself. I don't exist", she whispered in a seductive voice, then she disappeared, just as with Stacy, leaving him alone in the darkness. House looked all around, seeing only pitch black. The soothing voice whispered again, "I'm here, it's gonna be fine", again lifting his burdens momentarily.
Another ray of light illuminated his darkness, bringing another figure with it. This time, House had no trouble recognizing who it was, knowing Cuddy too well to mistake her for someone else. "You here? That's ridiculous. You didn't even answer the damn call!", he shouted. "Have been popping pills again, House?", she enquired. "I'd like to. My leg is killing me", he blurted out. "You are afraid of pain, because you are afraid of love. When you love someone, you make yourself open to their problems, their fears", she replied. "As if you haven't said that already", he quipped, adding, his face now downcast, "I wanted to be with you. I really wanted. I guess... I guess I feared. I was afraid I'd lose you". "And you screwed up. Funny", she shot back. "Look at yourself", she added, "really do it. You've got nothing, House, nothing and no one. For all your antics, all your stunts, you still failed to move on". "Go away", House protested. "You ain't real, you're just a figment of my imagination. Go away", he beseeched her. "You can't move on, House", she said again, this time disappearing. Again, he was left alone, the light extinguished once more. "I'm here, it's gonna be fine", he heard the soothing voice again.
The rest of the dreams passed in a blur. He could see his father, his features cold and stern, as he undid his belt and struck little Greg, the boy pleading for the pain to stop, but on no avail. Tonight, the young boy knew, he'd be forced to sleep outside, deprived of food, having been forced to endure an ice-cold shower. His mother was in the adjoining room, fully aware of what was happening, but she didn't lift a finger or say a single word to help her son. He could see that buraku in Japan, the man whom people scorned, yet to him they turned when anything else had failed. That man had inspired him to become a doctor. His teenage self could also be seen in the background. He could see an awkward moment, when he'd briefly been a cheerleader. Years from then, he still didn't know what had spurred him to that decision, silly, yet really very funny. He could see his first meeting with Wilson. The beginning of the only friendship in his life. Wilson, his friend, his conscience. Wilson, always kind. Wilson, who watched all the monster trucks events with him. He wished time could freeze in one of the moments he'd spent with his friend, one of the moments he was too absorbed in living in the present instant that his pain seemed to go away, to simply vanish. But, the next snapshot was of the day of the infarction, the horrible day when his life took the great downwards spiral. House felt like screaming, both from pain and from despair, but the cry couldn't escape his lips. "I'm here, it's gonna be fine", the soothing voice repeated.
House lay still, the fever dreams having ended their sequence. Still asleep, he saw only dark, but of a different kind. The previous darkness had been malevolent and threatening, this darkness was relaxing and even hopeful. He didn't feel like waking up, his pain was low enough not to bother him and he was in blissful oblivion of whatever transpired around him. He could feel a very realistic human presence nearby. If I believed in a god, he told himself in his dream, I'd swear I got a guardian angel. Gradually, the darkness surrounding him started to dissipate, giving its place to his real surroundings, in the material world. His eyes were still closed, but his senses were slowly returning. I must be still alive, he thought. His memory was getting active again, reminding him of the events of last night. What time was it? What day? Where was he? His pain was still low, so he just let himself lie still, wishing to savor the moment, to relish in the sensation of feeling normally, of feeling like a human being, free of the torturous discomfort that dominated his life for all those years. He could still feel the human presence, meaning it was real, unlike the ghosts of people living and dead that his subconscious had produced. He could feel the unknown person grasping his hand, wishing to tell him it was all going to be alright, just like the mysterious soothing voice of his dream. Could it be that the voice of the person sitting beside him right now had found its way to his dream? He wasn't sure what to think of. He could hear footsteps in the distance and human voices, although he couldn't make heads or tails of what was being said. He braced himself, mentally preparing for opening his eyes to face the world. His sight was blurry at first, but after blinking once or twice he could clearly see who was the one beside him. In surprise, his voice a croak, he muttered, "Dominika?".