2a---2b coming soon.

12:10 AM

Dr. Gregory House is lying on his back, snoring softly. Occasionally, he puts a hand on his stomach to scratch softly around the area.

The butterfly that rested on his abdomen flitted away.

Suddenly, a soft voice began to sing a pop song, slightly off-key:

To all your friends, you're delirious
So consumed, with all your doom
Trying hard to fill the emptiness
The piece is gone left the puzzle undone
That's the way it is…

With every stanza, the voice became stronger, louder, and clearer. As the volume rose, bright white light began to penetrate through House's closed eyelids.

Annoyed, House sat up and opened his eyes.

He nearly went blind. The first thing that popped into his now-clear head was "What the hell makes that kind of light?!"

He closed his eyes tightly, raised his right hand to eye level, and cautiously slit an eye open. The light ebbed a bit, enough for House to safely open his eyes, adjust to the moderated brightness, and look at the intruder who woke him up successfully by offending his ears with a lame excuse for a singing voice.

The first thing House noticed was the source of the bright white light—the gown.

The intruder was wearing a glowing white gown with long, puffed sleeves ending in fitted cuffs on the wrists. Diminutive hands were encased in gloves of a similar white, presently clasped around a familiar rodent. To his experienced eyes, House noted that the person wearing the gown is female, barely past her pre-teens. Looking up, blue eyes widened as they beheld the face.

House vaguely remembered Wilson saying something about giving her another year to live.

"Andie, right?" he muttered in surprise. "You—you have hair!"

The girl smiled widely, tilting her head to the side to show the doctor how long her curly red-gold locks are. Steve McQueen looked up at her, whiskers all a-twitching as Andie scratched him behind the ears.

"Nice—you have to tell me who gave you the new 'do one of these days," House murmured, carefully moving his legs to the side of the bed. "So—what brings you here? Can't find Dr. Chase's place? I have to warn you—he moved on after you were discharged."

Andie giggled, putting Steve on her left shoulder before walking towards the end of House's bed. She sat on one end of the large chest that was situated at the foot of the four-poster and turned to face House, putting her elbows on the bed frame and her chin on her upturned hands.

"My mom made this dress for my eleventh birthday; I died in my sleep ten days later."

House made a face. He almost forgot. "I'm sorry."

Andie lowered her eyes briefly before raising them back to House's. "It's not your fault—you did help me and give me some more time with Mom. I'm grateful to you because of that, and that's why I was chosen."

House looked away from her. "It's my job, Andie. And what do you mean you were 'chosen'?"

"Didn't Dr. Powell tell you?" Andie asked. Steve had moved from Andie's shoulder to the top of her head and squeaked. "I'm the first visitor; I'm here to take you back to your past."

It can't be! House swallowed—"Sure—where'd you put the Deloriem then, kid?"

Andie tilted her head to the side. "Deloriem?"

"Never mind," House grumbled. She's a ghost—shouldn't she know about the good ol' movies by now?

"Sorry, Dr. House," Andie said brightly, hopping off the chest and walking around the foot of the bed to face him. "I didn't get to review all the movies made twenty years ago."

House stared incredulously at Andie. Andie smiled beatifically at him.

"Okay, we have to get going now. I have 20-something minutes to do my bit before the second visitor arrives. Let's go!"

Without warning, the Andie-phantom grabbed his hand firmly into her gloved one and pulled him towards the bedroom window. House tried and was unable to stop her—it was like trying to stop a moving car his hand was attached to—and could only yell, "Whoa, Nelly, I mean Andie!"

The windows opened of their own accord into the cold New Jersey winter. Andie was running for it, taking House with her whether he wanted to or not. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable explosion of glass, blood, pain, invectives and snow, but it never came.

And speaking of pain—his leg wasn't hurting him!

Andie read his mind again. "You've been given a temporary break from the pain, Dr. House," she explained. "You can open your eyes now. We're here."

"You could have let me get my shoes and jacket, you know," House grumbled, his eyes still closed. Why did he say that? No leg pain, former bald cancer kid with a head full of hair and the strength and speed of a rampaging bull—it's a messed-up dream, it has to be.

His analytical mind would accept no other conclusion.

Fine—I'll play along. Maybe Jenna Jameson will finally give me that—

House paused, remembering Andie was beside him. Oh, hell, it was just a dream.

––lap dance.

"Ew!" Andie squealed.

"What?" House said innocently, opening his eyes to look at his companion. Even Steve McQueen––peeking at his master through thick, curly hair––seemed to share Andie's disgust. "You're just a bit player in a crazy, alcohol-infused dream. You'll live—"

A blur of red ran past them.

"––forever."

House stiffened, tracking the progress of the red blur until it reached a snow-covered barn.

It can't be…

"Uncle George's farm," he muttered as the figure in red paused before the barn doors, looking left and right before pushing one side of the barn door open, wide enough for the figure to get through. House began walking towards the barn. "He invited us here to spend Christmas with him when I was your age."

He didn't notice that he was cold—or walking on top of the snow.

"That was you, wasn't it?" Andie asked softly, tilting her head to the left. Steve squeaked as he took a bit of curl into his paws and nibbled a little of her hair.

"Didn't want to show up at breakfast," House replied gruffly as they approached the barn doors. The door the boy went through opened silently on its own. It closed on its own after House and Andie stepped inside.

As they walked past the stalls where the horses were kept, Andie continued, "It's Christmas morning, Dr. House. What were you trying to avoid?"

"Reindeer steaks—they told me they caught Rudolph on the roof the night before; he gave himself away with his nose," House grumbled.

Without warning, a shot of pain coursed through his thigh, making House howl in pain and lose his balance. He reached a stall door in time, bracing himself on it until the pain ebbed away. "What the hell was that?!" he yelled. It was already obvious to him that aside from Andie and his rat, no one would have heard his outburst.

Andie and Steve were frowning at him. "Don't look at me—I'm not the one lying."

"What?!"

Andie sighed in exasperation, as though it should have been obvious by now. "Remember me telling you about the temporary break from the pain, Dr. House? Well, your leg will hurt if you don't take our questions seriously."

House stared at Andie as though the girl was out of her mind. Actually, between the two of us, I'm the most likely candidate for the straightjacket.

"So, this is the afterlife's version of the Spanish Inquisition, huh?"

Andie shrugged.

"Great." House raised himself up carefully, testing his weight on his bad leg before he placed all his weight on it. He experimentally walked three steps towards Andie before he bent down until their eyes were level with each other.

"I didn't want to move again," he said.

Andie smiled. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Like getting rid of my beard with Cuddy's tweezers," House replied through his teeth.

The barn doors opened. A tall, sparse figure entered the structure and walked towards them. House straightened up and turned around to look at the newcomer.

The man was as tall as House, but much skinnier, even with the added layers. As the light from the upper side windows of the barn hit the man's head, it showed a long, gaunt face, framed on the sides with wild, bushy sideburns tinged a premature gray. There is a large wooden box tucked under his arm.

"Greg?" he called out in a soothing, deep voice. "I know you're in here, boy. Come on out—you're worrying your mother half to death."

A melodramatic "I'm not going!" was issued from one of the stalls behind House and Andie. Uncle George went straight through them and went to a stall three meters away. House and Andie followed him.

In the leftmost corner of the straw-laden stall was a skinny colt, its inky blackness marred by the white cast on its right hind leg. Behind the colt was an eleven-year-old Greg, rubbing a hand across the creature's neck. The boy did not look up, even as the older man opened the stall door and entered the cramp quarters. After shutting the door behind him, Uncle George placed the box on the floor before he leaned on the door and crossed his arms, staring down at his nephew.

"I'm not going," Greg repeated in a low mutter.

"Why the hell not?" Uncle George replied. There was no malice behind that question, just curiosity. "You can't stay here, Greg, and Crisco can't come with you."

"Crisco?" Andie snorted, giggling madly.

"He ate an entire tub of lard while no one was looking," House said as he glared down at her. "The idiot pony had it coming when Aunt Martha asked me to name him."

"And how did you know the pony did it?" Andie asked him.

"I––might've snuck a tub out to experiment on something in the barn when no one was looking."

"You know your folks won't let me keep you here, Greg," Uncle George said, "especially that piece of work my sister married. God knows why he doesn't like me…"

Greg snorted, trying hard not to smile as he continued to run his hand down Crisco's glossy black mane.

"But, no lawyer or judge in Canada will let me keep you here, kiddo," Uncle George continued. "And your mother likes you too much."

"I'll write to her everyday!" Greg cried, looking up at his uncle with wide, hopeful blue eyes. "I'll concentrate on my studies; I always get straight A's! And I'll help you around the farm and stuff and––"

"No," Uncle George interrupted.

The past and present Greg House bowed their heads.

But Uncle George wasn't finished yet.

"Believe it or not, your mother and I don't like this moving around business—no stability for a growing boy. But it's part of your dad's job, and I'm still amazed he hasn't started World War III yet. Other than that, how many kids do you know who's traveled around the world, huh? Who's gonna tell me and Aunt Martha about the pyramids and camels in Egypt, eh? Your Aunt Martha, she needs fuel to brag about her globe-trotting nephew to the Wakemans for the upcoming fair."

Uncle George bent down and picked up the box from the floor.

"Here, boy—take this with you."

Greg stood up and walked towards the older man, taking the box from him. It looked like an old-fashioned tool box. Curious, the boy looked up at his uncle.

"Put some good stuff in it, wherever you go. That's my Christmas present for you, kid."

Greg grinned and impulsively hugged Uncle George, who looked awkward and then patted Greg's curly-haired head.

"Still want to stay here, brat?"

"No sir."

"Good—someone in your family has to take care of my sister."

"Should've taken care of him, too," House muttered as he saw his younger self run towards the barn doors, holding the large box to his chest. "Uncle George died in a hit-and-run when I was fourteen."

"Time to go, Dr. House," Andie said softly, taking his large hand into hers.

Reviews, please. I hear it helps with the writer's block...