A/N: While we are all learning the latest changes/updates to this site, I would like to remind people reading my stories that "Reviews" are supposed to be about the particular story you're reading not for disparaging or attempting to start arguments with other reviewers. And that especially goes for the people who don't even have the courage of their convictions to properly sign in and attempt to hide behind the cloak of anonymity of "guest." I can and have deleted those types of reviews as they are totally unnecessary. Also, if you feel the need to knock me personally or my work then don't review IN ANY MANNER. Quite honestly, I've NEVER seen a truly constructive piece of accurate criticism and I would also definitely have to see proof of purchase before I accepted any, i.e. who are you to tell me my writing sucks if you, yourself are in fact a sucky writer?

But enough negativity, I want to thank the majority of folks that continue to send me positive feedback and are supportive and interested, even enjoying any of my stories including this one.

And now the chapter that reveals the crux of the dream that this story is based on. Thanks for reading.

Chapter 10: Lookin for a New Friend

How many days had passed, House hardly knew. They ran together in an indistinguishable patchwork of forced tests and procedures, fighting against his restraints and drug-induced sleep.

When he next became aware of opening his eyes, a general haze pervading the room made it impossible for him to separate light from shadow. Shapes slid one into the other in a blurry, color-filled tapestry while there remained around the edges a bright halo separating each from the other and drawing out the objects from the darkness that crept like ravening wolves along the borders of his vision.

The sound of a groan filled his ears. At the same time he heard it, he also vaguely realized he was the one who had emitted the noise.

His throat still hurt from the tube that had been forced down his throat but was no longer in place. His mouth was parched, his tongue swollen.

House ran his tongue thickly along the inside of his cheeks and across his teeth. Smacking his lips in a chewing gesture, he continued to struggle to focus his vision. He blinked his eyes a few times but was unable to see anything beyond fuzzy shapes bleeding into one another. Lazily, he decided to close his eyes and keep them shut in order to stop the slight rotation that had begun to make him dizzy.

"Water," he whispered through dry lips.

Although he couldn't see, he heard movement in the room. He tried and failed to raise his arms.

"Nope. You're in restraints. That's what happens when you do something stupid like try to off yourself in a hospital. Here, drink some water."

A straw was pressed to his cracked lips. He sensed it rather than saw it being lifted up as he gratefully swallowed the cooling liquid down his burning throat.

"Easy. Take it easy. Not too fast or you'll choke."

Just as he heard these words, House gagged and began to cough.

"See? Don't be such a greedy bastard. No need to rush."

House coughed a few more times before he croaked, "How do you know I didn't just make another attempt on my life? By drowning myself."

"Waterboarding through a straw? You really are pathetic, you know that?"

House forced himself not to smile. The straw was placed against his mouth again and he took a few more swallows.

"How do you feel?"

He couldn't place the voice. It was definitely familiar. Feminine but slightly husky, its tone was deeper but in a still womanly and sensual manner.

It wasn't Wilson that was for sure. House doubted Wilson would ever want to see him or speak to him again. Not after this. Not after screwing up this badly, not after letting his best friend down . . . again.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" House said.

"Probably because they want to know."

"No they don't. People only say that because they can't think of anything else to say."

"I think when people ask you that question in a hospital, it's a pretty good bet they really want to know how you feel. Not because it's an ice breaker at a cocktail party."

"Still a stupid question. The people in this hospital already know I got run over by a car."

"And then you followed that stunt with a suicide attempt. Who's the stupid one in this scenario?"

House tried again not to crack a smile. "If you were sent from the psych department, you're doing a crappy job. Don't they tell you posers you shouldn't insult a person who's just attempted suicide?"

"Don't care. I call 'em the way I see 'em. Besides, I wasn't sent from the psych department."

House opened his heavy eyelids again. But this time, he kept them open, determined to make sense of the swirling patterns of light and color that slowly began to settle into the familiar shapes of his hospital room.

And one shape he hadn't laid eyes on in a long, long time.

House's unremitting gaze made his visitor shrink ever so slightly. It had been some time since she had seen those eyes but she could not help feeling a slight flutter at their brilliant color. At the same time she felt her heart plummet in her breast at the haunted, hopeless expression they held within.

"So are you from someone else's psych department then? Is this a professional or a social call? Either way, I'd say your timing is impeccable. Just got in under the wire. You almost missed me."

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

House took in the blonde hair, the slight figure. He closed his eyes again, trying to blot out not only her presence but his own, scattered thoughts.

"Well since I don't believe in an afterlife, I have to accept that you're really here. Which means that I'm still here and that my attempt to put an end to my boredom was a dismal failure."

House heard a chair being dragged across the floor, coming closer to his bed. He also heard her, with a small sigh, settle herself into the chair.

"So you're saying you wanted to die because you were bored? And since you just admitted that you don't believe in an afterlife, you were going to trade living in boredom for the ultimate boredom of being dead? Of rot and decay? You really are a complete tool."

This time House was unable to keep the grin from crossing his lips. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

He could hear the smile in her voice as she said, "I bet you do."

House was finally able to settle the shapes dancing about in his vision. She shivered as she met his now focused clear blue eyes, as she heard him say with bitterness, "So why are you here? To thank me? You can show your gratitude by blowing me and then getting the hell out of here."

"Is that your regular fee?" she asked without flinching as she stood up. "Well I certainly don't want to get a reputation for not paying my debts."

A single step brought her close to him. She leaned closer still, filling House's nostrils with the heady scents of vanilla and honeysuckle that made his head feel like it was spinning once more. He felt her small hands touch the top of his blankets.

House's hands jerked against the restraints that held him fast.

"No," he said looking at her and then looking away.

"What's the matter? No longer want your blow job?"

"Just get out," House said, closing his eyes. "Leave me alone."

"No, no. I never Welsh on a bet. And I always pay my debts. So what's a little hummer between friends? Seems a small price to pay for saving my life."

She reached for the blankets again.

"I said get out!" House said, his eyes flying open again, flashing electric blue in his anger.

"Worried about me seeing the bandages for your missing leg? Don't worry House. That's not the leg I'm interested in."

"Leave. Me. Alone." House said, his voice low and dangerous.

She left her hands on the covers. Underneath, she could feel his chest rise and fall with his increased respiration, could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as if it were an enraged animal beating against the bars of its cage.

Good. Anger was good. Much more productive than self-pity and suicidal depression.

She looked from her hands still resting on his chest up the length of his long neck to his flushed face. A wild fury contorted his handsome features. But his eyes were wide with naked fear.

She brushed the blankets laying across him as if she were merely making up the bed.

"God you're beautiful when you're angry," she said. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

Confusion sailed across House's sea-blue eyes momentarily. And then a sense of highly practiced self-control followed like a wave and dropped the mask once more.

"I get that all the time too. In between being called a tool and an ass."

"And a jerk?" she said with a smile.

"Not necessarily in that order."

She brushed her fingers across his chest again, this time to satisfy her own need rather than his. She allowed her hand to linger upon his body for a few moments longer before settling again into her chair.

There was an awkward silence for awhile before House said, "So what are you doing here? Really."

"I came here to see an old friend. Thought I'd stop by Princeton as I'm still an adjunct professor here. I also wanted to personally thank the man who saved my life. But if I'd known that you'd want me to show my appreciation by giving you a blow job, I would have come much sooner."

"I'll say you would have come sooner. And a lot more often. I would have made sure of that," House replied, a sly smile just barely crossing his lips, reclaiming a bit of his old bravado now that she was no longer standing over him.

"But I didn't save your life," he said. "I only diagnosed you. The guy who drank your pee and drilled a hole in your head saved your life."

Dr. Cate Milton smiled again. "Because you told him to. If you hadn't . . ."

"Where is urine breath anyway? I thought you two would have gotten hitched and set up housekeeping in your own private igloo by now."

Cate's smile melted away, her expression turning melancholy. "The only things that mate in Antarctica are penguins. And even they don't mate for life. I guess because once they leave their glacier, it's a whole different story. Your life changes when you return to the open ocean."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" House said. "Did Mark . . ."

"Sean," she corrected.

"Yeah whatever. Did Sean realize there were plenty more fish in the sea? Or did he find himself another bird? Maybe he was actually gay and he left you for some guy in a tuxedo," House smiled, obviously enjoying baiting her. "You really do need to be more specific with your metaphors. Maybe you should leave them to the people who really know what they're doing with them. Like me."

Cate had turned away from him momentarily. But as she spoke, she turned her face to meet his eyes once more.

"It just didn't work, that's all. Things were different once we left the station and got back to civilization. Things . . . life got . . . harder."

House laughed one quick, short bark of a laugh. It sounded foreign even to his own ears doubtless from long neglect.

"You're kidding right?" he asked. "Life was harder in the real world than on a God-forsaken glacier where it's pitch black for six months of the year and the average temperature is what? Like 70 below? Sounds like someone's expectations were completely out of whack. And since Steve . . ."

"Sean."

". . . Willingly drilled into your head which can only mean that he was more than willing to drill you, then my guess would be that you were the one who dumped him."

Cate neither smiled nor frowned but continued to look steadily at him. "Your guess would be wrong. Stop deflecting. And stop projecting. You're the one doing the ultimate tap dance to either end your life or push anybody who cares about you away. Which reminds me, where's Wilson?"

For a moment, House looked noticeably rattled. He closed his eyes. "On sabbatical."

"When?"

"Last week I think."

"Before or after your suicide attempt?"

"Doesn't matter."

"It obviously does."

House's volume increased. "Listen, if Wilson needs to take a break from my crap he's better off for it."

"Not if your crap is a cry for help."

House's eyelids flew open. A blue flame of rage like a welder's arc shone in his eyes. "Is that what you think? Are you comparing me to some sort of pathetic teenage girl who didn't get asked to the prom?"

Cate lowered her voice, "That's not what I said. I wasn't minimizing your actions. Or your pain."

"Then I didn't mean it? I was just putting on a dog and pony show for someone else's benefit?"

Cate spoke more forcefully this time. "No House. I believe a man like you, a man in your situation was deadly serious about ending your life when you took those pills. But it doesn't change the fact that EVERY suicide attempt is a cry for help."

House leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes again. He took a deep breath, holding it for a second before letting the air out in a violent exhalation.

"Ow," he said.

"What?"

"Ribs still hurt. I broke a few."

"Saving your ex-girlfriend's daughter?"

House opened his eyes and looked at her from beneath his brow. "Someone's certainly done their homework. What else do you know? And who told you? I'd like to know so that I can sue them for breach of doctor/patient privacy."

Cate smiled. "Ah, but the trick with lawsuits is that you have to stick around to actually file them. You have to stick around longer, a lot longer, if you want to actually collect any money."

"Maybe I'll file in absentia. I'll have Wilson do it when he gets back. Or you could do it for me."

"Nope. Anything legal, you gotta handle on your own."

"Hmmmm," House mused. "Seems more like a transparent effort to keep me from making another suicide attempt."

Cate leaned back in her chair as she relaxed into the banter between House and herself. Strangely enough, House seemed to be enjoying it as well.

"Could be," she said. "I guess the only way for you to find out is for you to hang around awhile."