Overdramatic as always. More inaccuracies. But who cares?

--

He's a wounded animal
He lives in a matchbox
He's a wounded animal
And he's been coming around here

He's a dying breed

-

It was late, my eyes were shut but I wasn't sleeping, the blinds in my room weren't pulled either, as I enjoyed seeing the sun spill onto the floor when morning came around. It had been two days since my lung needle biopsy and I hadn't heard a word, or seen any doctors, except for Chase, who came in to check the small puncture wound in my back for infection.

I heard the door open but I didn't move, knowing exactly who it would be. My parents had also disappeared, my mother refusing to talk to me and my father attempting to reassure his wife that he wasn't having an affair, coming up with insane excuses as to why he was never at home. The whole time I was left in the hospital bed, wondering if at last I had a diagnosis.

There was a scraping sound as the person pulled over a chair to sit down next to my bed, and he sighed, sitting down, the chair creaking under his weight as he did so. My eyes fluttered open and I looked over, to see a very depressed looking House sitting there, his eyes directed to the floor. He looked worse than I did, bags under his eyes, his hair unkempt, and his jaw was unshaven. I knew then that he hadn't been home or slept in a few days.

"It's okay." I whispered. His eyes shot up and met mine, looking surprised to see me awake. I flashed him a supportive smile which he didn't return. I knew the moment he stepped in the door what the test results were, and I knew exactly what he was feeling, "You get used to it."

"Spoken like a true pro." House mumbled. He took a deep breath and faced me, "Tests results were negative, no antibodies, no abnormalities at all." I tried again to smile at him.

"It was worth a shot." I murmured, I could see him clenching his jaw and his grip on his cane tightened, his knuckles turning white.

"I thought I was right I- I thought I had it." He was speaking to himself now more than me. I nodded slowly, "It was a good diagnosis."

"It was." I sighed, "Best I've heard so far. Don't worry about it, okay?"

"You don't understand." House groaned, he rubbed his left temple with his hand, shutting his eyes and trying to get a grip on himself, "I need to get this. I need to figure this out! I need to know, so I can stop caring about whether you're happy or not." I pulled the covers back off my bed, swinging my legs over the edge.

"I am happy." I told him, I flashed him a weak smile.

"You're an awful liar." House snapped, glaring up at me, "How can you possibly be happy, you have a dead beat dad, a mom who's too high most of the time to even care that you're coughing up pints of blood. You're not happy, you're just hiding how miserable you really are." I scowled at him, and looked down at my lap, taking a deep breath.

"I'm not the one who's miserable." I pointed out, House didn't look at me, he concentrated on the top of his cane.

"Why do you live with your mom?" House murmured. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"We're playing this game again?" I sighed. He continued to frown, I quickly guessed he wasn't in the mood to joke. I shrugged, "She needs me, if I wasn't there she'd be dead, she doesn't clean up, pay the rent, if I wasn't there she probably wouldn't even eat."

"She's not your responsibility." House growled. I shook my head.

"You're right, she's not, she's my mother." I told him. I couldn't understand why he was so obsessed over my living arrangements.

"She's leaching off you!" House cried.

"She's a person." I told him, "People are just people. They have their good points, and their flaws, some are just more flawed than others."

"She's a junkie." House mumbled under his breath.

"So are you." I snapped back. House raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised at my reply. Then a slight smile rose to his lips, something I wasn't expecting to see.

"Good comeback." He laughed. I couldn't help but smile a little myself, but it disappeared quickly, and I swung my legs, my bare feet kicking the side of my bed.

"So what now?" I whispered. I had the feeling that he had run out of ideas, if he hadn't he wouldn't be sitting there in front of me, despair etched into the lines of his face, he'd be off talking to his team, suggesting new, brilliant theories to why my lungs were filled with blood.

"I honestly don't know." He admitted. I bit down on my lower lip, spreading my hand out on the sheets of the bed, examining the spaces in between my fingers instead of looking at him.

"You know my mom and dad are going to want me out of the hospital," I murmured, "They hate this place, they can't stand hospitals."

"But it's up to you." House pointed out. I grinned, still not looking up, a dreamy far away look in my eyes.

"I love hospitals." I sighed. House raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I couldn't have guessed," He muttered sarcastically, "You're in them enough."

"I'm not going to be here for much longer," My voice was surprisingly morose, if anyone had overheard me they'd assume I was dying, but I was not, I was merely leaving a building.

"We need to find out what's wrong with you." House insisted, finally I looked up at him, an odd sincerity behind his eyes. I knew he needed to know not because he wanted to help me, but because of himself.

"I'm not dying." I sighed, inhaling sharply and flashing him a false smile which he'd never believe, "I'll survive."

"You're not healthy." House pointed out. We sat in silence for a few seconds, his words lingering in the air, before he pushed himself up out of the chair and began to walk towards the door, my eyes trailing after him. It felt as if something was coming to an end, something which I couldn't quite put my finger on.

--

The next morning my mother had returned. I was lying on my hospital bed, I was wearing jeans and a baggy black t-shirt, my shoes off and my IV still connected to my arm. I presumed that I wasn't getting any more tests in the near future, the prospect was surprisingly depressing.

My mother walked into the room, a bright shiny smile on her face as she saw me sitting up, no longer looking seriously ill, almost looking like a normal teenager, just with a needle in my arm. She rushed to my bed side, her clothes were neat, her hair was washed, and her eyes were bright. I knew she'd had a hit recently, no other way would she be so cheerful.

"Honey, god, I'm so glad you're okay!" She cried, quickly embracing me, her arms were skinny but she had a tight grip. She smelt like soap and cigarettes, and a small timid smile rose to my lips as she broke away.

"You're not mad?" I asked, I sounded like a five year old just after they broke a window, or smashed a vase. My mother shook her head, straightening up and smoothing down the covers on my hospital bed.

"No, sweetie, not at all." She reassured me, "Not one bit."

"Did you hear the test results?" I asked. My mother slowly shook her head, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, knowing what I had to say wasn't going to be good news. Good news to her, and good news to me were completely different things.

"They were testing for that cock thing, right?" She asked. A laugh erupted from my throat.

"Coccidioidomycosis." I corrected, then I slowly shook my head, "I don't have it." My voice was barely audible, like my throat was lined with straw, my disappointment obvious to anyone who looked. My mums smile widened at the news.

"But honey, that's a good thing!" She cried. She perched herself on the end of my bed, slipping her fine fingers through mine, lacing them up together. I knew exactly what was going to happen next, "It means we can get you out of here as soon as possible."

"I don't want to go." The words came flying out, and I immediately wanted to take them back, as all the new found happiness had disappeared from my mothers face.

"We're not staying here any longer than we have to." She hissed, "They've done their tests, they've all come back negative, there's nothing more they can do."

"I-I-I just..." I started, wanting to fight back, wanting to somehow cling to a shred of hope, but my face fell and I frowned, "I know." My mother grinned, affectionately running her hand through my hair, her eyes shining again.

"Good, you understand," My mother said happily. She pushed herself off the bed, walking happily over to the door, and opening it, "Your father will be pleased." I felt my muscles tighten and I lay back down on the bed, my eyes travelling back to the TV which hung in the left hand corner, but the words went through me. It felt like my insides had dropped out and there was nothing left inside of me.

--

House stared at his team, all sitting round the desk in the room beside his office, staring at him with a look of shock and confusion. He pursed his lips together, his eyes darting from Chase, to Foreman, to Cameron and back to Chase. He cleared his throat, their silence pushing down on him like a heavy weight, "So?!" He cried.

"You don't look good." Cameron whimpered. House glared at her; of course he didn't look good. He had bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, eyes which were blood shot and red rimmed because he hadn't topped up on his Vicodin, his hair was array and his clothes were crinkled. This was the last thing on his mind.

"Just, give me some suggestions!" He yelled, hitting the side of the desk angrily with his cane. The three doctors stared back at him, mouths hanging ajar, completely shocked at the way he was behaving. House didn't care.

"Bronchiectasis?" Chase offered his voice cautious and low. House gritted his teeth together, taking a deep breath, trying to control the frustration building inside of him.

"Would have showed up on the CT." He hissed. His grip tightened on the cane and he tried to count to ten, to prevent himself from beating Chase to death.

"Her mother," Cameron whispered slowly, "Her mother could be the one doing it..." House turned round slowly, raising his eyebrows, surprised at Cameron's theory.

"You think her mother is poisoning her?" Foreman asked with cynicism in his voice. House motioned for him to be quiet.

"With what?" House asked. Cameron was slightly put off by the desperation in his voice but she straightened up and pursed her lips together.

"An Anti-coagulant." She murmured, "Something which would cause haemorrhaging, like Warfarin." House furrowed his brow, taking it all into consideration.

"I don't think she's poisoning her kid." Foreman said confidently with a shake of his head, "I mean Warfarin? Come on, it's a little farfetched!" House didn't seem to be able to hear him; he was still deep in thought. A few moments later he limped towards the door, a purposeful look in his eyes.

"Where are you going?" Chase asked.

"To talk to Sara Laine."