Note: Apologies for the extreme delay! I've been so bogged down with school work and life that I'd lost most of my inspiration.. But now I'm hoping to finish this story up sooner rather than later. One might consider this chapter to be a bit of a filler, but I believe the action will advance more within the next chapter or two. Thank you for reading and sticking with this story after so long!

House watched silently as the numbers on the digital clock nearby changed.

12:51

12:52

12:53

He could see that time was passing, but he didn't feel it. Not like he used to. As he stood in Thirteen's quiet, dark apartment, House considered whether he liked this new form of his. For the most part, it seemed better than when he was living—his leg rarely hurt now, save for a sharp pain every now and then. But that would increase if his dead guidance counselors were right. He was running out of time—just another thing he couldn't control, only observe.

Despite that, House did feel something different, something he didn't feel before death, or perhaps if he did it was something he chose to ignore. Making his way to where Thirteen slept, House watched her, noticing that feeling becoming even stronger. Was it… admiration? No, although he did admire her bravery and will to live against a disease that would inevitably kill her, the feeling was more intense than that. House tried to shrug it off, determined to deal with it more later.

Thirteen mumbled something in her sleep, and House turned his attention back to her, noticing a tear traveling slowly down her cheek. So she does cry, House thought. I guess I owe Wilson fifty bucks… once he kicks the bucket. House moved closer, realizing another thing he'd lost—the ability to dream. Thirteen was probably doing just that, or she was being haunted by some nightmare. What do you dream about…? House placed his ethereal hand over Thirteen's forehead and was suddenly transported from the dark confines of the apartment.

House found himself surrounded by mirrors, but there was nothing reflected in them. Not until he heard her voice.

"Help me…"

Thirteen's image appeared in each mirror, and House could see fear in her eyes as her reflections stared wildly at him. Her reflections moved away, and Thirteen herself materialized from between two of the mirrors. In an instant, the fear vanished from her eyes and she rushed towards him.

"House! You're okay…"

House panicked, assuming he was only an observer in the dream, and Thirteen's expression changed once again, this time to one of confusion and worry. "What the hell is happening…?" House looked at Thirteen who stood not far from him and reached a hand out to her, but there was nothing there. He was invisible, a ghost again. He began to feel as if someone were pulling violently at his invisible limbs, tearing away at him. The scenery around them changed, and House found himself in a cemetery surrounded by a forest. Thirteen stood nearby, and they both faced a simple headstone.

"I wonder how it feels to die," Thirteen mused aloud.

"Not as bad as you might think," House replied. His voice echoed oddly, but Thirteen didn't respond, didn't even acknowledge his presence. House looked around again and the tearing feeling returned.

"Now that you're gone, I'll die so painfully. I'll dread every day… and when it finally comes, I'll be so alone. I'm scared…"

Invisible forces pulled House from the dream, and he watched as the cemetery and Thirteen, who continued to stare at the blank headstone, disappeared from his view. Dammit! He returned to the apartment and moved away from where Thirteen slept, thinking about what he saw. Death must have always been at the front of her mind for her to have dreams like this. But he didn't know for sure, and he didn't feel like asking. As much as he wanted to know everything, he felt it was only right to give her at least a little privacy, especially after seeing her nightmares.

A sliver of moonlight filtered into the apartment through a partially uncovered window and illuminated the floor next to House. Not much time had passed since the dream occurred, and House glanced back at Thirteen, who was still asleep, somehow.

He couldn't let her die alone, no. House made a promise to himself in that moment as his ghostly form floated by the moonlit window, to be there somehow when she finally turned down that road from which no one can come back. But he couldn't die twice, so what could he really do?