Hello! Sorry for the wait; I had to do a little searching for some inspiration. Please, R & R!

This song belongs to the Killers, and Wilson and Amber (or pseudo-Amber) belong to House MD and David Shore etc.

To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you
Well I was moving through the silence without motion, waiting for you
In a room without a window in the corner I found truth

The Killers - Shadowplay

Life was as close to his usual routine as possible, only now, in the mornings, instead of kissing Amber with a quick "See you later," before he went to work, he stared at the last letter she had written to him.

Sorry I'm not here. Went to pick up House.

Love A

The words seemed to cause odd discomfort in the back of Wilson's mind; like every time he read them they rubbed his thoughts in the wrong way and caused a rash of the mind, but he couldn't stop reading them. If Wilson didn't read those words, those eleven words, those thirty-six letters and three punctuation marks in her rounded handwriting, his whole being would unravel.

It would mean that he admitted that she was dead.

Therefore, to his already trembling logic, they were imperative to his survival. A brief flicker of thought occurred in the back of his already stressed brain: if there was a way to not grieve properly, this was it. It didn't matter. Wilson could still imagine her light eyes, her severe haircut, her triangular jaw, the way her curt smile always seemed to make her eyes light up with a fire he hadn't seen in his whole lifetime. He remembered how the slightest touch from her would light his heart up with a forest fire of the soul, made him feel so incredibly warm and loved that he couldn't possibly explain to anyone how the bonfire she released onto his inner being could feel so extraordinary. Her skin made his heart thrum against his chest, threatening to burst his ribcage; in truth he only stopped kissing her when he feared heart attack.

How could she be gone? It felt impossible to him. Life had become an inescapable rock of nothingness since Amber hadn't graced Wilson's household with her warming presence. He hadn't even slept on the bed since she hadn't come home- the couch had sunken in solemnly thanks to his constant presence, something his back reminded him about constantly.

Wilson snatched a bagel from his long since cleaned kitchen countertop and collapsed on the floor, not wanting to be anywhere near the sofa that he spent entirely too much of his time with. He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and hit the only button on the device that he knew by default- the PWR button clicked depressingly under his thumb's pressure. The television turned on slowly, the sound blaring before the image could show up. Static roared through the speakers as the picture clicked onto the screen. The television snowed benignly as he remembered: he had been watching old vhs tapes last night. The mute button was smashed deep down in the plastic molding of the remote as the erratic sound pulsed against his eardrums, making him feel strangely paranoid of someone watching him. Casually, he flipped the station to the news and pressed the mute button again. The cheery female newscaster's voice almost bored a hole in his brain with her incessant chatter about some celebrity scandal, but he gathered the information he needed. It was six in the morning on a Saturday.

Damn. That dream had woken him up way too early- he didn't have work until Monday, a rarity for Wilson. He clicked the PWR button again and threw the remote back onto the coffee table, finishing his bagel and collapsing onto the couch. He'd never had that dream twice in the same day; maybe he could get a few hours of sleep. His therapist said sleep was good for him, as long as it wasn't in excess. He vaguely recalled him telling Wilson to sleep more. Sure, he thought, whatever.

He grasped the blanket he had tossed onto the couch and pulled his pillow resolutely under his head, burying his face in its fuzzy depths. His thoughts were only white noise now, background music for his withering consciousness. He blinked, slowly.

One.

Two.

Three.

He was asleep before he could count to four.

The dream was different this time. He wasn't in the country field- he was somewhere else entirely. On a boat? He was at least on the ocean. Its vast cerulean plains spread out before him in mock perfection, the mirror-like surface broken only by random waves coursing through its being like a muscle flex. He didn't like the ocean, though; it scared him. It was too deep, too wild, and too large. He glanced at his feet and almost cried out in fear. There was no boat beneath him- he was standing on the ocean's glassy surface, tempting it to not hold his weight…

Wilson leaned onto the balls of his feet, for some reason hoping that it would make him appear to weigh less.

Something flew out of the water and struck him in the center of his forehead, landing at the base of his feet and laying, suspended, on the water's surface. He picked it up, examining it. A rock of amber. He didn't need a therapist to tell him what that meant. He scowled grimly and tossed the hunk of old sap at the endless water in a futile manner. It skipped on the water. He watched it, counting. One, two, three times it jumped before it made its final contact with the water, collapsing under the weight of the sea. Remorse pulsed in the back of his head- did he just throw amber back into the ocean? No, he replied, soothing himself, I threw a useless chunk of rock into the ocean.

There was a fwish of rushing water as something rose from the navy depths beneath him. It was Amber, made of…amber, pure amber, a frown heavy on her features as water cascaded around the frame of her face into the sea.

"Am I useless?" she asked.

"No! No, you're not useless, you're everything, I just don't like amber-"

Her golden scowl said too much for him to go on. She reached out a cracked, yellowed arm, grabbing his wrist, but instead of making him feel incredibly warm her skin made him feel like he had just swallowed liquid nitrogen or dry ice: he thought ice was burning his insides and crunching together uncomfortably, turning into long spikes of uncertainty in the pit of his stomach.

She glared at him with her yellow eyes that were coated in spindly cracks that almost reverberated from her pupils. Her grasp tightened on his wrist, making it go numb with the glacial waves that shot from her fingertips. She began to sink into the ocean, dive under without letting him go. He would've screamed, if it weren't for the water pouring into his mouth.

Wilson fought valiantly to force this pseudo-Amber to release him, but her grip seemed to have fused with the skin on his arm- he felt like it would cause him great pain if he forced her to let go. She dragged him farther and farther down, his lungs screaming for air as each second passed.

His lungs weren't on fire. He didn't know why any writer had ever written that about a drowning person's lungs. They weren't on fire; they were in the ninth circle of hell. It was as if his lungs were caught in a bear trap – parts of them seemed to be punctured and began to collapse as they emptied of air. He wondered in silence if he would die here – in his dream. Did that mean he'd die in real life? He couldn't stomach the thought.

The pseudo-Amber landed densely at the ocean floor, sending up thick waves of wet sand into the swirling eddies around her. She bent over, grasping something from the thick carpet of sand. The hand holding Wilson's wrist jerked toward her other arm as she deposited whatever she had picked up into his palm. She nodded at him eagerly.

He looked at it cautiously, somehow expecting it to be something threatening. It was the chunk of amber he had thrown into the ocean. He wanted to scream at her. However, he lacked the lung capacity. He liked Amber, just not the amber amber. Was she stupid? She grasped his wrist more firmly and shoved the rock of amber into his face. It wasn't the same color as most amber; it was a bright, translucent orange…and there was a vicodin pill trapped in its thick, fluorescent depths. He glared at pseudo-Amber in disbelief.

"Is he worth forgetting?" she asked, her words echoing off of nothing, somehow spoken in some way that allowed him to understand her.

They practically flew back to the surface of the water. His lungs breathed in a staccato harmony as the briny sea air overflowed inside of him, decompressing the collapsed parts of his lungs and removing the bear trap's vice grip. The amber chunk was still caught between his fingers like a sandy monster, and pseudo-Amber released her violent hold from his wrist. It made him want to smile, to laugh, to be happy, for once in months. He inhaled again, feeling the wondrous motion of air filling his lungs, and silently wondered if there was any way he could possibly make his lungs any larger.

She glared at him stolidly, her lips pursed, when she saw the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, threatening to explode into a grin. Her expression did not change, but she merely stared at him; the question she had asked only moments earlier still seeming to resonate profoundly in the air or Wilson's thoughts, he didn't know.

Another fwush of water sounded as she sank back to the ocean floor resolutely, her eyes still alive with her question as they glared at him.

The truth was, Wilson didn't know if he knew the answer to that question.

Hope you enjoyed it! I'll bring in some other installments later- I was up until one in the morning writing this!

Disclaimer is above...please R & R?

Thanks

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