The experiment chapter eight Next of kin.

"The only thing that matters, the only thing in this world is whatever you feel in that moment and how much importance you place upon it, because in the end nothing matters but what matters to you."

- Underscorination.

Wilson walked into Gregory House's room.

His button down dress shirt wasn't ironed, he wore those ugly brown dress shoes that he knew if House was awake, he would surely have something to say about it. He was disheveled from the news, from the stress.

But It was a morning just like any other,

there was no sense of the weight of the world, of the suffering.

The sun was shining, in fact everything looked beautiful in it's glow about the room.

Nothing felt like it was over, nothing felt like this man was about to lose his best friend.

In life we have to pick our battles, and we have to decide what we want to live with.

For House pain was never an option.

Sure House could be at times incredibly egotistical,

he was rude, cold, pompous, argumentative and terribly stubborn.

But he was also the most brilliant man Wilson had ever met.

House could solve mystery medical cases that nobody else in the world could solve.

People would come from all over to bring their case to him, knowing that if anybody could solve it,

it was House.

"How is he?" Wilson asked.

"He is stable for now but we don't know if he will come out of this."

Doctor Tang said.

Wilson knew too many deaths,

he knew too many situations like this.

He wasn't going to say goodbye to his best friend, he wasn't going to pull the plug no matter what.

"He will come out of it, he has been through things like this before. He will wake up, I know he will."

Wilson said knowing the rugged man was too damn stubborn to give up without one hell of a fight.

"We don't know why he is not waking up, but right now his scans look good." Tang continued.

"But If something were to worsen, you would need to make some decisions Mr. Wilson."

Doctor Tang said as she left the room.

There was no way to make this decision and how could Wilson do it?

"Why did you make me next of kin?" he asked.

Looking at the rugged man who didn't look any different asleep, then he did when he was awake. Still a expression of misery that his face carried.

"Because you are his friend."

Doctor Keorri said as she entered the room.

Wilson looked at her with a deep pain within his eyes, fighting back tears as he said.

"Some friend I have been, I should have been here."

He said while slamming his fist down on a counter.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner, I could have been here, I would have been here." He said to the sleeping man.

"Why do you have to be so damn selfish!?"

"Maybe it wasn't selfishness, maybe it was mercy, he didn't want you to see him decline if that was to happen." Keorri said with a lump in her throat, still learning all too well how selfish House could be when it came to the feelings of others.

"I am not giving up on him."

Wilson said.

The only option was to sit and wait for what was to happen.

Wilson believed that he would come out of this coma, and he wouldn't allow himself to think about any other possibility.

Shadows and light hit the rugged man's face.

Dreams and nightmares encased his mind.

He stood in a endless desert with a waterfall that led to the edge of the world. He looks down to the edge, to the void of nothingness, and with no reasoning he jumped.

Now there was a pool of nothingness he was swimming around in it like a fish, but it the self he knew as himself was dissolved by it.

"Who am I ?"

"What am I ?"

"Where am I ?"

It was his voice but not as he knew it.

It was questions to a sea of nothingness that could not be answered by anyone but himself.

He saw his self, he saw what he could be.

He saw his self without pain,

without hurtfulness inflicted upon himself or others.

He was stripped away from everything he knew to be himself.

Into a place of no meaning, devoid of everyone and everything.

Yet there was a peace unlike anything else the rugged man had known, there was a comfort in the nothing.

There was noone to answer questions.

There was only him and yet it was as if everything that was, everything that is and everything that will be,

laid within him already like a glass snow globe.

Life is a funny thing, we learn so much from others.

Take anger for example,

House learned it from his father,

he also learned his vices, with alcohol being one of those.

We are in so many ways a by product of our parents.

A mistake or not, it doesn't matter.

We learn how to deal with the world, our problems and even our selves from how they delt with it.

We can't blame everything on our parents, there is still some freedom of choice.

For House he had a choice to tell someone about the abuse that was happening to him as a child.

He had a choice to have his leg removed. He had choices but it didn't change the outcome.

Still we have the choice in how we are going to handle life, for House it was always the hard way, or by avoiding the way all together.

But perhaps in the end, it really doesn't matter, perhaps nothing does.

Maybe, just maybe we place too much importance on the reasons,

on the meanings, and there isn't anything but what we created ourselves, or how we felt about it in any given moment.

A left turn instead of a right but the results are the same, we would still end up crashing somewhere.

It was the idea that maybe there were no choices, at least not ones that mattered in the end.

That all we have is how we deal with the inevitable.

It was too much for him to process, a man who believes in reason above all else, that there is a reason for everything, was now faced with the possibility that there were none.

A roll of the dice,

A number at random,

The long straw is yours,

and what if you live with no reasoning?

But then "Why" becomes obsolete and unnecessary.

The puzzles wouldn't hold the same meaning, as the question and the answer no longer matter.

"Who could live like that?"

He thought.

Ah it was another question in a formula that should have an answer, because for hin life always did, that is until now.

What was hope then?

Just a survival mechanism, it didn't change the outcome.

He knew this better than anyone.

Still there are things we create for ourselves in order to survive,

So the real questions become;

"What was he creating?"

"How was he going to face his inevitable outcome?"

"Could the answers still matter?"

(Beep goes the machines in House's room. A alert, a warning for numbers that change.)

Wilson awaken by the sound sat up from the uncomfortable chair that he attempted to stretch out in for a nap.

Time fell away into a sea of sadness, of worry, and of fear.

And the day melted away into a darker night, and that led to an even darker hour as the shadows sat upon the diagnostician's face, and despair fell on the face of his friend.

An emptiness fell inside Wilson as he notices a notebook sat uptop the nightstand with a red string, it's pages all empty except for one.

It reads;

"Thank you."

(Another beep, another warning and the inevitable had come.)