It was all in slow motion. I saw their four faces, and then fell back, falling stories from the ground. I saw all their faces over the ledge as I descended. The air below me waved my arms and legs around as I came plunging--merely sekunde before impact, a whisper appeared to echo in my ear....

I upendo you, House

Then--

><><><

--Yes...Falling stories from above, I came down for the last few sekunde very gracefully. Not onto cement--a bed.
A bed. A bed. I was right.
As long as I stayed there, I slowly began to hear, smell, and feel all my surroundings. I began to feel a pain--I felt like I wast trampled kwa a bull, au thrown across a lacrosse field.
The fall, strangely enough, had nothing to do with this...Again, I fell
Onto a bed.

Wilson had walked into the ICU to check on House, finding Cuddy already there. She was sitting on a chair asleep, using House's koti, jacket as a blanket. He walked over to her, and stroked her head. She woke up right after.

"What, Wilson?" she asked sleepily.
"You've been here since the accident. You've gone nyumbani at least an saa a siku this entire month." he stated.
"Your point?" she asked, as she pulled his koti, jacket over her shoulders.
"He's in a coma. He's been for a month. Waiting for him to wake up--"
"Don't start this again. I admitted him. He's under my care. I should be the one waiting for him to wake up again." Wilson just stood there staring at her. He didn't know what to say at this point.
"If this visit, is medically relevant tell me now. If it isn't, and you're going to convince me to leave, get out." she said.

Suddenly, he turned the other way. He was looking at House, opening his eyes. Slowly, as if just waking up after a long nap, his eyelids opened up. He was facing the ceiling, looking at all white. Mouth slightly hanging he tried to come conscious. Cuddy had sat up in her chair as they both looked at each other, watching him. He turned his head to look at them, both in a shock.

"You idiot." Cuddy alisema in tears.
"You're back...You're back..?" he alisema weakly.
"I--never left."
"She's been here since she admitted you." Wilson added.
"Why..."
"Because--you're an idiot, who runs around like a maniac, always doing something stupid."
"Hence...you have to sit at my bedside every day. wewe got Rachel, don't you..."
"Since when do wewe care about her?"
"I don't..." he defended slightly.
"She's with my mom."
"Where as you, should be at Mayfield. Instead, wewe handle the first mwezi juvenilely, and decide to escape and get yourself hit kwa a car." Wilson stated sternly.
"That explains...the three broken ribs...the fractures on my legs...and..the..con..cussion.."
"You feel all that?" he asked him.
"No, I guessed. Actually, I went off the coma..for a few hours and looked..through my file, went right back when wewe weren't looking." he uttered sarcastically.
"You've been out for a month. You've missed a lot. And after this--you are going back to Mayfield." Cuddy spoke to him slightly controlling through her broken, and shaky voice. He just looked at her, and gave a nod, before resting his head fully back and closed his eyes. Cuddy looked up at Wilson, and he began to urge her out.
"I'll take over from here," he had alisema at the door. She gave a nod and walked out. Wilson just slowly turned around, shifted his hands into his pockets and looked at him.

"I sent her out--for a reason." Wilson alisema finally.
"I know." he retorted.
"You ran away. Got yourself hit--and you've been in a coma for about a month. The fact that you've shown no remorse towards this reminds me that you're still House and that I shouldn't be surprised. But sometimes, I hoped if you'd surprise me."
"Don't higher your expectations, you'll just be filled with disappointment," he stated with his eyes still closed.
"You're uigizaji like--none of this is your fault."
"It isn't."
"If wewe hadn't run away--"
"If they hadn't pissed me off, and if that guy was sober he would've noticed me on the road and I wouldn't have gotten hit."
"He was sober. I just don't think he was expecting a cripple to waltz by, j-walking across the main road at four in the morning."
"Just goes to onyesha how alert wewe should really be while driving, at all times." he alisema sarcastically.
"He hit wewe head on, and tossed wewe up in the air. We were scared, that wewe wouldn't wake up again. Cuddy was suicidal for two weeks! Cameron was just as worse. Chase--attended to wewe like a son. The team--haven't taken a case since. And I'm sure wewe can take a few wild guesses for me." House opened his eyes and looked directly at Wilson.
"You knew I would eventually wake up. Don't tell me that wewe were all scared to death. If wewe were worried, that's all your own damn fault."
"We're sorry for caring. I'll make sure to post a memo."
"Oh don't pout. I got hit kwa a car, banged my head, broke a few bones--"
"You could've died. Died House!"
"Yeah, I could've. But do wewe know how many other people were dying at the moment when I was in a coma? wewe all wouldn't know, because wewe were too busy holding my goddamn hand!"
"Just because wewe don't give a damn, doesn't mean we don't House! If the human race were incapable of giving a damn, we would all be at each others throats, and we would die out. Giving a damn is humane, it's what we do! Now if wewe had just stayed there--"
"I'd be better, yeah. Lock up House in the asylum! He's crazy and doesn't know what he's doing, so we're going to help him cope with this kwa keeping him in solitary confinement!"
"You have deeper problems here, House. Two former colleagues died before you, wewe we're abused as a child, wewe had become a cripple despite your own wishes. I'm not surprised that wewe were hallucinating, because if wewe weren't, there would be something even worse than this. You've brushed all these things off your shoulders, and now wewe have to pay for it. It's not the vicodin that's got wewe in there House. It's the pain. And wewe have to deal with it." Stifling for a little bit, they stood in silence.

"Talk to Cuddy." Wilson began.
"Give her a dose of your old banter. wewe owe her that much right now." Wilson turned for the door, and alisema something quickly before walking all the way out.
"And it wouldn't kill wewe to onyesha some humility about this, and admit you're still a juvenile delinquent..." he had walked out, and House snickered in his bed, thinking how good it was to be back in reality.

---

Later that night - 8:00 p.m.

Wilson was walking up the stairs to House's apartment. He had requested a few things at his home, so he ventured out to get them. The door, when he had got there, was surprisingly already opened. Being cautious, he carefully walked in. Cuddy was sitting at the piano, holding loose leaf paper in her hand. She was saddened as she read through. Wilson just walked over, casually starting the conversation.

"What's that?"
"Read it." she handed it to him and he read through fairly quickly and looked back down at her.
"Intense."
"When do wewe think he wrote this?"
"Recently." suddenly he held his tongue. He knew he made a mistake. He gave it back to her and she set it down on the kinanda once more.
"There's no date, how could wewe possibly know? Not unless you've examined the text. Nothing in here gives off anything that happened recently."
"Y--you're right. Just--forget it. Besides, what are wewe doing here?"
"Who do wewe think has been checking his mail and keeping this place in tact since he had left for Mayfield?"
"Oh. I thought Cameron would've done that."
"She's got a husband to worry about. She's married now."
"And wewe have a kid to worry about, kwa yourself."
"Who else is gonna do it."
"Me? You're just adding another load on yourself."
"Might as well."
"Sacrifice. wewe do that, only when it's necessary. Which, this isn't. You've got no reason being here."
"Being here is what's kept me sane. I don't know anything else that will. I actually feel like that poem is about me." she alisema getting off the bench. They began to walk towards the door.
"I thought wewe had to get something for House?" she asked as they opened the door.
"No, I just saw wewe leaving. Going somewhere else instead of your direction home." and they closed the door, leaving the apartment back to its' silence.

Isolated
in a reality where
happiness is redefined.
There is none.
For anyone.
Misery is essential.
Pain is essential.
Pleasures are deprived.
Joy is irrelevant.

Facts aren't justified.
Truth is cast aside.
Lies are infectious.
Sins are a virtue.

Living a blameless lie
with no intention of confession.
The truth will eventually slip
for benefit of anothers' lip.
She will extrapolate the facts
take what she can
and detain, before confront.
Nothing will she gain
except the truth--she retains.

is there a cure
for a pain like this--
to compensate--
to surrender bliss?
this desire
won't go away.
The desire
for life lived
outside this confinement
this reality, left
Isolated.