Reviews are kindly accepted! (this being my very first fan fiction) I'd say the overall rating would be T for mild language and blood…

Disclaimer: I did not create, nor do I own, any of the House characters.

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House sat idly in his office staring off into space. No new cases had come in lately, and the whole team felt a little antsy. Except for House.

He had fallen quieter and quieter as days past by. No snarky comments, dazed looks. And lots more Vicodin.

He popped the things absently like tictacs, and whole bottles emptied dramatically. Yet he was still wincing with pain when he thought no one was watching.

Wilson noticed first, of course.

He shot the man questioning looks whenever he encountered him. And House just looked at him. Unsettlingly blank. This worried Wilson more than any comment or frown ever could.

A rap at the glass startled House's head up. An almost lost look was on his face. It scared Wilson. This was not Gregory House's face. He opened the door warily.

"House," he stated simply. Dr. Feel Bad himself studied his friend for a moment.

"Wilson." He made to get up, then winced hard before slumping back in the chair. His face crumpled painfully. Wilson rushed forward.

"Are you alright?!" he demanded. House waved his hand away.

"Yeah, yeah." His eyes were still squeezed shut. Wilson put a hand on his shoulder anyways. A single blue eye opened and landed on it.

"You're not okay," Wilson said gently. Before, House would have rolled his eyes and said, "duh." Now, he just sighed.

It was probably the most frightening sound Wilson had ever heard escape House. Because it sounded tired…and resigned.

"It hurts," he responded in a voice tinged with a slight rattle. Wilson frowned.

"It's always hurt."

"More," House insisted, his wide open eyes bulging slightly. Wilson's brow creased further.

"You need to get checked."

"No." He shook his head slowly. Wilson almost growled. Still a stubborn bastard at heart. Practically asking for help, and then pushing it away.

"I know, I know, you think you're fine, nothing can happen to the Almighty House!!" he spat out the final words.

House's reaction surprised him. He chuckled lowly, wearily. But the sad humour gave way to a dangerous glower.

"I am fully aware that I am not FINE!!" He shouted the last word leaning forward, face contorted in rage and pain.

Wilson drew back. He had heard his friend yell before, but never with such hot anger.

House pushed himself up forcefully, despite a severe twitch in his face at the action. He seized his cane and hobbled out, slamming the door. He stomped best a cripple could down the hallway to the elevator.

By now, Chase, Cameron, Foreman, and Wilson were following him, confused and near dumb stricken.

House punched the down button repeatedly, annoyed at how very slow it was. Now Cameron was at his side, her cool fingers curling around the wrist that had been forcefully pushing for a way down, slowing it.

"Stop, House," she commanded in a stern voice. He looked at her. It wasn't a sneer of defiance, just an icy stare from cold blue eyes. Her own eyes widened at this, and she let go, taking a small step back.

That was all the time House needed to whirl around and head for the stairs. Quite rapidly for a man with a lame, pain stricken leg, in fact.

He made it across the hallway to the top stair in a manner of seconds. The other doctors made to move, but saw there was no need.

Cuddy was already there.

"Gregory House!" she thundered, and House turned, surprised, his back to the stairs.

"You will NOT stomp around my hospital, no matter how bad your leg hurts!!" she hissed savagely. It was House's turn to be intimidated.

"And you will," she continued, lashing her arm in the direction of Wilson, who cowered, "-go with Wilson, and you will be checked, and you will like it!" The last two words were whipped out with such force that House took a step back.

Bad move.

He stepped off the first step, and his foot found air. Losing his balance, House reeled slowly backwards.

Cuddy gasped, her eyes growing to the size of saucers before reaching forwards for House in a desperate attempt.

Which proved to be futile.

House fell back, and all the way across the hallway, Wilson could hear his friend's head crack sickeningly as it hit the stairs.

He toppled downward, gaining momentum. Thuds echoed off the walls and all Cuddy could do was watch, horrified.

At the end of the flight there was a metal rail, and House's head broke open on it hard

Deep crimson pooled around the doctor's head. It was a thick, huge puddle by the time Cuddy had managed to stumble down the stairs in a state of shock.

The little doctor voice inside her had known the moment House's head had struck that first stair.

Gregory House was dead.

de.mise n. a termination of existence; death