Chapter: Oneshot
I don't own House M.D., nor the characters. Lyrical reference from Spring Awakening, which I also don't own. I make no money from either.
Author's Note:
I was going to post this after the finale. But, I don't want to wait. I want this out. Um. I decided to go ahead and post it. Obviously.

The talks you never had, the Saturdays you never spent...

She was cold. She was pale. And she wasn't coming back.

And it wouldn't have hurt as much if he didn't care. No. It would have hurt. But, then, he thought if he didn't care, then he wouldn't be around her. And if he wasn't around her, House wouldn't have been around her.

And she would be alive. Because she never would have been on that bus.

Clenching his jaw and tightening his hands into fists, he tried to hold back his tears. It was unfair, really. It was all unfair. She was dead, he was alone, and they never had a chance.

It made him angry. This made him angry. Because he should have known. She shouldn't have been a Jane Doe and he should have been there from the beginning. He should have known. He should have been there.

Now, it was too late. There wasn't enough time. And her body wasn't close to healing. There were bruises and scars. Stitches and scabs. Healing that would never take place. For either of them.

"Hey," she greeted him cooly as she slipped her arms around his backside where they met at his waist.

He smiled. "Good morning."

He turned around and she pouted, but cocked an eyebrow as well, playing both sides of the field.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked him.

"I have to go in." He watched the flicker of disappointment cross her eyes before it disappeared. "Only for an hour or two. Three at the most. I'll bring home lunch."

"But, you went in last Saturday." She kept up with the pouting.

He placed his arms around her and drew her into him. She placed her hands on his chest and shook her head slightly. She kept her eyes locked with his.

"When are we going to have a lazy Saturday?"

She kissed him passionately then, toying with him, showing him what he would be missing if he went into work. He kissed her back, his hand finding itself into her slightly tangled blonde hair. For a moment, he forgot work and his patients. But, only for a moment, and he drew back.

"Next Saturday," he told her. "Or tomorrow. We can have tomorrow."

"I have to go in tomorrow," she replied, a small frown forming and a crease setting itself in her forehead. "I picked up extra hours."

"We'll make time." His brown eyes were on her and he spoke honestly with her. "Promise."

He kissed her quickly on the forehead and began for the door. She watched him leave and drew in a breath. Once the door had closed, she turned toward the kitchen and went to make coffee.

If she could have, she would have stayed. And there was a moment, a flash. Not her life crossing before her eyes, but people. House, because he was there. And then her mother. And then him. And she knew her chances weren't good.

She was cold and she wasn't sure what hurt exactly because everything felt like it hurt. And House was there and trying, and all she could think about was him. And she hoped House would take care of him if this turned out terribly.

It was getting darker, but she couldn't tell if it was just her or if the environment was getting darker. Before she could comprehend what was happening, she was already being carried away. She noticed the shine of the metal protruding from her thigh. And it scared her. Not because there was a rod of metal going through her, but because she couldn't feel it.

By the time she was being placed on a stretcher, the voices and faces had already faded. She wanted to stay awake. She needed to. Because she feared if she didn't, this would be it. This would be the last thing she would see. And she couldn't let that happen. Because she needed to see him. Because she needed to be with him. Because she cared for him. She did love him. And if this was goodbye, she needed to extend one to him.

"Are you happy?"

He was caught off guard. They just finished watching Pretty Woman, though neither would claim they picked it. He looked to her and she held her eyes on him, expectantly waiting for an answer.

"Yes," he finally said. "Why? You're not?"

"No." She leaned over and kissed him. "I'm very happy."

"That's good." He kissed her this time. "I wouldn't want you to be... unhappy."

"I'm not." She pressed him against the couch cushions and provided him with a deeper and more passionate kiss.

He pulled his mouth away from hers in order to catch his breath. "That's very good then."

"Yes," she agreed and a smile spread over her face. "Bedroom?"

"Let me turn the movie off." He reached for the remote and pushed the off button, not caring that the VCR was still rolling the credits.

She was already making her way to his bedroom. He set the remote control down and hurried after her. He caught up with her just as she crossed into the room.

He didn't know why, but he grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her into himself. He turned her as his lips went to hers and he pushed her against the wall. Her smile broke their kiss, the spontaneity of his actions pleasing her.

"I like being here," she drew in a breath, "with you."

It was her way of telling him she cared. She wasn't blunt when it came to these kind of feelings. He knew that. And therefore, appreciated her words even more.

"And I love you," he whispered to her ear.

Her smile grew and she placed her hands to his shoulders. She pushed him back slightly and locked her eyes with him before engaging him in a kiss.

He was committed and she wasn't scared. She was too forward and he was only forward behind the scenes, when it didn't really count.

And she liked that. Too much. And she liked him. Too much. And she was sure she was falling, but he was right there to catch her. And it would be okay.

...and all things she ever lived are left behind...