A/N: Written in 2007. I stopped watching House somewhere in the midst of the Tritter drama, so this story takes nothing beyond that point into consideration. Actually, there aren't spoilers of any sort in here. I remember that I was going for something different with format in this story. I'm not sure it was sucessful, but it's not awful and this was such a pet ship of mine, so I put it up. I've also decided to leave it as it was, because I'd like to keep it as a reminder of what needs fixing in my writing.

You may have seen this story before under a different pen name, but it's still me and it's still mine, although the characters and House, MD are not.

Alpha. Omega. Delta.


You wish she would stop looking at you like that. Hell, you wish she would just stop looking at you. You can't stand looking into those eyes. The sun in her eyes is blinding. She's completely untouchable.

You've never said this to anyone. You never will. It would sound absurd. It sounds absurd in your head. You slide your hands on her skin at night, you've touched her in places you'd like to think no one else has. It's in those damn eyes. Greg was always good at finding puzzles, but you think he may have picked the one even he can't figure out. Everybody lies. Well, people do, sure. But you're not sure she's got herself figured out and you know for a fact that Greg's missed the point.

He's been trying to pick apart her layers one by one since she got here. Well, sometimes he resorted to antagonizing the layers apart. But you notice he's been frustrated around her, and you know why. You know Greg too well. You know that his concept of humanity just seems to break down around her, and it's as absurd to him as the laws of physics not applying to his desk alone among the universe.

Today she was running tests in the lab on a case you were consulting on. It was a perfect opportunity to be in the same room with her and just observe. And with her eyes in the microscope you're safe from them. You were sorely tempted to reach out and stroke that smooth neck, but you found that even her aura told you to get back.

What on Earth were they doing? What had changed? You don't even know when you realized your longing. It was as though it had always been there and had never been there at the same time; as though you reached for her because she was so heart-breakingly human (you always had a thing for humanity). Greg called her damaged once, and maybe she was. You're damaged too. What you don't get is how she can be a good person too. Sure, people thought you were a saint. Boy Wonder Oncologist. You were so good at pretending. Your bitter side was so certain she was the same way.

Staring at her hair in the lab, you remembered when those soft curls were spread across her pillow. You stared at her. You still didn't get her. You had dug into her in a desperate attempt to understand her. She stared right back, and she stopped your heart when, laying on that bed of transgression, she smiled and kissed you on your fiendish lips. And you know, in that moment, that you could find deliverance if only you could figure her out.

You reached out in the lab and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Even though she looked up and smiled at you, you feel like you've stained her.


That night you're standing in your living room and you're kissing her and she suddenly takes a step back, leaving you feeling like an amputee. This is pathetic.

In that very moment you find you can't look away from those eyes.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can do this, James," she says in a voice barely above a whisper, but you're sure they've seared your ears.

You know how she feels. This is all so screwed up. It's all your fault, too. Informed consent. You never even bothered to make it clear to her what she was in for. You didn't tell her that if she thought Greg was screwed up, she couldn't even begin to comprehend what it would be like with you. She couldn't know that you weren't healthy, not even close. How could she know how this would turn out, when you were just a sinner stumbling in the dark for release?

You're not very good at this. You're a serial husband and a serial adulterer. You're not used to this feeling. You like to feel needed, but now you find the tables turned. You had the illusion that she needed you at the beginning, but now the pain of your desperate need for her aches in your chest. And you know she could go on without you. Even though they burn you, you can't look away from those eyes.

"Allison," you gasp.

It's as though the curtains had been drawn away for the first time since you've known her. It feels almost perverse, like you're witnessing something deeply private that you have no right to. What you see there is so foreign, so unknown, and your terror at it makes you blurt out the first think you can think. Get back.

"What else are we supposed to do?"

She blinks once, and you've been shut out again. And oh, it was so cold.

Looks like you fucked this one up pretty good, Jimmy.


Her mouth sets into a line, somewhere between disappointment and resolve. "Okay, then," she says, and she moves toward the door.

You're a doctor. You know for a fact that the way your heart's pounding can't be healthy. You can feel it in your ears and you're fairly certain it'll break your ribcage.

God please don't go.

Your muscles lurch and your hand strikes out to grab her arm as your mouth moves.


You can't even be certain you've actually said it. You're not sure your throat is working. But even though your grip on her arm is weak Allison stops and turns to look at you. You can feel the pain again as her eyes search yours—you just don't deserve this—but all the same you hope to God that she can see the pleading in your eyes.

"Please don't go."

You've shocked yourself by saying it, but somehow she doesn't seem so surprised.

She smiles and laces her hands in yours, and suddenly you think you know what redemption feels like.

A/N: Please let me know what you think, good or bad.