First House fic. I've written before, but this was a drabble that I extracted from my skull to fight a bout of insomnia. A bit of cursing, but nothing bad apart from that.

Enjoy! ...or don't.

The night was closing in.

He was in a place far beyond the city streets. The whizzing of cars and highways was long since forgotten.

He thought of her… And only her. The kiss… That damn dress…

Greg House wasn't much of a brooder. No, that's a lie. Before her, he wasn't. Then she pranced in with her form fitting vests and oh-so-long legs… Damn her.

Nothing could ever measure up to the feelings of guilt he felt when he saw her crestfallen face after he said all those terrible things to her. She should have never forgiven him. But she did. Every time. That crazy woman… and he allowed himself to hope. Then she kissed him…. And he stopped her. She had that fucking syringe with her.

Fuck.

Staring out at the calm water before him, he envisioned her beautiful face etched into the side of the only somewhat visible moon. He sighed like an immature schoolboy lusting after forbidden fruit.

"Yo, man. You okay? You need help or somethin'? It's hard to find your way around in the dark, dude. The sun's goin' down, yo." Prepubescent schoolboys and their miserable girlfriends had approached silently, startling him from his reverie.

"No shit? You sure 'bout that, dude?" House retorted halfheartedly, angry to be interrupted.

"Ya, man!" Sniggering, he rose awkwardly, dragging his cane through the rocksand.

He limped away without another word. His pocket vibrated and he groaned in annoyance. People should really leave him the hell alone. Glancing at the caller id, his heart fluttered weakly.

Alison Cameron.

"The Best Little Whorehouse on the East Coast. This is Timmy Ray. How can I help you?" He answered gruffly.

"House." Her voice was thick and choked with tears.

"Yes," he breathed. Dear higher being. Let her be alright or I swear to you I will not let you rest until you have suffered.

"Help… oh, dear God. Please help. Foreman didn't answer his phone and Cuddy's in Michigan and Wilson's in a meeting and holy Jesus Christ… Please come now!" She sobbed heavily, voice cracking.

"Chase? Where's your pretty British hotboy when you need him?" He replied quickly, angry that he wasn't there to help her. He stole her from him. He might as well treat her like a damn queen in the process of systematically ruining his life.

"It's… Chase. He took the car and I don't think I can move… Hurry. Please, House. Hurry." Her voice was retreating into the background.

"I'm on my way. Don't fall asleep." He shut the phone and dropped his cane, sprinting as fast as his worthless leg would let him.

He had to save her. His porcelain princess was shattered and he had to save her.

So, tell me what you think. Should I write another chapter? If I did it would be planned better, so it would be better written, too. You don't review, I don't write. Lol if it's bad, just say so and I won't continue it. I'll make it a pretty little oneshot, never to be opened again. Thanks for reading!!! ---Evey