House watched patients enter and leave the hospital every day. Some were dying, with no hope of recovery. Some had a runny nose, and were nervous about the color of their mucus. There was one thing that the terminal and the moronic had in common however: "loved ones."

Families weeping over newly diagnosed lung cancer, spouses kissing because of a negative test result… they always have someone they love to share the results with, good or bad.

House scoffed at the thought of this faux love. Love had to be worked at. It was a skill that needed to be perfected. And if he had learned one thing throughout his many years at the hospital, it was that it was easy to love someone who was going to live. It's easy to love someone with a negative test result, or someone as healthy as can be. That's not real love.

Terminal patients lay in their bed, gasping for breath, with a death sentence hanging over their head like a knife. When a loved one stays by their bedside the whole time, crying, praying, watching them suffer… that's love.

Love is watching someone die.

A patient was admitted into the hospital today. He'll survive. The son of a bitch shoved a metal knife into an electrical socket. Still, even knowing the cheery news of his survival (and the not-so-cheery news of his suicide attempt), his wife sat in his room, weeping over his sleeping form. He wasn't dead. He wasn't dying… And yet the person who loves him is still crying, staying with him…

It was an anomaly. And anomalies bugged House.

House sat in his office, tapping the tip of his pocket knife against his wooden desk. He couldn't comprehend the woman's sadness. Her husband was alive, albeit suicidal. Why wasn't she rejoicing? He thought he had love down to a science. The truest form of love came to a person in the toughest of times, not the easiest. Yes, her husband's attempt to kill himself could amount to a tough time, but when she found out that he was going to live… she should have been happy. Her husband was alive… yet, she remained weeping, seemingly not comforted at all.

Love was watching someone die. House was sure of it. He was not wrong.

The woman must not have been comforted because she feared for the times ahead. Would he try this stunt again? Was he really so terribly depressed? Was she the cause of his depression? Would he get better?

She wept not for the near death of her husband, but for the next time he got depressed, when he would jump in front of a bus, or swallow some arsenic. She cried for her husband not yet dead.

The more House reasoned with himself, the greater his curiosity became. Is it human nature to imagine the worst case scenario, or was that just the case with certain people? Certain people with depressed loved ones.

There was another burning question on his mind. One that he couldn't figure out the answer to, no matter how hard he reasoned.

Who was going to watch him die?

Admittedly, he didn't have many friends. All he had was Wilson, Cuddy, and his team.

But would anyone care?

Would anyone weep beside his bedside?

He needed to know. He couldn't stand not knowing. He was House. He had to have all of the answers. This was just another unsolved puzzle that would keep him up at night.

House lined up the knife with the electrical outlet in his wall. This could just be… another project.

First, he had to weigh the pros against the cons.

On the one hand, he could die, and then it wouldn't matter who was by his bedside. It wouldn't even matter if there was no one. On the other hand, he could live, and find someone by his beside. Maybe they'd be crying for him. Maybe they'd be praying. Maybe they'd just be looking at his unmoving form, wishing they weren't so helpless. Then again, there was always the chance that he would live, and no one would be there for him when he woke up, except for a nurse checking his heart rate and taking a urine sample. If that was the case… he could always swallow poison, he supposed. That way, he would get the job done once and for all. What was the point of living if there was no one there with you when you died?

He took a deep breath, and before he could change his mind, rammed the knife into the electrical socket.

When he woke up, it was dark. He couldn't open his eyes, for the surrounding room was far too bright. The light pained him, giving him a migraine.

It was quiet, except for the steady beeping coming from the machine that monitored his heart rate. He also heard deep breathing. He couldn't decide however, if it was coming from his own body or from another. His disorientation aggravated him, and he slowly moved his hands to rub his eyes, coaxing them open in the process. He groaned at the intake of light, but ignored it, and kept his eyes open the best that he could.

At first glance looking around, he saw nobody in his room. Not even a nurse. He dropped his head back onto a pillow, and silently dismayed at the failed project.

"H-House! You're awake!"

House's head turned quickly to the far corner of the room, where a very Australian accent had called his name. The blonde, former member of his team rushed over to his bedside and placed his hand on House's shoulder. House looked at the hand weighing him down, and then up at the face of Robert Chase hovering above him.

"Interesting…" he said with the ghost of a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

Maybe this project had been a success after all.

A/N: This one was loosely based off of the song What Sarah Said by Death Cab for Cutie, and also the episode 97 Seconds from Season 4.

Hope you like this one… Reviews are lovely :D