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And Midnight Never Come
by echoes mourn
Faustus: Stay, Mephistophilis!
and tell me what good
Will my soul do thy lord.
Mephistophilis: Enlarge his kingdom.
Faustus: Is that the reason why he tempts us thus?
Mephistophilis: Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris. (Misery loves company.)
Faustus: Why, have you any pain that torture others?
Mephistophilis: As great as have the human souls of men.
-------------------------------------
The labs worked late into the night, running every known test on their illustrious patient,
and, Cuddy suspected, possibly a few more that the technicians had made up on the spot.
No one was ever too thrilled about staying late, but at least they had plenty to talk about.
A screaming match involving House was nothing new, but a screaming match where
House came out the loser was definitely news, and this had fed the rumor mill to an
alarming degree.
Cuddy did what she could to stop the talk. Unfortunately, this was one time when truth
was worse than rumor.
There wasn't much she could do. The team was staying away from Oswin, who was
being remarkably quiet about that fact, so no mediation was needed. But a worried
Cameron had recruited her and a confused but cooperative Wilson to help keep an eye on
House, and Cuddy felt that was the least she could do. House himself would be the first
to tell her she was being stupid in taking on so much guilt, but she couldn't help but
remember her excitement at winning such a coup for the hospital. Donation or no, a
famous patient successfully treated always reflected well on a hospital and its
administrators.
The sin of pride, she thought tiredly.
She stared at her watch blankly for a moment before the time registered. Soon it would be
time for her casual walk past House's office again. She tried to work, but could only
rearrange the papers before her.
-------------------------------------------------
Foreman was helping in the lab, not something he normally did. This was only helping
feed the gossip, especially the way he was half-bullying the techs, in almost Houseian
fashion. But he couldn't stand being idle, and though he longed to go home and get out of
this madhouse, that felt somehow disloyal. Besides, he was apparently the only rational
one left on the team.
House had explained even less of his encounter with Oswin than Cameron and Chase
had, but what he had said had convinced him. Once and for all, House had finally lost it.
They were all just lucky that he'd lost it during a non-case instead of in the middle of a
crisis.
In the morning, or better yet, once Oswin was gone and the place had settled down, he
was going to have a serious talk with Cuddy about this. She'd be rational about all this,
and help him get things back into perspective. He was a logical man, and he shouldn't
have to deal with House's delusions and fairy tales.
He didn't believe in any of the things people were hinting at about Oswin. It was late, and
he was tired, and that was the only reason he was even thinking about any of this.
He was a rational man.
----------------------------------------------------
Chase always kept a Bible and an old prayer book at the hospital along with his other
things. At first, he'd left them there in case there was a dying patient in need of spiritual comfort, and no priest available. He didn't really imagine he'd be much of a substitute in such a case, and fortunately it hadn't happened yet. The only use he'd made of them so far was for his own comfort.
The ideas of Hell and Satan had gone through some changes of late: the first was no
longer considered to be a place; and the second was no longer quite the
anthropomorphized Prince of Darkness anymore. Exorcism was something Chase, like
many others, had never been quite comfortable with. It was only rarely officially
performed these days. But the old prayers were still there, and he murmured the words of
one of them now.
We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits, all satanic powers, all
infernal invaders, all wicked legions, assemblies and sects; in the Name and by the power
of Our Lord Jesus Christ...
But there was no comfort, no safety, in the faintly musty pages of a book, even a holy
book.
Whatever had happened in Oswin's room, it now seemed as unreal to Chase as it did to
everyone else. It had never been clear, but now it was like a half-glimpsed, half-
remembered nightmare. Easier to agree with Foreman and just assume he'd finally
cracked under the pressure of work - except that would mean that House and possibly
Cameron had cracked also, and that was too much.
He'd doubted before, of course. How could anyone not doubt in a hospital?
But today was the first time he'd ever despised his own faith.
------------------------
Cameron hadn't bothered trying to be subtle. House would know she was there, whatever
she did. She just walked past his office whenever possible, making sure he was still
inside. What she'd do if he ever wasn't there on one of her visits was something she
hadn't been able to work out for certain.
Sometimes she exchanged a few hushed words with Wilson or Cuddy, though there was
nothing new to say. No medical test could confirm or deny the dark ideas they all thought
about but couldn't put into words.
How had she escaped? She should think herself lucky, but this question only disturbed
her. An online biography she'd found told her that Oswin did in fact have an estranged
daughter of thirty, so perhaps his story hadn't all been lies. He might have felt sorry for
her because of his daughter, and couldn't bring himself to subject her to whatever horrors
he'd sent to Chase and House. She couldn't forgive him for that, but if her idea was right,
there was still some mercy in him.
It was the only explanation she could think of, and she was more and more convinced it
was the correct one. That had to mean he wasn't yet beyond help, whatever Chase had
said. There was still a chance that someone could reach him, pull him back from
whatever terrible precipice he was on.
She was walking towards his room before she knew what she was doing. Even after she
realized, it took her a moment to stop moving.
She turned, awkwardly, like a sleepwalker, and fled back towards the conference room.
--------------------------------
House sat in his office in the dark, the blinds drawn and the last dregs of his drink before
him.
He'd lost count of the number of times Cuddy and Cameron had walked past his office -
both were wearing heels, Cameron walking a little less lightly than usual, Cuddy a little
less confidently. By now they must have both logged in miles of walking and checking
up on him. Cameron had not-so-subtly peeked in from the conference room a couple of
times before he'd limped over and shut those blinds also. Cuddy had stopped just outside
the hall door on three occasions and hesitated for long moments. He'd wondered idly if
she was trying to hear him breathe.
He wasn't as drunk as he would have liked, but there wasn't a lot he could do about that
at the moment. Wilson had wandered in for some unspecified purpose about an hour ago
- probably sent by Cameron, but for once House wasn't curious enough to find out for
certain.
His visitor had finally let himself be driven away by House's non-answers and stony
silences, both worse than usual, muttering something about checking up on him later. It
wasn't until a minute or so after Wilson left that House discovered that the half-full bottle of scotch had left with him.
It was impossible to grow up on military bases without learning to swear impressively, in
several languages, and House put this talent to full use now. But none of the language
was actually directed at Wilson.
He swore at Oswin for existing, at whatever bizarre power or illusion had turned him into
what he was today. He swore at Cuddy for accepting the case, at Vogler for taking back
his money. Most of all, he swore at himself, at his leg, at his pain, his fear, his weakness.
Finally he seized his cane, leaning patiently against his desk, and threw it across the
room, watching with grim satisfaction as it crashed into a bookcase and sent several
volumes thudding to the floor.
But nothing could drown out the refrain in his head. Your leg. Whole. Just as it was.
No more pain.
------------------------------------
But there is always pain in a hospital. There is always a woman vainly tending a child
ravaged by cancer, a husband waiting by the bedside of his dying wife, a son watching
his father struggle to live another day.
Pain calls to pain. Each plea and every tear, shed or unshed, pulls together into a clinging
web of sorrow, a tangled tapestry of lost chances and denied forgiveness, the fabric that
weighs down all those left behind.
It is this blanket that covers William Oswin, this night and every night, as he goes to
sleep. Whether it is more pleasure or torment to him, not even he can say.
-----------------------------------
It was some time after the crash - long enough that House guessed the two events weren't
connected - when the knock sounded on his door. It was a little strange to hear a knock,
but it was so quiet and tentative that he immediately decided it must be Cameron,
resorting now to more direct methods of checking on him.
He debated ignoring it, longed to ignore it. Then he had visions of Cameron, Wilson,
Cuddy, and possibly several large orderlies all coming in rapid succession to pound on
his door and push their way in, and decided to try and nip that in the bud.
"I'm fine," he called, sounding anything but. It was almost too much effort to speak up
enough to be heard. "Go make yourself useful in the lab."
But the door opened instead, and he blinked in faint surprise. "You're not Cameron."
Cuddy stood in the doorway, shaking her head. "No. Never studied immunology. I could
go down to the lab, but I think that would only make the technicians nervous."
There was a tense pause, then she stepped further into the room. She shot a curious
glance at the books on the floor, but she knew it was better not to ask too many questions.
Cameron had, of necessity, been vague about the details, but it was impossible not to
realize just how shaken the man before her was. "I--I'm sorry, House."
He made a face. "Is the whole world revolving around your guilt again? You really
should stop that. Not healthy."
Cuddy made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Thanks."
"For calling you unhealthy?"
She shook her head. "No. For--for still being you, I guess."
There was another pause, this time slightly less tense. "I knew you'd grow to love my
abuse."
Now she managed something more like a laugh, and rolled her eyes, because this was
almost, almost the moment of sheer, blissful normality she'd needed. "Oh, yeah.
Everyone loves having their authority flouted."
She hesitated, studying him for a moment. It was too dark to see his face, but his voice
was flat and exhausted, and he'd hardly moved. "I'm calling a board meeting tomorrow
morning."
"Won't matter."
"But it's worth a try."
"I mean that it won't matter any more by tomorrow morning."
Cuddy froze, and House caught her sudden panic. "Relax. You won't have to call the
police."
She relaxed a fraction. "Promise?"
House sighed, hesitating just long enough for Cuddy to grow tense and nervous again.
But when he did speak, his voice was definite. "Promise."
There were several snide comments on the tip of her tongue, but she some instinct
stopped her from saying them. "I'm holding you to that," she said in her best hospital
administrator voice, and then she turned and left.
House stared at his empty glass until the click of her heels faded into nothing. They
sounded more confident now, he noticed. Ironic that he could restore confidence to
anyone right now.
He considered chasing after Wilson and harassing the oncologist until he got his lost
scotch back. He considered going in search of Cameron so he could spy on her and see
how she liked it. He considered everything except the one possibility that was most on his
mind: going back to Oswin's room.
Of course, all these possibilities required that he first get up and retrieve his cane. It had found an unlikely landing spot, wedged between the bookcase and the wall, and the last
thing he wanted to do was limp over there and wrestle with it. But asking for help wasn't
going to happen, either, and he was running out of time.
He made one last, fruitless effort to find some more alcohol at the bottom of his glass,
then pushed his chair back and prepared for the trek to the other side of the room. It
doesn't have to hurt anymore. He stopped, closing his eyes briefly. Then, he caught a
faint sound that he hadn't heard for a while, and the door to the conference room opened.
"Ah, the head nursemaid," he said, flicking a quick glance in Cameron's direction. "I
thought you'd finally forgotten about me."
This sort of comment would normally have made Cameron blush, or perhaps snark back,
but not this time. From that door, she had an excellent view of both the books and the
cane that had dislodged them, and her eyes flickered over to them now.
Wordlessly, she
walked over and carefully untangled the cane, then handed it to him across his desk.
"I wasn't just watching you for your sake. It was for mine, too," she finally said.
"What happened?" He'd taken hold of the cane, but had forgotten to keep moving as he
studied her pale face, and now they stood still, each holding one end.
She shrugged. "Maybe nothing. I don't know anymore." Gently, she pushed the cane
towards him a little, and he finally took it and rested it across his knees.
Now he knew where at least some of her fear was coming from. A doctor without trust in
her own judgment was no doctor at all. But he could hardly blame her for doubting when
it came to this patient.
"What happened?" he repeated, with unusual patience.
"I--I was ready to forgive him. I felt sorry for him again, completely out of nowhere, and
I wanted to forget everything he'd done to you and to Chase and just do whatever I could
to help him."
She paused, grimacing faintly. "Maybe you don't think that's anything weird for me. But
it is. I wasn't... thinking like myself."
House almost matched her grimace. "No, I know. It wasn't your fault."
He planted his cane on the floor and hauled himself out of the chair, taking a moment to
let his leg adjust. "Come on. You can wait outside again."
-------------------------
Cameron's protests were useless, and her questions about exactly what he intended to do
got the answer she'd expected, which was no answer at all. "House, he's getting to all of
us, one way or another. Don't give him another chance at you," she pleaded.
"One way or another, he won't be a problem by tomorrow morning."
"But how can you--"
"Just trust me. Would I lie to you?"
"Repeatedly." She spoke matter-of-factly, with a hint of a nervous smile.
"That's my girl. You're learning." He slowed a little and looked over at her. "But I'm not
lying now."
She considered this for a moment, studying his eyes. "All right. But let me help you,
please."
He started to wave off the idea, then reconsidered. "There is something you can do.
Watch out for Hekyll and Jekyll. I asked around, and it looks like they didn't leave the
hospital. If you see them, knock twice.
She desperately wanted to ask why, and what he thought they might be up to, but she
only nodded. "Be careful."
"Always." He paused, staring at the door for a moment, then looked back at her.
"Cameron..."
The pause dragged on until she could stand it no longer. "What?" she murmured, her
voice shaking.
"It'll be okay," he said, and turned quickly, opening the door and stepping inside before
she could protest.
Earlier, she'd hurried back to the conference room because she felt stronger there, more
herself. And it had helped to know that House was in the next room. Now, the defenses
she'd built up were crumbling again.
She'd seen hesitation, even fear, in his eyes.
Her heart pounding, she took up the same spot near the door where she'd waited earlier.
-------------------------
"Everybody lies."
The words threw House off-balance. For once, he wasn't the one speaking them. "Guess
it's time to renew my copyright," he said, not quite as glibly as he would have liked.
"It's a very apt motto."
"Especially when talking to you," House shot back.
"You're still not sure. You don't trust me any more than you trust anyone else, and why
should you? I'm the bad guy."
Now Oswin turned and looked at House for the first time, and the younger man was
shocked at the change. He looked every day of his eighty years, his face deeply lined, his
hair thinner, the fire gone from his sunken eyes. But no, House realized as he hobbled
closer, the fire was still there. Now it was the fire of unreasoning fear, the primal urge to survive.
"You're desperate," House said flatly. "This is your last day, isn't it? Your eightieth
birthday, according to your file. You finally figured out that medical science can't help
you, and now you've only got one chance left. Just like every big businessman, you need
a scapegoat when the deal goes sour, someone to take the hit for you. But you made a big
mistake looking here."
"Did I? You know what you can gain from this deal. Can you honestly say you don't
want your leg back, more than anything? More than your friends, your family, your job--
"
"Don't keep saying you know what I want." His voice was a growl. He hardly knew what
he was saying, but he knew he had to keep Oswin from talking until he had his
equilibrium back. "I don't care what the hell you wished for, you don't know what's in
my head. You're losing, you've already lost! Look at yourself!"
Oswin flinched. "You can save me. You can save us both." He was pleading now, but for
once, he'd tried the wrong tactic.
"If you can't even get to Cameron with your damn pity party, what the hell makes you
think it'll work on me? We both know you're running out of time. I can outlast you."
The tired eyes, in that moment, were tired no longer, and House knew he'd been wrong to
say that Oswin couldn't tell what was in his head.
"Can you?" he asked mildly.
Then House was falling.
It'll be okay. Promise. I'm fine. No more pain. I want to help you. Your leg back, whole,
just as it was. What do you think of the boy's bargain?
He clung to his cane, that hated, beloved companion, and knew that he was upright, but
he was still falling.
Then, like the ringing of distant bells, he heard two clear knocks.
Be careful. Let me help you.
Cameron.
And his feet were under him again, and he was back in Oswin's room.
So, he then realized, were the two assistants, though he didn't recall hearing the door
open. In fact, it couldn't have opened, or he would certainly have heard Cameron making
some sort of fuss about not letting them in. But the fact was, they were there.
They did not look at their erstwhile boss, but at House, as though waiting for his orders.
There was absolutely nothing remarkable about either of them; an ordinary business-
suited man and woman that you might see walking down any street or hallway. They
studied him neutrally, expressionlessly.
And something about them made the most primal part of House's brain demand that he
run.
He looked at Oswin. The billionaire, who could seize rival companies, manipulate the
stock market, and possibly crush small countries, was now small and old and wasted, too
weakened even to move. He stared at the two new arrivals, his eyes now filled with the
blankness that follows terror too great for the mind to comprehend.
"It's almost midnight," House told Oswin.
Then he steeled himself and glanced back at the others, not quite meeting their eyes.
"He's all yours."
He turned and limped from the room as quickly as he could, his hand white-knuckled
around his ever-present cane.
-------------------------------------
At midnight exactly, the alarms sounded. The monitors in William Oswin's room all
sprang to life, shrieking to summon help for the dying man. Doctors and nurses raced
towards the sound, applying all their long-practiced skills to their attempts at
resuscitation. It was a chaotic dance, but everyone knew the steps, and not a beat was
missed.
The only faintly jarring note was the confusion everyone felt. They all knew this man
wasn't a real patient. There'd been nothing seriously wrong with him. So why did they
find themselves now fighting for his life? As all their efforts inexplicably failed, and the
dance slowly resolved itself into a time of death, they all found time to wonder what
could possibly have happened.
The only two people who might have been able to answer their questions stayed apart,
standing in the shadows of a doorway down the hall, watching quietly as the group began
to disperse, and Oswin became merely another corpse.
"Are they really gone?" Cameron finally asked.
They'd both been checking up and down the hall for some time now, looking for any sign
of the two who had ushered Oswin into death. House could only shrug. "Looks like it. Or
maybe they're just too busy to come back right now."
She couldn't quite suppress a shudder. "This is a nightmare, right?"
"You're hurting my feelings. I thought I starred in your dreams, not your nightmares."
This usually would have earned him an eye roll, if not an annoyed comment, but right
now Cameron just laughed shakily. "All right, it's a nightmare with one or two good
things left in it."
She watched a nurse pull the sheet up over Oswin's face, and was surprised to realize that
there was no terror in his last expression, only blankness. She was more surprised to hear
herself breathe a faint sigh of relief. Then she bit her lip, ashamed of the thought.
As usual, House seemed to read her mind. "I think just this once, it's okay to be a little
glad that we lost a patient. I won't tell anyone."
He wasn't being nearly as snide as usual, and Cameron looked up at him doubtfully. "Are
you the same person who annoyed everyone by insisting on treating a death row inmate,
because every patient deserves the same care?"
"I mostly only annoyed you. Well, maybe Cuddy, too." Then his face softened, and he
looked tired and pale. "We were in a whole different ballgame this time."
Cameron's hand hovered over his arm, her fingers not quite touching the fabric of his
jacket. "I know. But I hate sports metaphors," she said quietly.
House stayed very still for a long moment, ignoring the pain that was now resurfacing
from the pool of Vicodin-laced Scotch, vengeful over its near-drowning. So much of his
life was tied up in these walls, it seemed as though everything that had ever happened to
him had happened here. This was where he'd driven himself to work until he was near
collapse, where he'd hidden from patients and lost himself in soap operas. He'd crossed
swords with Cuddy, mooched countless lunches from Wilson, harassed nurses and his
own staff until they were ready to scream or cry, saved lives and made enemies.
And he'd lost his leg here. Pushed Stacy away here.
Was this going to become another loss that would forever divide his life into before and
after?
Then he remembered the sound of two quick knocks on a window, at exactly the right
moment, and shook his head. As much as he didn't care what people thought of him, he
knew he couldn't stand to be looked at the way Chase had looked when he talked about
Oswin. And how would Wilson look at him, or Cuddy? Even the ever-pragmatic
Foreman?
He sighed and looked down at Cameron, standing just as still as he was. She'd claimed
once to hate him, but he knew he'd never yet seen real hate in those clear, blue-green
eyes. He wasn't going to be the one to put it there. Whatever he'd lost, he hadn't yet lost
whatever passed for his soul.
"Come on. You wanted to help? You can help me find Wilson and annoy him until we get my Scotch back. We've earned a drink."
------------------------------------------
The next morning dawned grey and chilly, a steady drizzle soaking the ground and
turning everything dark. Cameron arrived early, even by her standards, and turned on the
lights of the conference room to find that Chase had arrived even earlier. More
accurately, she guessed he'd never left, since his clothes were those he'd worn yesterday.
He squinted at the lights, but only looked resigned.
She murmured a greeting, then brewed coffee in silence and handed him a cup. He gave
an equally quiet thanks, and sipped absently.
Foreman entered a minute or two later, looking subdued and nearly as tired as Chase.
Joining Cameron at the coffee maker, he murmured a few questions at her, which she
could only answer in the negative. No, she hadn't yet seen House, nor had she seen
Cuddy this morning.
But House appeared almost before she finished speaking, and even Chase looked up in
faint surprise at seeing him so early. Like Cameron, he'd gone home and showered and
changed, but hadn't quite managed to sleep. He took his mug from Cameron
automatically, feeling his body wake up a little at the warmth and the familiar smell.
But it was still a tired, silent group that Cuddy found when she appeared a few minutes
later. Even House was just sitting, neither playing video games nor tossing his oversized
tennis ball around the room. Cuddy seemed less than energetic herself, but as usual, she
still managed to look professional and together, no matter how much she felt the
opposite.
She cleared her throat nervously, and knew she'd just blown her image of calm. "Good
morning, everyone. I just wanted to thank you all. I know you all put in late hours and a
great deal of effort on this last case, and I appreciate it. And I'd also like to apologize
for--for any extra stress that this case may have put you under."
She couldn't get any closer to explaining than that, couldn't look anyone in the eye. "You
can all take today off if you'd like. There aren't any urgent cases, and the clinic is
covered well enough."
This didn't provoke quite the thanks and relief she'd hoped for, though Foreman smiled
and nodded his head gratefully, and Cameron murmured a thank you. Cuddy shot quick,
worried glances at both Chase and House before continuing. "I do have one piece of good
news, though. Oswin's executors left word that his will provided for a twenty million
dollar bequest to the hospital. It... may be dirty money, in a way, but at least we can put
it to good use."
She told herself again that she should be happier about the money, but she knew it had
come at too high a cost. "I've been thinking of suggesting to the board that the money
should go to the NICU," she added, looking at Chase.
For a moment, Cuddy was sure that Chase was going to object, but then he nodded
slowly. "They certainly can put it to good use," he said, sitting up a little straighter.
"I'll recommend that, then." She allowed herself one quiet sigh of relief. "Thank you all
again. And please, go home and get some rest." Her smile was tense but genuine as she
looked at each of them in turn before leaving the room.
A concerned Foreman offered Chase a ride home, which was accepted, though Chase
added that he wanted to stop by the NICU on the way and give them the probable good
news before they heard any garbled versions of it through the rumor mill.
No sooner had they left than Wilson appeared. "Hey, I hear you guys are getting sprung
early today."
Cameron, gathering up her things, drew breath to reply, but House beat her to it. "You're
just in time. You can give me a ride home, and replace that bottle of Scotch on the way.
"
"You want me to buy you a whole bottle? Yours was half empty!" Wilson objected.
House gave him a scolding look. "Half full, Wilson. I hope you're not such a pessimist
with your patients." He hauled himself up from his chair and grabbed his backpack. "I
still can't believe you dropped it in the first place."
"If it's any consolation, my office still reeks like a distillery. One of the janitors is
working on that now so my patients won't think I'm a raving alcoholic, and soon it will
reek of that lovely hospital disinfectant instead."
"Even better. You can't use your office, so you're free to drive me home."
"What about your bike?"
"At home. I took a cab today. It didn't seem fair to risk my fellow citizens' lives by
driving while I was fuming about my lost Scotch."
Cameron couldn't help but laugh at this exchange, though she was amazed that she
actually wanted to laugh. "I'll just leave you two to sort this out," she said, slinging her
purse over her shoulder.
But House swung his cane out to stop her. "You owe Cameron a bottle, too. I promised
her a drink and she never got one. Go on, give him those puppy-dog eyes," he added
encouragingly to the immunologist.
"Oh, no, don't drag me into this." She held up her hands in surrender.
"House--" Wilson began, in his best exasperated tone.
"I'll buy you breakfast," House cut in, stunning the oncologist into silence.
He turned to the equally surprised Cameron. "You, too. But you have to hurry, this is a
limited time offer."
Wilson had already had breakfast, but he wasn't about to mention that. "I'll go grab my
keys and meet you out front," he said, turning and hurrying from the room.
Cameron looked at House curiously, but said only, "Thank you."
He put on his usual annoyed look at being thanked and waved a hand dismissively. "Don't get used to it."
"I won't."
One corner of her mouth was quirked in a smile that she was trying to hide, and House
glared at her. "Don't look smug, either. I haven't suddenly turned optimistic. I've got a
free pass from Cuddy for the day, I can probably guilt her into some hours off clinic duty,
and I'll only be reminded about that lost hundred million four-fifths as often. That's
reason enough to be in a good mood."
Cameron nodded. "Of course." But she was still looking at him, expecting him to say
more.
"And... today I remembered that things can always get worse, so buy your friends
breakfast while you can." House shifted uncomfortably, wondering what she was going
to make of being called a friend, but it was too late now.
She gave up hiding her smile and let it light up her face. "Then we'd better get going,
before Wilson thinks you've changed your mind."
"Oh, he doesn't give up on me that easily. He knows I take a while to come around."
Cameron just laughed, and held open the door for him as he left. Then she reached back
and turned off the lights, letting the quiet shadows claim the empty room.
------------------------------------------
Ah, Faustus,
Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,
And then thou must be damn'd perpetually!
Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of Heaven,
That time may cease, and midnight never come;
Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again and make
Perpetual day; or let this hour be but
A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul!
O lente, lente, curite noctis equi. (Run softly, softly, horses of the night)
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,
The Devil will come, and Faustus must be damn'd.
--------------------------------
A/N: To give proper credit for the quotes: Chase does in fact quote Ecclesiastes, chapter
six; House and Cameron jointly quote Joseph Conrad; and the italicized quotes and the
titles are from Christopher Marlowe's The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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