Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.

Something I literally dreamed up last night... while I slept.

Hope you enjoy.

House leaned on the mall pillar looking up at the broken skylight and the sulfurous clouds rolling by. "Do you ever pray, Wilson?"

"I might have said "God" several hundreds of times in the past three days. Does that count?"

The smile on House's face had nothing to do with my response, nor was it meant to comfort me. The events that culminated in the last month horrified him like the rest of us, but unlike everyone else, the chaos also fascinated him. House was born to witness the apocalypse.

"They'll use bullets to kill us. Pray they don't run out."

"What I don't understand is why does anyone want to take over our country when the world is breaking apart anyway?"

"A chance to grab the most toys." House shrugged and eased his way down to the ground to join me. "Does it really matter?"

"No. I never thought I'd say this, but your old Vicodin stash would have come in handy now."

"Everything happened too fast. The hospital closur—" House lifted his head toward the opening.

The refugees around us did the same. I never dreamed I could listen to cries and whimpers and not care.

A distant buzz of a helicopter grew louder. The grinding noise swelled into a throbbing roar. The walls and floor vibrated.

Fear clutched at my gut. Not one patrol chopper, a fleet. A shadow hovered over the hole in the ceiling threatening to seal us in the dark.

The thrumming decreased—a more ominous sound. The copters were landing. Any minute the sound of crashing doors and stomping boots would invade our stronghold.

House was right. It was the end. I lowered my head and ran my hand over my face, but stopped when I felt a sharp nudge to my ribs.

"Wilson."

"What?" I tilted my face and peered at him.

He leaned forward and pulled something from behind his back and placed it on his lap. The twilight shed enough light for the object to take form—his father's service revolver. He raised it and waved the barrel, first at me, then at his head.

His face draped in sorrow, he spoke barely above a whisper. "I love you, Wilson."

My hand wrapped around his wrist and stopped the gun from swaying between us. "I love you, House."

With little inflection, he said. "I only have one bullet."

Hope, jealousy and shame raced through my heart. I dropped my hand, closed my eyes, and selfishly prayed not to hear the the shot…

I woke up startled, my breath shallow as I gasped for air. The sight of our bedroom vanquished the last dregs of my nightmare. House snored beside me, his body warm and pressed against my body, his leg hooked around mine. I stayed quiet and allowed my leg to go numb rather than wake him and begin our day.

I must have drifted off when a sound dragged me awake. House stood at the window looking out, the drapes still swinging from the rod. He crunched on dry flakes from the cereal box in his hand while he stared at the sky.

My heart sank at the green-tinged saffron clouds.

"House, Do you still have your father's pistol?"

He did not turn his face, but answered solemnly, "I do."

"Be sure it's loaded with two bullets."