this is the last chapter I had in word already so from now on the waiting time between chapters will be longer because I have yet to write the other chapters... just thought I'd give you the heads up.
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Watching you.
It was a strange thing, watching House sleep… where his blue eyes were not open to depict his misery, his mouth wasn’t open to deny it and the obvious tracks of it somehow vanished into the rhythm of his tranquil heart, he was another man:
The one that Wilson had met some time ago; seemingly in another century but in truth no more than one and a half decades in the past. Through change after change this is what they became: Wilson remained the same for a long time whilst House thought himself reduced to a lesser being by the hands of time: Wilson had always found it very hard to summon up some understanding for the things House did, again and again and again… but he understood now: he had tasted depression, he had been in a place where happiness didn’t exist and he hadn’t understood it in others either:
House’s world.
House’s life day in day out versus the tiny little two-month fragment of it Wilson had lived made Wilson feel incredibly sad: more than once he had blamed House for his own misfortune, his own sorrow and the way he changed over the years… hell, Wilson’s misfortune could be called very minimal in the light of House’s past and future life and he was already changing! And there was no true artificial way to cure depression; either the person trapped in it found his way out or the initial reason of his depression somehow lost its importance… the pills just constructed a haze: they made you forget your depression but if your life remained the exact same with everything that stimulated your downward spiral still in it, it was bound to happen again.
And House would never change… and in this light, when he looked so peaceful, Wilson didn’t want him to; just wished him to be that peaceful when he was awake… but that was just it: House’s depression couldn’t be lifted, not fully, not where the pain remained and it slowly drained him of his ability to fight back… he really needed someone to just pull him out of it!
And they had been almost there… Wilson had been so close! And what did he do when he finally had the trust he so desired? He left… and he became happy. Even in his self-loathing Wilson could not forget how happy he had been but… he could have shared it with House, could’ve tried to make the concept of happiness at least a little less foreign to him but no; he took it away even further, made it as good as unobtainable for House whilst he basked in it and he was actually surprised House rebelled against it? How could he have been so stupid!
Wilson snapped out of his thoughts to find himself staring at his friend with a sense of affection he never felt there before and his mouth shaped itself into a shy smile:
“Sorry, House…” soft, too soft to wake House but loud enough to satisfy Wilson: he relaxed back into his seat, sighing, smiling still: waiting for the moment he could help again and remembering in the meantime.
He fell asleep with Amber’s voice in his head, accompanied by the long forgotten sound of House’s laughter: it should have been that way.
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When he awoke an hour later, House was gone.
The note he left flooded the hospital corridors as he played it on the piano in the auditorium: sad, flat, depressing… and at the same time beautiful, moving, oddly… fascinating?
He walked up to the glass and what he saw amazed him: nurses, doctors(except for the ones who’s patients needed to be saved, of course) , Cuddy, the old team, the new team… and House; playing, basically crying with his own 88 separate tears and… sharing it with everyone? Normally he would abandon the keys at the first sign of an audience but he just didn’t seem to care today… why? Wilson didn’t know, but no one else seemed to care:
Everyone was smiling, falling into quiet memory’s as the song soothed them… but Wilson knew all of this was all about House, this music was all about House’s self-medication and it wasn’t working:
The notes turned raw, the tempo quickened and then… it stopped.
House walked away, paying no heed to his shocked audience or Wilson as he went.
“House…?” Wilson easily caught up with him and fell into step next to him.
“It’s not working.” No emotion. He’d already tried that: wasn’t working, never worked.
“Oh… sorry about that.”
“I can’t go there, Wilson.”
“What, where?”
“My mother. I can’t go to her funeral… I can’t.” Still, House refused to look at Wilson.
“That’s ridiculous! I know you can’t fly right now... or drive… but I can take you there! You have to go: it’s… important, to say goodbye.
Very important.” Wilson’s rather enthusiastic rant seemed to have little effect on House who limped past him, pretty much oblivious to every word he’d just said.
“House!” Wilson caught up with him again… easy, really: House wasn’t exactly speedy.
House gave a dry chuckle: “Wasn’t talking about the logistics, Wilson… and she’s already dead, she won’t notice… I’ll put it this way: I’m not going.”
“I can’t believe you…” Wilson laughed, incredulously: “How can you be so insensitive! You were just crying two hours ago and now you don’t even care?” At this, House whipped around faster than Wilson ever thought possible:
“I never said that! I didn’t say I didn’t care, do you hear me? I can’t go there! And… insensitive? Yeah, I have to be… sorry I’m not like you, I won’t be milking this: I’ll move on, alright? And I’ll do it a hell of a lot faster than you.”
With that, House shot into his office and closed the door, leaving a shocked Wilson behind.
God… at some point, Wilson must’ve fallen in love with his grief instead of Amber… the signs were all there but… had he really passed the point of mourning? Was he really milking this? It had been three months…
“Maybe you’re right… but you’re still going. You need to go… even if I have to make you go. It’s that or Prozac… and that’s gonna happen: I’ll personally escort you to the fourth floor. We had a deal.”
“This has nothing to do with our friendship.” House growled on the other side of the door.
“Yes It Has! You got me my goodbye… do you even recognize how important that was for me?”
“Strange way of showing it.”
“I know… I’m an ass, alright? But I’ll never forget what you did for me and now I’m doing the same for you. You’ll go.”
“Amber didn’t have five knife holes in her body! Try to hug that… and they’ve done an autopsy: they’ve turned her inside out, stitched her up like Frankenstein’s fucking bride! No open casket, NOTHING.. there IS no goodbye! Don’t you understand that?” This did hurt House.
She was stabbed? “Okay, okay… I give up but… you don’t even want to know why he did it?”
“I know why. Do you know what the sad part of all of this is? It doesn’t surprise me at all.”
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more soon!
comment please!
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Watching you.
It was a strange thing, watching House sleep… where his blue eyes were not open to depict his misery, his mouth wasn’t open to deny it and the obvious tracks of it somehow vanished into the rhythm of his tranquil heart, he was another man:
The one that Wilson had met some time ago; seemingly in another century but in truth no more than one and a half decades in the past. Through change after change this is what they became: Wilson remained the same for a long time whilst House thought himself reduced to a lesser being by the hands of time: Wilson had always found it very hard to summon up some understanding for the things House did, again and again and again… but he understood now: he had tasted depression, he had been in a place where happiness didn’t exist and he hadn’t understood it in others either:
House’s world.
House’s life day in day out versus the tiny little two-month fragment of it Wilson had lived made Wilson feel incredibly sad: more than once he had blamed House for his own misfortune, his own sorrow and the way he changed over the years… hell, Wilson’s misfortune could be called very minimal in the light of House’s past and future life and he was already changing! And there was no true artificial way to cure depression; either the person trapped in it found his way out or the initial reason of his depression somehow lost its importance… the pills just constructed a haze: they made you forget your depression but if your life remained the exact same with everything that stimulated your downward spiral still in it, it was bound to happen again.
And House would never change… and in this light, when he looked so peaceful, Wilson didn’t want him to; just wished him to be that peaceful when he was awake… but that was just it: House’s depression couldn’t be lifted, not fully, not where the pain remained and it slowly drained him of his ability to fight back… he really needed someone to just pull him out of it!
And they had been almost there… Wilson had been so close! And what did he do when he finally had the trust he so desired? He left… and he became happy. Even in his self-loathing Wilson could not forget how happy he had been but… he could have shared it with House, could’ve tried to make the concept of happiness at least a little less foreign to him but no; he took it away even further, made it as good as unobtainable for House whilst he basked in it and he was actually surprised House rebelled against it? How could he have been so stupid!
Wilson snapped out of his thoughts to find himself staring at his friend with a sense of affection he never felt there before and his mouth shaped itself into a shy smile:
“Sorry, House…” soft, too soft to wake House but loud enough to satisfy Wilson: he relaxed back into his seat, sighing, smiling still: waiting for the moment he could help again and remembering in the meantime.
He fell asleep with Amber’s voice in his head, accompanied by the long forgotten sound of House’s laughter: it should have been that way.
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When he awoke an hour later, House was gone.
The note he left flooded the hospital corridors as he played it on the piano in the auditorium: sad, flat, depressing… and at the same time beautiful, moving, oddly… fascinating?
He walked up to the glass and what he saw amazed him: nurses, doctors(except for the ones who’s patients needed to be saved, of course) , Cuddy, the old team, the new team… and House; playing, basically crying with his own 88 separate tears and… sharing it with everyone? Normally he would abandon the keys at the first sign of an audience but he just didn’t seem to care today… why? Wilson didn’t know, but no one else seemed to care:
Everyone was smiling, falling into quiet memory’s as the song soothed them… but Wilson knew all of this was all about House, this music was all about House’s self-medication and it wasn’t working:
The notes turned raw, the tempo quickened and then… it stopped.
House walked away, paying no heed to his shocked audience or Wilson as he went.
“House…?” Wilson easily caught up with him and fell into step next to him.
“It’s not working.” No emotion. He’d already tried that: wasn’t working, never worked.
“Oh… sorry about that.”
“I can’t go there, Wilson.”
“What, where?”
“My mother. I can’t go to her funeral… I can’t.” Still, House refused to look at Wilson.
“That’s ridiculous! I know you can’t fly right now... or drive… but I can take you there! You have to go: it’s… important, to say goodbye.
Very important.” Wilson’s rather enthusiastic rant seemed to have little effect on House who limped past him, pretty much oblivious to every word he’d just said.
“House!” Wilson caught up with him again… easy, really: House wasn’t exactly speedy.
House gave a dry chuckle: “Wasn’t talking about the logistics, Wilson… and she’s already dead, she won’t notice… I’ll put it this way: I’m not going.”
“I can’t believe you…” Wilson laughed, incredulously: “How can you be so insensitive! You were just crying two hours ago and now you don’t even care?” At this, House whipped around faster than Wilson ever thought possible:
“I never said that! I didn’t say I didn’t care, do you hear me? I can’t go there! And… insensitive? Yeah, I have to be… sorry I’m not like you, I won’t be milking this: I’ll move on, alright? And I’ll do it a hell of a lot faster than you.”
With that, House shot into his office and closed the door, leaving a shocked Wilson behind.
God… at some point, Wilson must’ve fallen in love with his grief instead of Amber… the signs were all there but… had he really passed the point of mourning? Was he really milking this? It had been three months…
“Maybe you’re right… but you’re still going. You need to go… even if I have to make you go. It’s that or Prozac… and that’s gonna happen: I’ll personally escort you to the fourth floor. We had a deal.”
“This has nothing to do with our friendship.” House growled on the other side of the door.
“Yes It Has! You got me my goodbye… do you even recognize how important that was for me?”
“Strange way of showing it.”
“I know… I’m an ass, alright? But I’ll never forget what you did for me and now I’m doing the same for you. You’ll go.”
“Amber didn’t have five knife holes in her body! Try to hug that… and they’ve done an autopsy: they’ve turned her inside out, stitched her up like Frankenstein’s fucking bride! No open casket, NOTHING.. there IS no goodbye! Don’t you understand that?” This did hurt House.
She was stabbed? “Okay, okay… I give up but… you don’t even want to know why he did it?”
“I know why. Do you know what the sad part of all of this is? It doesn’t surprise me at all.”
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more soon!
comment please!
