A/N: Random sort of ficlet… just some analysis of House and people… Also can be seen as a sequel to "Win or Lose."
Disclaimer: House MD is property of David Shore.
HOUSE POV:
A game is only a game worth playing if I am the creator… if I am the rulebook… if I am the scorekeeper. If I have the power…
Over who wins and loses. This incredible dominance that I have acquired (never take no for an answer… I am always right… and if perpetual torment gets you to finally realize that then so be it) … it frees me. And it traps me…
People envy me, however presumptuous that may be. I am a commanding presence, in no uncertain terms, and I ALWAYS get what I want, although many 'so called friends' have tried to put an end to my glorious rampage of other people's self-esteems. They say "you can't always be right, House."
Fuck them. I am always right and I will always be right… because for every brilliant conclusion I devise, it adds another brick to my growing fortress of power. KNOWLEDGE is power, people.
Knowledge of people's pasts… their secrets… if you know these things that make up their whole personality… these wonderful little tidbits of their pasts that affect their reactions to the present… then you have unlimited power over them… always.
…And it's a wonder why Wilson doesn't share more about his past. He knows me too well, I think. He leaves all these parts of himself hidden… and therefore is a constant puzzle. But, then again, maybe that's why I've been able to hang around him for so long. Maybe he is the master manipulator after all- keeping himself a puzzle so I don't leave him. I wonder if he's right after all…
But, God, Wilson, not everything is a game. I know that. Yes, alright, so our whole dynamic seems to take on a game-like quality… but… it's not the same.
It scares me a little that it's not the same. I should be able to manipulate him and screw him over as easily as everyone else… and I do as frequently as everyone else. But there is always this trace of… dare I say, guilt.
The thing is… he's miserable. He's not the cool kind of miserable like me, though (God, would he enjoy analyzing that one.) I see his eyes growing duller everyday… I see him giving up hope. And instead of saying 'welcome to the club', it actually hurts a little. If he gives up… on himself… on his patients… then he would be giving up on me.
Just another person who has given up.
He is supposed to be special… he's not supposed to be like everyone else.
There is no way to stop this, though, I can see that. It's like a kind of delayed form of growing up. A new bout of cynicism bursts forth every few years are so. As life continually disappoints you. I can't wait to see Cameron in about ten years… the optimist destroyed. Already I can tell I have partly destroyed it… and by destroying I obviously mean explaining to her the truths of life. She couldn't keep going on being so naïve, now could she?
And here is my new brilliant conclusion: I fight and torment and reject everyone around me… until I turn them all into me…
Miserable and alone.
A/N: Please review!