Note: Much thanks to theletterv for putting up with my crap.
Forever Hold Your Peace
You never thought House would get married-not really. Sure, the thought had crossed your mind; what he would look like at the end of an aisle, dressed in a nice tux with his groomsmen behind him. But as a legitimate thought? Something that you could actually see happening? Despite everything you two had, it hadn't ever seemed . . . possible.
Yet, somehow, he is engaged.
It keeps you up at night while you toss and turn, and occasionally glance at the neon numbers on your alarm. Every time the hour switches over, you mentally give him another point. He doesn't even know he's playing a game, and he's still winning.
To top it all off, you hadn't even heard the news from him. Despite everything that you two have been through, all of your history, and how long you've known each other, he hadn't even bothered coming into your office and telling you. You had been on your way to the restroom, and when you pushed open the door, you'd heard it like a common bystander; an accidental glean of the juiciest gossip.
". . . since you are on his team, I thought you'd know," a familiar voice had asked, though not familiar enough to place.
"It's true. They've even picked a date. House a groom-who would've thought?"
You'd stopped in your tracks. Your heart had literally ceased its beating. You'd refused to believe it-surely House would have told you? Surely, you would've somehow seen this coming? It shouldn't have knocked you completely of guard-not you.
"Wow. I'll admit I didn't see that coming at all-I mean, everybody knows they're together, but . . ."
"I understand completely. I mean, I'm on House's team and I didn't even-" It was then they saw you; you'd inadvertently pushed the door open wider to hear better; as if, perhaps, the half-closed door had somehow blocked the words enough for the perfectly audible sentences to somehow be transformed into something wholly unbelievable. The two of them blinked, then shut their mouths suddenly, as if they somehow believed the damage hadn't already been done. They must've sensed that you were uncomfortable-although, honestly, a blind mute would've been able to catch on.
They left hurriedly and you'd stepped aside to let them pass.
After that, it had bothered you all day-surely it was some kind of joke he was pulling. He wasn't really going to get married; of course not. He was just . . . trying to get a rise out of you, is all.
Except even then you knew; you knew deep down that it wasn't a joke. You've seen the two of them together; you know that, despite their problems, they really love each other. Despite the fights, and the lies, that they keep going back to each other, no matter what.
It had bothered you for hours, until finally you just strolled into his office to see him looking something up on the computer; he'd had a case, so you assumed it was related. You stood there for a long moment, staring at his bored expression, chin resting on his hand, and the sudden longing that erupted in your chest turned to something even less pleasant when he turned to look at you, and only because you were specifically looking for it, you saw the band on his left ring finger; the shimmer of gold could have blinded you.
"Are you getting married?" you'd asked, not bothering with the niceties first. He wouldn't have tolerated beating around the bush, anyway.
"We've been engaged for a week and you are just asking?"
"I didn't know." You remember that you searched his face for any sign of guilt, or surprise, but you found none. You still wonder if you finding out late was intentional. "Which one of you proposed?"
"I don't see how that matters," he'd answered with a note of finality in his voice. You're smart enough to know when you're being dismissed, so you'd left, trying to push the acidic, burning sensation of jealousy down into your stomach.
It hadn't been the first time you'd felt jealousy, of course, and it wasn't the last.
You look over your paperwork and realize you've been reading the same paragraph for the last six minutes. Sighing, you close the folder and rub your temples. Somehow, an engagement feels so final. So real. Admittedly, when you first found out they were dating, you hadn't believed it-thought it was some prank, or joke, or misunderstanding. But it wasn't, and it isn't. Despite the fact marriages weren't final or unbreakable-yours hadn't been-it still seems like, with them, it can be. Will be.
You think of everything you and House were. You think of everything you could've been-would've been. Whenever the two of you ate together, sitting across from one another, you couldn't help but notice that you were like mirror images. You ate with your left, and he ate with his right. It felt so right; so perfect. You think of all the shared nights; all the touches, all the jokes, all of his leers . . .
You lost that. You lost him.
You know that once he says "I do" then it's over. Then again, it was over long ago, wasn't it? Right?
The wedding is a week away, and you don't think you can handle it. Obviously you're invited, but you just don't think you can handle watching it. You briefly entertain the thought of shouting; "I object!" when they ask you to speak or forever hold your peace. You know that if you do, it won't change anything. He'll do it anyway, and not just to spite you-but because he genuinely wants it. Besides, has that ever really worked? You were never much of a hopeless romantic, but even if you had been, you still doubt you'd really think that works in some place other than in the movies.
If someone had objected during your wedding ceremony, you wouldn't have stopped it. No, you would have continued, despite it being a complete mistake. In fact, you were told not to get married, weren't you? Several times, in fact. If you hadn't followed the advice, he certainly wouldn't.
You just don't think you can handle watching the man you love get married to someone else, even if the feelings aren't reciprocated. A part of you still doesn't believe it's true-he must be getting back at you for something. The entire thing just seems far too quick. They hadn't been dating long before they got engaged-well, not long by House's standards, anyway. The engagement had hardly been two months-it's not possible. Sure, they've known each other for years, but . . . But that couldn't be the basis of it, could it? Sure, you've seen how they are with each other, before and after they started dating. But . . . No.
The more you think of it, it just can't be right. House can't be moving this quickly-not into marriage. So he'd moved quickly with Stacy, but since then he'd been so guarded-no matter their relationship, how long they knew each other before, all the flirting and tension-filled arguments-it isn't right. This isn't the House you know, and you have known him longer.
You have to talk him out of it.
You aren't going to lie to yourself-this isn't selfless. You know a large part of why you don't want him to get married is because you love him, and seeing him have what you wanted with someone else; what you should have with him hurts. You aren't going to take full responsibility for how things happened between you and House, but you do know that you caused a large part of it. You aren't expecting him to fall into your arms, but . . . If nobody else is going to talk to him about how quickly this is going, despite the years of tension, then you will.
You push out of your desk, determined. You aren't going to be forceful, of course, but you . . . Well, you have a right to demand answers. After all the two of you have been through, you deserve that, at least. Despite what some may think, you are entitled to an opinion, and he should respect you enough to at least listen to it.
You stride purposefully, because you know if you hesitate, even just for a moment, you'll go right back to your office. This has to be done; even if it's partially selfish, he needs to hear it.
As you approach his office, and since it's late in the evening, the department is dark, save for his desk lamp, which gives off just enough glow for it to be a beacon. You can dimly hear music that you assume is from the speakers he attaches his iPod to and you move closer, focusing too much on your goal to really see anything but the glass walls.
It is when you can hear the music clearly; can almost feel the slow, but insistent, melody picking up, that you notice House isn't sitting at his desk, nor is he alone.
The golden glow from the lamp paints his office in a way you've never seen it, or perhaps you were just never in the position to see it this way. The music picks up and words join the melody, deep and smooth, despite a gravelly undertone, and they sway together, their cheeks pressed together, chests right up against one another.
It feels as though yours has constricted so tightly you just might suffocate.
House's eyes are closed, and he is the one facing you, but even if they were open he wouldn't see you. The only light is in his office and it isn't bright enough to filter into the hallway; it's dark where you are standing, and he won't be able to notice you in the shadows. You're grateful for this, because you've sucked in a gasp and tears are falling; burning your eyes and etching your skin.
The aren't passionately making out, rutting shamelessly on the desk; this isn't lust you're seeing. You knew they loved each other, but this-this goes beyond that. They've no idea you are here to see this genuinely tender moment between them; House gives off the impression he's heartless and uncaring, but you've seen that he has something beneath his rough exterior, but you've never seen this. You've never seen him capable of this.
They don't just love each other; they are in love with each other.
They sway to the music as it picks up volume, overcoming you like the waves to the gentle calming sea, pulling you down and you can't swim. Pressed so close they may as well be the same person, wrapped around each other tightly, they stand illuminated in the warming light, and you remain in darkness.
You feel as though you're somehow the last to know, despite it being in front of your eyes the entire time. If you're honest with yourself, you knew ages ago; you just didn't want to believe.
When House pulls away so their cheeks aren't pressed together anymore, you swallow the lump in you throat. They kiss, mouth opening; caressing. They're both so engrossed in each other, that you don't they can even hear the music anymore as it swells and washes over you, waves of a calming sea crashing down; pulling you way from the shore, but you never learned to swim.
No matter how long you two have known each other; no matter how many years you'd played your little games of cat and mouse, you never had and could never have had what they give to each other so readily.
They continue kissing, House's hands entangled in hair, and that's when you've had enough.
You turn around and walk away, wiping away the tears that you feel must've permanently scarred your face by now. Despite the fact your world is shattering, you know that when the wedding comes, you'll quell those urges to object; you won't ruin their chance at happiness; the chance you threw away.
As for now, you'll go home and sob yourself to sleep while you can. Tonight, you'll allow yourself to break down. Tonight, you can let down your walls and be imperfect; tonight, you can be weak. You can be everything you've never allowed yourself to be. There's no one to see you fail; to see you collapse.
For when tomorrow comes, your frailty ends. No one would expect anything less than that from the Dean of Medicine.