A/N: This started so that I could finally write out the fanfic to the line that's been creeping up in all of my House fics from Farewell to Arms, and wound up with a mind of it's own. Oops. Do enjoy
It's a long walk from the ICU to the chapel. He always thought that the two should be closer together, because it's the families of those in the ICU who need it the most. Or Oncology, because he'd seen his fair share of patients and families spending their time in there.
By the time he reaches it, as he doesn't realize how slow and somber his gait is, the sun's set the rest of the way, and the chapel is dark. He's walked this path before, and more than once that day, but he'd never made it further than the door. The truth was, he didn't have anything to say.
Because he'd been too busy keeping an eye on oxygen monitors and heart rate monitors, he'd been too busy attempting to find something to fix to make it all better sooner. But there was nothing he could do to help-there was no way to treat it, only to hope for the best.
Which was why he was down here, instead of up there, because he couldn't stand to look at the site of his best friend strapped to an oxygen mask, each breath wheezing and rattling, sounding more like a broken down train than a human being. Right now, the only thing he had left was hope, and he wasn't going to waste it.
So this time, he actually crossed the threshold, and sat in one of the pews for a long moment, staring at the rows of prayer candles neatly lined up. There's a long moment, when the only sound heard is that of gentle breathing, before a quiet voice is heard in the darkness.
"There's a reason why Gregory House isn't dead yet. You have to have some greater plan that's stopping the man from finally giving in and kicking the bucket. You have to have some greater goal for him in life, some reason that he's put on this earth and he hasn't quite gotten there yet. Because at the moment, if he was a cat, he'd be on his last life.
"I always wondered what it was, what his great mission in life that he has yet to accomplish was. It has to be something good, something that's worth saving him time after time after time again. But you know, House always has something of an oddity, and the thought's crossed my mind that maybe, just maybe, he's still alive out of sheer force of will. Because he doesn't want to die, simply because everybody else does it. That he wants to keep on living, just because dying's the one way that no matter what, he has to conform to societies rules. Everybody dies, and there's no way to stop it, no way to prevent it.
"It's simply a fact of life, if you'll pardon the pun.
"He's been shot, had a crippling injury that threatened death, he's overdosed, and he's electrocuted himself. He's run his bike off the road, and he's walked the tightrope so many times, that my heart lives permanently in my throat. But no matter what, no matter how many time's he's come close, he's never actually succeeded.
"You have to be watching over him, because he has no right to be alive. I've always jealous of him, I'm sorry, and his ability to cheat death. I've had to tell so many patients that this is it, their time has come, while he recklessly takes his own life in his hands, never actually taking it all the way.
"Perhaps it's true and only the good die young. If that's the case, House is gonna live to be the oldest man alive. There's a line, from Farewell to Arms that's always stuck out to me since junior year English-"The world breaks everyone, and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry." And House is not very good, very gentle or very brave.
"Death's in no hurry to chase after him. No, the world's broken him instead. He's a shadow of a sliver of man, but that's never stopped me from hoping foolishly I can save him. He's needy, and he's always said that I needed people to need me. And I know that he depends on me. I'm his rock, and he is mine. He's a constant, in a sea of confusion. A buoy, bobbing and showing me the way.
"He's well past saving, but I'm always hoping that I can do what others can't. That I can fix him, make him normal. Make him someone that isn't going to get fired from another job. That I can make him better-make him a little more lovable. As though that's my mission in life, to keep him going and stop him from blowing up the world with him in it.
"And he'd do it, just out of curiosity.
"The world's broken him, and he's been healed. But he's healed with thick scar tissue, hypertrophic, and it forms a wall around him. Yes, he's stronger in his broken places, but not in the right ways. He grew his strength from his misery, when it should have come from his happiness. And that's what makes him want to cheat death.
"I think he's always known that he wasn't going to die before his time, and that he'd know when his time was. It was what makes him do reckless acts that endanger himself-because somewhere deep down inside, he knows that he'll be just fine. That you're watching over him, and that you'll make sure he doesn't do something stupid.
"It's funny, I haven't actually prayed in forever. I've been to Rosh Hashana, and Yom Kippur, but I've never really prayed, and I hope that you forgive me for that. I didn't even mean to start-but now that I started, I can't stop. It's kind of funny though, the Jewish guy sitting in the chapel praying, innit?
But really, what I want, is for this to be another time that he just breaks, and heals up again, no matter what the scar tissue is like. He's used to it. He knows what it feels like to be scarred-and I can help him. I'll be the vitamin E, I'll be the aloe, and make the scars not so bad.
"Because I'm broken too, and I need to know that that buoy is there. Because the world breaks everyone, and I don't want to be killed by it. But I'll be swept out at sea if I don't have that line telling me how far from shore I am. I need him, because I'm trying to do good.
"I always thought that going to temple was pointless, when you see everything we do, and you know if we're living good lives through you, even if we make other plans on weekend nights. I've never really prayed before. You must be sick of this, I only pray when I really need something. But I like to think it's because I don't want to pester you.
"So please, I don't care if he's made a deal with the devil, and that's what's keeping him alive, I don't care if he's already used up all his second chances, I'm still granted my one, right? Give it to him, he needs it more. I know he's content that if this is his time, that it's his time, but I'm not. I just need him there to tell me that the next girl I meet is not going to become Mrs. Wilson the fourth, to give me a drink when he knows I need one, and cut me off when he knows I don't, who watches over me, even though he pretends not to, and who's the one man I built my life around.
"He's the stone that the builder's rejected, that's become my cornerstone. And to yank him out from underneath, that's not fair to me. Because without him, I don't have much of anything. It takes the only pleasure out of a miserable job, it takes the only specks of joy in a miserable life out. Without him, I'd have likely let the world kill me a long time ago, and I'm trying to do a greater good.
"He's supposed to be able to cheat death, so let him do it just one more time, please? "
There's a pause, before the voice starts up quietly again.
"Mi sheberach avonteinu hu yivarek virapei. HaKadash Barach Hu lo bim-hera, r'fuah shlemah. Amen" His Hebrew is rusty at best, but he manages to get out some of the lines, if only from having heard them so many times in his own patient's rooms. He doesn't do well when he's forced to remember his prayers off the top of his head-he's used to being able to stumble through and sound out the printed words-he's not very good at reading it either, but he supposes that it's an honest effort.
"I'm sorry at how horrible that sounded-I really should go to temple more often, should pray more often. I should make my life better, but that's not the point, because I'm the one going through the five stages of grief. I'm on the third one now, barganing. I've been through the first two before. I was in denial the first time, and I was angry the second. But this time, I just want him to have another chance. Is that really too much to ask? You'll get him eventually, although you may not want him.
"But you're supposed to be a kind god, a loving god. So be that way, please? Give him my second chances, because I admit it, I'm scared. I'm scared of losing him, and of losing myself when he goes. I'm scared of death, no matter how often I see it, and I don't know what a life without one of the two things that I orbit around would be like I'd be like the moon, if the earth suddenly disappeared, drifting and alone. I'd still have my job, and I'd still circle that, like the moon will still circle the sun, but it will be without the one thing that's kept it steady for as long as it's known.
"But it can't be this way-not like this. Make it sudden and unexpected, he'd like that. Don't make it a fucking common illness. Make it something that he diagnoses himself with, that he has to bring out the whiteboard for, don't make it pneumonia. He wouldn't want to die from something that we all ignored-it was just cough, he was fine.
"I don't want to have the guilt on me of knowing that I had ignored all the signs and symptoms as a doctor, because I didn't want to trouble him. Because I didn't want him to hate me. It's selfish, and stupid, and I'm a bad person for it, but it's me-and you made me, faults and all.
"I just want him to have one more chance-because this time it wasn't him being stupid. It's not his time yet, it can't be. I need him too much-I need a friend in life, and I chose him. And I don't want to give up on him, I don't want to have to find someone else to need me, because the next one I find will be the next wife, and the next divorce, and I can't take any more of it.
"It wont break me again, it will shatter me.
"And I know you probably tuned me out a while ago, but if by some chance you're still listening-thank you. For being there-even if I only call on you in times of need, that's what you're there for, isn't it? Comfort, knowing that there's something else that you can believe in. And I know he doesn't believe in you, but he tries to live a good life and be a good man. He's just been broken too many times to show it. But just let this be another break, another scar, don't let the world kill him."
There's a ragged breath, and he stays down on his knees for a long while, silent, but comforted. To get it all off of his chest, to let someone know that he cared, and that he needed his best friend more than he ever needed his wives, that he needed someone to hang on to, and House was it.
And when he finally rises, he swears he sees two sets of footprints in the shag carpeting, where the fibers are slow to rise up again, but they fade into one set as he walks out the door to the chapel, hoping that this wasn't an exercise in futility, and knowing somewhere in his heart, that it wasn't.
A/N: The hebrew is (as best as my very very very rusty hebrew could get) translated: May the one who blessed our ancestors bless and heal the one who is ill. May the holy and blessed one send him speedily a complete healing. Amen. If anyone who is not a Hebrew school dropout can touch that up, I'd be very grateful.