Release
He could do it if he wanted to.
It would be so simple to just get away from it all.
He fingers the sharp metal and it nicks his skin.
A drop of blood blossoms on his finger.
He wipes it on his jeans, ignoring the sting of rough denim on torn flesh.
He thinks.
What if he did it?
Cuddy.
She would keep still.
Silent tears streaming down leaving wet streaks on pale cheeks,
smearing dark back eyeliner,
running over bright red lips,
dripping off her chin.
Chase.
Chase wouldn't cry
He would be silent and unmoved on the outside,
inside his heart would sob like a child who has lost its mother.
Cameron.
Cameron would be the opposite of Cuddy.
She would sob openly,
great gulps of air,
wrapping her arms around Chase's waist,
wetting his shirt.
Foreman.
What would Foreman do?
He would do nothing,
show nothing,
feel nothing.
Wilson.
Wilson was complicated.
He would laugh.
Good riddance to bad rubbish!
He would cackle.
He killed Amber!
Serves the bastard right!
He would cry,
almost as loud as Cameron, but not quite.
He would kneel by the grave
and his tears would dampen the ground,
covering it in
warm,
salty,
wetness
that would seep through the earth until it met the blockade
that was the casket.
He sat and contemplated this,
fingers still caressing the sharp scalpel
he had stolen from the OR
earlier that day.
Before he can change his mind,
he writes,
short and to the point
He takes out his pager and sends a message to the familiar number
The scalpel moves to his warm throat
as if it had a mind of its own.
He cuts deep,
Stopping himself from crying out
as metal pierces flesh.
Epidermis.
Dermis.
He thinks to himself
as the blade slices through each layer.
The scalpel falls from his fingers
and clatters to the floor
its sound muffled slightly
by thin carpet.
He falls on the ground,
His last breath a sigh of relief
as he is released from all burdens.
All pain.
A pool of slick,
slimy,
wet,
red,
blood forms around his severed jugular and head.
The door bursts open revealing Wilson.
He chokes at the sight of that body.
Wilson cries, his face turning blotchy.
He cries harder than he did for her.
He pages Cuddy.
He falls to his knees and sees the note
written hastily on a scrap of paper,
torn from a patient's chart.
An eye for an eye
a tooth for a tooth
my debt to you for taking her life
has been repaid
Goodbye, Jimmy
~House