DISCLAIMER: House is not mine.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yay! A House category! Wahoo! This is for my friend EruDaughter, a fellow House fan. We both wonder about whether there was a Mrs. House, and if there was, what happened to her? I'm guessing House was back on Vicodin by the end of Detox
LOVING AND LOSING
Gregory House stood in the cemetery, staring down at the cold gravestone. He really hoped nobody from work came by; this was not something he wanted them to see. He didn't want anyone to find him looking at the gravestone that marked the final resting place of the love of his life.
Would they even believe Gregory House had ever had a love of his life?
He studied his left hand for a moment. The tan line where his wedding ring had once sat was completely gone. It had been awhile since he looked at it. How long had it been since he'd worn the ring? One, two, three…six years.
Six years.
Almost as if to prove it to himself, House looked at the gravestone. The dates confirmed his calculation:
Darlene Jackson House
June 3 1958-March 12 1999.
March 12. Today. He hadn't even noticed today was the anniversary of Darlene's death. He wasn't a date person.
Darlene had been leaving a store and the girl next to her needed a battery charge. Darlene volunteered a set of jumper cables. She was always doing things like that. She couldn't not help someone in need. When she connected the cables, Darlene did it wrong and they arc-welded to the battery. When she leaned in for a closer look, the battery exploded.
If she'd just gotten out of the way, Darlene might have lived. But she didn't, and was rushed to the hospital. Her chances of survival were slim to start out with, and for one week House had sat at her side, watching the gruesome burn remedies tried over and over. Nothing helped. Not many people survive battery acid burns. Her entire head and most of her upper body were burned. The burn left her system wide open for infection, and that was exactly what she got. He didn't know what it was-someone had told him, but he didn't care to remember. It didn't matter. What mattered was that Darlene died, and most of him died with her.
What on earth had Darlene ever seen in him? She was so gentle, so good, so loving-she deserved way better than a cynical, antisocial SOB like him. But for some strange, unknown reason, she had loved him. And he loved her.
Gregory House had sworn he'd never fall in love with anybody. And everyone else thought the same thing. After all, he'd been alienating people since he was three, as he'd told Wilson earlier. But Darlene was different. She didn't bolt at the first wisecrack or the first time he treated her like dirt. She seemed to think there was something else under there. His mother had once commented that Darlene brought out the best in him, such as it was. "She makes you sociable," Dad had remarked. "You're not so nasty when she's around."
Darlene made him think that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as heartless as everyone thought he was. That he was capable of love. But whatever the best of him was, Darlene took it with her when she left.
A little misunderstanding. That was all it was. A little misunderstanding cost Darlene her life.
His leg was beginning to make itself known again. Reflexively, House reached into his coat pocket for the Vicodin. He took the pill almost without thinking. In a few short minutes, it would make the pain in his leg go away.
He could take a pill and his leg would shut up for awhile. But he couldn't do anything to take away the pain in his soul. Nothing would do that.
Shaking his head, House dropped the flowers next to his wife's grave.
"It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."
Right.
Whoever had coined that phrase clearly had no firsthand experience.