I've never done angst before...but I'm feeling rather angsty myself these days so we'll see how this goes. Basically this will be a slightly different take on how the story goes after all the chaos. Might be slightly OC but not too much because I HATE out-of-character stories. But there could be a few moments...so just bear with it. This will only be a few chapters long unless I have a stroke. (..Of genius, that is.) Feedback is great, please and thanks.
Disclaimer: I don't own House or Fox. If I did, do you really think I'd be on here fanfictioning? (actually, I probably would..heh heh)
Now, without any further ado...
Am I dead?
I should be.
Wilson's gonna hate me.
You kind of deserve it.
House looked away and tilted his head forward slightly. Yes, yes he did. He was responsible for causing his friend in so much pain. He deserved it. He deserved everything that had happened to him. He should be dead. That's what he truly deserved.
He's my best friend.
True, he never expressed his feelings, but deep down in the dark and twisted pit of House, he really did care for Wilson. Wilson was the only family he had left in this world, the only one who really accepted House and all of the baggage that came along. He was the only one who would stand by him and help pick up the pieces of his screwed up life. And now…now he would be gone. House had finally driven him away.
Get off the bus.
I can't.
It doesn't hurt here.
He's never honest. Not like this. Sure, House is blunt with people that he doesn't know or doesn't care to hurt with his crude honesty. But he is never honest with himself. Not like this.
I don't want to be in pain.
I don't want to be miserable.
I don't want him to hate me.
They seemed like good enough reasons to just give up. He wanted to stay on that obnoxiously white bus with her forever. He didn't want to go back. Here, she didn't even blame him for what had happened.
He knew Wilson would though.
Well, you can't always get what you want.
He hardly thought it fair that his own life motto was being used against him. To force him to live a life that he wasn't sure about.
So why the hell am I walking off this bus? House thought to him self, as he strode (not limped) off the bus that had changed so many lives.
--
Cuddy hadn't planned on staying long in his room.
To be honest, she wasn't sure if she had the strength to do it. To sit by his comatose side knowing that he wouldn't wake and crack some smart ass comment to her about sitting there so pathetically. She wanted to, but she couldn't.
Really, she had only come in to check his vitals. She had been on her way out, on her way to her office to hide away so she wouldn't have a break down. But before she turned to leave she stole one quick glance at him. And she was so glad she did. For in that second, House had opened his eyes.
In an instant, Cuddy was at his side, her hand holding his. She watched him weakly blink and felt she should make her presence known. To let him know that he wasn't alone.
"Hey," she said rather breathlessly, "I'm here."
He said nothing, but stared at the wall opposite of him with tired but blazing blue eyes. For a moment, Cuddy felt her stomach hit the ground, fearing that the concussion, seizure and coma had damaged his brain.
"Blink if you can hear me," she begged quietly, knowing that if he were actually coherent that he would scold her for such begging. But she didn't care right now.
Pause. Then, House slowly blinked and Cuddy felt her stomach bounce back to its proper position with relief and she gave a quick sigh.
House took a shallow breath and tried to say something in a whisper. As much as she wanted to hear his voice, she stopped him. "Shh, don't try to talk." She said with a small smile. "Just rest."
He complied and closed his eyes again without any argument, which Cuddy found bizarre. She had never seen him so…weak. And it scared her. So she stayed by his side.
However, what she didn't know is that House wasn't trying to just rest. He was trying to give up again. He didn't want to be here…living. Yes, he had someone at his side who was now clinging onto his hand, grateful that he was alive, but he knew that there was at least one person in the world he didn't want him alive. And that one person was the only one he cared about at the moment.
It was strange. Normally, Greg House doesn't give a damn about what others think of him or want from him. And now suddenly…he did. Just for this moment.
He drifted, feeling the stroke of Cuddy's thumb against the top of his hand.
again...all feedback is wonderful. cheers.
