WARNING: MAJOR MAJOR HUDDY SPOILERS AHEAD. IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED 7x15 "BOMBSHELLS" YET, DO NOT READ ON.
That said, I am in shock. I did NOT expect the episode to end in this. I almost feel betrayed, as all the anticipation that led up to this episode has been so positive...
Anyways, I just needed to write this to get it out of my system. It may be a oneshot, but I may also continue it for the sake of my own sanity XD. We'll see how it goes.
Enjoy and review!
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"You took Vicodin."
The words should have taken longer to register, but at the sound of them, lies, excuses, pleas immediately begin to spring up in House's mind. Strangely enough, none of those would register. The shock of this revelation that Cuddy knew, that she had uncovered this last, unforgivable secret…
"When you came to my hospital room that night…you were stoned."
No. No. She wasn't supposed to have found out. It was just a one-time thing. He would never do it again. He would give up drugs for her. He can do it, he knows he can. He just needs another chance, that's all. He just needs some more time.
He's messed up, but he can change. He knows he can. He can change for her. He can do better.
"How did you know?" is all he can think of to say. Just stall for a bit, he thinks. She'll come around. She'll give me another chance. She always has.
"How did I not know?"
Exactly. She knows him too well. She knows him too well to believe that he would let himself go down that path again.
"How did I make myself forget for months that you're an addict."
Wait. Was an addict. Then you happened. You happened to me. You're all I need now. Drugs…they were a part of the past. You have to know that. We just went through a difficult time together, and I needed something to help me through it. But we're past that now. It's all behind us now.
"My subconscious was trying to tell me you could never get through this without drugs." Her voice, defeated, resigned. He hears traces of that resignation in his own voice as the words come tumbling out of his mouth.
"It was just a one-time thing." It's true. She has to believe him. He believes it himself, so why wouldn't she? She should trust him, believe in him, believe that he can do better.
"It's not about the pills, House. It's about what they mean."
He always hates it when she does this. It's not like everything has to have a double meaning. He was in pain, and he let himself slip. That's not unforgivable. He can change. He can do better.
"I was scared because I thought my girlfriend might die."
See, he's opening up to her. He trusts her. Everything's going to be okay.
"No," she says, and he's taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. "You don't take Vicodin because you're scared. You take it so you won't feel pain."
Exactly. Pain sucks. Why can't she accept that? Normal people take painkillers. Normal people avoid pain.
"Everything you've ever done is to avoid pain. Drugs, sarcasm…keeping everybody at arm's length so no one can hurt you."
How can she still think that? He's brought her far closer than arm's length. Where is she going with this? He wants her to hurry up and let go of it already, move on, like she always has…he just needs his chance to prove himself to her. Then everything will be okay.
Everything will be okay.
"Because everyone else in the world goes looking for pain like it's buried treasure?" he says, the slight snark in his voice a comforting fallback position.
Okay, so maybe that was sarcasm. But she said that she doesn't want him to change. Besides, she appreciates his humor. And what he said was true. People don't like pain. Normal people don't like pain. He can be a normal person.
"Pain happens when you care."
Exactly. He cares. That's why he felt pain. So much pain that he had to go back to Vicodin for just that one time. But it's only going to happen once. Never again. He can change. He can do better.
"You can't love someone without making yourself open to their problems…their fears."
He loves her. He felt her fear.
"You're not willing to do that."
But he is. He'll do whatever it takes. He knows he can change. He can do it.
"I…I came to be with you."
"You weren't with me…not really."
And suddenly he feels the truth of those words sinking in. Little by little. He begins to realize that this one mistake might cost more than a few nights in an empty bed. He screwed up, big time.
But still, he needs her. She knows that. And he can change. He can do it.
"I wanted to be."
It's true. He tried so hard. Isn't it the thought that counts? Don't parents always tell their children, "Just try your best"? He tried his best. He did. Just because he couldn't do what she needed him to do, doesn't mean—well, come on, nobody's perfect. He is far from perfect.
But that doesn't mean he can't change. He can still change.
"That's not enough."
No. He tried his best. That's enough. Shouldn't that be enough?
But even if it isn't, that doesn't mean anything. It was just one time. The next time something like this comes up, he will be there. He knows he will. He will be there from the very beginning, holding her hand, cracking jokes. Next time, he will be what she needs him to be. He can change. He can do it.
"I can do better."
He can. He knows it. He just needs to convince her that—
"I don't think you can."
No. He can. She's not supposed to say that. What is that supposed to mean? Is she going to end it now? Of course not. That's not possible. They just went through something truly frightening together. They should be celebrating. They should be laughing, watching crappy sitcoms, going out to dinner, having lots and lots and lots of sex. All of that will happen soon enough, once she comes to her senses-
"You choose yourself over everybody else over and over again, because that's just who you are."
He searches her eyes with his, desperation mounting. None of this makes sense. In the depths of her eyes, he tries to find the traces of that woman who saved him all those months ago. The one who said that she didn't want him to change. She must still be there. Somewhere, deep inside. He just needs to find her again.
And then, her hand is on his face. She's biting her lip. Her eyes are welling with tears.
And he feels a sense of dread enveloping everything. It starts with his stomach, then his heart, then his brain. His whole body goes numb.
"I'm sorry."
And now he's on autopilot. The words come spilling out, they're his last resort, he's pleading, there's nothing else that he can do.
"No, no, no. Don't, don't-"
He has a sudden flashback to that morning, when he said those same words, when it all began, when she kneeled down and kissed his scar, when she embraced him for who he was. She didn't want him to change. She told him that. She told him that she loved him.
So why is this happening?
"I thought I could do this…"
And her whispered words scare the hell out of him.
"Don't—please don't-"
He wants to grab her, to shake some sense into her, because none of this makes sense. But he can't move. Maybe the force of his words will make her realize that what she's doing is insane, maybe the desperation in his voice will make her want to stay…
But then her hand is leaving his face. And his cheek is at once searing hot and blindingly cold, and she's whispering goodbye, and her hand rests on his chest for a fleeting moment before it's gone, and he wants to go after her, but there's something holding him back, and he doesn't know what it is but it's too strong to fight—
And suddenly, all he's staring at with his shocked, desperate, panic-ridden eyes, is an empty doorway.
It takes a few minutes, or maybe a few hours, or maybe an eternity, before he realizes that his feet have taken him to the hall closet. He is kneeling down. His hands fumble for something inside one of his old sneakers, tucked deep into a corner, just in case she came that night to celebrate. For the first time, irony is lost on him as he moves about in a trance. The pills rattle as he takes them out, the rattle of a deadly rattlesnake, about to strike…a death rattle.
And he is on the floor, his back against the bathtub, before he realizes that his body is subconsciously reenacting the morning from so long ago. When, in the early dawn, she had come for him, at the very last moment.
He shakes the pills out into his hand. She's going to come back. She must know that her departure would drive him back to drugs. She still cares too much to leave him like this.
He glances at the doorway. Where is she? She's running late, she's behind schedule. According to the script, she should be here by now. She should be stopping him.
Maybe he has to actually mean it. Maybe if he actually believes, himself, that he is about to go back on Vicodin, she will appear again.
And so, he cups his hand, and tosses back the pills. There, she's coming now. She'll be here in a few moments. She'll know that he needs her.
But the pills have slid down his throat and are on their way past his violently thudding heart down to his stomach.
And still, she is not there.
The Vicodin leaves a sickly sweet taste in his mouth, but despite himself, the rest of his body welcomes it. He begins to relax, even as a part of him fights the false sense of comfort. Slowly, that part of him gives way as the realization dawns on him.
Vicodin has always been there for him, when nothing and no one else had. He could always depend on Vicodin. He thought, for a few months, that that had changed. That he had finally found someone who could be a substitute for the drugs.
But he had been an idiot. How could a girlfriend ever be there as Vicodin had. Even the word itself sounds so fleeting. Girlfriend. Sure, love sounds more like the name of a savior, but how had that worked out for him in the past? Had love ever worked for him?
Anyways, it is obvious to him now, that love would never be enough. Because he loved her, he needed her, and she loved him, but where is she now? Because this time, there aren't any more chances. Because this time, she's not here anymore, to save him.