Hi. Been watching House for AGES now, written a few fics. Haven't posted them, so this is my first. Hope you enjoy it. It's only a short drabble, and it has spoilers for the Season 4 finale, so don't read if you haven't watched! (Which I think most people have. -shifty eyes- )
This hasn't been beta-ed or anything. Done a little proof-reading, but eh.
Written from House's POV about... a few days after Amber's death. Enjoy!
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Reflections
Blue eyes trailed down as the liquid spilled into the chipped glass. They focused on the distorted reflection as it settled into the base and a frown pulled at the corners of his lips. Amber… That was the only way he could describe the colour of the liquid now swirling and settling in the glass. Blue eyes blurred slightly, becoming vacant, the vision of the lights behind her head… the way her hair had jerked when the bus had been hit.
The vision blurred to the look on Wilson's face in that electricity induced vision. The pure horror that had seeped into the usually warm brown eyes when he'd been told there was nothing they could do. He could only imagine that look must have been mirrored on his own face. Then everything had gone white, sparkling crackles of purple and red brilliance flashing behind wide eyes as his whole body said 'screw you' to his brain and went mad. And then the bus… That final conversation…
Lifting the glass up to the light with broad fingers, House stared at the liquid as he swirled it around, before letting it rest against his lips. He made to take a drink, but something constricted in his throat almost like a tangible tourniquet, and he set the glass down again without touching a drop. After only a few days out of his coma, he shouldn't have been drinking anyway. Especially after a head injury. Any type of drug that affected his ability to think at this point in time was certainly not a good thing to be digesting. Especially something as mind jumbling as alcohol. He needed a drink though. His head… his whole body hurt. Not from the physical shock of his coma, the crash, or anything. More by the
Sure, he felt physically ill in the stomach from the shock of what he'd done to someone he cared so much about. Ie; Wilson. … At the same time, that shock was doubled by the fact that if he had gotten Wilson on that phone… if he had gotten on that bus. Then it would have been Wilson who had been hurt… but at least he wouldn't be dead. Every piece of evidence screamed at him that it was the pills Amber had taken for that cold that had killed her, but that didn't stand up against his own mind telling him that it was his fault for getting her on that. Damn. BUS! House's blue eyes gazed dispassionately down at the amber liquid swirling in that glass… at the amber light reflecting it, making it sparkle up to him almost teasingly. His throat constricted again, and he put a hand to his head, feeling his lips tremble.
Wilson hadn't spoken to him since it had happened. He hadn't even seen his friend. He opened his mouth to swear, but all that came out was a harsh croak before he flung the glass away from him, turning his eyes to the wall as he crunched his teeth together to stop the sobs that threatened to escape. He didn't heard the smash of glass against the wall, or the dull thuds as the pieces hit the floor. It was his fault… he'd just destroyed, again, what Wilson had loved. Utterly, and totally.
Something deep in him, yelled that he should have tried something else. Tried the flushing of her blood, tried to replace her organs, tried to do ANYTHING! That voice died under the weight of grief flooding his system like a lethal injection. One that he hadn't consented to have. … And one that he wished was lethal, and would kill him, if only so he didn't have to deal with the reality of life.
You can't always get what you want…
How many times would he have to hear that phrase before it sunk in? … And would he ever hear it the same way ever again?
…
Not likely.
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Hope you enjoyed! :) Any feedback would be lovely.
