Objectivity

Ficlet to Nobody's Fault, 8-11.

References to The Mistake, Cursed, Half Wit, Human Error, The Tyrant, and Instant Karma.

He stands behind the glass wall for God knows for how long.

The pain has been keeping you awake for hours already, and although your eyes are closed, you can almost predict when he comes and when he leaves again.

It's like a built-in sensor that indicates his presence, akin to an internal beeper that goes off; you can feel it as much as if he would actually open the door and walk into the room.

It has a weirdly consoling touch to it.

It also indicates that you're not alone when he is standing out there in the night, watching you from his distant position in a dark corridor, his gaze remaining focused on you.

Your numbed mind clings to the thought even if it is only make-belief: you need this, and you're not ashamed to admit it; if not to House or anyone else, then at least to yourself.

Sometimes you would hear the gentle, familiar tapping of his cane on the floor; that's when he walks up to your room and stares at you for what feels like an eternity.

You wonder what goes on in that brilliant head of his, and why he keeps coming back over and over again.

You can hear him leaving too, but he'll be back like a ghostly figure watching over you.

You can almost hear the rattling thoughts, burning questions, unjustified accusations that keep him restless.

You're not a puzzle to solve.

And still, something keeps his mind busy and makes him checking on you.

You'd never dreamt it would happen.

Not with House, anyway.

You want to believe that he stays at the clinic overnight because of you, and even though you know that such things happen (because it's what people do, right?), you still find it bizarre that somebody cares enough to spent their time watching you in your medical-induced haze.

You even start to believe that you're important enough for somebody; that you are, ultimately, some part of somebody's life.

Even if it is House's.

You're not stupid enough to not understand that it is nothing but a guilty conscience that drives him to your room (and yet, you find comfort in the possible assumption that you might be wrong).

It's not the miserable state which you are in (because there are doctors and nurses who'll tend to that), and it's not some sentimental impulse (because House has never been good at that).

It was not his fault.

You know he'll never get past that glass door to talk to you, but if he did, this would be the only thing you would like to tell him.

Objectivity, House.

You have plenty of time to think, and you wonder how your thoughts can be lucid with the amount of painkillers and sedatives that keep flowing through your system.

Sometimes, when you turn your head, you can see him clearly in spite of the dimmed lights.

The expression on his face reminds you of the moments when he allowed you to peek behind the facade of cynicism and irony (you can count them on one hand, and, measured by the number of years you've been working for him, it's not much. But then it's House; how much can you expect?).

Rowan

The visit of your father comes to mind when you see him standing there and recall the pensive look on his face.

House kept prying until he finally made you talk in the privacy of his office.

It doesn't have anything to do with your work, doesn't have to be important to House, and yet it is, and you wonder why you start opening up to him when you tried so hard to avoid him before.

It's House who finally gets to hear those words from you – words that you didn't meant to say but needed to be said anyway (you felt slightly better once they were out, but only slightly).

Until this day, you're not sure if you were imagining things when he averted his eyes and almost, almost looked intimidated by your speech that comes out of your mouth and hits House in the face with an impact you cannot quite fathom.

Persistently and mercilessly, he's been tearing down your defenses, and when he succeeds, he cannot handle it.

He closes the door shut again that he's been trying to push open, and you're relieved when he dismisses you, letting you off the hook.

Objectivity. Learning about other people's issues doesn't necessarily help to maintain it.

Kayla

The second time, you're losing a patient and, subsequently, are about to lose your job.

It's House who finally sees through your lies and your guilty conscience.

Surprisingly discrete and gentle, he steers you away from self-destructing and destroying your career in the process, and in retrospect, you should thank him on your knees that he figured you out.

Back then, it didn't feel like a favor, but you know better by now.

You still wonder why he saved your neck in the first place.

There was nothing to gain.

House never does anything unless there is a benefit in it.

You'd like to think he did it because you're useful for him (and that's as close as House can get to being nice).

Or maybe he did it because he felt that little twinge of guilt when he kept you in the dark about your father's illness.

It's always easy to pin the blame on House.

You've seen other people do it and damn, they were probably right because they were not objective in their judgment (and who is, ever?).

It's perfectly human to pick a scapegoat for their own flaws and failures, and you've seen it all the time.

Strangely enough, you've never seen it in House.

You're learning. You always try and remain impartial as much as you can.

Don't get attached too much.

It works best for you by keeping your distance, especially with House.

The dead patient was House's patient as well as yours, and it would have been easy to roll on him, but you just didn't because, to be fair, it wouldn't be objective.

Perhaps he saved your career because you didn't make him responsible for your own actions.

But then again, you never think too much about House's reasons.

The Hug

You do care when you think you're going to lose him.

You lose objectivity when the thought of a dying House brings tears to your eyes.

Hugging House and crying on his shoulder is like disarming a man with a bayonet in his hands and throwing away your bulletproof vest.

You wouldn't bet your life on it that this is always going to work, but this one time, it did.

You can hardly understand what impulse has driven you, and, more importantly, why he would let you.

It's really not a habit of yours to hug your boss.

It's not your policy to lay down your defenses.

And still, in this very moment when you cling to him, you can feel that he is just as human as anybody else.

A simple, uncalculated gesture of affection leaves him stunned.

House gets too little hugs to dismiss it as insignificant – at least that's what you'd like to believe.

A smile crosses your face when you recall the awkwardness of the moment.

What would he have said if you hadn't taken him by surprise?

Objectivity, Chase.

Even if he was fooling everybody, you're still glad you did what you did, because there are probably very few colleagues who can claim to have left House speechless and make him shut up for once.

You're fired

He's firing you as an act of recognition.

It's not an act of malice or cruelty but objectivity.

Strange how you instantly come to understand, and understanding leaves no room for bitterness or even hard feelings.

The years spent under House have not only taught you how to think like the man, but also how to decipher the code that he is using.

You're finished for him, ready to spread your wings, and you take it as it is.

In hindsight, getting fired is even something you can be proud of.

From an outsider's perspective, one might be tempted to accuse House of random choices; but you can see the logic and the absolute objectivity in his actions.

Even more, you appreciate it.

In the end, it's the best thing that can happen to you, and maybe House thinks so, too.

Dibala

You lose more than just your objectivity when you deliberately kill a patient.

You lose your peace of mind.

Your marriage crumbles and will inevitably shatter into thousands of sharply edged shards.

House remains the only constant, taking over the reigns again like he always does.

You should feel appalled by the way he meddles with you, but you know the man and you can see what he is up to.

With cold objectivity, he's steering you in dangerous waters, challenging you to swim and keep your head up when you feel like you're going to drown (and, when you're honest, he didn't even cut the life-line).

You never questioned his reasons.

You take it as a given because House is what he is; a man who fiercely believes in cold reason, and who is not afraid to throw it into everyone's face.

You stopped seeing him as a self-centered bastard a long time ago.

In hindsight, House seems the only person in your life who ever gave a damn.

You realize that he doesn't need you the way you depended on him (because that would be pathetic), and yet a part of you wants to believe that you're not irrelevant.

It's that part inside of you that feels rejected and deprived; it's that part inside that leaves you hollow and weeping inside and that is scarred and rigid and barely breathing.

You can see it in House, too.

Perhaps this is what keeps drawing you to him over and over again.

The Accident

Anguish is something you have never seen in him before.

You've seen him care in this very peculiar, almost reluctant way that can be annoying and sometimes unnerving, and you learn to handle it like you learn to live in a foreign country; never quite at home, but slowly getting comfortable.

You're stunned to find him at your bedside when you come out of the anesthesia.

You're even more stunned when you can't feel your legs.

You do your best to find a rational answer (because you've been a good student, and panic is the last thing that will make you feel better).

Even though you're being calm, House is not, and it's most disturbing.

He's about to lose it.

He stares at you in open shock, dismayed, terrified.

It scares you even more than the numbness of your limbs.

You're afraid to see him break when he is supposed to be your anchor.

You're not his puppet, and still you feel like someone has cut off the threads to leave you tangling.

The look on his face is desperate like a puppeteer's who tries to unravel the strings, to no prevail.

There is only one last thing that makes sense now.

Objectivity, House.

It comes out reasonable, factual, sober.

Your voice is firm and steady when you say those words, even though you're on the verge of panicking.

The look in his eyes changes; you have hit a nerve, and the machinery in House's head starts working again like it usually does.

Reliable.

Factual.

Objective.

It's what you need him to be.

It's what House means to you, and you can't have him breaking down.

Sometimes you shudder at the possible blasphemy in your relationship.

You wonder how much he has become your savior; your God-father-like surrogate.

He is no angel, no knight in shining armor, no benefactor or even a father, but he is something.

He won't turn his back and walk out on you.

Maybe this is what makes you stick around.

Maybe this is what he provides because it is what you need.

And maybe he knows exactly what it means to you, and most likely he would tell you that it doesn't matter to him.

You have learned to stand on your own feet.

You've gone a long way, but if you're honest, you're glad that he hasn't left yet.

He's still standing outside, a silent figure who keeps his guard in an unlit hallway.

You don't know how much time has passed, and you're not sure if he's aware that you are awake, only pretending to sleep.

You lie very still.

You don't stir, don't move, because if you do, he will leave.

And if you're objective, it is the last thing you want.