They Don't Know
by MadBangel
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with House.
Author's Note: Slight allusion to the events of the finale No Reason. This fic came out of a lot of things that have been on my mind. Mostly about how people judge other people so harshly, often with little idea what is going on with that person and without basic compassion. Okay, my rant ends here :)
1
I can feel their eyes on me, judging me.
That's fine. No one has questioned what I did more than I have.
The thing is, you always know exactly what you would do in a certain situation until you are actually in it.
Then, in the heat of the moment, when you're scared, everything changes. Sometimes your mind knows what you should do but your body is paralysed and you just sit there when you should be doing something.
Sometimes you have to react, have to do something before it's too late and the pressure's on and you go for it, do it. Then when it's over you have the rest of your life to think about it in a cold, clinical fashion and judge yourself for it.
I'm a lawyer. I know all about the ethics of consent.
It didn't mean a damn when his life was on the line.
I left him scarred, betrayed and terrified. A wreck.
Was it worth it?
That's the question I asked everyday as his life and our relationship broke down.
Was I wrong to condemn him to his private hell?
A lot of people think they know something about it all. Of course I was wrong to go against his wishes and leave him like this. And to leave him when he was so down.
It's complicated, they acknowledge. But in the end, oh-so-simple. You shouldn't have done it, Stacy. It was his choice to make, not yours. You screwed him over and walked away, leaving the mess for Wilson and Cuddy and whoever else to mop up.
Bitch.
Selfish bitch.
I've thought all those things that are running through their minds right now while puffing on a cigarette that I thought I was so carefully hiding from him.
They think I damaged him when what they don't know is that he was already so damaged.
He hates himself.
He has for as long as I've known him and I know without having to ask that it started early. No one but myself or James really knows this. Lisa does on some level, but she usually ignores it.
He wouldn't give up his leg to save his own life.
They think his deepest fear is having someone treat him behind his back. To not be in control.
He does fear that, yes.
But what he fears most is to lose whatever aspects of himself he thinks are positive, because to him they are few and far between.
His mind is his most prized possession. Then there's his music. His athleticism. He used to play just about every sport known to man. And those blue eyes. He's never thought himself good-looking. The eyes are what people comment on and they are a redeeming feature, to make up for his thin face, gangly frame and largish nose.
These few positives are what he clings to. They make him worthy of existing.
When the infarction happened he had to give up not only his sports but his physical normalcy. It was another negative to add to the list. Cripple. He couldn't stand that idea.
To be looked at with pity or to see people carefully averting their eyes. A doctor who was himself not in perfect health. The cripple watching everyone else from the sidelines of the sports field. Another thing that makes him ugly.
He'd rather have died than have that happen.
In that moment I wished desperately that he could see himself through my eyes. To see the man I fell in love with.
After, I tried to make him understand that I didn't care if he was crippled. That I loved him and nothing was ever going to change that. Of course he didn't accept it.
In his mind he was a hopeless case and he gave up. Gave up our relationship, taking care of himself, and human contact in general.
So again, was it worth it to save his life and leave him like that?
Even in my darkest moments the answer has been simple.
Hope.
Foolish hope. Is he, will he, can he, ever learn to make some kind of peace with himself? That's the question he lived and died for.
He made his decision on the basis that he never could.
I made mine on hope.
And when I look at him now, in the aftermath of being shot twice, I see something in his blue eyes that I've always ached to see. Hope.
Maybe it's not perfect. It's not a full recovery, maybe it never will be.
But after all these years my wounded doctor is finally beginning to heal.
And I sit by his bedside and dare to hope some more.
If I could go back in time and change my decision, I wouldn't change a thing.
Let them judge.
He's there, he's alive, and just maybe, he wants to get better.
I'll never give up on you, Greg. I love you too much, you stubborn bastard.
Even if you can never get over what I did to you.
Even if I can never be with you.
Even if I had to leave you for you to get on with your life.
Even if you are impossible at the best of times.
I see that spark of hope burning in your eyes and the hint of a smile at your mouth and goddamit Greg I'm never going to feel guilty about my decision ever again.
I catch James's eyes and the silly grin he can't stop from melting across his face.
It's been so long coming, and there's still such a long way to go.
But he's taken the first step and I allow myself to hope.
It's what's gotten me through so far.
The End.