"Sometimes you picture me–I'm walking too far ahead. You're calling to me I can't hear what you have said–and you say–go slow–I've fallen behind–The second hand unwinds. If you're lost you can look–and you will find me, time after time. If you fall I will catch you–I'll be waiting, time after time," Cyndi Lauper
Things have been sort of insane the past year or so. It's always crazy with House, but I feel like this time is different. I wonder if I say that a lot. I know I've felt as though his behavior—as if things were at their worst before, and I think that every time I feel as though we've hit rock bottom, House proves me wrong, slipping even lower than I thought possible.
He was right about the whole faking cancer to get drugs thing, it's not the worst thing he's done ever, or even this year. That doesn't make it right, or okay, but it didn't—if no one had found about it, theoretically nobody would have gotten hurt. Maybe I would be less worried about him if that was the worst thing he'd done, but it's not. I guess it doesn't matter though. He seems to have revered back to his usual, annoying, mean-spirited, angry, bitter, lonely, and miserable self.
In the end, I suppose it doesn't make a difference what he's done in the past or what he might do. The only way I can survive this thing is to deal with him the way he is now so that he will, hopefully, be alright and one day we might just get the happily ever after that you read about in story books. I don't expect perfect. I'm not even sure I would want that, but every so of ten I wouldn't mind if things weren't completely insane.
"You keep on staring at me like that, and I just might have to start charging you for it. Okay, what have I done this time? You're getting that pouty, concerned look again, so go on, tell me what's bothering you so it doesn't fester until you start annoying me all the time."
"I guess I've just been thinking about the past year, year and a half, and I was trying to figure out whether or not you've learned anything at all from those experiences, from what we—what you—went through."
"Yeah. I learned that I can do just about anything and Cuddy will cover my ass. I learned that even you have a breaking point, a place where someone can get you where you'll completely betray me, and I learned not to get caught the next time I—well I should probably keep those plans under lock and key."
"That's not even remotely funny. I am trying to have a serious conversation here. We've been through a lot and I have to know whether or not it means anything, because if it doesn't then there's no reason to—then we might as well just give in. We might as well stop trying."
House looks up at me like I just punched him in the stomach, and he pops a couple extra pills, completely ignoring the look on my face—the dirtiest I can muster. "You know what, fine. Forget I said anything. I'm gonna get a drink, you want something?"
"I am a man of many talents. I can do a lot of things, but I can't just forget you threatening to walk out of here over something I have absolutely no control over. I know you think you can teach me humanity, one little piece at a time. You think you can fix me, simple as that, but nothing is easy, not the way you think it is." I'm not sure if I should just let that go or if I can win this fight, and maybe make things a little bit better.
"So your theory is, if it's not easy then it's just not worth doing, and you're not going to waste any time trying, huh? If there's a chance you might not make it, then just screw the whole thing? You're pathetic House, and I'm sick of it." Then I storm off into the kitchen, and start to dig through the cabinet, until I find a bottle of bourbon stashed behind a couple boxes of cereal and Ramen Noodles. Yeah, he hasn't got a problem; everybody hides bottles of booze all over the place. Everybody's got a secret stash.
I shouldn't have called him pathetic. Treating House like dirt isn't going to solve anything. I walk back into the living room with a glass in each hand, one for him, one for me. He's sitting on the couch with his feet up and the Ipod buds in his ears. "I'm sorry. That wasn't—I shouldn't have said that before, the last part, anyway. I had nothing to gain from being cruel and again, I'm sorry for that." I know it's a lousy apology, but that's the best I can do in these circumstances.
"Huh?" he asks, pulling the left bud out and letting it dangle over his chest. "Give me one of those would you? Thanks." House downs the drink with one gulp, wincing and shaking his head. "Look I know I'm not perfect, but you—you can't expect that from me, or anyone else for that matter."
"I don't expect you to be perfect. I don't think that's even possible. I'm just—I watch you and I'm not sure what you might do next, what you might try, and that scares the Hell out of me. I worry about you."
"You worry about everyone, and everything. That's just your nature. It's what you do. You worry. Just tell me one thing, Jimmy. What do you want from me?" House asks, the whole while, staring at this feet, refusing to make eye contact. "I do love you, at least I think I do—it's as close as I'll ever get to that if I don't…but I don't know what you want me to do. Why isn't my feeling that way enough? Tell me what you want me to do."
"I can't do that," I admit, lowering my own eyes, and then he does turn to face me. "I don't know what I want, except. I want to not have to worry as much. I guess I want no I need…I need to know that eventually everything is going to be okay between us. I need to know that one day maybe even you can be alright. I need you to love me. I want to hear you say that more. I want you to try, and I need to know you aren't going to do anything insane. I want—I don't know. I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I know, or if I ever will know."
House stares at me for a long time and then turns away. He looks off into the distance for an even longer time, before taking in a deep breath. Then he sighs and says, "I think I can do that."