Author's Note: Contrary to my beliefs I am still loved after that last, slight soap opera-ish chapter. So, first of all, I would like to thank lemonjelly (as always my first reviewer; I love your reviews, dear!), lijep (oh, you don't hate me? Wow, thank you. I try to improve each chapter, but I can never be certain), Chromo26 (I felt it was necessary to do a little something about Cameron; I'm glad you enjoyed it), FriendsHolic (I'll try to explain it; I'm glad your back!), prinnie (I'm most likely not going to have a happy ending, so, I'll warn you now), and, of course, Scrubs (I did try to elaborate on why he tried to kill himself in this chapter; I also explain the force that caused him not to kill himself, too, other than Wilson).
Spoilers: None as of yet, but the future hold many surprises, right?
Disclaimer: Obviously, if I did own House, and I would have made Cameron less needy.
Note: You want to here something funny? Well, um, I just finished chapter six, which is great because I thought it would take me awhile, but, I need to do chapter seven. Chances are that might just take a little while. So, if you see that I haven't updated, don't fret. I might post a new story that I have written for a school assignment, but that's about it. So, I just wanted you to know. Enjoy the chapter!
Chapter Six: The Disposal of Indisposition
"You are the epitome of the word 'depressed'."
"And I thought I was a hypocrite, Mr. 'My Marriage Stinks'."
"You are a hypocrite."
"Oh, I'm so depressed now; I'm going to go kill myself."
Wilson turned to him quickly, one half wanting to worry, and the other wanting to nervously laugh at his friend's cruel joke. But, he settled on glaring at him. Any action at this point was better than no action.
"I saved you earlier, you know."
"First you saved my job, and then you saved my life. I have to get you an award or something."
"Just promise me that you'll talk to Cuddy and not commit suicide while I'm gone."
"Yes, mother."
A silence filled the void for a moment, and, just as it subsided, Wilson spoke.
"Hey, did you really think I looked hot earlier when I talked like that?"
"Huh?"
"Oh, uh, nothing. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
House waved at his farewell dismissively with one hand, while the other held a glass of rum. He swirled the amber liquid in the bottom, letting it dance, an endless waltz of more inebriation to come in the future.
"And House?"
He looked at Wilson, a spark of excitement igniting the curiosity present in his eyes. Waiting for a reply, he drank the last sip, letting it fall lower in him, allowing his mind to do the same.
"She doesn't hate you, you know."
With that, he closed the door, the almost inaudible click reassuring House that he was alone. Solitude. He leaned back, sinking into the emerald- colored material of the couch, taking pride in his silent victory.
But, he did not feel at ease.
Sighing, he grasped the head of his cane and limped over to the liquor cabinet, his other hand wandering over to the scotch. But then, he froze, letting his gaze meander over to a white envelope balancing on the edge of a table. He reached over for it, placing all of his weight on his healthy leg, and successfully held it.
He made his way over to the piano, sitting down on the bench placed in front of it, and he opened his prize.
Pictures, from the ultrasound. He had forgotten to give them to Cuddy after he had walked out of the room. Not that she would want them anyway.
He placed them atop the piano, and then slid them towards the edge rather carelessly. But, he did not do it so carelessly that they would slip over the side.
He tried to recall what had happened earlier at the bar, wading in the deep waters of his memory.
He had drank, drank much more than he had needed to just to numb the pain. Wilson had entered stealthily, placing himself in the optimal position to view House's pain and melancholy. Maybe, he thought, Wilson was the cause of all of his tribulations. Hadn't his inquiring caused him to take refuge in alcohol?
But, hadn't it been Wilson who had saved him?
And he hadn't wanted to be saved. He wanted to sacrifice whatever little life he had left, letting it fall listlessly to the ground to be taken away.
Away to where? In his cynical state of mind, he was not concerned in the least. All he knew was that he would die and decompose, falling back into his roots whilst his spirit committed actions that had no effect on his body whatsoever.
Either way, a perverse curiosity had taken hold of him, and he did not want to wait to find out what could happen.
Again, he retrieved the pills from his pocket, and he laid each one out on top of the piano.
One. Two. Five. Seven. Seven lucky pills.
Taking pride in his actions, he lifted a pill to his lips. But then, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Something small. Something white.
The envelope.
Placing the white tablet back in its original position, he retrieved the item, pulling it closer to him in a hesitant manner. Inside, the pictures were composed in such a manner that it reminded him of ink blots.
And, in those ink blots, there was only one thing to be identified.
To him, life inside the womb was ground zero, a neutral, low-lying zone where life existed in such a way that it seemed as though it was not there at all.
A being would grow, rise from the ashes, develop. Yet, without the support of the one who carried this person, it would die.
And, he wondered, how was that life?
He knew that everyone was co-dependent on someone or something else, but, to be dependent on another life to live in an existence where reality was only a nightmare?
Being a devout cynic, he envied whoever could lavish in such a lifestyle for eternity, for, as he saw it, there would be nothing to fear other than death.
Rather, this state was the thin line between existence and inexistence. One in this position could only exist by the support of another, could only be created and conceived by others. One in this position would not be had not two people committed actions that cleansed and dirtied the soul simultaneously.
And now it was presented to him in a mere image. One single photograph that represented everything he had contemplated for so long. And, even though it was black and white and abstract, he could easily identify the object within.
When you wish upon a star my child, don't do it in haste, for a needless prayer, is a grieved waste.
Twice in one day, he had tried to die, wished to die, yearned to die, but, there had been something in the way, obstructing the agonizing, sorrowful, and gradual path to death.
And that was his subconscious.
The subconscious controlled all. His dreams, his qualms, his thoughts, his actions, everything. It was a sublime force that was complex and could not be dominated. On that fateful day, his subconscious had allowed his composure go astray, and the end result was a responsibility that at times was denounced in such a way that it murdered part of his heart.
And his subconscious had forced him to love this being because of the biological connection and nothing more. Or, was that so?
As he stood in that room, watching her emotionless face, part of him had died. It pained him so to see such neglect given to something so innocent and pure. But, what really caused this sudden and controlled demise was not just the strong disregard. Rather, it was because he could do nothing to thwart it.
And that was why he had tried to die. He had tried to die because he could not tolerate the immense amount of disregard between the one he shared a biological connection with. He did not look upon it as a case of love. Rather, he looked upon it as an instinctual actions committed solely to protect his offspring.
He had finally had his revelation, and now it was time for hers. He stood and reached for the phone. Dialing her number, he waited, his impatience growing vaster with each passing second.
A pause, and then a voice from the other end.
"Hello?"
"Do you always sound so monotonous in the middle of the night, or is it just because I'm calling you and not your boyfriend?"
"What do you want? It's three in the morning, and you and I have work tomorrow."
"You sound so calm."
"Yeah, well, I wouldn't want to pleasure you with my anger."
"How very kind of you."
"House, what do you want? Why can't you just leave me alone?"
A moment of silence erupted, flying out of a time warp at a screaming speed before halting in the midst of its glory.
"Because, if I do, that baby will have no protection from any of the crap in this world."
"Are you actually showing concern for another human being? Because, if you are, I underestimated you. You're not as cold as you appear to be."
"Are you implying that I'm vulnerable?"
"No, just human."
And, he was human. At birth, he had had narrow bones that were hidden beneath colored-paper skin, and his eyes were blue radiances of naivety. His hair was svelte, wispy, and golden, and his mind was pure of all corruption. Unfortunately, he had been defiled during his years, and he could no longer communicate with the purity that had once lain in him.
His mind was clouded with alcohol and adulterated thoughts, his hair coated gray with the dust of time, and his body morphed into a figure of misery.
He had freed himself of his candid air long ago, and ever since it had been depressing all of his actions and thoughts.
But, one thing he had just presently rid himself of was indisposition. No longer would he hide behind the morose mask that he had laboriously carved. Rather, he would allow his true self to come forth.
He had finally disposed his indisposition, and he had never felt so wonderful.
"Yes, I'm human. And so isn't that baby inside you. But, there's one thing I'm confused about: If I'm human and you can stand being with me, what's so different with the baby?"
Another uncomfortable silence filled the air, the sound of the wind whipping the trees outside her window making her shiver. The answer just rested on the tip of her tongue, but it had been shredded as it had made its way up her throat. She could answer all of his questions another day, another time, and another place. Right now, she just wanted to sleep her fears away, allowing them to fade along with the night.
"Good night, House."
She placed the phone back into its cradle, turning onto her side lethargically.
They would deal with this in the morning.
Author's Note: I'm going to assume some of you were confused about the last line? By "they" I meant her in the baby. I just thought it would be a little cool. Anyway, I know this chapter is rather melodramatic, but I couldn't help it. So, please, read and review as you wish. Thank you!
