Warning: Character death
Parts: 6 … possibly 7
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A.D.: Part VI turned silently as Dr. Chase left the church, regretting my brusque manner as I saw his cold, perfectly straight face. Ironic how I found myself regretting something Greg would have no trouble brushing aside. (Yeah, you were the perfect person, right? Sensitive … caring … all that.) I paused, halfway down the aisle, suddenly reluctant to go further. Did I really have the right to … of course I did. I was his … (ex, betrayer, saviour) … friend, after a sort. As I started up the steps, I lost my balance and tripped. Reaching out instinctively to grasp Mark's wheelchair, my hand met only with empty air, and I shook my head, annoyed with myself. Regaining my composure, I marched up to Greg's coffin, with some annoyance.
Looking at his peaceful face, my irritation died away at once. To say he looked happy would be an exaggeration, but he looked … at rest. I had always loved watching him sleep, I reminisced, a small smile tugging on the corners of my lips. He had always looked so at ease … no longer having to fight with the world. (The war is over for good now.) Peering closer into the wooden box, I noticed the cold, shiny handle of his cane, and I felt my head spinning. Just for a moment though. It seemed to fit there next to him, exactly as it had been in life. I wasn't guilty. I refused to feel guilty.
People remembered that our relationship had ended when the infarction came and House became oh-so-bitter. (You knew it wasn't true) In reality, it had been over the minute we'd stopped fighting about little things. When we had started to mellow and lean towards the neutral. The beginning of our relationship had been full of passion and greed and things better left unsaid. That stage had lasted three years (three years of fighting and enjoying it) before we had started on our downhill spiral. In the end we were too alike, and too full of intense fury.
Our relationship was nearly over when Greg had his infarction. And suddenly, we were the perfect TV couple again – full of 'I-love-you's' and 'I'm-not-going-to-die's.' (When you're dying suddenly everyone loves you) For those anxious weeks in hospital I could pretend that we were alright, that we would be alright. Because it certainly seemed that way.
And then I had saved his life, and no, it does not happen the way it ought. Saving someone's life usually ends in tears and hugs and happily ever afters and riding into the sunset. Saving Greg's life ended with bitterness and failed rehab and the therapist. But I had never really been a fairytale princess anyway, so maybe it was better this way. (And anyway, you would never know).
I could never decide if saving his life was the bravest or the stupidest thing I had ever done. (Who said they had to be mutually exclusive?) Sometimes I even wondered if I should have just let him die, just because it was what he wanted. And then, I would come to my senses, because really, a life in pain is, after all, still a life, isn't it? It's better to be alive than dead … because at least you're still …alive. It means you still have a chance.
I looked back down at his coffin and ran my hand gently over the glass. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. He was supposed to stay alive and cling to that chance I had given him, not throw it all away with one reckless motorcycle ride in a Vicodin induced haze. He was always stupid that way.
The mahogany handle of his cane gleamed softly up at me, and I smiled affectionately at it, not caring that it was, in fact, an inanimate object. It had been there for Greg when I could not be, and was his sole aide to life. It seemed appropriate that it should be now buried or cremated with him, depending on what Blythe and John House decided. Greg's parents had opted to wait outside for all the mourners to have their own private moments with Greg before taking his body with the funeral bearers. Greg had never really gotten along with his parents (though you were never entirely sure why), but they had always seemed nice enough, if a bit short at times – something I could empathise with.
How horrible for them, I realised with a pang of a sudden maternal instinct that I hadn't been aware of. They weren't meant to be there for Greg's funeral – he was supposed to arrange theirs. What sort of (screwed up) world was this, when the child left before the parent? (the type of screwed up person Greg was).
I turned away.
"Goodbye, Greg," I said over my shoulder. And at the last moment, I whirled back around, abandoning the poise and grace that had characterised me since my father left us when I was ten. "I'm … sorry." The words fell haltingly from my mouth, and I paused to watch his face before turning.
As I walked slowly down the aisle, head bowed, I became aware of someone watching me from the door. I looked up and saw Mark in his wheelchair staring straight at me. I didn't say a word, and I didn't ask him how he knew that I would be here. (maybe you should have told him) Reaching him, I placed a hand in his.
"Let's go home," he said gently, and I nodded.
Home.
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A/N: Well, I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but that's okay, because it doesn't have to be my favourite. Only one chapter left, guys … thanks for sticking with me.