Same Here

Story Title: Same Here

Story Summary: Cuddy asks House a question one day. He doesn't quite know how to answer it. Later, he reflects on two words that never solve anything.

Genre: Angst/General/Reflection


Chapter Focus: #345 of 1000 Theme Challenge, "Hey Baby"

Chapter Rating: K+, maybe T.

Word Count: 1,300+

Spoilers: for "Joy to the World"


Author's Starting Notes: This next installment, Hey Baby, was written just because I wanted more into House's side of things than we got in the last one. I know that the structure for this is kind of different because it's basically all dialogue in a strange way, but whatever. I hope you enjoy this, and please review. There may be one more after this if enough of you guys want it. So, tell me if you do.

Time Stamp: Posted 12th of January 2009


(#345)

He does not know exactly how he got there. He only knows that he is there, sitting in the darkness that winter nights bring, with his startling blue eyes burning brightly in contrast with the surroundings. The room is warm. But, he still feels cold.

With a sigh, he flips the switch directly above his left hand. A small glow drifts in, basking the small form wrapped in pink blankets. It moves over, blinking droopily. The little girl stares up at him. He notices, nostalgically, that her eyes are blue too. Sadly, they're not the right shade. Not the ones he wants to be looking at, even though they should be. He has to settle for this, though. It is the closest thing to contact he can have right now.

It occurs to him that he seems almost stalkerish now, towering above the small child, with every fact about her engrained in his memory. Her name -- Roxanne Elizabeth -- is encrusted on the plate waiting by her tiny feet. He doesn't need to glance at it once, nor does he need to look at the records sitting in her lap. The records tell him plenty of things. They tell him that her birth mother just died of eclampsia, and that she is almost a month old. They inform him of the fact that she is nearly five pounds now -- four pounds, nine ounces. What they don't tell him, though, is the one thing that interests him.

Where on Earth is she going? Because it isn't back to the house he's broken into way too many times, or the crack home she was found in. Where she's going is going to be nice and cozy with a mother who will love her and give her the world on silver, bacteria and pesticide free platter.

House has never been one to cave into the idiotic whims of talking to those who won't respond. He does not talk to goldfish, or little dogs on the street. The closest thing to that being his short, rhetorical comments to his good buddy Coma-Guy. So, his shock comes understandably when he has the undeniable urge to speak.

He begins in an almost condescending tone, asking, "Do you know how lucky you are, kid? Of course you don't; you're an infant. Well, you are lucky. Lucky to be alive, to be adopted… to be with her…. You're not going to rot away in the foster care system, alone and hating the world because you never got a chance to know real love at a young age. And, you're not going to grow up in a home with an abusive dictator breathing down your neck about every little mistake. No, you're going to thrive with a single mother, doing everything to take care of your ungrateful teenage self. If anyone ever tries to hurt you, even a bit, she's going to rescue you, and take care of you'll be ready to strangle yourself in hopes of getting out of her loving and overbearing embrace."

He chuckles breathily, and goes on.

"You're going to hate her sometimes. You're going to want to run away and never come back because she's not conventional in any way. She's going to make you come back though. She won't have to track you down, or call the cops either. One night away and you'll be rushing back into your unlocked bedroom window to get that warm breakfast of whatever vegan crap she's trying to shove down your throat. You're going to be spoiled rotten. And, she's going to expect you to be brilliant. Don't worry, though, she'll love you even if you aren't. You're probably gonna grow up with men flittering in and out of your life. I'm telling you right now, don't let them stay. Chase them all away. Wear strange vests and be ridiculously sensitive if you have to. Google Alison Cameron if you need an example of how to get rid of the good guys. Beware, you might have some weird Australian people coming after you if you copy her."

House takes in the small body of the girl. He reconsiders instantly, practically envisioning what he's thinking before he says it.

"You should be like your mom," he decides, "You should work like her, talk like her, treat people the way she does. Don't dress like her though. You'll get too much attention that she will not want to explain to you, and will probably fail at anyway. That's another thing to Google when you get older, sex. Do not let her explain it to you, unless of course you're interested in long-winded speeches and possible medical text.

"Maybe one day, if I'm a good boy, and you're a good girl, we'll meet each other. You won't be wearing diapers, and Foreman will probably have taken over my department by then. I'll give you a speech that you'll take in just as much as you do now. Then, I'll ask you a simple question. 'How's your mom?' I'll ask. And, you better answer me with a 'she's fine', or they'll be hell to pay. Don't let me ask more, or I'll never get enough. Don't let me get away without asking you either, or I'll punch myself in the face until the day I die over it.

"You know, kid, you're a pretty good listener. How about I tell you something I haven't told anyone else? You can't go spreading it around, or I'll have to take your nose," he threatens jokily. Roxanne simply blinks blankly at him, holding out her arms. He reaches down, listening her slowly from the hospital crib. She moves a bit before keeping her eyes trained on him. He adjusts himself as well.

He begins, "Back in Michigan, in college, I knew this woman. She was gorgeous, and funny, and really knew how to make a guy happy. I decided that this woman would have to be mine. I wanted her, and not just in the way I'm not supposed to tell you about. After a bit of prodding, I convinced her to go out with me. We started seeing each other after that, and one day she made the dreaded mistake that women in relationships always do. She said three words that made me get scared, made me freak out a bit. I know, the great Greg House doesn't get frightened, but, damn, I've never heard a more terrifying concept than those stupid eight letters. Well, I backed away from her for a while, then I went and carved a message into the desk in her little alcove. It was eight letters too. But, I didn't see her again… not for fifteen years."

He swallows back the traitorous tears in his eyes.

"I talked to the woman in the story a few days ago. She asked me a question, and I couldn't come up with a good answer. I started rambling and made a real ass of myself. In the end, she told me goodbye. But, I don't want to say goodbye," he whispers. He looks at the little girl, "And, I don't think I ever will."

The child reaches up, placing a small hand on his chest. He will later swear that it never happened, but a few tears slipped at that.

The silence in the room is so deafening, so strong and powerful with his confession that the small sound from the absent weight against the door echoes loudly. House turns around to see Robert Chase, guiltily, standing at the door.

House carefully puts Roxanne back into the crib then. He rises from his seat, limping to the door. Chase steps aside. He goes out of the room. It is not until he's at the elevator that he hears the Aussie's voice again.

"House," Chase calls, the man in question peers over his shoulder at him, "What did you write on the desk?"

House's head snaps back forward. He steps into the elevator with his gaze firmly on his shoes. As the doors are closing, he looks to Chase and says the two words that have haunted him ever since he first put them down.

"Same here."


© Everything written above belongs to me (FF user, Paint Me a Symphony). If somebody is out there pushing this as their own, they are lying. I may not own House M.D, or its characters, but I do own this.