Everybody's Looking for Something (House fanfic)
(04.11.09 - Reposted from ff.net)
AN: Written because my friend admitted a desire to see House break down “even though it’ll never happen/we’ll never see it” and evidently I find the concept of a House-breakdown so difficult that the only way I can write it is to dive into disjointed land. Oh well. It kinda feels like House.
Disclaimer: None of it belongs to me. Title from Eurythmics “Sweet Dreams.”
Huddy. 2nd person, House's POV. House doesn’t react well to Kutner’s suicide. Cuddy helps. Implied child abuse. Fairly disjointed.
…Everybody’s Looking for Something…
./.
He’s not my father. He’s not my father.
You were convinced. You knewknewknew. Sometimes, you think, the answer is more important than the question.
Like: why is he hurting me?
Why doesn’t he love me?
What did I do wrong?
He’s not my father, you told yourself. You figured out the dates, in your mind, in the margins of your homework. Count back nine months, read the letters, don’t let them know. Secret secret secret.
Everybody lies.
Even your mother.
Especially your father.
Especially your mother. “I love you, Greg.”
“Your father loves you, Greg.”
Not your father. He’s not my father.
“Is everything okay?” your teacher asked, dark hair tied back, holding your hand, looking down at you in your school clothes, the dark mark around your wrist.
You nodded. Everybody lies. You told her you were playing with the other boys.
It’s better, you know, to live with the pain.
./.
Everybody’s at the funeral.
The stain on the ground doesn’t bother you, but maybe it should.
You’re too distracted with the answer you aren’t so sure you’ll find.
But answers are important.
Why did he do it?
Was he really so unhappy?
What didn’t you see?
Find the answer. You always find the answer.
Pictures. He looks happy. He always looked happy. What are you missing?
./.
Answers are concise. Answers are precise.
Answers stop the questions (even when they don’t answer them).
“Why?” you asked, except she didn’t answer, (“Your father loves you,” your mother said), she never answered, she looked away. He’s not my father, you decided. He’s not my father.
You counted back the months. You found out you were right.
You’re always right.
Was it your answer?
Sometimes the best way to live with the pain is to answer something else.
./.
“Why?” you ask, except you know that there is no answer.
Photographs and expensive toys and all the things that don’t make up a life.
“Why?” you ask her, and she’s silent except for the tears sliding down her face, down her black blouse.
She went to the funeral. Did she find her answer there?
Cuddy's always cared too much about the questions.
You walk past her, into her house. So many trinkets. No answers here. Why are you here? Everybody lies. (Everybody dies).
“He shouldn’t have…there has to be a reason.”
Answers stop the questions.
Her hand is in yours.
“House,” she says. “I’m sorry,” she says.
Everybody lies.
Your hand is in hers.
“I know you need an answer,” she says.
Her eyes are on you. You look away.
“Sometimes,” she says, “There are no answers.”
Everybody lies.
“There are always answers,” you say. “Sometimes we just don’t know them.”
You look at her hand and your hand, there. Together.
“House,” she says.
You run a hand through your hair.
Your hand is shaking.
She touches your cheek and her fingers come away wet.
“Answers,” you say, “Are important.”
“Answers,” you say, “End things.”
Your hand tightens in hers.
You pull her close.
“You won’t end this,” she says.
“You can’t,” she says.
“Your father loves you,” your mother said.
You close your eyes.
“I don’t need to negate everything,” you say.
You open your eyes.
“I don’t want to negate this,” you say, and you kiss her, and her cheeks are wet and so are yours and she drops your hand so she can pull you close.
Pain is something to be borne.
She pulls back, still on her tiptoes, so that she can look at you.
She tenses against you.
“House,” she says.
“I love you,” she says, and you lean your forehead against hers.
Full circle.
Your breath catches in your throat.
This, you know the answer to.
It’s just been waiting to be discovered.
You look her in the eyes.
“I love you,” you say.
Answers are for the heart as well as the mind.
This is your answer.
You deserve to be loved.
Pain is something that can fade.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“Your father loves you,” your mother said.
Everybody hurts.
Sometimes the answer you need isn’t the one you were looking for.
./.
Finis