Goodnight, Sweet Dreams
For all of his complaining, his sarcastic remarks and prickly demeanour, it was rare for House to find himself completely alone. At the hospital he always had his team and though he was careful not to confuse their obligatory association with any real sense of loyalty, or worse, some misguided notion of friendship, they were there nonetheless. He could count on them, they were good doctors. Hell, if they weren’t he never would have hired them.
As for others in his acquaintance, the only constants were Bree and Wilson. And maybe Bree wasn’t so different from his employees, House supposed as he sat on the couch in front of his TV, his feet resting on the coffee table. She had to put up with him because of her unfortunate relation, at least until she moved out of the apartment. But since her birth, he‘d only rarely had to spend a night alone. He didn’t have that luxury.
If it was such a luxury, why was it that on one of those rare occasions, a night when he had the apartment completely to himself, that House wanted to be almost anywhere else?
It was just a habit, he told himself sternly. He’d gotten used to having the pitter-patter of teenage feet around the place, having her sitting next to him on the couch as they added their own commentary to America’s Next Top Model. Without her the apartment was just too quiet.
House had even tried to rectify the situation by playing the piano in the corner of the room, sticking to a few of his favourites, but without an appreciative audience the instrument sounded forlorn, cold. He’d given up soon after and settled in from of the couch, channel surfing and it was there he was determined to stay until morning.
---
It was well past midnight when House pulled up in Murphy’s drive on his motorcycle, a packed rucksack on his back. It was another twenty-minutes before he managed to prise the front door open without breaking anything. It was another half-hour before he managed to climb to the top of the stairs.
He was breathless by the time he’d hoisted himself to the landing, one hand braced against the wall, the other on the handle of his cane. He legs were shaking with the effort, exhausted by both pain and the uneven distribution of his weight during the climb. House wanted nothing but sit on the top step and just wait for someone to find him but he couldn’t, he’d decided to come here for a reason. Taking a moment to compose himself and quickly swallow a pill, he continued down the hall until he reached his goal.
Murphy’s bedroom.
He carefully opened the door and peered inside. He knew Murphy was a light sleeper but rather than the constant throbbing ache of pain that kept him from deep sleep most nights, it was her paranoia, her fear that caused her to always be at the ready. House could relate to that, how the job, the puzzle played with the mind until it completely took over.
He took a cautious step inside, surprised she wasn’t already sitting up in bed with the barrel of her gun pointed at his head, especially given the ponderous, inelegant step-thud, step-thud of his cane. He paused near the bed, staring down at her.
It was in that moment as he watched her that he nearly turned tail and ran, before she woke up and demanded to know what he was doing there. He wouldn’t have a reasonable explanation to give her beyond a sarcastic remark, anything to distract her from his predicament. The imaginary scenario was enough to make him doubt his decision to go there at all.
But he didn’t leave. He moved closer, carefully perching himself on the edge of the bed. He needed this, the closeness their screwed up relationship would afford without moving into the dangerous territory of actually being a relationship. It was a mess, not unlike House himself, and he wasn’t ready yet to commit to anything more, to actually try to fix it. He wasn’t sure if he could.
Removing his shoes and jacket, he left them on the floor by the side of the bed and gingerly stretched out on the bed next to her, his side pressed lightly against her back. He lay there in his jeans and t-shirt and for once couldn’t claim that this was purely about the sex. Sure, it was great, lacking in the intimacy he had grown to loath, just the way he liked it.
“Goodnight, House.”
He turned his head sharply, tensing, a brief flash of panic almost causing him to get up and leave immediately. But he doesn’t, he stays, frowning at her. She must have been awake the entire time. He should have known, really, he berated himself. Few people could get anything past her and even then it was rare.
He lay still for a long moment before turning over and looping an arm around her waste, pulling himself gently closer.
“Night, Murphy.”
As for others in his acquaintance, the only constants were Bree and Wilson. And maybe Bree wasn’t so different from his employees, House supposed as he sat on the couch in front of his TV, his feet resting on the coffee table. She had to put up with him because of her unfortunate relation, at least until she moved out of the apartment. But since her birth, he‘d only rarely had to spend a night alone. He didn’t have that luxury.
If it was such a luxury, why was it that on one of those rare occasions, a night when he had the apartment completely to himself, that House wanted to be almost anywhere else?
It was just a habit, he told himself sternly. He’d gotten used to having the pitter-patter of teenage feet around the place, having her sitting next to him on the couch as they added their own commentary to America’s Next Top Model. Without her the apartment was just too quiet.
House had even tried to rectify the situation by playing the piano in the corner of the room, sticking to a few of his favourites, but without an appreciative audience the instrument sounded forlorn, cold. He’d given up soon after and settled in from of the couch, channel surfing and it was there he was determined to stay until morning.
---
It was well past midnight when House pulled up in Murphy’s drive on his motorcycle, a packed rucksack on his back. It was another twenty-minutes before he managed to prise the front door open without breaking anything. It was another half-hour before he managed to climb to the top of the stairs.
He was breathless by the time he’d hoisted himself to the landing, one hand braced against the wall, the other on the handle of his cane. He legs were shaking with the effort, exhausted by both pain and the uneven distribution of his weight during the climb. House wanted nothing but sit on the top step and just wait for someone to find him but he couldn’t, he’d decided to come here for a reason. Taking a moment to compose himself and quickly swallow a pill, he continued down the hall until he reached his goal.
Murphy’s bedroom.
He carefully opened the door and peered inside. He knew Murphy was a light sleeper but rather than the constant throbbing ache of pain that kept him from deep sleep most nights, it was her paranoia, her fear that caused her to always be at the ready. House could relate to that, how the job, the puzzle played with the mind until it completely took over.
He took a cautious step inside, surprised she wasn’t already sitting up in bed with the barrel of her gun pointed at his head, especially given the ponderous, inelegant step-thud, step-thud of his cane. He paused near the bed, staring down at her.
It was in that moment as he watched her that he nearly turned tail and ran, before she woke up and demanded to know what he was doing there. He wouldn’t have a reasonable explanation to give her beyond a sarcastic remark, anything to distract her from his predicament. The imaginary scenario was enough to make him doubt his decision to go there at all.
But he didn’t leave. He moved closer, carefully perching himself on the edge of the bed. He needed this, the closeness their screwed up relationship would afford without moving into the dangerous territory of actually being a relationship. It was a mess, not unlike House himself, and he wasn’t ready yet to commit to anything more, to actually try to fix it. He wasn’t sure if he could.
Removing his shoes and jacket, he left them on the floor by the side of the bed and gingerly stretched out on the bed next to her, his side pressed lightly against her back. He lay there in his jeans and t-shirt and for once couldn’t claim that this was purely about the sex. Sure, it was great, lacking in the intimacy he had grown to loath, just the way he liked it.
“Goodnight, House.”
He turned his head sharply, tensing, a brief flash of panic almost causing him to get up and leave immediately. But he doesn’t, he stays, frowning at her. She must have been awake the entire time. He should have known, really, he berated himself. Few people could get anything past her and even then it was rare.
He lay still for a long moment before turning over and looping an arm around her waste, pulling himself gently closer.
“Night, Murphy.”