The Silence Of Her Leaving (Average) housefic50 "Consequences" (House)
Title: The Silence Of Her Leaving
Rating/Warnings:Average
Challenge: housefic50 Gregory House
Characters: House
Prompt: 018 Consequences
Summary: House doesn't answer his phone
Word Count: 399
Author's Notes:First 100 words are my very first House!fic, written April 20, 2005. I've expanded on it for the purpose of this fic. Takes place immediately after Role Model FTB (Fade to black)
The silence of her leaving reverberated in the deepest, darkest caverns of his mind. For a moment, he could only stand there dumbfounded, leaning heavily on his cane because without it he would surely sink to his knees.
His head jerked up at the sudden shrill intrusion of the telephone. He knew what to expect even before the machine picked up, and the muscles in his right leg tensed painfully.
"House, I know you're there. We need to talk." He'd heard the message a dozen times already.
His cane thumped on the hardwood floor as he hobbled to his bedroom.
He stripped down to skin and scars, and stood before the bathroom mirror. A haggard and weary man stared back at him, and he had to look away. He sighed, leaving his cane against the counter, and turned on the shower. He waited for the water to get warm before he stepped under the stream.
The bathroom was the one compromise he'd made for his leg. The shower featured a support bar and a built in bench seat, just in case. He gripped the bar, giving himself the illusion of security without worrying about his balance.
One speech. That's all. He had to give one lousy speech to save his team. One speech promoting a drug he knew was only slightly altered from the version before it. One speech promoting Edward Vogler, the greatest business man who ever lived.
He'd intended to do it. Really, he did. He hated speeches. He didn't want to do it. But he'd intended to do it. Not for Chase, Foreman, or Cameron. For the three of them. For the team. For all the future patients who would benefit from three exceptional doctors.
He'd written the key points down, he'd committed his speech to memory. He'd taken an extra Vicodin. Or two, followed by the finest whiskey chaser he could find. And then he'd completely blown it off. He'd made his point, he'd exploited Edward Vogler for a fraud. But to make his point he also made an ass of himself. He'd meant to save the team, instead he'd isolated Cameron and forced her to resign.
He sighed, turned his face into the shower. Pellets of water beat down on his cheeks, rolled down his neck. His left hand tightened on the bar, his right hand snaked down to the heat between his legs.
Rating/Warnings:Average
Challenge: housefic50 Gregory House
Characters: House
Prompt: 018 Consequences
Summary: House doesn't answer his phone
Word Count: 399
Author's Notes:First 100 words are my very first House!fic, written April 20, 2005. I've expanded on it for the purpose of this fic. Takes place immediately after Role Model FTB (Fade to black)
The silence of her leaving reverberated in the deepest, darkest caverns of his mind. For a moment, he could only stand there dumbfounded, leaning heavily on his cane because without it he would surely sink to his knees.
His head jerked up at the sudden shrill intrusion of the telephone. He knew what to expect even before the machine picked up, and the muscles in his right leg tensed painfully.
"House, I know you're there. We need to talk." He'd heard the message a dozen times already.
His cane thumped on the hardwood floor as he hobbled to his bedroom.
He stripped down to skin and scars, and stood before the bathroom mirror. A haggard and weary man stared back at him, and he had to look away. He sighed, leaving his cane against the counter, and turned on the shower. He waited for the water to get warm before he stepped under the stream.
The bathroom was the one compromise he'd made for his leg. The shower featured a support bar and a built in bench seat, just in case. He gripped the bar, giving himself the illusion of security without worrying about his balance.
One speech. That's all. He had to give one lousy speech to save his team. One speech promoting a drug he knew was only slightly altered from the version before it. One speech promoting Edward Vogler, the greatest business man who ever lived.
He'd intended to do it. Really, he did. He hated speeches. He didn't want to do it. But he'd intended to do it. Not for Chase, Foreman, or Cameron. For the three of them. For the team. For all the future patients who would benefit from three exceptional doctors.
He'd written the key points down, he'd committed his speech to memory. He'd taken an extra Vicodin. Or two, followed by the finest whiskey chaser he could find. And then he'd completely blown it off. He'd made his point, he'd exploited Edward Vogler for a fraud. But to make his point he also made an ass of himself. He'd meant to save the team, instead he'd isolated Cameron and forced her to resign.
He sighed, turned his face into the shower. Pellets of water beat down on his cheeks, rolled down his neck. His left hand tightened on the bar, his right hand snaked down to the heat between his legs.