Going Home
Summary: House comes home.
Word count: 1, 014 Ficlet.
Spoilers: Post-ep for 6x01, x02 "Broken".
Disclaimer: This is where I do a funny tap-dance singing that I don't own them.
It’s a two-and-a half hour bus ride back to Princeton from Philly, so on the way home House has a lot of time to think. The bus sways back and forth rhythmically, lulling him into an almost half-sleep.
At first, he can’t stop thinking about Mayfield, because the goodbye party is still fresh in his memory. He can still remember the strange sensation of cake as it clung to his face like a mask, only it wasn’t a mask at all. For once, he felt free to simply be, and let go, and enjoy the moment he was in. He didn’t know whether or not he had the people to thank for the ability to do that, or if he had only himself to thank for letting himself be free; probably, in all honesty, it was a combination of both. It was a combination of Dr. Nolan’s faith in him to succeed, and it was Alvie’s friendship and it was the other patients’ and staffs’ cheering him on, because they were all proud of him: and, for once, so was he. Yet, in a way, the reason for this little slice of happiness in knowing that people actually cared, didn’t matter. The why didn’t matter, because the moment was beautiful.
He knows that the bus will drop him off at several distinct stops in Princeton. One would take him to the middle of town, which could lead him to a bar, but he knows he will not take this route. The other could lead him to Princeton Plainsboro, but he doesn’t wish to see anyone yet. He’s too caught up in the thrill of success to go back to where most of his failures occurred, and thought the sensation of happiness is still strange, and he’s not yet sure what to make of it, he nevertheless wants it to last as long as he’s able to prevent himself from being miserable.
Miserable, House has decided, is overrated. He used to think that way about happiness; not anymore. Happiness is something that has always been foreign to him, and it’s like learning a new language, which means baby steps; he must take it one step at a time, one day at a time. He wants to believe that, like the many languages he knows (even Mandarin and Gaelic) that he will succeed learning this language as well.
He wonders if Wilson will understand this new language. (Wilson is miserable in his own right.) He wonders if Wilson still wants him around, because he remembers vividly hearing the phone go dead in the middle of their last conversation. If life is a game called Risk, then he must begin to play: so he decides that he will let the bus take him to a payphone, from which he will call Wilson.
Two hours later, he’s standing on a corner at a random intersection in Princeton, and he has no idea what he’s going to say. At this point, House realizes, probably anything would be good, and would definitely be better than nothing. He doesn’t wish to call Cuddy; he’s still embarrassed about the whole delusional incident, and besides, he doesn’t know if they are truly friends anyway. The only person that keeps springing up into the forefront of his mind is Wilson, and so this is who he calls first, because he needs a ride home.
“Hello?” Wilson sounds groggy, as though he’s just gotten out of bed, and House can’t help but smile in unexpected amusement. He’s forgotten it’s a Saturday (which is pretty convenient; if it had been any other day of the week, except Sunday that is, Wilson would have been at work).
“It’s House,” he says, trying to keep the hope out of his voice, because he doesn’t want to scare Wilson away. Also, he doesn’t yet fully trust himself that the happiness is something that will linger or if it’s only temporary; an afterglow from all the recent praise he’s received. “I’m out, and I’m back. I…” He winces at the next word, because he knows anything regarding “need” is a loaded word when paired with Wilson. An awkward silence greets him and he is forced to continue. “I need a ride home. Think you can pick me up?”
For a moment, he’s fearful that Wilson will hang up again, but much to his surprise, Wilson sounds as grateful as he is for the suggestion and, if he’s certain he hears right, perhaps even excited. “Of course I will House. I’m…” Perhaps he’s imagining things, but Wilson sounds slightly choked up as he adds, “I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”
House can’t help but feel a profound sense of relief at this statement. It’s incredible to him that Wilson is even talking to him, but it’s even more incredible that Wilson wants to see him at all. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, surprised at how easy it is to accept someone’s offer of help, when before he’d always resisted. “I appreciate it.”
“House…” Wilson seems to be having trouble speaking for some reason, and his heart pounds, because it seems that Wilson might be about to say the word “Love” and he’s not sure how he would respond to that, if his predictions are correct. “I’m really glad to hear you’re out.”
He tells himself it’s allergies when he has trouble swallowing and tries clearing his throat. “Me too,” he admits, even though at the same time, he knows he’s going to miss Mayfield, even though he told himself that he never would. “I’ll be waiting at the bus station for you, okay? Meet me at 9th and 10th.”
“Okay….House?” Wilson sounds nervous. “Want to stay at my place tonight?”
Frozen in place, House feels as though he’s entered the Twilight Zone. He doesn’t know what to think: Wilson wants him to not only visit him, but stay---and he’s so moved he can hardly reply. “I…okay…I guess,” he manages to croak out weakly. “I....could probably, um….use the company.”
“Great,” Wilson says, “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
This time, when the phone goes dead and there is only silence, instead of feeling abandoned, House feels strangely reborn.
Word count: 1, 014 Ficlet.
Spoilers: Post-ep for 6x01, x02 "Broken".
Disclaimer: This is where I do a funny tap-dance singing that I don't own them.
It’s a two-and-a half hour bus ride back to Princeton from Philly, so on the way home House has a lot of time to think. The bus sways back and forth rhythmically, lulling him into an almost half-sleep.
At first, he can’t stop thinking about Mayfield, because the goodbye party is still fresh in his memory. He can still remember the strange sensation of cake as it clung to his face like a mask, only it wasn’t a mask at all. For once, he felt free to simply be, and let go, and enjoy the moment he was in. He didn’t know whether or not he had the people to thank for the ability to do that, or if he had only himself to thank for letting himself be free; probably, in all honesty, it was a combination of both. It was a combination of Dr. Nolan’s faith in him to succeed, and it was Alvie’s friendship and it was the other patients’ and staffs’ cheering him on, because they were all proud of him: and, for once, so was he. Yet, in a way, the reason for this little slice of happiness in knowing that people actually cared, didn’t matter. The why didn’t matter, because the moment was beautiful.
He knows that the bus will drop him off at several distinct stops in Princeton. One would take him to the middle of town, which could lead him to a bar, but he knows he will not take this route. The other could lead him to Princeton Plainsboro, but he doesn’t wish to see anyone yet. He’s too caught up in the thrill of success to go back to where most of his failures occurred, and thought the sensation of happiness is still strange, and he’s not yet sure what to make of it, he nevertheless wants it to last as long as he’s able to prevent himself from being miserable.
Miserable, House has decided, is overrated. He used to think that way about happiness; not anymore. Happiness is something that has always been foreign to him, and it’s like learning a new language, which means baby steps; he must take it one step at a time, one day at a time. He wants to believe that, like the many languages he knows (even Mandarin and Gaelic) that he will succeed learning this language as well.
He wonders if Wilson will understand this new language. (Wilson is miserable in his own right.) He wonders if Wilson still wants him around, because he remembers vividly hearing the phone go dead in the middle of their last conversation. If life is a game called Risk, then he must begin to play: so he decides that he will let the bus take him to a payphone, from which he will call Wilson.
Two hours later, he’s standing on a corner at a random intersection in Princeton, and he has no idea what he’s going to say. At this point, House realizes, probably anything would be good, and would definitely be better than nothing. He doesn’t wish to call Cuddy; he’s still embarrassed about the whole delusional incident, and besides, he doesn’t know if they are truly friends anyway. The only person that keeps springing up into the forefront of his mind is Wilson, and so this is who he calls first, because he needs a ride home.
“Hello?” Wilson sounds groggy, as though he’s just gotten out of bed, and House can’t help but smile in unexpected amusement. He’s forgotten it’s a Saturday (which is pretty convenient; if it had been any other day of the week, except Sunday that is, Wilson would have been at work).
“It’s House,” he says, trying to keep the hope out of his voice, because he doesn’t want to scare Wilson away. Also, he doesn’t yet fully trust himself that the happiness is something that will linger or if it’s only temporary; an afterglow from all the recent praise he’s received. “I’m out, and I’m back. I…” He winces at the next word, because he knows anything regarding “need” is a loaded word when paired with Wilson. An awkward silence greets him and he is forced to continue. “I need a ride home. Think you can pick me up?”
For a moment, he’s fearful that Wilson will hang up again, but much to his surprise, Wilson sounds as grateful as he is for the suggestion and, if he’s certain he hears right, perhaps even excited. “Of course I will House. I’m…” Perhaps he’s imagining things, but Wilson sounds slightly choked up as he adds, “I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”
House can’t help but feel a profound sense of relief at this statement. It’s incredible to him that Wilson is even talking to him, but it’s even more incredible that Wilson wants to see him at all. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, surprised at how easy it is to accept someone’s offer of help, when before he’d always resisted. “I appreciate it.”
“House…” Wilson seems to be having trouble speaking for some reason, and his heart pounds, because it seems that Wilson might be about to say the word “Love” and he’s not sure how he would respond to that, if his predictions are correct. “I’m really glad to hear you’re out.”
He tells himself it’s allergies when he has trouble swallowing and tries clearing his throat. “Me too,” he admits, even though at the same time, he knows he’s going to miss Mayfield, even though he told himself that he never would. “I’ll be waiting at the bus station for you, okay? Meet me at 9th and 10th.”
“Okay….House?” Wilson sounds nervous. “Want to stay at my place tonight?”
Frozen in place, House feels as though he’s entered the Twilight Zone. He doesn’t know what to think: Wilson wants him to not only visit him, but stay---and he’s so moved he can hardly reply. “I…okay…I guess,” he manages to croak out weakly. “I....could probably, um….use the company.”
“Great,” Wilson says, “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
This time, when the phone goes dead and there is only silence, instead of feeling abandoned, House feels strangely reborn.