CLOSED.
Who: House and Martha Jones.
Where: Common room somewhere.
When: Tonight.
Warnings: Snark.
House had arrived on the barge some hours earlier. The agreement, he remembered the agreement he had made. It was less an agreement than it was an escape, really. A chance to leave behind the nothing he had left in exchange for something new. There were expectations of him, but then, there always were expectations. House had to help someone find redemption. What was redemption? It was different for everyone. How was he supposed to help someone else find that, if he wasn't sure he had ever seen it himself? House would have to figure that out on his own. It was the kind of bait that House couldn't resist, the lure of the unknown and the improbable that strung him along and took him down dangerous paths.
His cabin was like a bad dream, a mix of things from his waking life that had never been together in reality. It was unsettling, the old sofa, the new bed, the keyboard he got rid of fifteen years ago. The room was mapped like a bad acid trip shared amongst co-eds, but the bathroom, thankfully, had the canoe bathtub. The cabin was too empty to be this unsettling, and he began to wander the barge, exploring.
Before finding himself alone in a random common room, he'd come across some rather odd things, not the strangest of which was a shark in a tank a few floors up. He'd passed some people more dismal than he was. It felt like Mayfield all over again, except he wasn't one of them. He wasn't an inmate, wasn't inpatient and under rules and the watchful eyes of those doing the fixing. He was doing the fixing, supposedly, in a way he never had cared to before. He liked finding the problem in bodies, in cells and tissues, organ systems... but this was going to be finding the problems in souls. Not just finding the problem, but getting the souls to feel remorse, getting the souls to seek redemption, to really want it, to change.
House wasn't looking forward to being assigned an inmate.
And he wasn't looking forward to going back to his cabin.
So he was laying on a sofa, ankles crossed, cane balanced against the arm of the sofa, while he tossed a ball in the air with a casual grace that gave away the frequency with which he indulged in the childish past time.
Where: Common room somewhere.
When: Tonight.
Warnings: Snark.
House had arrived on the barge some hours earlier. The agreement, he remembered the agreement he had made. It was less an agreement than it was an escape, really. A chance to leave behind the nothing he had left in exchange for something new. There were expectations of him, but then, there always were expectations. House had to help someone find redemption. What was redemption? It was different for everyone. How was he supposed to help someone else find that, if he wasn't sure he had ever seen it himself? House would have to figure that out on his own. It was the kind of bait that House couldn't resist, the lure of the unknown and the improbable that strung him along and took him down dangerous paths.
His cabin was like a bad dream, a mix of things from his waking life that had never been together in reality. It was unsettling, the old sofa, the new bed, the keyboard he got rid of fifteen years ago. The room was mapped like a bad acid trip shared amongst co-eds, but the bathroom, thankfully, had the canoe bathtub. The cabin was too empty to be this unsettling, and he began to wander the barge, exploring.
Before finding himself alone in a random common room, he'd come across some rather odd things, not the strangest of which was a shark in a tank a few floors up. He'd passed some people more dismal than he was. It felt like Mayfield all over again, except he wasn't one of them. He wasn't an inmate, wasn't inpatient and under rules and the watchful eyes of those doing the fixing. He was doing the fixing, supposedly, in a way he never had cared to before. He liked finding the problem in bodies, in cells and tissues, organ systems... but this was going to be finding the problems in souls. Not just finding the problem, but getting the souls to feel remorse, getting the souls to seek redemption, to really want it, to change.
House wasn't looking forward to being assigned an inmate.
And he wasn't looking forward to going back to his cabin.
So he was laying on a sofa, ankles crossed, cane balanced against the arm of the sofa, while he tossed a ball in the air with a casual grace that gave away the frequency with which he indulged in the childish past time.