Fic: Choice [House MD]
Title: Choice
Rating: PG
Pairings: None
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Sadface.
Summary: But the truth, when you get right down to it...the truth is he can't help himself. Some good ol' pre-series House fic.
Notes: Inspiration is a bitch. It can't show up when I'm bored and have nothing better to do. No, it has to strike the night before an exam. Screw you, inspiration. Screw you.
Over the years he's developed a certain immunity to criticism. He's fully aware that his attitude invites it, that he does nothing to make people inclined to think well of him. That his near-legendary disregard for others' tender egos does not make him popular. Everyone has their theories on the reasons, whether they voice them or not. He's been called a sadist, a sociopath; been subjected to all sorts of armchair psychiatric analysis over the years. Most of the diagnoses feature the word "asshole" at least once.
Maybe they're right. Who knows? Easily as manipulating people comes, his grasp of psychology is relatively amateur. And accurately diagnosing oneself with a mental illness would be difficult for all the obvious reasons and a few less obvious ones.
And then there are those who come at it from the other side, the people who make excuses and posit insipidly reasonable explanations. That a dependency on painkillers must be a terrible thing (and he's not addicted, he's not, there's a difference between chemical dependency and needing something to stave off the pain), that being in constant agony would make anyone short-tempered and snappish. That's true enough, in its way.
But the truth, when you get right down to it...the truth is he can't help himself. When someone's eyes first light on the cane, the limp, the bottle of vicodin, the tired lines of pain around his eyes...he can't help the sneer, the sarcasm, the prodding and provoking and every other prickly defense mechanism time and necessity have ingrained in him. Better to be difficult. Better to see their eyes harden as shock turns into anger. Better to have the verbal abuse he dishes out returned tenfold.
He'd rather be hated than pitied.
~*~
Rating: PG
Pairings: None
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Sadface.
Summary: But the truth, when you get right down to it...the truth is he can't help himself. Some good ol' pre-series House fic.
Notes: Inspiration is a bitch. It can't show up when I'm bored and have nothing better to do. No, it has to strike the night before an exam. Screw you, inspiration. Screw you.
Over the years he's developed a certain immunity to criticism. He's fully aware that his attitude invites it, that he does nothing to make people inclined to think well of him. That his near-legendary disregard for others' tender egos does not make him popular. Everyone has their theories on the reasons, whether they voice them or not. He's been called a sadist, a sociopath; been subjected to all sorts of armchair psychiatric analysis over the years. Most of the diagnoses feature the word "asshole" at least once.
Maybe they're right. Who knows? Easily as manipulating people comes, his grasp of psychology is relatively amateur. And accurately diagnosing oneself with a mental illness would be difficult for all the obvious reasons and a few less obvious ones.
And then there are those who come at it from the other side, the people who make excuses and posit insipidly reasonable explanations. That a dependency on painkillers must be a terrible thing (and he's not addicted, he's not, there's a difference between chemical dependency and needing something to stave off the pain), that being in constant agony would make anyone short-tempered and snappish. That's true enough, in its way.
But the truth, when you get right down to it...the truth is he can't help himself. When someone's eyes first light on the cane, the limp, the bottle of vicodin, the tired lines of pain around his eyes...he can't help the sneer, the sarcasm, the prodding and provoking and every other prickly defense mechanism time and necessity have ingrained in him. Better to be difficult. Better to see their eyes harden as shock turns into anger. Better to have the verbal abuse he dishes out returned tenfold.
He'd rather be hated than pitied.
~*~