theatrical_muse 304: What are you hiding from?
title: Known Unknowns
characters/pairings: House, Nolan; House/Cuddy.
words: 1,200
rating: PG
summary: "Sometimes," he says quietly, "I wish I belonged to someone."
"What are you hiding from?" Nolan asks.
House stares in silence at him for a few moments. The question, like a lot of Nolan's questions, has caught him off guard. It's been close to three months since he was discharged from Mayfield, almost six months since he and Nolan first met. Almost six months since the last time he heard Amber's voice, saw her calm, calculating smile and felt her all around him. He should be used to all of this by now. Should be. And he is, in some ways. In some ways, he's accepted everything that's happened. Or so he thinks. But sometimes, sometimes, Nolan reminds him all over again how foreign all of this to him, by asking unexpected questions like, what are you hiding from?
House cocks his head and gives a gesture with his hands, palms upwards as if to say, care to be specific?. Nolan understands. He sits forward, broad shoulders squared as he rests his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. "What," Nolan repeats, "are you hiding from?"
Again, House shows his hand in a questioning manner. "Is that question supposed to mean something to me?"
Nolan's lips thin into a small quirk of a smile. "You know what it means."
"In that case, either I've gotten dumber or you've decided to talk in psychiatric tongues."
"You're avoiding."
"That's because you're not making any sense."
"Then make it make sense," Nolan says. He sits back again and rests his joined hands on his lap, waiting for House's response.
For another moment, House eyes him. A barrage of retorts whirl through his head; he licks his lips and presses them together at the habitual urge to say what he's thinking out loud. What is he hiding from? He looks down, tapping his thumb on the edge of the chair's arm. "Nothing," he finally says.
"Nothing," Nolan echoes. The scepticism in his voice is unmistakable.
"Why would I be hiding from anything?" House gives another show of his hands. "I'm here. I've been coming here every week since I got out of Mayfield. I'm not hiding from anything."
"I'm not asking you that because I don't trust you," Nolan replies. "I'm asking you because I want you to be honest with me."
"I am being honest with you." He turns his head away but, no, he's not finished. If there's anything that annoys him the most about Nolan, it's these questions he asks, questions that sound like they make no sense yet provoke him in some way. Usually into anger or frustration. Many times he feels like he hasn't made the slightest bit of progress and questions like this feel as though Nolan is passive-aggressively pointing that out to him. With his eyes fixed back on Nolan, he continues, "Besides, you already know what I'm 'hiding' from. You know all my dirty secrets and my--"
"No." Nolan holds a hand up. "Forget about what I already know. I want to hear you tell me what you're hiding from."
"Why?" House demands.
Nolan smiles that smile again. "Because I can point these things out to you and keep pointing them out to you, but what good is it to you if you don't deal with them?" As House sighs and looks away, Nolan leans forward once more. "So, I'll ask again: what are you hiding from? What scares you most about life?"
Still tapping his thumb on the edge of the chair's arm, House chews his lip. For some reason, he finds himself thinking about the time Cuddy told him he was afraid to be happy, that he was afraid of change. "Why do you care if I'm happy?", he'd asked her. He'd told her that this was the only him she was ever going to get and while that was supposed to be a reality check for her, to remind her that he wasn't going to change, a part of him had still hoped she'd reach out to him somehow. To touch his arm or his face. A part of him had wanted her to make the change for him and that he'd somehow follow her lead. And he'd thought she had made that change for him the night she kissed him in his apartment.
The night he thought she'd kissed him, he corrects himself. The night he'd hallucinated that something good had finally happened and that he'd finally belonged to someone.
"Change," he finally admits. "Meaning. Loneliness." He watches Nolan nod encouragingly. This is stupid, he wants to snap. But he draws in a deep breath instead and exhales slowly. "Sometimes," he says quietly, "I wish I belonged to someone. Sometimes I think... I know... None of this would be so hard if I had somebody."
Nolan nods again. "What about Wilson?"
House snorts. Some days, he's not even sure he has Wilson, his best friend, by his side anymore. But instead of admitting that, he replies, "He's too fixated on his dead girlfriend to cuddle with me."
"But he's there for you."
House isn't sure how to answer that and in the end, all he gives is a reluctant shrug. Maybe Wilson is there for him. Maybe he isn't. House isn't entirely sure he knows who Wilson is these days. He's not even sure Wilson knows.
Nolan interrupts his thoughts. "Do you miss belonging with somebody? Or do you only feel that way when you're aware of your loneliness?"
He thinks about that question. Stacy is the first person who comes to mind. Then Lydia. Then Cuddy. The sudden thought of Cuddy makes his heart skip a beat. "I'm always aware of my loneliness."
"So, you always miss belonging with somebody."
House rubs his thumb over the material of the armchair, over and over again. It's coarse, scratchy. "For years, I thought I was happy being alone."
"And now?"
"And now..." Another thought of Cuddy makes his chest clench. In fear or something else much more terrifying and out of his control, he's not certain. All he does know is that it would be easier to keep existing without wanting her as badly as he did.
"And now," he repeats, a little absently, "I still wish I believed I was happy alone."
characters/pairings: House, Nolan; House/Cuddy.
words: 1,200
rating: PG
summary: "Sometimes," he says quietly, "I wish I belonged to someone."
"What are you hiding from?" Nolan asks.
House stares in silence at him for a few moments. The question, like a lot of Nolan's questions, has caught him off guard. It's been close to three months since he was discharged from Mayfield, almost six months since he and Nolan first met. Almost six months since the last time he heard Amber's voice, saw her calm, calculating smile and felt her all around him. He should be used to all of this by now. Should be. And he is, in some ways. In some ways, he's accepted everything that's happened. Or so he thinks. But sometimes, sometimes, Nolan reminds him all over again how foreign all of this to him, by asking unexpected questions like, what are you hiding from?
House cocks his head and gives a gesture with his hands, palms upwards as if to say, care to be specific?. Nolan understands. He sits forward, broad shoulders squared as he rests his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. "What," Nolan repeats, "are you hiding from?"
Again, House shows his hand in a questioning manner. "Is that question supposed to mean something to me?"
Nolan's lips thin into a small quirk of a smile. "You know what it means."
"In that case, either I've gotten dumber or you've decided to talk in psychiatric tongues."
"You're avoiding."
"That's because you're not making any sense."
"Then make it make sense," Nolan says. He sits back again and rests his joined hands on his lap, waiting for House's response.
For another moment, House eyes him. A barrage of retorts whirl through his head; he licks his lips and presses them together at the habitual urge to say what he's thinking out loud. What is he hiding from? He looks down, tapping his thumb on the edge of the chair's arm. "Nothing," he finally says.
"Nothing," Nolan echoes. The scepticism in his voice is unmistakable.
"Why would I be hiding from anything?" House gives another show of his hands. "I'm here. I've been coming here every week since I got out of Mayfield. I'm not hiding from anything."
"I'm not asking you that because I don't trust you," Nolan replies. "I'm asking you because I want you to be honest with me."
"I am being honest with you." He turns his head away but, no, he's not finished. If there's anything that annoys him the most about Nolan, it's these questions he asks, questions that sound like they make no sense yet provoke him in some way. Usually into anger or frustration. Many times he feels like he hasn't made the slightest bit of progress and questions like this feel as though Nolan is passive-aggressively pointing that out to him. With his eyes fixed back on Nolan, he continues, "Besides, you already know what I'm 'hiding' from. You know all my dirty secrets and my--"
"No." Nolan holds a hand up. "Forget about what I already know. I want to hear you tell me what you're hiding from."
"Why?" House demands.
Nolan smiles that smile again. "Because I can point these things out to you and keep pointing them out to you, but what good is it to you if you don't deal with them?" As House sighs and looks away, Nolan leans forward once more. "So, I'll ask again: what are you hiding from? What scares you most about life?"
Still tapping his thumb on the edge of the chair's arm, House chews his lip. For some reason, he finds himself thinking about the time Cuddy told him he was afraid to be happy, that he was afraid of change. "Why do you care if I'm happy?", he'd asked her. He'd told her that this was the only him she was ever going to get and while that was supposed to be a reality check for her, to remind her that he wasn't going to change, a part of him had still hoped she'd reach out to him somehow. To touch his arm or his face. A part of him had wanted her to make the change for him and that he'd somehow follow her lead. And he'd thought she had made that change for him the night she kissed him in his apartment.
The night he thought she'd kissed him, he corrects himself. The night he'd hallucinated that something good had finally happened and that he'd finally belonged to someone.
"Change," he finally admits. "Meaning. Loneliness." He watches Nolan nod encouragingly. This is stupid, he wants to snap. But he draws in a deep breath instead and exhales slowly. "Sometimes," he says quietly, "I wish I belonged to someone. Sometimes I think... I know... None of this would be so hard if I had somebody."
Nolan nods again. "What about Wilson?"
House snorts. Some days, he's not even sure he has Wilson, his best friend, by his side anymore. But instead of admitting that, he replies, "He's too fixated on his dead girlfriend to cuddle with me."
"But he's there for you."
House isn't sure how to answer that and in the end, all he gives is a reluctant shrug. Maybe Wilson is there for him. Maybe he isn't. House isn't entirely sure he knows who Wilson is these days. He's not even sure Wilson knows.
Nolan interrupts his thoughts. "Do you miss belonging with somebody? Or do you only feel that way when you're aware of your loneliness?"
He thinks about that question. Stacy is the first person who comes to mind. Then Lydia. Then Cuddy. The sudden thought of Cuddy makes his heart skip a beat. "I'm always aware of my loneliness."
"So, you always miss belonging with somebody."
House rubs his thumb over the material of the armchair, over and over again. It's coarse, scratchy. "For years, I thought I was happy being alone."
"And now?"
"And now..." Another thought of Cuddy makes his chest clench. In fear or something else much more terrifying and out of his control, he's not certain. All he does know is that it would be easier to keep existing without wanting her as badly as he did.
"And now," he repeats, a little absently, "I still wish I believed I was happy alone."