House quickly retracted his hand when he felt Stacy's brush over his. He found it disconcerting enough that Stacy was here, let alone Stacy touching him. When Stacy settled for fidgeting with the napkin, House took his glass and started to tap it on the bar, needing something to occupy his hands to give him something to focus on
( ... )
House looked up from what he doing, at Stacy when she stood up. He eyed the way she was assuming that authoritative pose of hers with the whole hands-on-hips thing, then dismissively looked back down at the ground.
Though, he looked back up at her again, sharply, when spoke about his job. "I don't have my job anymore," he snapped. "I don't have a life anymore. Not back home. My life back in New Jersey is gone."
He stared at her intensely for a moment and then looked back to the ground to resume digging at the clump of grass with his cane. "I went back. Saw it for myself."
He yanked his wrist back from her, more in surprise than anything else, when she took hold if it, and he looked back up to her sharply.
"What does it sound like?" he snapped. "I went home. I saw that..."
He trailed off and waved his hand off in the direction of the horizon before dropping his attention back to the ground again. To resume digging his cane into the grass. Or just to look at it because looking at Stacy was... seeing her here was hard. Dealing with the fact that she was here was hard. Painful, even.
"The hotel let people out for a day," he explained reluctantly. "Let people go home, say goodbye to their loved ones, whatever."
"No one," he snapped, looking up at her sharply again. "No one. There was no one to say goodbye to."
He, once again, resumed digging at the grass - but suddenly gave up by stabbing the ground hard with his cane in a fit of frustration and anger. Another, large cloud of dust picked up from the sandy ground.
"My apartment had been sold, my job gone, everything I ever had no longer there. Like I didn't even exist. Like I was dead. And you're telling me I don't give up? I had my whole life taken away from me. With nothing left to go back to if I ever did get out of here."
He turned away abruptly and started to walk off, then changed his mind and faced back to her challengingly. "I'm almost fifty, Stacy. I'm crippled. My job was the only thing I had that kept me going."
He glared at her, then snorted dismissively when she asked whose fault it was that he had no one to say goodbye to. He was just going to turn around and keep on walking away from her, or head back inside, or---
Her next words made him stop. He was a doctor and why did it come to a shock to him that the world kept spinning when someone's gone? Because that was what happened when people died! Not when they got sucked into some... whatever this place was!
"Oh yeah," he replied with a nasty tone to his voice, "and I suppose that's alright for you to say, seeing you haven't even considered the fact that the world hasn't stopped for you, either."
He stepped closer to her, towering over her. "Like Mark, for example. He probably thinks you're dead. Raped and murdered, your body dumped somewhere where no one can find it. Or maybe he thinks you've finally left him, like you were going to. Left him because he's still more or less a cripple. Ever think about that?"
He was taken completely by surprise by the slap to his face, though he probably should've seen it coming. His head turned sharply to the side from the impact of her hand against his cheek and stared at the ground for a moment.
He darted his eyes back to her. The slap made him think twice about speaking before thinking. He refused to answer either of her rhetorical questions, at first.
Though, like in typical House fashion, he wasn't able to withhold saying much for long.
"Don't make this about me," he shot back. "You're only making this about me because you're scared. I bet your guilt is having a field trip. Mark, all alone, without you and probably thinking you've ditched him for good, for me. While you're here, unable to escape to be able to go back to Mark; stuck here with me of all people."
"Of course it's not funny to me!" House yelled back at her. He refused to tale on board what she was saying about him being scared; he refused to feel like a coward, much less let someone else call him that.
He went to walk off again but only got about two paces away before he faced back to Stacy again.
"Are you wanting to say goodbye to Mark because you miss him, or because you feel guilty? Because seeing me is bound to make you remember how eager you were to let his miserable, crippled ass to go back to Short Hills on his own, while you stayed in Princeton with me."
House flinched at her shoving him, expecting her to shove him a lot harder than she did, and when her hands remained on his shoulders he dashed his hands up and snatched her wrists - though, he didn't shove her away or let her go. He just held her wrists firmly in his hands.
He glared down at her hard. After a few beats, however, the glare he was sporting lessened in intensity as what she said sank in. She was scared and he was picking a fight with her. He almost felt guilty.
But then his face hardened again at what she'd said about Mark having the ability to forgive her. "Think he's going to forgive you for failing to ever return home to him? Nothing like being a cripple and being abandoned."
It always bothered House whenever Stacy cried. The part of him now that still cared about her, despite the cruel things he was saying, hated seeing her become so upset. In the past when Stacy cried, he was never always sure how to deal with it - he wasn't very good at comforting, and more than half the times she cried were because of him, something he said or did. Just like now.
"This is making me feel about as good as a thorn in my side would," he shot back. "Every argument is always something to do with what you did to me. What, you expect me to be sympathetic that you're here? Glad that you're here? Happy? Because I can assure you, I'm about as sympathetic and glad and happy as I was when I woke up and realised I had a whole chunk of my thigh missing."
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Though, he looked back up at her again, sharply, when spoke about his job. "I don't have my job anymore," he snapped. "I don't have a life anymore. Not back home. My life back in New Jersey is gone."
He stared at her intensely for a moment and then looked back to the ground to resume digging at the clump of grass with his cane. "I went back. Saw it for myself."
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
"What does it sound like?" he snapped. "I went home. I saw that..."
He trailed off and waved his hand off in the direction of the horizon before dropping his attention back to the ground again. To resume digging his cane into the grass. Or just to look at it because looking at Stacy was... seeing her here was hard. Dealing with the fact that she was here was hard. Painful, even.
"The hotel let people out for a day," he explained reluctantly. "Let people go home, say goodbye to their loved ones, whatever."
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(The comment has been removed)
He, once again, resumed digging at the grass - but suddenly gave up by stabbing the ground hard with his cane in a fit of frustration and anger. Another, large cloud of dust picked up from the sandy ground.
"My apartment had been sold, my job gone, everything I ever had no longer there. Like I didn't even exist. Like I was dead. And you're telling me I don't give up? I had my whole life taken away from me. With nothing left to go back to if I ever did get out of here."
He turned away abruptly and started to walk off, then changed his mind and faced back to her challengingly. "I'm almost fifty, Stacy. I'm crippled. My job was the only thing I had that kept me going."
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(The comment has been removed)
Her next words made him stop. He was a doctor and why did it come to a shock to him that the world kept spinning when someone's gone? Because that was what happened when people died! Not when they got sucked into some... whatever this place was!
"Oh yeah," he replied with a nasty tone to his voice, "and I suppose that's alright for you to say, seeing you haven't even considered the fact that the world hasn't stopped for you, either."
He stepped closer to her, towering over her. "Like Mark, for example. He probably thinks you're dead. Raped and murdered, your body dumped somewhere where no one can find it. Or maybe he thinks you've finally left him, like you were going to. Left him because he's still more or less a cripple. Ever think about that?"
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(The comment has been removed)
He darted his eyes back to her. The slap made him think twice about speaking before thinking. He refused to answer either of her rhetorical questions, at first.
Though, like in typical House fashion, he wasn't able to withhold saying much for long.
"Don't make this about me," he shot back. "You're only making this about me because you're scared. I bet your guilt is having a field trip. Mark, all alone, without you and probably thinking you've ditched him for good, for me. While you're here, unable to escape to be able to go back to Mark; stuck here with me of all people."
He snorted derisively. "Karma's a bitch, huh?"
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(The comment has been removed)
He went to walk off again but only got about two paces away before he faced back to Stacy again.
"Are you wanting to say goodbye to Mark because you miss him, or because you feel guilty? Because seeing me is bound to make you remember how eager you were to let his miserable, crippled ass to go back to Short Hills on his own, while you stayed in Princeton with me."
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(The comment has been removed)
He glared down at her hard. After a few beats, however, the glare he was sporting lessened in intensity as what she said sank in. She was scared and he was picking a fight with her. He almost felt guilty.
But then his face hardened again at what she'd said about Mark having the ability to forgive her. "Think he's going to forgive you for failing to ever return home to him? Nothing like being a cripple and being abandoned."
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(The comment has been removed)
"This is making me feel about as good as a thorn in my side would," he shot back. "Every argument is always something to do with what you did to me. What, you expect me to be sympathetic that you're here? Glad that you're here? Happy? Because I can assure you, I'm about as sympathetic and glad and happy as I was when I woke up and realised I had a whole chunk of my thigh missing."
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