This one I worked very hard on. One shot. The titolo and some of the lines are lyrics da Jason Robert Brown. enjoy!
______
PROLOGUE:
I feel pressure on my cheek where she stroked it. I check my bottle.
There’s the ring
"And I could never rescue you"
this she whispers.
"Goodbye"
she gently kisses my forehead and strokes my hair
Goodbye, my love.
* * *
How did we get here?
When we fought
When I threw the vase, out of anger, out of love. Out of pain.
When I yelled. She yelled.
When she told me get out, this is the final straw. She just couldn't take it anymore.
When I drove away...
When I OD'd, the vicodin finally did what it had been threatening to do since giorno one...
Yeah. That’s how.
* * *
Anyone who knew me, even those who didn't, knew my visualizzazioni on God, the afterlife. I never believed anything happened after death. Just blackness, I always said. Nothingness. Well that’s just one più thing I've found I was wrong about.
When te die, te are lifted up, up farther than te could ever fathom was possible.
With every pill I took, I could feel myself sliding away from my body. It was like my personality and soul were fighting their very hardest finally to escape the burden of life on earth.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself be lifted.
"I’m done." I thought
"I'm done fighting"
* * *
Now I sit, on a chair I can't quite see, in a world I can't quite make out, surrounded da forces I can't quite explain.
Seven days ago, when I was still alive, this would have drove me crazy. A constant itch, a burning desire to get to the bottom of things and understand every detail.
But not anymore. I'm beginning to realize that sometimes its OK not to understand everything.
This "heaven", this world, realm, whatever te call it, was nothing but wispy white clouds and blinding sun. There was no God, no dead celebrities, none of my ancestors. No one.
Not even my dad.
I'm alone, yet I don't feel lonely. My leg doesn't hurt.
I'm wearing the same clothes I was wearing when I died. In my pocket, I discover my empty vicodin bottle.
In the center of this wispy white domain, there is an elegant weeping willow tree. Surrounding this albero is a crop of soft grass, almost as wispy as the nube, nuvola itself. successivo to the albero is a rosebush, adorned with marvelously scarlet blooms.
successivo to the rosebush, there is a small opening, a window, about the size of a microwave oven. If one were to look through the opening, they would see a glittering, birds-eye view of the planet earth.
Under this albero is where I sit.
Under this albero is where I watch my own funeral.
***
It's strange, my funeral. It seems as though everyone in the hospital had turned out for the occasion.
I see my old team, my new colleagues.
Foreman and 13 are standing together, looking at the floor. He reaches for her hand, she sniffles.
She twitches. Sniffles harder. The Huntington’s was finally taking its toll on her, just like they had all pretended it wouldn't for so long. Foreman drapes his arm around her shaking shoulders.
Chase sits alone, at a tiny tavolo in the corner. Cameron does the same, on the other side of the room.
Taub and his wife sit and talk in hushed tones.
Wilson stands at the foot of the open casket, with his eyes closed.
I know what he's doing. He's trying to block everything out. No wonder, he Lost his girlfriend, his best friend. How could I do this to him?
Lisa enters.
She looks pale as a ghost. Paler than the body in the casket. She twists and turns the oro ring on her thin finger.
She's stunning, pale as she is. Her ebony hair is free flowing and loose, the way he always detto loved it. She stands out from the mourning crowd in a dress of scarlet, of purest silk.
His preferito color.
I blink and sigh.
"You look beautiful, my love."
She can't hear. No one can.
"I miss you"
She holds her head high, in an attitude of bravery and strength.
Her hollow eyes tell a very different story.
She is surrounded da tears. But she does not cry. No tears would come.
She's sure her beating cuore will burst through her chest and tear her dress to pieces. Her steps are shaky, her fingers trembling.
"Someone, please help her. Comfort her"
Wilson. Cameron. Anyone.
The entrance is at the opposite side of the room of the casket. Lisa is about halfway there when she is intercepted da Blythe House.
Blythe is standing in a defensive position, angled away from Lisa. Why does she feel as though this has become some kind of confrontation?
"You" whispers Blythe. She looks relatively calm. Lisa lets her shoulders relax a little.
"You were Gregory's..girlfriend, when it...happened?"
Lisa nods.
Blythe is silent for a moment.
"How could te not see this coming?"
What?
"How could te just let this happen? te were supposed to be there for him. te let him down, te let me down." She is hissing like a snake, her eyes are slits.
Lisa is speechless. Her ciliegia mouth is open in shock.
Wilson is watching out of the corner of his eye.
"My husband is dead. My son is dead. I can barely afford to keep my house, let alone support myself and pay for all this" She gestured around the room."
Blythe steps closer to Lisa. Lisa doesn't move.
"You're young. Your accomplished. te have a little girl, don't you?"
Lisa nods slowly. Rachel is with her grandmother tonight.
"I have nothing. It's all been taken from me. te still have so much in your life. Don't feel any shame? Guilt?"
"That’s enough"
Wilson cuts in to their conversation. They realize they had quite forgotten all of their surroundings.
Thank you, Wilson.
"It's not your fault, Lisa. It's no one except my own. I'm the one whose ashamed"
Lisa hasn't shed a tear since she heard of his death days ago. Maybe she's in denial, maybe she's in shock.
Wilson wraps her arms around her and plants a baciare on her head.
And finally, the tears come.
***
Watching them there, crying together, I feel più detached than ever.
The wake service is over. Lisa never got a chance to approach the casket. Maybe she never even wanted to.
I thought I could handle this. That just watching would be enough.
Another thing wrong.
This was hard. Harder than anything I conquered in life.
I missed the smell of her hair, the smooth feeling of her skin. I missed her insecurities, her strengths. I missed the way her eyes sparkled in the sun. I wanted to feel her successivo to me, in my arms. I was resigned to gazing upon her like a glittering work of art in a museum, there for eternity to be appreciated from afar.
I wonder if she misses me. The way I miss her.
I wonder if, like me, she wishes there were a way to relive the last five years we spent together as one. We had a future, a future set in stone. Now all she had were memories.
And memories fade.
One day, she may get over me. o at least find a way to sposta on.
I hope she does.
But not me. Never me. I could never sposta on. Not here, alone in this room.
All I can do watch.
***
Lisa slowly makes her way back into the darkened, empty room. The only light is the moonlight filtering through the windows.
Hello, my love.
This is her last chance to say goodbye, once and for all.
She tries to forget the encounter earlier in the evening. She tries to forget everything.
There he is, lying there in his leather jacket. His chitarra is successivo to him, the one he's had since the eighth grade. His cane is there, scratched and dented.
Lisa smiles to herself, reveling in his glory.
A white flash catches he eye. She picks up and envelope lying facedown on his guitar.
"To House.
Love,
Chase, Cameron, 13, Foreman, and Taub."
It appears to be a letter, written da all of them.
I can't wait to read it...
She smiled gently.
"You had a good life"
His face was peaceful, eyelids closed over his ice-blue eyes.
"You had people that loved you. As much as te denied it, te had Friends that cared about you. te saved lives.."
Solved puzzles.
She sniffled, a single tear rolled down her cheek.
Dont't te cry.
"You were blind. To everything te had..."
Tears are rolling down her cheeks
"But so was I. I never saw...how far the crack had opened. I never saw te had run out of rope..."
No.
It was never your fault.
I detto I was the most screwed up person in the world.
And te stayed.
Tears keep falling. With a trembling hand she places a translucent arancia, arancio pill bottle in his folded hands. Inside the bottle is hr golden ring.
She takes a shaking breath. "I could never rescue you."
All te ever wanted...
"No matter how I tried...all I could do was Amore you."
She sniffs. Another tear
"God, I loved te so.."
She strokes his cheek again and again. Tears are falling on his face and neck.
I feel pressure on my cheek where she stroked it. I check my bottle.
There’s the ring
"But I could never rescue you"
this she whispers.
"Goodbye"
she gently kisses my forehead and strokes my hair
Goodbye, my love.
______
PROLOGUE:
I feel pressure on my cheek where she stroked it. I check my bottle.
There’s the ring
"And I could never rescue you"
this she whispers.
"Goodbye"
she gently kisses my forehead and strokes my hair
Goodbye, my love.
* * *
How did we get here?
When we fought
When I threw the vase, out of anger, out of love. Out of pain.
When I yelled. She yelled.
When she told me get out, this is the final straw. She just couldn't take it anymore.
When I drove away...
When I OD'd, the vicodin finally did what it had been threatening to do since giorno one...
Yeah. That’s how.
* * *
Anyone who knew me, even those who didn't, knew my visualizzazioni on God, the afterlife. I never believed anything happened after death. Just blackness, I always said. Nothingness. Well that’s just one più thing I've found I was wrong about.
When te die, te are lifted up, up farther than te could ever fathom was possible.
With every pill I took, I could feel myself sliding away from my body. It was like my personality and soul were fighting their very hardest finally to escape the burden of life on earth.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself be lifted.
"I’m done." I thought
"I'm done fighting"
* * *
Now I sit, on a chair I can't quite see, in a world I can't quite make out, surrounded da forces I can't quite explain.
Seven days ago, when I was still alive, this would have drove me crazy. A constant itch, a burning desire to get to the bottom of things and understand every detail.
But not anymore. I'm beginning to realize that sometimes its OK not to understand everything.
This "heaven", this world, realm, whatever te call it, was nothing but wispy white clouds and blinding sun. There was no God, no dead celebrities, none of my ancestors. No one.
Not even my dad.
I'm alone, yet I don't feel lonely. My leg doesn't hurt.
I'm wearing the same clothes I was wearing when I died. In my pocket, I discover my empty vicodin bottle.
In the center of this wispy white domain, there is an elegant weeping willow tree. Surrounding this albero is a crop of soft grass, almost as wispy as the nube, nuvola itself. successivo to the albero is a rosebush, adorned with marvelously scarlet blooms.
successivo to the rosebush, there is a small opening, a window, about the size of a microwave oven. If one were to look through the opening, they would see a glittering, birds-eye view of the planet earth.
Under this albero is where I sit.
Under this albero is where I watch my own funeral.
***
It's strange, my funeral. It seems as though everyone in the hospital had turned out for the occasion.
I see my old team, my new colleagues.
Foreman and 13 are standing together, looking at the floor. He reaches for her hand, she sniffles.
She twitches. Sniffles harder. The Huntington’s was finally taking its toll on her, just like they had all pretended it wouldn't for so long. Foreman drapes his arm around her shaking shoulders.
Chase sits alone, at a tiny tavolo in the corner. Cameron does the same, on the other side of the room.
Taub and his wife sit and talk in hushed tones.
Wilson stands at the foot of the open casket, with his eyes closed.
I know what he's doing. He's trying to block everything out. No wonder, he Lost his girlfriend, his best friend. How could I do this to him?
Lisa enters.
She looks pale as a ghost. Paler than the body in the casket. She twists and turns the oro ring on her thin finger.
She's stunning, pale as she is. Her ebony hair is free flowing and loose, the way he always detto loved it. She stands out from the mourning crowd in a dress of scarlet, of purest silk.
His preferito color.
I blink and sigh.
"You look beautiful, my love."
She can't hear. No one can.
"I miss you"
She holds her head high, in an attitude of bravery and strength.
Her hollow eyes tell a very different story.
She is surrounded da tears. But she does not cry. No tears would come.
She's sure her beating cuore will burst through her chest and tear her dress to pieces. Her steps are shaky, her fingers trembling.
"Someone, please help her. Comfort her"
Wilson. Cameron. Anyone.
The entrance is at the opposite side of the room of the casket. Lisa is about halfway there when she is intercepted da Blythe House.
Blythe is standing in a defensive position, angled away from Lisa. Why does she feel as though this has become some kind of confrontation?
"You" whispers Blythe. She looks relatively calm. Lisa lets her shoulders relax a little.
"You were Gregory's..girlfriend, when it...happened?"
Lisa nods.
Blythe is silent for a moment.
"How could te not see this coming?"
What?
"How could te just let this happen? te were supposed to be there for him. te let him down, te let me down." She is hissing like a snake, her eyes are slits.
Lisa is speechless. Her ciliegia mouth is open in shock.
Wilson is watching out of the corner of his eye.
"My husband is dead. My son is dead. I can barely afford to keep my house, let alone support myself and pay for all this" She gestured around the room."
Blythe steps closer to Lisa. Lisa doesn't move.
"You're young. Your accomplished. te have a little girl, don't you?"
Lisa nods slowly. Rachel is with her grandmother tonight.
"I have nothing. It's all been taken from me. te still have so much in your life. Don't feel any shame? Guilt?"
"That’s enough"
Wilson cuts in to their conversation. They realize they had quite forgotten all of their surroundings.
Thank you, Wilson.
"It's not your fault, Lisa. It's no one except my own. I'm the one whose ashamed"
Lisa hasn't shed a tear since she heard of his death days ago. Maybe she's in denial, maybe she's in shock.
Wilson wraps her arms around her and plants a baciare on her head.
And finally, the tears come.
***
Watching them there, crying together, I feel più detached than ever.
The wake service is over. Lisa never got a chance to approach the casket. Maybe she never even wanted to.
I thought I could handle this. That just watching would be enough.
Another thing wrong.
This was hard. Harder than anything I conquered in life.
I missed the smell of her hair, the smooth feeling of her skin. I missed her insecurities, her strengths. I missed the way her eyes sparkled in the sun. I wanted to feel her successivo to me, in my arms. I was resigned to gazing upon her like a glittering work of art in a museum, there for eternity to be appreciated from afar.
I wonder if she misses me. The way I miss her.
I wonder if, like me, she wishes there were a way to relive the last five years we spent together as one. We had a future, a future set in stone. Now all she had were memories.
And memories fade.
One day, she may get over me. o at least find a way to sposta on.
I hope she does.
But not me. Never me. I could never sposta on. Not here, alone in this room.
All I can do watch.
***
Lisa slowly makes her way back into the darkened, empty room. The only light is the moonlight filtering through the windows.
Hello, my love.
This is her last chance to say goodbye, once and for all.
She tries to forget the encounter earlier in the evening. She tries to forget everything.
There he is, lying there in his leather jacket. His chitarra is successivo to him, the one he's had since the eighth grade. His cane is there, scratched and dented.
Lisa smiles to herself, reveling in his glory.
A white flash catches he eye. She picks up and envelope lying facedown on his guitar.
"To House.
Love,
Chase, Cameron, 13, Foreman, and Taub."
It appears to be a letter, written da all of them.
I can't wait to read it...
She smiled gently.
"You had a good life"
His face was peaceful, eyelids closed over his ice-blue eyes.
"You had people that loved you. As much as te denied it, te had Friends that cared about you. te saved lives.."
Solved puzzles.
She sniffled, a single tear rolled down her cheek.
Dont't te cry.
"You were blind. To everything te had..."
Tears are rolling down her cheeks
"But so was I. I never saw...how far the crack had opened. I never saw te had run out of rope..."
No.
It was never your fault.
I detto I was the most screwed up person in the world.
And te stayed.
Tears keep falling. With a trembling hand she places a translucent arancia, arancio pill bottle in his folded hands. Inside the bottle is hr golden ring.
She takes a shaking breath. "I could never rescue you."
All te ever wanted...
"No matter how I tried...all I could do was Amore you."
She sniffs. Another tear
"God, I loved te so.."
She strokes his cheek again and again. Tears are falling on his face and neck.
I feel pressure on my cheek where she stroked it. I check my bottle.
There’s the ring
"But I could never rescue you"
this she whispers.
"Goodbye"
she gently kisses my forehead and strokes my hair
Goodbye, my love.
I just read that in the Season 6 finale of House, that a French actor will play House's SON!!! Why oh why I ask must the writers continue to crush the Huddy shipper! First Cuddy/Lucas and a happy family with baby Rachel and now this!! I mean a son? Where the hell did he come from? I guess House's days of sleeping with hookers finally caught up with him. This confirms my worst fears that there is no hope EVER for a Huddy baby. I don't know if the spoiler is a confirmed one o not, but GY had no commento when asked if this was true. I read this at iwatchforcuddy.livejournal.com Check it out guys and pray that its not true.
Olivia Beaumont: My idea of what House's long lost daughter looks like
