New Fic: So It Goes
May. 27th, 2007 03:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteTitle: So It Goes
Author: Namaste
Summary: A season in drabbles, House POV.
Author’s Note: This uses the meme originally from, I think,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anamatics to take a book of at least 100 pages and use the first sentence at the top of page 10, 20, 30 and so forth to create drabbles. I opted to use each drabble also relate to each episode from this season. This covers the first half of the season. I plan to cover the second half of the season after the finale.
These drabbles are all 100 words and use Kurt Vonnegut’s “Slaughterhouse Five.” The title, of course, is from there as well.
Sample: House watches the rug go back into place, his own blood an abstract tattoo in the center of the room where he’ll walk over it and around it and past it every day. His blood. His mistake. His reminder.
Concrit always welcome.
“Heck no, Nancy,” I said.
(Meaning)
For just a moment, House thinks he’s imagined it. The twinge he’d felt was just a bad memory, he tells himself, some leftover pain his muscles had held onto, waiting to spring out and surprise him when he least expected it, when he’d finally begun to believe, to think it was all over.
He takes three steps, then another, walking gingerly on the concrete, trying not to limp but afraid to put his full weight on his right leg. The pain eases, fades into the background. But he knows it’s there, and had only been hiding.
It will be back.
---
And so on.
(Cane & Able)
House sets the treadmill at a walk, then increases the speed, He’d forgotten how it felt, the pounding of his heart as it kept pace with his body, the way it’d respond when he ran uphill, or sprinted to the end of the block.
He doesn’t want to lose that feeling, but knows as he hits the button again, goes even faster, that he’s already lost. The pain builds with each step. It’s the devil at his heels, and all he’s been doing is running in place as it catches up with him, grabs on tight and won’t let go.
---
He never got mad at anything.
(Informed Consent)
The first time House had done this, it was for a patient who had come to him too late.
“Your doctor was a moron,” House had told the man when he first saw him.
The man had just shrugged. “He was the best I could afford,” he said.
The man was tired, worn out from the misdiagnosed Q fever that had filled his lungs with fluid and damaged his heart beyond repair. He didn’t cry when House told him he was dying. “It hurts,” he’d finally said. “I don’t want to hurt anymore.”
House nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”
---
Weary had a block of balsa wood, which was supposed to be a foxhole pillow.
(Lines In the Sand)
John House came home from his first tour with a new tattoo peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt.
“It’s a reminder,” he told his son.
Greg didn’t know how anyone could forget war.
“You forget because you don’t want to remember, so you ignore it, until everything bad fades away,” John said. “You need to remember everything.”
Now House watches the rug go back into place, his own blood an abstract tattoo in the center of the room where he’ll walk over it and around it and past it every day. His blood. His mistake. His reminder.
---
He had just been elected president, and it was necessary that he speak.
(Fools For Love)
Whenever House threw out an insult -- whether for a lack of style or a lack of intellect -- he got away with it. Everyone figured no one fought back because they felt sorry for him once they saw the cane.
But it wasn’t the cane, or the limp, or the pills. House knew how to pick his words wisely, to keep his victims off balance just long enough that by the time they realized they’d been insulted, he’d be out of the room.
When House finds himself off balance, and falling against the door, he realizes he was wrong this time.
---
The major had been there on two separate tours of duty.
(Que Sera Sera)
House tells himself that this isn’t that bad. The first time he was arrested he’d been transferred to the county jail -- ten men jammed into a cell barely big enough for four, and an overflowing toilet.
This time there’s just the happy drunk sprawled on the bench.
But he’d had two whole legs then. This time the floor is cold and the Vicodin wore off sometime just past midnight. There’s no clock. He keeps time by rating his climbing pain level. House won’t give Tritter the satisfaction of seeing him suffer, so he sits, and grits his teeth, and waits.
---
“This ain’t bad,” the hobo told Billy on the second day.
(Son of a Coma Guy)
House stumbles slightly as he heads for the door. He realizes his cane isn’t where he’d put it, and scans the floor for a moment before he understands what happened to it. He steadies himself with one hand on his leg and glances back at vegetative state guy. He’s sitting on the couch, looking up.
House closes the door.
He lowers himself down to the floor and hopes this won’t take long. When Wilson shows up, he knows he should tell him to go back downstairs, save himself, but he’s selfish and wants him here, so he lets him stay.
---
“Who killed me?” he would ask.
(Whac-A-Mole)
House stares at Wilson, waiting for him to stand, to walk over to the bike, to ask -- no, demand a ride home. He doesn’t, just stares back, anger and disgust in his eyes.
House isn’t sure if he’s glad Wilson doesn’t ask, or disappointed. He never asked Wilson to be the martyr, to lie for him. But Wilson has created his own set of rules, and now expects House to play by them, to somehow become someone different.
But House can’t follow someone else’s rules, even for Wilson. He looks at the road ahead, hits the gas, and drives away.
---
Out went the lights.
(Finding Judas)
There is no light at the end of the tunnel. Not even the relief of an oncoming train to end it all -- the pain, the misery, the knowledge of how he’s screwed everything up. House stands there, his hand still in a tight fist, as Chase interrupts the surgery, gives the girl her life back.
House has lost Stacy. He’s lost the full use of his leg. He’s afraid he’s lost his only friend, and now he wonders if he’s losing his mind as well. All that’s left is the pain, and the misery, and knowing he’s screwed everything up.
---
Billy uncovered his head
(Merry Little Christmas)
House sees the dim light of the weak winter sun coming in his windows and realizes he’s awake. He isn’t sure if that’s a good thing.
He has a dim memory of Wilson, seeing disappointment on his face, but he’s alone now. Always alone now.
He raises himself up and sits with his back against the couch, his brain still muddled with alcohol and oxycodone. He’s in limbo, neither dead nor alive. He hates it there, and realizes he doesn’t want to die, and knows he’ll do what he must -- he’ll pay the price Tritter demands, so he can live.
---
God said this: From this moment on, He will punish horribly anybody who torments a bum who has no connections.
(Words and Deeds)
Voldemort hesitates for just a moment, then shakes his head and turns down the figure House offers.
Next time, House adds a zero, and Voldemort scans the room before giving a slight nod.
House vomits two more times before the pill arrives. His stomach muscles ache, and his leg screeches out in pain from both the damaged nerves and the amount of time he’s spent on the cold floor tiles in front of the toilet.
When he sees the familiar shape in the white paper cup, House smiles, and swallows it down like the addict they all say he is.
---
“I never thought anybody would marry me.”
(One Day, One Room)
House hates dredging up the past. The past should stay there. It doesn’t mean anything. Talking doesn’t change anything.
“Maybe it does,” Wilson says and brings out another beer. “Some people repeat the same mistakes because of a hidden abuse.”
“And some people with perfect childhoods grow up to become mass murderers,” House says. “You’re a lousy psychologist. Stick to oncology.”
Wilson shrugs. “Some people need to talk about the bad stuff to get past it. They’ll never be happy, or healthy or be able to move on until they do.”
“And some don’t,” House says, and takes a drink.
Author: Namaste
Summary: A season in drabbles, House POV.
Author’s Note: This uses the meme originally from, I think,
anamatics to take a book of at least 100 pages and use the first sentence at the top of page 10, 20, 30 and so forth to create drabbles. I opted to use each drabble also relate to each episode from this season. This covers the first half of the season. I plan to cover the second half of the season after the finale.These drabbles are all 100 words and use Kurt Vonnegut’s “Slaughterhouse Five.” The title, of course, is from there as well.
Sample: House watches the rug go back into place, his own blood an abstract tattoo in the center of the room where he’ll walk over it and around it and past it every day. His blood. His mistake. His reminder.
Concrit always welcome.
“Heck no, Nancy,” I said.
(Meaning)
For just a moment, House thinks he’s imagined it. The twinge he’d felt was just a bad memory, he tells himself, some leftover pain his muscles had held onto, waiting to spring out and surprise him when he least expected it, when he’d finally begun to believe, to think it was all over.
He takes three steps, then another, walking gingerly on the concrete, trying not to limp but afraid to put his full weight on his right leg. The pain eases, fades into the background. But he knows it’s there, and had only been hiding.
It will be back.
---
And so on.
(Cane & Able)
House sets the treadmill at a walk, then increases the speed, He’d forgotten how it felt, the pounding of his heart as it kept pace with his body, the way it’d respond when he ran uphill, or sprinted to the end of the block.
He doesn’t want to lose that feeling, but knows as he hits the button again, goes even faster, that he’s already lost. The pain builds with each step. It’s the devil at his heels, and all he’s been doing is running in place as it catches up with him, grabs on tight and won’t let go.
---
He never got mad at anything.
(Informed Consent)
The first time House had done this, it was for a patient who had come to him too late.
“Your doctor was a moron,” House had told the man when he first saw him.
The man had just shrugged. “He was the best I could afford,” he said.
The man was tired, worn out from the misdiagnosed Q fever that had filled his lungs with fluid and damaged his heart beyond repair. He didn’t cry when House told him he was dying. “It hurts,” he’d finally said. “I don’t want to hurt anymore.”
House nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”
---
Weary had a block of balsa wood, which was supposed to be a foxhole pillow.
(Lines In the Sand)
John House came home from his first tour with a new tattoo peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt.
“It’s a reminder,” he told his son.
Greg didn’t know how anyone could forget war.
“You forget because you don’t want to remember, so you ignore it, until everything bad fades away,” John said. “You need to remember everything.”
Now House watches the rug go back into place, his own blood an abstract tattoo in the center of the room where he’ll walk over it and around it and past it every day. His blood. His mistake. His reminder.
---
He had just been elected president, and it was necessary that he speak.
(Fools For Love)
Whenever House threw out an insult -- whether for a lack of style or a lack of intellect -- he got away with it. Everyone figured no one fought back because they felt sorry for him once they saw the cane.
But it wasn’t the cane, or the limp, or the pills. House knew how to pick his words wisely, to keep his victims off balance just long enough that by the time they realized they’d been insulted, he’d be out of the room.
When House finds himself off balance, and falling against the door, he realizes he was wrong this time.
---
The major had been there on two separate tours of duty.
(Que Sera Sera)
House tells himself that this isn’t that bad. The first time he was arrested he’d been transferred to the county jail -- ten men jammed into a cell barely big enough for four, and an overflowing toilet.
This time there’s just the happy drunk sprawled on the bench.
But he’d had two whole legs then. This time the floor is cold and the Vicodin wore off sometime just past midnight. There’s no clock. He keeps time by rating his climbing pain level. House won’t give Tritter the satisfaction of seeing him suffer, so he sits, and grits his teeth, and waits.
---
“This ain’t bad,” the hobo told Billy on the second day.
(Son of a Coma Guy)
House stumbles slightly as he heads for the door. He realizes his cane isn’t where he’d put it, and scans the floor for a moment before he understands what happened to it. He steadies himself with one hand on his leg and glances back at vegetative state guy. He’s sitting on the couch, looking up.
House closes the door.
He lowers himself down to the floor and hopes this won’t take long. When Wilson shows up, he knows he should tell him to go back downstairs, save himself, but he’s selfish and wants him here, so he lets him stay.
---
“Who killed me?” he would ask.
(Whac-A-Mole)
House stares at Wilson, waiting for him to stand, to walk over to the bike, to ask -- no, demand a ride home. He doesn’t, just stares back, anger and disgust in his eyes.
House isn’t sure if he’s glad Wilson doesn’t ask, or disappointed. He never asked Wilson to be the martyr, to lie for him. But Wilson has created his own set of rules, and now expects House to play by them, to somehow become someone different.
But House can’t follow someone else’s rules, even for Wilson. He looks at the road ahead, hits the gas, and drives away.
---
Out went the lights.
(Finding Judas)
There is no light at the end of the tunnel. Not even the relief of an oncoming train to end it all -- the pain, the misery, the knowledge of how he’s screwed everything up. House stands there, his hand still in a tight fist, as Chase interrupts the surgery, gives the girl her life back.
House has lost Stacy. He’s lost the full use of his leg. He’s afraid he’s lost his only friend, and now he wonders if he’s losing his mind as well. All that’s left is the pain, and the misery, and knowing he’s screwed everything up.
---
Billy uncovered his head
(Merry Little Christmas)
House sees the dim light of the weak winter sun coming in his windows and realizes he’s awake. He isn’t sure if that’s a good thing.
He has a dim memory of Wilson, seeing disappointment on his face, but he’s alone now. Always alone now.
He raises himself up and sits with his back against the couch, his brain still muddled with alcohol and oxycodone. He’s in limbo, neither dead nor alive. He hates it there, and realizes he doesn’t want to die, and knows he’ll do what he must -- he’ll pay the price Tritter demands, so he can live.
---
God said this: From this moment on, He will punish horribly anybody who torments a bum who has no connections.
(Words and Deeds)
Voldemort hesitates for just a moment, then shakes his head and turns down the figure House offers.
Next time, House adds a zero, and Voldemort scans the room before giving a slight nod.
House vomits two more times before the pill arrives. His stomach muscles ache, and his leg screeches out in pain from both the damaged nerves and the amount of time he’s spent on the cold floor tiles in front of the toilet.
When he sees the familiar shape in the white paper cup, House smiles, and swallows it down like the addict they all say he is.
---
“I never thought anybody would marry me.”
(One Day, One Room)
House hates dredging up the past. The past should stay there. It doesn’t mean anything. Talking doesn’t change anything.
“Maybe it does,” Wilson says and brings out another beer. “Some people repeat the same mistakes because of a hidden abuse.”
“And some people with perfect childhoods grow up to become mass murderers,” House says. “You’re a lousy psychologist. Stick to oncology.”
Wilson shrugs. “Some people need to talk about the bad stuff to get past it. They’ll never be happy, or healthy or be able to move on until they do.”
“And some don’t,” House says, and takes a drink.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 09:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 09:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 09:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 10:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 10:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 09:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 10:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 10:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 11:05 pm (UTC)Now I suppose I'd better update my archive post.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 10:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 11:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 11:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-28 12:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 11:45 pm (UTC)It’s the devil at his heels, and all he’s been doing is running in place as it catches up with him, grabs on tight and won’t let go.
The devil at his heels is one of the best descriptions I've heard for House's pain.
“And some don’t,” House says, and takes a drink.
Oh, House.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-28 12:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 11:54 pm (UTC)>His blood. His mistake. His reminder.
was incredibly sad. But very, very lovely.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-28 12:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-01 07:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-01 10:19 pm (UTC)(Then, God help me, I got this idea in my head of doing the season in drabbles from the POVs of each of the main characters. I think I need psychiatric help. Maybe I can get my hands on some spiked coffee.)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-02 11:54 am (UTC)*waves pom poms*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-02 11:54 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-05 03:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-05 05:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-09 09:13 am (UTC)You made beautiful sense of that stupid bloodstain (Lines in the Sand annoyed me for so many reasons after it aired); I like this version of what House wanted the carpet to remain versus some of the other interpretations I read. Also, moving from calling him 'Greg' to 'House' made the passage of time easy to follow, so kudos for that.
"“And some people with perfect childhoods grow up to become mass murderers,” House says. “You’re a lousy psychologist. Stick to oncology.”"
This made me chuckle, because I'm dealing with this at the moment in Eggshells.
Wilson shrugs. “Some people need to talk about the bad stuff to get past it. They’ll never be happy, or healthy or be able to move on until they do.”
“And some don’t,” House says, and takes a drink.
A nice way to end the drabble set, and a nice contrast between Wilson and House.
*goes to read the next sequence*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-09 07:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-20 05:09 am (UTC)"But House can’t follow someone else’s rules, even for Wilson. He looks at the road ahead, hits the gas, and drives away."
Thank you for explaining that scene - it never made any sense to me until now. I could understand the anger and the breaking of the friendship after all, but always expected it to be played out much differently than it was in the epi.
Beautifully, beautifully done!!! Most spooky how you were able to take the lines from such a different source and weave them with the epis - well crafted!!!
-Katrina