Drive by beta time
Aug. 12th, 2007 02:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteI can't decide if this is a vignette in search of a larger story (possibly something dealing with how House shuts out Stacy in particular, or attempts to shut out others, but some refuse to be shut out) or if I should just clean it up as is and let is sit as an independent fic.
Since whenever I get stuck in conceptual phases I get unstuck by throwing things out for feedback and discussion, I figured I'd put this up on my journal for feedback, discussion, ideas ... you name it.
Please comment.
He dreamed he was in Egypt ...
---
He dreamed he was in Egypt. He was nine years old, and had fallen asleep in the shade of the pyramids in the middle of the day. He could feel a drop of sweat making its way down the side of his face. It tickled, and he wanted to wipe it away, but moving took too much energy, his arms felt too heavy.
“Greg?”
He heard her voice, but she was far away.
“Greg?”
A little closer this time. He wondered why she was moving. It was too hot to move.
He felt a hand touch his cheek, then a cool cloth wiping away the sweat. It felt good, and he sighed, turned toward her. A sharp stab of pain shot out from his leg as he tried to move and he heard himself whimper. He woke, feeling the soft sand that had been under his back in the dream harden into the hospital mattress.
He opened his eyes, and saw Stacy looking down at him.
“Greg?” She pulled her hand away from his face, but hesitated with it still in the air, as if she wasn’t sure if he’d allow her touch. Since he’d woken from the surgery, she’d kept her distance, rarely holding his hand, and then only maintaining a soft contact, a light grip around his fingers as if she was unsure how he’d react.
House looked away, unable to look at her, not knowing what he should say, not knowing what she expected him to say. He’d walk away, if he could.
“I was sleeping,” he said. “You woke me up.”
Stacy put her hand on the rail. House could see her knuckles turn white as she gripped the plastic. “You were hot,” she said. “I was worried that the fever was back.”
“Let the doctors worry about that. You shouldn’t be thinking about any medical issues anymore.”
Stacy released the rail, put her hands in her lap. She sat back.
House closed his eyes, tried to will himself back into the dream, away from the pain. But the pain was here now, and it wouldn’t be ignored.
“I was going to go get some lunch,” Stacy said. “I thought I’d pick up some soup from the deli. Lisa said it would be all right for you to have some too.”
House shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“You weren’t hungry at breakfast either.” She leaned forward again, but kept her hands on her lap. “You need to eat.”
“You’re not my mother.”
“Would you eat something if she asked you to? She’ll do it.”
House didn’t answer, just closed his eyes again. Soft sand, he thought. Hot wind. The scent of Egypt in his nose -- of camels and fat tourists and diggers at the excavation sites. He took a deep breath but only picked up the air conditioned air of the hospital, the scent of cleansers and his own flesh. He wanted to take a shower, to stand there under his own power and feel the water washing over his skin, over his legs. The sponges and lukewarm water the nurses carried into his room each day were no good.
“Greg?” He heard the chair creak as Stacy pushed herself up, heard her steps as she moved toward the door, heard the door slide open. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”
He didn’t say anything, didn’t even bother to shake his head, just listened to her walk out the door.
Since whenever I get stuck in conceptual phases I get unstuck by throwing things out for feedback and discussion, I figured I'd put this up on my journal for feedback, discussion, ideas ... you name it.
Please comment.
He dreamed he was in Egypt ...
---
He dreamed he was in Egypt. He was nine years old, and had fallen asleep in the shade of the pyramids in the middle of the day. He could feel a drop of sweat making its way down the side of his face. It tickled, and he wanted to wipe it away, but moving took too much energy, his arms felt too heavy.
“Greg?”
He heard her voice, but she was far away.
“Greg?”
A little closer this time. He wondered why she was moving. It was too hot to move.
He felt a hand touch his cheek, then a cool cloth wiping away the sweat. It felt good, and he sighed, turned toward her. A sharp stab of pain shot out from his leg as he tried to move and he heard himself whimper. He woke, feeling the soft sand that had been under his back in the dream harden into the hospital mattress.
He opened his eyes, and saw Stacy looking down at him.
“Greg?” She pulled her hand away from his face, but hesitated with it still in the air, as if she wasn’t sure if he’d allow her touch. Since he’d woken from the surgery, she’d kept her distance, rarely holding his hand, and then only maintaining a soft contact, a light grip around his fingers as if she was unsure how he’d react.
House looked away, unable to look at her, not knowing what he should say, not knowing what she expected him to say. He’d walk away, if he could.
“I was sleeping,” he said. “You woke me up.”
Stacy put her hand on the rail. House could see her knuckles turn white as she gripped the plastic. “You were hot,” she said. “I was worried that the fever was back.”
“Let the doctors worry about that. You shouldn’t be thinking about any medical issues anymore.”
Stacy released the rail, put her hands in her lap. She sat back.
House closed his eyes, tried to will himself back into the dream, away from the pain. But the pain was here now, and it wouldn’t be ignored.
“I was going to go get some lunch,” Stacy said. “I thought I’d pick up some soup from the deli. Lisa said it would be all right for you to have some too.”
House shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“You weren’t hungry at breakfast either.” She leaned forward again, but kept her hands on her lap. “You need to eat.”
“You’re not my mother.”
“Would you eat something if she asked you to? She’ll do it.”
House didn’t answer, just closed his eyes again. Soft sand, he thought. Hot wind. The scent of Egypt in his nose -- of camels and fat tourists and diggers at the excavation sites. He took a deep breath but only picked up the air conditioned air of the hospital, the scent of cleansers and his own flesh. He wanted to take a shower, to stand there under his own power and feel the water washing over his skin, over his legs. The sponges and lukewarm water the nurses carried into his room each day were no good.
“Greg?” He heard the chair creak as Stacy pushed herself up, heard her steps as she moved toward the door, heard the door slide open. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”
He didn’t say anything, didn’t even bother to shake his head, just listened to her walk out the door.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-08-13 01:22 pm (UTC)What I'm leaning toward at this time would kind of combine elements from everyone's suggestions -- comparing House shutting out/pushing away Stacy post infarction with how he shut out Crandall, with his guilt for that manifesting itself in how Crandall starts dominating his dreams (which I can see House as dismissing as a side effect of the pain meds). So there would be recurring thematic dreams, issues of House pushing someone away, his remorse even while doing it reflected through Crandall, perhaps a touch of surprise that Wilson won't leave when everyone else does?
Does that make sense? I'll probably post an updated concept once it starts to coalesce, if that's possible.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-08-14 04:55 am (UTC)