tjballer (tjballer) wrote in 10prompts, @ 2009-01-15 19:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | author: tjballer, character: gregory house, fandom: house |
They All Blend- Greg House, G
Title: They All Blend
Author: Tjballer
Word Count:541
Summary: Bad day for House.
Character: Greg House
Table, Prompt 7, Home
Rating: G
A/N: Possible spoiler for the upcoming episode 'Painless'. A quote that is used in the promo, is expanded upon.
House wearily dumped his blue backpack on the wooden floor of his flat as he stepped inside. He carelessly threw his cane across the room, watching it hit the couch as he shrugged his jacket off and tossed that as well. Dropping his keys on the counter, he grabbed the whole bottle of bourbon instead of pouring himself just a glass as he sat down on his old, cold couch.
It had been another rough day for House as he was having more bad days than decent ones. He glanced over at the pill he had pulled out from his pocket and felt the edges. One of these days his luck was going to run out. They would all be bad days—there wouldn’t be a difference between days, each day would blur into the next. He wouldn’t really be living life.
But then again…he never really had in the first place.
Saving lives was supposed to be rewarding. That was apparently why doctors became doctors- to make the world become a better place. But House had never really believed in that. The world was filled with misery and as hard as anybody worked to make it better, that one good deed, would shine for just a second, and then it would disappear again.
Happiness was fleeting. It never lasted.
He was here for the puzzle. The ever-constant puzzle that never really went away. That’s what quenched his thirst, that was really the only thing that kept him going. Why else would he have been put on this God forsaken earth?
But even the puzzle…even that intricate little puzzle seemed to be getting solved. The fact that that was happening was essentially a very, very bad thing. If the puzzles got solved, House lost his interest. If House lost his interest, he started to get moody. If he started to get moody…
Another sip from his bottle of bourbon as he surveyed that little white pill. It was going to happen sooner or later. His liver would fail. The pills would stop working; they would stop taking the edge off of his pain. When that fateful day happened…what would he do? Vicodin was a narcotic. What else would be stronger than that? Morphine? No chance in hell he’d be able to take that daily. He supposed Cuddy and Wilson would come running to his rescue.
Ha, he thought with a bitter smile. He wouldn’t need to ask them, they would come charging into his life whether he wanted them to or not.
It was cold in the flat, as he hadn’t bothered to raise the thermostat. The bourbon was making him feel sort of warm anyways; he didn’t want to bother getting up. House turned his neck stiffly to the side to glance at the clock. It was nearing 7:00.
He sighed, lost in a mixture of self-pity and bitterness as he swallowed the pill. In his home, in the privacy of this cell, at this very moment, the pain was gone for the time being.
House sat his bourbon down as he got up to turn the heater on. When the bad days started blending…he would just deal with it then. For now…he’d control what he could, and fuck the rest.