In the history of doctors, their main rationality of being around is to make the ill and hurt better. Even for the most outrageous reasons. With using many years of learning and researching. Diverting even themselves from thinking the unknown was closer than before.
But when coming to a person named Dr. Gregory House. The satisfaction of ones health, doesn't even scratch the surface, that is Dr. House. Fo he only sees people as movable play things for his pleasure.
"You see people as toys; more than what humans, you choose, not to see!" Wilson stated from his deck, watching his crippling friend moves about the room.
"The word toy can be use to describe a human. So, these eyes don't lie." Making his way to the door.
"When are you ever going to understand, that this way of doing things, will only lead . . . "
"To those humans to be at the pitch of health and far from me with those oh-so wonderful lives of they're." Slamming the door and going back to work.
"The patient is faking an illness and you still want us to treat him?"
"Even the worst sickness can only be your mind." Glancing over to his lackeys. "We must all have at some point. Or, is that just me."
They remain silent.
"Just me. Do the brain scan. And then afterwards, take turns."
I want them to be quiet and do their work, like the good doctors they claim to be. When will they learn, that not everything has to be a fact. Fiction can play a heavy roll as much of as fact.
The pity it must have been to have such shelter lives. Blocking out the scares of reality.
Life is about taking risks. Chancing everything, you do. Whether those choices are right or wrong. A person dies, not your fault.
They gave up on you, the doctor, and themselves. Going back to that life they had before, aren't what is was crack up to be.
It can never be your fault. Only if you take the blame, when even the dying thing said so themselves that it is okay to give up on a lost cause.
A lost cause, I choose to never make again.
"Are you being for real here?" Chase asked.
"That's what Cuddy informed me." Foreman stated without batting an eye.
"Kind of last-minute, to not even tell us."
"When does he tell us anything? He's a happy three-year old with a bomb, only asking after it goes off if this was a good thing."
"Still, a notice would have been good." Thirteen said, giving her two cents into this.
Unknowingly to whatever else going on.
"So when is this little game of yours going to be over."
"Wilson, I have no idea, what you mean?"
"Oh please, this happens every four months. Cuddy, come on, let me on this."
"This is between me and House."
"Not even a hint?"
"When did you start sounding like him?"
"Never, but we're flat-mates, a reason alone that he shouldn't have to deal with just at work."
"Wilson . . . For the time being. Foreman will be taking over House cases."
"You promise not to breathe a word to this to anyone."
"I will, House, but taking a vacation, even asking for one in the middle of case your doing."
"Not my case, if I didn't pick it."
"Oh, I see now, your upset because your team made a choice behind your back."
"Not behind my back if I was stuck in the elevator."
"Quit being a baby and do your . . . "
He drops a file on her deck.
"From the work of my lawyer and yes, she will be calling, to make sure you fallow along. Saying I have all rights to take a needed break, on or off the field. Now if you excuse me, I need to go buy a new of swim trunks." And left without another word.
"So that's it?"
"All in a nutshell, this is our game Wilson. And you can't play for once."
"I have a feeling, if I ask him, the tables will be turning."
"Try all you want. He won't be moving, even for his best friend."
"Your making it sound like you know him better than me?"
"Not at all. I just know from work that he won't move for you."
To at least someone goes and checks on him.
"House. You home?" Wilson called out, getting no reply.
Meaning only a few things.
One: He's out looking for hookers.
Two: He found one and forgot to put a warning on the door, again.
Three: Asleep with said hooker and his overpaying her for morning pleasure.
Or the forth . . .
Finding his room empty and things pack. Far from the signs of leaving. But already gone.
Moving a stack of boxes near the sheet less bed. A sticky note on top. Saying to rid of these things within the box for however he sees fit.
Wilson opens it to find all of House's things, home and work, in them. There was only one person to ask about it.
"Did he even say where he was going?"
"Not in the liberty to say."
"So either you know and won't say anything. Or, you have no idea where that moron whack job ran off to."
Stating, not questioning.
"Wilson, don't you have patients to get to."
"Answer the question at least. Do you know or not?"
"No. And if I did, I would have told you and even you the number of place he was staying at."
"So, House is now becoming a spoiled brat that ran away from home, is that it?"
"Work, Wilson, work."
Not long when others hear about it.
"And just like that?"
"Yep, Foreman, you're the new House until he gets back from wherever he ran off to."
"Great." Rolling his eyes.
"Could have been worst." Chase added. "He could be using you to talk through him. Think of it, as one less voice that'll be talking in your ear."
"Or sending faxes like he was still here, knowing you're going to mess up." Thirteen quickly adding in. "Not that you will."
"I got what you mean."
"And the plus side, no Lucas this time."
They're human, design to make own or fallow choices of the strings' DNA of the past donors who were thinking it be great to have a kid some day. Oh, how sad the becomes when that plan will backfire and you're stuck with it.
What a pain it will be, when the choices it makes, are not the ones you think it will ever do. For shame on them for thinking the best. Shame on me, for thinking that once and only, they could have been right.
Unbelievable, for having five senses. We lack to even one of them through life. For that we use them so much, it's only second nature. Hell if that's it.
We using them so much, we end up doing stupid things. Not to point to any names of anyone. But to make a mistake is not something anyone can just look the other way.
If you do have all five senses and not cripple in any of them, damn it, use them. Or your going down the wrong path before you know it.
"Another one saved. But that feeling, again, is not as same as before."
"You mean: The lacks of someone bring you down . . . your missing that?"
"Thirteen . . . "
"Chase, there is just something off."
"I have marked off the days he's been gone . . . "
"And, they have been awesome, right?"
"He's been gone for almost three months."
The glinting glee in his eyes tones down a bit from her words.
"Man, where did the time go?"
"That's what I like to know . . . " Stopping short when Foreman and Taub come in, with a small pile of files to look through.
"In short in what you stated, Lucas, you're sure."
"Yep, the files were mix up. That old buddy of yours is going to be fine. Thou, I can't say the same for you."
"Well one less pain in the ass to deal with."
"Oh, you weren't that bad."
"Fleeter words to earn more cash won't work on me, Lucas."
"Worth a shot, Doc."
"They don't know?"
"Not a soul. Even Cuddy bought the faux file."
"So where from here, Dr. House?"
"Good question, kid." House looked around the wide-open area of unpopulated beings.
Seeing the sun starting to rise for another day. Stars fading to clouds. Black to blue. Cold to warmth.
Another morning like any other.
No worries of phone calls, seeing as he ran over his cell with his bike long ago.
The heavy weight on his shoulders that he didn't know was there, until he left the place he once called home.
"Keep Calm, and they'll carry on."
Starting his bike once more and zoomed down the road.
Leaving behind the chains that held him down to life.
That place was more of a parade and I was leader of it. Too soon to say if ever running it or even being part of it was a good thing.
But to show even a small sign of weakness will not be happening.
Blame my pride, for I build it to be strong and keep others out.
Whoever thought, that one day it would be my undoing.
I think I can jump over it . . .