Dr-House.com Fanfiction

Desperado
Home
Updates
Quick Reference
FAQ
2cutekids2
Abbie G
Ambra
Armchair Elvis
Auditrix
Benj
Betz88
CaitDC
Cakemixo
Carebear
CathyNH
Catlady
DIY Sheep
Dru
Dr. Xreader
jennamajig1
KidsNurse
Kit Kat
Laura
Lunagrrl74
Marisol
Namaste
Narsil
Nomad1328
Pillpopdoc
PipTook
Pradon
rtlemurs
Sanlin
sasmom
SSMoony
sy dedalus
Taruia
TelegramSam
Tpel1

By Cait

Desperado

 

          I like being a loner. It’s what I’m best at; well, besides diagnosing cases my moron staff can’t. I swear, sometimes it’s all I can do to stop myself from standing up and walking out, especially when they go off on their rants about how I’m addicted to Vicodin. So what if I am? I function, I cook my food, I keep my apartment clean for the most part, I get to work on time and I do my job better than anyone else in that hospital. So what if I’m alone? All people do is lie anyway, why should I stay in their company? I alienate people for the simple reason that I don’t trust them. Whoever said that humans are social animals, that they couldn’t live without each other is full of crap. Or maybe I’m the exception. Either way, I’m alone, I like it, and I’m happy.

          If I spent time with people, or even take a girlfriend if you want to stretch far beyond the imagination of most, it would draw my attention away from my work and, considering how idiotic everyone else there is, my patients can’t afford for that to happen. The interesting ones that deserve medical attention can’t afford it, anyway. All the others can burn in hell for making me exert my time and energy on their useless, stupid trivialities for all I care. Why come to an EMERGENCY clinic when all you need is a bottle of Motrin for your stomach ache or some way to put your stupid, loud baby to sleep? I’ll never understand why people can’t be logical and figure out how to BURP your crying child. Why do they need to bring it to me? Sometimes I think God is out to get me for all those years of non-belief…

          Well, actually I know God is out to get me. Nobody but him could have put the idea of that bet into Cuddy’s busy little head. Personally, I think they’re in cahoots, plotting my physical and psychological demise one step at a time. Cuddy always seemed like the type who would go for that kind of thing…but I was surprised at Wilson. I know he had some part in it, maybe tipping her off about how often I pop the pills. Who knows? For all I know it could have been his idea. Even if it was, he won’t say anything about it.

 

Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses?

You’ve been out riding fences for so long now.

Oh you’re a hard one; I know that you’ve got your reasons.

These things that are pleasing you can hurt you somehow.

 

          Wilson had no right to push me into rehab after that week of pure hell, especially after that little lecture I had to stand through after I so willingly admitted that I was an addict. That little part about me having no relationships and alienating people got under my skin a little. How does he know I’m not just waiting for the right girl to come along? How does he know that I even want a relationship, like I said, it would distract me from my work. The last thing I need is some woman telling me what to do, how to dress, what time to come home, when I should eat, the list goes on… I always just figured I’d wait so I wouldn’t get involved with someone just because I get lonely at night. Yes, even I, the walking book of sarcastic comebacks notices that my bed is cold every now and then. I think the most recent time I took a look at my life was when John Henry Giles gave me that trumpet…he was too much like me, he knew everything I felt because he was going through the exact same thing. I wonder if he ever got together with that one woman, Cora I think her name was. I seriously doubt anyone could love me, especially with my charming personality.

 

Don’t you draw the Queen of Diamonds boy,

She’ll beat you if she’s able.

You know the Queen of Hearts

Is always your best bet.

 

          I’m not saying women haven’t tried to get close to me. Actually, I was known as something of a ladies-man back before the infarction. Well, maybe not a ladies-man but I wasn’t starving for attention. And there was that patient that liked me…I wonder what Ashton Kutcher looks like, and if it was her insanity or if I really do look like him? Whatever.

          Even after I had to walk around with the cane, girls seemed to gravitate towards me. I can’t decide if it was my brilliance, my dashing good looks or my shining personality, but I did get offers at relationships before I started trying to be avoided. Back then I was depressed about losing my leg, losing lacrosse, losing a million other tiny little things I had trouble doing. Back then all I wanted was my old life back and I didn’t care about other people, I didn’t care about relationships. I guess it kind of rubbed off on me now; I don’t really care a whole lot if I ever get romantically involved with anyone. It’s just one more thing to deal with.

 

It seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table,

But you only want the ones that you can’t get.

 

          I suppose if I ever want to start a family I should be thinking about it now, before I get too old. If I ever want anything passed down of me, a little piece of me, breathing, walking around town, going to ball games, blah blah blah, yeah, whatever. I never was much for sentimentality. Who needs kids? Yeah, yeah, the natural urge to reproduce is what’s kept our species going for thousands of years, I’ve heard it. All kids do is get on their parents nerves; that’s all I did. The last time I saw Mom was at Dad’s funeral. I really should call or something, her being alone now. I’d go visit if my leg didn’t practically kill me every time I try to fly. Add visiting my lonely mother to the things-my-leg-won’t-let-me-do-anymore list. God, I hate that thing.

          On the other hand, a family would provide company and loyalty. A family would mean a wife, and I don’t mean like Wilson’s wives. A family would mean something to think of besides the past and the present dying person. A family would mean less boredom. Dare I say love? I dare. Like I said, even I notice how cold my bed is in the dead of night. They say being a bachelor implies freedom, the ability to run around. That’s bullshit. Bachelorism is just another word for playboy or lonely guy. Or me, which is neither of the two, unless I’m feeling sorry for myself.

 

Desperado, oh you ain’t getting no younger.

Your pain and your hunger are driving you home,

And freedom, oh freedom, well, that’s just some people talking.

Your prison is walking through this world all alone.

 

          I do get lonely sometimes, sometimes I wonder what it’s all for. Sometimes I wish for things I can’t possibly have, sometimes I can’t imagine life any differently. Sometimes I’m envious of Wilson and his ability to attract people. The days seem to run together lately, one after the other. I’m never truly happy when I’m not on a case, but I’m never truly sad either. I just…exist. I hate that feeling, the feeling of just being there with no purpose or opinion of the world. It’s so useless, so…boring. Ennui; that’s the perfect word for it, ennui. I hate the feeling of ennui. Then, when I am on a case, it’s all a rush. When I’m wrong, it’s never a sad feeling, it’s just an other development in the case. Maybe I’m an adrenaline junky as well as a Vicodin addict. It’s all the same aside from the cases, though. The days just run together.

 

Don’t your feet get cold in the winter time?

The sky won’t snow and the sun won’t shine.

It’s hard to tell the night time from the day.

You’re losing all your highs and lows ain’t it funny how the feeling goes away?

 

          Everyone seems to want me to change. Am I really that bad? Wilson seems to think all I need is a woman, Cuddy thinks I need a psychiatrist, Foreman thinks I need to be arrested, Chase acts like he thinks I’m perfect or something which is starting to bug me, and Cameron thinks I’m a bastard and I need an attitude adjustment. Maybe I do. Then again, I can’t tell what Cameron thinks of me. Sometimes I get the feeling she has a crush on me, which is…weird. I can’t understand it. Me, the “bastard”, the “limping twerp”. Why me? Chase seems more her type, maybe even Foreman, but certainly not me.

          Maybe they’re all right. Maybe I am a bastard, insane, lonely, and a little too reckless. I have to be though, because no one else will. My little ducklings haven’t grown enough to understand that if you don’t take risks, more people die. Then again, neither has Cuddy and I think the only reason that Wilson trusts me is that he’s known me long enough to know that I’m right most of the time. Most of the other doctor’s opinions of me are just one big collage of Cuddy and the kiddie’s opinions of what’s wrong with me.

          After the fight in my office Wilson and I had he came over to make sure I wasn’t too pissed off at him. I’d had time to cool down and I wasn’t, but he told me something that I haven’t been able to get out of my head since. He said “If you ever want anyone to love you had better shape up, because pretty soon you’ll have alienated everyone you ever could have had.” I can’t help but think he was talking about someone we both know. I bet he’s picked up on what I saw in Cameron. Whatever. You know what? Screw it. I like being a loner.

 

Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses?

Come down from your fences, open the gate.

It may be raining but there’s a rainbow above you.

You’d better let somebody love you

(Let somebody love you)

You’d better let somebody love you

Before it’s too late.

Feed the author!

Cait's Author Page

Eleanor Rigby, Father McKenzie

You must be a member to post in the House Fans forum. It's completely painless and we'd love to have you. But if you don't want to join, please stop by Cait's Author Page, using the link above, and post a comment in her Guestbook. Thank you and enjoy!

As always, if you have any suggestions, questions or concerns please feel free to email either pillpopdoc or rtlemurs