Disclaimer: I own nothing of House M.D. I only wish. All of the goodness that is House M.D belongs its rightful writers and directors.
I Love Him
Gregory House has an IQ of over 170. He is sharp-tongued and scathingly sarcastic as well as cynical and misanthropic. He has constantly proved himself a master manipulator and an expert liar during the twenty-five years I have known him. When he is honest, he's painfully blunt. He tries to avoid any situation with human emotion and usually does it successfully by being downright rude and insulting. He has pushed away almost everyone in his life; he shocks and repulses people to the point where they no longer want any social contact with him.
But still, I love him.
I cannot count the number of times he has insulted me with rude, suggestive comments. He defies my authority as his boss everyday and costs me tens of thousands of dollars in broken equipment and lawsuits. Yet, his voice and touch make me shiver in some sort of excitement. Even his mere proximity makes my heart beat a little faster. I want to help him with every problem he has; seeing him vulnerable and fragile makes me want to cry. For so many years, I deluded myself into thinking that everything I felt was nothing. For too long, I've stayed silent about my feelings.
I have always loved him.
I see him now without Vicodin. I see him free of the drug that dulled his pain only to make it worse, the pills he seemed to always have in hand. I see him trying to hide a smile as my daughter pouts and demands to be picked up. I see his brows furrow as he concentrates on cooking his newest five star dinner dish. I see him bounce his giant tennis ball while staring intently at the whiteboard as if it will give him his miraculous epiphany any sooner.
Now I just love him more.
I hear him mocking his team's theories. He rejects all of them until he's finally forced to admit that they might have a good point. He passes their idea grudgingly and still manages to come up with an insult. Sometimes it's about Taub's failing relationships or Thirteen's flexible sexuality. Other times, it's about Foreman's criminal ethnicity or Chase's good looks. He always goes out of his way to be indifferent and harsh. But just when I think I've had enough of his cruel games, I hear his long and graceful fingers flitting across a piano playing a magical melody. Just when I think he's a heartless bastard, I hear him strumming his guitar gently. Just when I think he's never going to stop ridiculing me, he comes up with a sweet and romantic gesture.
I always will love him.
Now, we lie in bed together. For once, it's not just lust and passion and there's no more foreplay. His piercing blue eyes hold no misery or pain, just contentment. When I look into his eyes now, I think there may even be happiness and love. For all his mean and tough facade, he's sensitive and gentle. I lay my head on his chest smiling at the perfection of how everything is turning out and he puts his arm around me.
I love him and that's all there is to it.
My own mother didn't believe I was capable of finding a perfect man. She wanted so badly for me to find my prince charming who would sweep me off my feet. She wanted me married and settled with a kind, polite man. I am now in love with a man who, five hundred times to one, painfully knocks me flat on my rear end instead of chivalrously sweeping me off my feet. He's as awkward with good manners and delicate feelings as my mother would be with a scalpel and a retractor. As much as my every interaction with Gregory House goes against everything my mom or I ever thought of as functional in a relationship, I'm happy.
I love him irrevocably.
Contrarily to most people's beliefs, Gregory House does have an internal filter. Ninety-nine percent of the time, he ignores it. Not because he's malicious, just because his genius brain sees the twisted positive outcomes of his brutal bullying and cutting insults. He views the social isolation his mockery and sarcasm put him in as a favor to society. He tries to never take anything seriously because if everything is a joke, nothing can really hurt. He possesses not a single ounce of bright humor in his hundred ninety-seven pounds but he can make me laugh on my most depressing, hormonal days. He is the man of my worst nightmares and my best dreams.
I love him that much.
It doesn't matter how much he screws up all relationships – personal and professional. It doesn't matter how much he drives all the hospital staff insane. It doesn't matter how juvenile and perverted he acts. It doesn't matter how little respect he has for authority or personal space. Nothing matters except for the fact that he always has been, is, and will be the man I love.
I love him unconditionally.
And yet, he shows no love for me. Not even the slightest bit of caring or kindness. He is gruff, I know, but surely, he is not that detached from human emotions? I have given him every subtle hint through all this foreplay of dislike and still, he is a stubborn jerk. However, I refuse to believe that this will never work. After all, love conquers all. I have come too far in life to be torn apart by such a natural part of human psychology.
I love him so much.
Revenge is a dish best served cold. He stole my heart over two decades ago. Now, so many years later, I will steal his. It will be the perfect crime. Even if I got caught and punished, I would not care because there is no price too great to pay for returned love.
I just wish he loved me the same way.