A/N: Hi, I'm back! I know I've been gone awhile but am trying desperately to re-awaken my muse. Here's a little post S8 fic. Just to brush the cobwebs off. I hope you like!
Characters: House/Wilson friendship
Warnings: Spoilers S8, character death
Summary: Reflections of the past, with a little George Michael thrown in.
Disclaimer: David Shore owns them not me!
Word count: 550
Reflections and 'Faith'
"Tell me it'll be okay."
"But it won't."
"Just tell me!"
"It'll be okay."
"No it won't."
The five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. It's funny really, how it applies to both the living and the dying.
"Where to next?"
"Las Vegas…strippers, booze, gambling."
"You offend my delicate sensibilities."
"You haven't been delicate since…nope, you've never been delicate."
"First Hooker's on you."
The day was unremarkable by all accounts. Life still moved forward in a maddening pace; no rest for the weary. The insignificance of one not missed by the masses.
"You're an ass!"
"How fun, it's time to play state the obvious."
The same as any other day, life ended every few seconds and just as quickly, new life began. The circle of life; to live…to die. Just another unremarkable day.
"Will you go back? After it's over?"
"Because you won't be there."
Funeral…a funny thing; the ritual of burying the dead. A marked time to grieve, to pray even if not done any other time, a time to remember, and to say goodbye. Absurd really, to mark life with a few words, overly abundant flowers, and badly prepared food. A sum of one's life: a combination of gestures hardly presented or appreciated during life.
"You're paying for the next excursion."
"No, you're paying; I'm dying."
"So, I'm already dead."
"Just because you faked your death doesn't make it true."
"Just because you were married three times, it doesn't make you straight."
"What else is new?"
People come and go; paying their respects. They go home, hug loved ones and tomorrow, move on. That's how life works, right? Living is for the living.
"I'm sorry I was a shitty friend."
"No you're not."
"Okay, I'm sorry I got you fired…more than once."
"No you're not."
"I'm sorry I interfered in your relationships?"
"No, I'm not."
"I wouldn't have recognized you otherwise."
To live one or one hundred years; to be a speck on the bottom of the shoe of society or a Pulitzer Prize winner; over time, death inevitably resides you to the back of other's minds.
"I'll miss you."
"I…think you will."
"You'll be lonely without your conscience."
The human condition: Show grief, shake a few hands, pretend to sympathize, stuff memories in a metaphorical box and get on with it.
"What will you do…after I'm gone?"
"Stand on your grave naked."
"Ya know what really scares me about that? That I actually believe you."
"I'm gonna sing 'Faith' by George Michael too."
"I'd say it's a fitting tribute."
"Tell that to the police…when they arrest you."
"I'll tell them I've lost my Jimmy Cricket."
The best friend condition:
"God you were a self righteous son of a bitch…but I wouldn't have recognized you otherwise."
'Cause I gotta have faith...Baaaby, I gotta have faith, faith, faith, ah…'