Title: Number Forty-One; Shapes
Fandom: House MD
Challenge/Prompt: fanfic100, 041. Shapes
Summary: Written at 1 in the morning, this is my art. It makes no sense but is very, very pretty to look at.
Author’s Notes: Don't worry about it making sense; it's not meant to. There is also an audio version for downloading at the bottom of the page.
people have this need to make things the way they want them chase was brought up to be a good little catholic boy by his mother and a heartless bastard by his father and because of the confliction of points of view hes more than a little conflicted himself he was also brought up to believe that one day hed find this girl and hed marry her and everything would become happyshiny and there would be small children with his eyes and her hair and that would be a good thing
cameron is not that girl
and chase has come to realise that he is also not the guy he was brought up to be hes a doctor by a series of accidents and a cheque that arrived for his birthday once twice annually in time to pay the costs of another year of study a trace of affection or perhaps his father just wanted a performing monkey one or the other or both whatever it was either way chase is not what people want him to be despite trying letting his father down over and over rowan chase never understood him and hes six feet under now anyway as is his mother.
theres a bruise on his wrist that he thinks put there.
its not about me and you or him and her or even him and him its about who everyone is as a person and the fact that the human race is designed to let each other down or perhaps that's a lie too and chase is the only fuckup in the world punctuating the wrong places and making the wrong decisions and wishing it would all just
and leave him alone for a change of course with people like house around that makes the whole thing highly unlikely because much as hed like the silence he has enough sense to know that that would not happen in this world
maybe the gunshot wound could make him shut up
but its wilson that chase really worries about wilson who is clearly not the way other people want him to be because if he were hed still be married or perhaps fucking house or maybe even cameron he would not be pinning chase to random walls
and he never tells chase the results of the experiment anyway no doctor wilson is not the man everyone thinks he is and chase likes that because it makes him more human house for his part is not human at all and everything gets a little
and those white white vicodin pills and so on kill a little more of chases boss every time and chase sometimes wonders if it's a trace of madness in the ocd of the diagnostician or if its you know the fact house wants what chase has you know wilson its certainly possible and those eyes kill chase more every time its wilson that he finds fascinating though wilson is not happyshiny and he is not going to marry chase even if they move somewhere where thats actually legal and chase is not the person he used to be or wants to be but he is blonde which has to count for something
they all break each other a little more and chase sits and looks at wilson and tries to work out how to articulate i dont want to do this anymore but it doesnt work like that and he wonders whether hed have done better in australia and he reckons he probably wouldve done and god he gets a little crazier every time wilson leaves hes got an ass you cant ignore but chase is fairly sure he used to think arse except that hes losing everything and nothing time all the same at so how does that work out
and foreman is not good enough either although he wont deign to try
he has the confidence working for him
people are not what you want them to be and people are not what they want to be either and all in all its a case of depression for the ///third floor\\\ and chase spreads his legs a little wider just because he likes the way it burns
The audio version gets quieter towards the end and it buzzes like super strangely because I was using a shitty microphone that doesn’t belong to me and a laptop running out of batteries. Anyway, it’s read by yours truly, a British teenage girl, as opposed to the American/Australian male I ought to be. (and if you choose to download it- it should play through windows media player, not sure if it will through anything else) I’m putting this here for my art. If you don’t listen to it, that’s fine, but if you do, please tell me so I can know. It will exist for one week from today, the 29th August 2006 Number Forty-One, Shapes