[The bunk bed comes toppling down indeed, and Beckett might be ready to chase but not to be fought back against. He's not fast now and not steady either. He has no hope of dodging, and when he goes down it's hard. A mess of wet impacts and a hideous rattle as the air is forced from his riddled lungs. Just more pain. It's just more pain. This damned mortal who thinks he understands what despair is, who calls him a coward when he'd chosen death with open arms -
The opposite. It's always the opposite. It's life he'd tried to run from. Keeping his distance, never involved, digging through the past, giving up on the future. House is desperately unhappy but he's alive and trying to stay that way, and Beckett can't tear that will out of him. And there goes the tipping point between reason and wrath. There comes the beast, old loyal friend, to sweep away the shards of his broken mind.
His struggle to rise is savage, but at the same time pathetic, wounded animal written all over it. He'll be a while. House can escape if he hurries. If he chooses escape. If he thinks there is anywhere to escape to.]
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The opposite. It's always the opposite. It's life he'd tried to run from. Keeping his distance, never involved, digging through the past, giving up on the future. House is desperately unhappy but he's alive and trying to stay that way, and Beckett can't tear that will out of him. And there goes the tipping point between reason and wrath. There comes the beast, old loyal friend, to sweep away the shards of his broken mind.
His struggle to rise is savage, but at the same time pathetic, wounded animal written all over it. He'll be a while. House can escape if he hurries. If he chooses escape. If he thinks there is anywhere to escape to.]