misanthrope_md | (no subject)

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House couldn't remember the last time he'd been in a serious, all-out fight. Sure, a punch thrown here or there, but after his encounter with Logan on the beach, it was fairly accurate to say that he'd gotten the crap beat out of him - not that Logan had come away from it great either. House would have liked to have thought that if he hadn't been a day out of two weeks of withdrawal he would have made a better showing, but... he was feeling every bit of his age, instead.

He'd somehow managed to drag himself off of the beach, and made it all the way to the tree line before his leg was hurting so badly that he just couldn't make it any farther. He sank down to the ground against a tree and took a deep breath. He brought his finger up to his mouth and found that he had a split lip, which should go nicely with what he highly suspected was a black eye.

He let his head loll back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes.

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"Aren't you even going to ask what happened?" House asked dryly. "And I don't need to go to the clinic, I just.." He groaned as his leg started to throb again. "Christ."

"Do I need to ask? You look like you lost a fight," Mark said calmly. "Which means you're going to the clinic because something could be broken and that's the last thing you need on top of everything else."

"I didn't lose," House muttered. "It was a draw. I might look like shit, but he got a cane to the nuts."

He lifted his gaze to Mark and added wryly, "If it makes you feel better I didn't throw the first punch."

Mark looked at him incredulously before he pressed the handkerchief into House's hand.

"You didn't start it...you just finished it? How seventh grade of you," he remarked. Biting wit aside, he offered his hand to the man. "Let's get going, this is going to take a while. You can tell me all about it."

"What was I supposed to do, just lay there and let him pound on me?" House said irritably. He reluctantly took Mark's hand and allowed him to help him pull him to his feet, even as he gritted his teeth. "I fell on my bad leg when I hit the ground."

"Yeah, I sort of guessed that." Mark sighed and shook his head. "Hard to believe there's anyone here more pissed at you than I am."

"It doesn't help knowing that I've suffered for my crimes?" House ground out as he took a tentative step and tried to ignore the shooting pain.

"I don't doubt you suffered, House," he replied indulgently. "And you're suffering now."

There was a beat.

"Karma's a bitch."

Okay, that was it.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Mark!" House exploded - though to be honest, it was a pretty weak explosion. "If you're going to do this all the way to the compound, then do me a favor and just leave me here. I said I was sorry, okay? I'm sorry I stole from you, and I'm sorry I betrayed your trust. But I'm not sorry that I chose to spend half a year not in pain, and if that makes me a junkie, then fine, I'm a fucking junkie, but I don't need you to tell me that."

"Are you really?" he asked, the hurt and distrust bleeding through the three words. Mark knew what his weakness was and he knew he was just asking for more heartache, but still...

"Are you really sorry?"

It was amazing that he guarded his heart so well and hid behind the lens and excuses and obliviousness and yet when it really mattered...he might as well have held his heart in his hands and offered it up for sacrifice.

"Goddamnit, Mark, haven't I made that fucking clear?"

For an apology, it was awfully angry. But sincere. Especially for House.

"If I could do it all over again I would have... I don't know. Asked you. Told you. Or something. I don't know. But I'm sorry I hurt you, not that I did the stuff. Okay?"

If anger could have driven him away, Mark would have lost Roger long before they'd ever arrived here. He took it calmly, letting the vitriol break over him and fall away.

"Okay,"he said quietly, chastened and almost ashamed for even asking. Almost.

Well, that was... something.

"Seriously, if you could find it in you to like... not completely loathe me right now, I could use a little less of that in my life at the moment," he added weakly. "And look, about Prior... I'm glad he's okay." Which was as close as he'd get to an additional apology about that.

"I don't loathe you, House. I'm just..." Mark sighed heavily and bore the man up. At least, he thought, House wasn't as heavy and solid as Sheppard.

"You must be over it, being all the way out here."

"Over it? Yeah, I guess you could say that..." He didn't really like having to lean on Mark, but didn't have much of a choice. "Mostly back to the usual level of misery. I didn't walk all the way out here though, rode my bike." He scowled. "Flat tire."

"I'll see about getting it back. Lucky for you there's nobody who'll steal your wheels or strip it," he joked lamely. What was he doing? No, really? House had fucked him over...

But he'd done AA and he'd ultimately realized what a mess he was when he screwed up the diagnosis and had tried to make amends.

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