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It's easy for him to watch them. He does his job. He's efficient at that. But he's good enough, and efficient enough, that it leaves him too much time. He thinks too much. Possibly they all do. Possibly it's the side effect of the way they work, constantly questioning. Constantly having to hold encyclopaedias-worth of knowledge in their heads at all times. All the time. It makes him crazy, but he doesn't show that either.
The others are all so highly strung.
He watches as Cameron throws a piece of her heart away yet again. It makes him mad that he can't do that. Get emotionally involved. Get so involved that he ends up crying in the scrub room. But when she raises her tear-stained face to his as he proffers her the handkerchief, the only thing he can think to feel is irritation. Because they'll be a less efficient team. And House and Chase will run around after her again, in their own separate ways, because puppy-dog eyes, and scathing put-downs are still attention, after all. And then he wonders where even that emotion is coming from. The ability Cameron has to bleed empathy on cue might be attractive in a dime-novel heroine, but is it really appropriate in an immunologist? Is it something he should feel jealous over?
Jealousy? Where did that come from?
Chase is the golden boy. If by golden you can mean incredibly fucked-up. But that doesn't seem to matter either, when it comes to Chase. It makes him tired watching those little cupid bow lips shape their perfect sentences, their slightly flat, exotic tones adding an air of mystery… Or at least, that is how that same dime-store novel might describe Chase, if he had leisure to read trash like that. If he had leisure, full stop. He wonders when he last had a chance to relax and be himself. If he even knows who that is.
He remembers Sharon though. A release if not a romance. But even that was fucked-up, and work-related in the end. So perhaps he shouldn't have leisure, or think about relationships, because they'll only end up messy, and inefficient, and he likes efficiency, remember? He likes tidiness.
And he shouldn't date at work. Like he doesn't already know.
Flowers turn to follow the sun.
They may do it slowly, so you never catch them at it, but the movement is still inexorable. He looks around Princeton-Plainsboro and thinks that sometimes they all turn to follow that light. The life-giver. The fucking centre of the universe. Or is that just how it feels?
Maybe he can empathise with something after all, because he doesn't want to turn, he doesn't want to be a good little satellite orbiting around its master, like the rest of them; revolving, revolving round their spindles. He's not sure that helps though, since it doesn't seem to stop him. Perhaps he should go back to just being efficient. It might be easier.
But the wheels within wheels would still keep turning, and he would still think too much.
He can learn from House. He must remember that. He can learn that strong sunlight burns those who stay out in it too long.
Cuddy has the right of it. She doesn't let their antics and manipulations get to her either. He admires Cuddy, wonders what she does that makes it so easy. And then he watches her fall, watches her get as emotionally involved as any of them. And then he knows he's missing something. Something important. He wonders what it will take to get to get it back.
He's watching, always watching from the outside in.
He watched Cameron go on her date with House, and he watched her manipulate even him. He laughs at it, because really, what will it take to make them notice him instead. Being the black guy? Is that his only role? He's the one that was hired because of his record. Why is that what still defines him? He wants more than that. He always has. Why has he even crawled out of his own past, if that is the only thing he's valued for?
He watches Chase become so very breakable. So very fragile. He watches House enjoy that. He watches him yearn to snap Chase like a twig. Watches him prod and pry, and wants that. Wants that.
Perhaps he wants to be less efficient after all.
So he takes Chase out and gets him drunk. He orders gin and tonics in the bar, and he sees Chase tense and hesitate, and then drink them anyway. He tempts Cameron to talk about her husband, a little; tearing tiny cracks in that so vulnerable, infinitely tough shell. He wonders if that is all it will take. Notice me, he thinks. Notice me, you bastard. I'm more than the black guy, more than a comfortable pair of matching sneakers. I can do what you do. I can make them bend and break for me. Watch me.
Just watch me.
One night he takes a length of wire and a screwdriver and he steals the corvette. It doesn't take much. Old skills are rusty, it's true, but then the car park attendant sees only a doctor. A man supposed to be there. He drives it out, and then tears up and down the dark streets, pushing the car to its limit. The thought of getting stopped for speeding only adds a slight tremble to his hands, a rictus grin to his face. He feels more alive than he has in months. He takes the car back quietly and parks it up. He sits, and the metal tings and pops as it cools. The sweat on his back cools too. This isn't the way. But he doesn't know what is.
He drinks coffee. They all do. But it surprises him when he's given a cup by Wilson, poured as he likes it, and he's sat down in the cafeteria, and talked to for an inane half hour. It's weird. It's more than weird; it's scary. He doesn't know what he says, but he knows he lets Wilson do most of the talking. He wants to let it go, but he doesn't know how. He and Wilson have never talked. Not talked.
It bothers him until he thinks about why Wilson might want to talk to him. It reminds him that he wants to become more vulnerable, right? More emotional. He wants to be noticed. Well. And that's the issue. Maybe Wilson is the soft soap. The first line of attack. He often is, for House. And then he tastes anticipation in the gritty dregs of his cup. Be careful what you wish for, says the adage. He wonders how careful you have to be when you get exactly what you wished for.
He still doesn't want to orbit the sun.
He wonders if House knows that.
The tap of the cane signals something now. It means that his plan is working. Plan? When did this become something as concrete as a plan? But he surprises speculation on House's face sometimes these days. He gets more than just jibes. It stretches him, makes him a little angry. It feels good.
He doesn't have time for a relationship. He doesn't have the leisure. But when House throws a bill for repairs into his lap one day, and raises an eyebrow, even as he mutters some inane insult, triumph isn't the only thing he can feel. It may not be the efficient way, the tidy way, but he matters now. He matters.
The corvette may be scratched, but there's more than one kind of damage.
And there's more than one way to pay.