fandomtownies | Spike's Pub

"I never doubted his feelins for me," House says softly, no doubt saying more in the words he didn't say.

"Good. It's the doubt that does the most damage," Aziraphale replied, his voice soft as well. "As long as you don't doubt him, you'll both be fine. Even if it seems difficult now."

He puts a hand over House's. "Now, my dear, I didn't bring you out here to dampen your spirits. So we aren't going to talk about things that worry you any more tonight." A mischievous glint lights up his eyes. "We're going to play a game. You tell me something that you find interesting, and then ask me a question."

"That's a wide open field." House says with a little smile, wheels in his head turning to think of a good question. He fishes another piece of ice out of his glass and sucks on it.

"I suppose I shouldn't go for the big ones, like's what the meaning of it all, or why this had to happen to my leg." He stirred the rest of his ice with a finger.

[OOC: My brain is mush...I have got to go to bed. Can we slowtime till tomorrow?]

"No, I'm afraid there isn't much I can do with those questions, Greg. Even if I knew the answers, which I don't, I wouldn't be allowed to tell you." Aziraphale laughs softly, smiling at the bartender as he requested a refill on his beer.

"Do you have a second choice?"

[ooc: Slowtime is fine -- I won't be online until late, but I don't mind slowplaying at all. :)]

House shakes his head at the inquiry to refill his scotch. "Coke, no ice."

He draws his attention back to Aziraphale. "Do you think we're all here, where we are right now, for a reason?" he asks after a moment. He wasn't sure the angel could give him an answer, if there was an answer, but it was something he struggled with.

Everything he'd done, everything he'd experienced, had led to this point. Had led to coming to Fandom, and opening the door to a whole new exerience. But why? Was there more to it than chance and coincidence?

After a long sip of his beer, the angel answers. "Yes, I do. You're given choices to make, of course. But those choices are given for a reason. There is a Plan, Greg, even if it may not be apparent. You find your own way, but He has a destination in mind."

Aziraphale watches the doctor over his glass, waiting to see what his next move will be. Some people react well to the idea of a Plan, others don't care for the idea. So he waits to see what House's response will be.

House merely nods. He agrees with it, and he disagrees withit, and so there isn't one solid answer for him. He believes there is a plan, he believes he survived the infarction for a reason, he just hasn't figured out what it is yet. The fact his liver didn't start objecting to the Vicodin until he was in a place in his life where he wanted to fight it is just further evidence.

But then, he thinks, why him? Why did it happen to him? He may not have been the nicest guy all the time, but he never hurt anyone, and in fact devoted his life to trying o save people. He didn't deserve to be crippled, and that's what has always eaten at him.

"There's something still bothering you, isn't there? Some question that you want to ask, but you don't want to ask?"

The hardest part of a conversation about destiny? Mortals always want to know why them, but they never like the answer.

"Other than why me? I don't know. Why am I here?" He shakes his head. "I know, that's the great mystery of life. Why do some of us survive and others fall? Why did I de, when I had the chance? There's a million questions, and every one only breeds more questions, more uncertainty, and there's never a satisfying answer. I don't evny you, you know. All the things you must have seen, and survived."

He takes the straw out of coke and sips it from the glass. Maybe he should have gotten another scotch.

"My dear, you want the uncertainty. Would you really prefer to know everything that was planned for you? To feel that you had no say in it at all? Trust me, the uncertainty, as much as it frustrates us, is there for a reason."

He takes another drink, and continues. "And as for 'why me'...it's not you. It's everyone. Every person has their own 'why me'. You have to stop wondering what you did to deserve the lot you've drawn, because you haven't done anything. Your choices have led you to the place you're in, but your role in the plan isn't based on reward or punishment. It simply is."

"I get that. Except, I've spent my whole life trying to puzzle out the reasons. When I was at Princeton Plainsboro, a patient had to be pretty bad off to get my attention. I had one guy, a jazz singer who'd been paralysed for years. He had a DNR, and I disreguarded it when he coded because I had to know what was wrong with him. I couldn't just let him die. He had a tumor that disguised itself incredibly well, but since we found it, he's doing great. He's not paralysed, he has some minor medical problems, but he's alive and well and making music. Two years ago he was dead on the table. Does that mean he wasn't supposed to die after all, and I was the catalyst that prevented it, or did I alter the course of his destiny?"

"His true destiny? You can't alter that, my dear. But I think perhaps people often assume that one's destiny comes when one dies. Perhaps he'd already fulfilled his role in the plan...possibly even years before you met him. You can't know what lies ahead for others, my dear. What you have to concentrate on is your choices. Your jazz singer made his choice to request agaisnt resucitation. You made your choice to disregard that. Your actions didn't invalidate his -- he'd already made his decision. And his decision was a part of what allowed you to make yours."

Aziraphale pauses for another drink. "The Plan is complex, Greg. It isn't for the likes of us to understand."

House takes a drink of his coke. he definitely should have gone for the second scotch. The slight buzz he'd had was fading fast.

"Maybe not, but that doesn't stop some of us from trying to figure it out, because with out that, what is here? If I stop questioning it and just sit back and watch the world go by, what's the point of living?"

"Yes, precisely. Don't ever stop questioning, my dear. Just don't give up when you can't find all of the answers."

He reaches over and waves a hand absently over House's glass, which now appears to be half-filled with scotch instead of soda. Smiling brightly, he says, "Do you know, most people won't talk about these things with me. I don't know if they're afraid I'll actually answer them, or if they just think it rude."

"That's a good trick." Which of course he had seen before with his tea. But still. He takes a sip of the scotch.

"Could be they're afraid of their own mortality," he suggests, staring into the glass. "I told you once that I died, legally dead for more than a minute when I was in hospital. I remember it. I remember laying there, knowing I was going to die. I knew I was taking my last breath. And I remember waking up, after they revived me, and I felt...empty. Dying was peaceful, compared to what I faced afterward. There was no great revalation, no white light. There was nothing. I knew they were working on me, trying to bring me back, but it felt like watching a movie."

He takes another sip and lets the scotch warm him, imagining he could feel it slide down his throat and into his stomach.

"Many people are," the angel agrees, sipping at his beer. "It's an unknown, and most people are frightened of the unknown. Even I am, every once in a while," he adds, smiling.

"Are you sorry, that they brought you back?"

"I was angry, for a long time. Dying would have been easier. I know there are people who have faced battles worse than what I suffered, but for me, it was the worst thing I've ever been through, and every day was a struggle. Some days, I still fight to get out of bed because it would be easier to lay there and refuse to fight.

"If Wilson hadn't been there, I don't know that I would have fought at all. My girlfriend betrayed me, and I pushed her away because I couldn't look at her without thinking about what she'd done. I took a lot of my frustration out on James, and he so stubborn he kept coming back for more.

"You may be a literal angel, but he's one too. At least for me."

"I know he is, my dear. One doesn't need to be an Angel to be an angel."

Aziraphale stops for a moment, an enigmatic smile on his face as he thinks of Crowley, and what lengths the demon went to in helping him when he needed it.

"But...you didn't answer my question."

"Wasn't it you who said, not all questions have an answer?" House asks with only the barest hint of a smirk.

"The truth is, I don't know. I'm glad I'm here, with Wilson, and that never would have happened if I'd died."

"Not at all, my dear. I said that we're not always allowed to know the answer." Aziraphale smiles, not at all put off by House's dry response.

"Now. I believe we agreed that you had to tell me something that interests you, along with asking your question."

House clicks his tongue and takes another sip of his drink.

"Motorcycles interest me. Do you think James would strangle me if wanted to buy one?"

The angel contemplates this for a moment. "Yes, I believe he would. But I don't think that ought to stop you." Chuckling, he adds, "You can't do everything his way, you know. Sometimes we have to keep them on their toes."

House grins at the angel over the top of his glass.

"I'll at least wait until spring. Winter isn't the ideal time to be out on a bike." He rubs the edge of the bar.

"Quite true," Aziraphale nods, returning the doctor's grin with a pleased smile of his own. "I do hope I can come and see it, though, when you do buy it."

Finishing off his beer, he says cheerily, "Shall we have another question, then? With the attendant confession, of course."

House arched on brow and finishes off his scotch. "Attendant confession? What do you want me to confess to?" He asks, with a hint of mischief.

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