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New Fic: Family, Friends and Other Complications
Chapter Three: When Greg Went Home
Author: Namaste
Rating: Gen, PG
Summary: Blythe makes peace with knowing she’s not the most important person in her son’s life.
Previous chapters are here:
When Blythe Met James
When Greg Got Sick
When Greg Went Home
Blythe watched from across the room as James took the last few items out of the night stand drawer: a book, headphones, a harmonica, the electric razor Greg never used as often as she would have liked.
“Is that everything?” James put them in the gym bag on Greg’s bed.
Greg stood next to the bed, crutches under his arms, his right foot resting lightly on the floor. Blythe wondered if he was in pain, or trying to work out the tension that she could feel radiating off of him as he squeezed his hands tight on the crutches’ foam pads, his knuckles turning white. He finally nodded and James zipped the bag shut.
Blythe had hoped she’d finally see him smile today, finally see him looking happy to be going home. He’d complained often enough about the hospital room. The mattress was too thin, and the sheets too stiff, he’d say. It was too loud, or too quiet. It was too cold, or too hot. It was too bright to sleep, or too dark to read.
“For as much as we’re paying, we should at least get some porn on the TV,” he’d said once, tossing the remote aside.
“Greg,” she’d admonished, but he wasn’t paying attention. Wasn’t even trying to amuse himself by trying to get a reaction from her. He’d gone back to staring at the wheelchair that had been placed in his room. His face was blank. Blythe couldn’t make out what he was thinking, what he was feeling, and she wasn’t sure what that meant. He’d always let her in before, let the mask drop, given her just the slightest glimpse even as he hid himself away from John, from his teachers, from his teammates.
Now he shut her out too.
“He doesn’t want you to worry,” James assured her.
They had been sitting at the diner just down the road from the hospital. Lunch became their tradition the day after John left, when James told her she should take some time away, just relax for a few minutes.
“All you see are the walls here, and the walls at the hotel,” he said.
“You’re no better,” she reminded him, and James gave her a sheepish smile.
“Then we can both use the break,” he’d said.
Blythe had sat with her cup of soup, idly stirring the thick broth as it cooled. “I can’t do anything for him,” she’d confessed. “He doesn’t need me.”
“Yes, he does,” James said. “He just doesn’t realize that yet.”
So Blythe kept going back, talking to Greg about everything, and about nothing -- about the house at the new base, about his aunts and cousins, about John’s latest assignments, about the places they had been.
He had responded, had given the expected answers, but his expression never changed. Blythe had hoped he would open himself up to Stacy, but he didn’t seem to be any better with her.
James had finally told her some of what happened, of the decision Stacy had made. Greg had refused to talk to her about it, claiming he was tired and needed to sleep anytime she brought it up. Stacy just shook her head and said she wasn’t ready to talk about it either.
“Not yet,” she’d said. “Maybe when Greg’s ready I’ll finally be ready.”
It took nearly a week before Greg let the mask slip, and he didn’t do it for her, or for Stacy.
Blythe was in the hall on her way to Greg’s room when she heard his voice.
“And it never occurred to him that he was attempting to give a pelvic exam to a transvestite?” Blythe ignored the words and concentrated on the tone of his voice. Greg sounded ... almost happy. He seemed to have more energy than he had that morning, or the night before, or the morning before that.
“Clueless.” James laughed at his own story.
“Med students get dumber every year,” Greg said. “And the nurse never clued him in?”
“I think the nurse set him up,” James said.
“I don’t know if we should thank that nurse, or fear her,” Greg said.
“Both, probably.”
Greg chuckled -- just for a moment -- and Blythe closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, then stepped into the room. There was a light behind Greg’s eyes, and it lingered there even when James excused himself, saying he had to see a patient.
“Guess I missed the big joke,” she said, and Greg shook his head.
“Medical stuff,” he said. “You’d be bored.”
The mask fell back into place when a nurse came in with Greg’s medicine, and stayed there through the rest of the day. It was there the next morning, and the next.
It was only when James was there that he seemed to relax. Blythe would sit in a chair at the edge of the room, pretending to read, and watch them. She saw the way that James could make him let go of whatever he hid from her and from Stacy.
She’d catch snatches of their mumbled conversations filled with hospital gossip, interesting patients, intriguing diseases or even the results of a ball game. Greg’s voice would stop and she’d see James lean in, listen to some whispered secret Greg wouldn’t share with anyone else. Later she’d catch James making notes in Greg’s file at the nurse’s desk, explaining something to them in quiet tones she could never make out.
She told herself that she wasn’t jealous that it was James who Greg confided in, rather than her, though she knew she was. She missed that part of him that had belonged only to her. But she consoled herself that at least Greg had someone he trusted. That was the important part.
Blythe called John at the end of the week, told him she’d be coming home in a few days, as soon as Greg was settled back at home.
“Good,” John said. “I’m getting tired of eating at the officer’s club.”
She laughed. “And I miss you, too,” she said.
She heard the squeak of the rubber tip on Greg’s crutches on the tile floor as he turned. James had the bag slung over his shoulder and waited as Greg settled himself down in the wheelchair for the ride out to the car.
Stacy had stayed at home, getting some last minute things done before Greg came home and Greg rode home in silence, sitting in the passenger seat of James’ car, the seat pushed all the way back.
James stood aside and let Greg open the door when they got the condo, and Greg pushed the door wide open. Stacy had picked up the rugs so the wooden floorboards were bare -- nothing to trip over, Blythe thought. Stacy had even moved some of the chairs out of the center of the living room, making a wider path between the front door and the kitchen.
“Welcome home,” Stacy said, and kissed Greg as he stood in the entryway.
Greg hunched forward on his crutches, looking at the walls, at the furniture. Blythe wondered if he was noting everything that had been removed, or everything that remained. “Good to be home,” he said. She couldn’t tell if the words meant anything to him.
He passed through the living room and across to the hallway. He stopped outside the bathroom and stared inside at the changes -- the grab bars, the shower seat, the bare tile floors. James watched Greg, then slowly stepped up to him.
“You probably want to take a break,” he said. Greg didn’t respond. “I’m going to take your Mom out for one last lunch, see if I can’t get any more juicy stories out of her.”
Greg turned to him, looked at Blythe and nodded, then turned away from the bathroom, headed toward the bedroom.
They ended up inside a restaurant at the mall. The lunch crowd had already cleared out, and they found a booth next to the windows. Blythe ordered a sandwich and looked outside. There was a woman walking up to the mall’s entrance, one hand pushing a stroller, the other holding tight to a young boy. The boy was pulling her forward, trying to break away, to get inside, but she held fast.
The waitress came by with their drinks as the woman reached the door, let go long enough to pull it open.
James took his Coke and put the iced tea in front of Blythe.
“It’s all right for you to go back home,” he said. He leaned forward and kept his voice soft. Blythe wondered how many times he’d had this conversation before, reassuring anxious families that somehow everything would be all right, even though everything had changed.
“Things are going to get better,” he said, “and now that Greg’s home, maybe he’ll realize that.”
She nodded and went back to looking out the window. Teenagers passed by, laughing, shouting. Blythe wondered if any of them had every really been afraid. Or maybe they were all like Greg, and like John, and like herself -- she glanced across the table -- and like James too, she thought. Maybe they were all hiding something.
The waitress returned with their food and James smiled at her before he took a bite of his corned beef. Blythe wondered if knew how hard it was for her to leave.
“When Greg was nearly four, he decided he was old enough to go to the park on his own,” Blythe said. She closed her eyes for a moment, focused her memory on Greg when he was just a boy: blue jeans and canvas tennis shoes, the straw cowboy hat he’d insisted on wearing every day for three months. For some reason she needed James to know this, to know that he understood how much she needed to trust him.
“Of course, he felt he didn’t need to tell me this,” she said, and opened her eyes to see James looking back at her. “I was doing the laundry, and when I turned around, he’d just ... disappeared.”
She took a sip of her iced tea, then added more sugar to the glass, taking time to fix the memory in her mind.
“At first, I thought he’d gone to play in his room, but when I looked he wasn’t there. Then I looked in the living room and he wasn’t there either. He wasn’t in the backyard, he wasn’t in the driveway, he wasn’t playing in the neighbor’s yard.” She shook her head. “I started calling his name, then I was yelling for him, and he never answered.”
Blythe felt a faint reminder of that fear in her chest. “The neighbors couldn’t find him, the police were out looking for him.” She shook her head, then looked James in the eye. “Sometimes, it feels like that all over again. As if he’s going to slip away the minute I turn my back.”
She smiled slightly, trying to ignore her own fears that grew the closer she came to leaving. “In my head, I know that he’s going to be all right,” she said. “I know it’s all right for me to leave. I know he’s a grown man who doesn’t need his mother looking after him. But sometimes ... sometimes deep in my heart I’m afraid that if I go back to California, if I take my eyes off him, that I’ll never see him again.”
James reached across the table and placed a hand on Blythe’s own. “I’m not going to tell you not to worry,” he said, “but remember that you’ve got me here keeping an eye on him for you, and Stacy too.”
Blythe sighed and put her hand on top of James’ hand.
“Besides,” James said, with a smile, “I know something that could give you just what every mother needs -- eyes in the back of your head.”
---------------
Wilson programmed House’s number into Blythe’s new cell phone. He added Stacy’s office number to the memory, and Stacy’s cell phone. He programmed his own numbers -- for work, for home, for his cell. He hesitated just a moment before adding House’s office number, telling himself that House would be back to work. Maybe not soon, but someday.
He had bought the first phone and plan that caught his eye at the electronics store, and was in and out so quickly that Blythe was still nibbling at her sandwich when he returned to the restaurant. He slid the phone across the table to her.
“Now you can call him from anywhere,” he said, “and he’ll be able to call you.”
“Thank you,” she said, and smiled. “I imagine I’ll be making most of the calls though.”
Wilson smiled and nodded. He leaned back against the vinyl upholstery in the booth. He tried to relax and not think about how House would adjust, or if he ever would, or how much of the House that he’d known would remain. He tried to take the advice he always gave his patients -- to think about how far they’d come, not how far they still had to go.
He nodded to the waitress and ordered a piece of chocolate cake. “It’s a celebration,” he told Blythe. “Greg’s home, so let’s think positively. Besides, I won’t have a chance to spoil you again for a while.”
Blythe hesitated for just a moment, then ordered a piece of coconut cream pie.
She finished her sandwich before the dessert arrived and moved her plate to the edge of the table. Wilson waited as she took a drink of her sweet tea.
“So how did you find Greg back then when he disappeared?” he asked. “Did he just wander home by himself?”
Blythe shook her head. “John found him,” she said. “He drove around the neighborhood for more than an hour and finally saw him at the park.” She seemed lost in thought, and Wilson wondered how fresh the memories still were.
“Three other people had been by the park already, but they didn’t find him,” Blythe said. “John did. He was lying in the shade, taking a nap. John picked him up, brought him home, gave him a spanking and sent him to bed. Greg couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong. As far as he was concerned, he just went to the park, like he always did.”
Wilson smiled. It was easy to picture House like that, stubbornly insisting he’d done nothing wrong. Some things never changed. “His father must have been furious,” he said.
Blythe looked at him as if he didn’t understand a word of anything she’d just said. “No,” she said, and shook her head. “He was terrified.”
The waitress arrived with the desserts and Wilson waited while she placed them on the table. Blythe spun her plate until the pie pointed towards her. She picked up her fork, but didn’t take a bite.
“I’ve seen John before he was sent to Vietnam,” she said when the waitress left. “I’ve seen him when he came home. I’ve seen him when he realized he had to send other men into conflict, knowing that not all of them would come home. And nothing and no one could ever scare him the way Greg could.”
She pushed the fork down through layers of meringue and custard. Wilson waited out her silence.
“It’s the reason John was always so hard on Greg.” Blythe shook her head, still caught in memories. “He was afraid that if he didn’t hold tight, if he wasn’t strict -- too strict sometimes -- then Greg would never become who he was meant to be.”
She looked up and stared Wilson in the eye, and he was reminded of the intense gaze House had when he was serious, when he knew something no one else did. “I’m not saying that John was perfect. He made mistakes. We both did. But John was never really angry with Greg. He just got ... he gets...” she corrected herself and smiled at some private thought, “he gets frustrated, and he’d get scared, and sometimes he could never see that his ways weren’t always what Greg needed.”
Blythe finally took a bite of her pie and Wilson tried to picture John House as he must have been then -- his stiff posture, his firm expression, his blunt words.
Instead all he could see was his own father, the way he’d tried to teach his sons about the world in his quiet, patient voice. Never yelling, always waiting for them to discover the answers on their own. He thought about his missing brother, and wondered if his own father, on some quiet night, had ever questioned if his ways were always the best choice.
“You won’t tell him, will you?” Blythe asked.
“No.” Wilson shook his head. “It’ll be our secret.”
Chapter Three: When Greg Went Home
Author: Namaste
Rating: Gen, PG
Summary: Blythe makes peace with knowing she’s not the most important person in her son’s life.
Previous chapters are here:
When Blythe Met James
When Greg Got Sick
When Greg Went Home
Blythe watched from across the room as James took the last few items out of the night stand drawer: a book, headphones, a harmonica, the electric razor Greg never used as often as she would have liked.
“Is that everything?” James put them in the gym bag on Greg’s bed.
Greg stood next to the bed, crutches under his arms, his right foot resting lightly on the floor. Blythe wondered if he was in pain, or trying to work out the tension that she could feel radiating off of him as he squeezed his hands tight on the crutches’ foam pads, his knuckles turning white. He finally nodded and James zipped the bag shut.
Blythe had hoped she’d finally see him smile today, finally see him looking happy to be going home. He’d complained often enough about the hospital room. The mattress was too thin, and the sheets too stiff, he’d say. It was too loud, or too quiet. It was too cold, or too hot. It was too bright to sleep, or too dark to read.
“For as much as we’re paying, we should at least get some porn on the TV,” he’d said once, tossing the remote aside.
“Greg,” she’d admonished, but he wasn’t paying attention. Wasn’t even trying to amuse himself by trying to get a reaction from her. He’d gone back to staring at the wheelchair that had been placed in his room. His face was blank. Blythe couldn’t make out what he was thinking, what he was feeling, and she wasn’t sure what that meant. He’d always let her in before, let the mask drop, given her just the slightest glimpse even as he hid himself away from John, from his teachers, from his teammates.
Now he shut her out too.
“He doesn’t want you to worry,” James assured her.
They had been sitting at the diner just down the road from the hospital. Lunch became their tradition the day after John left, when James told her she should take some time away, just relax for a few minutes.
“All you see are the walls here, and the walls at the hotel,” he said.
“You’re no better,” she reminded him, and James gave her a sheepish smile.
“Then we can both use the break,” he’d said.
Blythe had sat with her cup of soup, idly stirring the thick broth as it cooled. “I can’t do anything for him,” she’d confessed. “He doesn’t need me.”
“Yes, he does,” James said. “He just doesn’t realize that yet.”
So Blythe kept going back, talking to Greg about everything, and about nothing -- about the house at the new base, about his aunts and cousins, about John’s latest assignments, about the places they had been.
He had responded, had given the expected answers, but his expression never changed. Blythe had hoped he would open himself up to Stacy, but he didn’t seem to be any better with her.
James had finally told her some of what happened, of the decision Stacy had made. Greg had refused to talk to her about it, claiming he was tired and needed to sleep anytime she brought it up. Stacy just shook her head and said she wasn’t ready to talk about it either.
“Not yet,” she’d said. “Maybe when Greg’s ready I’ll finally be ready.”
It took nearly a week before Greg let the mask slip, and he didn’t do it for her, or for Stacy.
Blythe was in the hall on her way to Greg’s room when she heard his voice.
“And it never occurred to him that he was attempting to give a pelvic exam to a transvestite?” Blythe ignored the words and concentrated on the tone of his voice. Greg sounded ... almost happy. He seemed to have more energy than he had that morning, or the night before, or the morning before that.
“Clueless.” James laughed at his own story.
“Med students get dumber every year,” Greg said. “And the nurse never clued him in?”
“I think the nurse set him up,” James said.
“I don’t know if we should thank that nurse, or fear her,” Greg said.
“Both, probably.”
Greg chuckled -- just for a moment -- and Blythe closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, then stepped into the room. There was a light behind Greg’s eyes, and it lingered there even when James excused himself, saying he had to see a patient.
“Guess I missed the big joke,” she said, and Greg shook his head.
“Medical stuff,” he said. “You’d be bored.”
The mask fell back into place when a nurse came in with Greg’s medicine, and stayed there through the rest of the day. It was there the next morning, and the next.
It was only when James was there that he seemed to relax. Blythe would sit in a chair at the edge of the room, pretending to read, and watch them. She saw the way that James could make him let go of whatever he hid from her and from Stacy.
She’d catch snatches of their mumbled conversations filled with hospital gossip, interesting patients, intriguing diseases or even the results of a ball game. Greg’s voice would stop and she’d see James lean in, listen to some whispered secret Greg wouldn’t share with anyone else. Later she’d catch James making notes in Greg’s file at the nurse’s desk, explaining something to them in quiet tones she could never make out.
She told herself that she wasn’t jealous that it was James who Greg confided in, rather than her, though she knew she was. She missed that part of him that had belonged only to her. But she consoled herself that at least Greg had someone he trusted. That was the important part.
Blythe called John at the end of the week, told him she’d be coming home in a few days, as soon as Greg was settled back at home.
“Good,” John said. “I’m getting tired of eating at the officer’s club.”
She laughed. “And I miss you, too,” she said.
She heard the squeak of the rubber tip on Greg’s crutches on the tile floor as he turned. James had the bag slung over his shoulder and waited as Greg settled himself down in the wheelchair for the ride out to the car.
Stacy had stayed at home, getting some last minute things done before Greg came home and Greg rode home in silence, sitting in the passenger seat of James’ car, the seat pushed all the way back.
James stood aside and let Greg open the door when they got the condo, and Greg pushed the door wide open. Stacy had picked up the rugs so the wooden floorboards were bare -- nothing to trip over, Blythe thought. Stacy had even moved some of the chairs out of the center of the living room, making a wider path between the front door and the kitchen.
“Welcome home,” Stacy said, and kissed Greg as he stood in the entryway.
Greg hunched forward on his crutches, looking at the walls, at the furniture. Blythe wondered if he was noting everything that had been removed, or everything that remained. “Good to be home,” he said. She couldn’t tell if the words meant anything to him.
He passed through the living room and across to the hallway. He stopped outside the bathroom and stared inside at the changes -- the grab bars, the shower seat, the bare tile floors. James watched Greg, then slowly stepped up to him.
“You probably want to take a break,” he said. Greg didn’t respond. “I’m going to take your Mom out for one last lunch, see if I can’t get any more juicy stories out of her.”
Greg turned to him, looked at Blythe and nodded, then turned away from the bathroom, headed toward the bedroom.
They ended up inside a restaurant at the mall. The lunch crowd had already cleared out, and they found a booth next to the windows. Blythe ordered a sandwich and looked outside. There was a woman walking up to the mall’s entrance, one hand pushing a stroller, the other holding tight to a young boy. The boy was pulling her forward, trying to break away, to get inside, but she held fast.
The waitress came by with their drinks as the woman reached the door, let go long enough to pull it open.
James took his Coke and put the iced tea in front of Blythe.
“It’s all right for you to go back home,” he said. He leaned forward and kept his voice soft. Blythe wondered how many times he’d had this conversation before, reassuring anxious families that somehow everything would be all right, even though everything had changed.
“Things are going to get better,” he said, “and now that Greg’s home, maybe he’ll realize that.”
She nodded and went back to looking out the window. Teenagers passed by, laughing, shouting. Blythe wondered if any of them had every really been afraid. Or maybe they were all like Greg, and like John, and like herself -- she glanced across the table -- and like James too, she thought. Maybe they were all hiding something.
The waitress returned with their food and James smiled at her before he took a bite of his corned beef. Blythe wondered if knew how hard it was for her to leave.
“When Greg was nearly four, he decided he was old enough to go to the park on his own,” Blythe said. She closed her eyes for a moment, focused her memory on Greg when he was just a boy: blue jeans and canvas tennis shoes, the straw cowboy hat he’d insisted on wearing every day for three months. For some reason she needed James to know this, to know that he understood how much she needed to trust him.
“Of course, he felt he didn’t need to tell me this,” she said, and opened her eyes to see James looking back at her. “I was doing the laundry, and when I turned around, he’d just ... disappeared.”
She took a sip of her iced tea, then added more sugar to the glass, taking time to fix the memory in her mind.
“At first, I thought he’d gone to play in his room, but when I looked he wasn’t there. Then I looked in the living room and he wasn’t there either. He wasn’t in the backyard, he wasn’t in the driveway, he wasn’t playing in the neighbor’s yard.” She shook her head. “I started calling his name, then I was yelling for him, and he never answered.”
Blythe felt a faint reminder of that fear in her chest. “The neighbors couldn’t find him, the police were out looking for him.” She shook her head, then looked James in the eye. “Sometimes, it feels like that all over again. As if he’s going to slip away the minute I turn my back.”
She smiled slightly, trying to ignore her own fears that grew the closer she came to leaving. “In my head, I know that he’s going to be all right,” she said. “I know it’s all right for me to leave. I know he’s a grown man who doesn’t need his mother looking after him. But sometimes ... sometimes deep in my heart I’m afraid that if I go back to California, if I take my eyes off him, that I’ll never see him again.”
James reached across the table and placed a hand on Blythe’s own. “I’m not going to tell you not to worry,” he said, “but remember that you’ve got me here keeping an eye on him for you, and Stacy too.”
Blythe sighed and put her hand on top of James’ hand.
“Besides,” James said, with a smile, “I know something that could give you just what every mother needs -- eyes in the back of your head.”
---------------
Wilson programmed House’s number into Blythe’s new cell phone. He added Stacy’s office number to the memory, and Stacy’s cell phone. He programmed his own numbers -- for work, for home, for his cell. He hesitated just a moment before adding House’s office number, telling himself that House would be back to work. Maybe not soon, but someday.
He had bought the first phone and plan that caught his eye at the electronics store, and was in and out so quickly that Blythe was still nibbling at her sandwich when he returned to the restaurant. He slid the phone across the table to her.
“Now you can call him from anywhere,” he said, “and he’ll be able to call you.”
“Thank you,” she said, and smiled. “I imagine I’ll be making most of the calls though.”
Wilson smiled and nodded. He leaned back against the vinyl upholstery in the booth. He tried to relax and not think about how House would adjust, or if he ever would, or how much of the House that he’d known would remain. He tried to take the advice he always gave his patients -- to think about how far they’d come, not how far they still had to go.
He nodded to the waitress and ordered a piece of chocolate cake. “It’s a celebration,” he told Blythe. “Greg’s home, so let’s think positively. Besides, I won’t have a chance to spoil you again for a while.”
Blythe hesitated for just a moment, then ordered a piece of coconut cream pie.
She finished her sandwich before the dessert arrived and moved her plate to the edge of the table. Wilson waited as she took a drink of her sweet tea.
“So how did you find Greg back then when he disappeared?” he asked. “Did he just wander home by himself?”
Blythe shook her head. “John found him,” she said. “He drove around the neighborhood for more than an hour and finally saw him at the park.” She seemed lost in thought, and Wilson wondered how fresh the memories still were.
“Three other people had been by the park already, but they didn’t find him,” Blythe said. “John did. He was lying in the shade, taking a nap. John picked him up, brought him home, gave him a spanking and sent him to bed. Greg couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong. As far as he was concerned, he just went to the park, like he always did.”
Wilson smiled. It was easy to picture House like that, stubbornly insisting he’d done nothing wrong. Some things never changed. “His father must have been furious,” he said.
Blythe looked at him as if he didn’t understand a word of anything she’d just said. “No,” she said, and shook her head. “He was terrified.”
The waitress arrived with the desserts and Wilson waited while she placed them on the table. Blythe spun her plate until the pie pointed towards her. She picked up her fork, but didn’t take a bite.
“I’ve seen John before he was sent to Vietnam,” she said when the waitress left. “I’ve seen him when he came home. I’ve seen him when he realized he had to send other men into conflict, knowing that not all of them would come home. And nothing and no one could ever scare him the way Greg could.”
She pushed the fork down through layers of meringue and custard. Wilson waited out her silence.
“It’s the reason John was always so hard on Greg.” Blythe shook her head, still caught in memories. “He was afraid that if he didn’t hold tight, if he wasn’t strict -- too strict sometimes -- then Greg would never become who he was meant to be.”
She looked up and stared Wilson in the eye, and he was reminded of the intense gaze House had when he was serious, when he knew something no one else did. “I’m not saying that John was perfect. He made mistakes. We both did. But John was never really angry with Greg. He just got ... he gets...” she corrected herself and smiled at some private thought, “he gets frustrated, and he’d get scared, and sometimes he could never see that his ways weren’t always what Greg needed.”
Blythe finally took a bite of her pie and Wilson tried to picture John House as he must have been then -- his stiff posture, his firm expression, his blunt words.
Instead all he could see was his own father, the way he’d tried to teach his sons about the world in his quiet, patient voice. Never yelling, always waiting for them to discover the answers on their own. He thought about his missing brother, and wondered if his own father, on some quiet night, had ever questioned if his ways were always the best choice.
“You won’t tell him, will you?” Blythe asked.
“No.” Wilson shook his head. “It’ll be our secret.”
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-19 11:37 pm (UTC)Another good chapter. Thanks :)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-19 11:48 pm (UTC)But like I said in the first part, I'm trying to keep this fic a little more organic, so I keep my brain open to those sorts of thoughts.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-19 11:47 pm (UTC)I loved this exchange:
“Good,” John said. “I’m getting tired of eating at the officer’s club.”
She laughed. “And I miss you, too,” she said.
At first glance he seems like an uptight jerk; at the second, he seems like House. This story continues being lovely :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-19 11:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 12:05 am (UTC)I agree that House would try to deny similarities to John, maybe even to a point where he's trained himself not to react like John in certain situations, even though he knows it would be the right way to act.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 12:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 12:00 am (UTC)Or Cameron. Always a bonus!
There wasn't enough Cuddy for my personal liking, but I have to remind myself that they were distancing themselves from each other at the time. So, again, it's very realistic and a little painful at the knowledge of how far they had to go to be close again.
*sniffles slightly*
Still, I can console myself with the fact that it eventually happened. *nods and memorizes this one*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 01:00 am (UTC)In terms of timing, I'm going to shoot for getting a chapter up every week, more or less. I had this one roughed out for a few days, but kept niggling away at Blythe's comments to Wilson about John before I was satisfied with it.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 12:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 01:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 01:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 01:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 01:19 am (UTC)And nothing and no one could ever scare him the way Greg could.
That line was a like a punch in the gut for very personal reasons. Wow. Yeah. So very, very good.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 01:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 06:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 01:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 01:43 pm (UTC)i also read all 3 chapters together, and wanted to express how much i loved them!
after reading this comment the best i can do is just agree with it wholheartedly, and say that i can't wait for the next installment!!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 02:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 09:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 01:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 10:14 am (UTC)please, update REALLY soon!
♥
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 01:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 12:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 01:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 02:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 03:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-21 01:56 am (UTC)There are so many lovely lines in this, but I particularly liked this passage for the insight into all the uncertainties of being a parent:
Instead all he could see was his own father, the way he’d tried to teach his sons about the the world in his quiet, patient voice. Never yelling, always waiting for them to discover the answers on their own. He thought about his missing brother, and wondered if his own father, on some quiet night, had ever questioned if his ways were always the best choice.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-21 04:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-21 03:18 am (UTC)Great interaction between Wilson and Blythe!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-21 04:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-08 06:30 am (UTC)That, my gosh, is a perfect line. How simple and elegant to show her...mom-ness. How House gets that precision from her. SO good.
Still hanging tough; will read these all tonight (some twice)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-08 01:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-20 06:09 am (UTC)Ah... the chasms between fathers and sons... and the fact that, like it or not, we are all the children of our parents.
Again, brilliant! Like the others, I love the detail of the cell phone. I hope that in the show Wilson remembers who he is too. I think that House isn't the only one who's forgotten.
Onward,
Katrina