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New Fic: Blythe's Story
Title: Blythe's Story
Author: Namaste
Summary: "She did it because she was lonely, and because he'd reminded her so much of John."
PG, about 800 words.
Author's Note: Something of an experiment, using the additional background we've received about Blythe and John, via Season Five's "Birthmarks." I've been reading Roddy Doyle's books of short stories, "The Deportees," which are made up of 800-word chapters, and thought I'd play a little more with Blythe's life -- and House's history, of course -- with this format. Let me know what you think, and if I should continue.
Blythe would have told the truth, if anyone had ever asked.
She did it because she was lonely, she would have said, and because he'd reminded her so much of John.
She'd moved across the country to be with John, to start this new life, this adventure of marriage with him. She'd had so many dreams, imagined the two of them together, building their home, building their future.
But instead, she was alone. John would be there for a few days at a time, then his squad would get new orders. He'd be gone, and she'd be there, in this strange place, with hours and nights and days that stretched out in front of her.
She was surrounded by other women, women who had married into this world just like she had. But she didn't fit in with them. Not yet. She didn't speak their language, didn't understand the code they all knew, the shorthand for the number of days their husbands were deployed, for the bases they'd been to before. She didn't fit into the hierarchy of rank that snaked through every corner of the base.
Calling her own mother or sisters at home only widened the space between them. She'd hang up the phone and hear nothing but the hum of the refrigerator, the engines of a passing jet fighter.
John rarely wrote. When she'd asked him to -- during one of those brief stays at home -- he'd said he was saving up stories to tell her later, when they'd grown old together and he'd run out of things to say.
She went to the officer's club for dinner one night because she couldn't stand the silence of her own home. The dining room was packed, with everyone paired off. Husbands and wives standing together, eating together, talking together. The empty apartment suddenly seemed like a refuge.
Blythe turned to leave, but he was at the door. She thought she recognized him, and he smiled, reminded her that he was attached to John's squad, but said he was temporarily grounded.
"Inner ear infection," he said. "It messes with balance."
He invited her to share his table, "Call me Phil," he said, and when she hesitated, he promised he'd be a gentleman.
"My mother would never forgive me if I abandoned a lady in her moment of distress."
She thought of the dark apartment, the long hours alone until dawn. "If you insist," she said.
They parted after dinner, after she'd thanked him. "We should do this again sometime," he said.
And they did.
One night they lingered over drinks.
Another night, he walked her home.
"I was homesick for my mother's peach pie," Blythe said after another dinner, another walk to her door. "So I made some, but I'll never be able to eat it all by myself. Please, come in and have a piece."
His hair was the same shade of brown as John's, cut close to his scalp in the same military precision. He had the same build -- the same muscles melded into shape by Marine drill sergeants. He was an inch or two taller, though, and she found herself on her tiptoes when she kissed him, tasting the sugar and cinnamon and nutmeg from the pie.
"I should go," he said.
Blythe nodded, but kept her hand on his arm, and he stayed.
It happened only once. They both knew it had been a mistake. He'd apologized as he snuck out into the early morning darkness.
Blythe spent the day thinking of John, picturing what would happen if he knew, wondering if she should just leave. Go back home. Admit she'd failed -- not just that night, but in believing she could live in John's world. But she told herself to wait, not make a rash decision, not to compound one mistake with another.
John was home three weeks later, and swept her up in his arms. "New assignment," he said, when he finally put her down. He showed her the paper with a Marine air station in Hawaii listed after his name. "No more long deployments for a while," he said. "We can finally be together."
They were in Hawaii when she learned she was pregnant. The doctor estimated her due date, and she did the math, swallowed once, looked down at the floor. She felt tears in her eyes, saw two roads stretching out in front of her -- one dark and hard, the other a path she could walk with John, and with this new life that was growing inside her. A future for all of them.
She looked up at the doctor. "You must be wrong," she said. "John didn't get home until the end of that month."
The doctor put down his pen and studied her. She forced herself to not look away until he finally shrugged. "I could be wrong," he said. "It's hard to be precise this early." He stood up, told her she could get dressed, then stopped at the door. "I guess we'll find out in about six months."
Blythe reached for her clothes. "Seven months," she said.
Blythe's Story, Chapter Two
Author: Namaste
Summary: "She did it because she was lonely, and because he'd reminded her so much of John."
PG, about 800 words.
Author's Note: Something of an experiment, using the additional background we've received about Blythe and John, via Season Five's "Birthmarks." I've been reading Roddy Doyle's books of short stories, "The Deportees," which are made up of 800-word chapters, and thought I'd play a little more with Blythe's life -- and House's history, of course -- with this format. Let me know what you think, and if I should continue.
Blythe would have told the truth, if anyone had ever asked.
She did it because she was lonely, she would have said, and because he'd reminded her so much of John.
She'd moved across the country to be with John, to start this new life, this adventure of marriage with him. She'd had so many dreams, imagined the two of them together, building their home, building their future.
But instead, she was alone. John would be there for a few days at a time, then his squad would get new orders. He'd be gone, and she'd be there, in this strange place, with hours and nights and days that stretched out in front of her.
She was surrounded by other women, women who had married into this world just like she had. But she didn't fit in with them. Not yet. She didn't speak their language, didn't understand the code they all knew, the shorthand for the number of days their husbands were deployed, for the bases they'd been to before. She didn't fit into the hierarchy of rank that snaked through every corner of the base.
Calling her own mother or sisters at home only widened the space between them. She'd hang up the phone and hear nothing but the hum of the refrigerator, the engines of a passing jet fighter.
John rarely wrote. When she'd asked him to -- during one of those brief stays at home -- he'd said he was saving up stories to tell her later, when they'd grown old together and he'd run out of things to say.
She went to the officer's club for dinner one night because she couldn't stand the silence of her own home. The dining room was packed, with everyone paired off. Husbands and wives standing together, eating together, talking together. The empty apartment suddenly seemed like a refuge.
Blythe turned to leave, but he was at the door. She thought she recognized him, and he smiled, reminded her that he was attached to John's squad, but said he was temporarily grounded.
"Inner ear infection," he said. "It messes with balance."
He invited her to share his table, "Call me Phil," he said, and when she hesitated, he promised he'd be a gentleman.
"My mother would never forgive me if I abandoned a lady in her moment of distress."
She thought of the dark apartment, the long hours alone until dawn. "If you insist," she said.
They parted after dinner, after she'd thanked him. "We should do this again sometime," he said.
And they did.
One night they lingered over drinks.
Another night, he walked her home.
"I was homesick for my mother's peach pie," Blythe said after another dinner, another walk to her door. "So I made some, but I'll never be able to eat it all by myself. Please, come in and have a piece."
His hair was the same shade of brown as John's, cut close to his scalp in the same military precision. He had the same build -- the same muscles melded into shape by Marine drill sergeants. He was an inch or two taller, though, and she found herself on her tiptoes when she kissed him, tasting the sugar and cinnamon and nutmeg from the pie.
"I should go," he said.
Blythe nodded, but kept her hand on his arm, and he stayed.
It happened only once. They both knew it had been a mistake. He'd apologized as he snuck out into the early morning darkness.
Blythe spent the day thinking of John, picturing what would happen if he knew, wondering if she should just leave. Go back home. Admit she'd failed -- not just that night, but in believing she could live in John's world. But she told herself to wait, not make a rash decision, not to compound one mistake with another.
John was home three weeks later, and swept her up in his arms. "New assignment," he said, when he finally put her down. He showed her the paper with a Marine air station in Hawaii listed after his name. "No more long deployments for a while," he said. "We can finally be together."
They were in Hawaii when she learned she was pregnant. The doctor estimated her due date, and she did the math, swallowed once, looked down at the floor. She felt tears in her eyes, saw two roads stretching out in front of her -- one dark and hard, the other a path she could walk with John, and with this new life that was growing inside her. A future for all of them.
She looked up at the doctor. "You must be wrong," she said. "John didn't get home until the end of that month."
The doctor put down his pen and studied her. She forced herself to not look away until he finally shrugged. "I could be wrong," he said. "It's hard to be precise this early." He stood up, told her she could get dressed, then stopped at the door. "I guess we'll find out in about six months."
Blythe reached for her clothes. "Seven months," she said.
Blythe's Story, Chapter Two
no subject
I too would like to see this story line continue and see where the muse takes you.
It would be interesting to see what would/could happen through the years as Blythe/John/Greg/Phil interact. House did say that his biological father was a family friend so there could have been numerous interactions between them all.
no subject