New Fic: Blythe's Story, Chapter Nine
Nov. 27th, 2008 01:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteAuthor: Namaste
Title: Blythe’s Story, Chapter Nine
Summary: "The first few times they'd moved, it seemed so easy, but Greg was younger then, his world revolving around just her and John. Now, he was finding his way in a bigger world and just starting to fit in, just starting to make real friends. Maybe that was why it hurt so much more this time, because this time they were taking something away from him. Even Thanksgiving."
PG, about 1,000 words.
Author’s Note: Part Nine of a look at House's early life, based on the new background we received in the fifth season episode "Birthmarks," using chapters of about 1,000 words.
To start at the beginning: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven (Letters 1965), Chapter Eight (Letters 1966)
"Why now?" Blythe hated the way she sounded, like some petulant child -- like Greg when he was tired and cranky but fought his bedtime for as long as he could. She also knew that it didn't make any difference what she wanted. John had come home before noon, and she'd seen the envelope in his hand, knew what was inside just from the shape and color of it.
Transfer.
She was actually happy when she first read it. John was being sent to North Carolina, not Vietnam. That meant he'd be safe. He'd still be with them. They'd still be together. And she hadn't been to North Carolina before. It would be somewhere new to explore.
Then she got to the bottom of the page. He'd have to be there on Monday. They'd have just a few days to pack, for Greg to finish school here and start all over again there.
The Corps had even secured a flight for them. On Thursday. Thanksgiving.
"Can't you ask them to just make it a day later?" Blythe asked. "Or what about a day earlier?"
John shook his head slightly. Blythe saw the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his eyes focused in on her. It was the same body language she saw every time Greg asked for something he couldn't have. "I don't have a say in it," John said. "If they tell us to fly then, we'll fly then."
Blythe managed a slight smile, put her arms around John's neck. "I know," she said. "I suppose I should be glad I haven't bought a turkey yet."
John smiled down at her, his shoulders loosening slightly at her touch. "Maybe they'll feed us turkey on the plane."
"Is that a threat?"
He winked at her. "It could be a five star restaurant, and it still wouldn't be as good as yours."
"Flattery will get you everywhere."
"I'm sorry about the timing," he said softly, and kissed her. "Maybe I can make it up to you later."
"We'll manage," she said, and smiled, then let him go.
John nodded, apologized again and said he had to get back to his desk and start sorting through his papers.
Blythe stood in the middle of the kitchen after he left, and tried focus on what she needed to do, but found herself trying to memorize the shape of the room, the view outside her window, Greg's drawings on the refrigerator. She wondered when she'd started to think of the anonymous base housing as home, rather than a temporary place to live.
She shook her head and took a pencil and paper from the drawer, and began making lists of everything she needed to do in the next three days. She began with everything she needed to pack -- her grandmother's quilt, their clothes, Greg's toys, the photos and important papers -- then she wrote down everything that she had to cancel: the newspaper, the phone service, Greg's piano lessons, his basketball, school.
The first few times they'd moved, it seemed so easy, but Greg was younger then, his world revolving around just her and John. Now, he was finding his way in a bigger world and just starting to fit in, just starting to make real friends. Maybe that was why it hurt so much more this time, because this time they were taking something away from him.
Even Thanksgiving.
Blythe walked over the school during the afternoon to notify the office that they'd be moving and collect Greg's records. She waited for outside for the bell to ring, waited until she saw Greg walk out the door.
Greg didn't say anything when she told him, just sat on the bench next to her, his feet swinging in the air as she told him how exciting it would be to meet new people and make new friends.
"What about the recital?" he finally asked. He'd been practicing his piece for weeks now, repeating the melody over and over again during his lessons. He'd hum the tune when he ate breakfast, his fingers mimicking the key strokes on the edge of the table.
"There'll be other recitals," she said.
Greg shrugged slightly, stared across the playground where some boys were throwing a red rubber ball against the concrete and bricks, chasing it down and throwing it again.
After a PTA meeting, she'd once listened in on a conversation between other mothers about how much easier it was for children to attend school on base. Marine kids had all been through it before, they said. They knew what it was like to be the new one in class. She'd thought to herself that it was easy for them to say that when their children had brothers and sisters to play with too -- a built in support system that traveled with them.
Greg would be alone. Again.
No, she reminded herself. Not alone.
"At least we'll all be together," she said. "Isn't that nice?"
Greg shrugged again, watched as the ball bounced high in the air, landed just beyond the grasp of one of the boys.
He turned to her. "What about Thanksgiving?"
"We'll just have to have it a few days late," she said. "That'll be good, though, won't it? We'll have our own private holiday all to ourselves while everybody else just has a Saturday. That'll make it even more special."
He turned to look at her, his eyes staring deep into hers. She got a sense for a few seconds that there was more going on inside his head than she'd ever imagined, more than she'd ever know.
Greg finally looked away, shook his head. "That's stupid," he said. "Thanksgiving is on Thanksgiving. Not on Saturday." He went back to watching the ball game.
"Can't we make an exception this time?"
He looked back at her, and rolled his eyes.
She wondered again how he'd grown into this boy from his babyhood so quickly. Sometimes it seemed like it was happening overnight, and she was missed it every time she closed her eyes. Blythe leaned down, kissed the top of his head.
"Don't worry," she said. "As long as we're all together, I'll figure out a way to make it work."
Chapter Ten
Title: Blythe’s Story, Chapter Nine
Summary: "The first few times they'd moved, it seemed so easy, but Greg was younger then, his world revolving around just her and John. Now, he was finding his way in a bigger world and just starting to fit in, just starting to make real friends. Maybe that was why it hurt so much more this time, because this time they were taking something away from him. Even Thanksgiving."
PG, about 1,000 words.
Author’s Note: Part Nine of a look at House's early life, based on the new background we received in the fifth season episode "Birthmarks," using chapters of about 1,000 words.
To start at the beginning: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven (Letters 1965), Chapter Eight (Letters 1966)
"Why now?" Blythe hated the way she sounded, like some petulant child -- like Greg when he was tired and cranky but fought his bedtime for as long as he could. She also knew that it didn't make any difference what she wanted. John had come home before noon, and she'd seen the envelope in his hand, knew what was inside just from the shape and color of it.
Transfer.
She was actually happy when she first read it. John was being sent to North Carolina, not Vietnam. That meant he'd be safe. He'd still be with them. They'd still be together. And she hadn't been to North Carolina before. It would be somewhere new to explore.
Then she got to the bottom of the page. He'd have to be there on Monday. They'd have just a few days to pack, for Greg to finish school here and start all over again there.
The Corps had even secured a flight for them. On Thursday. Thanksgiving.
"Can't you ask them to just make it a day later?" Blythe asked. "Or what about a day earlier?"
John shook his head slightly. Blythe saw the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his eyes focused in on her. It was the same body language she saw every time Greg asked for something he couldn't have. "I don't have a say in it," John said. "If they tell us to fly then, we'll fly then."
Blythe managed a slight smile, put her arms around John's neck. "I know," she said. "I suppose I should be glad I haven't bought a turkey yet."
John smiled down at her, his shoulders loosening slightly at her touch. "Maybe they'll feed us turkey on the plane."
"Is that a threat?"
He winked at her. "It could be a five star restaurant, and it still wouldn't be as good as yours."
"Flattery will get you everywhere."
"I'm sorry about the timing," he said softly, and kissed her. "Maybe I can make it up to you later."
"We'll manage," she said, and smiled, then let him go.
John nodded, apologized again and said he had to get back to his desk and start sorting through his papers.
Blythe stood in the middle of the kitchen after he left, and tried focus on what she needed to do, but found herself trying to memorize the shape of the room, the view outside her window, Greg's drawings on the refrigerator. She wondered when she'd started to think of the anonymous base housing as home, rather than a temporary place to live.
She shook her head and took a pencil and paper from the drawer, and began making lists of everything she needed to do in the next three days. She began with everything she needed to pack -- her grandmother's quilt, their clothes, Greg's toys, the photos and important papers -- then she wrote down everything that she had to cancel: the newspaper, the phone service, Greg's piano lessons, his basketball, school.
The first few times they'd moved, it seemed so easy, but Greg was younger then, his world revolving around just her and John. Now, he was finding his way in a bigger world and just starting to fit in, just starting to make real friends. Maybe that was why it hurt so much more this time, because this time they were taking something away from him.
Even Thanksgiving.
Blythe walked over the school during the afternoon to notify the office that they'd be moving and collect Greg's records. She waited for outside for the bell to ring, waited until she saw Greg walk out the door.
Greg didn't say anything when she told him, just sat on the bench next to her, his feet swinging in the air as she told him how exciting it would be to meet new people and make new friends.
"What about the recital?" he finally asked. He'd been practicing his piece for weeks now, repeating the melody over and over again during his lessons. He'd hum the tune when he ate breakfast, his fingers mimicking the key strokes on the edge of the table.
"There'll be other recitals," she said.
Greg shrugged slightly, stared across the playground where some boys were throwing a red rubber ball against the concrete and bricks, chasing it down and throwing it again.
After a PTA meeting, she'd once listened in on a conversation between other mothers about how much easier it was for children to attend school on base. Marine kids had all been through it before, they said. They knew what it was like to be the new one in class. She'd thought to herself that it was easy for them to say that when their children had brothers and sisters to play with too -- a built in support system that traveled with them.
Greg would be alone. Again.
No, she reminded herself. Not alone.
"At least we'll all be together," she said. "Isn't that nice?"
Greg shrugged again, watched as the ball bounced high in the air, landed just beyond the grasp of one of the boys.
He turned to her. "What about Thanksgiving?"
"We'll just have to have it a few days late," she said. "That'll be good, though, won't it? We'll have our own private holiday all to ourselves while everybody else just has a Saturday. That'll make it even more special."
He turned to look at her, his eyes staring deep into hers. She got a sense for a few seconds that there was more going on inside his head than she'd ever imagined, more than she'd ever know.
Greg finally looked away, shook his head. "That's stupid," he said. "Thanksgiving is on Thanksgiving. Not on Saturday." He went back to watching the ball game.
"Can't we make an exception this time?"
He looked back at her, and rolled his eyes.
She wondered again how he'd grown into this boy from his babyhood so quickly. Sometimes it seemed like it was happening overnight, and she was missed it every time she closed her eyes. Blythe leaned down, kissed the top of his head.
"Don't worry," she said. "As long as we're all together, I'll figure out a way to make it work."
Chapter Ten
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-27 06:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-27 06:58 pm (UTC)Good job, and I will keep my eye out on your work in the future.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-28 12:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-28 01:23 am (UTC)Love the letters too. Greg has sisters!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-28 02:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-28 02:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-28 02:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-28 02:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-28 12:49 pm (UTC)Anyway, I'm still loving this story.
*mems*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-29 06:19 pm (UTC)Great writing, Namaste, I'm loving this series immensely.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-29 10:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-29 10:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-30 04:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-30 08:35 am (UTC)I liked the little back and forth between Jenny and Blythe. I thought it was interesting how Jenny always apologised prefusely for her letters being so delayed and Blythe just replied promptly...You're really doing a great job building the characters.