New Fic: Blythe's Story Chapter Eleven
Title: Blythe’s Story, Chapter Eleven
Author: Namaste
Summary: “Blythe looked down at her notes, the script she had imagined. They would have started with small talk about the weather, move on to the children and eventually Blythe would slide in a reference to Phil. But this conversation wasn't going according to her plan.”
PG, about 1,000 words.
Author’s Note: Part eleven 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 go here: Chapter One
Blythe sat with a single piece of paper propped against the sugar bowl. Phil had scrawled Jenny's phone number across the top, and his numbers were followed by her own handwriting, some words written out carefully, others crossed out and replaced.
She'd been up half the night thinking of what to say, finally picking up the pen to write what was in her mind, hoping it would help her focus. She was still working on the list as Greg sat eating his cereal, watching her scribble out one word, then add another.
Blythe waited until she was alone, just in case she said the wrong thing, in case she gave herself away. She knew she wouldn't say anything about that night with Phil -- she'd spent too many years hiding that secret to just let it loose now -- but she didn't want John to learn how worried she was sometimes, or Greg to hear that she was sometimes just as upset about moving as he was.
Now she calculated the time in California, and finally picked up the phone, held the receiver against her ear and dialed the first number, waited for the dial to rotate back into place, then dialed the second.
Blythe heard static on the line, then the first ring from across the country. A second ring.
Jenny picked it up after the third. "Hello?"
Blythe took a deep breath. "Jenny? Hello, it's Blythe."
There was a slight pause on the other end. "Blythe? Is something wrong?" she asked. "Is Phil all right?"
"He's fine." Blythe told herself she should have written instead. It would have given her more time to think about what to say, and she wouldn't have caught Jenny by surprise. "He gave me your number."
Blythe could hear Jenny sigh, and heard other voices in the background, a child's voice she guessed was Susie. "He asked you call, didn't he?"
Blythe looked down at her notes, the script she had imagined. They would have started with small talk about the weather, move on to the children and eventually Blythe would slide in a reference to Phil. But this conversation wasn't going according to her plan.
Finally, she nodded, though she knew Jenny couldn't see her. "Yes." The truth seemed like the best option. "He's worried. He thought that maybe if you had someone to talk to about coming here, it might help."
Jenny paused and Blythe waited her out, heard the sound of a lighter, then Jenny taking the first drag on a cigarette. "It's not just about the move."
Blythe could picture Jenny as she was a few years ago, sitting in the kitchen, a cigarette held loosely between her fingers as she tipped ash into the gold metal ashtray on the table. She had to remind herself that Jenny must have changed since then. It had been more than three years since she'd last seen her. There'd been another baby. So much must have changed.
"It is a little about the move," Jenny finally said. "The girls are happy here and Susie's started preschool. They like it here." She took another pull on the cigarette. "I like it here," she said. "I'd forgotten how nice it was to be with family."
"Phil's your family too," Blythe said softly.
"I know, Blythe. I really do, but ..." Jenny inhaled deeply, exhaled. Blythe pictured the smoke from the cigarette hanging in the air around her. "It's hard," she said. "I want to do what's best for the girls, but what if what's best for them is to stay here?"
"What's best is keeping your family together." Blythe didn't need any notes for this. "The girls will grow up having birthdays and suppers and Sunday picnics with their dad. Isn't that better than preschool?"
"And they'll grow up having to move all the time, always going to new schools."
"They'll adjust," Blythe said.
"Like Greg has?"
Blythe let the question hang there. They both knew the answer to that. She looked back down at the paper, finding a lifeline in the words. "Moving isn't all bad," she said. "You get to see new things, and that's been good for Greg. You should see him every time he discovers something new."
She could hear Jenny blow out cigarette smoke like a deep sigh. "You make it sound like it's easy to make something bad into something good."
Blythe shook her head. "It's not easy," she admitted.
"Maybe," Jenny said, "maybe it could work, but it's not just about moving. It's --
She stopped herself again. Blythe leaned forward with her elbows on the table.
"Phil's not the person you think he is," Jenny finally said. "He's not ... he's not the man I thought he was."
"He's been gone for a year," Blythe said. "Maybe he just needs time to --"
"It's not just about time. There were --," she stopped again. "Things weren't that great even before he left. There were a lot of problems, and I didn't even realize what was happening until I had time to think about it." Jenny's words picked up speed, as if she couldn't stop herself, or didn't want to. "There were times he'd come home late, and then I'd find out that he wasn't on duty, or he'd stop off at the Officer's Club for a drink, and stay there for hours. Or he'd leave in the morning when he had time off, and didn't even tell me where he was going. I didn't feel like I could trust him, and I hated myself for feeling that way."
She was quiet again. Blythe felt like she should say something on Phil's behalf, but didn't know what. She could picture Phil in the Officer's Club years ago, a friendly smile and a welcoming face in a place where she was a stranger. He'd seemed so comfortable there: he had his favorite drink, his favorite appetizer, his favorite waitress, his favorite table. She wondered if he'd been more at home there than in his own home, where he had a wife and daughters who depended on him.
"I don't expect him to be perfect," Jenny said, interrupting Blythe’s thoughts, "but how am I supposed to give up everything the girls have here and make them move again and again for a father who may not be there when they need him?"
Blythe looked at the paper and her notes, remembered how they were supposed to help her convince Jenny to leave her old home and bring her family back together here. Somehow, though, she'd only ended up with more questions of her own.
"I don't know," she said, and crumpled up the paper. "I don't know."
Chapter Twelve
Author: Namaste
Summary: “Blythe looked down at her notes, the script she had imagined. They would have started with small talk about the weather, move on to the children and eventually Blythe would slide in a reference to Phil. But this conversation wasn't going according to her plan.”
PG, about 1,000 words.
Author’s Note: Part eleven 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 go here: Chapter One
Blythe sat with a single piece of paper propped against the sugar bowl. Phil had scrawled Jenny's phone number across the top, and his numbers were followed by her own handwriting, some words written out carefully, others crossed out and replaced.
She'd been up half the night thinking of what to say, finally picking up the pen to write what was in her mind, hoping it would help her focus. She was still working on the list as Greg sat eating his cereal, watching her scribble out one word, then add another.
Blythe waited until she was alone, just in case she said the wrong thing, in case she gave herself away. She knew she wouldn't say anything about that night with Phil -- she'd spent too many years hiding that secret to just let it loose now -- but she didn't want John to learn how worried she was sometimes, or Greg to hear that she was sometimes just as upset about moving as he was.
Now she calculated the time in California, and finally picked up the phone, held the receiver against her ear and dialed the first number, waited for the dial to rotate back into place, then dialed the second.
Blythe heard static on the line, then the first ring from across the country. A second ring.
Jenny picked it up after the third. "Hello?"
Blythe took a deep breath. "Jenny? Hello, it's Blythe."
There was a slight pause on the other end. "Blythe? Is something wrong?" she asked. "Is Phil all right?"
"He's fine." Blythe told herself she should have written instead. It would have given her more time to think about what to say, and she wouldn't have caught Jenny by surprise. "He gave me your number."
Blythe could hear Jenny sigh, and heard other voices in the background, a child's voice she guessed was Susie. "He asked you call, didn't he?"
Blythe looked down at her notes, the script she had imagined. They would have started with small talk about the weather, move on to the children and eventually Blythe would slide in a reference to Phil. But this conversation wasn't going according to her plan.
Finally, she nodded, though she knew Jenny couldn't see her. "Yes." The truth seemed like the best option. "He's worried. He thought that maybe if you had someone to talk to about coming here, it might help."
Jenny paused and Blythe waited her out, heard the sound of a lighter, then Jenny taking the first drag on a cigarette. "It's not just about the move."
Blythe could picture Jenny as she was a few years ago, sitting in the kitchen, a cigarette held loosely between her fingers as she tipped ash into the gold metal ashtray on the table. She had to remind herself that Jenny must have changed since then. It had been more than three years since she'd last seen her. There'd been another baby. So much must have changed.
"It is a little about the move," Jenny finally said. "The girls are happy here and Susie's started preschool. They like it here." She took another pull on the cigarette. "I like it here," she said. "I'd forgotten how nice it was to be with family."
"Phil's your family too," Blythe said softly.
"I know, Blythe. I really do, but ..." Jenny inhaled deeply, exhaled. Blythe pictured the smoke from the cigarette hanging in the air around her. "It's hard," she said. "I want to do what's best for the girls, but what if what's best for them is to stay here?"
"What's best is keeping your family together." Blythe didn't need any notes for this. "The girls will grow up having birthdays and suppers and Sunday picnics with their dad. Isn't that better than preschool?"
"And they'll grow up having to move all the time, always going to new schools."
"They'll adjust," Blythe said.
"Like Greg has?"
Blythe let the question hang there. They both knew the answer to that. She looked back down at the paper, finding a lifeline in the words. "Moving isn't all bad," she said. "You get to see new things, and that's been good for Greg. You should see him every time he discovers something new."
She could hear Jenny blow out cigarette smoke like a deep sigh. "You make it sound like it's easy to make something bad into something good."
Blythe shook her head. "It's not easy," she admitted.
"Maybe," Jenny said, "maybe it could work, but it's not just about moving. It's --
She stopped herself again. Blythe leaned forward with her elbows on the table.
"Phil's not the person you think he is," Jenny finally said. "He's not ... he's not the man I thought he was."
"He's been gone for a year," Blythe said. "Maybe he just needs time to --"
"It's not just about time. There were --," she stopped again. "Things weren't that great even before he left. There were a lot of problems, and I didn't even realize what was happening until I had time to think about it." Jenny's words picked up speed, as if she couldn't stop herself, or didn't want to. "There were times he'd come home late, and then I'd find out that he wasn't on duty, or he'd stop off at the Officer's Club for a drink, and stay there for hours. Or he'd leave in the morning when he had time off, and didn't even tell me where he was going. I didn't feel like I could trust him, and I hated myself for feeling that way."
She was quiet again. Blythe felt like she should say something on Phil's behalf, but didn't know what. She could picture Phil in the Officer's Club years ago, a friendly smile and a welcoming face in a place where she was a stranger. He'd seemed so comfortable there: he had his favorite drink, his favorite appetizer, his favorite waitress, his favorite table. She wondered if he'd been more at home there than in his own home, where he had a wife and daughters who depended on him.
"I don't expect him to be perfect," Jenny said, interrupting Blythe’s thoughts, "but how am I supposed to give up everything the girls have here and make them move again and again for a father who may not be there when they need him?"
Blythe looked at the paper and her notes, remembered how they were supposed to help her convince Jenny to leave her old home and bring her family back together here. Somehow, though, she'd only ended up with more questions of her own.
"I don't know," she said, and crumpled up the paper. "I don't know."
Chapter Twelve
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Hmmm...Phil's actions are pretty suspicious. No wonder Jenny didn't want to move out with him. :/
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I can see Blythe's dilemma here, for it's the same as Jenny's -- wanting to keep the family together, but not sure if this is really the type of family she wants. I guess we'll start to see the resentment Blythe had for John that House alluded to at the end of "Birthmarks."
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It's a great sense of time and place here to have Jenny smoking around her kids. Reminds me of all the films on Turner Classic where everyone smokes -- including doctors. *g*
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I love the light foreshadowing of the unreliability of adult House -- the one who detailed his character flaws to Honey the nutritionist that time -- in this with Jenny's description of how Phil behaves.
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*mems*
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UGH. House...really isn't like that. He's pretty tolerant of Wilson's actions, but he still seems disdainful of them and he didn't want to continue screwing around with Stacy behind Mark's back. I think he watched this play out with far more attention than Blythe gave him credit for and it left a mark. Or six.
It doesn't excuse anything John did -- being a good husband doesn't go in hand with being a good father -- but it's one of the reasons I think House may actually separate his father's actions from who he was as a person. If House had hated everything about John, his mother be damned -- because she sure didn't seem to give a damn about him at the funeral -- he would have let all that horror come gushing out and he certainly wouldn't have been able to kiss John, plot or no.
*sighs* ARGH! I have my own theories about what went on, but yours are terribly fascinating -- especially because this sort of thing is all beyond my own realm of experience and trying to write stuff you haven't experienced firsthand is an art in and of itself.
*exhales sharply* I really want to wail right now, but it's way too late at night. DRAT.
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Not at all. I just found her words surprisingly cold, that's all. It was a strange departure (to me) from her attempts at consolation in the second season and I started getting ideas...
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