New Fic: Blythe's Story Chapter Eighteen
Dec. 28th, 2008 03:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteTitle: Blythe’s Story, Chapter Eighteen
Author: Namaste
Summary: Days like this, Blythe almost wished she could go back, tell that younger version of herself just how hard and lonely her path would be. She wasn't sure if she would have made the same decisions, if she'd known what was to come.
PG, about 1,300 words. (Yeah, I kind of blew right past that self-imposed word limit there, didn't I?) This follows immediately from the events of Chapter Seventeen.
Author’s Note: 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
Greg was sitting on the edge of his bed when she pushed open the door and turned on the light. He looked behind her, and she saw him relax slightly when he realized John wasn't there.
"It wasn't my fault," he said.
Blythe closed the door behind her. "Maybe you can tell me what happened before we decide that."
Greg sighed. "Mr. Leland had us make potato clocks," he said. "Lame."
"You liked the one you made last year," Blythe pointed out.
"It's a stupid experiment."
"But what's wrong with --"
"He told everyone that it worked because the potatoes were acidic, but that's wrong," Greg said.
"And you corrected him?"
Greg looked into her eyes. "He was wrong."
Blythe pictured Greg in class, refusing to back down when he knew he was right. "And how did you tell him he was wrong?"
Greg shrugged, and looked away. "It doesn't matter," he said.
Blythe sat next to him. "I think it does."
"He used to be the gym teacher." Greg stared down at his shoes. "They only made him the science teacher last year when they needed someone. He should go back to gym class."
Blythe turned his face to her. "And that's what you told him?"
"He was wrong."
"I understand, but there are better ways to handle this," she said. "You could have told me. We could have talked to the principal."
Greg shook his head.
Blythe put her hand on his knee. "I know you were right about the science, honey, but you didn't go about it the right way. You're going to have to apologize to him."
Greg groaned.
"And to your father, for upsetting him."
"Why should I apologize to Dad? He won't even listen to me."
"Because he's your father."
"That's a stupid reason." Greg pushed himself away from her, moving back against the wall with his legs stretched across the bed.
"Greg." Blythe looked away from him, felt her skin go warm and her eyes moisten. She wondered what she'd done wrong to let Greg and John drift so far apart. Maybe it was something she hadn't done. Maybe, that familiar voice reminded her, it was genetic. "Please don't do this."
Greg pulled his legs up, bent his knees and wrapped his arms around them. Blythe sat there as the spot beside her grew cool. She wanted to reach out to Greg, to make him feel better. But she couldn't. She shouldn't. Greg was old enough now to start solving his own problems.
She could force him to apologize to the teacher. She could force him to go to school and manage to set aside his differences for an hour a day. But he also had to learn how to live with John, and figure out that a simple apology could smooth his way. Or he'd just have to learn to live with the consequences if he didn't.
Blythe got up, paused for a moment at the door. "Fine," she said, and finally turned back to Greg. "Maybe you should stay here until you're ready to talk to him."
Greg didn't come out of his bedroom that night. John was gone by the time Greg got up for school the next day. Blythe was the one who sat next to Greg during the meeting with the teacher, gently guiding him to say just enough to satisfy the man.
After school, Greg went to his room and stayed there. She knocked on his door when John came home.
"I'm not ready yet," Greg said.
John looked at Greg's empty seat at supper, but didn't say anything, only nodded when Blythe told him how the meeting went.
The next morning, Greg washed his own breakfast dishes, paused for a moment when he saw John's mug in the sink, then washed that too. "Sorry," he said softly to her.
"Thank you," she said. "You can apologize to your father tonight too, after he gets home."
Greg just shook his head, put on his jacket and headed to school.
That night, John was out late. He called and told Blythe that he was called in to a briefing, and didn't know when he'd come home. The next morning, he was out again before sunrise, without even offering an excuse.
"You're going to have to talk to him," Blythe told John when he finally came home for a late dinner. Greg had gone to his room as soon as John's car pulled in the driveway. "He's apologized to his teacher, and he got a perfect score on his pop quiz today." She pushed the paper across the table to John. "He just needs to know that you're not mad at him, and that you'll forgive him."
John pushed the paper away. "What makes you think I will?"
She couldn't move, couldn't say anything as he walked out of the room. She sat there and heard his steps cross the house, heard the front door open, then close behind him. She wanted to yell after his retreating form to come back, that she wasn't done. She wanted to tell him to grow up and be the adult, but it was hard enough just to force herself to keep breathing.
She wiped away tears, though she couldn't remember when she'd started crying, and told herself that it wouldn't have done any good to yell at him. It only would have pushed him further away. John was just as stubborn as Greg when he wanted to be – the two of them pulling at her from opposite ends with the same blind willfulness and certainty that they were right.
Blythe reminded herself that she'd chosen this. She'd set herself on this path from the first day she found out she was pregnant, and decided to keep the truth to herself alone. But days like this, she almost wished she could go back, tell that younger version of herself just how hard and lonely her path would be. She wasn't sure if she would have made the same decisions, if she'd known what was to come.
She pushed down her own anger and fear, and reminded herself of what was important: John loved Greg, and Greg loved John – even if they didn't want to admit that. And she loved them both. It was up to her to hold them together.
Blythe picked up the dishes, put away the leftovers. She concentrated on what needed to be done and let her own emotions – her own anger – cool until they were something she could handle again.
She filled the sink with hot water and soap, wiped down each dish, and rinsed them clean.
Greg's door was still closed when she finished, but she wondered what he'd heard. She walked through the living room and stopped at the front door. John was standing in the middle of the yard, his arms crossed over his chest.
Blythe walked through the door, and stopped beside him. It was quiet, just the sound of children playing somewhere down the block, a car engine revving down the street. Somehow, in the silence or in the work, she'd found the words she needed to pull John back. To help him find the way home even if he'd forgotten how.
"You'll forgive him," she said, "because he stood up for what he believed in, and because you know that's more important than the rules."
John shook his head slightly, and she thought she saw the tension ease slightly in his shoulders. "I know," he finally said, "but every once in a while, it'd be nice if he could figure out how to follow the rules too."
Blythe put her hand on his arm. "It'd be nice," she agreed, "but we can't get everything we want in life, now, can we?"
Chapter Nineteen
Author: Namaste
Summary: Days like this, Blythe almost wished she could go back, tell that younger version of herself just how hard and lonely her path would be. She wasn't sure if she would have made the same decisions, if she'd known what was to come.
PG, about 1,300 words. (Yeah, I kind of blew right past that self-imposed word limit there, didn't I?) This follows immediately from the events of Chapter Seventeen.
Author’s Note: 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
Greg was sitting on the edge of his bed when she pushed open the door and turned on the light. He looked behind her, and she saw him relax slightly when he realized John wasn't there.
"It wasn't my fault," he said.
Blythe closed the door behind her. "Maybe you can tell me what happened before we decide that."
Greg sighed. "Mr. Leland had us make potato clocks," he said. "Lame."
"You liked the one you made last year," Blythe pointed out.
"It's a stupid experiment."
"But what's wrong with --"
"He told everyone that it worked because the potatoes were acidic, but that's wrong," Greg said.
"And you corrected him?"
Greg looked into her eyes. "He was wrong."
Blythe pictured Greg in class, refusing to back down when he knew he was right. "And how did you tell him he was wrong?"
Greg shrugged, and looked away. "It doesn't matter," he said.
Blythe sat next to him. "I think it does."
"He used to be the gym teacher." Greg stared down at his shoes. "They only made him the science teacher last year when they needed someone. He should go back to gym class."
Blythe turned his face to her. "And that's what you told him?"
"He was wrong."
"I understand, but there are better ways to handle this," she said. "You could have told me. We could have talked to the principal."
Greg shook his head.
Blythe put her hand on his knee. "I know you were right about the science, honey, but you didn't go about it the right way. You're going to have to apologize to him."
Greg groaned.
"And to your father, for upsetting him."
"Why should I apologize to Dad? He won't even listen to me."
"Because he's your father."
"That's a stupid reason." Greg pushed himself away from her, moving back against the wall with his legs stretched across the bed.
"Greg." Blythe looked away from him, felt her skin go warm and her eyes moisten. She wondered what she'd done wrong to let Greg and John drift so far apart. Maybe it was something she hadn't done. Maybe, that familiar voice reminded her, it was genetic. "Please don't do this."
Greg pulled his legs up, bent his knees and wrapped his arms around them. Blythe sat there as the spot beside her grew cool. She wanted to reach out to Greg, to make him feel better. But she couldn't. She shouldn't. Greg was old enough now to start solving his own problems.
She could force him to apologize to the teacher. She could force him to go to school and manage to set aside his differences for an hour a day. But he also had to learn how to live with John, and figure out that a simple apology could smooth his way. Or he'd just have to learn to live with the consequences if he didn't.
Blythe got up, paused for a moment at the door. "Fine," she said, and finally turned back to Greg. "Maybe you should stay here until you're ready to talk to him."
Greg didn't come out of his bedroom that night. John was gone by the time Greg got up for school the next day. Blythe was the one who sat next to Greg during the meeting with the teacher, gently guiding him to say just enough to satisfy the man.
After school, Greg went to his room and stayed there. She knocked on his door when John came home.
"I'm not ready yet," Greg said.
John looked at Greg's empty seat at supper, but didn't say anything, only nodded when Blythe told him how the meeting went.
The next morning, Greg washed his own breakfast dishes, paused for a moment when he saw John's mug in the sink, then washed that too. "Sorry," he said softly to her.
"Thank you," she said. "You can apologize to your father tonight too, after he gets home."
Greg just shook his head, put on his jacket and headed to school.
That night, John was out late. He called and told Blythe that he was called in to a briefing, and didn't know when he'd come home. The next morning, he was out again before sunrise, without even offering an excuse.
"You're going to have to talk to him," Blythe told John when he finally came home for a late dinner. Greg had gone to his room as soon as John's car pulled in the driveway. "He's apologized to his teacher, and he got a perfect score on his pop quiz today." She pushed the paper across the table to John. "He just needs to know that you're not mad at him, and that you'll forgive him."
John pushed the paper away. "What makes you think I will?"
She couldn't move, couldn't say anything as he walked out of the room. She sat there and heard his steps cross the house, heard the front door open, then close behind him. She wanted to yell after his retreating form to come back, that she wasn't done. She wanted to tell him to grow up and be the adult, but it was hard enough just to force herself to keep breathing.
She wiped away tears, though she couldn't remember when she'd started crying, and told herself that it wouldn't have done any good to yell at him. It only would have pushed him further away. John was just as stubborn as Greg when he wanted to be – the two of them pulling at her from opposite ends with the same blind willfulness and certainty that they were right.
Blythe reminded herself that she'd chosen this. She'd set herself on this path from the first day she found out she was pregnant, and decided to keep the truth to herself alone. But days like this, she almost wished she could go back, tell that younger version of herself just how hard and lonely her path would be. She wasn't sure if she would have made the same decisions, if she'd known what was to come.
She pushed down her own anger and fear, and reminded herself of what was important: John loved Greg, and Greg loved John – even if they didn't want to admit that. And she loved them both. It was up to her to hold them together.
Blythe picked up the dishes, put away the leftovers. She concentrated on what needed to be done and let her own emotions – her own anger – cool until they were something she could handle again.
She filled the sink with hot water and soap, wiped down each dish, and rinsed them clean.
Greg's door was still closed when she finished, but she wondered what he'd heard. She walked through the living room and stopped at the front door. John was standing in the middle of the yard, his arms crossed over his chest.
Blythe walked through the door, and stopped beside him. It was quiet, just the sound of children playing somewhere down the block, a car engine revving down the street. Somehow, in the silence or in the work, she'd found the words she needed to pull John back. To help him find the way home even if he'd forgotten how.
"You'll forgive him," she said, "because he stood up for what he believed in, and because you know that's more important than the rules."
John shook his head slightly, and she thought she saw the tension ease slightly in his shoulders. "I know," he finally said, "but every once in a while, it'd be nice if he could figure out how to follow the rules too."
Blythe put her hand on his arm. "It'd be nice," she agreed, "but we can't get everything we want in life, now, can we?"
Chapter Nineteen