New Fic: Blythe's Story Chapter Twenty
Jan. 8th, 2009 08:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteTitle: Blythe's Story, Chapter Twenty
Author: Namaste
Summary: "Blythe thought she saw something new in Greg's eyes, some intensity that she'd never noticed before. She felt like he was seeing her under a microscope, finding something there he'd never noticed before."
PG, 997 words.
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
It was only later that she saw how it could have happened, saw how one small clue led to another until there was a clear trail that anyone could follow if they were curious enough. And Greg was always curious.
It began that afternoon in the spring when Greg fell off his bicycle.
"I didn't fall," he said, his voice muffled by the towel pressed against the side of his head. "I just didn't make the landing."
"There's a difference?" Blythe eased the pressure off the towel to look beneath it. The cut was still bleeding freely and she saw the jagged line of it slicing back past his hairline.
"Babies fall off their bikes when they're learning to ride," Greg said. His eyes were clear as he looked at her. "I crashed mine coming off the jump."
"The jump?" Blythe put more pressure on the towel.
"Ow." Greg batted at her hand, but she held firm. "The jump over the ditch," he said. Blythe pictured the spot he was talking about, the drainage ditch behind the base's family housing.
"You realize you're talking yourself into getting your bicycle taken away from you for at least a week, right?"
"I made it the first two times," Greg said.
Blythe shook her head and eased the towel away from his head again. The bleeding had slowed, but not enough. She'd swallowed down her fear when he'd walked in with blood dripping down the side of his face and onto his shirt. There wasn't time to do anything but react. She could feel fear now, though, in the way her hand shook, in the tightness in her stomach and her shoulders. She knew she'd have nightmares that night of everything that could have gone wrong. She knew she'd go to his bedroom door just to watch him sleep.
Greg had scared her so many times before. She should be used to it by now.
"You're going to need stitches," she said, and put the towel back against his head. She picked up his hand, placed it against the towel. "Hold it tight," she said, and went to get her purse and car keys.
At the hospital, they needed to cut his hair before they put in the stitches, and Blythe had held his hand as they shaved a few inches along the length of the cut.
When the doctors were finished, then held up a mirror so Greg could see, and they both saw the strawberry colored birthmark that had been hidden there beneath his thick curls since before he could walk.
Greg seemed more interested in tracing the edges of the cut than the birthmark, though his fingers had paused just briefly over it.
During the week he was grounded -- "Should have made it two," John muttered before he went out to dismantle the plywood ramp the boys had set up in front of the ditch – Greg finally opened John's log books from Japan, spreading them out on the kitchen table.
John gave him a list of all the abbreviations in the log, the shorthand code for air speed, for velocity, for fuel consumption, for wind direction.
Greg copied bits of information into a spiral bound notebook, and scribbled out math problems until he covered the page with numbers to figure out how much more fuel the planes used in head winds than in cross winds or tail winds.
Blythe was making supper the day he stopped suddenly, sat up straight and stared at the wall as if he could see something there besides plaster and dull white paint and the calendar hanging from a nail. After a minute or two, he turned to her. She thought she saw something new in his eyes, some intensity that she'd never noticed before. She felt like he was seeing her under a microscope, and finding something there he'd never noticed before.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Greg shook his head slightly, then picked up the log book and went into the living room. He took it to John and held it open to one page.
"Are these the right dates?" he asked.
"Of course," John said. "Why wouldn't they be?"
Blythe saw his shoulders move in something like a shrug, then he turned back to her again.
His eyes seemed bright, vivid, like there was some new fire that had sparked to life inside him, and Blythe felt herself grow uncomfortable to be the focus of that fire. She turned her back on him and instead opened the oven and took out the pork roast. "You need to clear off the table," she said. "It's almost time for supper."
She saw the look in his eyes again the next morning, and the morning after that. For the next few weeks, she'd catch him staring at her, as if he was trying to memorize everything about her – the color of her hair, the shape of her eyes, the length of hands. Even her feet. She caught him making the intense studies of John, when he had a chance, and when John wasn't paying attention.
Every time she asked Greg what he wanted, he'd just shrug, or ignore her and walk away. But she'd catch him a few hours later, watching her again.
When Phil showed up to surprise them a few days before Greg's birthday – "Just visiting," he said when she answered the door. "I had to fly some brass out for a meeting." -- it should have been a relief. He should have been a welcome distraction.
Greg would have something new to think about, Blythe thought. Maybe he'd forget whatever it was that he seemed to be so obsessed with now.
But as Phil stepped through the door and took off his hat, Blythe noticed how his hair had thinned out during the past two years, and how his hairline had eased back just slightly from his forehead.
And how brightly the strawberry colored birthmark stood out against Phil's pale skin.
Chapter 21
Author: Namaste
Summary: "Blythe thought she saw something new in Greg's eyes, some intensity that she'd never noticed before. She felt like he was seeing her under a microscope, finding something there he'd never noticed before."
PG, 997 words.
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
It was only later that she saw how it could have happened, saw how one small clue led to another until there was a clear trail that anyone could follow if they were curious enough. And Greg was always curious.
It began that afternoon in the spring when Greg fell off his bicycle.
"I didn't fall," he said, his voice muffled by the towel pressed against the side of his head. "I just didn't make the landing."
"There's a difference?" Blythe eased the pressure off the towel to look beneath it. The cut was still bleeding freely and she saw the jagged line of it slicing back past his hairline.
"Babies fall off their bikes when they're learning to ride," Greg said. His eyes were clear as he looked at her. "I crashed mine coming off the jump."
"The jump?" Blythe put more pressure on the towel.
"Ow." Greg batted at her hand, but she held firm. "The jump over the ditch," he said. Blythe pictured the spot he was talking about, the drainage ditch behind the base's family housing.
"You realize you're talking yourself into getting your bicycle taken away from you for at least a week, right?"
"I made it the first two times," Greg said.
Blythe shook her head and eased the towel away from his head again. The bleeding had slowed, but not enough. She'd swallowed down her fear when he'd walked in with blood dripping down the side of his face and onto his shirt. There wasn't time to do anything but react. She could feel fear now, though, in the way her hand shook, in the tightness in her stomach and her shoulders. She knew she'd have nightmares that night of everything that could have gone wrong. She knew she'd go to his bedroom door just to watch him sleep.
Greg had scared her so many times before. She should be used to it by now.
"You're going to need stitches," she said, and put the towel back against his head. She picked up his hand, placed it against the towel. "Hold it tight," she said, and went to get her purse and car keys.
At the hospital, they needed to cut his hair before they put in the stitches, and Blythe had held his hand as they shaved a few inches along the length of the cut.
When the doctors were finished, then held up a mirror so Greg could see, and they both saw the strawberry colored birthmark that had been hidden there beneath his thick curls since before he could walk.
Greg seemed more interested in tracing the edges of the cut than the birthmark, though his fingers had paused just briefly over it.
During the week he was grounded -- "Should have made it two," John muttered before he went out to dismantle the plywood ramp the boys had set up in front of the ditch – Greg finally opened John's log books from Japan, spreading them out on the kitchen table.
John gave him a list of all the abbreviations in the log, the shorthand code for air speed, for velocity, for fuel consumption, for wind direction.
Greg copied bits of information into a spiral bound notebook, and scribbled out math problems until he covered the page with numbers to figure out how much more fuel the planes used in head winds than in cross winds or tail winds.
Blythe was making supper the day he stopped suddenly, sat up straight and stared at the wall as if he could see something there besides plaster and dull white paint and the calendar hanging from a nail. After a minute or two, he turned to her. She thought she saw something new in his eyes, some intensity that she'd never noticed before. She felt like he was seeing her under a microscope, and finding something there he'd never noticed before.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Greg shook his head slightly, then picked up the log book and went into the living room. He took it to John and held it open to one page.
"Are these the right dates?" he asked.
"Of course," John said. "Why wouldn't they be?"
Blythe saw his shoulders move in something like a shrug, then he turned back to her again.
His eyes seemed bright, vivid, like there was some new fire that had sparked to life inside him, and Blythe felt herself grow uncomfortable to be the focus of that fire. She turned her back on him and instead opened the oven and took out the pork roast. "You need to clear off the table," she said. "It's almost time for supper."
She saw the look in his eyes again the next morning, and the morning after that. For the next few weeks, she'd catch him staring at her, as if he was trying to memorize everything about her – the color of her hair, the shape of her eyes, the length of hands. Even her feet. She caught him making the intense studies of John, when he had a chance, and when John wasn't paying attention.
Every time she asked Greg what he wanted, he'd just shrug, or ignore her and walk away. But she'd catch him a few hours later, watching her again.
When Phil showed up to surprise them a few days before Greg's birthday – "Just visiting," he said when she answered the door. "I had to fly some brass out for a meeting." -- it should have been a relief. He should have been a welcome distraction.
Greg would have something new to think about, Blythe thought. Maybe he'd forget whatever it was that he seemed to be so obsessed with now.
But as Phil stepped through the door and took off his hat, Blythe noticed how his hair had thinned out during the past two years, and how his hairline had eased back just slightly from his forehead.
And how brightly the strawberry colored birthmark stood out against Phil's pale skin.
Chapter 21
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2009-01-09 07:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-09 01:40 pm (UTC)