New Fic: Blythe's Story Chapter 27
Feb. 27th, 2009 07:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namasteTitle: Blythe's Story, Chapter 27
Author: Namaste
Summary: "Lacrosse suited Greg."
PG, about 1,000 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
Blythe couldn't always keep her eyes on the ball. She'd see it sometimes, a sphere of hard rubber passed from lacrosse stick to another. She watched the players instead, figuring out the game by seeing who they were watching, by watching them run and spin across the grass.
Greg was usually in the thick of it. He'd learned the game quickly, finding the best way to make the ball soar with a flick of his wrist, the ball finding its target again and again.
John didn't make it to many games – too many meetings at Quantico, he complained -- but Blythe was there, sitting on the bleachers with the other parents.
Greg had signed up a few weeks after they landed in Virginia when he saw them practice. She'd seen the way he watched them, saw how he seemed to understand the fundamentals of this new game at a glance.
"It's applied physics," he said later. "It's force and mass and velocity."
"Nobody plays lacrosse," John said.
"Nobody you know," Greg muttered, just loud enough for Blythe to hear. She gave him a stern look, but couldn't stop herself from smiling when he winked at her. Greg held out the permission slip for them to sign. "It'll look good on my college applications."
"What's wrong with football or basketball?" John asked. "Or wrestling?"
Greg sighed. "They need guys for lacrosse."
Lacrosse suited Greg. He was fast, and wasn't afraid of the smashing into other players. Sometimes Blythe thought he looked for collisions on the field, putting himself in the other team's path, running straight at someone as if was daring them to hold their ground. She'd find herself holding her breath in every game, seeing him run into someone, fall and get back up.
He practiced flinging a ball in the back yard for hours, changing his grip on the stick, learning how to shoot while on the run, or scoop it up from the ground, flipping it high in the air again and again until he could make it go just where he wanted.
He had the ball now, and was running down the field, his eyes on the goal. A defender was closing in on him from the right and she forced herself to keep watching, her hands clasped in front of her body, muscles tight as if she could push the other boy out from Greg's path.
Greg spun at the last moment, sliding away from the other boy with two steps to the left. The other parents were cheering him on, and Blythe looked away from the field for a moment, saw a group of girls gathered at the far end of the bench, watching the boys.
When she looked up again, Greg was within striking distance of the goal, breaking free from the defenders and even his own teammates. She saw him lift the stick high, fake a toss to the left, then to the right, before he finally let it fly. The ball sailed through the air, and the goaltender's timing was a half-second too slow.
Blythe stood and clapped. She heard one of the other player's fathers call Greg's name. The girls at the end of the bench applauded and one of them whispered something to the others.
Blythe wished John could be here to see this, to see Greg win. To see the other boys clap him on the back and hear the coach tell him, "Good job." He'd missed seeing so much when he was deployed, or when he busy, or when he just wasn't watching.
"Greg's growing up so fast," she'd told him one night. "He'll be gone before you know it."
"What I'm doing is important," John said.
"I know." It was always important. She hadn't said anything else, but she'd seen John a few days later, watching Greg as he did his homework at the table.
Blythe didn't like to think about what would happen in just a few years, how empty the house would be without him. She ached all over again for the other children that they'd never had, the brothers who would have looked up to Greg, the sisters who would have asked him to fix their toys. Once she thought she'd finally come to peace with the fact that Greg would be their only child, but thinking of the emptiness he'd leave behind brought it all back. It made her want to hold onto him for as long as she could.
Hanging on wouldn't be good for Greg, though.
Blythe reminded herself that she wanted to see him grow up, and fall in love. She wanted to see him become the man he could be, not just the boy he was.
The game ended with a 2-0 score, and Greg walked across the field to her, his lacrosse stick hanging loosely from his fingers, a fresh bruise already starting to form on his shin.
He plopped down next to her and she handed him his sweatshirt.
"Nice game," she said.
He wiped the sweat off his face with the shirt before he pulled it on. "We should have scored on that first possession," he said.
"You still won."
He shrugged. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, the lacrosse stick across his lap. He was looking at the girls.
"The dark haired one is pretty," she said softly. "You should ask her out."
"She dating a neanderthal," he said.
Blythe leaned down toward him. "The blonde is pretty too."
He cocked his head sideways toward her and sighed. "Can we go now?"
A group of boys were gathered in front of the bleachers. The girls gathered their books and jackets and joined them. Blythe nodded toward them. "I can wait, if you want to be with your friends."
Greg was silent as he watched them. He stood up, took the two steps down to the ground. He needed friends, Blythe thought. He'd need someone else in his life once he was on his own, someone he could talk to, someone who cared about him. She wouldn't always be there.
After a few moments he turned away from them and headed toward the car. "I'm ready now," he said. "Let's go."
Chapter 28
Author: Namaste
Summary: "Lacrosse suited Greg."
PG, about 1,000 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
Blythe couldn't always keep her eyes on the ball. She'd see it sometimes, a sphere of hard rubber passed from lacrosse stick to another. She watched the players instead, figuring out the game by seeing who they were watching, by watching them run and spin across the grass.
Greg was usually in the thick of it. He'd learned the game quickly, finding the best way to make the ball soar with a flick of his wrist, the ball finding its target again and again.
John didn't make it to many games – too many meetings at Quantico, he complained -- but Blythe was there, sitting on the bleachers with the other parents.
Greg had signed up a few weeks after they landed in Virginia when he saw them practice. She'd seen the way he watched them, saw how he seemed to understand the fundamentals of this new game at a glance.
"It's applied physics," he said later. "It's force and mass and velocity."
"Nobody plays lacrosse," John said.
"Nobody you know," Greg muttered, just loud enough for Blythe to hear. She gave him a stern look, but couldn't stop herself from smiling when he winked at her. Greg held out the permission slip for them to sign. "It'll look good on my college applications."
"What's wrong with football or basketball?" John asked. "Or wrestling?"
Greg sighed. "They need guys for lacrosse."
Lacrosse suited Greg. He was fast, and wasn't afraid of the smashing into other players. Sometimes Blythe thought he looked for collisions on the field, putting himself in the other team's path, running straight at someone as if was daring them to hold their ground. She'd find herself holding her breath in every game, seeing him run into someone, fall and get back up.
He practiced flinging a ball in the back yard for hours, changing his grip on the stick, learning how to shoot while on the run, or scoop it up from the ground, flipping it high in the air again and again until he could make it go just where he wanted.
He had the ball now, and was running down the field, his eyes on the goal. A defender was closing in on him from the right and she forced herself to keep watching, her hands clasped in front of her body, muscles tight as if she could push the other boy out from Greg's path.
Greg spun at the last moment, sliding away from the other boy with two steps to the left. The other parents were cheering him on, and Blythe looked away from the field for a moment, saw a group of girls gathered at the far end of the bench, watching the boys.
When she looked up again, Greg was within striking distance of the goal, breaking free from the defenders and even his own teammates. She saw him lift the stick high, fake a toss to the left, then to the right, before he finally let it fly. The ball sailed through the air, and the goaltender's timing was a half-second too slow.
Blythe stood and clapped. She heard one of the other player's fathers call Greg's name. The girls at the end of the bench applauded and one of them whispered something to the others.
Blythe wished John could be here to see this, to see Greg win. To see the other boys clap him on the back and hear the coach tell him, "Good job." He'd missed seeing so much when he was deployed, or when he busy, or when he just wasn't watching.
"Greg's growing up so fast," she'd told him one night. "He'll be gone before you know it."
"What I'm doing is important," John said.
"I know." It was always important. She hadn't said anything else, but she'd seen John a few days later, watching Greg as he did his homework at the table.
Blythe didn't like to think about what would happen in just a few years, how empty the house would be without him. She ached all over again for the other children that they'd never had, the brothers who would have looked up to Greg, the sisters who would have asked him to fix their toys. Once she thought she'd finally come to peace with the fact that Greg would be their only child, but thinking of the emptiness he'd leave behind brought it all back. It made her want to hold onto him for as long as she could.
Hanging on wouldn't be good for Greg, though.
Blythe reminded herself that she wanted to see him grow up, and fall in love. She wanted to see him become the man he could be, not just the boy he was.
The game ended with a 2-0 score, and Greg walked across the field to her, his lacrosse stick hanging loosely from his fingers, a fresh bruise already starting to form on his shin.
He plopped down next to her and she handed him his sweatshirt.
"Nice game," she said.
He wiped the sweat off his face with the shirt before he pulled it on. "We should have scored on that first possession," he said.
"You still won."
He shrugged. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, the lacrosse stick across his lap. He was looking at the girls.
"The dark haired one is pretty," she said softly. "You should ask her out."
"She dating a neanderthal," he said.
Blythe leaned down toward him. "The blonde is pretty too."
He cocked his head sideways toward her and sighed. "Can we go now?"
A group of boys were gathered in front of the bleachers. The girls gathered their books and jackets and joined them. Blythe nodded toward them. "I can wait, if you want to be with your friends."
Greg was silent as he watched them. He stood up, took the two steps down to the ground. He needed friends, Blythe thought. He'd need someone else in his life once he was on his own, someone he could talk to, someone who cared about him. She wouldn't always be there.
After a few moments he turned away from them and headed toward the car. "I'm ready now," he said. "Let's go."
Chapter 28
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 01:29 am (UTC)So, uh, thank you for capturing the unfortunate dynamic of my teenaged years. :P
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 02:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 01:39 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 02:51 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 01:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 02:51 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 02:33 am (UTC)Poor House was so used to having to leave everyone behind when they moved, he's already given up trying.
Heartbreaking as usual.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 02:54 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 10:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 01:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 11:39 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 01:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 03:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 06:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 08:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-01 03:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-01 07:07 am (UTC)Good stuff, as always. Really starting to capture that teenage angst that Greg was so good at, lol.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-01 03:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-01 01:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-01 03:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-01 10:13 pm (UTC)I love the image of John watching Greg do his homework. Even if he couldn't or wouldn't be there for his son's athletic or academic triumphs, and even though he wasn't thrilled about the choice of lacrosse over football, I believe he really did love Greg; he just didn't know how to say it or show it.
And everything about the way you capture the seeds of the middle-aged man we've come to know in the boy he was -- beautiful, subtle and elegant.
Are you going to continue this into the Stacy years and the infarc? I would really love to read Blythe's reaction to those times.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-02 02:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-02 02:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-03 06:29 pm (UTC)--blacktop
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-04 12:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-04 10:19 pm (UTC)You know, you're kind of mean, dangling the what-ifs and if-onlys in our faces like this. You're enjoying every second of it, aren't you?
*looks away in despair*
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-05 12:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-05 12:52 am (UTC)