Author's Notes: My first House MD fic. Please do review if you liked this - it will encourage me to write more. :)
Written before viewing Birthmarks. Therefore no spoilers.
Warning: Vague intimations of child abuse.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Memories
Gregory House hated the cold. How it stripped, bit and took what it wanted - without mercy, without pause.
It was cold in the park and the ache in his legs, ache in his heart, seemed magnified, like an echo of the past (or the future) sent back to him in triplicate.
The bench was cold and the sky was a clear, blank blue above him. He could feel the heavy hardness of the wood beneath his arms, beneath his legs, and he could see his mother's eyes as he stared at the bright leaves and distant sky.
Gregory House was creating memories. Having already perhaps too many, he greedily wanted more.
Or possibly less.
He didn't want to think so he just listened. Children playing, birds singing, leaves dancing – he almost heard his mother's voice on the wind.
Ice broke above him, beneath him, around him – his father's voice, always low, always dark – growled out commands, mingled eternally with the cries of children and the swish of leather, and finally with the brush of earth inside a grave.
Gregory House lay back and remembered as red and green leaves fell about him.
Gregory House hated the cold.