Yellow
Chapter 1: Patriotism
The noise had stopped.
The bands in the street were quiet.
The conference room was still.
Everyone was watching them.
"Where's my what?" spat the older man.
"Patriotism." The younger man said this quietly, but defiantly.
"Bloody hell, you sound like my father. And anyways, isn't it a little rich for the fucking Aussie to be lecturing me about my patriotism?"
"Maybe your father was right"
House snorted. "You are the first person to ever suggest to me that my father- a man who, to this day, longs to go kill some more Vietcong- was right about anything, but iespecially/i related to mattes of war and peace."
"Soldiers don't choose where they're sent." Chase pointed out, absentmindedly rubbing his left shoulder.
'No, They choose to sign up to go kill people. That;'s enough of a choice for me."
"They choose to fight for what they think is right." Interjected Foreman, but Chase shook his head.
"Not even. They have no bloody idea where they're going to be sent when they sign up. D'you think the boys being sent back in pine boxes,, the members of the reserve, d'you think in 2000 they had any idea where they were going to be sent when Uncle Sam made the call?"
House shook his head. "Do I look like I care? As far as I'm concerned, if you voluntarily sign up to go kill people- a point which you, Chase are willfully ignoring, - then I haven't the least bit of sympathy for you at all when you're sent home in a box, and I'm not the least bit proud of you, and I sure as hell am not going to wear a ribbon or a t-shirt or a bumper sticker that says so.. It was your choice."
"Sometimes it's not a choice" Foreman pointed out.
"Screw that. There are always options."
Chase turned away from House and looked out the window, rubbing his shoulder harder.
"You really don't have any fucking idea, do you, House?" He said in a voice that was near a whisper.
The light was such that House was the only one who could see him crying.