1Blythe Spirit
by HouseCall123
A/N: OK, I "borrowed" the title from the movie of the same name, so I hope no one is offended! Just consider it poetic license! I think we have all seen glimpses of House's relationship with his dad, but what about his mom? Here's a little snapshot of House's relationship with the first woman in his life. Warning: gets a tiny bit angsty sometimes.
It's your mom for chrissakes! House thought to himself as he nervously tapped his cane against the gray tile floor of Newark International.
He didn't have a diagnosis for his sudden nervousness and he certainly didn't know why he had agreed to let his mother come visit him for Mother's Day. Maybe he felt he owed her for the lack of phone calls and her years of Mother's Days without roses and cards.
I must be out of my mind, he thought as a stream of people began to disembark from American Flight 329 from San Diego. Well, it's only a few days. I'll survive..and hopefully, so will she.
As he pondered his predicament, the slim figure of Blythe House appeared in a break in the crowd. She was still a very attractive woman at 66 and even managed to turn the head of an older gentleman passenger or two as she made her way towards her son. He was, of course, quite easy to find with his tall, slender physique, stubbled jaw, his father's blue eyes and his now ever-present cane.
Blythe smiled easily at her boy as she locked eyes with him and rushed to closed the distance between them.
"There's my Greggy," she squealed with delight as she wrapped her arms around him tightly.
He returned the hug more easily than he thought he would.
He immediately blushed, hoping no one who knew him had seen the hug or heard the silly childhood nickname she still insisted on calling him from time to time, though he was now a grown man of 48.
"Mom!" he admonished gently as he straightened up and gently untangled her arms from around his neck.
"Oh, Greggy, relax! You know this will forever be our little secret," she winked at him, recalling how she could never use the nickname in front of her husband, who was always accusing her of over-coddling the boy. For God's sake, Blythe, you're going to turn the boy queer, he would bark when she showed what he thought was too much affection for the boy.
"I know mom. It's just that, if anyone ever heard you calling me that, I'd have to kill them and I'm much too pretty for prison."
"Don't I know it," she laughed, giving his stubbled cheek a gentle pat.
"I'm parked right outside," he said as he attempted to take her carry-on bag.
"Honey, I've got it. Your old mom is not so feeble that she can't carry one small travel bag. I carry bags of garden mulch bigger than this. I can handle it."
A wave of inadequacy immediately washed over House as he gave his mother a curt nod and was once again reminded of his physical limitations.
Geez, even my mom thinks of me as a cripple, he thought sadly as they made their way through the airport's magic eye doors and out into the cool New Jersey afternoon.
As the car sped down the New Jersey turnpike, House withdrew a crumpled Kleenex from his coat pocket and blew his nose as the third in a series of sneezes had finally ceased, leaving his nose still red and runny.
"Aw, honey, are you catching a cold?" Blythe asked with motherly concern as she reached up to feel his forehead.
"Mom, are you trying to get us killed? We're doing 80 mph down the 295 and you're trying to take my temperature?" House glanced sideways at his mother who was looking at him as if she were taking an x-ray of his chest and head.
"I'm sorry, pumpkin. It's just that you don't look too well and I want to make sure you're feeling alright. I'd hate for you to be sick the entire time I'm here visiting."
"Mo-o-o-o-m," House whined. He had a feeling he was going to be doing a lot of that over the next few days. "Did you forget? I am a doctor."
"I know pumpkin, but I worry about you.You do look a little thin and a little flushed."
Pumpkin. Another southern, childhood term of endearment that his mother liked to use that outwardly made him cringe, but inwardly, took him suddenly back to the days when his dad was on some faraway mission and it was just him and his mom all alone at home–wherever home was at that particular time. He smiled a crooked smile at the memory.
He was awakened from his revelry by the sound of his mother's soothing voice, which had changed over the years from her gently curling southern accent to a sound she herself didn't recognize from living so long in the Midwest. Now that they were retired and living in San Diego, her accent was slowly evolving once again.
"So, what do you have planned for us while I'm here?"
"Well, I thought we'd go into Philly, see the Flower Show and then I'd let you buy me dinner."
"As you already reminded me, you're the successful doctor here," Blythe teased as she made a mental note to look in his medicine cabinet for a thermometer as soon as she got inside of his apartment.
Being an avid gardener, he knew she would love seeing all the beautiful flowers and lush tropicals spread over every inch of the arboretum. He remembered many days when she would be weeding her garden, wearing a silly red hat with the white polka dots, and humming happily to herself. He would run by and snatch the hat off her head and she would laugh at his antics. He liked that he could make her laugh. She rarely laughed when his father was home.
"That would be great, honey" Blythe said as they pulled in front of House's apartment building at 221B Baker Street. "That's so sweet of you. I know how much you hate doing those kind of things, now."
Blythe thought back to the days when John would be away and it was just her and her brilliant, but exasperatingly curious, 10 year-old son exploring the museums of London, the temples of Japan and the pyramids of Egypt. Two freewheeling explorers living out dreams past and dreams to come.
He was a child who loved to learn and explore. He was a voracious reader and a natural problem solver from an early age, as well as a natural born athlete. She assumed he got these traits from her side of the family. From her Aunt Jennie, who taught music at the local college and who had taught Blythe to play piano at the tender age of three. From her big brother Michael, who taught high school science and always let Greg assist him when he was preparing science experiments for his class.
John's family was the complete opposite of hers. They were good, salt of the earth people from Danville, Ohio, who believed in God and country; meat and potatoes. Very much "praise the Lord and pass the ammunition" types Blythe had discovered.
They weren't extremely social and she figured her shy child had gotten some of that from their side of the family, as well as from the constant moves from base to base as John built his career in the military on the road to becoming a full colonel. Of course, in later years, when Greg was a teenager, she knew it was also because of his volatile relationship with his father, but they never really discussed it. Something she regretted, but had yet to rectify to this day.
Blythe had met the handsome Private John House when he was stationed at Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi. She and her girlfriends had just graduated from high school and were on summer break before heading off to college at the University of Southern Mississippi. One look at those big blue eyes and it was love at first sight. No summer would ever be that perfect again she had thought.
As the 18 year-old Blythe and her friends went off to college in Hattiesburg, she continued to see John House on the weekends while he was still stationed at Keesler. Her friends didn't understand the attraction, outside of his dreamy blue eyes and his military uniform, but Blythe saw so much more in John that others didn't see. She saw his humor, his love of family and country, his smarts, his charm and most importantly the love he held for her in those big blue eyes.
Like other 18 year-old girls of the time, she dreamed of marriage and babies and thought John would make a good father and husband someday, in spite of his occasionally hot temper. After all, he was a military man.
Their relationship was remained passionate and in September 1958, Blythe found herself pregnant and the father-to-be getting ready to ship out to Rammstein Air Force Base in Germany. When she finally got up the courage–with the help of her very angry parents--to tell John, he immediately returned to the states and married the then two-months pregnant Blythe. Gregory Michael House came screaming into the world on June 11, 1959. The family forgave the precocious child all manner of transgressions since, according to John and Blythe, he was only 7 months at birth and was born premature. They could have lost him. He was their miracle baby.
Another sneeze from her baby boy immediately brought Blythe back to the present. House opened the car door for his mother, then reached in the back seat for her bag. Blythe let him take the bag inside and watched as he balanced it and his cane carefully as they entered his dimly lit apartment.
Blythe went directly to the closed curtains and whipped them open to let the late afternoon sun inside.
"M-o-o-o-o-m!"
"Gregory Michael House! I did not raise a vampire! And judging from your coloring, you could definitely use some sunlight!"
House muttered under his breath as he brought Blythe's bag into his bedroom that he would be giving up for the next few days. He had even managed to change the sheets, dust the furniture, vacuum the rug and put away his porn in preparation for her visit.
Blythe came out of the bathroom from washing her hands thoroughly and walked slowly back into the living room taking in the outward manifestations of her son's life. She eyed the guitars on the wall, the shelves groaning under the weight of all his medical books and, of course, his first love, his beautiful baby grand piano. She sat down on the piano bench as House plopped down on the sofa, which would double as his bed for the next four days.
They stared at each other for a minute, just drinking in the others appearance, before he decided to break the silence.
"So, how's dad?"
He didn't know why he asked. It's not like he really cared, but he knew she would expect him to ask.
"He's fine. He sends his love and said he's sorry he couldn't make this trip. Some military
reunion he just couldn't miss. You know how excited he gets about those things," she said looking right into the suddenly sad eyes of her son.
Everybody lies, he thought. Even moms!
When two more sneezes escaped her son, that was it for Blythe.
"OK, where's your thermometer?"
"Mom, I'm fine! It's just allergies and exhaustion. I'm coming off a really tough case."
"Gregory!"
"Bathroom. Medicine cabinet. Bottom shelf on the right."
"Thank you!" she snapped as she marched briskly towards the bathroom.
"Now, open wide," she commanded upon her return.
"Mo-o-o-o-o-m!"
"Don't mom me! Open up!"
House rolled his eyes and did just as his mom ordered while she gently stroked his hair while waiting for the thermometer to ding. He closed his eyes, and for a moment he was reminded of the day of his 8th birthday when he was too sick to celebrate at the party his mom had planned. He really didn't care because he didn't like the other kids from the base that his mom had invited anyway.
After sending the kids on their way with their goody bags, Blythe sent Greg into the bathroom for a warm bath and to change into his pajamas. When he returned, he stared in wonder at how his mom had so quickly decorated his room with all the party streamers, hats and favors.
Taking her boy into her arms, she gently tucked him in bed and sat by his bed stroking his head and singing softly to him to make him feel better until he drifted off to a sound sleep.
"99.5," she said, her brow furrowing in concern. "This is not allergies. I think you're catching a cold."
"Let me see."
"The only thing you're going to see is the inside of your eyelids, mister! Now go get out of those clothes, take a warm bath and get in your bed," she said, giving him a gentle shove that didn't quite budge him from the couch. He smiled at both the memory and her effort to physically move him.
"Mom, you can't sleep on the couch."
"The couch will be just fine. I just want you to get better. Now git!" she said, comfortably using the southern vernacular of her youth."And take some of that Benadryl I saw in the medicine cabinet!"
"Yes, ma'am."
He rose slowly from the couch and headed for his bedroom, while his mother headed for the kitchen in search of soup, crackers and orange juice to feed her ailing son.
When Blythe entered the kitchen, she was shocked, but not completely surprised at the appalling lack of food in the cupboards and the fridge. My poor baby, Blythe thought as she shook her head and tried her best to piece together some type of sustenance. After searching for awhile and only managing to come up with Doritos, three slices of bread, some peanut butter, a six-pack of beer and a bottle of Grey Goose in the fridge, she went to the bedroom to confront her son.
House had decided to skip the bath and had already gotten into bed with the covers pulled up to his neck when his mother stormed into his bedroom.
"Remember knocking, mom?"
"Greg! You're a doctor for goodness sakes!" she said sternly, ignoring his remark."Do you mean to tell me you can't afford to keep groceries in your house? Milk... eggs... bread...juice? Would it kill you to go the grocery once in awhile?"
House looked at her with bleary and downcast eyes. The Benadryl she had made him take was starting to kick in and that, coupled with his marathon night and early morning at the hospital, took away his will to fight. He just wanted sleep.
"I planned to stop at the grocery before I picked you up," he mumbled. "But I had a patient and it took longer than I thought to stabilize him and..."
"No excuses!"
"But..."
"No buts!"
He felt lousy and drowsy all at the same time, but managed somehow to focus his tired blue eyes on her dark brown ones for just a second before whispering, "I'm sorry, mommy," and then drifted off into a semi coma-like sleep.
With those words, Blythe's heart tightened in her chest as she reached over and gently stroked her son's grizzled cheek. At that moment, he was such like the little boy she remembered. The one who's curiosity got him into all manner of trouble, but who, with those three simple words, could always melt her heart and make her immediately forgive him his trespasses.
Of course, she always recognized the difference between when her brilliant son was just trying to manipulate her and when he genuinely meant it. Right now, feeling the depth of his sincerity, she let go of her frustration and replaced it with focusing again on his well-being.
She leaned over kissing his now sleep-relaxed brow as she cooed softly, "It's okay, Greggy." She then turned and headed into the kitchen in search of the take out menus she had seen tacked on the fridge.
House awakened a few hours later to a darkened bedroom. It was 9 pm and his stomach was angrily growling at him for all the meals it had missed.
As he attempted to sit up on the side of the bed, his head and his leg throbbed in time with his stomach. He reached for the familiar orange bottle on the nightstand, popped two vicodin and squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a few moments until the throbbing, growling chorus began to ebb. At that moment, Blythe tapped gently on his bedroom door before walking him.
"Oh, sweetie, you don't look so good!"
"Thanks for the words of encouragement, mom, but I just woke up!"
"You know what I mean, Gregory."
"Do you feel like eating something? I ordered some hot & sour soup, eggrolls, kung pao chicken and beef and broccoli for dinner."
As hungry as House thought he was, he didn't know if he was quite ready for the full dinner menu his mom had just rattled off.
"I might have a little soup...maybe an eggroll," he said sheepishly.
"Well, lay back down for a little while and when the food arrives I'll bring you a tray." He hated when his mom made a fuss over him. "Oh, and James called while you were sleeping."
"James who? Oh, Wilson. What'd he want?"
"Well, he and I spoke for a while and he offered to pick up the Chinese food and bring it over. He also offered to stop at the grocery and pick up a few other things we're going to need around here. He didn't know you weren't feeling well."
"Mom, I'm not sick. I'm just a little run down!"House said a little too sharply and a little too loudly, the sound of his own voice muffled by the bits of cotton that had gathered, but had not yet cleared from inside his head while he slept.
"Are we going to have this 'discussion' again," Blythe said, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him.
"What time is Wilson, the perfect son, getting here," he asked instead, in an effort to change the subject.
"Greggy. You know you are my one and only son. Even when you're being a total ss, mommy still loves you first, best and always," she said as she turned to answer the knock at the door.
"James!" she smiled, as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on both cheeks.
All Wilson could do was smile and kiss her back on the cheek, since hugging was clearly out of the question as his arms were full of chinese take-out and groceries.
Wilson made his way to put the groceries and the Chinese food on the kitchen counter. When his arms were finally free, he immediately turned and gave Blythe a big warm hug.
"How are you Mrs. House? You look absolutely wonderful!"
"You'd better watch him, mom. He hasn't had a date in a while. He could be trying to make you the fourth ex-Mrs. Wilson," House smirked as he made his way just inside the kitchen doorway. "Last I remember, dad is not the sharing type."
Wilson and Blythe simultaneously rolled their eyes.
Deciding he had witnessed enough, House turned to go into the living room to take his place on his comfy leather sofa. Lifting his right leg carefully over his left, he watched as Wilson and his mother put away the groceries and began grabbing plates for the food.
"Now, you go make yourself comfortable, James. I'll bring everything into the living room in just a minute," Blythe politely ordered.
"At least let me get the drinks," Wilson politely offered.
"Okay. I'm on vacation, so I'll have a beer," Blythe said as she opened drawers in search of silverware.
"I'll have a beer, too," House yelled. "That is, if anyone cares what I want!"
"Bring him some orange juice," Blythe winked at Wilson. "It'll help with his sunny disposition."
"There's not enough orange juice in the world to make him feel sunny," Wilson chuckled as he reached into the fridge for the beers and the fresh carton of juice.
Blythe's first evening was filled with regaling Wilson with stories from House's childhood and the usual playful ribbing between House and Wilson. A few hours later, Blythe stifled a yawn as she looked at the clock on the wall, which read midnight.
"Well, goodnight boys. It's been a very long day and as much as I love your company, it's time for this old lady to hit the hay."
"Take the bedroom, mom. We're going to be up awhile. I'll be fine on the sofa."
"Okay, if you're sure," Blythe said guiltily.
"I'm sure. Goodnight, mom."
"Night, Mrs. House. It's been fun."
"I hope I'll see you again before I leave, James" Blythe said as she slowly made her way to the bedroom.
"Oh, I'm sure you will, Mrs. House. Sleep tight."
"Oh, and James, don't let Greg stay up too late. He really does need his rest."
"Yes, Mrs. House."
"Suck up!" House said as soon as he heard his bedroom door close.
"Momma's boy!"
"Serial groom!"
House grabbed the TV remote and turned up the volume on a movie, while he and Wilson leaned back comfortably into the sofa and watched the action unfurl. He was feeling a lot better after having eaten, but knew he wasn't quite a 100 yet.
"So, are you going to introduce Mel to your mom?" Wilson asked while watching the movie's hero gun down three bad guys in a river front warehouse. "I saw the surprised look on your mom's face when I mentioned her name."
"Yeah, about that Mr. Big Mouth," House snarked between sips of beer. "Mel and I have only been going out for six weeks. Don't want to plant any crazy ideas in her head. You know how women get. You introduce to them to mom and the next thing you know, you're standing at the altar saying 'I Do.' You know all about that, don't you?"
"I Do," Wilson deadpanned.
House smiled and continued sipping his beer as his thoughts drifted to Melissa.
He had met Melissa Daniels in Joe's Motorcycle Shop on Nassau Avenue just a few Saturdays ago. While he realized that more and more women were riding motorcycles, he wasn't used to seeing them in the neighborhood repair shop where he most times brought his Honda Respol for service. She was about 5'8" with loosely curled hair, big brown eyes and skin he recently described to a very jealous Dr. Foreman, as Halle Berry brown. The low-slung dark blue jeans, white Miles Davis t-shirt and the colorful head scarf that kept her wild curls at bay made her look stylish and definitely younger than her 36 years.
House found himself easily attracted to Melissa, having dated girls of every race and ethnicity throughout his life, much to his father's disapproval. From Myoko in Japan to Hoda in Egypt and Pashra in London, he definitely considered himself as an equal-opportunity dater. To House, all women were pretty much fair game, as long as they fit his type–brunette, smart, fascinating and not looking to fix him.
He had been standing to her right as she was at the counter explaining to Joe, the shop owner, that she had a sticky clutch. House decided to butt in with one of his usually crass remarks that made most women roll their eyes and run for the hills and made others roll their eyes, but find his crassness adorable, in a fourteen year-old boy kind of way.
"Yeah, dad always warned me that if I kept squeezing my clutch, it would leave me all sticky."
She laughed at his childishly lewd joke, but took no offense. Having grown up with three brothers, she had heard them all. She looked him up and down, taking in the brilliant blue eyes, slender, slightly muscular physique and the cane with flames, before returning her attention to Joe.
"It's probably something, simple, right Joe?" House persisted, egged on by her laughter.
"Yeah, bring it around back Mel and I'll take a look at it and let you know what's going on. Why don't you come back for it in an hour? I should have it ready by then."
"That'll be great, Joe. Thanks so much. A group of us are going for a ride up in the mountains next weekend and I want it to be in tip-top shape."
She turned around to see a fascinated House still standing there.
"Mel?" he asked. "Daddy wanted a boy?" he smirked
"Short for Melissa," she said, finally turning to fully face him while flashing him a brilliant smile. "Melissa Daniels," she repeated, extending a long slender hand. "And, no," she said staring directly into his eyes, "Daddy already had the three boys he wanted. I was the girl my daddy needed."
House shifted his cane to his left hand and took her hand in his, holding on just a bit longer than he normally would have.
"Gregory House," he smiled, flashing his best visible assets at her–his rarely used smile and his brilliantly blue eyes.
"Dr. Gregory House?" she asked.
"Have we met?" House asked, immediately going through the rolodex of past dates in his head to see if this was someone he'd dated and forgotten, or worse, dated and pissed off. The latter, of course, being a much larger category of women. "Because, not to sound lame, if we had met, I would certainly remember you."
She rewarded his lame compliment with a very flirtatious smile.
"I'm an associate at Addison & Royce downtown," she said still smiling at the cheesy compliment. "We do some work for Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and, for some reason, the bulk of it keeps involving one Dr. Gregory Michael House.
"Guilty as charged," he smiled as he finally gave her back her hand.
Casting his eyes downward and not believing that after Stacy he was actually thinking about asking another lawyer out, he asked sheepishly, "Look, since Joe is going to be a little while with your bike, why don't you join me for a cup of coffee? There's a little shop just around the corner..."
"The Nervous Bean!" they said in unison.
"That's the one," House said as Mel laughed. "Stupid name, but great coffee."
"Sounds good to me," she said.
Coffee that Saturday morning, was followed by dinner that Friday and lunch the following Wednesday and a standing Saturday night date ever since.
"House?"
"Where'd you go? The lights were on, but nobody was home for a minute."
"Oh, nowhere," House said stroking the stubble on his chin.
"I asked if you were going to introduce Mel to your mom and you just kind of zoned out on me."
"Actually, I planned on introducing Mel to my mom, but she's working a case in Chicago and won't be back until Tuesday. Maybe next time."
"That's too bad. I think your mom would really like her."
"Yeah, I know. And just think of all the fun she'd have fantasizing about her little cafe-au-lait grandchild-to-be. Don't know if dad would be as thrilled, but mom's at the point of wanting a grandchild whether it's purple, green, gold or blue."
Wilson just smiled at his friend, shook his head and finished watching the movie.
House was feeling better the next morning and decided he felt well enough to make the trip to take his mom into Philly for the Flower Show. House knew it was mostly sleep deprivation and his sinuses that had wiped him out the day before, so he ignored her continued protests. His slight fever was gone thanks to the Benadryl and he felt refreshed from finally catching up on his sleep.
"So tell me about this girlfriend of yours," Blythe asked as they slowly strolled through aisles of orchids.
"Mom, she's almost 40 years old. Hardly a girl."
"Gregory, you know what I mean. How'd you two meet? What's she like? Is it serious?"
"Whoa, enough with the 20 questions, mom! That's my territory!"
"I'd just like to know if she makes you happy, honey?"
"Mom, try not to get your hopes up. I really don't know where this is going with Mel. We've only been dating a few weeks and we're kinda taking this a little slow."
"Well, honey, you know I'm not getting any younger. If I'm going to have time to watch my grandkids grow, it's going to have to be real soon."
"Speaking of growing...How's your garden, mom?" House asked trying to distract his mother from digging deeper into his love life.
"Don't try to distract me, young man! Who do you think you learned that little technique from in the first place?" Blythe smirked.
"Who?"
Blythe slapped her son playfully on the arm, then tenderly linked her right arm though his left.
House thought about how much he had missed his mother's soft touch as they walked arm-in-arm towards a row filled with a variety of lush bougainvillea.
Seated at Danny's Diner where they decided to stop for lunch before returning to Princeton, Blythe looked closely at her son as he carefully studied the menu. He always did have a healthy appetite. Blythe remembered one time when they were in Japan and she had to apologize for her son's ravenous appetite as he ate everything but the table cloth in a Japanese tea house. The women tittered good-naturedly at the boy's behavior, leaving Blythe to only shake her head at her son's ability to charm the pants off of people, usually women, when he really wanted to.
As the young waitress placed their food on the table, Blythe began dressing her salad slowly while watching her son swallow a vicodin before wolfing down his burger and fries.
"Greg?"
"Yeah, mom?"
"Are you happy, sweetie?"
"Define happy."
House had felt her eyes boring into him while he ate, but decided not to ask her what was going on. He hoped it was just her getting a good long look at him since it had been almost a year since they'd seen each other.
Between his parents' travels and his unpredictable work schedule, it just never seemed to be the right time for a visit. Of course, he would have liked to have seen his mother more, but he certainly didn't want to have to deal with his dad. Unfortunately, as much as House loved his mother, John and Blythe House came as a matched set.
"Mom, I'm fine. Anyway, happiness is greatly overrated."
"I'm happy with your father," she said, wishing she could pull the words back into her mouth before they had a chance to reach her son's ears. She immediately regretted it, but as she had done so many times throughout her life and his, she simply pretended that there wasn't an 800-pound gorilla suddenly in the room with them.
"Well, that makes one of us," House mumbled as he loudly slurped the soda from the bottom of his glass, making heads turn in the restaurant in the process.
Forgetting her guilt momentarily, Blythe gave him 'the look' she used to give him when he was a boy and had misbehaved. She thought back to how many times she had given him that look over the years, beginning from the time he could walk and talk. Between the looks and the endless times she had shouted, "Greggy, stop!" she was worried he was going to grow up thinking his name was Greggy Stop.
As he placed the now-empty glass and straw back on the table with a solid thud, House thought about the times his mother had disciplined him. It was always different when she corrected him. She never raised a hand to him. She actually did it with love and he actually did learn a lesson most of the times. So why did he still feel these moments of anger towards her after all these years?
His father, on the other hand, disciplined him with anger under the guise of making a man out of him. Teaching him respect for authority and his elders. House felt his stomach tighten as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the still-vivid memories.
She knew he was angry and almost as if she had read his mind, Blythe bravely decided to break the silence that had fallen between them. She cautiously placed her small hand on top of his larger one as she quietly told him, "You know, Greg, your father just didn't know how to discipline a smart, strong-willed child like you. He always said you had more guts than some of the young marines he had to train. He just didn't know what to do with you. He really does love you, Greg. He just didn't...doesn't know how to show it. He didn't know any other way."
House noticeably bristled at his mother's defense of the man who, as far as he was concerned, had robbed him of not only a normal childhood, but a normal life. Why does she always take his side? he thought sadly, looking down into his empty plate.
He thought back to the variety of punishments his father had inflicted upon him. For House's friends, the anticipation of being punished was always a lot worse than the actual punishment. But for him, the anticipation and the punishment were usually equal, if not worse. The sleeping outside in the middle of winter, the ice baths till he turned blue, the washing his mouth out with soap, the standing at attention until he crumpled to the ground, and of course, his dad's favorite fallback punishment--beating him with a leather Marine belt on his bare flesh until the welts created a crimson pattern across his butt, back and thighs. His dad had even managed to scare off the few friends he had somehow managed to make.
House shook his head to clear the painful thoughts as he rose stiffly from the table. One thing he had to give to his father, if nothing else, he was creative in his sadism.
As his leg and head throbbed at once, he wanted to lash out at his mother right there in the restaurant in front of everyone. He wasn't liking her very much at that moment, but was also hating himself for even thinking such a thing. What type of monster wants to hurt his own mother?
As much as he felt like he wanted to hurt her in some way for not defending him from his tormentor, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew that like his father, she was a woman of her generation and there was no way she would have had the guts to stand up to her husband.
While she had been there to dry his tears and offer him comfort, long after his dad had left him an emotional heap, he just didn't understand why she hadn't been there to stop it in the first place.
House tried desperately to push his hurt and anger to those places in his head and his heart that were already overflowing with painful memories. Of all the puzzles he had solved over the course of his life, this was the one that continued to nag him to no end. He just simply wanted to know one thing--why?
Seeing how painful this was for him, Blythe averted her eyes that were shining with tears and simply said, "Maybe we should go."
The drive back to Princeton was filled with silence and angst.
"Is James's girlfriend Amber, joining us for dinner this evening at the restaurant?"Blythe quietly attempted as they pulled in front of House's apartment.
Still lost in his thoughts from the diner, House offered a barely audible, "Yes."
Knowing she wasn't going to be able to easily reach her son, now that the walls were completely up, Blythe said the only words she thought would help get through to her son, "Gregory, I'm sorry."
He knew she was serious in her apology and he swallowed hard as he watched the tears roll down his mother's cheeks.
"Mom, please don't cry. It's okay."
House reached awkwardly across the seat and hugged his mother tightly, but he just couldn't bring himself to say 'I'm sorry' in return because as far as he was concerned, he didn't have anything to be sorry for. He had said those two words a million times throughout his childhood, but now put them in the same category as 'I love you' or 'Have a Nice Day.' Maybe that's why he had so much trouble saying it to people, he thought as they quietly entered the apartment.
Blythe did her best to try to make her son feel better after their tense lunchtime conversation and silent drive home. She made him a snack and played some of his favorite songs on the piano as a way to drive home her apology.
He always loved when his mom would play the piano for him. Her playing had a magical way of calming him. It was the one thing that would soothe his aching soul after dealing with his father or his idiot classmates. Sadly, he realized that nowadays, in addition to his beloved piano, he needed vicodin and a couple fingers of scotch to feel calm.
By the time Wilson and Amber arrived on House's doorstep at 7 p.m., he had almost forgotten his anger, but not entirely. The music having taken only some of the sting out of his wounded psyche.
Dinner with James and Amber was quite pleasant, Blythe thought as they returned home around 10 p.m. And, if there was one thing Blythe knew how to do, it was pretend that everything was pleasant. House still harbored some of his earlier resentment, but he was used to keeping things inside and covering it with his mask of indifference, so he talked and smiled and pretended, all was well. Afterall, he had learned from the best.
By the end of the night, he had managed to feel more like himself, which wasn't saying much, but at least it would help him to be able to at least try to enjoy his mother's company during Mother's Day Brunch the next day.
Wilson hadn't been fooled by House's act. He figured that whatever was going on between House and his mother would have to be a conversation for Monday afternoon over the wall of their connecting balconies or Monday night over beer and pizza on House's couch.
Though he was torn between prying into their family business and minding his own business, for once, Wilson made a note to himself to fill Mel in, so she wouldn't be blind-sided by whatever mood House might inflict upon her when she returned from Chicago. So much for minding one's own business, Wilson sighed.
Before House knew it, Monday morning had come and he once again found himself standing in the Newark airport, nervously tapping his cane on the gray tile floor. He realized that he was drowning in all the feelings, both good and bad, that his mother's short visit had stirred up in him. He couldn't wait to get back to his life at PPTH, but he also knew that he had to try to not let all those feelings keep him from at least trying to have a life outside of work.
Deep down, he knew he needed more than just his mom, Wilson, Cuddy and occasionally Stacy in his life. And while the jury was still out on Mel, he knew he really liked spending time with her and should at least make a little room in his life for her, too.
Maybe he could even make a trip to visit his parents and bring Mel with him for a proper introduction. For a deliciously brief moment, he thought that if meeting Mel gave his aging dad a heart attack in the process, well, that would just be a bonus, but he quickly chased that thought away, as the last call for Flight 422 to San Diego was announced.
Before she made her way to the gate, Blythe stood on tiptoes and hugged her son tightly.
"Greggy, I love you," she whispered in his ear."Please promise me you'll take care of yourself. You know I worry."
The use of the silly, childhood nickname made him smile this time.
"I love you, too, mom. I'll try, but I can't make any promises," he whispered in her ear as he kissed her cheek.
"I know, Gregory. I know."
THE END