Blue
by Riama
A/N: This is a story about House's childhood. Probably a oneshot, it depends on the Muses and your comments ;-) If I keep writting it
may turn into a Huddy fic at some point. BTW, no beta in this one, sorry about that. Anyway... read and tell me what you think. :-D
Blue. It was cobalt blue.
The little being that was standing proud at the top of the wooden stairs, was as blue as its observer's curious eyes.
Said being was, in fact, an ordinary butterfly. Like the ones you see floating around in Spring days, when the sun is shining and the
weather is getting warmer.
The curious watcher was a 8 year-old boy, but not an ordinary one of course.
He sneezed, and the tiny insect flew away, as fast as its little wings let it. The boy stood up from his crouching position behind his
mother's roses, grunting in frustration. He collected his stuff (a book called "Butterflies and Moths of Britain and Europe" and a glass
jar) and made his way inside the house.
It was August and the heat was unbearable. He was drenched in sweat. His knee-length jeans and t-shirt stuck to his body making
walking a very unpleasant activity. He missed having a swimming pool or simply living near the sea.
The main door was kept open all the time, in order to keep the old two-story house fresh. He ran upstairs, abandoning his stuff in the
hallway in the process, and went straight to the bathroom. He bend over the bathtub and proceeded to soak his head in cold water.
Enjoying the cool feeling, he stood there a few seconds. He was startled when he heard an angry voice coming from downstairs and
approaching.
'Greg! Where are you? What did I tell you about not leaving your toys everywhere?!'
Greg jumped at the sound of his father's fiery voice, turned off the water and walked into the hallway where he met him.
He looked down at his son, examining his messy appeareance.
'What have you done now? Why are you soaking wet? Look at this mess!', he vociferated, flailing his arms up in the air.
Greg looked over his shoulder and saw little puddles of water that he had left in his hurried escape. Then he looked back at his father.
'It...it's just water...'
He didn't have time to finish his sentence. He was grabbed by the collar of his shirt and shoved into the wall, his head hitting the pale-
blue wall behind him with a sickening thud.
'Show me some respect kid!'
His father's face was now a couple of inches from his and he could feel his warm breath. Greg closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the
hit.
But it didn't happen. His mom had arrived.
'John? Greg? I'm home!', she shouted from downstairs. 'Can you help me with the shopping?'
John House let his son go.
'I'll help you dear!', he shouted back. He sent Greg a last menacing glance (don't tell her!) and hurried to help his wife.
Greg was left alone. Dazed, soaking wet and scared. His pulse was still racing and he was shaking. He reached for the back of his
head with a trembling hand and then took a look at it. No blood, no evidence.
He quietly went downstairs, gathered his book and jar and made his way to his room. He closed the door after him, put the book on
the shelf and the jar on his table (tidiness is important). Then he laid in bed and cried silently while he waited for his mom to call him
to dinner.
The End ?