A/N: I've got bad writer's block with E-mail, but I know it's been a really long time since I updated and I wanted to get something out, if not that. Sorry for the long wait. That fountain in my brain is experiencing a drought. Dx

Hope you like this one anyway.

Histories

"Greg, hon, hurry up. The van's here!" her voice rang through the stark entryway and down the hall. "Wait, I'm not done yet!" the pubescent, cracking voice of 11-year-old (almost 12, he liked to remind people) Gregory House echoed back. His mother sighed, and made her way back down the hall to her son's room. She found him crouching over an open floorboard, sharpie in hand. "What are you doing?" she asked, though she knew already from the malicious smirk that it was something she wouldn't approve of. He turned around as she approached, trying to hide the black marker behind his back. His mother was clever, though, and turned his hands over (a thud, as the marker hit the floor), revealing a black streak from where he'd hit his hand while hiding it. She sighed again, holding out her hand for the marker. He acted innocent, shrugging and raising his eyebrows as if to say, 'who, me?'. She nodded, and he held out the marker, rolling his eyes. She took it and grabbed his hand, pulling him up. "Writing your name again?" she asked, hand on his shoulder, following him across the room. He nodded, feet trudging across the floor of the room of an apartment he couldn't really call home. Sometimes being a navy brat was a real pain.

She led him out to the van and to their little 4-passenger car, getting into the passenger's seat after making sure he got in. She looked back at him and, after lecturing him to put his seat belt on, smiled. "Where're we going this time?" he asked, pulling out a yo-yo and dropping it a few times, annoyed as it hit the seat and floor each time. "We'll find out when we get to the airport," his mother answered. "That's stupid," Greg said. His mom rolled her eyes. "Don't even get to buy our tickets until then," he said.

On the relatively short drive to the airport, he tried different ways of ravelling up the yo-yo, trying to see which ways were faster. He was pretty good with the tricks, those he could worry about when he was standing in the long ticket lines. Right now all he could do was wait and be bored. Too bad he didn't have any of his piano books in his carry-on. He had to remember to transfer them before the flight took off. There had been talk about basing his father overseas, and that was sure to be a long flight. What did they want with him, anyway? John House was definitely good with languages, but the foreigners (he scoffed; that term would be referred to him if the marines had there way) would quickly tire of his skeptical nature, especially when dealing with military matters. Greg rolled the yo-yo in his hands, impatient. He never sat still, even during the exams his mother put him through when the military-provided tutoring wasn't enough for his father. In kindergarten (back in Arizona, where temperatures were nothing like those here in Wisconsin), he had always been scolded for his restlessness. And in 3rd grade (his last year at that old shack of a school, thank God), his teacher even had the nerve to suggest he had ADD. That was when his mother decided to pull him out for homeschooling (and when he had to meet that retched lump of a boy that was his cousin). He had liked the idea at first; Greg was always an independent learner. But it soon got old when his father decided to start looking over his papers, correcting his mother's grading mistakes with a hard heart and a brown permanent marker. That marker haunted Greg, even when it was used just to write a 'CORRECT' across the top of his paper.

Once they got out of the car, got their bags checked in, and sat down in the ticket-purchasing lobby, his father's phone rang. "This is John." his stern voice made Greg shiver; he wasn't intimidated, just cold. "Yes," his father continued, "okay." Small silence. "Alright. Goodbye," there was an exausted tone to his voice when he hung up, one Greg rarely heard. The midmorning hustle and bustle of the airport was a rumble in Greg's ears, but he knew the look on his father's face, the exasperation. And he heard the next word that came out of his father's mouth as clear as day: "Egypt."

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A/N: Alright, that's it for chapter one. I'm gonna be late for school as it is, so I didn't have time for any betaing. The mistakes are mine; let's hope you can look past them. xD

Please R it would be awesome to come home from school and find reviews waiting for me. xP