As I've looked through the past ten years I've been with this site, it makes me wonder why I haven't been on here again and working on new fiction. Probably the whole being a college student for six years and then working full time after graduating, but that's neither here nor there.
Anyway, I figured I'd take swing at this whole ff thing again, and hopefully I can entertain someone, anyone, out there, in the world wide web. Here goes nothin'.
A simple fic, about a House and his dad...my take on their relationship and what would happen if it were his mother who died instead of his dad.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own house or any of the characters, and all that, I simply miss the show and feel like reinventing things for my own sick pleasure. Thanks and stuff.
"Gregory." The voice was gruff, a voice he knew all too well, a voice he didn't like at all, a voice that protruded out from behind his fellows in his conference room, while they were in the middle of a differential; rudely, abruptly, and very much unwelcome. A voice that made him somewhat uneasy, made his skin crawl slightly, made him want to hurl something hard toward it.
Colonel John House, stood at to, in the doorway of his office.
His dad's presence was not, in any way shape or form, desired right now.
Annoyed, Dr. House, turned around rolling his eyes. His fellows; Cameron, Chase, and Foreman, all got a new rush of alertness at the new scene that developed before them.
"What?" House asked curtly, losing the patience he barely had in the first place.
"What kind of greeting is that, Boy? I raised you better than to ask questions, I'm pretty damn sure I deserve at least a 'how do you do' from you. More importantly, as you surely know, I am the one who will be asking the questions around here." The military tone was one that Greg learned how to tune out a long, long time ago. Maybe it wasn't the case for the ducklings, who sat wide eyed at the stern man, speaking to their menacing boss in a far, intensely far, more menacing tone.
"OH! Pardon me, good sir, I do very much apologize, then, I do. Let me make it up to you with tea and crumpets in the office adjacent, kind gentleman. Please, do follow me!" House sarcastically laid on an exaggerated british accent, and turned toward his private office, allowing the highly ranked, veteran, that he called a father, walk through before him. Greg bowed dramatically, as to not break character, and quickly gave a nasty look toward his group of subordinates.
They quickly caught on and scurried away with their tails between their legs, curious but not stupid enough to stay around while TWO House men filled the air with thick, suffocating, tension.
Greg was pleased at the quickness of their escape and heavily limped toward his chair, sitting down as the office door gently closed behind him. He swiftly motioned for his father to sit before him, impatiently waiting for him to get to the point of his visit already.
"I don't appreciate the jokes, Boy, and you know that." John started, much to Greg's chagrin, "You never take anything seriously, always making jokes, always jerking off... You think you're so funny, but really, you're-"
"Please, I'd love to hear more about my sparkling personality from you, the biggest of my fans, but I do have job to do and you are, quite frankly, wasting my time here. Get on with what you needed to, so abruptly, drive all this way to see me about." Greg was in no mood to tip toe around his father today. His leg was throbbing, his head was throbbing, and now, what was left of any hope for a good day had been shattered with the single mention of his name, by the man that sat across from him, in his office.
All haughty and full of himself.
God, just once, he'd love for his father to at least pretend like he wasn't criticising every move Greg made. It would be thrilling to see the side of his father that most other civilians and his mom got to see. But, no such luck, Drill Sergeant John was all Greg ever knew, all Greg ever saw, and the only way John would ever speak to him.
At to, Boy. He hated being called 'Boy'.
A ten-HUT. It really isn't that hard to just say "attention", for crying out loud… Also, why was it so wild of an idea to just say, "Hey, come here!" like a normal human being? Greg would never understand why his father brought the military into their relationship.
He hated the straight backed, clenched asshole, rigid and humiliating way his dad ordered him around. It was as if he were in the marines and that pissed him off because it was his dad, alone, that made him choose as much of an opposing lifestyle from the military as he could possibly muster.
No matter how hard he tried to make nice with his father, even if only for his mother's sake, Gregory House absolutely fucking hated his father's strict and unreasonable way of parenting.
Especially when he was 50 years old, and even more especially when it was in his workplace. He'd worked damned hard to earn a certain reputation in this hospital, regardless of how bad that reputation may be (it was still his, and only his, reputation to earn and uphold), and it made his blood boil when his own damn dad challenged him in front of his subordinates.
But something was off about this visit, something colder filled Greg's office. Something darker, impregnated the silence, and Greg wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and hide from it all. He knew there was something so deeply, intensely, and earth-shatteringly amiss.
He knew that from the fact that his mother wasn't with his father, and there was no prior warning of his father's visit.
He knew it before the words even tumbled out of Colonel House's mouth...
His mom was gone, and that was that.
"Your mom, she died. I came as soon as I could get the arrangements settled. The funeral is in Virginia, and we will be burying her with her mother and sister; as she would have wanted."
Dr. House shook his head in disbelief…"She wanted to be cremated, dad, she told me herself. So, that is not what she would have wanted, at all, and you know it."
"We don't burn the dead, Boy, I've told you time and again, just like I told her time and again. How is it, that you two get caught up in such atrocities, like cremation and the like? You know how I feel about blasphemy and you can just set aside your ideas of throwing around her ashes as if she were trash. I can't believe you, sometimes, Boy... How disrespectful you can be, is astounding on so many levels."
Greg wanted to puke. He wanted to pass out, to die with her, to run away, to scream and cry and throw a tantrum like a three year old who didnt get the toy he wanted. He wanted to drink, fight, and wallow in this anger, guilt, hatred, sorrow, and bitterness that flowed through him like an ocean wave crashing crashing into the side of a rocky cliff during a harsh storm.
Suddenly, he couldn't breathe, and his world came tumbling down all around him.
His mom was dead and gone, his father was ignoring both of their wishes, and he sat here alone in a cold world that no one could make better…
It was too much.
He felt like spitting in the old man's face.
Instead, he just shut his eyes against the stinging, imminent, tears that sprung so violently to his eyes. He willed them away, because his father hated tears. What good does crying do? Be a man, for God's sake, only cocksuckers cry! His father used to yell.
He'd do anything, for anyone, at anytime, just to be anywhere but here, right now.
But here he was. Fighting each horrifying emotion that welled up inside him.
His mom. His best friend. The only one who knew him inside and out, and still loved him and thought him special… the only one who truly loved him unconditionally, was gone.
Forever.