A/N: Guess this should have been included in the first chapter, huh? Anyway, I don't own House or the characters from the show. I don't make any money from this. Also, I was reluctant to post this due to my past experiences on this site. Then I figured I may as well and see what happens. Enjoy!
1963
A thick layer of snow covered the ground. A few stars shone in the inky dark November sky. The air was cold and sharp. John House and Gilroy McGrath trudged through the snow to their cars. John rubbed his hands, covered in thick leather gloves, over the lock on the driver's side door. The ice covering it melted away and he inserted his key, unlocking the door. As he started to slide in behind the steering wheel, Gil called out to him.
"Suppose they've already heard?"
"Then they've heard," John replied as he got into the car and drove toward home. As he navigated the winding streets of the base, his hands gripped the steering wheel and he allowed the tears to flow freely. He couldn't allow Blythe or Greg to see him crying, especially Greg. The boy, even though he was only four, was already showing signs of defiance and insolence. If Greg saw any sign of weakness in John, he'd lose even the tiny shred of respect he had for his father. No, John had to be strong for them. He couldn't be like Gil. Gil laughed and played with his two children, Reilly and Angus. He didn't require the same level of discipline John did. He liked and respected Gil. They were best friends and served as each other's wingman. However, John felt Gil's indulgence of his children would ruin them. Angus might never serve in the Marine Corps like his father because he wasn't learning the correct discipline now. No, John was doing Greg a favor. His son would follow in his footsteps. Greg would be the perfect reflection of John.
When he arrived home, he sat in the driveway for a few moments. He removed one glove and wiped his eyes before looking at himself in the rearview mirror. His eyes and nose were slightly red but that could be attributed to the intense cold. As he got out of the car, he saw Gil crossing the lawn.
"Meara and the kids must be here," he told John. Tears streaked his cheeks and John knew he'd make no effort to appear strong and stoic for his family.
The base houses were smaller than the ones back home. John didn't mind but he knew Blythe was unhappy here in Germany. Greg already picked up the language and translated for his mother when they went off base. Reilly did the same for Meara but Meara seemed more content than Blythe. John once heard Meara tell Blythe that so long as she was with Gil she was happy.
Both men entered the house to find Blythe and Meara sitting at the small dining table drinking coffee and talking. The children ran through the house pretending to be airplanes. Greg stopped short at the sight of his father and Reilly ran into him. She bounced off his stiff back and fell to the floor. Angus also stopped and stuck his thumb in his mouth. Slowly, Reilly stood and moved to Greg's side. He took her hand and they stood silent, waiting.
"Gil! What are ya doing here? You're supposed to be on duty," Meara said as she pushed away from the table and moved toward her husband. Her brow furrowed as she saw the tears sliding down his face. He gathered his wife in his arms and held her tightly.
Blythe looked at John and waited.
"President John F. Kennedy was shot about an hour ago in Dallas," he told her his voice even.
Blythe turned away so he couldn't see her cry. The children stared at him as Meara began to cry, clinging to Gil. Finally, Blythe turned to John.
"Are we going back to the States?" she asked tears brimming in her eyes.
"No," John told her as he removed his gloves and shoved them into his coat pocket. He shrugged out of it and hung it on the coat rack by the door. "But if he dies, the squadron will be sent out more often. Those Commies are probably jumping for joy, especially that damned Cuban, Castro."
Blythe looked toward the children. All three of them seemed to understand what John said. They were all exceptionally smart.
"We should go home," Gil said to his wife. "We have to report back at five in the morning for our new orders."
The phone rang and Blythe rose to answer it. John moved quickly past her and picked up the receiver.
"House," he said and then listened for several minutes. "Understood." Slowly he placed the receiver back in the cradle. Straightening his shoulders, he turned to face everyone. "President Kennedy is dead."
The next morning, Blythe stood in Meara's kitchen stirring pancake batter. Meara was at the stove frying sausages. The radio in the kitchen was on and they listened to the news of Kennedy's assassination.
"It's a shame and a disgrace," Meara sighed as she put the sausages on a platter by the stove. She greased the griddle and stood back to allow Blythe to drop pancake batter on it.
In the living room, they could hear the children playing. Meara wiped her hands on her apron and looked out at them. Greg and Reilly were building a massive structure with Lincoln Logs and Angus sat watching them as he rolled a block between his hands.
"Well, at least the children seem to be doing well," Blythe said. She flipped the pancakes over and looked at Meara. "How are you doing?"
"He was a good Irish Catholic," she replied referring to Kennedy. "He has two wee ones and that beautiful wife that have to go on without him. I couldn't do it."
Blythe flipped the cooked pancakes onto a plate warming on the back of the stove. "I think you could. You're the strongest woman I know."
Meara shook her head and tucked a stray fiery red curl behind her ear. She looked at Blythe. In the early morning light, Blythe could see the freckles scattered across her nose along with the dark smudges beneath Meara's eyes. She knew she didn't look much better. John spent most of the night ranting about Communists, Russians, Cubans and how the world was headed for hell in a handbasket.
"Did Gil keep you up talking about the assassination?" Blythe asked her.
"No, we just prayed for the family and our country. We also asked God to have mercy on the world. Did John keep you up? You look like shite this mornin'."
Blythe laughed. "Yes he did and thanks for noticing!"
"I know I look like shite the cat drug in from a bog," she laughed. Then she sobered. "I'm expecting another wee one. This one's due next April sometime. Reilly asked why Greg doesn't have any brothers or sisters. So, I'm askin'. Why no children with John? Are ya usin' birth control?"
Blythe flipped another batch of pancakes on the plate. "No, no birth control."
"Are you havin' relations with him?"
Blythe laughed softly. "Yes. I don't know why I haven't gotten pregnant. To be honest, I'm glad, though. Greg is enough on his own."
Meara set the kettle on the stove and lit the burner. She got out tea and cups. "He and Reilly are both too smart. They need proper learnin'. Gil taught Reilly to read and she turned around and taught Greg, as ya know. Maybe she'll be a teacher like me own Ma. I fear she's already smarter than us."
"I feel the same way about Greg. He frustrates John with his constant questions. But it's how he learns."
"And John punishes him for it," Meara said as she pulled a bottle of milk from the tiny refrigerator. "Don't think we don't notice. It weighs heavily on Reilly and us. Gil tries to talk to John, them being so close, but John says Gil is too soft on ours. Says they'll grow up weak." She snorted in derision. "Most likely Greg'll grow up to hate him and that would be a shame. Children should love and respect their parents. Course they can't do that without bein' shown what that looks like. I've said my piece and I'll speak no more of it. Unless John hurts the lad." Meara looked at Blythe who nodded.
They took the food and drinks to the dining room table. The children stopped playing and clambered up into the dining room chairs. Meara remained standing and blessed the food. Then she sat down next to Angus and prepared a plate for him. Blythe put a pancake and a sausage on a plate for Reilly then did the same for Greg. They both thanked her and then Greg reached for the butter and syrup. He deftly buttered Reilly's pancake before drizzling syrup over it. Then he did the same to his own. Reilly waited until he picked up his knife and fork then picked hers up. They began eating at the same time. Meara and Blythe looked at each other and smiled. Blythe knew as long as Greg had Reilly at his side he would be fine.