House/24 - Greg House/Brittany House - Glass Waltz (76)
Title: Glass Waltz (76)
Fandoms: House/24/MI5
Characters/Pairing: Greg House/Brittany House, referenced Brittany House/Michael Colefield and one-sided Brittany House/Jacob Lindsay
Prompt: 069. Grotesque.
Word Count: 1015
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, and adult subject matter.
Spoilers: None for this part
Summary: A killer's dying wish brings his last victim to life.
Author's Notes: The seventy-sixth chapter of an ongoing novel. All chapter subtitles are from the song "30 Minutes" by TATU.
Seventy-Four.
Senses Fail.
casting shade
June 11, 2011
12:35 P.M. BDT
Covent Garden, London, England
Everyone has to start somewhere.
Brittany is reminded of something John Cusack once said: "Considering what he did, everyone would like to think Hitler just came from hell in a big plume of smoke, but that's not how it happened." And the same is true of everyone. Everyone involved in this twisted story. They all have parents. Backgrounds. Lives. Life decisions that shaped them into who they are today. Everyone, after all, is the sum total of the choices that they make.
Would she herself be as passionate about bringing justice and equality to people if she hadn't been a victim of injustice and inequality for eighteen of her twenty-six years? Would she be as willing to give second chances if she hadn't been cut one of her own by a then-complete stranger named Jack Bauer?
Probably not, she knows.
She settles on the nearest chair, elbows on her knees, the box and its contents at her feet as she ponders. Though it's what they like to believe, and what the court documents may now say, Jack has never been her father. They've just grown so close that they act like family. She needed a father figure; he needed a second chance to make things right with Kim. It clicked. But he's not her father. Her real father is a man she hasn't spoken to in at least nine, ten years. And while Jack is good to her, he's got a daughter of his own to tend to, first.
She's got her own family, now. A husband and a son. She needs to do right by them, better than what was done by her. She needs to learn from Jack and not from the man who came before him.
She wonders who Lindsay's parents were. He seems fairly close to his sister, so was he close to them? Did they have any idea who and what he became? Did they love him regardless of it? How much did he show them of the man that he became? What part did they play in his becoming that?
After all, if it weren't for Jack, her whole life would be different.
This is what she came here for. She came here not to chase a murderer or defuse a national security crisis, she came here to figure him out. Everything else was a detour to this. Now it's time to put that sociology degree to use, and figure out what makes the spectre of her life tick.
She opens the file and starts reading, not quite sure what she's looking for.
His middle name is Clarke. His parents were both teachers. He holds a B.A. in Social Anthropology from the University of Edinburgh, class of 1989, a year ahead of schedule. The first part of his file is meaningless facts and yet it's still more than she's ever known about him.
He completed MI6 generalist training but never served a day for the British Intelligence Service. However, he had performed a task or two for them over the years. Unsurprising; he never discriminated in who he chose to kill. If the person deserved it, no matter whose side he was on, Lindsay would pull the trigger. Not that there's any record of this at MI6. If there were, Six would know him better. He'd obviously done that work without their knowledge.
He liked to do a lot of things without telling anyone.
She sighs. It's not like Lindsay is going to write a manifesto of why he chose to mess with her life. He didn't intend to turn her life upside down. This is just her own curiosity digging her into an even deeper hole. What is she looking for? Validation? Closure? Why can't she just let this drop?
Because it's too damn big and too damn painful to just push aside.
She reads through the entire thing, not once, but twice. As a former profiler, there are a million different theories about how Lindsay could've turned into what he is. None of them can ever be validated. None of this really matters, because no matter how good the voice in her head is, the man is still dead. He got his at the end of an assault rifle when she pumped a clip into him, six years earlier.
She drops the file into the box, dissatisfied.
"I fucking hate you, just so you know."
"You've made that fairly clear, Brittany."
"Good." She nods slightly, not sure where they all go from here.
That's when her phone rings. She snatches it off her belt and brings it to her ear, her voice tired. "Yeah," she says noncommittally.
The voice on the other end is unmistakably British. "Brittany, it's me," Michael says. "I need you to come back straight away."
"What?" she stands slightly, eyeing the box on the floor. "What's going on?"
"I can't find your husband." Michael swallows. "He's not in the room, he's not here. I don't know where Greg is." A pause. "The good news is there's no forced entry, no blood, none of...it appears he...disappeared voluntarily." His voice stumbles, not quite sure if that was encouraging or not.
She pauses. "Is this...because of us, do you think?" she asks, while she snatches the box off the floor and moves toward the door of the flat, her brain already racing. Greg's been prone to some weird behavior, but for him, right now, this is completely out of the blue.
"Why would it be?" Michael asks, though he's probably thinking the same thing. "It's not like we slept together."
"It's Greg. I don't know. We're in a foreign country, it's not like he has somewhere that he can go, unless he thinks he knows something we don't. Have you tried to call him?"
"He's not picking up. Why don't you try?"
"I will. I'm on my way back now." She ends the call, before she dials her husband's phone number. "Greg. This is your wife. Where the hell are you?"
Fandoms: House/24/MI5
Characters/Pairing: Greg House/Brittany House, referenced Brittany House/Michael Colefield and one-sided Brittany House/Jacob Lindsay
Prompt: 069. Grotesque.
Word Count: 1015
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, and adult subject matter.
Spoilers: None for this part
Summary: A killer's dying wish brings his last victim to life.
Author's Notes: The seventy-sixth chapter of an ongoing novel. All chapter subtitles are from the song "30 Minutes" by TATU.
Seventy-Four.
Senses Fail.
casting shade
June 11, 2011
12:35 P.M. BDT
Covent Garden, London, England
Everyone has to start somewhere.
Brittany is reminded of something John Cusack once said: "Considering what he did, everyone would like to think Hitler just came from hell in a big plume of smoke, but that's not how it happened." And the same is true of everyone. Everyone involved in this twisted story. They all have parents. Backgrounds. Lives. Life decisions that shaped them into who they are today. Everyone, after all, is the sum total of the choices that they make.
Would she herself be as passionate about bringing justice and equality to people if she hadn't been a victim of injustice and inequality for eighteen of her twenty-six years? Would she be as willing to give second chances if she hadn't been cut one of her own by a then-complete stranger named Jack Bauer?
Probably not, she knows.
She settles on the nearest chair, elbows on her knees, the box and its contents at her feet as she ponders. Though it's what they like to believe, and what the court documents may now say, Jack has never been her father. They've just grown so close that they act like family. She needed a father figure; he needed a second chance to make things right with Kim. It clicked. But he's not her father. Her real father is a man she hasn't spoken to in at least nine, ten years. And while Jack is good to her, he's got a daughter of his own to tend to, first.
She's got her own family, now. A husband and a son. She needs to do right by them, better than what was done by her. She needs to learn from Jack and not from the man who came before him.
She wonders who Lindsay's parents were. He seems fairly close to his sister, so was he close to them? Did they have any idea who and what he became? Did they love him regardless of it? How much did he show them of the man that he became? What part did they play in his becoming that?
After all, if it weren't for Jack, her whole life would be different.
This is what she came here for. She came here not to chase a murderer or defuse a national security crisis, she came here to figure him out. Everything else was a detour to this. Now it's time to put that sociology degree to use, and figure out what makes the spectre of her life tick.
She opens the file and starts reading, not quite sure what she's looking for.
His middle name is Clarke. His parents were both teachers. He holds a B.A. in Social Anthropology from the University of Edinburgh, class of 1989, a year ahead of schedule. The first part of his file is meaningless facts and yet it's still more than she's ever known about him.
He completed MI6 generalist training but never served a day for the British Intelligence Service. However, he had performed a task or two for them over the years. Unsurprising; he never discriminated in who he chose to kill. If the person deserved it, no matter whose side he was on, Lindsay would pull the trigger. Not that there's any record of this at MI6. If there were, Six would know him better. He'd obviously done that work without their knowledge.
He liked to do a lot of things without telling anyone.
She sighs. It's not like Lindsay is going to write a manifesto of why he chose to mess with her life. He didn't intend to turn her life upside down. This is just her own curiosity digging her into an even deeper hole. What is she looking for? Validation? Closure? Why can't she just let this drop?
Because it's too damn big and too damn painful to just push aside.
She reads through the entire thing, not once, but twice. As a former profiler, there are a million different theories about how Lindsay could've turned into what he is. None of them can ever be validated. None of this really matters, because no matter how good the voice in her head is, the man is still dead. He got his at the end of an assault rifle when she pumped a clip into him, six years earlier.
She drops the file into the box, dissatisfied.
"I fucking hate you, just so you know."
"You've made that fairly clear, Brittany."
"Good." She nods slightly, not sure where they all go from here.
That's when her phone rings. She snatches it off her belt and brings it to her ear, her voice tired. "Yeah," she says noncommittally.
The voice on the other end is unmistakably British. "Brittany, it's me," Michael says. "I need you to come back straight away."
"What?" she stands slightly, eyeing the box on the floor. "What's going on?"
"I can't find your husband." Michael swallows. "He's not in the room, he's not here. I don't know where Greg is." A pause. "The good news is there's no forced entry, no blood, none of...it appears he...disappeared voluntarily." His voice stumbles, not quite sure if that was encouraging or not.
She pauses. "Is this...because of us, do you think?" she asks, while she snatches the box off the floor and moves toward the door of the flat, her brain already racing. Greg's been prone to some weird behavior, but for him, right now, this is completely out of the blue.
"Why would it be?" Michael asks, though he's probably thinking the same thing. "It's not like we slept together."
"It's Greg. I don't know. We're in a foreign country, it's not like he has somewhere that he can go, unless he thinks he knows something we don't. Have you tried to call him?"
"He's not picking up. Why don't you try?"
"I will. I'm on my way back now." She ends the call, before she dials her husband's phone number. "Greg. This is your wife. Where the hell are you?"