Glass Waltz: Chapter 91 (006. Murder)
Title: Glass Waltz (91)
Fandoms: House/24/MI5
Characters/Pairing: Greg House/Brittany House, referenced Brittany House/Michael Colefield and one-sided Brittany House/Jacob Lindsay
Prompt: 006. Murder
Word Count: 1001
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 91st chapter of an ongoing novel. All chapter subtitles are from the song "30 Minutes" by TATU.
Ninety-one.
Smokescreen.
for the rest / of my life
June 20, 2011
11:56 P.M. EST
Atlantic City, New Jersey
He's standing behind her on the balcony, watching her near the edge of the railing, arms wrapped tightly around her body. The moon is almost directly overhead, and he can see the light reflecting off the waves with each break against the shore, the foam and the mist looking almost surreal, almost mystical in the darkness. He takes a few steps towards her, then rests his chest against her back and holds her close.
Trying to soothe her. Trying to let her know that he's there -- and not going anywhere.
Coming clean to her bosses was hard. Thankfully, the media has left her alone since their return to New Jersey, because he isn't sure how she'd be able to deal with that on top of everything. He wants nothing more than to take his wife inside the doors, lay her down on the bed, and make slow, sweet love to her to prove that everything is going to be alright.
The feeling in the pit of his stomach, says that isn't going to work that well, just yet.
So he just rests his forehead against the top of her skull, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, sighing as he exhales.
Just what are we doing? Just what is going to happen to us? Are we going to be scarred, branded, hurt by this forever? He thinks. Is this the beginning of the end? Are we going to fall apart?
He shakes that thought off, and rubs his hands down the sides of her arms. Kisses the top of her head again. "You wanna go for a walk?" He offers. "Along the beach? The moon gives plenty of light, we could just go talk."
"I don't know, Greg," Brittany replies, leaning back into his arms. "What are we doing?"
"I was just thinking the same thing," he admits, as he moves to stand at her side, one arm still around her shoulders, the other going to rest on the railing beside hers. "But I think we know, we just can't verbalize it."
"Then what are we doing, Greg?" She asks him, giving him a look.
He looks at her for a long moment, then nods. "Getting a breather from the real world. You haven't stopped or even slowed down since the day we got back..."
"How can I?!" She snaps slightly. "I have a job to do. You don't just run out on your employer, run off to another country and expect to come back and have everything be okay when you get back, just like that!" Her eyes fill with tears. "I can't lose this job too, Greg. Not after everything."
"You're not going to lose the job, Brittany," he assures her. "This isn't like you weren't doing something important..."
"How is a decades old murder mystery important, really Greg." She whispers, before she burrows into his chest. "I didn't want to bring this up. I really didn't want to bring this up again. We were happy, and then I ruined it."
"You didn't ruin anything," he assures her. "I'm your husband and that isn't changing. Now, will you please, come in here and let me prove that to you."
Brittany shakes her head.
She wouldn't be any good right now. Why would he want her when she wasn't any good? When she was just a mess of emotions and feelings and a crying mess of tears and pain. She wouldn't want to hang out with herself right now, so why on earth would he want to make love to that? To her?
But the look he's giving her changes her mind, so she relents and lets him lead her back inside.
He sits her down on the bed and pulls close for a kiss. Not a deep kiss, or a hard kiss, but a tender kiss. One like the one he gave her six years ago, one that wasn't quite sure, but knew what he wanted. Knew what he felt. That spark, that love for her, love for what they had, love for the future and the idea of what it held, regardless.
It takes her a minute, but then she's kissing him back. So what if this feels like it's a just a distraction, an illusion, a smokescreen used to hide the truth from view. She's fucked up and hurting inside, but he doesn't care about any of that, just wants her to feel good. Just wants her to feel loved.
And she needs that.
His hands are working on the hem of her shirt, pushing it up and over her head to reveal bare skin, which, yeah there are scars but who gives a shit? He's scarred too. They're both scarred -- inside and out -- and who cares if it takes some distractions to forget about that for a night?
He kisses that bare skin as she takes his shirt off his skin. The rest of their clothes follow suit, slowly becoming made into a neat pile off to the side of the bed. His lips find her neck, then her chest, and he's fully intending on making her feel wonderful. It's another hour before he finally slides into her and moves against her, body already warm and smelling of sex and sweat.
She needed a distraction, and he was going to give it to her. They have a rhythm that works for them, her hands on his shoulders, his stomach tight up against hers. Skin to skin contact is key. So is lots of kissing. Whispered words, usually, but not tonight. Tonight is just eye contact. Soft moans and kisses to silence them.
They spent the night discovering each other. Again. Relaxed and content to ignore the rest of the world for a few hours, and be with each other. Like it was supposed to be. Just them. Sure, their son was in the picture, but they needed this time together.
Especially to deal with what the coming days would bring.
But that was then. This was now. They had each other, and their distractions.
If only it could have stayed like that, forever.
Fandoms: House/24/MI5
Characters/Pairing: Greg House/Brittany House, referenced Brittany House/Michael Colefield and one-sided Brittany House/Jacob Lindsay
Prompt: 006. Murder
Word Count: 1001
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 91st chapter of an ongoing novel. All chapter subtitles are from the song "30 Minutes" by TATU.
Ninety-one.
Smokescreen.
for the rest / of my life
June 20, 2011
11:56 P.M. EST
Atlantic City, New Jersey
He's standing behind her on the balcony, watching her near the edge of the railing, arms wrapped tightly around her body. The moon is almost directly overhead, and he can see the light reflecting off the waves with each break against the shore, the foam and the mist looking almost surreal, almost mystical in the darkness. He takes a few steps towards her, then rests his chest against her back and holds her close.
Trying to soothe her. Trying to let her know that he's there -- and not going anywhere.
Coming clean to her bosses was hard. Thankfully, the media has left her alone since their return to New Jersey, because he isn't sure how she'd be able to deal with that on top of everything. He wants nothing more than to take his wife inside the doors, lay her down on the bed, and make slow, sweet love to her to prove that everything is going to be alright.
The feeling in the pit of his stomach, says that isn't going to work that well, just yet.
So he just rests his forehead against the top of her skull, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, sighing as he exhales.
Just what are we doing? Just what is going to happen to us? Are we going to be scarred, branded, hurt by this forever? He thinks. Is this the beginning of the end? Are we going to fall apart?
He shakes that thought off, and rubs his hands down the sides of her arms. Kisses the top of her head again. "You wanna go for a walk?" He offers. "Along the beach? The moon gives plenty of light, we could just go talk."
"I don't know, Greg," Brittany replies, leaning back into his arms. "What are we doing?"
"I was just thinking the same thing," he admits, as he moves to stand at her side, one arm still around her shoulders, the other going to rest on the railing beside hers. "But I think we know, we just can't verbalize it."
"Then what are we doing, Greg?" She asks him, giving him a look.
He looks at her for a long moment, then nods. "Getting a breather from the real world. You haven't stopped or even slowed down since the day we got back..."
"How can I?!" She snaps slightly. "I have a job to do. You don't just run out on your employer, run off to another country and expect to come back and have everything be okay when you get back, just like that!" Her eyes fill with tears. "I can't lose this job too, Greg. Not after everything."
"You're not going to lose the job, Brittany," he assures her. "This isn't like you weren't doing something important..."
"How is a decades old murder mystery important, really Greg." She whispers, before she burrows into his chest. "I didn't want to bring this up. I really didn't want to bring this up again. We were happy, and then I ruined it."
"You didn't ruin anything," he assures her. "I'm your husband and that isn't changing. Now, will you please, come in here and let me prove that to you."
Brittany shakes her head.
She wouldn't be any good right now. Why would he want her when she wasn't any good? When she was just a mess of emotions and feelings and a crying mess of tears and pain. She wouldn't want to hang out with herself right now, so why on earth would he want to make love to that? To her?
But the look he's giving her changes her mind, so she relents and lets him lead her back inside.
He sits her down on the bed and pulls close for a kiss. Not a deep kiss, or a hard kiss, but a tender kiss. One like the one he gave her six years ago, one that wasn't quite sure, but knew what he wanted. Knew what he felt. That spark, that love for her, love for what they had, love for the future and the idea of what it held, regardless.
It takes her a minute, but then she's kissing him back. So what if this feels like it's a just a distraction, an illusion, a smokescreen used to hide the truth from view. She's fucked up and hurting inside, but he doesn't care about any of that, just wants her to feel good. Just wants her to feel loved.
And she needs that.
His hands are working on the hem of her shirt, pushing it up and over her head to reveal bare skin, which, yeah there are scars but who gives a shit? He's scarred too. They're both scarred -- inside and out -- and who cares if it takes some distractions to forget about that for a night?
He kisses that bare skin as she takes his shirt off his skin. The rest of their clothes follow suit, slowly becoming made into a neat pile off to the side of the bed. His lips find her neck, then her chest, and he's fully intending on making her feel wonderful. It's another hour before he finally slides into her and moves against her, body already warm and smelling of sex and sweat.
She needed a distraction, and he was going to give it to her. They have a rhythm that works for them, her hands on his shoulders, his stomach tight up against hers. Skin to skin contact is key. So is lots of kissing. Whispered words, usually, but not tonight. Tonight is just eye contact. Soft moans and kisses to silence them.
They spent the night discovering each other. Again. Relaxed and content to ignore the rest of the world for a few hours, and be with each other. Like it was supposed to be. Just them. Sure, their son was in the picture, but they needed this time together.
Especially to deal with what the coming days would bring.
But that was then. This was now. They had each other, and their distractions.
If only it could have stayed like that, forever.