Glass Waltz: Chapter 93 (093. Crisis)
Title: Glass Waltz (93)
Fandoms: House/24/MI5
Characters/Pairing: Greg House/Brittany House, referenced Brittany House/Michael Colefield and one-sided Brittany House/Jacob Lindsay
Prompt: 093. Crisis
Word Count: 1018
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-three.
Dust.
for the rest / of my life
June 21, 2011
6:31 P.M. EST
Princeton, New Jersey
He's standing in the backyard, his hands on his hips as he stares out at the grass, the trees, and the pond. Everything he planted when they bought the house is matured now, his son has a treehouse in the largest of the trees, a swingset, and there's even a sandbox. He can remember when his son first started walking, started running, started jumping around on that grass.
Why he's thinking about his son, he's not quite sure.
Maybe it's the fact that he's been talking to Craig more often these days, talking to him about the fact that he got buried alive in a coffin in Cardiff. Talking about the nightmares that are coming on and off, about the fact that he can't look at the dust and the dirt quite right anymore. It's like what happened when he was kidnapped, years ago, and he was fearful of parking garages, subways, and tons of concrete for months.
Maybe it's the fact that there's a patch of dirt on the edge of the house, that needs replanting.
Maybe it's nothing at all.
Or maybe it's everything.
June 21, 2011
7:45 P.M., EST
Princeton, New Jersey
Jackson is sitting at the kitchen table, fork in hand as he stabs at his carrots and peas.
"Jackson, don't stab your vegetables," House chides slightly, smiling at his wife as their son carefully scoops the vegetables instead. It hasn't been easy, raising the boy in the life that they're in, but they've managed alright, he thinks.
Brittany just pokes at her food, moving it around on the plate.
"Babe, you've got to eat something," he tells her.
"I know, Greg, I'm just not really hungry." She sighs and swallows.
"What's the matter, Mama?" Jackson asks curiously, eyeing his mother. "Are you feeling sick?"
"No, honey," Brittany replies. "I'm just tired."
"You should take a nap," Jackson offers helpfully, attempting to hide his vegetables underneath his bread.
"Jackson Liam," House says, eyeing the bread being smushed down onto the carrots. "Eat your vegetables, don't attempt to hide them from me."
"Yes, dad."
June 21, 2011
8:51 P.M., EST
Princeton, New Jersey
House is sitting in the bedroom that they've made for their son. He can remember when the crib was in the far corner by the wall, rather than an actual bed by the other wall. The baby mobile has been replaced by model planes hanging from the ceiling, the pictures on the walls of baby tigers, lions, monkeys are gone, replaced by photographs of jet fighters and other cool things that he likes to show off when he can.
There's the photograph of Jackson and his grandfather on the bumper of a massive black SUV. Another of the boy sitting on a firetruck. And one of Jake and Jackson, sitting in the cockpit of a jet-fighter on the tarmac.
A thought crosses his mind, and he takes in a breath.
His son is sleeping in the bed. His wife is in the other room, the living room, sitting on the couch and staring at the wall.
House moves to the bedside of his son and sits down on the edge, and runs his hand over the sleeping form under the blanket. His son. Part of him flashes on the fact that he could have lost this. Lost the chance to sit here and watch his son sleep. He's always loved watching his son sleep, something about the way he looks like he's at such peace.
But the fact that his wife is upset, upsets him.
He could try calling Craig. Or Jack. Or even Brian, Kyle, Julian. Any of them would come over and give her some help, cuddle her a big, tell her it was going to be alright in the end.
But he didn't think that was what she needed.
So he sighs and stands from the bed, then walks to the window of the room, and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. He flicks through the numbers in the memory and then settles on one, and pushes the call button.
It rings twice.
"Hannigan."
June 21, 2011
10:45 P.M. EST
Princeton, New Jersey
House is the one who opens the door for Jake when he arrives. The lines on Jake's face are a little bit deeper than they were six years ago, but the look in his eyes is the same as it was six years ago. Steel. Unbreakable steel.
He lets the other man into the house and steps back, taking a moment to look out into the neighborhood, then turns as he hears Jake's footsteps cross the living room floor.
Jake takes a breath, and looks at Brittany, then back at House.
"I'm going to need you to leave."
House raises an eyebrow suspiciously. He's not really interested, even after all these years of being able to trust Jake, of letting him and his wife be alone in the same room.
Then he just studies Jake for a moment, then goes to the bedroom. He grabs his helmet, grabs his leather jacket, and then grabs his keys for the motorcycle and walks over to the couch. He kneels in front of her, and runs his hand over her knee, smiling softly.
"Babe," he says quietly. "I'm going to go out for awhile, while you and Jake talk. I'll be home soon. If you need me, you can call me. I've got the cell on vibrate and in my pocket, baby. I'll answer it." He leans up and kisses her on the lips, softly, then nods at Jake.
He trusts him.
And in all honesty, House is at a loss at what he can do to help her. He's tried all he can. The therapy isn't helping. The love isn't helping. He isn't helping anymore.
Jake is his last option.
He doesn't think about much else as he walks away from the house. He doesn't want to know what the conversation is going to be like when Jake and Brittany get into it. They have a tendency to get into arguments -- but something tells him that this may not turn into a fight.
He pulls the helmet on and zips his jacket, as he slides onto the bike and stretches his arms out, then fires the engine.
Hopefully, Jake'll work a miracle.
It wouldn't be the first time.
Fandoms: House/24/MI5
Characters/Pairing: Greg House/Brittany House, referenced Brittany House/Michael Colefield and one-sided Brittany House/Jacob Lindsay
Prompt: 093. Crisis
Word Count: 1018
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-three.
Dust.
for the rest / of my life
June 21, 2011
6:31 P.M. EST
Princeton, New Jersey
He's standing in the backyard, his hands on his hips as he stares out at the grass, the trees, and the pond. Everything he planted when they bought the house is matured now, his son has a treehouse in the largest of the trees, a swingset, and there's even a sandbox. He can remember when his son first started walking, started running, started jumping around on that grass.
Why he's thinking about his son, he's not quite sure.
Maybe it's the fact that he's been talking to Craig more often these days, talking to him about the fact that he got buried alive in a coffin in Cardiff. Talking about the nightmares that are coming on and off, about the fact that he can't look at the dust and the dirt quite right anymore. It's like what happened when he was kidnapped, years ago, and he was fearful of parking garages, subways, and tons of concrete for months.
Maybe it's the fact that there's a patch of dirt on the edge of the house, that needs replanting.
Maybe it's nothing at all.
Or maybe it's everything.
June 21, 2011
7:45 P.M., EST
Princeton, New Jersey
Jackson is sitting at the kitchen table, fork in hand as he stabs at his carrots and peas.
"Jackson, don't stab your vegetables," House chides slightly, smiling at his wife as their son carefully scoops the vegetables instead. It hasn't been easy, raising the boy in the life that they're in, but they've managed alright, he thinks.
Brittany just pokes at her food, moving it around on the plate.
"Babe, you've got to eat something," he tells her.
"I know, Greg, I'm just not really hungry." She sighs and swallows.
"What's the matter, Mama?" Jackson asks curiously, eyeing his mother. "Are you feeling sick?"
"No, honey," Brittany replies. "I'm just tired."
"You should take a nap," Jackson offers helpfully, attempting to hide his vegetables underneath his bread.
"Jackson Liam," House says, eyeing the bread being smushed down onto the carrots. "Eat your vegetables, don't attempt to hide them from me."
"Yes, dad."
June 21, 2011
8:51 P.M., EST
Princeton, New Jersey
House is sitting in the bedroom that they've made for their son. He can remember when the crib was in the far corner by the wall, rather than an actual bed by the other wall. The baby mobile has been replaced by model planes hanging from the ceiling, the pictures on the walls of baby tigers, lions, monkeys are gone, replaced by photographs of jet fighters and other cool things that he likes to show off when he can.
There's the photograph of Jackson and his grandfather on the bumper of a massive black SUV. Another of the boy sitting on a firetruck. And one of Jake and Jackson, sitting in the cockpit of a jet-fighter on the tarmac.
A thought crosses his mind, and he takes in a breath.
His son is sleeping in the bed. His wife is in the other room, the living room, sitting on the couch and staring at the wall.
House moves to the bedside of his son and sits down on the edge, and runs his hand over the sleeping form under the blanket. His son. Part of him flashes on the fact that he could have lost this. Lost the chance to sit here and watch his son sleep. He's always loved watching his son sleep, something about the way he looks like he's at such peace.
But the fact that his wife is upset, upsets him.
He could try calling Craig. Or Jack. Or even Brian, Kyle, Julian. Any of them would come over and give her some help, cuddle her a big, tell her it was going to be alright in the end.
But he didn't think that was what she needed.
So he sighs and stands from the bed, then walks to the window of the room, and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. He flicks through the numbers in the memory and then settles on one, and pushes the call button.
It rings twice.
"Hannigan."
June 21, 2011
10:45 P.M. EST
Princeton, New Jersey
House is the one who opens the door for Jake when he arrives. The lines on Jake's face are a little bit deeper than they were six years ago, but the look in his eyes is the same as it was six years ago. Steel. Unbreakable steel.
He lets the other man into the house and steps back, taking a moment to look out into the neighborhood, then turns as he hears Jake's footsteps cross the living room floor.
Jake takes a breath, and looks at Brittany, then back at House.
"I'm going to need you to leave."
House raises an eyebrow suspiciously. He's not really interested, even after all these years of being able to trust Jake, of letting him and his wife be alone in the same room.
Then he just studies Jake for a moment, then goes to the bedroom. He grabs his helmet, grabs his leather jacket, and then grabs his keys for the motorcycle and walks over to the couch. He kneels in front of her, and runs his hand over her knee, smiling softly.
"Babe," he says quietly. "I'm going to go out for awhile, while you and Jake talk. I'll be home soon. If you need me, you can call me. I've got the cell on vibrate and in my pocket, baby. I'll answer it." He leans up and kisses her on the lips, softly, then nods at Jake.
He trusts him.
And in all honesty, House is at a loss at what he can do to help her. He's tried all he can. The therapy isn't helping. The love isn't helping. He isn't helping anymore.
Jake is his last option.
He doesn't think about much else as he walks away from the house. He doesn't want to know what the conversation is going to be like when Jake and Brittany get into it. They have a tendency to get into arguments -- but something tells him that this may not turn into a fight.
He pulls the helmet on and zips his jacket, as he slides onto the bike and stretches his arms out, then fires the engine.
Hopefully, Jake'll work a miracle.
It wouldn't be the first time.