Glass Waltz: Chapter 95 (043. Punch)
Title: Glass Waltz (95)
Fandoms: House/24/MI5
Characters/Pairing: Greg House/Brittany House, referenced Brittany House/Michael Colefield and one-sided Brittany House/Jacob Lindsay
Prompt: 043. Punch
Word Count: 2067
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 95th chapter of an ongoing novel. All chapter subtitles are from the song "30 Minutes" by TATU.
Ninety-five.
Picking Up The Pieces.
for the rest / of my life
June 21, 2011
11:22 P.M. EST
Princeton, New Jersey
Jackson House is a heavy sleeper.
But the sounds of swearing, breaking glass, shouting, and violence coming from the living room jarrs him from his slumber. He listens carefully, then pulls the covers down and eases himself out of bed. He goes to his closet and produces a foam baseball bat, and carries his stuffed dog in his other arm, as he creeps towards the doorway to the hall.
Suddenly, the noise stops. So he freezes there, door open a crack, and watches as his mother and Jake walk into the bathroom across from his bedroom. They leave the door open, and he watches intently as Jake starts to wipe at the blood and bruises on his mother's face.
The fact that she's injured is terribly upsetting, especially having just gotten his mother back. He leaves the bat against the wall and silently slips out of the bedroom, and pads off to the living room. The lights are on, and the windows are closed, but the coffeetable is across the room, pillows on the couch askew, and there's a broken picture frame near the mantle. He stays where he is, so he doesn't get glass on his bare feet, but he cranes his neck to see which it is.
Then his little face turns into a sad frown. He tiptoes around the glass and sits down next to the picture, picking it up carefully, Duke sitting in his lap. He lets the broken shards fall to the floor and then feels his lower lip quivering at the sight of the family photo, all of them in those Mickey Ears hats at Disneyland.
House, in the meantime, pulls the bike into the driveway and kills the engine. It's twenty steps to the doorway, and then, he turns his key in the lock and pushes it open cautiously. What's he's greeted with makes him stop in his tracks.
"Jackson?" He says, before he drops his helmet on the floor. "Jack, don't move bud, you're going to hurt yourself." His boots crunch across the glass as he crosses the distance, and he carefully picks up the picture and sets it aside, then lifts his young son and the stuffed dog up off the floor, turning around to see the stunned face of his wife.
Brittany is staring at the both of them, wondering why her husband is staring at her, because for the moment she forgets that she's got a bandage on her face and bruises that'll take some time to fade.
Jackson just looks around. "I heard yelling and got scared."
House looks at his son, then quietly walks him out of the room and into his bedroom, then sets the boy down on his bed. "Jackson, your mom and I need to talk with Uncle Jake. You need to stay in bed, okay? We'll talk in the morning. It's way too far past your bedtime, bud." He tucks his son into bed, hands him Duke, and then kisses him on the forehead. "I love you."
"I love you too, dad." The boy says, before he curls up under the blankets and goes to go back to sleep.
House stands up and pulls Jackson's door shut behind him, then walks back down the hall to where Jake and Brittany are attempting to reassemble the living room. He just looks at the both of them for a minute, then leans against the wall.
"Is this where someone tells me what the hell just happened, or am I supposed to guess?"
"If you're stupid enough to need to be told," Jake replies, as he moves the coffeetable back next to the couch. His body is sore and he'll have bruises on his chest for a week, the red mark on his cheek from her slapping him pulsing with the effort. "We had a conversation."
"Right," House says. "Which is why I'm five seconds away from having a fit because I bring you to help and you kick the shit out of my wife."
"Actually, Greg, I kicked the shit out of him." Brittany replies, as she sweeps the broken glass up into a pile.
"I don't care who kicked the shit out of who, all I know is that our son is wondering why mommy and Uncle Jake are bleeding and have ouchies." His tone contradicts the playful young words, and he just folds his arms across his chest. "Talking, yes. Throwing a glass at the wall, fine. But honestly, you two, beating the shit out of each other,"
"It had to be done, Greg." Brittany says, cutting him off. "Drop it."
"Had to be done? Brittany, what's going to happen when you go into work tomorrow? It's gonna look like I kicked the shit out of you? What happens when Jackson cuts himself on a piece of broken glass and we have to take the both of you to the ER looking like this?" House runs a hand through his hair. "Do what you will, I sure as hell can't stop either of you from having your conversations, but don't hurt him in the process. You didn't -- you're damn lucky he didn't cut himself on that glass -- but I don't want him around it. Take it outside."
Jake snorts. "What, so the whole neighborhood could hear me calling her a bleeding heart bitch? Right, House. That would go over so well." He fixes a pile of books on the table and then wipes off the traces of blood. Thankfully nothing hit the carpet.
"I called you over here to help me fix this, not beat the shit,"
"He did fix this, Greg!" Brittany snaps angrily at her husband. "Drop it. It's done with."
House looks at Jake. Then looks at his wife. "You asked him to hit you?"
"Nope," Jake replies, smirking. "She hit me first." And that gave me all the permission I needed, asshole.
When Brittany gives her husband a look as if to apologize and say 'my bad', and House just sighs and shakes his head. "I really should have known better than to leave the two of you alone."
"Probably," she says, the hint of a smile on her face.
"Definitely." Jake echoes.
House just nods slightly and turns around. "Make sure you two get all the glass, okay? I'd like to forget this happened and just start tomorrow fresh and clean, without having to make a few trips to the ER." He walks down the hallway, obviously not eager to have a part in this cleanup. Besides, if they get into it again, he'd probably try to have a go at Jake, and that would not end well.
June 22, 2011
9:45 A.M. EST
Princeton, New Jersey
Julian Burroughs walks up the front steps of the house that his friend, and one time boss, has made her own. He knocks lightly on the door, then looks out towards the street, and his car.
Brittany is currently facedown in a fluffy pillow, with a bruised lip, cut cheek, and a black eye that would be the envy of every guy socked in a barfight for a week. She has no desire to move, wake up, get up, or do anything until her face stops hurting.
Which leaves her husband. He hears the knock on the door again, and hauls himself out of bed, checking to be sure he has clothes on, for one, and that it's a reasonable time of day. He makes the short walk to the hall, then calls that he's on his way, as he rubs at his eyes and attempts to wake himself up.
"Yeah," he says, as he pulls the door open. Kyle, Brian, Jake, anyone, he expected, except to see Julian there. He blinks for a moment. "Don't you have a unit to run?"
"We get days off too, Greg, though they are few and far between." Julian smiles slightly. "Brittany still asleep?"
"Dead tired."
"Don't blame her," the other man replies. "I saw Jake this morning." He shifts on his feet. "Listen, Greg,"
House merely nods and eyes Julian as he pauses, then prompts him. "Yeah?"
Julian reaches into his pocket and pulls out two identical, slim, black boxes. "Normally we'd do this with a bit more flair, but I think it's best if I just give these to you in private." He hands them over to House's outstretched hand.
House eyes him another moment, then opens the top box. Inside are two Exceptional Service Medallions, silver with the blue, dark blue, red, white, and purple ribbon folded neatly at the top. He swallows hard. These are for getting the shit kicked out of him while on assignment. The scars may have healed but the emotional ones are still there, no matter how long ago it was.
"For getting injured in the line of duty." Julian says quietly.
House nods softly, then closes that box and tucks it underneath the other. He lets his eyes dart up to Julian's as he pulls the lid off, and then he stares for a long, quiet minute at the medal. An Agency Star, or Intelligence Star, to be exact, blue, dark blue, red, and white ribbon folded just a neatly against the black backing it's tucked into. "You're kidding me."
"No," Julian shakes his head softly. "For a voluntary act or acts of courage performed under hazardous conditions or for outstanding achievements or services rendered with distinction under conditions of grave risk." He states what the book says about it.
House's mouth is opened slightly. He's standing on his front porch, in a pair of cotton sleep pants and a plain white t-shirt, being awarded one of the highest honors an agent can get. It's all oddly surreal, but he knows it's really happening. He looks up at Julian. "You're serious."
"Absolutely, Greg." Julian replies, as he reaches his hand out for a firm shake. "You've earned it, completely."
"I haven't..." He's still staring at the medal, the star with the shield and the eagle's head above that, with the laurel wreath and the words 'Central Intelligence Agency' above and 'For Valor' below.
"Yes, you have. You're just like her, you'll deny it until your last day, but you have, Greg."
House nods. "Thank you, sir."
"Julian," he smiles. "You don't work for me anymore, remember?"
"Thank you," House repeats. "Julian."
"You're welcome," Julian replies, with a nod. "Now go on, and get back to your wife. From what Jake tells me, she could probably use a bag of ice to the back of her skull right about now." He nods again and then turns to walk back down the driveway, leaving House to stare in shock at the man, then back at the boxes in his hand. He replaces the lid on the Star and then walks back inside, quietly closing the door behind him, then makes his way into the bedroom.
She has two of these. He never, in a hundred years, expected he'd be getting one of them one day. He was just an agent. Just a number. According to a lot of people, he was absolute crap at what he did. But to a select few, he was a good agent. A good man.
And this only drove it home.
He was grinning slightly as he set the boxes down on the nightstand, and slid into bed beside his wife.
Brittany makes a soft noise of protest as the movement on the bed. "Who was at the door, baby?"
House pulls in a deep breath, then wraps an arm around her body. "I'll tell you later." He presses his lips to her temple and exhales. "Just get some more rest, I'll tell you later."
It doesn't matter that he feels vindicated. That he's won, in a sense, even though his badge is locked in a drawer in Julian's desk, that his guns have been returned to the armory, that his name badge and keycard are now defunct in their purposes.
His son is okay. His wife, while a little damaged on the outside, is hopefully better for the wear. And he, is okay. More than okay. He's good.
The entire time he lies there, watching her sleep, he's smiling. He hears the creak of a door down the hall, and looks up to see Jackson, clinging slightly to his stuffed puppy, wander in and crawl up on his mother's side of the bed. Promptly, the boy wiggles his way between the two of them and curls up to go back to sleep with his parents.
Maybe, just maybe, for once? They can move on, and live a normal life, and finally escape from the hell of the last five years.
Fandoms: House/24/MI5
Characters/Pairing: Greg House/Brittany House, referenced Brittany House/Michael Colefield and one-sided Brittany House/Jacob Lindsay
Prompt: 043. Punch
Word Count: 2067
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 95th chapter of an ongoing novel. All chapter subtitles are from the song "30 Minutes" by TATU.
Ninety-five.
Picking Up The Pieces.
for the rest / of my life
June 21, 2011
11:22 P.M. EST
Princeton, New Jersey
Jackson House is a heavy sleeper.
But the sounds of swearing, breaking glass, shouting, and violence coming from the living room jarrs him from his slumber. He listens carefully, then pulls the covers down and eases himself out of bed. He goes to his closet and produces a foam baseball bat, and carries his stuffed dog in his other arm, as he creeps towards the doorway to the hall.
Suddenly, the noise stops. So he freezes there, door open a crack, and watches as his mother and Jake walk into the bathroom across from his bedroom. They leave the door open, and he watches intently as Jake starts to wipe at the blood and bruises on his mother's face.
The fact that she's injured is terribly upsetting, especially having just gotten his mother back. He leaves the bat against the wall and silently slips out of the bedroom, and pads off to the living room. The lights are on, and the windows are closed, but the coffeetable is across the room, pillows on the couch askew, and there's a broken picture frame near the mantle. He stays where he is, so he doesn't get glass on his bare feet, but he cranes his neck to see which it is.
Then his little face turns into a sad frown. He tiptoes around the glass and sits down next to the picture, picking it up carefully, Duke sitting in his lap. He lets the broken shards fall to the floor and then feels his lower lip quivering at the sight of the family photo, all of them in those Mickey Ears hats at Disneyland.
House, in the meantime, pulls the bike into the driveway and kills the engine. It's twenty steps to the doorway, and then, he turns his key in the lock and pushes it open cautiously. What's he's greeted with makes him stop in his tracks.
"Jackson?" He says, before he drops his helmet on the floor. "Jack, don't move bud, you're going to hurt yourself." His boots crunch across the glass as he crosses the distance, and he carefully picks up the picture and sets it aside, then lifts his young son and the stuffed dog up off the floor, turning around to see the stunned face of his wife.
Brittany is staring at the both of them, wondering why her husband is staring at her, because for the moment she forgets that she's got a bandage on her face and bruises that'll take some time to fade.
Jackson just looks around. "I heard yelling and got scared."
House looks at his son, then quietly walks him out of the room and into his bedroom, then sets the boy down on his bed. "Jackson, your mom and I need to talk with Uncle Jake. You need to stay in bed, okay? We'll talk in the morning. It's way too far past your bedtime, bud." He tucks his son into bed, hands him Duke, and then kisses him on the forehead. "I love you."
"I love you too, dad." The boy says, before he curls up under the blankets and goes to go back to sleep.
House stands up and pulls Jackson's door shut behind him, then walks back down the hall to where Jake and Brittany are attempting to reassemble the living room. He just looks at the both of them for a minute, then leans against the wall.
"Is this where someone tells me what the hell just happened, or am I supposed to guess?"
"If you're stupid enough to need to be told," Jake replies, as he moves the coffeetable back next to the couch. His body is sore and he'll have bruises on his chest for a week, the red mark on his cheek from her slapping him pulsing with the effort. "We had a conversation."
"Right," House says. "Which is why I'm five seconds away from having a fit because I bring you to help and you kick the shit out of my wife."
"Actually, Greg, I kicked the shit out of him." Brittany replies, as she sweeps the broken glass up into a pile.
"I don't care who kicked the shit out of who, all I know is that our son is wondering why mommy and Uncle Jake are bleeding and have ouchies." His tone contradicts the playful young words, and he just folds his arms across his chest. "Talking, yes. Throwing a glass at the wall, fine. But honestly, you two, beating the shit out of each other,"
"It had to be done, Greg." Brittany says, cutting him off. "Drop it."
"Had to be done? Brittany, what's going to happen when you go into work tomorrow? It's gonna look like I kicked the shit out of you? What happens when Jackson cuts himself on a piece of broken glass and we have to take the both of you to the ER looking like this?" House runs a hand through his hair. "Do what you will, I sure as hell can't stop either of you from having your conversations, but don't hurt him in the process. You didn't -- you're damn lucky he didn't cut himself on that glass -- but I don't want him around it. Take it outside."
Jake snorts. "What, so the whole neighborhood could hear me calling her a bleeding heart bitch? Right, House. That would go over so well." He fixes a pile of books on the table and then wipes off the traces of blood. Thankfully nothing hit the carpet.
"I called you over here to help me fix this, not beat the shit,"
"He did fix this, Greg!" Brittany snaps angrily at her husband. "Drop it. It's done with."
House looks at Jake. Then looks at his wife. "You asked him to hit you?"
"Nope," Jake replies, smirking. "She hit me first." And that gave me all the permission I needed, asshole.
When Brittany gives her husband a look as if to apologize and say 'my bad', and House just sighs and shakes his head. "I really should have known better than to leave the two of you alone."
"Probably," she says, the hint of a smile on her face.
"Definitely." Jake echoes.
House just nods slightly and turns around. "Make sure you two get all the glass, okay? I'd like to forget this happened and just start tomorrow fresh and clean, without having to make a few trips to the ER." He walks down the hallway, obviously not eager to have a part in this cleanup. Besides, if they get into it again, he'd probably try to have a go at Jake, and that would not end well.
June 22, 2011
9:45 A.M. EST
Princeton, New Jersey
Julian Burroughs walks up the front steps of the house that his friend, and one time boss, has made her own. He knocks lightly on the door, then looks out towards the street, and his car.
Brittany is currently facedown in a fluffy pillow, with a bruised lip, cut cheek, and a black eye that would be the envy of every guy socked in a barfight for a week. She has no desire to move, wake up, get up, or do anything until her face stops hurting.
Which leaves her husband. He hears the knock on the door again, and hauls himself out of bed, checking to be sure he has clothes on, for one, and that it's a reasonable time of day. He makes the short walk to the hall, then calls that he's on his way, as he rubs at his eyes and attempts to wake himself up.
"Yeah," he says, as he pulls the door open. Kyle, Brian, Jake, anyone, he expected, except to see Julian there. He blinks for a moment. "Don't you have a unit to run?"
"We get days off too, Greg, though they are few and far between." Julian smiles slightly. "Brittany still asleep?"
"Dead tired."
"Don't blame her," the other man replies. "I saw Jake this morning." He shifts on his feet. "Listen, Greg,"
House merely nods and eyes Julian as he pauses, then prompts him. "Yeah?"
Julian reaches into his pocket and pulls out two identical, slim, black boxes. "Normally we'd do this with a bit more flair, but I think it's best if I just give these to you in private." He hands them over to House's outstretched hand.
House eyes him another moment, then opens the top box. Inside are two Exceptional Service Medallions, silver with the blue, dark blue, red, white, and purple ribbon folded neatly at the top. He swallows hard. These are for getting the shit kicked out of him while on assignment. The scars may have healed but the emotional ones are still there, no matter how long ago it was.
"For getting injured in the line of duty." Julian says quietly.
House nods softly, then closes that box and tucks it underneath the other. He lets his eyes dart up to Julian's as he pulls the lid off, and then he stares for a long, quiet minute at the medal. An Agency Star, or Intelligence Star, to be exact, blue, dark blue, red, and white ribbon folded just a neatly against the black backing it's tucked into. "You're kidding me."
"No," Julian shakes his head softly. "For a voluntary act or acts of courage performed under hazardous conditions or for outstanding achievements or services rendered with distinction under conditions of grave risk." He states what the book says about it.
House's mouth is opened slightly. He's standing on his front porch, in a pair of cotton sleep pants and a plain white t-shirt, being awarded one of the highest honors an agent can get. It's all oddly surreal, but he knows it's really happening. He looks up at Julian. "You're serious."
"Absolutely, Greg." Julian replies, as he reaches his hand out for a firm shake. "You've earned it, completely."
"I haven't..." He's still staring at the medal, the star with the shield and the eagle's head above that, with the laurel wreath and the words 'Central Intelligence Agency' above and 'For Valor' below.
"Yes, you have. You're just like her, you'll deny it until your last day, but you have, Greg."
House nods. "Thank you, sir."
"Julian," he smiles. "You don't work for me anymore, remember?"
"Thank you," House repeats. "Julian."
"You're welcome," Julian replies, with a nod. "Now go on, and get back to your wife. From what Jake tells me, she could probably use a bag of ice to the back of her skull right about now." He nods again and then turns to walk back down the driveway, leaving House to stare in shock at the man, then back at the boxes in his hand. He replaces the lid on the Star and then walks back inside, quietly closing the door behind him, then makes his way into the bedroom.
She has two of these. He never, in a hundred years, expected he'd be getting one of them one day. He was just an agent. Just a number. According to a lot of people, he was absolute crap at what he did. But to a select few, he was a good agent. A good man.
And this only drove it home.
He was grinning slightly as he set the boxes down on the nightstand, and slid into bed beside his wife.
Brittany makes a soft noise of protest as the movement on the bed. "Who was at the door, baby?"
House pulls in a deep breath, then wraps an arm around her body. "I'll tell you later." He presses his lips to her temple and exhales. "Just get some more rest, I'll tell you later."
It doesn't matter that he feels vindicated. That he's won, in a sense, even though his badge is locked in a drawer in Julian's desk, that his guns have been returned to the armory, that his name badge and keycard are now defunct in their purposes.
His son is okay. His wife, while a little damaged on the outside, is hopefully better for the wear. And he, is okay. More than okay. He's good.
The entire time he lies there, watching her sleep, he's smiling. He hears the creak of a door down the hall, and looks up to see Jackson, clinging slightly to his stuffed puppy, wander in and crawl up on his mother's side of the bed. Promptly, the boy wiggles his way between the two of them and curls up to go back to sleep with his parents.
Maybe, just maybe, for once? They can move on, and live a normal life, and finally escape from the hell of the last five years.