fic: An awkward conversation. Wilson phones Blythe.
TITLE: An Awkward Conversation
AUTHOR: Waylandsmithy
PAIRING: None
RATING: PG
Someone had to tell her, surely?
James stared across the empty apartment; the only sign of life the red light of the answerphone blinking, blinking, for attention, as though the man who customarily ignored its demands would eventually relent. This visit was overdue. A grey film of dust dulled the normally glossy surface of the piano and on its top sat a tumbler which had held a generous measure of whisky, if the sticky looking line around its interior was anything to go by. A dead mosquito lay in a dried up puddle in the bottom of the glass. Somehow it seemed symbolic.
Shrugging off maudlin thoughts, James crossed the floor and pulled back the drapes. The sudden flood of light did the neglected room no favours but it made him feel better. The faint scent of cigars lingered on in the fusty atmosphere. He dispelled it by flinging open the windows, bringing in summer warmth and noise. He knew he needed to act and for that he needed a clear head and to sound much more cheerful than he really felt.
Turning to the telephone, he quickly ran through all the messages, noting a few practical matters that he could sort out and then deleting the calls. That was the easy bit. Now he listened in turn to Blythe’s calls to her son. There were six, two dating from before House’s breakdown, to which he had evidently not responded; the others more recent.
She did not sound anxious, even in the latest one which she had only left yesterday. He guessed that getting Greg’s attention was an art that required patience and it was one she had learned a long time ago. Part of James felt irritation with his friend that now, even after his father’s death, he left his mother to make all the running.Ok, so he had been under tremendous strain but until the last moment had been able to do his job.
Still, what did he really know about their relationship? House’s reluctant communication during the trip to Lexington set all sorts of hares afoot in James’ mind. Bracing himself, he picked up the receiver and dialled the number. What kind of son does not have ‘Mom’ on preset?
Three rings and the call was answered. “Yes?”
“Mrs House? Blythe…”
“James.”
“Yes.”
A sharp exhalation from the Lexington end, then James hurriedly said “It’s all right Blythe, he’s ok, that is, there is a problem but he’s ok.”
“That bike?.... Oh, not another shooting, surely? Tell me James, for pity’s sake. I was just on the point of buying a plane ticket; I knew it had been too long, even for him.”
“No. That is, I wouldn’t come if I were you. You might not be able to see him even if he agreed to; that’s why he asked me to call you.” Lies came easily to him when he needed to spare another’s feelings.
“You make it sound as if he’s in jail. Tell me, James. Has he had an accident? A bad one and that’s why he hasn’t called me himself?”
“No, nothing like that. He’s taken some time off; been working very hard, too hard and you know how he never takes a holiday; and with the suicide of one of his fellows-well it suddenly all got a bit on top of him and the Dean and I thought he really needed a break, so we recommended a place away from Princeton Plainsboro for a bit for him to rest.” There. Would she buy it? Even with the rather breathless delivery?
“Yes, that really sounds like my son”, she said tartly, with an undercurrent of anxiety in her almost preternaturally calm voice. “Now James, what are you really telling me?”
His shoulders slumped in despair. How to tell even this most battle-scarred of mothers that her brilliant and risk - seeking only child had lost his grip on reality and might never recover sufficiently to be able to resume the work that gave him his only validation as a human being in his own eyes?
Little by little he forced out the words; not the whole story of course. House shouting from the balcony that he’d slept with the Dean of Medicine, House hallucinating Amber and Kutner, both dead; no that was too much. Instead, Blythe got a watered down version of the truth, enough for her to label it “nervous breakdown” as it was understood by her generation. Threatening enough, as it was.
When he had finished his tale, ready to add some words of comfort and a hope that he did not really share at this point, Blythe surprised him by saying, “His father had a similar episode at about Greg’s age.”
“Really?” James could not picture the grim Marine conveyed by House’s words falling prey to any mental ‘weakness.’ “I had no idea Colonel House had ever been sick. Not that Greg ever talked about family matters much.”
“I said his father.”
A stunned silence from James. Was he, like House, beginning to imagine things?
“I…I”
“Oh come on, James. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice and that you would not wheedle the truth out of Greg, if he hadn’t told you already? I knew there had to be something substantial behind that scandalous behaviour of yours in the funeral home and the apology you were so gracious as to make did not cover it. When we closed the casket on John, I noticed the snick in his earlobe. How stupid do you take me for?”
“I’m really sorry, Blythe. I had no idea you knew Greg was aware that John was not his biological father. I didn’t believe it myself until I saw the DNA result.”
Blythe sighed. “You know how Greg is with a puzzle. He can’t rest until he’s explained it. His relationship with his father was like that, right from the time he was a small boy. We never talked about it but I was sure from the time he was about twelve, that he knew, somehow he knew.”
“And the breakdown his biological father suffered?” asked James, anxious while the topic appeared to be open for discussion to get as much information as he could.
“Stress,” replied Blythe. “He bottled things up and he suddenly made all sorts of mistakes on the base. One day he could not get out of bed and that was it. He’s fine now; has been for years.”
Suddenly the comfort James had been hoping to offer Blythe seemed to be flowing the other way.
“Well..” he finished awkwardly, “Greg didn’t want you to worry…and so..”
“Thank you, James, for letting me know. I assume he would rather I didn’t know exactly where he is but if I call you now and then….?”
“Yes, of course” said James, relieved .
AUTHOR: Waylandsmithy
PAIRING: None
RATING: PG
Someone had to tell her, surely?
James stared across the empty apartment; the only sign of life the red light of the answerphone blinking, blinking, for attention, as though the man who customarily ignored its demands would eventually relent. This visit was overdue. A grey film of dust dulled the normally glossy surface of the piano and on its top sat a tumbler which had held a generous measure of whisky, if the sticky looking line around its interior was anything to go by. A dead mosquito lay in a dried up puddle in the bottom of the glass. Somehow it seemed symbolic.
Shrugging off maudlin thoughts, James crossed the floor and pulled back the drapes. The sudden flood of light did the neglected room no favours but it made him feel better. The faint scent of cigars lingered on in the fusty atmosphere. He dispelled it by flinging open the windows, bringing in summer warmth and noise. He knew he needed to act and for that he needed a clear head and to sound much more cheerful than he really felt.
Turning to the telephone, he quickly ran through all the messages, noting a few practical matters that he could sort out and then deleting the calls. That was the easy bit. Now he listened in turn to Blythe’s calls to her son. There were six, two dating from before House’s breakdown, to which he had evidently not responded; the others more recent.
She did not sound anxious, even in the latest one which she had only left yesterday. He guessed that getting Greg’s attention was an art that required patience and it was one she had learned a long time ago. Part of James felt irritation with his friend that now, even after his father’s death, he left his mother to make all the running.Ok, so he had been under tremendous strain but until the last moment had been able to do his job.
Still, what did he really know about their relationship? House’s reluctant communication during the trip to Lexington set all sorts of hares afoot in James’ mind. Bracing himself, he picked up the receiver and dialled the number. What kind of son does not have ‘Mom’ on preset?
Three rings and the call was answered. “Yes?”
“Mrs House? Blythe…”
“James.”
“Yes.”
A sharp exhalation from the Lexington end, then James hurriedly said “It’s all right Blythe, he’s ok, that is, there is a problem but he’s ok.”
“That bike?.... Oh, not another shooting, surely? Tell me James, for pity’s sake. I was just on the point of buying a plane ticket; I knew it had been too long, even for him.”
“No. That is, I wouldn’t come if I were you. You might not be able to see him even if he agreed to; that’s why he asked me to call you.” Lies came easily to him when he needed to spare another’s feelings.
“You make it sound as if he’s in jail. Tell me, James. Has he had an accident? A bad one and that’s why he hasn’t called me himself?”
“No, nothing like that. He’s taken some time off; been working very hard, too hard and you know how he never takes a holiday; and with the suicide of one of his fellows-well it suddenly all got a bit on top of him and the Dean and I thought he really needed a break, so we recommended a place away from Princeton Plainsboro for a bit for him to rest.” There. Would she buy it? Even with the rather breathless delivery?
“Yes, that really sounds like my son”, she said tartly, with an undercurrent of anxiety in her almost preternaturally calm voice. “Now James, what are you really telling me?”
His shoulders slumped in despair. How to tell even this most battle-scarred of mothers that her brilliant and risk - seeking only child had lost his grip on reality and might never recover sufficiently to be able to resume the work that gave him his only validation as a human being in his own eyes?
Little by little he forced out the words; not the whole story of course. House shouting from the balcony that he’d slept with the Dean of Medicine, House hallucinating Amber and Kutner, both dead; no that was too much. Instead, Blythe got a watered down version of the truth, enough for her to label it “nervous breakdown” as it was understood by her generation. Threatening enough, as it was.
When he had finished his tale, ready to add some words of comfort and a hope that he did not really share at this point, Blythe surprised him by saying, “His father had a similar episode at about Greg’s age.”
“Really?” James could not picture the grim Marine conveyed by House’s words falling prey to any mental ‘weakness.’ “I had no idea Colonel House had ever been sick. Not that Greg ever talked about family matters much.”
“I said his father.”
A stunned silence from James. Was he, like House, beginning to imagine things?
“I…I”
“Oh come on, James. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice and that you would not wheedle the truth out of Greg, if he hadn’t told you already? I knew there had to be something substantial behind that scandalous behaviour of yours in the funeral home and the apology you were so gracious as to make did not cover it. When we closed the casket on John, I noticed the snick in his earlobe. How stupid do you take me for?”
“I’m really sorry, Blythe. I had no idea you knew Greg was aware that John was not his biological father. I didn’t believe it myself until I saw the DNA result.”
Blythe sighed. “You know how Greg is with a puzzle. He can’t rest until he’s explained it. His relationship with his father was like that, right from the time he was a small boy. We never talked about it but I was sure from the time he was about twelve, that he knew, somehow he knew.”
“And the breakdown his biological father suffered?” asked James, anxious while the topic appeared to be open for discussion to get as much information as he could.
“Stress,” replied Blythe. “He bottled things up and he suddenly made all sorts of mistakes on the base. One day he could not get out of bed and that was it. He’s fine now; has been for years.”
Suddenly the comfort James had been hoping to offer Blythe seemed to be flowing the other way.
“Well..” he finished awkwardly, “Greg didn’t want you to worry…and so..”
“Thank you, James, for letting me know. I assume he would rather I didn’t know exactly where he is but if I call you now and then….?”
“Yes, of course” said James, relieved .