Boys Don't Cry (The Cure)
Title: Boys Don't Cry (The Cure)
Characters: Robert Chase
Warnings: None
Summary: A hard learnt lesson comes undone for Chase
Word count: 232
Disclaimer: Don't own House, don't make any money from this.
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Boys don’t cry - that’s what your father always told you. So when you fell down and scraped your knee, you learnt to blink hard and sniff a few times to stop the tears coming. You learnt to find the first aid kit yourself and clean it up and pretend nothing was wrong. When you heard your parents fighting, you learnt not to sit at the top of the stairs in your spaceship pyjamas, with tears running down your face. You’d stay in bed, instead, put the pillow over your head and imagine that you were in one of those spaceships, travelling far, far away from where you were then.
When you fell off the swing in the playground after school and broke your arm, you didn’t go home crying to your daddy. You calmly walked to the hospital and let the doctors x-ray it, and refused to tell them who your parents were so that they couldn’t call them - until they threatened to phone social services, anyway. Your dad told you how proud he was of you for dealing with it yourself, and you glowed, basking in the rare praise.
You’ve known from the age of four that boys don’t cry. So why is it that you’re sat on the muddy ground in front of your father’s grave, rain plastering your hair to your head and with tears streaming down your face?
Characters: Robert Chase
Warnings: None
Summary: A hard learnt lesson comes undone for Chase
Word count: 232
Disclaimer: Don't own House, don't make any money from this.
__________________________________________
Boys don’t cry - that’s what your father always told you. So when you fell down and scraped your knee, you learnt to blink hard and sniff a few times to stop the tears coming. You learnt to find the first aid kit yourself and clean it up and pretend nothing was wrong. When you heard your parents fighting, you learnt not to sit at the top of the stairs in your spaceship pyjamas, with tears running down your face. You’d stay in bed, instead, put the pillow over your head and imagine that you were in one of those spaceships, travelling far, far away from where you were then.
When you fell off the swing in the playground after school and broke your arm, you didn’t go home crying to your daddy. You calmly walked to the hospital and let the doctors x-ray it, and refused to tell them who your parents were so that they couldn’t call them - until they threatened to phone social services, anyway. Your dad told you how proud he was of you for dealing with it yourself, and you glowed, basking in the rare praise.
You’ve known from the age of four that boys don’t cry. So why is it that you’re sat on the muddy ground in front of your father’s grave, rain plastering your hair to your head and with tears streaming down your face?