| |
The Brit and the Bastard
by diana_hawthorne
Chapter One
Betaed by The Profane Angel
Jean Brodie sat at her desk, in her corner classroom on the second floor, a prestigious spot in a prestigious school. Marcia Blaine, a girls' boarding school for the upper crust, had well-defined notions of prestige. Jean disagreed, in the strongest possible terms, with the school's definition of prestige. The headmistress and her staff clung to old, outmoded traditions, believing "young ladies" could still be created amidst the chaos of modern culture. Marcia Blaine imposed prestige and tradition in forms that crushed a young woman's individuality, her independence, heavy weights that forbid the exposition of truth, goodness, and beauty in Jean Brodie's eyes.
It was unacceptable. Jean preferred assassination to witnessing one of her girls converted into a Stepford Wife. Indeed, this process was unacceptable. Marcia Blaine was Jean's vocation. It was her duty, her destiny, to save these girls, her special girls, from such a soul-crushing lifestyle.
Unfortunately, Miss MacKay stood in destiny's way. Miss MacKay, the esteemed headmistress and guardian of all things Marcia Blaine, had a passion for strict, old-fashioned rules and values as strong as Jean's determination to save her girls from those very concepts. The two women clashed every time they shared the same air, neither willing to give an inch in this battle for young souls.
Such was the case now. Miss Mackay, in her capacity as Headmistress, felt compelled to halt Jean's production of "Othello," on the grounds that it was highly inappropriate for "young children." Jean, in a counterattack, used her connections within the parents' organization. She contacted the father of one of her girls, a playwright, and whispered "censorship." Appalled at Miss MacKay's efforts to censor a student production of one of Shakespeare's greatest plays, he appealed to the Board of Governors. They quickly countermanded Miss MacKay's directive, driven more by Henry Gibbons' frequent checks than a horror of censorship, and the production went forward. The public fiasco humiliated Miss MacKay in front of her staff and her students, a blow to her ego that could not pass unchallenged. Miss MacKay vowed to find a way to bend Jean to her will and return the favor at some later date.
Today she instructed her secretary, Miss Gaunt, to interrupt Jean's class by passing on a note requiring Jean's presence in her office at four-fifteen. Not four o'clock, or four-thirty, but four-fifteen sharp.
The memory of that interruption irritated Jean. She winced when she glanced at the clock, it was now four-ten and she must be on her way. Miss MacKay would be even more insufferable should Jean be a few seconds late, punctuality was yet another Marcia Blaine tradition. Sighing, she left her desk, fishing in her purse for her keys. She locked her classroom, then headed for the stairs to her left. She was halfway down the flight when a wave of nausea hit. Gripping the banister for support, Jean began a deep breathing exercise, willing the wave to recede.
During that moment of vulnerability, Miss MacKay came out of her classroom and started down the stairs. Surprised at finding Jean in such a state, she stopped beside her. "Miss Brodie? Are you all right?" Her tone was concerned enough, but Jean was neither foolish nor blind. She heard the sarcasm and phoniness dripping from her nemesis's voice, saw the slight smirk on the older woman's face.
She drew another deep breath, then forced a reassuring smile. "Of course, Miss MacKay. Why wouldn't I be?" She started for the bottom of the stairs, ignoring the unbearable throbbing in her head and the companionship of Miss MacKay.
Unconvinced, but pleased by release from the duty to attend to a staff member's unwell state, the headmistress nodded. "Very well then." They reached the corridor junction at the foot of the staircase and Miss MacKay guided Jean to the right, to her office. "Do come in." She opened the door and ushered the younger woman inside and to a chair in front of her desk. She sat behind her desk, a symbol of her authority, and regarded Jean for a long moment.
She cleared her throat as she picked up a pen, toying with it. "Now. I realize you may have done things differently in Edinburgh, at your previous, shall we say, progressive school, but here at Marcia Blaine we have standards. We seek to preserve the nearly forgotten traditions by which to raise proper young ladies. Miss Brodie, are you listening?" She dropped the pen and stared at her subordinate. Jean ignored her, in a state of near panic, swatting furiously at her arms and legs, her breathing ragged and growing more so with each passing second.
"Why are you doing this?" Jean screamed, smacking her legs, her eyes wide with terror. "What are you doing to me?" She furiously scratched her head, her face, her neck. "What, why, oh God...."
"Doing what? Miss Brodie, what on Earth are you talking about?"
"Snakes, spiders, and fire ants! They're everywhere and all over me! I-I can't get them off!" she exclaimed as she stood up.
"Miss Brodie, there is nothing on you! You're hallucinating! You-" but before she could finish that sentence Miss Brodie had collapsed onto the ground on her hands and knees.
"I can't breathe! I-I can't breathe!" she whispered as she clutched her chest.
The headmistress's dislike for the other woman immediately vanished as the teacher in her came in full throttle and she opened the door and called to her secretary. "Miss Gaunt! Call 911! We need an ambulance here immediately!" She crouched beside Jean and began rubbing her back soothingly. "It's alright, Jean, it's alright. Just take it easy."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"House!" Cuddy's voice pierced the air as she stormed into House's office. "Would you care to tell me why you told a forty-nine year old male that he has PMS?"
"Because he does. Psychotic Male Syndrome." House answered simply as he swung his legs up over his desk.
"House! I swear to God, if you screw with one more clinic patient I'll-"
"What? Assign me more clinic hours and more patients to screw with?"
Cuddy opened her mouth to respond but then thought better of it. "Forget it. You've got a new case. Thirty four year old Caucasian female, nausea-"
"Bo-ring!"
"Dizziness, trouble breathing and hallucinations."
"Single?"
"How the hell should I know?"
"Attractive?"
"Not your type."
"Ah, red-head?"
"No, blonde. Don't bother; she's a boarding school teacher. Long distance wouldn't work for you."
"Ooh, a school marm. Interesting...Reminds me of this one fantasy I've had where I'm in detention-"
"House, go, NOW!"
"Don't worry, it's nothing compared to the one of you as the school girl and me as the dashing professor you've been in love with."
"House-"
"I'm going!" House said as he limped his way out of his office where Foreman, Chase and Cameron were waiting by the elevator leaving a slightly blushing Cuddy to wonder what other fantasies ran through his brilliant mind and whether or not she continued to star in them.
Please post a comment on this story.
Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
|
|
|