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  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.

  
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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.  


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