You Taught Me To Lie; House; PG
Oct. 12th, 2008 10:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morgynleriTitle: You Taught Me To Lie
Fandom: House, MD
AU: Banshee
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 964
You Taught Me To Lie
She always knew when her father wanted time with her mother. It was the only time he actually paid attention to her, really noticed her. The days he came and picked her up from school, and took her to the mall, clinging behind him on his bike, the bright pink helmet he'd bought on her head. Bought her new clothes and some toys and dropped her off with Uncle James. Took her to school in the morning if it was a weekday.
If it was a weekend, she didn't even see him again.
Asking her mother why he didn't like her had only gotten her cuddled and words looped across a page that she didn't believe. No matter how much her mother told her that her father really did care about her, she never could see it. Never could accept it as an answer.
How could he care, when he didn't want anything to do with her? She was just someone who got between him and his addiction. Another thing which her mother said wasn't true - though she didn't ever say he loved her. Or that she loved him. At least there she could believe her, could trust she wasn't lying or deluding herself.
When she was ten, he stopped even coming to pick her up. She didn't think he even visited her mother much any more. If he did at all. Or maybe she went to him, on days when she bundled Aisling off to Uncle James and Aunt Allison's with an overnight bag. Picked her up again in the morning, and if it was a weekend, took her to the zoo or a museum or a movie. Sometimes even took her to New York and shopping.
She didn't understand how her mother could keep going back to her father for anything, and she tried to tell herself it didn't matter, that she didn't care. That it wasn't a bad thing that her father didn't want her in his life. That it was enough for her to have her mother and Uncle James and Aunt Allison.
A father-daughter dinner for the seventh-grade at her school and a job offer for her Aunt Allison at John Hopkins prompted her to ask them why her father didn't love her. Why he was the way he was.
Their answer made her think about the times when her mother hadn't actually defended her father. When she'd been honest and blunt and hadn't tried to reassure her that she was loved and cared for. She'd not been at all impressed with House's ability to be mature, certainly, and Aisilng wondered why again how she put up with him.
A niggling fear that she'd end up like him haunted her through high school, and she threw herself into extra-curricular activities with a vengence, refusing to let herself be isolated like her father had become. Making friends and connections, and persuing a life that kept her in the public eye. Ignoring her father's moment of outrage as him being drugged out of his mind.
What else could it be, after all?
It wasn't like he actually cared, he'd already proven that. He didn't even really care for her mother, only for what she could give him. Only for the sex, as much as that thought made her twitch, and go hunting for things to wipe the images from her brain.
Knowing what her parents were like didn't help her confidence in finding someone she wanted to spend her life with, or even just date. And it took her boyfriend a long time to convince her he really did want to stay with her, no matter what happened. Six years and the birth of her own child, in fact. And an entertaining letter from her father concerning his desire never to be a grandparent, and griping about why had she made him one already?
They didn't invite him to the wedding, or the reception afterwards.
Of course he showed up anyway, sitting in the back, dressed in jeans and t-shirt and leather jacket. Cane in hand, and helmet on the pew beside him. She managed not to react to his presence then, and was actually rather glad she'd decided the reception would be small and private. At her mother's, where she'd hear her father's motorcycle before he could do something like come inside.
She excused herself from the table with a quiet murmur, whispering in her husband's ear that she had a little problem to take care of, but she'd be right back inside. She caught the knowing look on her mother's face, and raised an eyebrow.
Her mother merely shrugged, and turned back to her food, and the one-sided chatter from Uncle James. Leaving Aisling to go outside, and confront her father.
She almost laughed when he said Uncle James - Wilson to him - had taught her to lie.
"No, actually. You taught how to lie." She gave him a smile she'd learned from watching him during the brief times she saw him. "I was very young when I learned the only way to protect myself was to lie. To tell myself it didn't matter that you didn't care until I believed it. Tell a lie often enough, father, it becomes the truth."
The challenge was clear on his face as he answered her with a sarcastic, "Does it?"
Sometimes it didn't, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right even a little. "You'd be surprised," she said instead, pushing away from the house. "Get out of here, before someone calls the police, father. Has you arrested for trespassing."
The sound of a motorcycle revving followed her into the house, and she waited until it faded before leaning against the door, closing her eyes, hands clenched at her sides.
Fandom: House, MD
AU: Banshee
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 964
She always knew when her father wanted time with her mother. It was the only time he actually paid attention to her, really noticed her. The days he came and picked her up from school, and took her to the mall, clinging behind him on his bike, the bright pink helmet he'd bought on her head. Bought her new clothes and some toys and dropped her off with Uncle James. Took her to school in the morning if it was a weekday.
If it was a weekend, she didn't even see him again.
Asking her mother why he didn't like her had only gotten her cuddled and words looped across a page that she didn't believe. No matter how much her mother told her that her father really did care about her, she never could see it. Never could accept it as an answer.
How could he care, when he didn't want anything to do with her? She was just someone who got between him and his addiction. Another thing which her mother said wasn't true - though she didn't ever say he loved her. Or that she loved him. At least there she could believe her, could trust she wasn't lying or deluding herself.
When she was ten, he stopped even coming to pick her up. She didn't think he even visited her mother much any more. If he did at all. Or maybe she went to him, on days when she bundled Aisling off to Uncle James and Aunt Allison's with an overnight bag. Picked her up again in the morning, and if it was a weekend, took her to the zoo or a museum or a movie. Sometimes even took her to New York and shopping.
She didn't understand how her mother could keep going back to her father for anything, and she tried to tell herself it didn't matter, that she didn't care. That it wasn't a bad thing that her father didn't want her in his life. That it was enough for her to have her mother and Uncle James and Aunt Allison.
A father-daughter dinner for the seventh-grade at her school and a job offer for her Aunt Allison at John Hopkins prompted her to ask them why her father didn't love her. Why he was the way he was.
Their answer made her think about the times when her mother hadn't actually defended her father. When she'd been honest and blunt and hadn't tried to reassure her that she was loved and cared for. She'd not been at all impressed with House's ability to be mature, certainly, and Aisilng wondered why again how she put up with him.
A niggling fear that she'd end up like him haunted her through high school, and she threw herself into extra-curricular activities with a vengence, refusing to let herself be isolated like her father had become. Making friends and connections, and persuing a life that kept her in the public eye. Ignoring her father's moment of outrage as him being drugged out of his mind.
What else could it be, after all?
It wasn't like he actually cared, he'd already proven that. He didn't even really care for her mother, only for what she could give him. Only for the sex, as much as that thought made her twitch, and go hunting for things to wipe the images from her brain.
Knowing what her parents were like didn't help her confidence in finding someone she wanted to spend her life with, or even just date. And it took her boyfriend a long time to convince her he really did want to stay with her, no matter what happened. Six years and the birth of her own child, in fact. And an entertaining letter from her father concerning his desire never to be a grandparent, and griping about why had she made him one already?
They didn't invite him to the wedding, or the reception afterwards.
Of course he showed up anyway, sitting in the back, dressed in jeans and t-shirt and leather jacket. Cane in hand, and helmet on the pew beside him. She managed not to react to his presence then, and was actually rather glad she'd decided the reception would be small and private. At her mother's, where she'd hear her father's motorcycle before he could do something like come inside.
She excused herself from the table with a quiet murmur, whispering in her husband's ear that she had a little problem to take care of, but she'd be right back inside. She caught the knowing look on her mother's face, and raised an eyebrow.
Her mother merely shrugged, and turned back to her food, and the one-sided chatter from Uncle James. Leaving Aisling to go outside, and confront her father.
She almost laughed when he said Uncle James - Wilson to him - had taught her to lie.
"No, actually. You taught how to lie." She gave him a smile she'd learned from watching him during the brief times she saw him. "I was very young when I learned the only way to protect myself was to lie. To tell myself it didn't matter that you didn't care until I believed it. Tell a lie often enough, father, it becomes the truth."
The challenge was clear on his face as he answered her with a sarcastic, "Does it?"
Sometimes it didn't, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right even a little. "You'd be surprised," she said instead, pushing away from the house. "Get out of here, before someone calls the police, father. Has you arrested for trespassing."
The sound of a motorcycle revving followed her into the house, and she waited until it faded before leaning against the door, closing her eyes, hands clenched at her sides.