Flames of Blue
Written July 2006
Synopsis: He loves it when she’s angry.
Disclaimer: The characters within are property of Heel & Toe, Shore Z. Productions, Bad Hat Harry Productions, and other corporations. No infringement is intended.
The hottest part of a fire is blue. Yet it is the most neglected color, as most people will draw giant flames of orange or red or even yellow. Never blue.
Her eyes are blue, usually a pale blue bordering on grey, but when she’s angry, like she is now, the color changes. The blue brightens, intensifies, like a fire that is burning out of control. Such beauty in destruction. Such amazing color.
He loves it when she’s angry.
As she reprimands him in his office, he is captivated by the color of her eyes, the flames that spark and drift, the shades that slightly change with each word. He doesn’t even know what she is saying, just that he wants it to continue so that the fire doesn’t die out. He’d kindle it with harsh words or petty insults to keep it going, if he had any idea what she was mad about.
Her mouth closes, and the vibrant blue begins to fade but not disappear. She’s waiting for a response, arms folded across her chest, head tilted a little to the right.
“Well?” she prompts.
“I’m sorry, could you start over? I was busy staring at your cleavage. Didn’t catch any of that.”
The fire ignites once again, and he leans back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. Something about clinic duty and his dictations. Who knew that something he did, or neglected to do, on a regular basis would make her eyes shift from light to dark and back to light again, covering every shade in the spectrum in a matter of minutes?
She leans closer to him, no doubt pointing a finger, and he sees not only blue but also little flecks of grey. Smoke from the flames. The fire is dying.
“–hear a word I’ve said?”
She frowns at him, a little warning, and turns toward the door. “Clinic duty, House. Lots of it. An extra eight hours this week, in fact. And you will relinquish all toys to Brenda before entering an exam room. That includes your iPod, any handheld video game system, and your portable television set.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Okay? That’s it?”
She continues to stare, probably thinking up a dozen reasons he’s being so compliant. He wants vacation time or a raise or a secretary with legs up to her neck. “Okay,” she says at last and smiles. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow in the clinic.”
“No toys,” he agrees.
She looks at him over her shoulder as she walks out of his office, and she is clearly pleased. If he wanted vacation or a raise or a secretary, he could probably have it. But instead he is content with the blue fire in her eyes and the pleasant scorching that it leaves across his skin.