Fic : Close Call
Jul. 12th, 2012 05:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
menolly_auTitle: Close Call
Characters: House/Wilson, Tritter
Rating: PG-13 - some rough and homophobic language
Spoilers: None
Words Aprox 1300
Summary: Wilson has a close call. Written for the WIP Swap challenge for camp sick!Wilson. Continues a fic started by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
srsly_yes. Their original story is in italics at the beginning of the story.
"Why did ya’ do it?"
"For no good reason."
"Then give the bad reason."
“I wanted to the pull the trigger.” Eddie vibrated nearly off his seat. He was on an adrenalin rush and god knows what. Closing one eye, he took aim at the detective across the table with his finger. “Pow. Got that sucker dead center in the chest. Doctors aren’t the only ones who kill people.”
“You say you knew the man coming out of the hospital was a doctor? How?”
“Sure I knew. Who else wears expensive suits and carries a briefcase?”
“Could be anyone. A relative visiting a family member after work, maybe. A staff accountant or janitor with fancy taste and a penchant for leather lunchboxes.” The detective sat back in his chair and leisurely unwrapped a stick of gum, folded it in half, and put it in his mouth. “Why him, Eddie? Why’d you choose him?”
Eddie scowled and balled one hand up into a fist.
"Because he was the son of a bitch's fancy boy."
"Which son of a bitch?"
"The one that killed my wife. The crip with the big mouth and the cane. Thought he was smarter than me, talked to me like I was some piece of dirt he trod on. Said she was dying because I didn't keep my dick in my pants. Bastard."
"You were having an affair?"
Eddie shook his head impatiently, "Nah, just a bit of fun on the side. Nothing to do with her being sick. I keep it clean."
Tritter made some notes on a piece of paper. "So, you were mad at the doctor with the cane?"
"I hung one on him, while Mary was in the hospital. He was hassling me, all in my face, wanted to know my business. So I knocked him down the stairs. Wiped that stupid smirk off his ugly face. Then Mr French shoes and fifty dollar haircut got in the way. The way he was fussing over the gimp, anyone could see that they were fucking each other. Then he got me kicked outta the hospital."
"This was before your wife died?"
"Yeah, he killed her, the fuckin' bastard of a doctor. Said he knew what was wrong and they were going to treat it, but she died anyway. Shoulda shot him but nobody would miss him." He fidgeted in his seat again as he relived the moment, the chain of his handcuffs rattling against the table edge.
"So I waited outside the hospital and when fancy lover boy came out I shot him." He mimed a shooting action again. "One shot, straight through the heart. He made this sort of whining sound and then he went down, bang, just like that." Eddie grinned at the memory. "Blood everywhere, all over his clothes, didn't look so fancy then. The gimp was there of course, never seen a crip move that fast. Knelt down beside him and grabbed hold of him, started yelling his head off. Yeah, I got that bastard good."
Tritter chewed his gum slowly and made some more notes. Then he looked up, his cold eyes fixing Eddie with a stare. "Yeah Eddie, bad reason. That'll get you twenty five to life."
Eddie slumped in his seat and shrugged. "At least I ain't dead, like fancy boy and my Mary. Was worth it, seeing the look on that doctor's face."
Tritter gathered up his notes and then smiled at Eddie. "Oh, didn't I tell you? Doctor Wilson is going to make a full recovery. Seems Doctor House managed to save his life."
"No way! I got him, I got him good!"
Tritter left the interview room, shutting the door behind him and cutting off the sound of Eddie's screamed obscenities. He chucked the file on his desk. Open and shut case with Eddie's confession. Only attempted murder because Doctor Wilson had lived but good for a long stretch anyway. Tritter was glad that Wilson had survived, he was a decent guy with a bad choice of friend, or 'friend' - whatever the case might be. Too bad Eddie had picked the wrong target.
Wilson sat propped up on pillows and poked at his hospital dinner, there was pretty much nothing there that he wanted to eat. Meanwhile House was tucking into a hamburger and fries from the cafeteria.
"So, who was it, another dissatisfied customer?" House had just returned from speaking to the police, presumably about whoever shot him.
"Husband of my last patient, the one who died." House corrected, speaking through a mouthful of food. "He thinks I killed her."
"The guy who knocked you down the stairs?" Wilson's face darkened, seemingly more angered by that than by the bullet he'd taken for some reason.
House rubbed his shoulder, it was still sore from that tumble. "Yep."
"You worked non-stop on her for four days, and half of that was after your shoulder was dislocated by that fall. She was going to die from the moment she got that infection. There was nothing you could have done that you didn't."
House shrugged, dead was dead.
"So, is this going to happen often now we're together? Your patients and their family members taking pot shots at me?" Wilson asked, wincing as his chest reminded him that it had only been five days since he'd had major surgery. He'd been very lucky that House had been there and had known exactly what to do to keep him alive until they could get him to the ER.
House looked down at the ground and twirled his cane between his hands. He'd come very close to losing Wilson, all because of some small time crook, and big time lunatic, who thought doctors should be miracle workers. He certainly didn't want that to happen again, not to either of them, but he couldn't guarantee it. He looked back up at Wilson, meeting his eyes.
"I don't know," he said.
"Okay."
"Okay?That's it? You're okay with being shot at?"
"On the whole I'd rather not be shot, and I hope people aren't going to make a habit of it, but I'm okay with you. You're not responsible for other people's actions."
"I was an ass to him," House admitted. He'd been trying to get the guy off guard, and find out what secret he was hiding that was killing his wife, but still, this had been the result.
"So? Last I heard being an ass wasn't a capital offence." House stared at him, he'd been expecting a lecture, a warning to be more careful. Not acceptance.
Wilson looked back at his plate of mushy hospital food and pushed it away.
"Pass me that burger and put the television on, Jersey Shore is starting."
House passed over what was left of the burger and put the fries in between them. He picked up the remote and flipped on the television, settling into the chair next to Wilson's bed to watch.
"Although, next time... " Wilson started, not looking at him, and House tensed, now it was coming, the demand that he change the way he worked to suit other people. "Next time someone takes a swing at you, I'm calling the police, not just security."
They watched television in silence for a while, mocking the vacuous people on screen, but Wilson quickly succumbed to his powerful pain meds and dropped off to sleep. House watched him for a while, remembering how Wilson had laid in his arms, his life draining away with his blood. He'd come very close to losing Wilson that day.
He rose and checked Wilson's monitors and the flow of the drip. Satisfied, he returned to the recliner and laid back, one hand resting lightly on the blanket where it covered Wilson. He closed his eyes and relaxed.
He'd sleep while Wilson slept.
Characters: House/Wilson, Tritter
Rating: PG-13 - some rough and homophobic language
Spoilers: None
Words Aprox 1300
Summary: Wilson has a close call. Written for the WIP Swap challenge for camp sick!Wilson. Continues a fic started by
srsly_yes. Their original story is in italics at the beginning of the story. "Why did ya’ do it?"
"For no good reason."
"Then give the bad reason."
“I wanted to the pull the trigger.” Eddie vibrated nearly off his seat. He was on an adrenalin rush and god knows what. Closing one eye, he took aim at the detective across the table with his finger. “Pow. Got that sucker dead center in the chest. Doctors aren’t the only ones who kill people.”
“You say you knew the man coming out of the hospital was a doctor? How?”
“Sure I knew. Who else wears expensive suits and carries a briefcase?”
“Could be anyone. A relative visiting a family member after work, maybe. A staff accountant or janitor with fancy taste and a penchant for leather lunchboxes.” The detective sat back in his chair and leisurely unwrapped a stick of gum, folded it in half, and put it in his mouth. “Why him, Eddie? Why’d you choose him?”
Eddie scowled and balled one hand up into a fist.
"Because he was the son of a bitch's fancy boy."
"Which son of a bitch?"
"The one that killed my wife. The crip with the big mouth and the cane. Thought he was smarter than me, talked to me like I was some piece of dirt he trod on. Said she was dying because I didn't keep my dick in my pants. Bastard."
"You were having an affair?"
Eddie shook his head impatiently, "Nah, just a bit of fun on the side. Nothing to do with her being sick. I keep it clean."
Tritter made some notes on a piece of paper. "So, you were mad at the doctor with the cane?"
"I hung one on him, while Mary was in the hospital. He was hassling me, all in my face, wanted to know my business. So I knocked him down the stairs. Wiped that stupid smirk off his ugly face. Then Mr French shoes and fifty dollar haircut got in the way. The way he was fussing over the gimp, anyone could see that they were fucking each other. Then he got me kicked outta the hospital."
"This was before your wife died?"
"Yeah, he killed her, the fuckin' bastard of a doctor. Said he knew what was wrong and they were going to treat it, but she died anyway. Shoulda shot him but nobody would miss him." He fidgeted in his seat again as he relived the moment, the chain of his handcuffs rattling against the table edge.
"So I waited outside the hospital and when fancy lover boy came out I shot him." He mimed a shooting action again. "One shot, straight through the heart. He made this sort of whining sound and then he went down, bang, just like that." Eddie grinned at the memory. "Blood everywhere, all over his clothes, didn't look so fancy then. The gimp was there of course, never seen a crip move that fast. Knelt down beside him and grabbed hold of him, started yelling his head off. Yeah, I got that bastard good."
Tritter chewed his gum slowly and made some more notes. Then he looked up, his cold eyes fixing Eddie with a stare. "Yeah Eddie, bad reason. That'll get you twenty five to life."
Eddie slumped in his seat and shrugged. "At least I ain't dead, like fancy boy and my Mary. Was worth it, seeing the look on that doctor's face."
Tritter gathered up his notes and then smiled at Eddie. "Oh, didn't I tell you? Doctor Wilson is going to make a full recovery. Seems Doctor House managed to save his life."
"No way! I got him, I got him good!"
Tritter left the interview room, shutting the door behind him and cutting off the sound of Eddie's screamed obscenities. He chucked the file on his desk. Open and shut case with Eddie's confession. Only attempted murder because Doctor Wilson had lived but good for a long stretch anyway. Tritter was glad that Wilson had survived, he was a decent guy with a bad choice of friend, or 'friend' - whatever the case might be. Too bad Eddie had picked the wrong target.
Wilson sat propped up on pillows and poked at his hospital dinner, there was pretty much nothing there that he wanted to eat. Meanwhile House was tucking into a hamburger and fries from the cafeteria.
"So, who was it, another dissatisfied customer?" House had just returned from speaking to the police, presumably about whoever shot him.
"Husband of my last patient, the one who died." House corrected, speaking through a mouthful of food. "He thinks I killed her."
"The guy who knocked you down the stairs?" Wilson's face darkened, seemingly more angered by that than by the bullet he'd taken for some reason.
House rubbed his shoulder, it was still sore from that tumble. "Yep."
"You worked non-stop on her for four days, and half of that was after your shoulder was dislocated by that fall. She was going to die from the moment she got that infection. There was nothing you could have done that you didn't."
House shrugged, dead was dead.
"So, is this going to happen often now we're together? Your patients and their family members taking pot shots at me?" Wilson asked, wincing as his chest reminded him that it had only been five days since he'd had major surgery. He'd been very lucky that House had been there and had known exactly what to do to keep him alive until they could get him to the ER.
House looked down at the ground and twirled his cane between his hands. He'd come very close to losing Wilson, all because of some small time crook, and big time lunatic, who thought doctors should be miracle workers. He certainly didn't want that to happen again, not to either of them, but he couldn't guarantee it. He looked back up at Wilson, meeting his eyes.
"I don't know," he said.
"Okay."
"Okay?That's it? You're okay with being shot at?"
"On the whole I'd rather not be shot, and I hope people aren't going to make a habit of it, but I'm okay with you. You're not responsible for other people's actions."
"I was an ass to him," House admitted. He'd been trying to get the guy off guard, and find out what secret he was hiding that was killing his wife, but still, this had been the result.
"So? Last I heard being an ass wasn't a capital offence." House stared at him, he'd been expecting a lecture, a warning to be more careful. Not acceptance.
Wilson looked back at his plate of mushy hospital food and pushed it away.
"Pass me that burger and put the television on, Jersey Shore is starting."
House passed over what was left of the burger and put the fries in between them. He picked up the remote and flipped on the television, settling into the chair next to Wilson's bed to watch.
"Although, next time... " Wilson started, not looking at him, and House tensed, now it was coming, the demand that he change the way he worked to suit other people. "Next time someone takes a swing at you, I'm calling the police, not just security."
They watched television in silence for a while, mocking the vacuous people on screen, but Wilson quickly succumbed to his powerful pain meds and dropped off to sleep. House watched him for a while, remembering how Wilson had laid in his arms, his life draining away with his blood. He'd come very close to losing Wilson that day.
He rose and checked Wilson's monitors and the flow of the drip. Satisfied, he returned to the recliner and laid back, one hand resting lightly on the blanket where it covered Wilson. He closed his eyes and relaxed.
He'd sleep while Wilson slept.
