Four Divorces And A Funeral - 1
Oct. 24th, 2011 09:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
damigellaTitle: Four Divorces And A Funeral
Summary: This fic contains no divorce and no funeral. Sequel to "It Happened On Halloween." House's POV with occasional exceptions.
Rating: PG13, maybe more. See warnings. No sex.
Warnings: Violence, mention of sexual violence, suicide attempt, possible suicide, minor OCs, Mary Sue, possible happy ending. Spoiler for 7.23, 8.01, minor spoilers for 8.02, 8.03.
"Is there anywhere else I have to sign, Sergeant Strickland?"
"No, Dr. Wilson, you are done. And we're thankful you decided to press charges."
The man in front of me was very pale. Maybe it was the blood loss.
"I hope you'll catch the culprits. I understand it will not be easy."
I smiled, which doesn't happen often when I work.
"The prosecutor is optimistic. We have enough DNA of two of the aggressors, so if we get their names we're done. The person suspected of organizing the crime is currently being interrogated, we'll put enough pressure to make sure he talks."
A bit of color spread to the pointed cheekbones at the good news.
"So you think you know who did this to me."
"At least who ordered this done, and you know him, too. We were told you used to be friends."
The color vanished: the face wasn't white anymore but ashen.
"You can't mean..."
"Your ex friend and paroled convict, Dr. Gregory House. We have enough witnesses that you quarreled repeatedly since his return at PPTH, that you punched him hard, even an ugly story about a patient of yours dying. And there's evidence he caused a wrist fracture to you in the past and forged your signature on opiates prescriptions. Plus," I broadened my smile, "this supposedly intelligent man gave himself away. When his accomplices told him you were dying, he actually asked the police for help. How could he have known you had been assaulted, if he hadn't organized it himself? Stupid, really."
The victim's face was still gray, but there was steel in his eyes and voice. "Of course. Good to know you're working so well. Could you leave now, please? I need to call my lawyer."
I chuckled inside. He was upset at first that his "friend" would have done it, but the more he'd think about it the more it would make sense. It would be an easy process and an easier civil one for damages.
"Sure. I'm very sorry for what happened, but at least you can feel safe you're no longer in danger. With the elements we have against him we can shut him up so long that upon release he'll be fit only for the retirement home, or better yet he'll die under lock. Inspector Lawrence is convinced he can extract a confession fast just by keeping him drug free. Junkies are lousy criminals."
I got up and left. I tried to shake his hand, but he didn't notice. He was probably still very upset. Or maybe the gossip was true, and they had been lovers. Ick. I was suddenly happy I hadn't shaken his hand. Still, he deserved justice. I felt very proud of my own open-mindedness as I drove back to my office.
+++++
House looked at the clock. The image swam before his eyes, and he forced his eyes to focus. Ten twenty. Monday morning, hopefully. And he had had his last Hydrocodone on Sunday evening at seven. His last painkiller altogether.
He had refused food, accepting only some water. He had vomited it all, and then heaved again and again. They hadn't been nasty, he was allowed to use the bathroom privately and without handcuffs, just no painkillers. The only person who had the authority to sign permission for drugs, they claimed, would arrive soon.
He wished he could at least massage his thigh, but his hands were shackled behind his back. He could have asked to call a lawyer, but the only one he could think of was Stacy.
"House, why do you want to make it so hard for yourself? We know you organized this. Just tell us who the actual aggressors were, and we can offer you a nice plea bargain. We'll leave out attempted homicide and go for personal lesions. In less than ten years you'll be out. Maybe earlier, on parole, if there's another special medical case."
He couldn't avoid thinking about what this moron thought he had done. What Mendelsohn had done to Wilson. Just because he had been dining often at his place. He hadn't been told any details, but the general idea was bad enough.
"Sorry. I need the bucket again."
"Sure." Inspector Lawrence smiled politely, moved the bucket in front of House who heaved and heaved, but only a thin droplet of bile came out. His esophagus was burning because of the stomach acids, and he desperately hoped to pass out again, and that this time they would let him lie unconscious, not shake him awake and give him one more Coke.
"Wouldn't it be easier if-"
A knock on the door. "A lawyer has arrived for the prisoner. He has a legal right to thirty minutes of private interview, Lawrence."
Summary: This fic contains no divorce and no funeral. Sequel to "It Happened On Halloween." House's POV with occasional exceptions.
Rating: PG13, maybe more. See warnings. No sex.
Warnings: Violence, mention of sexual violence, suicide attempt, possible suicide, minor OCs, Mary Sue, possible happy ending. Spoiler for 7.23, 8.01, minor spoilers for 8.02, 8.03.
"Is there anywhere else I have to sign, Sergeant Strickland?"
"No, Dr. Wilson, you are done. And we're thankful you decided to press charges."
The man in front of me was very pale. Maybe it was the blood loss.
"I hope you'll catch the culprits. I understand it will not be easy."
I smiled, which doesn't happen often when I work.
"The prosecutor is optimistic. We have enough DNA of two of the aggressors, so if we get their names we're done. The person suspected of organizing the crime is currently being interrogated, we'll put enough pressure to make sure he talks."
A bit of color spread to the pointed cheekbones at the good news.
"So you think you know who did this to me."
"At least who ordered this done, and you know him, too. We were told you used to be friends."
The color vanished: the face wasn't white anymore but ashen.
"You can't mean..."
"Your ex friend and paroled convict, Dr. Gregory House. We have enough witnesses that you quarreled repeatedly since his return at PPTH, that you punched him hard, even an ugly story about a patient of yours dying. And there's evidence he caused a wrist fracture to you in the past and forged your signature on opiates prescriptions. Plus," I broadened my smile, "this supposedly intelligent man gave himself away. When his accomplices told him you were dying, he actually asked the police for help. How could he have known you had been assaulted, if he hadn't organized it himself? Stupid, really."
The victim's face was still gray, but there was steel in his eyes and voice. "Of course. Good to know you're working so well. Could you leave now, please? I need to call my lawyer."
I chuckled inside. He was upset at first that his "friend" would have done it, but the more he'd think about it the more it would make sense. It would be an easy process and an easier civil one for damages.
"Sure. I'm very sorry for what happened, but at least you can feel safe you're no longer in danger. With the elements we have against him we can shut him up so long that upon release he'll be fit only for the retirement home, or better yet he'll die under lock. Inspector Lawrence is convinced he can extract a confession fast just by keeping him drug free. Junkies are lousy criminals."
I got up and left. I tried to shake his hand, but he didn't notice. He was probably still very upset. Or maybe the gossip was true, and they had been lovers. Ick. I was suddenly happy I hadn't shaken his hand. Still, he deserved justice. I felt very proud of my own open-mindedness as I drove back to my office.
+++++
House looked at the clock. The image swam before his eyes, and he forced his eyes to focus. Ten twenty. Monday morning, hopefully. And he had had his last Hydrocodone on Sunday evening at seven. His last painkiller altogether.
He had refused food, accepting only some water. He had vomited it all, and then heaved again and again. They hadn't been nasty, he was allowed to use the bathroom privately and without handcuffs, just no painkillers. The only person who had the authority to sign permission for drugs, they claimed, would arrive soon.
He wished he could at least massage his thigh, but his hands were shackled behind his back. He could have asked to call a lawyer, but the only one he could think of was Stacy.
"House, why do you want to make it so hard for yourself? We know you organized this. Just tell us who the actual aggressors were, and we can offer you a nice plea bargain. We'll leave out attempted homicide and go for personal lesions. In less than ten years you'll be out. Maybe earlier, on parole, if there's another special medical case."
He couldn't avoid thinking about what this moron thought he had done. What Mendelsohn had done to Wilson. Just because he had been dining often at his place. He hadn't been told any details, but the general idea was bad enough.
"Sorry. I need the bucket again."
"Sure." Inspector Lawrence smiled politely, moved the bucket in front of House who heaved and heaved, but only a thin droplet of bile came out. His esophagus was burning because of the stomach acids, and he desperately hoped to pass out again, and that this time they would let him lie unconscious, not shake him awake and give him one more Coke.
"Wouldn't it be easier if-"
A knock on the door. "A lawyer has arrived for the prisoner. He has a legal right to thirty minutes of private interview, Lawrence."
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no subject
Date: 2011-10-24 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-24 07:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-24 07:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-24 07:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-24 07:23 pm (UTC)The only death-fic I ever wrote also had House dying, so...
no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 06:55 am (UTC)Thank you for the kind words, hon. I might give myself permission to write a deathfic again:).
no subject
Date: 2011-10-24 07:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 06:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-24 08:39 pm (UTC)Pretty sure that Wilson doesn't believe House organised this, the Sergeant is an idiot.
Poor House, I hope that he knows Wilson is okay (well, not dying) at least.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 06:58 am (UTC)We'll here more from House once he's done with the paperwork.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-24 10:52 pm (UTC)And poor House -- back without painkillers again.
I hope the funeral is Mendelsohn's.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 01:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 07:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 07:00 am (UTC)There's no funeral, and I think the best punishment for someone like Mendelsohn isn't death but rotting in jail. But death is a close second.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 07:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 03:28 pm (UTC)Interesting story, I will certainly keep reading. You caught the voice of the Sergeant very well. I sympathize him because his motives are good (to protect Wilson) but he isn't smart, and he has every right to distrust House because he doesn't know him in person.
House behaves reasonably under arrest. Hope this ends well for him.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 09:38 pm (UTC)House behaves reasonably because he's been in jail, unfortunately. This is no longer the House who played games on Tritter: he's a broken man, and now he has the added guilt of having caused real suffering to Wilson.
Thank you so much for reading and commenting!