Sigh, fic.
May. 31st, 2007 03:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinetzinTitle: Bulletproof
Chapter: 1/?
Summary: When one of his team is framed for a serious crime, House in determined to solve a murder mystery instead of a medical one.
Fandom: House
Word Count: 516
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, non-graphic murder
Pairing: None this installment, eventually House/Wilson
A/N: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
house_fest Prompt 6 and wtf27 Prompt 26. One of the giant pile of fics I need to finish by tomorrow night which likely will not be done. This fic turned out really, really long, so I'm breaking it up (cause it's not done and won't be by the deadline). Also, I'm not taking any chances with the late LJ unpleasantness. From here on out, my fic will be simulcast here and on JF (where I am also sabinelagrande). Any questionable fic has been locked and will be reposted there.
It had been a long goddamned day. Their patient- old, Russian, cantankerous, and a general pain in the ass- had coded twice and coughed sputum all over his new- and very expensive- jacket. As if that wasn't enough, his father had treated the man years ago, and he'd had to endure a long, angry lecture about how medical ability was apparently not hereditary. Chase knew he shouldn't have snapped back, but he couldn't deny how good it had felt.
Just one last check on the old bastard, and Chase would feel completely justified in going home for a night's rest.
It was eerily quiet in the patient's room. It took Chase several moments to realize that the heart monitor was silent. He started to rush to the bed, but his foot kicked something heavy, which hit the bed frame with a resounding clang. By the time he realized what it was, he'd also realized there was no need to hurry.
Something in the back of his brain was screaming that he shouldn't have picked it up, but it was just a dream, wasn't it? This couldn't be real. He'd wake up at any moment, wouldn't he?
That was how the nursing staff found him, monitors screaming, gun dangling from his right hand.
--
"If he's not awake and talking yet, I'm not interested," House said, stretched out and sleepy in his chair, as Cuddy came slamming into his office.
"Kind of hard to talk with that bullet in his forehead," she snapped, and Cuddy had the supreme pleasure of watching him fall out of his chair.
As Cuddy helped him to his feet, the only snappy remark he could think to make was, "I didn't prescribe that."
"Foreman's talking to the police, but they want you," she told him, ignoring his remark.
"When did this happen?" House asked as they hurried down the hallway.
"Just a minute ago," she replied, not ready to tell him the whole story. "Why didn't you answer your pager?"
"Lost it in a tragic water polo accident," House lied, casually. "Shouldn't you be a lot more upset about this whole murder thing?"
"I had Wilson score me some Valium," she deadpanned.
There was a large man, badge already in hand, waiting for them at the patient's room. He nodded to Cuddy as he pushed the door open for them.
"Detective Miller," the man with the badge told him.
"That's nice," he replied, pushing the man out of the way.
"Coroner will be here shortly," Miller said, lips pursed. "We've found the murder weapon. We shouldn't be troubling you for much longer, Doctor Cuddy."
"Small caliber handgun?" House asked, examining the patient's forehead.
The detective nodded. "He never left the room with it."
"That would be great if he'd died of a gunshot wound," House said casually, drawing speechless stares from the assembled. "Jesus, don't you people watch CSI?"
--
"It's done," his contact said. "Should I disengage?"
"Negative. Stay until suspicion has been diverted."
"Done."
"Not to my satisfaction. You will stay until you are recalled. Clear?"
A heavy sigh. "Affirmative."
Chapter: 1/?
Summary: When one of his team is framed for a serious crime, House in determined to solve a murder mystery instead of a medical one.
Fandom: House
Word Count: 516
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, non-graphic murder
Pairing: None this installment, eventually House/Wilson
A/N: For
house_fest Prompt 6 and wtf27 Prompt 26. One of the giant pile of fics I need to finish by tomorrow night which likely will not be done. This fic turned out really, really long, so I'm breaking it up (cause it's not done and won't be by the deadline). Also, I'm not taking any chances with the late LJ unpleasantness. From here on out, my fic will be simulcast here and on JF (where I am also sabinelagrande). Any questionable fic has been locked and will be reposted there.It had been a long goddamned day. Their patient- old, Russian, cantankerous, and a general pain in the ass- had coded twice and coughed sputum all over his new- and very expensive- jacket. As if that wasn't enough, his father had treated the man years ago, and he'd had to endure a long, angry lecture about how medical ability was apparently not hereditary. Chase knew he shouldn't have snapped back, but he couldn't deny how good it had felt.
Just one last check on the old bastard, and Chase would feel completely justified in going home for a night's rest.
It was eerily quiet in the patient's room. It took Chase several moments to realize that the heart monitor was silent. He started to rush to the bed, but his foot kicked something heavy, which hit the bed frame with a resounding clang. By the time he realized what it was, he'd also realized there was no need to hurry.
Something in the back of his brain was screaming that he shouldn't have picked it up, but it was just a dream, wasn't it? This couldn't be real. He'd wake up at any moment, wouldn't he?
That was how the nursing staff found him, monitors screaming, gun dangling from his right hand.
--
"If he's not awake and talking yet, I'm not interested," House said, stretched out and sleepy in his chair, as Cuddy came slamming into his office.
"Kind of hard to talk with that bullet in his forehead," she snapped, and Cuddy had the supreme pleasure of watching him fall out of his chair.
As Cuddy helped him to his feet, the only snappy remark he could think to make was, "I didn't prescribe that."
"Foreman's talking to the police, but they want you," she told him, ignoring his remark.
"When did this happen?" House asked as they hurried down the hallway.
"Just a minute ago," she replied, not ready to tell him the whole story. "Why didn't you answer your pager?"
"Lost it in a tragic water polo accident," House lied, casually. "Shouldn't you be a lot more upset about this whole murder thing?"
"I had Wilson score me some Valium," she deadpanned.
There was a large man, badge already in hand, waiting for them at the patient's room. He nodded to Cuddy as he pushed the door open for them.
"Detective Miller," the man with the badge told him.
"That's nice," he replied, pushing the man out of the way.
"Coroner will be here shortly," Miller said, lips pursed. "We've found the murder weapon. We shouldn't be troubling you for much longer, Doctor Cuddy."
"Small caliber handgun?" House asked, examining the patient's forehead.
The detective nodded. "He never left the room with it."
"That would be great if he'd died of a gunshot wound," House said casually, drawing speechless stares from the assembled. "Jesus, don't you people watch CSI?"
--
"It's done," his contact said. "Should I disengage?"
"Negative. Stay until suspicion has been diverted."
"Done."
"Not to my satisfaction. You will stay until you are recalled. Clear?"
A heavy sigh. "Affirmative."
