Good morning everyone.
Today we offer you two fic fragments for you to complete in any way you choose. Fill one or both, it's up to you.
The first fragment is by pwcorgigirl
. She set this in the 7th season episode where House diagnoses Cuddy's mother with metal poisoning from her hip implant, and along the way, he dopes the wine at the dinner table so that Wilson and Arlene Cuddy both pass out at the table.Fragment One:
The first thing Wilson sees when he opens his eyes is a pale hand hovering six inches above his nose. He registers his roiling stomach, the hard floor under his back, and the hand is replaced by the bright blue eyes and ruffled blonde hair of Arlene Cuddy.
"Oh, no," Wilson says, but it comes out garbled, as if someone has super-glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Which, come to think of it, he wouldn't put past House.
The second fragment is by blackmare
"How," Wilson said, and started coughing. His throat must feel like someone shoved sandpaper down it, House thought. Usually does, for a while after the tube comes out. "House? What ... I'm ...?"
"Oh, you meant, 'I'm in the hospital?
' And yes, you are." House passed him a flimsy plastic cup, half full of water. "Because you're a moron."
"I don't remember," Wilson said. There was a pause while he took a sip, handed back the cup, and closed his eyes. "I was ... in my car." And with that, he was asleep again, leaving House with nobody to talk to.
House picked up his phone and clicked back to the traffic-cam video, playing on endless loop on the local news station's website. Every time Wilson's (small, grainy) Volvo pulled to a stop, every time Wilson extended his umbrella out the door and stepped out onto the shoulder in the rain, House wanted to be there. Stop him. Stop her.
Smoke plumed up from the hood of the woman's car, and as the wind shifted, the flames began to leap out. Wilson kept an extinguisher in his trunk, like the good Eagle Scout that he was, and he was getting it out when she walked up behind him, made one blurry motion, then another, then slammed the trunk and sped off in the Volvo.
The loop ended, every time, with IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION, CALL BLAH BLAH REWARD BLAH BLAH BLAH, the words crawling slowly over the spot where Wilson lay bleeding on the asphalt.
Everything, even the growing dark blot on his white dress shirt, looked gray.
"The bitch," House said to him, "even took your damn umbrella."