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sick_wilson2011-07-06 10:02 pm
sydpenguinbunny.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2011-07-06 10:02 pm
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Time Stands Still
You guys are probably tired of me by now :P
Title: Time Stands Still
Rating: PG-13/mild R
Warnings: Blood and cursing, and Tritter.
Note: For the Lucinda the Butcher? Challenge.
Time Stands Still
“Baez did a good job, I think,” Detective Miranda Bennett says, turning the steering wheel of the police car as Michael Tritter, her partner, scoffs. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that. I know you don’t like lawyers, Trit, but I mean – seriously.” She’s jibing at her partner the way she often does, half out of affection and half out of her potentially misguided and usually fruitless attempts to get him to see things from a different point of view. A good amount of the time she’s just playing devil’s advocate.
“You know why I hate lawyers, Bennett,” Tritter retorts, “We do all the work and they come in and dismantle our cases because somewhere someone didn’t dot the right i.”
“Is this resentment over your tangles with a certain doctor I hear?” Miranda teases, and she turns a moment to look at him and grin cheekily as he glares back. “Come on Trit, you know you were wrong.”
“That was four years ago,” Tritter reminds her gruffly. “Is it really necessary to keep bringing it up? I mean, I’ve done great things since then.”
“No you haven’t!” Miranda declares and chuckles. “We’ve successfully busted one ecstasy dealer and broken up a few barfights. I don’t even know why Princeton bothers employing a Detective Bureau sometimes, when they send us out to do this boring ass shit. I mean, seriously.”
“Well, we can’t all be Camden PD,” Tritter responds sarcastically, referring to where Miranda used to work as he turns his head to the side, catching sight of a gray, ’98 Dodge Dynasty in the lane next to them. Something makes him pause a second longer, and to his surprise the man driving the car is the stubble-faced, cane-wielding Dr. House. House doesn’t see him, though, and Tritter figures it’s better to keep it that way. He turns ahead and then in Miranda’s direction. “I hate that Alvarez subjects us to doing traffic stops. She has patrol officers for this shit.”
“It’s because she loves you so much.” Miranda purses her lips in mocking. “You need to stop mouthing off to her since she makes me suffer, too. If it’s any consolation, if you’d been investigating the Casey Anthony deal I’m sure she’d have been – holy shit!”
Miranda’s words are cut off as the Dynasty swerves and slams into the concrete abutment by the side of the road and then flips twice. Her jaw drops and she pulls over the car as Tritter stares out, seeing a figure fly out the driver’s side door and land somewhere in the distance. Miranda pops open her door as Tritter’s still staring; suddenly he moves in autopilot and pulls open his door. He runs to the car, trying desperately to remember if he spotted a passenger.
“Get the driver, he was thrown from the vehicle!” he yells at his partner. “And radio for paramedics!” He hops over the abutment and runs to the car, grabbing the upside-down handle and yanking it. It’s unlocked, thankfully, and he ducks his head inside as he pulls the flashlight off his waistband and hits the button, shining it inside. “Is anyone in there?” A pained groan comes as a response, and Tritter considers his options. It’s not a good idea to move the passenger, but he needs to keep him alert. “What’s your name in there?”
“James… Wilson,” comes a halting, murmured response. Tritter swallows, he ought to have known. “Where’s House? Is he okay? I’m okay, I think...”
“I think you’re in shock, Dr. Wilson,” Tritter replies, “Need you to keep talking to me ‘til the paramedics get here, all right? And they’re gonna take care of Dr. House too, okay? Nothin’ to worry about, nothing at all.” He slips into his slangy speak when he’s not in control, when he’s not interrogating or intimidating; it’s the way he spoke when he grew up outside of Camden. “What happened? Why’d you crash?”
“I don’t remember. Just... there was a deer an’ House tried to not hit it and then the car just... I don’t know what happened next. Please,” Wilson’s voice pleads, and Tritter moves the flashlight so he can see big brown eyes now, terrified and pleading. “Don’t let him die.” Tritter’s heart catches as he hears the words; he’d written off Wilson’s loyalty to House as stubbornness once, but it seems to be so much more than that. He reaches out and touches the oncologist’s shoulder; Wilson is covered in blood and potentially dying himself but all he can say is House, House, House.
“He’ll be okay,” Tritter whispers. Though he doesn’t know whether to believe it, in this moment he wants it – for Wilson.
He doesn’t know how long time stands still before sirens are in his ears and impatient hands are pulling him back and demanding access to Wilson. When he’s standing again he gazes around, lost in a bit of a daze and only grounded when he sees Miranda next to him. She’s standing and holding out a blood-soaked cane, obnoxious painted red flames still visible on half of it.
“Crazy bastard House,” she murmurs to him. “He broke his fall by sticking his cane in the damn ground. Like a fuckin’... pole vault. Crazy fucking House.” She shakes her head. Tritter turns and watches Wilson being carried out on a stretcher; he’s carted dangerously close to the detective and he meets his eyes with confused recognition as Miranda continues, “Being a crazy bastard saved his life, I think. Anyone else with a fall like that and he’d be dead.”
“His heart stopped!” cries one of the paramedics, and Tritter watches as doctors press paddles to Wilson’s chest and, after what seems like endless tries, bring him back to life.
Tritter’s home and lying on his couch, staring at the screen when he realizes that Wilson must have only heard the word “dead”.
Title: Time Stands Still
Rating: PG-13/mild R
Warnings: Blood and cursing, and Tritter.
Note: For the Lucinda the Butcher? Challenge.
Time Stands Still
“Baez did a good job, I think,” Detective Miranda Bennett says, turning the steering wheel of the police car as Michael Tritter, her partner, scoffs. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that. I know you don’t like lawyers, Trit, but I mean – seriously.” She’s jibing at her partner the way she often does, half out of affection and half out of her potentially misguided and usually fruitless attempts to get him to see things from a different point of view. A good amount of the time she’s just playing devil’s advocate.
“You know why I hate lawyers, Bennett,” Tritter retorts, “We do all the work and they come in and dismantle our cases because somewhere someone didn’t dot the right i.”
“Is this resentment over your tangles with a certain doctor I hear?” Miranda teases, and she turns a moment to look at him and grin cheekily as he glares back. “Come on Trit, you know you were wrong.”
“That was four years ago,” Tritter reminds her gruffly. “Is it really necessary to keep bringing it up? I mean, I’ve done great things since then.”
“No you haven’t!” Miranda declares and chuckles. “We’ve successfully busted one ecstasy dealer and broken up a few barfights. I don’t even know why Princeton bothers employing a Detective Bureau sometimes, when they send us out to do this boring ass shit. I mean, seriously.”
“Well, we can’t all be Camden PD,” Tritter responds sarcastically, referring to where Miranda used to work as he turns his head to the side, catching sight of a gray, ’98 Dodge Dynasty in the lane next to them. Something makes him pause a second longer, and to his surprise the man driving the car is the stubble-faced, cane-wielding Dr. House. House doesn’t see him, though, and Tritter figures it’s better to keep it that way. He turns ahead and then in Miranda’s direction. “I hate that Alvarez subjects us to doing traffic stops. She has patrol officers for this shit.”
“It’s because she loves you so much.” Miranda purses her lips in mocking. “You need to stop mouthing off to her since she makes me suffer, too. If it’s any consolation, if you’d been investigating the Casey Anthony deal I’m sure she’d have been – holy shit!”
Miranda’s words are cut off as the Dynasty swerves and slams into the concrete abutment by the side of the road and then flips twice. Her jaw drops and she pulls over the car as Tritter stares out, seeing a figure fly out the driver’s side door and land somewhere in the distance. Miranda pops open her door as Tritter’s still staring; suddenly he moves in autopilot and pulls open his door. He runs to the car, trying desperately to remember if he spotted a passenger.
“Get the driver, he was thrown from the vehicle!” he yells at his partner. “And radio for paramedics!” He hops over the abutment and runs to the car, grabbing the upside-down handle and yanking it. It’s unlocked, thankfully, and he ducks his head inside as he pulls the flashlight off his waistband and hits the button, shining it inside. “Is anyone in there?” A pained groan comes as a response, and Tritter considers his options. It’s not a good idea to move the passenger, but he needs to keep him alert. “What’s your name in there?”
“James… Wilson,” comes a halting, murmured response. Tritter swallows, he ought to have known. “Where’s House? Is he okay? I’m okay, I think...”
“I think you’re in shock, Dr. Wilson,” Tritter replies, “Need you to keep talking to me ‘til the paramedics get here, all right? And they’re gonna take care of Dr. House too, okay? Nothin’ to worry about, nothing at all.” He slips into his slangy speak when he’s not in control, when he’s not interrogating or intimidating; it’s the way he spoke when he grew up outside of Camden. “What happened? Why’d you crash?”
“I don’t remember. Just... there was a deer an’ House tried to not hit it and then the car just... I don’t know what happened next. Please,” Wilson’s voice pleads, and Tritter moves the flashlight so he can see big brown eyes now, terrified and pleading. “Don’t let him die.” Tritter’s heart catches as he hears the words; he’d written off Wilson’s loyalty to House as stubbornness once, but it seems to be so much more than that. He reaches out and touches the oncologist’s shoulder; Wilson is covered in blood and potentially dying himself but all he can say is House, House, House.
“He’ll be okay,” Tritter whispers. Though he doesn’t know whether to believe it, in this moment he wants it – for Wilson.
He doesn’t know how long time stands still before sirens are in his ears and impatient hands are pulling him back and demanding access to Wilson. When he’s standing again he gazes around, lost in a bit of a daze and only grounded when he sees Miranda next to him. She’s standing and holding out a blood-soaked cane, obnoxious painted red flames still visible on half of it.
“Crazy bastard House,” she murmurs to him. “He broke his fall by sticking his cane in the damn ground. Like a fuckin’... pole vault. Crazy fucking House.” She shakes her head. Tritter turns and watches Wilson being carried out on a stretcher; he’s carted dangerously close to the detective and he meets his eyes with confused recognition as Miranda continues, “Being a crazy bastard saved his life, I think. Anyone else with a fall like that and he’d be dead.”
“His heart stopped!” cries one of the paramedics, and Tritter watches as doctors press paddles to Wilson’s chest and, after what seems like endless tries, bring him back to life.
Tritter’s home and lying on his couch, staring at the screen when he realizes that Wilson must have only heard the word “dead”.