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The Tide of Time
, Intense little plot bunny.
Ruler of the Ficdom!
Group: Ruler of the Ficdom!
Member No.: 3
Joined: 28-January 05
Just the usual disclaimer here, I am writing this purely to get it out of my head and make no claims on the characters, they belong to someone at FOX.
New disclaimer here. This is a very intense scene and will probably be upsetting to some. Sorry but I had to get it out of my head. Since this is a WIP I plan on continuing at some point but my main Fic calls now and I need to get back to that.
Rating: Definitely R for language and violence.
The Tide of Time
He looked down at the blood soaking into his shirt. The fluff from the exam table padding was still fluttering through the air. The ringing in his ears blocked out all other sound. He was shaking. There was no pain, no fear, no anger, no emotions at all, just a blank still canvas. He brought his hands up from his sides, they we covered in blood as well. So much blood, this wasn’t good, not good at all. A drop of water fell on his hands and he looked up to see where it had come from. Had the sprinklers come on? No nothing up there. He looked back down to see if he had been mistaken, if it had been more blood and not water at all. No, it was water and there was more of it. It was tears, his tears.
He felt a weight on his shoulder and looked up. It was Cuddy, her lips were moving but he couldn’t hear her. His ears were still ringing. What the hell had just happened? Everything was a blur. Funny how time works. You’re just moving through life, gaining momentum, and then suddenly something happens. Everything slows to a crawl and just when you’re praying it’ll all be over with it shifts into high gear and the next moment you’re wondering where you are and how you got there.
She started to examine him. She pulled his shirt opened, lifted his t-shirt, felt his belly, his chest and around his back. She kept talking to him but he still couldn’t hear her. She stopped, stepped back and held him by the shoulders at arms length; the tears welled up in her eyes. Suddenly she embraced him. He was too numb to resist so he just stood there arms hanging limply at his sides.
His hearing started to return. He heard her sobbing on his shoulder, heard his heart pounding in his chest, heard the stillness in the air. The ever present pain in his leg started to return as well and he looked around for his cane. It was on the floor near the far wall next to the gun, spent shell casings pointing the way. He gently pushed Cuddy away and limped towards it. She hurried over and picked it up.
“Dr. House?” he turned, there was a policeman standing in the doorway. Time, it’s a funny thing. It all came flooding back just as quickly as it had drained away. The tide of time how apt.
“Give us a moment” Cuddy told the officer. He nodded and backed away.
“Where is he?” He asked her.
“They took him up to surgery right away.” He turned and started out of the room.
“I’m sorry sir, you can’t leave yet, we need to get a statement. And we’ll need that for evidence” he said pointing to the cane. He just turned and continued towards the elevators. The policeman grabbed his shoulder and before he knew what he was doing he balled up his fist and swung around with every ounce of strength he had left. He connected and the officer went down.
Two other officers who had been standing by the desk ran over and grabbed him. He struggled with them. It wasn’t much of a struggle really. As soon as they added their weight to his bad leg it crumpled underneath him and they went down in a heap. He continued to flail and his elbow connected a time or two. In the struggle one of the officer’s guns had come out. This caused a stir. Three more officers ran in, saw the lose weapon and pulled theirs. They ordered him to lie still, to quit struggling and put his hands behind his head.
“Go ahead, shoot.” He thought and struggled harder. He reached for the gun. That’ll do it, they’ll shoot now. It was his fault that Wilson was dead. He couldn’t live with that. Why couldn’t that moron have been a better shot? Missed him completely not a scratch. Why did Wilson have to hang around all the time? Why weren’t these policemen blowing him into little bits already?
Cuddy was standing between him and the officers with the drawn guns. Someone had kicked the loose gun out of reach. He was too tired to struggle anymore so he gave up and just lay there. The two officers that had him pinned started to cuff him.
“No please, you don’t understand. His best friend was just shot in front of him, he’s upset.” she pleaded.
“He assaulted an officer” One of the three said as he holstered his gun.
“Yes, yes he did but… Please just let him go upstairs. Until we know what’s going to happen. He’s not the bad guy here. He’s not a criminal” she looked at them with big sad eyes, like those kitten paintings so popular in the seventies. Tears ran down her cheeks. He could have sworn she even turned her leg a little so the thigh peeked out from the slit on the side.
They looked at each other and turned their backs to have a little pow-wow. The two officers that had cuffed him now lifted him to his feet. His right leg protested and if the officers hadn’t still been holding him he’d have fallen to the floor again.
“I need my cane.” He stated. His voice was hollow and empty. They took him over to a wheelchair sitting near the clinic entrance and dropped him into it. He gritted his teeth at the jolt of pain but wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of crying out. One officer remained with him, the other went to check on his fallen comrade. The three officers broke up the pow-wow and turned back to Cuddy.
“Okay, but he can’t leave until we talk to him and the cane stays here. We need it as evidence.” The leader told her. She sighed and thanked them. The leader nodded to the cop standing by the wheelchair. He roughly pushed him forward and undid the cuffs. Cuddy took a position behind the wheelchair and began pushing him towards the elevators. Again he didn’t protest, a great weariness had fallen over him and he just wanted to curl up and sleep. Never wake up.
“It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. You stopped most of the bleeding. They took him upstairs right away. It’ll be okay. He’s going to be alright. Rayburn’s the best. He’ll take care of him” she was babbling. “Everything’s okay. It’ll be alright.”
That’s what Wilson kept saying over and over. But he had seen the fear in Wilson’s eyes. He saw that Wilson knew he was dying and he, the great Dr. Gregory House MD, couldn’t find any words of comfort. No “You’ll be alright” or “Everything will be just fine.” nothing to give him a little peace at the end. He just couldn’t lie to him. All he could manage was anger.
“Shut up and don’t look at me like that. Damn it! Don’t you give up on me. Shit! You’re not going anywhere. You’re stuck here with me. Open your eyes. Look at me! Wilson! Do you hear me? Wilson! Fight damn it!”
He had to use both hands to stop the flow of blood. He hadn’t even held Wilson’s hand. He hung his head trying to fight off the flood of images and emotions but the shock of his blood soaked jeans tore through his resolve. His vision became blurred and the sobs racked his body. He tried desperately to grab hold and rein them in but they were strong and fast and he was too tired to chase them.
He didn’t even notice that they had stopped. Cuddy circled around in front of the wheelchair. She lowered herself down to his level and took his hands. She gently lowered them from his face. He looked up. There was just a blurry flesh colored blob in front of him and it spoke.
“He’s going to be okay.” But there was no comfort or conviction in her voice. She got up and resumed pushing. That little interruption had been enough for him to get control again.
There reached the surgical waiting room. It was small and dimly lit. The TV in the corner was on and it cast an eerie light across the room. Cuddy parked him next to a table by the door.
“I’m going to go check and see what’s going on I’ll be back. Do you need anything?” she asked. He shook his head. She left and he drifted off into a half sleep.
The pain in his leg woke him with a start. Initially he was disoriented. He couldn’t remember where he was or why he was in a wheelchair. But that tide came flowing back again. He looked around for Cuddy. She was asleep in the chair next to him. He had no idea how long they had been there but it had been long enough for the blood to dry on his clothes and his hands. He had to pee too. He pushed himself forward in the chair but knew immediately that he’d never make it to a bathroom without his cane. He reached for his pocket to get his pills but realized he didn’t have his jacket on anymore. Damn it, when had he taken that off? His hamstring gave a little twitch that shot pain right up through his sinuses. This didn’t help the bladder control any. Pee first, and then find the Vicodin. He undid the brakes on the wheelchair and started towards the door. The movement woke Cuddy.
“Here, let me help. Where are you going?” she asked as she started to get up.
“I gotta pee do you mind?” he growled, sounding like his usual self. She looked at the clock.
“It’s only been an hour, he’s probably still in surgery” She said blankly. “You were sleeping when I got back. I thought it was best to let you sleep while you could.”
“Thanks now make yourself useful and find my meds.” He continued out and down the hall to the men’s room. He immediately went to the sink to wash his hands.
He was startled by his reflection.10 years older and a mixture of blood and tears where streaked across his cheeks. He quickly got the hot water running and began to scrub his hand and face. Of course the running water wasn’t helping in the urinary department. There was no way he could use the urinals. Ever since they put in those automatic sensors he didn’t have a handle to hang on to. He got himself over to a stall and grabbed the door frame. He tried to put as little weight as possible on his right leg. Didn’t matter it was set on making a fuss. Until he got some Vicodin to calm it he would just have to put up with it. He balanced the best he could and relieved himself. All the while his thoughts wanting to return to what happened but he held on tight. There was no time for that right now.
On the way back to the waiting room he stopped at the desk. James was still in surgery. She assured him that a doctor would be out with news as soon as there was any. He went off to wait. Cuddy was still gone. He wished she’d hurry up. His leg was really starting to hurt.
It had been seven minutes to five. Seven more minutes and they would have been gone. Seven more minutes and he would be home right now. Seven more minutes and Wilson would be home right now too. With Julie and Sam and dinner; maybe his parents would have stopped by for dinner to talk and laugh. Seven stinking minutes.
He remembered the door opening; both he and Wilson had looked up. He had been packing up his watchman. Wilson was standing next to the exam table leaning against it. He was sure it was Cuddy trying to squeeze one more patient into his day. His mind was quickly searching for a smart retort. He didn’t know what Wilson had been thinking. The man stepped inside and closed the door.
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Night Owl, Sleep Lab Consultant, Plot Bunny Wrangler
Member No.: 2
Joined: 28-January 05
Great writing, but it's a 'worst nightmare' scenario, isn't it? I wondered if someone would ever explore the possibility of something really violent and terrible happening to Wilson. How devastating, especially when the perp was trying to get House. That would be horrible. I'll have to decide if I want to read the rest of this, eventually, when it's written.
Just the thought of anything happening to Wilson... *ugh.*
It's funny, I was just thinking to myself, today, after some of the discussions we had in the episode threads: "God, I hope the writers don't do anything to Wilson." It would make for major angst in the series, and be the kind of thing they might employ for a 'cliff hanger,' etc. But, I don't know if my poor heart could take it. LOL
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