Superimposition (2/?)
Title: Superimposition
Rating: PG-13 at the moment
Summary: House is arrested for his actions in 7x23. Tritter's manning the police station, with express orders to let him go. But when the antagonism between the two men leads to hesitation and some game-playing, they unwittingly end up in a fight for their lives. Can they work together and save themselves - as well as two others?
A/N: I don’t own any of the characters on House, David Shore does; the only people I have any rights to are the OCs (Miranda, Alvarez, Neely, and Lee). Takes place after 7x23. There is some weird stuff going down in this story. Just to let you know. I had a vague idea of where I wanted to go and then just kind of went with it (I've written up to chapter nine thus far) and it has gotten pretty weird.
Chapter One: Mission Statement
Chapter Two: Arrest
Dr. House was led into the Princeton Police Station by detectives Cornelia “Neely” McVee and Lee Hamilton. Neely was a tall, curvy blonde that House probably would have been flirting with, had she not been leading him along by his handcuffs, and Lee was a well-built black man with a no-nonsense look perpetually on his face and a patch of facial hair that only served to make him that much more intimidating.
House was glaring, and his look was some mix of annoyance and trepidation, but not quite fear.
Not until he saw Tritter, at least. When he saw his old rival, the blue eyes flared up in a harried mesh of humiliation and acute worry. What he was thinking was, So I’m truly fucked this time.
The high that had come with the crash was long gone; it had washed away on the beach. But it had been a high, the fucking best high - he hadn’t touched a Vicodin in a week. Now, however, he was wishing he had those little white pills, even with all the problems they caused, because now the detectives were jostling his bad leg (though, it seemed, not on purpose), and his arms were aching badly from being in handcuffs. And then to see Tritter - the last person he wanted to ever see again, in fact.
It wasn’t as if Tritter particularly wanted to see House, either. Looking into those blue eyes - not totally unlike his own - Tritter saw that House hadn’t changed a bit. Not that he had really felt that he would, despite his words of, “I hope I’m wrong about you.” Tritter had never been wrong about someone in his life. He knew bad from good when he saw it, and House was corrupt to the core. The fire in his eyes showed that, the sort of righteous indignation and sudden realization of how far he’d gotten in this time with no way out.
No Wilson to bail him out this time - and certainly no Cuddy, Tritter thought to himself with a certain flush of pleasure, before remembering that, no, due to Alvarez’s direction, he was the one who would be forced to save House from himself. But she hadn’t said anything about not being allowed to toy with him, first. Maybe Tritter could scare him straight, give the man a jump, get back at him for everything that had gone down those years ago, and how he’d made Tritter look like an utter idiot in front of the judge at House’s hearing.
“Hello there, Dr. House,” Tritter snarled, “What brings you here?” He looked at House and started when he saw pure fear in House’s eyes.
I’m under Tritter’s thumb now, the words flowed through House’s subconscious, not necessarily acknowledging that Tritter couldn’t really hurt him, not here with all of these other people around. But the fear was still there and he didn’t entirely understand it. It wasn’t so much that it was Tritter - the man was a dick but apart from the cane kick - and shit, House felt an inch tall as that replayed in his memory, he didn’t want to go there but that’s where he was - Tritter had never really harmed him…
It was just… He was helpless now.
Shit, I can’t even… He could swing at me now, I have nothing. Why the fuck did I do that with the car, why did I lose control? House’s brain reeled in panic.
Because you needed it. That little voice in his head, saying that, now, sounded almost-but-not-quite like Wilson’s voice. He wondered what Wilson thought of him now, felt a pang of guilt for his friend’s broken wrist. He’d never wanted to hurt him; and not Cuddy, physically - just emotionally. She’d broken him, broken House, so he’d break her house - it sounded mad, now, but it made so much sense.
“Tritter,” he whispered. He slumped slightly, and Neely held him up, looking worried.
“Is he okay?” she asked Lee. Lee shrugged.
“The man’s got a bad leg,” he murmured to his partner, “Let him sit down for God’s sake.” He shook his head, as if wondering why he had to deal with so many stupid questions in his job, and helped Neely carry House over to an interrogation room. They placed him as gently as they could in the chair, and then Neely crossed back over to Tritter.
“He’s all yours and Bennett’s. Looks like you two know each other,” she said, giving a small smirk. “Be careful of him - bad leg, y’know?” Tritter gave her a small glare.
“Yeah, I know he’s got a bad leg,” he retorted, then walked back into his own office, finding Miranda sitting back and watching an episode of Breaking Bad on the computer. “Great use of station resources,” he snarled at her.
“Yeah, look who’s talking,” Miranda shot back, hitting the pause button with the mouse. She gestured to the screen and added, “It’s relevant to the job - it’s got the DEA in it.” She smirked. “Your friend ready to be interrogated? Alvarez told me she wants him cut loose and not to let you fuck it up.” Tritter glared.
“Fuck Alvarez,” he grumbled. “That bitch only cares about publicity and not about the law. The fact that Edward Vogler’s nephews keep getting miraculously cut loose on all their DUIs is a testament to that.” Miranda shrugged.
“You win some you lose some, right?” she replied. “And you wouldn’t say any of that to Alvarez’s face, so when you’re in charge, you can make the rules.” She looked at the man she’d gotten to know extremely well over the last three years that they’d been partners. She probably knew Tritter better than anyone else, and even then she still couldn’t quite figure him out. “But you don’t want to hear that - so let’s pretend I didn’t say it,” she added a second later. “How’s House doing?” Tritter shrugged.
“In all honesty, fuck if I know. He looked like he was having a post-traumatic stress episode or some shit when he came in,” he responded. Miranda looked at him.
“And you just left him in the interrogation room?” she asked incredulously. “Oh fuck, Trit - seriously. You’re the world’s biggest ass.” She stood up and made her way towards the interrogation room.
Rating: PG-13 at the moment
Summary: House is arrested for his actions in 7x23. Tritter's manning the police station, with express orders to let him go. But when the antagonism between the two men leads to hesitation and some game-playing, they unwittingly end up in a fight for their lives. Can they work together and save themselves - as well as two others?
A/N: I don’t own any of the characters on House, David Shore does; the only people I have any rights to are the OCs (Miranda, Alvarez, Neely, and Lee). Takes place after 7x23. There is some weird stuff going down in this story. Just to let you know. I had a vague idea of where I wanted to go and then just kind of went with it (I've written up to chapter nine thus far) and it has gotten pretty weird.
Chapter One: Mission Statement
Chapter Two: Arrest
Dr. House was led into the Princeton Police Station by detectives Cornelia “Neely” McVee and Lee Hamilton. Neely was a tall, curvy blonde that House probably would have been flirting with, had she not been leading him along by his handcuffs, and Lee was a well-built black man with a no-nonsense look perpetually on his face and a patch of facial hair that only served to make him that much more intimidating.
House was glaring, and his look was some mix of annoyance and trepidation, but not quite fear.
Not until he saw Tritter, at least. When he saw his old rival, the blue eyes flared up in a harried mesh of humiliation and acute worry. What he was thinking was, So I’m truly fucked this time.
The high that had come with the crash was long gone; it had washed away on the beach. But it had been a high, the fucking best high - he hadn’t touched a Vicodin in a week. Now, however, he was wishing he had those little white pills, even with all the problems they caused, because now the detectives were jostling his bad leg (though, it seemed, not on purpose), and his arms were aching badly from being in handcuffs. And then to see Tritter - the last person he wanted to ever see again, in fact.
It wasn’t as if Tritter particularly wanted to see House, either. Looking into those blue eyes - not totally unlike his own - Tritter saw that House hadn’t changed a bit. Not that he had really felt that he would, despite his words of, “I hope I’m wrong about you.” Tritter had never been wrong about someone in his life. He knew bad from good when he saw it, and House was corrupt to the core. The fire in his eyes showed that, the sort of righteous indignation and sudden realization of how far he’d gotten in this time with no way out.
No Wilson to bail him out this time - and certainly no Cuddy, Tritter thought to himself with a certain flush of pleasure, before remembering that, no, due to Alvarez’s direction, he was the one who would be forced to save House from himself. But she hadn’t said anything about not being allowed to toy with him, first. Maybe Tritter could scare him straight, give the man a jump, get back at him for everything that had gone down those years ago, and how he’d made Tritter look like an utter idiot in front of the judge at House’s hearing.
“Hello there, Dr. House,” Tritter snarled, “What brings you here?” He looked at House and started when he saw pure fear in House’s eyes.
I’m under Tritter’s thumb now, the words flowed through House’s subconscious, not necessarily acknowledging that Tritter couldn’t really hurt him, not here with all of these other people around. But the fear was still there and he didn’t entirely understand it. It wasn’t so much that it was Tritter - the man was a dick but apart from the cane kick - and shit, House felt an inch tall as that replayed in his memory, he didn’t want to go there but that’s where he was - Tritter had never really harmed him…
It was just… He was helpless now.
Shit, I can’t even… He could swing at me now, I have nothing. Why the fuck did I do that with the car, why did I lose control? House’s brain reeled in panic.
Because you needed it. That little voice in his head, saying that, now, sounded almost-but-not-quite like Wilson’s voice. He wondered what Wilson thought of him now, felt a pang of guilt for his friend’s broken wrist. He’d never wanted to hurt him; and not Cuddy, physically - just emotionally. She’d broken him, broken House, so he’d break her house - it sounded mad, now, but it made so much sense.
“Tritter,” he whispered. He slumped slightly, and Neely held him up, looking worried.
“Is he okay?” she asked Lee. Lee shrugged.
“The man’s got a bad leg,” he murmured to his partner, “Let him sit down for God’s sake.” He shook his head, as if wondering why he had to deal with so many stupid questions in his job, and helped Neely carry House over to an interrogation room. They placed him as gently as they could in the chair, and then Neely crossed back over to Tritter.
“He’s all yours and Bennett’s. Looks like you two know each other,” she said, giving a small smirk. “Be careful of him - bad leg, y’know?” Tritter gave her a small glare.
“Yeah, I know he’s got a bad leg,” he retorted, then walked back into his own office, finding Miranda sitting back and watching an episode of Breaking Bad on the computer. “Great use of station resources,” he snarled at her.
“Yeah, look who’s talking,” Miranda shot back, hitting the pause button with the mouse. She gestured to the screen and added, “It’s relevant to the job - it’s got the DEA in it.” She smirked. “Your friend ready to be interrogated? Alvarez told me she wants him cut loose and not to let you fuck it up.” Tritter glared.
“Fuck Alvarez,” he grumbled. “That bitch only cares about publicity and not about the law. The fact that Edward Vogler’s nephews keep getting miraculously cut loose on all their DUIs is a testament to that.” Miranda shrugged.
“You win some you lose some, right?” she replied. “And you wouldn’t say any of that to Alvarez’s face, so when you’re in charge, you can make the rules.” She looked at the man she’d gotten to know extremely well over the last three years that they’d been partners. She probably knew Tritter better than anyone else, and even then she still couldn’t quite figure him out. “But you don’t want to hear that - so let’s pretend I didn’t say it,” she added a second later. “How’s House doing?” Tritter shrugged.
“In all honesty, fuck if I know. He looked like he was having a post-traumatic stress episode or some shit when he came in,” he responded. Miranda looked at him.
“And you just left him in the interrogation room?” she asked incredulously. “Oh fuck, Trit - seriously. You’re the world’s biggest ass.” She stood up and made her way towards the interrogation room.