Superimposition (3/?)
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
Chapter Three: Interrogation
“Dr. House? Dr. House?” Miranda inquired as she stepped into the interrogation room and looked at the man seated across from her. Parted from his cane, his bad leg slumped against one leg of the chair, and his eyes looked tired and more than a little afraid. She gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile, and took the open seat, craning her neck forward slightly and looking at the beleaguered diagnostician. “Are you doing okay?”
If there was one part of this job that Miranda hated, it was this goddamned good cop, bad cop routine that she and Tritter inevitably ended up in. Because she was young and female, not to mention had a way less abrasive personality than Tritter did, she was forever resigned to “good cop”.
“Dr. House?” she called again, keeping her voice soft.
“Yeah?” the figure murmured as he looked up, as if momentarily forgetting where he was. “What do you want?” Miranda forced her mouth into another encouraging smile.
“I just want to talk to you about what happened a few weeks ago… with Dr. Cuddy? And the detectives read you your rights, right?” she asked conversationally. This was her style, the way she always did it, as if she was more of a friendly guidance counselor than a detective. Before joining Princeton PD as a detective, she’d worked five years in Trenton on Vice, and had gotten used to this kind of conversation after men had gotten picked up for soliciting hookers. It was easy then - usually - because it was never really all that big a deal. They’d write them a citation and send them on their way, and that would be that.
Since she’d joined Princeton PD, it had been, if anything, even less exciting. At least in Trenton there was the ever-present possibility that a would-be john would pull a knife or try to ask for some completely messed up sexual interaction. The fact that she’d gotten asked once to participate in scat porn had been a story she’d told multiple times upon joining the station, given that nothing nearly that interesting had happened in the two years that she’d been there. The fact that Tritter had responded to the first time she had told that story with the tale of how he’d had a thermometer shoved up his ass by a doctor had made the whole situation that much more entertaining.
Because now, of course, she had found herself staring at the shover of said thermometer, and she was desperately to make that her “ice-breaker” question; but she did have to work with Tritter and she might need him to cover her back. So it might be better not to aggravate Trit too much on this whole thing.
“I know my rights,” House replied quietly, looking up at her. His voice was not afraid; instead, it was simply resigned. “I waive the right to an attorney.”
“You’ll be willing to answer some questions for us, then?” Miranda asked, making her voice enthusiastic.
“Is ‘us’ you and Tritter?” House retorted, spitting the name.
“Us is myself and Detective Tritter,” Miranda responded, putting her hands on her hips.
“How’d he get such a hot partner as you?” House taunted. “Did he have to pay?” Miranda smirked.
“No, but the station did. Now, are you going to tell us what happened with Dr. Cuddy or not?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “I don’t have all day. Dr. House. I have places to go and people to see, really.”
“College kids’ parties to bust,” House mocked. Miranda gave him a look.
“Yeah, maybe. But it’s part of the job. If we don’t bust them, they end up in your emergency room at PPTH. So the more I do my job, the less you have to do yours. I want to get you back to your job, so I can do mine. You understand?” she asked. “I don’t want some big hassle and I don’t want some back and forth. I know you don’t like Detective Tritter - and really, listen closely,” she craned her head and put her hand to her ear emphatically, “This is the sound of me not giving a shit. I just need you to give me a statement about what happened a couple weeks ago when you seemed to have sort of ran your car into Dr. Cuddy’s house. Is that too much to ask for, really?”
“No,” House replied. “And I’m willing to take whatever punishment is necessary for what I did… I can’t tell you why I did it because there’s no way to phrase it that isn’t going to sound crazy. But she kept telling me to let it out - let my anger about our… breakup, go, and, well, I did.” Miranda pursed her lips and nodded.
“Dr. Cuddy was with another guy in her house, right?” she asked gently. “I can see why that would piss you off…” It wasn’t just words that time. Miranda had sworn off men a few years ago when she’d caught her boyfriend-at-the-time having sex with her cousin in her bed. She’d chased him out with her police-issue baton and made threats that had involved a taser and delicate parts of his anatomy. But driving a car into someone’s house? That was a bit much - not really justified, and for obvious reasons illegal. But understandable. House shrugged.
“I told you what I did,” he said simply, “Just let me know what my sentence is and I’ll take it.” His voice was tired, as if he just wanted to take his punishment and be done with it.
It was a tone of voice he hadn’t used very often, since very long ago.
His eyes were dead, not quite there, and Miranda wondered what had happened to this man, and when, to elicit this kind of response.
“Now, listen,” she told him, “You just sit tight and I’ll let you know, all right? We don’t know what’s going on, yet. But are you doing all right? Do you need anything?”
“My Vicodin,” House mumbled.
“Sure,” Miranda replied, walking out of the interrogation room, “I’ll go get that for you.”
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
Chapter Three: Interrogation
“Dr. House? Dr. House?” Miranda inquired as she stepped into the interrogation room and looked at the man seated across from her. Parted from his cane, his bad leg slumped against one leg of the chair, and his eyes looked tired and more than a little afraid. She gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile, and took the open seat, craning her neck forward slightly and looking at the beleaguered diagnostician. “Are you doing okay?”
If there was one part of this job that Miranda hated, it was this goddamned good cop, bad cop routine that she and Tritter inevitably ended up in. Because she was young and female, not to mention had a way less abrasive personality than Tritter did, she was forever resigned to “good cop”.
“Dr. House?” she called again, keeping her voice soft.
“Yeah?” the figure murmured as he looked up, as if momentarily forgetting where he was. “What do you want?” Miranda forced her mouth into another encouraging smile.
“I just want to talk to you about what happened a few weeks ago… with Dr. Cuddy? And the detectives read you your rights, right?” she asked conversationally. This was her style, the way she always did it, as if she was more of a friendly guidance counselor than a detective. Before joining Princeton PD as a detective, she’d worked five years in Trenton on Vice, and had gotten used to this kind of conversation after men had gotten picked up for soliciting hookers. It was easy then - usually - because it was never really all that big a deal. They’d write them a citation and send them on their way, and that would be that.
Since she’d joined Princeton PD, it had been, if anything, even less exciting. At least in Trenton there was the ever-present possibility that a would-be john would pull a knife or try to ask for some completely messed up sexual interaction. The fact that she’d gotten asked once to participate in scat porn had been a story she’d told multiple times upon joining the station, given that nothing nearly that interesting had happened in the two years that she’d been there. The fact that Tritter had responded to the first time she had told that story with the tale of how he’d had a thermometer shoved up his ass by a doctor had made the whole situation that much more entertaining.
Because now, of course, she had found herself staring at the shover of said thermometer, and she was desperately to make that her “ice-breaker” question; but she did have to work with Tritter and she might need him to cover her back. So it might be better not to aggravate Trit too much on this whole thing.
“I know my rights,” House replied quietly, looking up at her. His voice was not afraid; instead, it was simply resigned. “I waive the right to an attorney.”
“You’ll be willing to answer some questions for us, then?” Miranda asked, making her voice enthusiastic.
“Is ‘us’ you and Tritter?” House retorted, spitting the name.
“Us is myself and Detective Tritter,” Miranda responded, putting her hands on her hips.
“How’d he get such a hot partner as you?” House taunted. “Did he have to pay?” Miranda smirked.
“No, but the station did. Now, are you going to tell us what happened with Dr. Cuddy or not?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “I don’t have all day. Dr. House. I have places to go and people to see, really.”
“College kids’ parties to bust,” House mocked. Miranda gave him a look.
“Yeah, maybe. But it’s part of the job. If we don’t bust them, they end up in your emergency room at PPTH. So the more I do my job, the less you have to do yours. I want to get you back to your job, so I can do mine. You understand?” she asked. “I don’t want some big hassle and I don’t want some back and forth. I know you don’t like Detective Tritter - and really, listen closely,” she craned her head and put her hand to her ear emphatically, “This is the sound of me not giving a shit. I just need you to give me a statement about what happened a couple weeks ago when you seemed to have sort of ran your car into Dr. Cuddy’s house. Is that too much to ask for, really?”
“No,” House replied. “And I’m willing to take whatever punishment is necessary for what I did… I can’t tell you why I did it because there’s no way to phrase it that isn’t going to sound crazy. But she kept telling me to let it out - let my anger about our… breakup, go, and, well, I did.” Miranda pursed her lips and nodded.
“Dr. Cuddy was with another guy in her house, right?” she asked gently. “I can see why that would piss you off…” It wasn’t just words that time. Miranda had sworn off men a few years ago when she’d caught her boyfriend-at-the-time having sex with her cousin in her bed. She’d chased him out with her police-issue baton and made threats that had involved a taser and delicate parts of his anatomy. But driving a car into someone’s house? That was a bit much - not really justified, and for obvious reasons illegal. But understandable. House shrugged.
“I told you what I did,” he said simply, “Just let me know what my sentence is and I’ll take it.” His voice was tired, as if he just wanted to take his punishment and be done with it.
It was a tone of voice he hadn’t used very often, since very long ago.
His eyes were dead, not quite there, and Miranda wondered what had happened to this man, and when, to elicit this kind of response.
“Now, listen,” she told him, “You just sit tight and I’ll let you know, all right? We don’t know what’s going on, yet. But are you doing all right? Do you need anything?”
“My Vicodin,” House mumbled.
“Sure,” Miranda replied, walking out of the interrogation room, “I’ll go get that for you.”