Aftermath (rp for lieu_murphy)
Follows this.
When House was finally given clearance to go back to his room, he'd had time for the evening's events to sink in and to mull things over. Any adrenalin he'd had from witnessing the murder scene, any sense of surreality of the entire situation, had ebbed to a numbness with anxiety tugging at the edges. Now it wasn't what he'd witnessed that was running over and over in his head; it was the sound of the gunshot, the acrid stench of burned gunpowder, haunting his thoughts and sparking memories he wanted well and truly to forget.
His floor was still declared a crime scene, cordoned off for further forensic testing until all the evidence that could be scoured from the scene were gathered. Needing to be transferred to a different room on a different floor as a result, he gladly gathered his things and carted them to a room two floors above, a smaller room but one that offered a better view than the room he'd been staying in had. Before he did anything else once the conceirge made sure he was settled, he went straight to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower.
He scrubbed away all the evidence of that night from him - the dried blood under his fingernails, streaks of dried blood on his neck, even a little in his hair. The guy had been bleeding profusely when House had reached his side. From what House could tell, and it was difficult to assess with so much blood, the guy's main hepatic artery had been completely severed by the force of the bullet. Surounding vessels had been ruptured, too, causing an inflammatory reaction which only increased the rate of blood loss. He'd died of massive internal bleeding and desanguination. There'd been little House could have done, not without an emergency room to control the bleeding and staunch the smouldering gun powder inside the victim's body.
Sleep was the last thing he was able to do once the clock turned past midnight. He made use of the mini bar, cleaning most of the alcohol out over the duration of the night until he finally staggered to bed and fell into a dreamless sleep. The next morning, he woke with a dull headache and a sour, fuzzy taste in his mouth. Breakfast was brought up to him at 8 o'clock but that stayed untouched on the table the bellboy had left it on in his room. Thankfully, his presentation wasn't due to be given at the conference until later in the week but he was expected to attend the rest of the week's conferences in the meantime. Of course, he took a raincheck - not that he'd been planning on attending any of them to begin with - and headed out of the hotel for a few hours to take his mind off things. The whole time, he had his cell phone on him. House hoped to hell that the Murphy woman would get back to him that very day to give him the good news that he was free to go at the end of the week. He was holding off phoning Wilson or Cuddy to explain anything until he knew for sure.
Come late afternoon, his phone had remained silent. Upon returning to his hotel, he grabbed his phone out of his pocket when he sat down at the hotel bar and pulled the business card the woman had given him with her details on it. "A beer," he said to the bartender who'd approached him for his order. The bartender nodded and turned away to fetch a beer from the fridge. Flipping his phone open, he looked between the business card and the phone's keypad as he punched her number in, then put the phone to his ear with a nod to the bartender who'd placed a freshly opened bottle in front of him.
When House was finally given clearance to go back to his room, he'd had time for the evening's events to sink in and to mull things over. Any adrenalin he'd had from witnessing the murder scene, any sense of surreality of the entire situation, had ebbed to a numbness with anxiety tugging at the edges. Now it wasn't what he'd witnessed that was running over and over in his head; it was the sound of the gunshot, the acrid stench of burned gunpowder, haunting his thoughts and sparking memories he wanted well and truly to forget.
His floor was still declared a crime scene, cordoned off for further forensic testing until all the evidence that could be scoured from the scene were gathered. Needing to be transferred to a different room on a different floor as a result, he gladly gathered his things and carted them to a room two floors above, a smaller room but one that offered a better view than the room he'd been staying in had. Before he did anything else once the conceirge made sure he was settled, he went straight to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower.
He scrubbed away all the evidence of that night from him - the dried blood under his fingernails, streaks of dried blood on his neck, even a little in his hair. The guy had been bleeding profusely when House had reached his side. From what House could tell, and it was difficult to assess with so much blood, the guy's main hepatic artery had been completely severed by the force of the bullet. Surounding vessels had been ruptured, too, causing an inflammatory reaction which only increased the rate of blood loss. He'd died of massive internal bleeding and desanguination. There'd been little House could have done, not without an emergency room to control the bleeding and staunch the smouldering gun powder inside the victim's body.
Sleep was the last thing he was able to do once the clock turned past midnight. He made use of the mini bar, cleaning most of the alcohol out over the duration of the night until he finally staggered to bed and fell into a dreamless sleep. The next morning, he woke with a dull headache and a sour, fuzzy taste in his mouth. Breakfast was brought up to him at 8 o'clock but that stayed untouched on the table the bellboy had left it on in his room. Thankfully, his presentation wasn't due to be given at the conference until later in the week but he was expected to attend the rest of the week's conferences in the meantime. Of course, he took a raincheck - not that he'd been planning on attending any of them to begin with - and headed out of the hotel for a few hours to take his mind off things. The whole time, he had his cell phone on him. House hoped to hell that the Murphy woman would get back to him that very day to give him the good news that he was free to go at the end of the week. He was holding off phoning Wilson or Cuddy to explain anything until he knew for sure.
Come late afternoon, his phone had remained silent. Upon returning to his hotel, he grabbed his phone out of his pocket when he sat down at the hotel bar and pulled the business card the woman had given him with her details on it. "A beer," he said to the bartender who'd approached him for his order. The bartender nodded and turned away to fetch a beer from the fridge. Flipping his phone open, he looked between the business card and the phone's keypad as he punched her number in, then put the phone to his ear with a nod to the bartender who'd placed a freshly opened bottle in front of him.