Lawrence the Long-Lived
Awhile back - right after the House episode "A Simple Explanation" - I issued a challenge on highland_cross to write a House/Highlander crossover featuring a predictable character by the end of July. Unfortunately, I then had to move and change jobs. And I'm moving again tomorrow. So, I've written something. No promises on quality. Unbeta'd and very short. I'll have more up after the move, but right now I have a hundred things to do and about 24 hours to do them in.
So, without further ado, Lawrence the Long-Lived
The first time he woke up, he didn't know until he couldn't breathe anymore.
The second time, he thought he saw a flash, but it was just more unconsciousness.
The last time he woke up, a shovel burst through the wood above his chest. Lawrence took a minute to process this, then decided he was better off leaving it alone.
"Who the heck decided on a hardwood casket?" filtered down from above, but then silence stretched out into ominous territory. Lawrence just lay there, feeling pretty good, if a little confused.
CRACCCK went the casket, and the shovel came through somewhere off to his right, on the other side from the hinges, he thought. Thumps and scrapes echoed in the box, and eventually the casket's lid tilted creakily upward.
A shovel was in his face. Lawrence blinked - why was there a shovel in his face? This was all a little too much, he thought. What ever happened to his bedroom?
Oh. The gun, that's what happened.
"I'm not thinking about that anymore," he decided, and then realized he'd said it out loud.
"Actually, it looks like you are," said the shovel-wielder. Well yes, he acknowledged silently, since moving his head seemed to be too hard. "Can you grab the shovel?" she continued. "'Cause I hate to break it to you like this, but we have about 15 minutes to get out of here."
Lawrence didn't think he could grab the shovel, but he tried it anyway. After a few minutes of useless shoulder-flopping he gave up.
"Ok, obviously not,' the shovel-wielder said. "Well, let's do a damage report. Bullet shouldn't still be in the brain, but you never know with modern doctors. They're liable to get sloppy on autopsies, and then it's a world of trouble to get things out."
Autopsies? Why would he - autopsy? And - he was a doctor! Where did she think she could get away with that trash talk?
"I'm a doctor," he said, intending it as some kind of protest. The shoveler seemed to pick up the edge in his voice.
"And I expect you've never done something stupid or immoral that caused your patient harm? Never had an accident and thought, hey, I can fix that later?" Lawrence tried to acknowledge the hit, but only felt his face muscles flopping. That was something he could have lived without, he decided.
"No obvious damage, so we just need to get the brain healed and body up and moving. Alright, a little levitation" came from above the grave, and Lawrence was astonished to find himself floating slightly upward. He decided not to think about it.
He was standing. When had that happened? It wasn't like he was capable of it.
His rescuer turned out to be a girl - ouch - who was younger than he was - double ouch - and had a very large and obviously well-used shovel. Lawrence decided to keep his thoughts to himself. The girl - he couldn't think of her as just the shoveler anymore - smirked and lifted her eyebrows just a little. The thought that she might be related to House crossed his mind - scary thought- and he decided he didn't want any part of it. For once in his life, he just wanted to go home.
"Sorry," she said. "We've got to get you out of here. This way please."
He debated whether or not to follow her, and then realized he didn't have any choice - she was dragging him. Plus, his ability to stay upright seemed to depend her, somehow. Lawrence didn't know what he felt about that, but he'd started to realize that he didn't know how he felt about a lot of things, so he went with it. Everything would make sense in the morning, he decided as the stumbled through the cemetery. He wasn't going to start the questions until he had more data.
So, without further ado, Lawrence the Long-Lived
The first time he woke up, he didn't know until he couldn't breathe anymore.
The second time, he thought he saw a flash, but it was just more unconsciousness.
The last time he woke up, a shovel burst through the wood above his chest. Lawrence took a minute to process this, then decided he was better off leaving it alone.
"Who the heck decided on a hardwood casket?" filtered down from above, but then silence stretched out into ominous territory. Lawrence just lay there, feeling pretty good, if a little confused.
CRACCCK went the casket, and the shovel came through somewhere off to his right, on the other side from the hinges, he thought. Thumps and scrapes echoed in the box, and eventually the casket's lid tilted creakily upward.
A shovel was in his face. Lawrence blinked - why was there a shovel in his face? This was all a little too much, he thought. What ever happened to his bedroom?
Oh. The gun, that's what happened.
"I'm not thinking about that anymore," he decided, and then realized he'd said it out loud.
"Actually, it looks like you are," said the shovel-wielder. Well yes, he acknowledged silently, since moving his head seemed to be too hard. "Can you grab the shovel?" she continued. "'Cause I hate to break it to you like this, but we have about 15 minutes to get out of here."
Lawrence didn't think he could grab the shovel, but he tried it anyway. After a few minutes of useless shoulder-flopping he gave up.
"Ok, obviously not,' the shovel-wielder said. "Well, let's do a damage report. Bullet shouldn't still be in the brain, but you never know with modern doctors. They're liable to get sloppy on autopsies, and then it's a world of trouble to get things out."
Autopsies? Why would he - autopsy? And - he was a doctor! Where did she think she could get away with that trash talk?
"I'm a doctor," he said, intending it as some kind of protest. The shoveler seemed to pick up the edge in his voice.
"And I expect you've never done something stupid or immoral that caused your patient harm? Never had an accident and thought, hey, I can fix that later?" Lawrence tried to acknowledge the hit, but only felt his face muscles flopping. That was something he could have lived without, he decided.
"No obvious damage, so we just need to get the brain healed and body up and moving. Alright, a little levitation" came from above the grave, and Lawrence was astonished to find himself floating slightly upward. He decided not to think about it.
He was standing. When had that happened? It wasn't like he was capable of it.
His rescuer turned out to be a girl - ouch - who was younger than he was - double ouch - and had a very large and obviously well-used shovel. Lawrence decided to keep his thoughts to himself. The girl - he couldn't think of her as just the shoveler anymore - smirked and lifted her eyebrows just a little. The thought that she might be related to House crossed his mind - scary thought- and he decided he didn't want any part of it. For once in his life, he just wanted to go home.
"Sorry," she said. "We've got to get you out of here. This way please."
He debated whether or not to follow her, and then realized he didn't have any choice - she was dragging him. Plus, his ability to stay upright seemed to depend her, somehow. Lawrence didn't know what he felt about that, but he'd started to realize that he didn't know how he felt about a lot of things, so he went with it. Everything would make sense in the morning, he decided as the stumbled through the cemetery. He wasn't going to start the questions until he had more data.