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.

No. Cliff. Hangers. EVER!!!!

BTW, I hate you for leaving it like that. WHAT HAPPENED?!?

*cries*






(btw if you know what that hanger like is a reference to, you rock)

"No wire hangers ever!" (Great movie TelegramSam)

That was...amazing. But very upsetting...oh my. I had to read it 3 times...my mouth is still on the floor.

Wow...

When will there be more...?

Seriously...still in shock. :o

You are such a great writer, I'm jealous of your talent.

"Aiiiiieeeeee!" LOL ;) 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.* :( LOL

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

Hugs,
Sanlin

*dies* Ok that was...woah!...you need to write more of this...now!

*dies with Taruia*

Need...more...hurry...

Thanks all! Sorry, I don't think I know the movie but don't tell me yet let me think about it a bit it may come to me.

Well, this has been running around in my brain since Wednesday. I just couldn't handle it sitting there chewing on my brain. I figured I'd let you all in on the suffering.

I think this will end up being a short four chapter piece. I've been thinking over the direction and once I polish up Chapter 8 of Tuition I'll get part two going here.

Thank you all for not killing me yet!

Did it take your mind off of Detox for a moment? ;)

Thanks again guys you're all very wonderful to me, even when I torture you like this! :lol:

Hey, it did! That was a very nice trick. Thanks.
Now I'm just sad, j/k :P

Gasp! What a great start! I can't wait to see more! I don't think House could survive the blow if he lost Wilson. At least I can psyche myself up for the next installment; I don't think my poor heart could take another shock like that!

Okay guys, I could cheat and search the internet for what movie that quote was from but I won't cheat. I have no clue, I give up.

I guess I don't rock :(

;)

I'll give thee a hint.

Faye Dunaway.

Oh crap, how'd I miss that? :huh:

I haven't watched that in years... Hmmm may have to go rent it and refresh my memory! :lol:

I love your stuff rtl. Can't wait to read more. Suspense is a good thing.

sorta.

B)

-pradon

well in all honesty, I've only seen a small part of it, like a half an hour, ages ago. :P

I still can't believe I missed that though?! :( Well when they said memory I thought they said mammory and I didn't want to be carrying those around the rest of my life so I passed. :lol:

Oh! LOL! You are too funny!

"Everyone has a photographic memory, too bad most people don't have film."

No not Wilson!!! Great job starting the story with suspence, keeping us guessing. I hope the next chapter comes up soon!

:lol: Is that from a movie too? It sounds familiar as well!! That's a good one! :lol:

Ah so that's why I keep having those dreams. :huh:

You know the one where you are going on your dream vacation and you get there and realize you don't have any film and all they're selling is 110?

Oops dated myself there :lol:

Hey the Enzyte commercial is on now!! :lol: :lol: I have to laugh now everytime I see that commercial!!

Mad Zebra & Pradon;

Thanks, I was trying to keep the mystery up so you all would think it was House that got it. Then kind of spring the Wilson thing on you. I think suspense is good too. :D

I finished polishing Chapter 8 of Tuition and will send it off in the morning so tonight I'll be working on Chapter 2 of The Tide of Time. We'll see how it goes but hopefully a little later this week.

Thanks guys!

Okay, I just added some to the original post to kind of keep the flow. Just about a page and a half.

As the topic says Work in Progress so any ideas, pointers or constructive criticism is welcome.

I'm hooked, but I have to read this one peeking through my fingers... LOL Great stuff. :-)

That first part, I tell ya... Even though my brain *knows* Wilson is a fictional character, the thought of anything 'happening' to him almost makes me physically ill. LOL It's strange how attached a person can become to favorite characters... LOL

Hugs,
Sanlin

I know what you mean. :lol:

Sorry to put you through this :unsure: It'll all be over soon. Thanks! :D

Oh gah! Another great part! I can't find anything wrong with it! Just keep writing! lol...

Ok I know it hasn't been that long, but I need more fic! So...either this or Tuition...PLEASE?

Okay, okay.

I found a big continuity error over the weekend so I had to do some major rewriting. (If he couldn't hear Cuddy when she came in how could he hear what Wilson was saying?!) Damn!

I was also having internet issues at home this weekend so didn't get a chance to post which is probably good considering I'd have had to rewrite it.

I'm going to be brave and post what I've got of the next part. I've done some rewriting on all of it so I'll wait to post the corrections until we post the finished version.

I'm just going to post the whole part 2 as a seperate post after this so it's a little easier to continue the feedback.

A little bit of repeat here but I had to do some rewriting. Sorry Sanlin, it'll all be over soon! :( :(


“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.”

He had seen the fear in Wilson’s eyes. 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. All he could manage was anger.

“Damn you! Always gotta be the hero. Damn it! Damn you! Always hanging around trying to protect the cripple. Shit! Look at me! Damn it you’re not going anywhere. You want to play hero, you’re gonna be stuck here with me until I’m finished with you. Damn it, don’t you give up on me! Focus! Wilson, look at me, Wilson. Don’t you give up!”

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. The tears slowly faded and he sat staring straight ahead, numb again.

They reached the small surgical waiting room. It was dimly lit. They were always dimly lit and decorated in dark colors. 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 check and see what’s going on I’ll be back. Are you okay? Do you need anything?” she asked.

“Oh I’m just fine” he thought. He shook his head. He didn’t have the energy for a confrontation. She left and he drifted off into a half sleep.

The pain shot through his leg like electricity and 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 hands and clothes. He had to pee too. He tried to push 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 maneuvered the wheelchair out from beside the table and started towards the door. The movement woke Cuddy.

“Where are you going? Here, let me help” she said 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 and began to wash his hands. When he glanced up at the mirror he was startled by the reflection.10 years and a mixture of blood and tears where smeared across his cheeks and forehead. He turned the hot water higher and began to scrub his face. Of course all that running water wasn’t helping in the urinary department.

Drying his face he surveyed his options. There was no way he could use the urinals. Since they’d put in those automatic sensor there was nothing to hang on to. His right thigh felt like it was in a vice. He got himself over to a stall, grabbed the door frame and hauled himself upright. 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 had 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. He looked like an extra from Buffy’s Valentines Dance Massacre. The nurse eyed him over; they were used to blood covered guests in the ER but not surgical. Wilson 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.

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. Seven stinking minutes.

He remembered the door opening; both he and Wilson had looked up. He had been packing up his watchman. Wilson had been sitting in a chair near the head of the exam table. 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. Wilson closed the magazine he had been reading. It took a moment for it to register that it wasn’t Cuddy.

“The nurse must have told you the wrong room. I’m off duty.” he had said

“I’ll meet you at the car.” Wilson smirked at him as he rose to leave.

“You bastard!” the man said so quietly that both he and Wilson stopped and looked at he man.

“Well yes, but I’m still off duty and your still in the wrong room” He said somewhat shocked that this man would just call him a bastard out of the blue. He continued to wind up the cord. He searched his memory for the face. Not today, not even yesterday. Wilson looked from the man to him and back. He could tell that Wilson was tensing up, getting ready for a confrontation. He had turned and was getting ready to retrieve his jacket from the stool near the door when the man spoke again.

“You bastard” he said a little louder. He turned to face the man full on but as he turned the man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the gun. At the first flash of steel the tide flowed away; seconds turned to hours. Every motion felt like it was being attempted in a vat of molasses.

From the corner of his eye he could see Wilson moving to get in front of him. He made it as far as his right shoulder when the first bullet left the barrel. Two more came in quick succession as Wilson slammed into him. The fluff from the exam table exploded into the air. He was stumbling forward. Two more shots.

He hit his right knee hard on the stool but managed to grab his cane and spin away into the wall to stop from falling. As he turned he saw Wilson leaning against the exam table wide-eyed, blood already spreading from the wound. Wilson had taken a bullet, or two or three that were meant for him.

Adrenaline surged through him and he launched himself at the gunman. He swung his cane like a baseball bat at the man’s skull. Homerun. The shock of impact jarred it from his hands and it went spinning across the room. The man dropped the gun as he fell forward and it spun across the floor, coming to rest next to the cane.

He caught his balance and look up at Wilson. Wilson was looking at the blood spreading down his blue shirt and stark white lab coat, soaking into the waistline of his pants; slowly sinking to the floor. The tide came in and minutes flashed by like seconds. He hurried over and caught him under the arms. If Wilson reached the floor he’d never be able to get down there and do anything to help.

“Damn you! Always gotta be the hero” he growled at him. Wilson’s knees gave out as he tried to get him around to the side of the table. The adrenaline eliminated his pain but not his lack of muscle.

“Come on Superman, you’re gonna have to help me here.” Wilson gained his footing again and stumbled around the table with him.

It took him three tries to get him up onto the table. All the while he swore under his breathe. The supply cart was on the other side of the table and there was no time for formalities. He slapped his hands over the wound and applied pressure. Pain shot across Wilson’s boyish face.

“We need some help in here.” He shouted over his shoulder at the door. They had to have heard the shots. Hell he was deaf from the noise.

“Damn it! Damn you! Always hanging around trying to protect the cripple. Shit! Look at me!” Wilson looked at him and said something that he couldn’t hear. Their eyes locked. Good, keep focused, stay with me he thought. But he saw the panic in Wilson’s eyes.

“Shit, damn it you’re not going anywhere. You want to play hero, you’re stuck here with me until I’m finished with you.” Wilson said something again and then squeezed his eyes shut.

“Damn it. Don’t you give up.” His hands were slick with blood and he could feel the warmth against his thigh from the blood soaking into his jeans. Where the hell was everybody? Christ! Twenty feet on the other side of the door, what was taking so long?

“We need some help in here, NOW!” he yelled again. He pushed down harder. Wilson’s eyes popped open. His normally sharp dark eyes were unfocused and distance.

“Damn it, don’t you give up on me! Focus! Wilson, look at me, Wilson. Don’t you give up!” He felt the rush of air as security kicked the door open, guns drawn.

“It’s about fucking time. We need a gurney in here. We need to get him to ER NOW!” he shouted. They stooped to examine the prone form of the gunman.

“Fuck him we need to get Wilson to the ER!” he spat. They looked up and spoke. He cut them short.

“Right now I can’t hear a fucking thing you’re saying. Fuck him!” he shouted with a nod to the gunman.

“I’ve got a man bleeding to death here and we need to get him out of here 20 minutes ago.” He looked back at Wilson. His eyes were shut, he couldn’t tell if he was still breathing. He didn’t dare move his hands to check for a pulse.

He was about to start into another tirade but two medics and a gurney pulled up next to the table. One took over putting pressure on the wound and the other went to work checking vitals.

He stepped back and almost immediately the adrenaline that had been keeping everything else at bay crashed down. He stood there shaking, numb and deaf as they hurried out of the room with Wilson.

*falls over dead*

You can't die we need you :huh: :lol:

Was it really that bad? ;) :D

Still got some polishing to do but I need to keep moving forward with it right now so it doesn't turn into twenty chapters.

OMG! That was...OMG! You are amazing, and you must write more SOON!

Oooooooooo. Please, may I have some more? Tis so so good. So very good.

Must now read again.

Sy

I had to read it like three times before I was even able to post a reply...lol...YOU NEED TO WRITE MORE! Both of you! lol! I'm off to find food and then write some more myself!

[QUOTE]

I must apologize to you sy. I have read the beginnings of Intervention and had to stop. :(

It was sooo good it just depresed me as to how poor mine is compared to yours. I had to stop so I could get writing again.

I've come to realize ( yeah I know I'm a slow learner ;) ) that everyone has a different view and perspective of the characters on the show and their motivations.

So comparing my writing with your's or Taru's or Auditrix' or anybody else's is just silly. :rolleyes:

I've stuffed my little insecurity gremlins and jealousy hags back into their dark closet and I'm off to read and write again!! :D

Thank you for the compliments and encouragement !

And as alway Taru your enthusiasism and praise is always highly valued. Thank you.

That's the way to do it! If I compared my writing with the writers I love, like Joyce and Proust, I'd never write a word because I can't ever do what they did. It's a tough thing to overcome but it's good when you do. I'm happier for it myself. :)

Also, I work as an editor on a literary journal (*plug*Indiana Review*/plug*) so I get to read some of the best fiction being written in the country every week. There are some great writers out there so it's really humbling. Plus, nearly everyone in our MFA (creative writing masters) program has won some kind of award for their work, so that's humbling too since they're the people I work with on the journal. I'm taking a workshop with some of them now and it's kinda scary cause I'm not an MFA student & cause the prof. has been nominated for the National Book Award. He's really good & scary too. Robert f'ing Frost used to teach here--how do you compete with that?!?

So I totally understand because it's something I think about every day, being surrounded by writers both living and dead. :)

And I'm very jealous that you thought up the plot for Tide of Time and I didn't, cause it's a great plot. I'm tempted to steal it. :D

Cheers,
Sy
no worries, not a plot stealer...remain tempted though....

Imagine if all the poets and writers had just thrown up their hands after Shakespeare came along... LOL How much beauty, knowledge and insight would be lost to the world? Every writer has their own voice, strengths and talents. But, most writers, artists and performers also have to battle self-doubt and the tendency to be hard on themselves. It just goes with the territory. If all voices and visions were the same, this would be the kind of world House would hate--B-O-R-I-N-G! LOL Remember: "Variety is the spice of life." B)

As for your story: I can believe Wilson would 'take a bullet' (or several of them) for House. Just as, for his part, House would 'move Heaven and Earth' for Wilson. And, it's so true: life (and death) often ticks down to fractions of seconds, on either side, when it comes to just missing, or just hitting, certain situations. I've seen that, time and again, over the years. Just as I've seen people live through accidents and situations that would have killed most people, on one hand, and seen other people get pulled down by things that didn't even seem that serious, at first. In the end, there are two basic types of people: those who will sink, and those who will swim. People who give up and those who will dig in and survive the most unimaginable situations and dire circumstances.

Hugs,
Sanlin

Thanks, it's nice to know I'm not alone in this!! In fact if I were in your position I'd probably never have even started!!! You are certainly my new hero! :D

This is like the second thing I've ever written (besides papers for school) and so I'm just learning about these things. :lol:

Thank you for the advice and encouragement. :lol:

Yep, I'm a dork. :( :lol:

I'm still learning the writers ropes so I guess I'll get to go through this a few more times :lol:

I just have that wonderful little voice in my head that when I get jealous like that I feel the need to apologize, even if the person I'm jealous of doesn't know it. So I do tend to get a bit weird like that on occasion. :lol:

And after all this torture you're still speaking to me B) Thanks!! Your encouragement and advice are always helpful. Thanks for taking the time!!

It's my pleasure, hon. :) Just as it's my pleasure to read what you write. I'm always happy to see more folks developing and using their creative gifts. B) And, no worries: I've been writing for decades, and *I'm* still 'learning the ropes.' LOL Writing is like that. It's a life long learning process. B) And, as we change, grow and develop as human beings, so does our writing. :) A person has to start *somewhere,* and fanfic is a great place to do it. :)

And no worries about anything else. Your writing is lovely. :) I'm just a wimp ;) when it comes to thinking about anything happening to Wilson. LOL

Hugs,
Sanlin

I think I need the conflict to write or something :huh:

Finished up part 4 so here it is...

Thanks Sanlin!! One more to go....



The emotions started to creep back in. He felt his resolve slipping away. With an effort he pushed them back. He needed to think about something else. Something useful, get his mind away from Wilson.

The gunman; who was he? He never bothered to commit clinic fodder to memory but he generally never forgot a face. He was sure he didn’t know the man but he kept going over the faces to be sure. The clinic, the few actual cases he’d had and their family members. He didn’t do much outside of work so the chances that it was someone outside the hospital… Cuddy appeared in the doorway. She didn’t have his jacket or his Vicodin.

“Sorry it took so long. The police were having trouble getting in touch with Julie so I spent some time calling around. She’s on her way. I thought you might want to change before she gets here.” She said holding up a pair of scrubs.

“Did you get my meds?” God he hated asking her like he was desperate, but he was. Now that everything had calmed down and the excitement of the moment had worn off his leg was killing him, especially around the knee where he’d banged it on the stool. Just the movement of his jeans over it felt like a cheese grater.

“Maybe that’s not such a good idea right now.” She ventured. “I think you should get checked out before you take anything for the pain. Make sure everything is okay.”

“I’m fine. Nothing the Vicodin won’t fix.” He glared at her. This wasn’t the time or the place for this.

“I really…”

“Give me the scrubs!” he interrupted. “I don’t want be sitting here soaked in Wilson’s blood when Julie gets here. I don’t suppose you got my cane back from the SS” He wheeled himself towards her.

“You’re more docile in a wheelchair. I like you better that way” she joked giving him a small smile as she dropped the scrubs into his lap.

“Great” he shot her a look. But before he could continue she did.

“I’ll see what I can round up while you change. There’s a room across the hall they said you could use. Are you sure you don’t want me to take a look?” She tried one more time.

“You’d like that” he mumbled under his breath “I’m fine.” He started to wheel past her. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills and held them out to him. He paused but didn’t look up. He took the bottle and dropped it into his lap. Even that little bump sent cold spikes of pain into his leg.

“Thank you” he said quietly and started for the room across the hall. This was going to be interesting. There were several chairs and a few end tables. He opened the bottle and shook out one pill. He really needed two, really wanted two, but knew that it wasn’t a good idea just yet. He dry swallowed it. He didn’t have time to wait for it to lighten the pain so he braced himself and began.

He leaned over to take his shoes off. Just the extra pressure of his weight and his leg felt like it was going to explode. His elbow bumped his right knee and he damn near jumped out of the chair.

“Ow! Shit! Mmmmm!” He let out as he gripped the arms of the wheelchair and pushed up. Wow that certainly cleared the sinuses! This was pitiful! Wilson was fighting for his life in a room down the hall and he was in here whining about a little bruise. He bent down and finished removing his shoes, carefully avoiding any contact with the knee.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself up. As the pain flooded through him again he called up the memory of Wilson leaning against the exam table, blood spreading down his shirt. This is nothing compared to that he told himself. Once he was steady he limped over to the nearest end table, scrubs in hand. That Vicodin needed to kick in soon.

“Come on you can do this” he told himself. He fixed that image of Wilson in his mind, used it to deny the physical pain.

When he finally got his pants off he opened his eyes and looked at his knee. There was a blackish-purple bruise the size of a grapefruit centered near the top of his right knee. That was okay, it would help to remind him. There was blood smeared on his thighs and some had soaked into his boxers. He really needed a shower but there was no time for that. Every time the physical pain tried to stop him he countered with that image of Wilson. As he finished he felt the Vicodin starting to chip away at the edges of the pain.

Normally he didn’t fold his clothes but this was different. He started to neatly fold his jeans so the blood was inwards and couldn’t be seen once he stacked them up. He folded his shirt the same way but as he picked up the t-shirt his hands began to shake. He sucked in and exhaled, he could feel the warmth around his eyes. His hands continued to shake. The dam broke. Before he knew what was happening he was overwhelmed with sadness, fear, anger, hopelessness… His hands were shaking so badly now that he couldn’t finish folding the shirt. His vision blurred with tears again.

God this was all his fault. He balled the t-shirt up around his hands and curled himself around it. Why had Wilson put himself in harms way for him? All the times he had treated Wilson like shit, yelled at him, mocked him, called him names, pushed him away. All of that and Wilson didn’t think twice about protecting him. There had been no hesitation in Wilson’s stride when the gun came out. Why? He wasn’t worth it. He’d never been worth it. Why? Was it to punish him for eternity for the way he had treated him? He knew that wasn’t it, Wilson wasn’t like that. He knew Wilson would have done the same for anyone, it wasn’t just their friendship.

That only made it worse. If he hadn’t pissed that guy off, even though he couldn’t remember who he was or how he had pissed him off it didn’t matter. He pissed people off everyday with no thought to the consequences. That wasn’t true. Deep down he knew he had hoped for just such a situation. Hoped he’d piss someone off enough that they’d come back and end it all for him. He’d never figured Wilson into it and now it was too late. He couldn’t take it back.

There was a knock at the door. He quickly wiped his face and nose in a clean spot on the t-shirt.

“Yeah” his voice a little shaky yet.

“Everything okay in there?” It was Cuddy “Are you decent? I found a cane you can use.”

“Come on, I’m just finishing up.” He replied as he started to fold the t-shirt again. She stepped in and closed the door. She held one of those fancy bight red aluminum things with the big foam handle that the old ladies thought were fashionable.

“It’s all I could find but I figured you’d take it over a wheelchair any day.” She offered with a weak smile.

“You’ve got that right.” He replied as he accepted it. He pushed himself up.

“God you look like hell. Are you sure you’re okay?” For once the concern in her eyes didn’t piss him off.

“I’ve got a bruise the size of a grapefruit on my knee but it’s just a bruise. I’ll be alright. I’m more concerned about Wilson. Any news?” He busied himself with the pile of clothes.

“No, but that’s good. It means he’s still alive. The longer the better.” She stated

“Yeah, no news is good news huh?” He looked up. “Is Julie here yet?”

“No but I’m sure it won’t be long. Are you going to be okay?” Why did she keep asking him that?

“It’s the least I can do don’t you think?” He stopped fussing with his clothes and straightened up.

“I don’t know, I still don’t know what happened in there” she was wringing her hands, afraid of setting him off again. He felt his eyes burning again. No. NO. He had to keep a lid on it. He had to be strong for Julie. He took a long deep breath and started out of the room. His knee was pounding but the Vicodin had removed the pain. It was swollen and tight but he could still walk.

“Not now” he said as he limped past her and out of the room.

Great job expressing House's bottled up emotions coming undone as he relays what happened. Keep up the fantastic work and we got to find out how Wilson is!