The metal dug into James' wrists as he eyed the police officer across the table warily.
The light in the room was much too bright and the blood on his clothes had begun to seep through to his skin and dry. The itch it created was almost unbearable.
"James Evan Wilson, 40-years-old, Oncologist at Princeton Plainsborough Teaching Hospital." The officer read off the file.
James closed his eyes at let himself slump forward as far as he could in his chair.
"Is he-" James' breath hitched. "Is he alright?"
The police officer frowned at the doctor, "I'm surprised you would care. After all, he came at you with the knife."
James tilted his head and looked up at the officer, "I still..."
"I understand. He's fine, just a lot of stitches." The policeman looked at him sympathetically. "Unfortunately, when the police tried to pull you apart, you gave the officer a good smack in the face. So you'll be staying overnight if you can't make bail."
James nodded and lowered his head. His emergency contact was House so that meant he'd be in jail until the morning.
Not a second after that thought ran through his mind, there was a knock at the door and another officer poked his head in.
"Someone made bail for him."
The officer across from him released his wrists quickly and lead him from the room.
Stooped at the main desk, House stood signing something an officer was walking through. It's not that James doubted that House viewed him as a friend, but sometimes he wasn't sure it mattered. House wasn't exactly what you would call a good friend.
Reaching the desk, he watched House turn, his eyes quickly flicking over him as if to analyse whose blood he was sporting.
James was most surprised by the sad look in House's eyes.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
House, (pre)House/Wilson, handcuffs
Date: 2009-04-10 11:17 pm (UTC)The light in the room was much too bright and the blood on his clothes had begun to seep through to his skin and dry. The itch it created was almost unbearable.
"James Evan Wilson, 40-years-old, Oncologist at Princeton Plainsborough Teaching Hospital." The officer read off the file.
James closed his eyes at let himself slump forward as far as he could in his chair.
"Is he-" James' breath hitched. "Is he alright?"
The police officer frowned at the doctor, "I'm surprised you would care. After all, he came at you with the knife."
James tilted his head and looked up at the officer, "I still..."
"I understand. He's fine, just a lot of stitches." The policeman looked at him sympathetically. "Unfortunately, when the police tried to pull you apart, you gave the officer a good smack in the face. So you'll be staying overnight if you can't make bail."
James nodded and lowered his head. His emergency contact was House so that meant he'd be in jail until the morning.
Not a second after that thought ran through his mind, there was a knock at the door and another officer poked his head in.
"Someone made bail for him."
The officer across from him released his wrists quickly and lead him from the room.
Stooped at the main desk, House stood signing something an officer was walking through. It's not that James doubted that House viewed him as a friend, but sometimes he wasn't sure it mattered. House wasn't exactly what you would call a good friend.
Reaching the desk, he watched House turn, his eyes quickly flicking over him as if to analyse whose blood he was sporting.
James was most surprised by the sad look in House's eyes.
"You alright?"
James nodded and looked at the ground.
"Lets go then."