Differential Diagnosis People: Aftershocks

Our last fic for this round of the Hall of Fame nominations, and it's a biggie. (I'll post a nomination thread before the next round.)

Title and link: Aftershocks Link goes to the first chapter.

Author: black_cigarette, also known as The Black Cigarette collective. They are nightdog_barks, blackmare, perspi, deelaundry.

Nominated by: pwcorgigirl

Summary: In the wake of the Tritter investigation, House deliberately distanced himself from Wilson and found himself owing a large gambling debt to a particularly vicious gangster. When House balked at paying, the retribution came down not on House, but on Wilson, who was kidnapped and assaulted within an inch of his life by the gangster's hired thugs. The leader of the thugs, we learn, knew House in his early adolescence. This story is what happens after Wilson is found alive and the long process of healing and forgiveness – with a certain amount of retribution -- begins.


Why does this fic belong in the Hall of Fame? There are many things that are difficult to write convincingly – chilling villains, a brutal assault, the experience of pain and emotional suffering, the expression of guilt, the complex emotional lives of men, the fracturing and healing of both a human being and a friendship – and this story does all that flawlessly. The accomplishment is all the greater when one realizes this was not the work of a single author but rather of four who have distinctive writing styles. For this project, though, they managed to create a separate personae with a style different from their own. It is virtually impossible to pick out who wrote which sections, even when one is familiar with the style of the authors. Despite the often violent nature of this story, the writers have skillfully woven in moments of great humor, of the sweetness of an enduring friendship, and the joy of a life regained. All the while, House and Wilson stay in character, and the quartet of writers create a cast of vivid original characters for them to interact with.

Because of the length and complexity of this fic, a little history of how it came to be is necessary: This novel-length (it prints out at over 300 pages) story had its beginning in nightdog_barks "Bad Company." There are five sections titled "Interregnum," which were written by the Black Cigarette Collective. These delve into what happened during "Bad Company" and bring House and the core cast of original characters into the story. "Aftershocks" was unveiled on August 10, 2007, and concluded on December 24.

Links to every section of the story can found here.

Excerpt:

(This is from Aftershocks 3:1 – "Strange Angel." House has slipped into Wilson's hospital room after visiting hours, and these are his thoughts as he examines his unconscious friend by penlight.)

He had wanted Wilson to suffer, to understand. He was supposed to learn how it felt when you'd screwed up and then found that nothing you could do would ever be good enough to fix it. How it felt to be House.

So he talked to Wilson about patients, and about his fun new friends, and nothing else. He had loved watching the jabs hit home, seeing those subtle flickers of hurt in Wilson's eyes when he'd tell a joke he heard from someone in that shark pool. It was good to watch Wilson's posture crumble a little with every report of a winning hand of poker or an accurately called horse race. Good to see him cringe at the wallet full of cash, the winnings House would flaunt but never share.

It was good for a while to rebel against clean, shiny Wilson. None of Reno's guys cared how much House smoked or how many pills he took. The only time those men ever talked about a liver it was because they were ordering one, with grilled onions.

Once—and it was only once—Wilson huffed at him in that edgy voice of his, telling him it was a bad idea. Those are dangerous men, said Wilson. They're not your friends. You're going to get hurt.

He'd laughed in Wilson's face and walked away.

He wasn't going to get hurt. He was just about done with those morons anyhow; they kept telling the same jokes over and over. They didn't even get half the jokes House told in return. They ate liver and onions. They thought his name was funny, and they'd call him Hotel or Condo, laughing like it was the most original thing ever.

There was just that one more irresistible bet House wanted to make. He'd win that, he was sure of it, and then he'd saunter off and that would be the last those guys would see of him.