Differential Diagnosis People: No Little Charity
I know we've had some long fics the last few weeks, but we're asking you to take on one more. After that we'll take a break for a month or so. (Only from the Hall of Fame. Other discussions will continue.) We've got a couple of fics lined up for the next round of nominations, which I'll note when we get closer to that time period. In the meantime, consider what other fics you'd like to nominate.
Title and Link: No Little Charity
http://perspi.livejournal.com/19618.html
Author: Perspi
Rating: PG-13
Synopsis: It was an old ritual, old magic from before the world had rational explanations and cold science. Cold science had failed House; Wilson had nothing left to try but this.
Nominated by: Dee Laundry
Why should this be in the Hall of Fame? From the first chapter, "No Little Charity" lives and breathes as a worthy addition to canon. A very simple premise - what if Wilson had the leg injury instead of House? - is executed beautifully, exploring House, Wilson, their friendship, and the relationship each has with the pain that has been so prominent in their lives since the infarction.
The way that both are kept in character, with all their nuances, even in this most extraordinary of circumstances is simply amazing. Their bond is kept as prominent and strong as in canon without descending into sap or treacle.
In a story of over 35,000 words, not a scene seems superfluous or out of place. I simply did not want it to end.
Sample from the text:
Breathing heavily, House reached over and ran his hand along Wilson's thigh again. He hadn't imagined it; Wilson's thigh still had a long dent where it shouldn't. He scooted himself closer, then unfastened Wilson's pants. Tugging awkwardly, he managed to get them down to Wilson's knees, and he hissed sharply as the leg came into view.
He sat for a shaky moment, studying the scar from the angle the rest of the world saw, on the rare occasions he let them look. This was impossible. His scar, Wilson's leg. House ran his right hand from his own hip to his knee. He felt a ridge of muscle under his jeans, muscle which should not have been there. His hand tightened on his leg. "This does not make sense," he murmured.
With deep, gulping breaths, he stood up, marveling at the ease of it, at the lack of pain, and pulled his jeans down to his ankles. House looked down at his own thighs, a perfect pair. He felt like fainting himself.
Title and Link: No Little Charity
http://perspi.livejournal.com/19618.html
Author: Perspi
Rating: PG-13
Synopsis: It was an old ritual, old magic from before the world had rational explanations and cold science. Cold science had failed House; Wilson had nothing left to try but this.
Nominated by: Dee Laundry
Why should this be in the Hall of Fame? From the first chapter, "No Little Charity" lives and breathes as a worthy addition to canon. A very simple premise - what if Wilson had the leg injury instead of House? - is executed beautifully, exploring House, Wilson, their friendship, and the relationship each has with the pain that has been so prominent in their lives since the infarction.
The way that both are kept in character, with all their nuances, even in this most extraordinary of circumstances is simply amazing. Their bond is kept as prominent and strong as in canon without descending into sap or treacle.
In a story of over 35,000 words, not a scene seems superfluous or out of place. I simply did not want it to end.
Sample from the text:
Breathing heavily, House reached over and ran his hand along Wilson's thigh again. He hadn't imagined it; Wilson's thigh still had a long dent where it shouldn't. He scooted himself closer, then unfastened Wilson's pants. Tugging awkwardly, he managed to get them down to Wilson's knees, and he hissed sharply as the leg came into view.
He sat for a shaky moment, studying the scar from the angle the rest of the world saw, on the rare occasions he let them look. This was impossible. His scar, Wilson's leg. House ran his right hand from his own hip to his knee. He felt a ridge of muscle under his jeans, muscle which should not have been there. His hand tightened on his leg. "This does not make sense," he murmured.
With deep, gulping breaths, he stood up, marveling at the ease of it, at the lack of pain, and pulled his jeans down to his ankles. House looked down at his own thighs, a perfect pair. He felt like fainting himself.