Differential Diagnosis People: All Good Things
Welcome to November, everyone. We've got another new writer to consider for the Hall of Fame. Check it out, and feel free to comment in the thread. (Even if you feel you don't have omigosh deeeep thoughts. Everything's welcome.)
Title and link: All Good Things
Author: rubberbutton
Summary: Life, death and a double shot of irony.
Nominated by: nightdog_barks
Why does this fic belong in the Hall of Fame? All Good Things deserves to be in the Hall of Fame because it is one of the finest examples of its genre out there -- a story about the death of a major character that remains entirely in character, even as it's breaking our hearts.
The fic pulls no punches; the cadence is steady and inexorably measured as we witness a life winding down. The author never blinks, never sugarcoats. There are no magic bullets, no miracle cures -- just the inevitable, and what the characters must make of it. This is a brutally realistic story, and the ending, when House must turn his own personal mantra on its head, comes as naturally as the turning seasons of the year.
This is a powerful story about a difficult subject, and the author handles it deftly at all times, never slipping into sentimentality or going for the easy cliche.
There are no cliches here -- just a profoundly affecting story that will stay with the reader for a long, long time.
Excerpt from the fic: House let the chair fall back into place with a resounding thump that reverberated darkly, making Wilson flinch. “Who’s the patient?” he heard himself ask, his voice strangely distant.
Wilson traced the black smears of ink on his blotter as if they would arrange themselves into legible writing if he stared hard enough. Finally he sighed, a sound of mixed resignation and exhaustion. “Me, actually.”
For a long moment neither of them moved, House staring at Wilson and Wilson staring at his desk. Eventually House looked away, glance wandering to the door. He wished his leg was still up to running. “Didn’t know you liked cancer so much that you were getting one of your very own.” He beat out a muted tattoo on the carpeted floor with his cane.
Wilson looked at him finally and shrugged. “Well, it just looked like so much fun.” The tremor in his voice undermined his ironic tone.
Title and link: All Good Things
Author: rubberbutton
Summary: Life, death and a double shot of irony.
Nominated by: nightdog_barks
Why does this fic belong in the Hall of Fame? All Good Things deserves to be in the Hall of Fame because it is one of the finest examples of its genre out there -- a story about the death of a major character that remains entirely in character, even as it's breaking our hearts.
The fic pulls no punches; the cadence is steady and inexorably measured as we witness a life winding down. The author never blinks, never sugarcoats. There are no magic bullets, no miracle cures -- just the inevitable, and what the characters must make of it. This is a brutally realistic story, and the ending, when House must turn his own personal mantra on its head, comes as naturally as the turning seasons of the year.
This is a powerful story about a difficult subject, and the author handles it deftly at all times, never slipping into sentimentality or going for the easy cliche.
There are no cliches here -- just a profoundly affecting story that will stay with the reader for a long, long time.
Excerpt from the fic: House let the chair fall back into place with a resounding thump that reverberated darkly, making Wilson flinch. “Who’s the patient?” he heard himself ask, his voice strangely distant.
Wilson traced the black smears of ink on his blotter as if they would arrange themselves into legible writing if he stared hard enough. Finally he sighed, a sound of mixed resignation and exhaustion. “Me, actually.”
For a long moment neither of them moved, House staring at Wilson and Wilson staring at his desk. Eventually House looked away, glance wandering to the door. He wished his leg was still up to running. “Didn’t know you liked cancer so much that you were getting one of your very own.” He beat out a muted tattoo on the carpeted floor with his cane.
Wilson looked at him finally and shrugged. “Well, it just looked like so much fun.” The tremor in his voice undermined his ironic tone.