A/N- I don't own House, but if I did it would be very different. Welcome to my intake on Tritter's life. Feel free to handcuff yourself afterward.
The cop laid on the ground with a feverish grin smeared upon his face. His eyes burned holes though the chilly night sky. Stars winked at his lifeless body, as he laid there in a pool of his own red defeat. His respiration was deathly shallow as he sucked in his breath in heaves.
His coughing had subsided after five or so minutes, when his mind finally recalled what had just happened. Blood ran though his short, gray hair leaving a sticky residue of paste. A warm tipped metal gun lay dangerously close beside him. Its bullet shells only a few feet away.
Eyelids slowly closed before rapidly blinking for dear life. Eyes darted around in the pitch-blackness trying to find his target. His dark blue suit is tarnished in blood and dirt. Its threads weave a haunting matter.
The bottom half of his body is numb with a stinging sensation that he will later feel. Fingers curled slowly upward from the hard pavement closing into a weak fist. His other hand followed its example. His blood soaking head slowly rose, letting the warm liquid drip back.
Neck bones cracked from stiffness, his eyed his surroundings. Nothing. His strong arms lifted the upper part of his medium built body. Elbows dug into the hard, rough concrete surface. His eyes averted to the lower part of his body. He breathed a sigh of relief, his body is still intact. He lets his arms raise the rest of his body up into a sitting position.
A hand finds the back of his head, and the gash that goes with it. Blood seeped out of the infected gash with every heart beat. The blood was wiped on his dark blue pants legs with a long, soft swipe. He positioned his body to where he was almost on his side.
He slowly made his way to his feet, standing firmly on the rough surface. Legs wobbling, his balance was lost as he crashed back onto the hard pavement with a thud. He hissed angrily, cussing under his shallow breath. Legs rapidly rocked back and forth trying to get some sensation within them.
He slowly got back to his feet with his dignity still intact. A small, cocky grin entered his face. His eyes shot down, staring at his fallen gun. The gun is slowly lifted into the palm of his familiar hand. The gun sharply clicks as it was being reloaded.
Eyes stared directly ahead into the dead silence of an eerie, cold night. Detective Tritter raised his gun to chest level as he slowly walked down the empty road in search of his stolen patrol car.