Standing Accused (Part Two)
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic
Chapter Four: House v. Walcott
Rating: PG-13 (I think)
Word Count: 1,567
Disclaimer: I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.
Summary: When the man who shot House turns up dead in his Boston hotel room, House turns to old friends to prove his innocence.
Author's Note: Most of what I know about medicine and forensics I learned from tv. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, and after my other fic "Sickness and Health," though I'm not sure you'd have to read that one to get this one. This is an AU fic, diverging from canon after season 5 and season 2, but also assume that in between "Sickness and Health" and this story, House has recovered/reverted to his cane like he did in the first episodes of season 3. However, I am not necessarily going to use anything canon from either season 6 or season 3.

This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, still 100 percent my fault.

Never written for Walcott before, but I had fun. House's comment is in no way a reflection on her or the actress who played her. I just thought it was something he'd say.

Chapter Four

House v. Walcott

The clock ticked. The cane tapped.

It should have been taken away from him. It was a potential weapon. But he was a cripple. He threatened to sue. She had twenty-four hours to let him stew. Somehow, she didn't think that would be long enough to get everything out of him. Dr. Gregory House would not crack. If he killed the man they'd found in his hotel room, they'd never get a confession from him.

Renée turned from the observation window. "Is the other one still here?"

"James Wilson?" the officer asked. She knew Hoyt should be here. She also knew that he was avoiding her. If necessary, she'd run him down at the morgue. She knew he would be there. "I'll go check, Ms. Walcott."

Renée folded her arms and studied House again. Whatever this man had done for Hoyt, the entire morgue was loyal to him, with one exception. Garret Macy. And Garret was the exception because he'd been on vacation at the time. Renée knew that she had no real case. Just circumstantial evidence. But Jordan Cavanaugh would never let this go.

"Ms. Walcott?" the officer poked his head into the doorway. "Where do you want Mr. Wilson?"

Renée pointed to House. "In there."

"Ma'am?"

She waited. She wasn't about to explain herself to this uniformed officer. She wouldn't explain herself to Hoyt, either, but Hoyt would have done what she asked. The policeman showed Wilson into the interrogation room. House leaned his head back to look at his friend.

"I bet you sang like a canary," House observed, bringing his head back to a level position, staring at the glass.

"Wasn't anything to sing about," Wilson disagreed, sitting down across from House. "Unless there's something you're not telling me?"

"Would I lie to you?" House asked with an expression that made Renée want to slap him. And she wasn't this man's friend.

"Yes." Wilson looked around the room. "You just don't get it, do you? This isn't a game, House. Those are real cops out there. A real district attorney—"

"Not all of her is real," House corrected. Renée forced down the arms that had instinctively gone to cover her chest. She swallowed hard, grateful for the privacy of the observation room.

"They want to charge you with murder, House. They think you killed that man."

"My friend Woody doesn't think so," House said with another smug smile.

Renée sometimes wished that Hoyt had never come to Boston. He was a good cop with a decent record, but his close ties to the morgue were a disadvantage. Jordan Cavanaugh was going to end up costing Hoyt his badge or his life one of these days.

"Woody is one cop, House. If the evidence is against you—"

"That would be why I am also friends with the lovely Dr. Cavanaugh. Come on, Wilson. You really think I offed this guy? Please." House scoffed. He tapped his cane. "Shouldn't there be doughnuts here?"

Renée walked to the door and spoke to the uniformed officer again. "Find Hoyt. Now."

"Hey, Nige. Got anything new?"

Nigel paused mid-keystroke and looked up at the figure in his doorway. She looked better for the shower that left her hair wet in the early morning air, but otherwise unimproved from the Jordan Dr. Macy had kicked out of the morgue a few hours ago. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"

"Woody woke me when Walcott called him in," Jordan explained. Nigel wondered if she knew how much she was saying. "I tried to go back to sleep, but… So, here I am. Got anything new?"

Aside from the new revelations into Jordan's relationship with Woody? Nigel had to change the date he'd picked for the latest pool, but that was hardly new. "I've tracked this Jack Moriarty fellow around Boston for two days before he showed up dead in our friend's hotel room. Not much of interest, I'm afraid. He went to the bank, the post office, and three restaurants in addition to his little jaunt to the chocolate shop."

"Things an ordinary person does everyday," Jordan sighed.

"Only he wasn't an ordinary person," Bug contradicted from across the room.

"Because he wound up dead in House's hotel room?"

Bug shook his head. "Because he was a fugitive. The reason they think House did this is because this man tried to kill House. It doesn't make sense."

"You're right," Jordan agreed quickly. "He was acting like your average Joe, not someone on the run from the police. Is Jack Moriarty his real name?"

Nigel nodded. "I've got driver's license photos that match. High school transcripts. Tax returns. If this was a fake identity, someone went above and beyond the call of duty. Icing on the cake, though, is this obituary and the file I got courtesy of Princeton Plainsboro Hospital. Mrs. Moriarty committed suicide after receiving life-saving treatment from Dr. House."

"If House saved her life, why did she kill herself?" Jordan asked.

"And why blame House for her death?" Bug added.

"Well, with a little digging and generous use of Woody's credentials, the detective that investigated Mrs. Moriarty's suicide was willing to give us a copy of the case file. Observe the note she left behind."

Jordan read aloud over Nigel's shoulder. "'Dr. House told me the truth. I can't live with your betrayal.'"

She started to pace, trying to make sense of what they had discovered. "So…House contributed to this woman's suicide, her husband shoots House, escapes, and ends up dead in Boston. In House's hotel room."

"Whoever did this somehow knew where to find Moriarty and that House would be in Boston," Bug said. "Which means they know House. And they knew who Moriarty was all along."

"But Chase, Cameron, and Foreman didn't know who he was. The hospital didn't know who he was. The police didn't know who he was," Nigel protested. "How would someone else?"

"All right, we know someone did this to frame House," Jordan began. "So, we have to look for someone who wanted revenge against House."

"Judging from the way he treats his team," Bug observed, "I'd say that's going to be a very long list."

Woody blinked. "You want me to what?"

"Is it that impossible to believe that I would ask you to do your job, Detective?" Walcott asked snidely, her arms folded over her chest as she waited for him to respond.

"When did we get enough evidence to arrest House?" Woody demanded. Unless some major breakthrough had come while he was asleep, the evidence against him was circumstantial at best. Yes, the man had tried to kill House. It was House's hotel room. But that was where it ended.

"When I said we did," Walcott answered. "Do you have a problem with doing your job?"

Woody looked at her. "I have to take myself off this case. I have a conflict of interest. Dr. House saved my life. And I don't think he did this. I won't arrest him."

"Would you prefer it if I gave this case to Detective Simmons?"

Woody shook his head. "What is it you want from House? A confession? Even if he did it and you had all the forensic evidence in the world, you'd never get him to confess."

"Right now, I'd settle for some cooperation," Walcott said. "Think you can get me that, Detective Hoyt?"

He thought the only real way to get cooperation from House would be to come down with a strange and baffling disease, but he kept that thought to himself. "I'll see what I can do."

"Two hours, Detective. And then we have to press formal charges."

Woody nodded and went into the interrogation room. He closed the door behind him and looked at House. House grinned. "Here comes my get out of jail free card. How are you, Woodrow?"

Woody grimaced. "I'm not here to spring you, Dr. House."

"What have you morons been doing?" House demanded. "How long does it take to figure out the obvious? Dead guy was shot. I didn't shoot anyone."

"He wasn't shot," Woody corrected softly. House frowned. "And you could have saved us a lot of time if you'd told the Princeton P.D. what you knew about the shooter. That he was married to a patient of yours. That he blamed for her death. That his name Jack Moriarty."

"Please, Detective. The only reason I still remember your name is because it's so much fun to make fun of. Ask Wilson. I saved the best ones for him," House grinned.

Woody knew he had to do something before he was forced to hear all of the jokes House had come up with in the four months since Woody's kidney transplant. "I've heard them all, House. People have been making those jokes for thirty years now. Why don't you tell me why you never gave the Princeton P.D. any information on this guy?"

"I'm sure I've got ones you haven't heard," House continued as if Woody hadn't asked a question at all.

Woody groaned. Then he looked at House with a smile of his own. "They didn't let you keep them this time, did they?"

House no longer smiled. Woody's grin grew wider. "How about answering my question, Doc? Then we'll see about getting you some of those happy pills."

Woody ducked just in time to avoid the cane.