Standing Accused (Part Two)
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic
Chapter Six: Funny Where Searches Take You
Rating: PG-13 (I think)
Word Count: 2,071
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.

This chapter was really giving me fits. It did not want to be written. And I'm unsatisfied with it, perfectionist that I am.

Chapter Six

Funny Where Searches Take You

"I think I found something," Chase said.

Cameron walked over to the computer he was using for research. Earlier, he had gotten irritated with her watching his work, forcing her to wait impatiently on the other side of the room. She had considered leaving several times, but then he would mumble under his breath and intrigue her all over again, so she stayed. Now, she leaned over his shoulder again.

"What did you find out?" she asked.

"Look at this. Guy named David Brown, few dozen aliases, but his signature was to carve up his victims with an Allen wrench. He just got out of prison last week," Chase explained. He pointed to the photo. "Apparently, he gave himself that scar on his face, and it was enough to convince the prison doctor that he was insane. A year in a psych ward and suddenly he's cured."

She shook her head. "I don't believe it. How could they be so stupid?"

"Who knows?" Chase shrugged. "Now, I couldn't get all the records, but this Brown was at the same prison as Emma Moriarty's brother."

Cameron looked at Chase. "You think they knew each other?"

"It's possible. I don't know why Brown would kill Moriarty for Miles or why he would frame House," Chase said. "What I do know is the address for Brown's ex-wife here in Boston."

"And you want to go visit her?"

"I'm not daft enough to go ask Brown why he killed Moriarty or even if he killed Moriarty. But I might be daft enough to go talk to Brown's ex-wife," Chase admitted, smiling at Cameron.

She looked at him, unable to stop a smile. "Are you asking me to go with you?"

Chase smiled back. "Is that a yes?"

"This is crazy."

"Maybe. But I don't want to wait around here for another one of House's tantrums. And who knows? Maybe Liz Brown knows something that will help."

Cameron glanced back at the computer screen. "I guess we should tell them what you found."

"It's probably nothing," Chase began, "But let's see if we can catch someone on the way out, Detective Hoyt or Jordan…"

"Anyone but House?" Cameron couldn't help asking.

"Exactly," Chase agreed.

Jordan should start a club, Nigel mused. A pseudo-fan club filled with people she'd helped over the years. It would be the most unusual assortment of people, but think of the networking. Doctors, lawyers, people of all professions, all assisting in the capture of dangerous criminals and solving puzzles and conundrums that baffled the normal man. There would be branches across the United States and—

"Uh, Nige?" Jordan asked, shaking his shoulder.

He jerked and looked at her. "Sorry. What?"

"You dozed off. Impressive when you consider you were refereeing House and his team at the time," Jordan told him, grinning. "How'd you end up doing that?"

"Bug. That little traitor ran out the moment House came in," Nigel explained. He stood and stretched. "Where'd everyone scamper off to?"

"Woody and Garret are in court today. Killian case. House went back to his hotel. Said he was going to raid Wilson's mini bar and catch up on his soaps," she shook her head. "Bug's out on a call, Lily is in with relatives of that Jane Doe that came in—nice job on iding her, by the way—Sydney took a call for a suspicious death in a nursing home, and when Foreman heard that the dead woman had a syndrome that usually affects kids, so he volunteered to go with on the call. Chase and Cameron left to track down a lead."

"A lead? What lead?" Nigel asked, frowning.

Jordan shrugged. "I don't know. House decided it was a euphemism. Apparently, that's what the kids are calling it these days."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time you and Woodrow disappear for hours tracking down a lead," Nigel grinned at Jordan's embarrassed flush. "So, it's just you and me, love. What brilliant solution will our devious minds come up with to save the day?"

"Well, our only lead is Bruce Miles. In New York."

"You make the call to the warden, I'll get us a flight," Nigel told her, watching her grin as she jogged away.

He shook his head as he walked away. A fan club for Jordan? A crime solving, Nancy Drew, daring do type of club? He'd had weird dreams before, but none quite like this. He had to lay off those Townsend family recipes.

"I think we're lost," Cameron said, looking around the visor, squinting in the sunlight. Chase wished she hadn't been so stubborn about borrowing his sunglasses. She was driving. At least if she'd taken them, she'd be able to see.

"Just because we're crummy neighbourhood doesn't mean we're lost," Chase told her. "Try parking next to that sedan there. The car should be reasonably safe."

"An unmarked police car in this neighborhood?" Cameron asked doubtfully. "I don't think it's any safer here than it would be next to that crack house down the street."

"Aren't you supposed to be an optimist?" Chase teased as he got out of the car.

"You make 'optimist' sound like an insult," Cameron said as she joined him at the rear of the car. She shivered, and Chase put an arm around her. "There's nothing wrong with looking for the good in things, no matter how bad they are."

"Is that why you still work for House?" Chase found himself asking. "Because you're looking for the good in him?"

"Maybe. What about you, Chase? Why do you still work for House?"

"I work for House because it's the only thing I'm good at," Chase told her. He guided her into the tenement and through the garbage in the hallway to the elevator.

When the doors closed, Cameron pushed the button for the third floor. "I don't think I've seen a place this bad since that cop's apartment…when Foreman got sick."

"Most of the people that see House come from a higher income, unless they're clinic patients," Chase agreed. "I doubt Liz Brown has had a decent job since her husband went to prison."

Cameron nodded. The elevator stopped with a shudder and a groan. They watched the doors for a moment, both exhaling in relief when they creaked open. Chase stepped out, holding the left door in case it decided to close unexpectedly. Cameron got out, her nose wrinkling as the smell hit her. They worked in a hospital; they were used to bad smells, but this was beyond the normal scope.

Chase knocked on 3D. "Mrs. Brown?"

"Go away."

"Please, Mrs. Brown. We just have a few questions," Cameron began.

The door opened just enough for the woman to poke her head out, the chain jingling. "You're not cops."

"No, I'm Dr. Cameron. This is Dr. Chase," Cameron explained. "We would like to talk to you about your ex-husband."

"I haven't seen him since he went to prison. I have nothing to say about him," Mrs. Brown started to shut the door.

"Did he ever talk to you about a Jack Moriarty or a Gregory House?" Chase asked before she could close it all the way.

She stopped. "House. Now there's a name I know. Come in."

She took off the chain and opened the door to reveal an apartment in stark contrast to the rest of the building. It was so clean it could be an operating room. Sparsely furnished with only the barest of essentials, the second hand furniture was in good condition and repair. She had candles and books, even doilies, on the coffee table. She'd done her best to make this place a home.

Liz Brown wasn't what he'd expected, either. She looked like a typical middle-aged suburban housewife. She was a little too thin, too tired, without much life in her blue eyes, but she wasn't the addict or abused woman he would have thought a killer like David Brown would have been married to. She ran her fingers through her short, uneven hair.

"Is House dead? Is that why you're here?"

"No, House is alive," Cameron answered quickly. "Why would you think he was dead?"

Brown shrugged. "David was always saying that he would kill House. When you showed up at my door asking about David, about House, I just assumed…"

"Why would your ex-husband want to kill House?" Cameron's question made it sound like the concept was completely foreign to her, but Chase had been standing next to her when House was shot.

"Besides the obvious?" Chase added under his breath, earning a glare from Cameron but a smile from Brown.

"David is impotent. House diagnosed him, and he wasn't exactly sympathetic when he did. Instead of seeking treatment like a normal person, David blamed House for his condition. He later claimed the impotence made him crazy, and that was why he killed," Brown shook her head. This was one bitter woman, Chase thought as she started pacing. "I filed for divorce, too. It's my fault. Dr. House's fault. Not David's. Never his."

Chase looked at Cameron. He had a feeling that the Brown woman had a lot to say, and no one to say it to. Cameron smiled ingratiatingly at Brown. "Do you mind if we sit down? And maybe you can start at the beginning?"

"I was married to David for fifteen years," Brown mused, shaking her head again. "I'll make tea."

"Admit it, you think this was a waste of time," Jordan said, looking across the car at Nigel. "Even though we got a sob story from Miles about how his sister had nothing to live for—parents dead, convict brother, husband who betrayed her—even though he told us he hated House, hated Moriarty, he as much as admitted that he got someone to kill Moriarty and frame House, you think this was a waste of time."

Nigel shrugged. "I hate to say it, love, but yes. We knew all that before we left Boston."

"So we wasted eight hours coming here," Jordan muttered, shaking her head.

"More, love," Nigel pointed out reluctantly. "Still three hours left of our drive back to Albany."

She groaned. "I thought flying was supposed to make travel time shorter."

"In theory. Six hour drive from Boston, three and a half hour drive from Albany. But then you figure in the time we spent in security and renting the car…" He shrugged again. "Evens it out a bit."

Jordan sighed. She banged her head against the seat's headrest a few times. She couldn't believe how much time they'd spent on this wild goose chase. No, it wasn't entirely a wild goose chase—Miles had confirmed their theory. He just wouldn't give them the name of the man who had actually done the killing. They'd gone over the prison records. Amazingly, Miles' cellmate had been the same man since he was first incarcerated, the same man who was still sharing his cell at this very moment. The warden had promised to interview all of his guards to see if Miles had any other contacts among the other inmates, but she didn't think anything would come of it.

"Cheer up, Jordan. Just because Cameron and Chase didn't tell us their lead doesn't mean they didn't find anything."

"Yeah, sure. They didn't mention the lead, haven't called. Maybe House was right."

"And maybe yours is the only number they have and your cell phone is dead," Nigel suggested.

She frowned and dug in her pocket. Great. The phone was dead. "What about yours, Nige?"

"My state of the art, very sophisticated, next gen's next gen of a phone?" he asked. "Sorry, love. Left it at the office."

"So no one can get a hold of us. And we can't get a hold of anyone. And—Oh, shit." Jordan closed her eyes, an endless string of profanity coming out under her breath.

"Whoa. Slow down, love. Tell Nigel what's wrong."

She heard the concern in his voice but didn't open her eyes. "Woody and I were supposed to have dinner at eight-thirty."

"It's seven o'clock now, love. We won't make it back for that."

"I know." She cursed once more, banging her head against her seat again.

"Jordan, relax. It's Woody. He'll understand."

She shook her head. "No, Nige. Tonight was different. He planned it weeks in advance… It was important to him. Our anniversary. And I blew it."